Through Darkest Zymurgia!

While we were gaining Hodgin's freedom, another Town Messenger had appeared at the Spaniel with a communique for me. We had hardly left the dock before the steward was at my elbow.

"This arrived for you while you were gone, Dr. Thintwhistle. Also, I am concerned about Dr. Philpott, sir. He is still in his cabin."

"Had a rough night, did he?" I murmured, looking at the addresses on the communique. It was from Dean Nuftison.

"I believe so, sir."

Now, why would Nuftison go to the expense of sending me a communique? On the whole, I judged it best not to read it. If it contained good news, it would keep; if bad, it could only disrupt the expedition. As the steward looked on in surprise, I tore it to shreds, and let the headwind blow them away.

"A great pity, wasn't it, Baxter, that the communique blew away before I could read it? My fault, of course, it slipped out of my fingers in this wind. I should never have opened it on deck."

"Indeed, sir, it was most unwise," said the steward, resolutely ignoring the light breeze.

"I knew I could count on you, Baxter. Now, I suppose I should go pay a visit on young Philpott."

I mention this occurrence, which after all hardly reflects well upon me, only because it was to have sticky consequences later on.

I seldom resemble an Angel of Mercy, and yet that is how I felt as I went below and along the passage to Philpott's cabin. I listened at the door for a moment, heard nothing, and knocked softly. There was a soft woof in return, but no other sound. I scratched my chin, and reflected for a moment, and tried the latch. Ordinarily I would never invade a colleague's privacy, of course, but stern measures seemed indicated.

Bruno woofed softly again, in greeting, as I entered the cabin. He was sprawled comfortably on the bunk, from which all of the bedclothes had been stripped, leaving a bare mattress; evidently, he had been passing the time gazing out of the porthole. He licked his chops companionably, and panted happily at me.

Were this a novel, rather than a serious travelogue, I'd no doubt say that my first thought was on the lines of, "Oh, no! The beast has devoured Philpott, and his bedclothes!" This was not, in fact, the case. My first thought was more on the lines of, "My, doesn't he look comfortable." Though Bruno was (and is) a large dog, he is far too small to devour an entire professor, even an untenured one.

I had not far to look. Glancing about, I soon saw a kind of cocoon on the floor, lying half under the desk. While I saw no exposed Philpott whatsoever, the soft resonant snores convinced me that I had found the missing academic. I saw no reason to wake him, for I was sure his slumber had been dearly bought. Instead, I took Bruno's leash, and lead him to the steward's cubby, closing Philpott's cabin door quietly behind me.

The steward was behind his tiny desk, fiddling with bits of paper; accounts, no doubt. He looked from me to the dog, and turned a shade paler, but asked what he could do for me pleasantly enough. "Baxter," I said, "can you please locate Hodgins for me?" I explained the situation. "The captain has assigned him to me, and I need him. He can find me on the sundeck." Baxter brightened immediately, and undertook to do so.

Bruno and I ascended to the sundeck, where Bruno took immediate possession of a deck chair. My respect for the dog rose a notch; he had his priorities in order. I have always felt it wrong to abuse a sea voyage by working during the day; there is too much to see. And of course, one must be sociable in the evening. It is a formula which has stood me in good stead for many, many years. In token of my respect, I took possession of the adjacent chair, and joined him. So it was that Hodgins found us, shortly thereafter.

I gestured at the open chair on my right. "Sit down, Hodgins, I need to speak with you. I was going to wait until tomorrow morning, but something has come up."

"I can't sit there, sir. I'm on duty. It's not allowed." Hodgins looked shocked.

"The captain has assigned you to me now, Hodgins. It's your present duty to sit in that chair. Hop to it!" I waved my hand at the chair languidly. He sat down gingerly, not reclining properly, like Bruno and I, but at right angles to the length of the chair, facing me.

Hodgins didn't reply, but looked at me uncomfortably, so I continued.

"You speak Lyrican fluently, Hodgins, as I well know; I assume you can also read and write it?"

"Yes, sir, I can."

"Very good. And I believe I can safely assume that you can read and write Anglish as well?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Legibly?"

"I do my best, sir."

"Well, that's all one can do, I suppose." I paused, and studied the distant coastline for a moment. "Can you speak any other languages, Hodgins?"

"The classical languages, sir. My father taught me those even before he taught me Lyrican."

"No other modern languages?" I asked.

"No, sir. Father claimed there was no literature worth the name in any of them." I raised my eyebrows. "Truly, sir. I didn't learn to read and write Anglish until my father sent me off to school. He claimed it was for tradesmen and shopkeepers."

"Indeed, it would be difficult to talk to the grocer without it, wouldn't it," I mused. "Well, Hodgins, I've arranged for you to have the cabin next to Philpott's. It's well-lighted, and has a desk, which you'll need."

"A cabin of my own, sir?" He brightened at the thought. "What will I need the desk for?"

"Translations, Hodgins, of writings on Zymurgia. No other Anglishmen have ever been there but Carbuncle and I, but the place is right next to Seros, after all, and that's been part of the Known World for thousands of years. Zymurgia had few visitors in all that time, but of course the Serosans had stories, and many of those have been recorded. The best are in Ancient Serosan, but there are several in the classical tongues, and the latest and most interesting are in Lyrican. I'd like Philpott to read them, but the poor soul only speaks Anglish. Your first task will be to read them yourself, and translate the relevant passages into Anglish. Think you can do it?"

"I expect so, sir. My father had me construing reams of Flautinus and Sophisticos before breakfast every day when I was child. I'm not sure how quick I'll be, though, sir. It's been quite a long while."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Hodgins, just fine." I clasped my hands behind my head, and stretched in the warm breeze. "This is quite nice, Hodgins, you must learn to relax. Well, that's all for today. The steward will give you the key to the cabin; you'll no doubt want to move your gear immediately. Come to me tomorrow at nine, as I said before, and I'll give you the materials you'll need."

"Oh, and Hodgins," I said, as Hodgins rose from the deck chair, "You'll probably want to rig a hammock in your cabin."

"A hammock? Whatever for, sir? There's only one of me."

"One of your other duties will be attending to Bruno, here, especially at night. He gets lonely in the kennels, poor beast. He bunked with Philpott last night, and the poor soul nearly perished. We can't have that, so Bruno will have to bunk with you. I doubt he'll want to share the bed." I stretched again; the sea air was invigorating. "Run along, now, Hodgins; Bruno is fine for now, and I have some thinking to do." As Hodgins' footfalls receded, I leaned over and scratched Bruno behind the ears. He leaned his head into my fingers, but otherwise did not stir.

"What an admirable beast you are, Bruno," I said to him, "and a sterling example to us all." And with that, I shifted my position slightly, lowered my hat over my eyes, and settled down for some serious morning thought.

The following day set the pattern for the next week or so. Hodgins reported at nine as requested, and I got him started with Gambinus' classic work on Seros. Gambinus never got any further south than Philippi at the mouth of the Aram, and so most of what he recorded was hearsay, which of course loses him points with the Serosan scholars. Zymurgia, however, was (and is) almost completely fabulous, which is to say that hearsay is the best information available. That being the case, who is to say that one writer's hearsay is worse than another's? Every story would add to our expectations as we ventured on towards that little-known, seldom-visited land of fable.

Philpott was pathetically grateful that I had taken Bruno off of his hands, the more so as he could not afford to repay my 200 fiacres. He had intended to discount a note with a banker in Lyricum Town the morning of our departure, but had not awakened until long after we had left the dock. During the night they had spent together, he had conceived a great dislike for poor Bruno, a sentiment I am glad to say that noble beast never reciprocated. Many is the time I have seen Bruno raise his head from his deckchair at Philpott's approach, and greet him with a soft woof! Be that as it may, Philpott continued with his studies, and began to practice his cartography. With time and experience, I felt he would become a fair draftsman.

We saw little of Carbuncle during this period. He spent his days, and frequently his evenings, down in his workroom with some device, or devices, he had acquired from his friend in Lyricum Town. He was cheerful and talkative at mealtimes, but no word would he speak about his current project. "What you don't know about, Leon, you can't jinx," he'd say to my questions. "You'll thank me for it eventually, that you will."

In truth, there was little in our passage to Cuprios to distract him. It rained for two solid days, which were particularly hard for Bruno. We passed few other ships, and those few far to the north or south. Still, it was not all mindless tedium. A flight of dolphins spent most of a day playing off our bow, easily keeping up with the Spaniel; occasionally, one would dive deeply, and then leap from the water, flying completely over the ship before disappearing again with never a splash. Toward the end of the day, one young dolphin misjudged and came down hard on our foredeck, thrashing about and in danger of breaking its wingfins. The crew managed to get it over the side before it did any permanent damage to itself or to the ship...or to them, for that matter. A blow from a dolphin's wingfin can break a man's back. But the sailors revere the dolphins, calling them good luck, and so they got it back into the water alive. Killing it would have been rather safer, but on the whole I agreed with the sailors.

The other dolphins had formed a circle around the Spaniel as the young one thrashed and pounded on the deck. When the youngster regained the water, it joined the circle of dolphins, which proceeded to swim several times clockwise around the ship at great speed. Then, one by one as they reached a certain point to starboard, each dolphin dived and leaped in a great arc over the ship. For a brief time there was a veritable rainbow of fins and flukes hanging overhead. And with that, they were gone as suddenly as they had come.

The crew were agreed: they had none of them ever seen or heard of such a display, and they considered it an omen of the best possible sort. The Spaniel's was a happy crew, but they outdid themselves that night, dancing and singing on the foredeck. Philpott and I eschewed our regular evening in the lounge to sit with Bruno on the dark sundeck, listening to the singing and laughter far into the night. It would never have done to have joined them, of course.