The Mycologist smiled, giving a friendly bow to the Pianist, as well as the two kind gentlemen who had apparently taken up the invitation alongside himself. "The Correspondence. The key to Mr Stones' vaults, the language bats speak, the mathematics of Hell. I did my research, madame." With a pleasant smile, he pressed his thumb down as well. "Let us get this started... I take it at least one of these tasks involves fungi, or maybe..." he sniffed the Neathy air, and leaned in to whisper only to the Pianist. [i]"The Sun."[/i] A small light flickered in his eye, imperceptible to all but those well-versed in the many deadly obsessions of the Neath.

"Would you believe that I have yet to see a single d--ned Blemmigan? I thought I was coming down here to further my research!" This was, of course, entirely untrue. His reasons for descending were entirely more esoteric than simple scientific curiosity.