“Hydraulics,” the gnome grinned. “I’m working on a way to lift the slab completely out of the opening, but I haven’t completed all the calculations to compensate for its thickness and weight.”
Ulin had to admit he was impressed. He’d never thought much of gnomes. Tinker gnomes were notorious among the other races of Krynn for building large, overly complex machines that failed more often than not. Although they were often bright, curious, and endlessly imaginative, they were cursed by the god Reorx so they could never master the inventive genius of their quick minds. And yet, Ulin remembered hearing a tale about a group of gnomes who had been freed of the curse at the end of the Chaos War. They came to be called thinker gnomes, and they scattered across the world seeking wisdom and knowledge. They did not look different from their tinker cousins, yet they were master inventors and perfectionists whose smaller, less flashy constructions usually worked.
The mage watched Notwen walk to the slab and disappear into the dark depths underneath, and he wondered if indeed this bright-eyed fellow in the orange tunic was a thinker gnome.
Ulin eyed the stone warily. It seemed sturdy enough. Using utmost caution, he sat on the brink of the opening and swung his legs through onto a wooden staircase that led down into darkness. He barely breathed while he slid his long torso through and drew his head under. Hurriedly, he crawled down the steps until his head was clear of the stone and he could stand upright.
“Come on down!” the gnome’s voice called. Light flared golden yellow some twenty feet below.
Ulin stepped down between the columns. The walls of the stairwell consisted of packed dirt and rubble braced with wooden beams. Beneath the stairs, Ulin could just make out the complex gears and cables of Notwen’s hydraulic machine. Slowly, he went down toward the light.
The bottom of the stairs ended in a narrow corridor, stone flagged and arched overhead. The corridor had been carved out of bedrock by skilled hands and led directly to a wooden door that stood open into a room blazing with light.
Ulin hesitated a moment. The rock slab opening into the earth, the working machinery, the corridor leading into a room as bright as day—this was not at all what he was expecting. In spite of his depressed mood, he found himself intrigued and more than a little curious. He hurried into the room and stopped with a sudden jolt.
The chamber was huge. A great round circle cut out of the living rock, its ceiling was domed and painted white with a mural depicting the ancient runes and symbols of the gods. Ulin stood on a railed balcony that circled the upper portion of the room and contained a row of bookcases. Looking closely at the shelves he saw every imaginable form of print on books, scrolls, vellum, parchment, paper, linen, and even tablets of clay and wax. Lamps hung on sconces from the walls, and overhead, suspended from the ceiling, hung a chandelier of glowing oil lamps set behind reflective lenses.
Ulin walked farther into the room and saw a circular stair leading down to the floor below. Tall cupboards, gilded with gold, stood upright between more shelves crowded with an incredible clutter of stuff. On the few bare spaces of wall left hung clocks of every description, size, and shape, their ticking filling the air with a steady drone. A water clock occupied the space near a large fireplace. Other instruments of time, navigation, survey, and drafting lay scattered on heavy worktables or piled on shelves. Everywhere Ulin looked, he saw tools, artifacts, colored glass bottles, crocks and jugs, knives, candles, dishes, maps, and odd things he could not begin to identify.
Notwen was nowhere to be seen, so Ulin walked down to the bottom floor. Curious, he threw open the doors of the first cupboard he came to and drew a breath of astonishment, for on its set of shelves he beheld an alchemist’s treasure: scales and weights, a mortar and pestle, stone bowls, rows of neatly-labeled bottles and boxes. He saw yellow brimstone, sulfur, saltpeter, white lead, vials of mercury, and nuggets of pure silver. There were little bottles of arsenic, viper’s poison, distilled toad, cock’s eyes, larger bottles with animal specimens neatly preserved—tangled webs of jellyfish tentacles, clippings of mermaids’ hair, and many more substances he did not recognize.
He heard a sound behind him, and he turned to see Notwen appear through another door pushing a wheeled tray bearing plates and bottles.
“How did you find all of this?” Ulin asked. He flung out his arms to include the entire chamber. “How could one person collect so much?”
The gnome pushed his tray to the fireplace and arranged two leather chairs beside it. “Come eat. I’m hungry.” He settled Ulin comfortably in a chair, filled two flagons with cold cider, fixed two plates of food, and sat down on a shorter chair to enjoy his meal. It wasn’t until his plate was empty that he leaned back against the worn leather padding and answered Ulin’s question.
“I wish I could say I collected all this, but as I said, I just found it. I’ve added my own things, of course, but the books, the Istar artifacts, and the chamber were here.”
Ulin’s interest spiked at the mention of artifacts, but he said nothing.
“I’ve studied some of the papers and manuscripts left down here,” Notwen continued, “and I believe the collection belonged to a black-robed mage who worked for Highmaster Toede for years. Toede helped him add to it, of course, probably hoping the mage would add to his treasury in return.”
“Why didn’t Malys destroy it?” Ulin asked. “Or add the artifacts to her own collection?”
“She hasn’t found it yet. I think the chamber is protected like the barracks with magical wards. When the red dragon attacked the manor, she destroyed the original entrance and filled the basement above with rubble. Fortunately, the original flooring remained and the chamber is still intact.”
Ulin pointed toward the ceiling. “Why don’t you replace that slab with a concealed door of bronze or something easier to open?”
“So it won’t be easy to open—or find.” Notwen shuddered. “Can you imagine the kender down here? And who would hesitate to plunder a gnome’s laboratory if all you had to do was open a door?”
“Point taken.” Ulin finished his cider and set the flagon aside. He felt better now that he’d eaten. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the food was placed before him. “Would you show me your collection?”
Happiness glowed on Notwen’s face, and he bounced eagerly to his feet. He took Ulin by the hand and led him to the first table, made of stone and used for working with volatile substances. The surface was stained and pitted by constant use. Notwen ran his hand over a particularly large pit blasted from the table’s surface. “Knowledge is obtained by study and practice,” he said, then chuckled. “I practice a lot.”
Ulin’s thoughts went back to memories of the laboratory at the Academy of Sorcery, to the chambers of Huma’s Tomb where he met Sunrise for the first time, and to other places where he had learned and practiced the art of sorcery. The little gnome may not cast spells or know the intricacies of wielding magic, Ulin thought, but his philosophy of knowledge and his pleasure in its gathering were so similar to his own that the young mage felt drawn into the conversation.
The two soon lost all track of time in the discussions that filled the afternoon. They talked about healing remedies from Notwen’s tome, argued about metallurgical experiments, and examined every bottle and box in the laboratory.
Notwen proudly showed Ulin the clocks he had made and demonstrated each gear and weight and clock face. “Beneath the magic and superstition, there is a clockwork precision to the way the world works,” he proclaimed. “I want to find that precision and learn what makes it tick.”
Ulin found the words matched his own unspoken need. He had tried magic and that had failed him. Now he wanted to look for something deeper, something more basic and profound that would be unchangeable, irrefutable, and perhaps eternal. In his studies of magic he had never taken the time to see how ordinary things worked, or why. He had been too involved in learning spells, and for a while he had excelled at his chosen craft. Then came the f
ailures, the terrible losses, the bitterness, and the fear … until he could no longer face the torment of the endless disappointments. All he had left was himself—his own intelligence, imagination, and strength, and slowly he was beginning to stretch out his abilities to learn the depths of capabilities he never realized were there. Notwen was right. Behind the veneer of magic was an entirely new world to be explored, tested, and studied, a world more reliable and eternal than the realm of faulty magic. His mind filled with these thoughts, Ulin studied Notwen’s clocks with new and fascinated eyes as if he had never seen a gear or pendulum before.
Time passed swiftly in the gnome’s laboratory, and in spite of all the clocks around him set to the same time, Ulin did not realize how long he had stayed until he looked at one particularly large clock on the wall and saw the small hand on the number eight. His eyebrows flew to his hairline.
“Lucy is going to have a fit!” he exclaimed. “Notwen, I must go.”
The gnome started at the man’s outburst. “But why? If you are hungry, I will fix a meal. I keep food in a small pantry here. There is no need to go yet.”
“Yes, there is! My friends don’t know where I am, and I have been gone all day. One in particular will be very angry.”
Notwen’s small face creased in thought. Gnomes were often too busy to worry about social and personal obligations, but Notwen had met Lucy. “Ah, the Sorceress. It would not be right to anger her. Will she allow you to return?”
The irony of his simple question did not escape Ulin. While he deeply respected Lucy’s abilities as a mage, he had always been the one in the forefront: the son of Palin Majere, the assistant director of the Academy of Sorcery, one of the few dragon mages on Krynn. People had come to him for help and advice. They had looked up to him. Now most of that was gone, and by a strange twist, he was being called “Friend of the Sorceress” and treated as her bodyguard or shadow. He didn’t know whether to laugh or bury his head in his arms and weep. He was not an envious man by nature, and he would never begrudge Lucy the honors she deserved, yet the changes in his life had left him raw and badly shaken.
Keeping careful control of his voice, he thanked Notwen for his hospitality and accepted an invitation to return, then he hurried up the wooden stairs and crawled out into the fading light of evening.
A vigilante hurrying toward the slab almost stepped on his fingers. “Ulin!” he gasped. “I’m on watch tonight. I saw a patrol of Dark Knights ride into town, so be on your guard. They’re Malys’s men, very unpredictable.” Before Ulin could reply, the guard shouted down the stone hole. “Notwen! Knights in town!”
Ulin backed away as the machinery began to grind. The stone slowly dropped into place with an echoing boom. By the time he looked up, the guard had returned to his post, and he was alone on the windy rock. He kicked some dirt over the cracks between the stone until the slab was indistinguishable from the others. If he hadn’t seen the block with his own eyes, he would never guess the entrance was there. He couldn’t wait to tell Lucy about the laboratory—once she got over being mad at him.
He took a quick survey of the town while he hurried down the path. Dusk cast a heavy gloom over the weather-beaten old buildings, but everything seemed normal. The taverns and pleasure houses were crowded, the market was nearly deserted, and the city hall was dark. Lights glowed in the windows of houses and tenements, and columns of smoke rose from dozens of kitchen fires to drift west into the grasslands on the wind from the sea. There was no sign of the Knights’ patrol. Ulin hoped fervently he could reach the Jetties and get out of sight before he was spotted. He did not want to risk a confrontation with the Knights of Neraka.
All too soon he discovered his wish was in vain, for when he approached the ramshackle old inn his hope sunk into dismay. Five saddled horses stood tied to the inn’s hitching post. Each one wore a skull-shaped brand of the Dark Knights on its hip. Although the front door stood open and lamps were lit, no one was in sight, and the inn was strangely silent.
A commotion rose out of the walled stable yard to the rear. Ulin could hear the nervous clatter of a horse’s iron-shod hooves on the stone paving and the shouting of angry voices. One of the voices was Lucy’s. Ulin broke into a run toward the door.
Without warning a small figure pelted out of a side entrance and slammed into Ulin’s stomach, knocking the air from his lungs.
“Oh, it’s you!” squeaked Pease. “Ulin! You must come. The Knights have arrested Lucy.”
His first inclination was to burst into the courtyard and start laying about with his sword until Lucy was free and all those who dared touch her were dead. Fortunately, his common sense prevailed.
He snatched the kender’s tunic and hauled him into the concealing shadows of the side door. “How many Knights are there? What did they arrest her for? Where is Challie?”
Pease, trembling, tried to answer all the questions at once with a tangle of words. Ulin had to shake him again to rattle some sense back into his head.
“There are two Knights holding Lucy in the courtyard. The other three threw everyone out of the common room and are searching the inn.” Pease’s words tumbled out. “Challie’s with Lucy in the yard. I was sent to look for you.”
“But what did they arrest her for?” Ulin demanded to know.
“Horse stealing. They found her horse in the stable, and that snitch of a groom told them whose it was.”
Ulin muttered a few words that caused Pease to gape at him. “Is there another way into the courtyard besides the gate?” he asked.
In reply Pease took his sleeve and led him around the inn. Ulin caught a glimpse through a window into the empty common room and saw two of the Knights kicking over tables and passing a jug back and forth. He ducked down behind Pease and followed the kender through a shrubby patch of gardenias into an alley behind the stable.
It was nearly dark by that time. Dense shadows filled the alley, hiding the refuse piles and the rats that scattered among the trash and old debris. The kender cautiously picked his way along the alley to a postern gate set in the wall that surrounded the stable yard.
“Master Aylesworthy likes to keep this locked,” Pease whispered, “but I haul manure out here, and I often forget to lock it up again.”
From the powerful smell and the feel of the ground beneath his boots, Ulin could easily believe the part about the manure. He held his breath as Pease tried the door handle. It turned quietly, and the postern opened.
The kender stuck out his arm to stop Ulin from hurrying in. Wordlessly, he put his finger to his lips then pointed to his right and waved a hand.
Together they slipped into the courtyard and, moving right, slid unseen behind a pile of straw bales under an old, sagging plank roof. They peered around the bales and saw Lucy, Challie, and two guards standing in a pool of light that poured out of the open inn door. A very nervous and embarrassed groom held the halter of the big bay draft horse.
Ulin’s stomach muscles twisted into knots. Lucy appeared unhurt, but she stood between the two Knights as rigid as a lance, her face flushed with outrage. Her clothes had been mussed, and her hair fell unbound over her shoulders.
The Knights wore dented breastplates marked with the death lily of Takhisis and a strange red emblem Ulin could not identify in the dim light. Scraps of armor covered their arms and legs. He noticed their trappings looked worn and battered, and he thought if they were truly attached to Malys’s unit, then she did not keep them well attired. They were, however, well armed. Each Knight bore a short sword, an axe, and a dagger, and one had a crossbow slung across his back.
Ulin’s hand tightened around his sword hilt. For once, he was at a loss about what to do. He had no armor or reinforcements and only one sword. If he could even approach the two Knights without endangering Lucy, the first clash of weapons in the courtyard would bring the other three running, and Ulin was not fool enough to believe he could successfully take on five highly trained soldiers. He understood, too, the danger he cou
ld bring on the townspeople of Flotsam. The Dark Knights and their mistress would not overlook a deliberate attack made on one of their patrols, and their retaliation could be deadly.
Ulin shifted nervously. He needed an idea, and he needed one now.
Something moved to his right. He eased back from the straw bales and saw several forms slide through the postern gate and position themselves in shadowed hiding places.
Pease put his mouth close to Ulin’s ear. “Cosmo went for help. Wait and see what happens. Do you think she’ll use her magic?”
“I doubt it,” Ulin breathed. He knew the Knights would kill her in an instant if they thought she was trying to cast a spell.
Several minutes dragged by, and no one moved or said a word. The Knights continued to stand close to Lucy while the silent watchers waited in breathless suspense.
A burst of raucous laughter inside the inn shattered the quiet. It was followed by the innkeeper’s voice raised in frightened protest. The other three Knights stamped out of the inn, shoving Master Aylesworthy before them. The portly man tripped over a loose stone and fell to his knees.
The leader of the patrol, a stocky, black-haired woman, put her fists on her hips. “An appropriate gesture, Innkeeper,” she sneered. “Stay there until I tell you to rise.” She pushed close to Lucy and glared at her like a cat eyes its prey. They were nearly the same height, and their eyes met and locked. Lucy did not blink or look away, but regarded the officer with cool disdain.
“Knight Officer,” Challie began, “I demand to know why my client—”
The woman cut her off with a sharp jerk of her hand. “I am Knight Officer Jesic Venturin of the Third Talon. You have been caught in the possession of a stolen horse.” Her gaze nailed on Lucy’s face.
“Who said it was stolen?” asked Lucy.
The Knight Officer’s hand cracked across Lucy’s bruised cheek. “You will take care to watch your tone.”
Lucy’s choked cry of pain brought Ulin’s anger to a boil. He would have surged out of his hiding place if Pease hadn’t caught his sleeve.
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