Halfway into the afternoon Master Soldinck and his party arrived at the dock. Captain Baunt mustered all hands on the midship deck to welcome the group aboard ship.
First to step from the gangplank was Soldinck, with Madame Soldinck on his arm, followed by Soldinck’s daughters Meadhre, Salasser and Tabazinth.
Captain Baunt, taut and immaculate in his dress uniform, delivered a short speech. “Soldinck, we of the Galante welcome you and your admirable family aboard! Since we will live in proximity for several weeks, or even months, allow me to perform introductions.
“I am Captain Baunt; this is our supercargo, Bunderwal. Beside him stands Sparvin, our redoubtable boatswain, who commands Tillitz — see him yonder with the blond beard — and Parmele. Our cook is Angshott and the carpenter is Kinnolde.
“Here stand the stewards. They are trusty Bork, who is learned in the identification of sea-birds and water-moths. He is assisted by Claudio and Vilip, and occasionally, when he can be found, and when the mood is on him, by Codnicks the deck-boy.
“By the rail, aloof from the society of ordinary mortals, we find our wormingers! Conspicuous in any company is Chief Worminger Drofo, who deals with the profundities of nature as casually as Angshott the cook juggles his broad-beans and garlic. At his back, fierce and ready, stand Lankwiler and Cugel. Agreed, they seem sodden and dispirited, and smell somewhat of worm, but this is as it should be. To quote Drofo’s favorite dictum: ‘A dry sweet-smelling worminger is a lazy worminger’. So never be deceived; these are hardy men of the sea, and ready for anything!
“And there you have it: a fine ship, a strong crew and now, by some miracle, a bevy of beautiful girls to enhance the seascape! The presages are good, though our voyage is long! Our course is south by east across the Ocean of Sighs. In due course we will raise the estuary of the Great Chaing River which opens into the Land of the Falling Wall, and there, at Port Perdusz, we will make our arrival. So now: the moment of departure is at hand! Master Soldinck, what is your word?”
“I find all in order. Give the command at discretion.”
“Very good, sir. Tillitz, Parmele! Cast off the lines, fore and aft! Drofo, ready with your worms! Sparvin, steer slantwise past the old sun’s azimuth, until we clear Bracknock Shoal! The sea is calm, the wind is slack. Tonight we shall dine by lantern-light on the quarter-deck, while our great worms, tended by Cugel and Lankwiler, drive us through the dark!”
Three days passed, during which Cugel acquired a sound foundation in the worminger’s trade.
Drofo, in his commentaries, provided a number of valuable theoretical insights. “For the worminger,” said Drofo, “day and night, water, air and foam are but slightly different aspects of a larger environment, whose parameters are defined by the grandeur of the sea and the tempo of the worm.”
“Allow me this question,” said Cugel. “When do I sleep?”
“‘Sleep’? When you are dead, then you shall sleep long and sound. Until that mournful event, guard each iota of awareness; it is the only treasure worthy of the name. Who knows when fire will leave the sun? Even the worms, which are ordinarily fatalistic and inscrutable, give uneasy signs. This very morning at dawn I saw the sun falter at the horizon and sag backward as if in debility. Only after a great sick pulse could it swing itself into the sky. One morning we will look to the east and wait, but the sun will fail to appear. Then you may sleep.”
Cugel learned the use of sixteen implements and discovered much in regard to the worms’ physiology. Timp, fluke-mites, gangue and pust became his hated enemies; impactions of the clote were a major annoyance, requiring the sub-surface use of reamer, drench-bar and hose, in a position which, when the impaction was eased, became subject to the full force of the effluxion.
Drofo spent much of his time at the bow, brooding over the sea. Occasionally Soldinck, or Madame Soldinck, strolled forward to speak with him; at other times Meadhre, Salasser and Tabazinth, alone or in concert, joined Drofo at the bow and listened respectfully to his opinions. At Captain Baunt’s sly suggestion, they prevailed upon Drofo to play the flute. “False modesty is not befitting to a worminger,” said Drofo. He played and simultaneously danced three hornpipes and a saltarello.
Drofo seemed inattentive to either worms or wormingers, but this negligence was illusory. One afternoon Lankwiler neglected fully to bait the baskets which hung eight inches in front of his worms; as a result they slackened their effort, while Cugel’s worms, properly baited, swam with zeal, so that the Galante began to swing westward in a great slow curve, despite the helmsman’s correction.
Drofo, summoned from the bow, instantly diagnosed the difficulty and, further, discovered Lankwiler asleep in a warm nook beside the galley.
Drofo nudged Lankwiler with his toe. “Be good enough to arouse yourself. You have not baited your worms; as a result the ship is off course.”
Lankwiler stared up in confusion, his black curls matted and his eyes looking in different directions. “Ah yes,” mumbled Lankwiler. “The bait! It slipped my mind and I fear that I dozed off.”
“I am surprised that you could sleep so soundly while your worms went slack!” said Drofo. “A skilled worminger is constantly keen. He learns to sense the least irregularity, and instantly divines its source.”
“Yes, yes,” muttered Lankwiler. “I now understand my mistake. ‘Sense irregularity’, ‘divine source’. I will make a memorandum.”
“Furthermore,” said Drofo, “I notice a virulent case of timp on your off-worm, which you must take pains to abate.”
“Absolutely, sir! At once, if not sooner!” Lankwiler struggled to his feet, hid a cavernous yawn behind his hand while Drofo watched impassively, then lurched off to his worms.
Later in the day Cugel chanced to overhear a conversation between Drofo and Captain Baunt. “Tomorrow afternoon,” said Drofo, “we shall have a taste of wind. It will be good for the worms. They are not yet at full vigor, and I see no reason to push them.”
“True, true,” said the captain. “How do you fancy your wormingers?”
“At this time neither enjoys a rating of ‘excellent’,” said Drofo. “Lankwiler is obtuse and somewhat sluggish. Cugel lacks experience and wastes energy preening in front of the girls. He works to an absolute minimum, and detests water with the fervor of a hydrophobic cat.”
“His worms appear sound.”
Drofo gave his head a disparaging shake. “Cugel does the right things for the wrong reasons. Through sloth he neither overfeeds nor overbaits; his worms suffer little bloat. He despises the work of dealing with timp and gangue so fiercely that he obliterates its first appearance.”
“In that case, his work would seem satisfactory.”
“Only to a layman! For a worminger, style and harmony of purpose are everything!”
“You have your problems; I have mine.”
“How so? I thought that all went smoothly.”
“To a certain extent. As you may be aware, Madame Soldinck is a woman of strong and immutable purposes.”
“I divined something along those lines.”
“At lunch today I mentioned that our position was two or three days sail north-east of Lausicaa.”
“That would be my own reckoning, by the lay of the sea,” said Drofo. “It is an interesting island. Pulk the worminger lives at Pompodouros.”
“Are you acquainted with the Paphnissian Baths?”
“Not of my own experience. I believe that women bathe in these springs hoping to regain youth and beauty.”
“Just so. Madame Soldinck, we will agree, is an estimable woman.”
