As he vanishes into the depths, there is a great thrashing an splashing. His arms are waving about with wild abandon. "By all the Elder Gods! Doesn't this fellow know how to swim?" Pushing off from the side, I glide over to where he was last seen. I reach down into the murky depths and grab a fistful of facial hair. Dragging him back to the surface, I pound him on the back. He immediately coughs up a quart of water and three goldfish. He flounders back to the edge under his own power, whereupon he begins to beg for a bowl of kash. I guess he figures Caily will have pity on him.

Meanwhile, several of the bath attendants busy themselves with spreading dried Barley husks on the rapidly-advancing oil spill. Their goal is to absorb as much of the grease as they can, before it leaves a permanent bathtub ring in Caily's fine pool. It's a good thing they are not using the whole grain. I could just imagine the stuff beginning to ferment in here, what with the temperature and all. Of course, Caily would have her next year's supply of "bathtub kash" already brewed and waiting .

Apil is a sorry sight, as he drags himself from the pool. Under normal circumstances, his beard hangs to about mid-chest. However, with all the oil removed, the curliness has also gone. Now, he is faced with a forty-pound, sodden mass, dangling from his chin. The attendants help him out of the bath and begin to dry him off. They wrap his beard in a towel and squeeze most of the water from it. Even so, it is still too heavy to a low him to close his mouth.

If that thing doesn't dry out by tonight. we're in for a lot of snoring!