The Department of Skouximology is in a pretty large building. Inside there's a board listing the various office numbers of various professors. There's also a staircase leading down into the basement, with a sign that says STORAGE.

And what are they storing down there?

A large pile of clay jars sealed with black wax, with a sign reading "Primordial Shrieks"! Alongside a slightly smaller pile of "Maniac's Prayers" in glass phials, a small heap of "Aeolian Screams" in rune-etched glass spheres, and something stored in a wall safe.

Is it really going to be as easy as just taking twenty-five Shrieks and walking out? Well, he can try it and see.

As he's picking up the last of the Shrieks, someone thumps down the stairs. A short and rather round gentleman, wearing a monocle.

"Good evening," he says cheerfully, heading over to select a Maniac's Prayer. "What brings you to the stockroom, lad?"

He has an impulse to say "theft" and see what happens, but decides that he would rather succeed at this quest than fail and amends this to, "My friend the professor sent me to bring him some Shrieks," which is at least in the general region of true and will probably not prompt the round man to call the police. "Why, how about you?"

"I've been studying the effects of Maniac's Prayers on Rattus faber," the Portly Professor replies, sifting through the vials. "So far my results are 'they don't like them,' but I have faith I'll find something useful out soon. And I'm better off working on something with applications than going the way of the Feverish Chiropterist - sorry, no, the Scarred Naturalist, now. What a nasty business."

"Oh? What happened?"

"Ah, just a bit of academic drama, I shouldn't even be repeating it," the Professor demurs. "What happened, you see, is that the Feverish Chiropterist, well, he was always a mite obsessive, but he became utterly preoccupied with a mythical beast, the Vake. Then, he happened to be attacked by some beast - likely escaped from the Labyrinth of Tigers - and he lost two Aeolian Screams belonging to the University, valued at two Echoes fifty each, and blamed it on this Vake! He began constructing some diabolical noise-making machine that disturbed professors in neighboring offices, supposedly to ward it off, and the University was forced to let him go. It was a terrible shame, but a reminder to us all to keep our research confined strictly to what is rather than what is not."

"I'd think you'd be used to diabolical noises around here," he remarks with a laugh, "but I see what you mean. Sounds like it was a lot of trouble for everyone involved."

"Ah, but his office wasn't in the thoroughly soundproofed Skouximology Department, it was in the rather less soundproofed Zoological section. It was indeed very troublesome. At any rate, I've got my Prayers, so I'll bid you adieu, if you'll pardon my French, ha ha..."

He heads back up the stairs.

What a nice, if rather judgmental and narrow-minded, man.

He looks at his so-far-successfully pilfered Shrieks. He looks at the pile of Screams. He considers the example of the Feverish-Chiropterist-excuse-me-Scarred-Naturalist.

He scoops up a Scream from the top of the heap and tucks it in his pocket, then re-packs his Shrieks more neatly in their bag and carries them out.

No one harasses him further. It's a marvel what a purposeful stride can do.

He now needs only procure a hat, and he'll be ready to collect his very own mandrake.

Hats, hats... where's he going to find a hat? Can he buy one somewhere? Who sells hats?

He is directed to a shop in the Bazaar named Maywell's Hattery. They have a wide variety of hats - gentlemen's top hats and bowlers, ladies' mushroom-festooned chapeaus, even a fedora liberated from the head of a devil valued at 400 Echoes.

The shop's owner, upon seeing his mode of dress, directs him to a secondhand section, the least battered hat of which costs fifty pence.

He can probably manage fifty pence for a hat!

The store owner will exchange some of his rosty or jade or glim for pence and sell him the hat, then. It is mildly scuffed in places, but it was clearly once a noble hat.

He and his hat and his Shrieks head back to the Scarred Naturalist's place.

The Naturalist greets him with a smile. "Excellent, you brought the materials! I'll show you to the workshop, come along..."

He leads the way to a room containing the tools of various trades, and gets the jars. "The convenient thing about Primordial Shrieks," he explains, "well, one of the convenient things, is that the beeswax with which they're sealed is also effective for weatherproofing a hat. So if I simply-"

He breaks the seal on one of the jars and brings it to the hat's surface. A low groaning sound can be heard, muffled by the fabric. He then uses a pen-knife to cut out some of the beeswax and put it in a pot on a nearby stovetop. As it begins to melt, he repeats the process until the hat is shimmering with noise. Then he dips a paintbrush into the melted beeswax and begins painting over the hat. He does it with practiced expertise, and soon enough the hat looks glossy and new.

"Try it on," he suggests.

...sure. He tries on the hat.

It fills his ears with a low moaning sound - the souls of the very mildly damned, perhaps. It doesn't prevent him from hearing things, but it makes it a bit hard to focus.

"How is it?" the Scarred Naturalist asks. "It should prevent the mandrake's shrieks from penetrating."

"It sounds like my hat is really upset about something but, you know, in a quiet sort of way. It's all right."

"Yes, Primordial Shrieks always do sound a bit distressed. Now, I've got a map of mandrake locations right here-" he hands it over "-and you'll want to avoid the spots with red circles, because they're in the territory of some monster or another. Or I suppose you can just kill the monsters, if you're spoiling for a fight, I'm sure the Department would pay for a couple of marsh-wolf corpses. Any questions?"

"Not that I can think of. Thanks again!"

Off he goes with his shiny new hat!

Before he goes, the Naturalist gives him a lidded jar, and tells him that once he plucks the mandrake he should put it in the jar and shut the lid; the hat is enough to protect from acute exposure, but prolonged exposure is another matter entirely.

The marshes are vast. There are several mandrake spots. Will he go for a convenient one, or a less convenient one?