Chapter Eighteen
The Great River

They attempted to climb the tree-lined, but steep and awkward cobbled hill of Plas Carad, which was the most direct route south on foot, but it was slippery and unpleasant after recent rain, so they went instead along the path of a river. It was a long journey, but the pleasant riparian vegetation, an occasional sloping lawn, and plenty of wildlife made it a nice enough trip. The river spilled over the edge of a moraine, or the remains of a moraine, and tumbled over rocky terrain until it met the plain, where it was joined by lesser streams. They followed the river for several miles. At one point, Hagrigorn stopped, looking at the ground. He stooped and turned his head towards them.
“Gosh, there was a fight here!”, he said. “Here are some remains”. Tick looked up, suddenly interested. Hagrigorn followed signs visible only to the trained eye of a seasoned tracker, until he uncovered a bag in some undergrowth. He looked inside, expectantly.
“It’s nothing”, he said plainly, “Just a journal. It’s no use to us on this quest I’m afraid”.

They moved on. Eventually, they came to a large fountain in a square, where they became ensnared in an ambush by a team of activists from the local Conservative Urban Neighbourhood Team, who taunted them relentlessly, calling them ‘pinkos’ and ‘drop-outs’, and threatening to talk to them in depth about their proposals for cleaning this area of ‘hangers-on’ and foreigners because of the potential threat to economic growth, “on which we all depend”, but Thrakkarzog, who was most certainly a foreigner, inadvertently insulted them by comparing them unfavourably with some mucus-based organism of his acquaintance. This angered them mightily, and they became aggressive. Things would have got nasty, but Tick held two of them upside-down by their ankles, and jiggled them about playfully until their faces went red. Afterwards, one of their number began an old punting song, which was quickly taken up by the rest of the group but, before they had finished the first verse, the council members had made their escape, heading directly for the pub.

“There is no doubt in my mind”, declared Dumbledalf, “that this party is more than simply the result of high spirits combined with an almost total lack of empathy, ethics or manners, as one might expect from this type. No, I smell the festering stench of Vol-au-vent”. The others stared at him aghast. There was a silence for some seconds. Hapless and Ro decided that this was the moment to make off separately, and so the fellowship was split.