This proved highly entertaining, especially as the dwarven guards accompanying Tas and Gnimsh shook their fists, swearing roundly in dwarven at the operators up above them.
As for the gnome, Gnimsh was plunged into a state of excitement impossible to believe. Whipping out a stub of charcoal and borrowing one of Tas’s handkerchiefs, he plopped himself down on the floor of the lift and immediately began to draw plans for a New Improved Lift.
“Pulleyscablessteam,” he yammered to himself happily, busily sketching what looked to Tas like a giant lobster trap on wheels. “Updownupdown. Whatfloor? Steptotherear. Capacity:thirtytwo. Stuck? Alarms! Bellswhistleshorns.”
When they eventually reached ground level, Tas tried to watch carefully to see where they were going (so that they could leave, even if he didn’t have a map), but Gnimsh was hanging onto him, pointing to his sketch and explaining it to him in detail.
“Yes, Gnimsh. Isn’t that interesting?” Tas said, only half-listening to the gnome as his heart sank even lower than where they were standing. “Soothing music by a piper in the corner? Yes, Gnimsh, that’s a great idea.”
Gazing around as their guards prodded them forward, Tas sighed. Not only did this place look as boring as the Abyss, it had the added disadvantage of smelling even worse. Row after row of large, crude prison cells lined the rocky walls. Lit by torches that smoked in the foul, thin air, the cells were filled to capacity with dwarves.
Tas gazed at them in growing confusion as they walked down the narrow aisle between cell blocks. These dwarves didn’t look like criminals. There were males, females, even children crammed inside the cells. Crouched on filthy blankets, huddled on battered stools, they stared glumly out from behind the bars.
“Hey!” Tas said, tugging at the sleeve of a guard. The kender spoke some dwarven, having picked it up from Flint. “What is all this?” he asked, waving his hand. “Why are all these people in here?” (At least that’s what he hoped he said. There was every possibility he might have inadvertently asked the way to the nearest alehouse.)
But the guard, glowering at him, only said, “Dewar.”
CHAPTER
11
“Dewar?” Tas repeated blankly.
The guard, however, refused to elaborate but prodded Tas on ahead with a vicious shove. Tas stumbled, then kept walking, glancing about, trying to figure out what was going on. Gnimsh, meanwhile, apparently seized by another fit of inspiration, was going on about “hydraulics.”
Tas pondered. Dewar, he thought, trying to remember where he’d heard that word. Suddenly, he came up with the answer.
“The dark dwarves!” he said. “Of course! I remember! They fought for the Dragon Highlord. But, they didn’t live down here the last time—or I suppose it will be the next time—we were here. Or will come here. Drat, what a muddle. Surely they don’t live in prison cells, though. Hey”—Tas tapped the dwarf again—“what did they do! I mean, to get thrown in jail?”
“Traitors!” the dwarf snapped. Reaching a cell at the far end of the aisle, he drew out a key, inserted it into the lock, and swung the door open.
Peering inside, Tas saw about twenty or thirty Dewar crowded into the cell. Some lay lethargically on the floor, others sat against the wall, sleeping. One group, crouched together off in a corner, were talking in low voices when the guard arrived. They quit immediately as soon as the cell door opened. There were no women or children in this cell, only males; and they regarded Tas, the gnome, and the guard with dark, hate-filled eyes.
Tas grabbed Gnimsh just as the gnome—still yammering about people getting stuck between floors—was just about to walk absentmindedly into the cell.
“Well, well,” Tas said to the dwarven guard as he dragged Gnimsh back to stand beside him, “this tour was quite—er—entertaining. Now, if you’ll just take us back to our cells, which were, I must say, very nice cells—so light and airy and roomy—I think I can safely promise that my partner and I won’t be taking any more unauthorized excursions into your city, though it is an extremely interesting place and I’d like to see more of it. I—”
But the dwarf, with a rough shove of his hand, pushed the kender into the cell, sending him sprawling.
“I wish you’d make up your mind,” Gnimsh snapped irritably, stumbling inside after Tas. “Are we going in or out?”
“I guess we’re in,” Tas said ruefully, sitting up and looking doubtfully at the Dewar, who were staring back in silence. The guards’ heavy boots could be heard stumping back up the corridor, accompanied by shouted obscenities and threats from the surrounding cells.
“Hello,” Tas said, smiling in friendly fashion, but not offering to shake hands. “I’m Tasslehoff Burrfoot and this is my friend, Gnimsh, and it looks like we’re going to be cellmates, doesn’t it now? So, what’s your names? Er, now, I say, that isn’t very nice.…”
Tas drew himself up, glaring sternly at one of the Dewar, who had risen to his feet and was approaching them.
A tall dwarf, his face was nearly invisible beneath a thick matting of tangled hair and beard. He grinned suddenly. There was a flash of steel and a large knife appeared in his hand. Shuffling forward, he advanced upon the kender, who retreated as far as possible into a corner, dragging Gnimsh with him.
“Whoarethesepeople?” Gnimsh squeaked in alarm, having finally taken note of their dismal surroundings.
Before Tas could answer, the Dewar had the kender by the neck and was holding the knife to his throat.
This is it! Tas thought with regret. I’m dead this time for sure. Flint will get a chuckle out of this one!
But the dark dwarf’s knife inched right past Tas’s face. Reaching his shoulder, the dark dwarf expertly cut through the straps of Tas’s pouches, sending them and their contents tumbling to the floor.
Instantly, chaos broke out in the cell as the Dewar leaped for them. The dwarf with the knife grabbed as many as he could, slashing and hacking at his fellows, trying to drive them back. Everything vanished within seconds.
Clutching the kender’s belongings, the Dewar immediately sat down and began rummaging through them. The dark dwarf with the knife had managed to make the richest haul. Clutching his booty to his chest, he returned to a place against the back of the cell, where he and his friends immediately began to shake the contents of the pouches onto the floor.
Gasping in relief, Tas sank down to the cold, stone floor. But it was a worried sigh of relief, nonetheless, for Tas figured that when the pouches had lost their appeal, the Dewar would get the bright idea of searching them next.
“And we’ll certainly be a lot easier to search if we’re corpses,” he muttered to himself. That led, however, to a sudden thought.
“Gnimsh!” he whispered urgently. “The magical device! Where is it?”
Gnimsh, blinking, patted one pocket in his leather apron and shook his head. Patting another, he pulled out a T-square and a bit of charcoal. He examined these carefully for a moment then, seeing that neither was the magical device, stuffed them back into his pockets. Tas was seriously considering throttling him when, with a triumphant smile, the gnome reached into his boot and pulled out the magical device.
During their last incarceration, Gnimsh had managed to make the device collapse again. Now it had resumed the size and shape of a rather ordinary, nondescript pendant instead of the intricate and beautiful sceptre that it resembled when fully extended.
“Keep it hidden!” Tas warned. Glancing at the Dewar, he saw that they were absorbed in fighting over what they’d found in his pouches. “Gnimsh,” he whispered, “this thing worked to get us out of the Abyss and you said it was calicalo-caliwhatever’d to go straight to Caramon, since he was the one Par-Salian gave it to. Now, I really don’t want it to take us anywhere in time again, but do you think it would work for, say, just a short hop? If Caramon is general of that army, he can’t be far from here.”
“That’s a great idea!” Gnimsh’s eyes began to shine. “Just a minute, let me think.�
��”
But they were too late. Tas felt a touch on his shoulder. His heart leaping into his throat, the kender whirled around with what he hoped was the Grim Expression of a Hardened Killer on his face. Apparently it was for the Dewar who had touched him stumbled back in terror hurriedly flinging his hands up for protection.
Noting that this was a youngish-appearing dwarf with a halfway sane look in his eye, Tasslehoff sighed and relaxed, while the Dewar, seeing that the kender wasn’t going to eat him alive, quit shaking and looked at him hopefully.
“What is it?” Tas asked in dwarven. “What do you want?”
“Come. You come.” The Dewar made a beckoning gesture. Then, seeing Tas frown, he pointed, then beckoned again, hedging back farther into the cell.
Tas rose cautiously to his feet. “Stay here, Gnimsh,” he said. But the gnome wasn’t listening. Muttering happily to himself, Gnimsh was occupied with twisting and turning little somethings on the device.
Curious, Tas crept after the Dewar. Maybe this fellow had discovered the way out. Maybe he’d been digging a tunnel.…
The Dewar, still motioning, led the kender to the center of the cell. Here, he stopped and pointed. “Help?” he said hopefully.
Tas, looking down, didn’t see a tunnel. What he saw was a Dewar lying on a blanket. The dwarf’s face was covered with sweat, his hair and beard were soaking wet. His eyes were closed and his body jerked and twitched spasmodically. At the sight, Tas began to shiver. He glanced around the cell. Then, his gaze coming back to the young Dewar, he regretfully shook his head.
“No,” Tas said gently, “I’m sorry. There’s … nothing I can do. I—I’m sorry.” He shrugged helplessly.
The Dewar seemed to understand, for he sank back down beside the sick dwarf, his head bowed disconsolately.
Tas crept back to where Gnimsh was sitting, feeling all numb inside. Slumping down into the corner, he stared into the dark cell, seeing and hearing what he should have seen and heard right away—the wild, incoherent ramblings, cries of pain, cries for water and, here and there, the awful silence of those who lay very, very still.
“Gnimsh,” Tas said quietly, “these dwarves are sick. Really sick. I’ve seen it before in days to come. These dwarves have the plague.”
Gnimsh’s eyes widened. He almost dropped the magical device.
“Gnimsh,” said Tas, trying to speak calmly, “we’ve got to get out of here fast! The way I see it, the only choices we have down here are dying by knifepoint—which, while undoubtedly interesting, does have its drawbacks, or dying rather slowly and boringly of the plague.”
“I think it will work,” Gnimsh said, dubiously eyeing the magical device. “Of course, it might take us right back to the Abyss—”
“Not really a bad place,” Tas said, slowly rising to his feet and helping Gnimsh to his. “Takes a bit getting used to, and I don’t suppose they’d be wildly happy to see us again, but I think it’s definitely worth a try.”
“Very well, just let me make an adjustment—”
“Do not touch it!”
The familiar voice came from the shadows and was so stern and commanding that Gnimsh froze in his tracks, his hand clutching the device.
“Raistlin!” cried Tas, staring about wildly. “Raistlin! We’re here! We’re here!”
“I know where you are,” the archmage said coldly, materializing out of the smoky air to stand before them in the cell.
His sudden appearance brought gasps and screams and cries from the Dewar. The one in the corner with the knife snaked to his feet and lunged forward.
“Raistlin, look ou—” Tas shrieked.
Raistlin turned. He did not speak. He did not raise his hand. He simply stared at the dark dwarf. The Dewar’s face went ashen. Dropping the knife from nerveless fingers, he shrank back and attempted to hide himself in the shadows. Before turning back to the kender, Raistlin cast a glance around the cell. Silence fell instantly. Even those who were delirious hushed.
Satisfied, Raistlin turned back to Tas.
“—out,” Tas finished lamely. Then the kender’s face brightened. He clapped his hands. “Oh, Raistlin! It’s so good to see you! You’re looking really well, too. Especially for having a—er—sword stuck in your—uh—Well, never mind that. And you came to rescue us, didn’t you? That’s splendid! I—”
“Enough driveling!” Raistlin said coolly. Reaching out a hand, he grabbed Tas and jerked him close. “Now, tell me—where did you come from?”
Tas faltered, staring up into Raistlin’s eyes. “I—I’m not sure you’re going to believe this. No one else does. But it’s the truth, I swear it!”
“Just tell me!” Raistlin snarled, his hand deftly twisting Tasslehoff’s collar.
“Right!” Tas gulped and squirmed. “Uh, remember—it helps if you let me breathe occasionally. Now, let’s see. I tried to stop the Cataclysm and the device broke. I—I’m sure you didn’t mean to,” Tas stammered, “but you—uh—seem to have given me the wrong instructions.…”
“I did. Mean to, that is,” Raistlin said grimly. “Go on.”
“I’d like to, but it’s … hard to talk without air.…”
Raistlin loosened his hold on the kender slightly. Tas drew a deep breath. “Good! Where was I? Oh, yes. I followed Lady Crysania down, down, down into the very bottom part of the Temple in Istar, when it was falling apart, you know? And I saw her go into this room and I knew she must be going to see you, because she said your name, and I was hoping you’d fix the device—”
“Be quick!”
“R-right.” Speeding up as much as possible, Tas became nearly incomprehensible. “And then there was a thud behind me and it was Caramon, only he didn’t see me, and everything went dark, and when I woke up, you were gone, and I looked up in time to see the gods throw the fiery mountain—” Tas drew a breath. “Now that was something. Would you like to hear about—No? Well, some other time.
“I—I guess I must have gone back to sleep again, because I woke up and everything was quiet. I thought I must be dead only I wasn’t. I was in the Abyss, where the Temple went after the Cataclysm.”
“The Abyss!” Raistlin breathed. His hand trembled.
“Not a nice place,” Tas said solemnly. “Despite what I said earlier. I met the Queen—” The kender shivered. “I—I don’t think I want to talk about that now, if you don’t mind.” He held out a trembling hand. “But there’s her mark, those five little white spots … anyway, she said I had to stay down there forever, be-because now she could change history and win the war. And I didn’t mean to”—Tas stared pleadingly at Raistlin—“I just wanted to help Caramon. But then, while I was down in the Abyss, I found Gnimsh—”
“The gnome,” Raistlin said softly, his eyes on Gnimsh, who was staring at the magic-user in amazement, not daring to move.
“Yes.” Tas twisted his head to smile at his friend. “He’d built a time-traveling device that worked—actually worked, think of that! And, whoosh! Here we are!”
“You escaped the Abyss?” Raistlin turned his mirrorlike gaze on the kender.
Tas squirmed uncomfortably. Those last few moments haunted his dreams at night, and kender rarely dreamed. “Uh, sure,” he said, smiling up at the archmage in what he hoped was a disarming manner.
It was apparently wasted, however. Raistlin, preoccupied, was regarding the gnome with an expression that suddenly made Tas go cold all over.
“You said the device broke?” Raistlin said softly.
“Yes,” Tas swallowed. Feeling Raistlin’s hold on him slacken, seeing the mage lost in thought, Tas wriggled slightly, endeavoring to free himself from the mage’s grasp. To his surprise, Raistlin let him go, releasing his grip so suddenly that Tas nearly tumbled over backward.
“The device was broken,” Raistlin murmured. Suddenly, he stared at Tas intently. “Then—who fixed it?” The archmage’s voice was little more than a whisper.
Edging away from Raistlin, Tas hedged. “I—I hope th
e mages won’t be angry. Gnimsh didn’t actually fix it. You’ll tell Par-Salian, won’t you, Raistlin? I wouldn’t want to get into trouble—well, any more trouble with him than I’m in already. We didn’t do anything to the device, not really. Gnimsh just—uh—sort of put it back together—the way it was, so that it worked”
“He reassembled it?” Raistlin persisted, that same, strange expression in his eyes.
“Y-yes.” With a weak grin, Tas scrambled back to poke Gnimsh in the ribs just as the gnome was about to speak. “Re … assembled. That’s the word, all right. Reassembled.”
“But, Tas—” Gnimsh began loudly. “Don’t you remember what happened? I—”
“Just shut up!” Tas whispered. “And let me do the talking. We’re in a lot of trouble here! Mages don’t like having their devices messed with, even if you did make it better! I’m sure I can make Par-Salian understand that, when I see him. He’ll undoubtedly be pleased that you fixed it. After all, it must have been rather bothersome for them, what with the device only transporting one person at a time and all that. I’m sure Par-Salian will see it that way, but I’d rather be the one to tell him—if you take my meaning. Raistlin’s kind of … well, jumpy about things like that. I don’t think he’d understand and, believe me”—with a glance at the mage and a gulp—“this isn’t the time to try to explain.”
Gnimsh, glancing dubiously at Raistlin, shivered and crowded closer to Tas.
“He’s looking at me like he’s going to turn me inside out!” the gnome muttered nervously.
“That’s how he looks at everyone,” Tas whispered back. “You’ll get used to it.”
No one spoke. In the crowded cell, one of the sick dwarves moaned and cried out in delirium. Tas glanced over at them uneasily, then looked at Raistlin. The magic-user was once again staring at the gnome, that strange, grim, preoccupied look on his pale face.
“Uh, that’s really all I can tell you now, Raistlin,” Tas said loudly, with another nervous glance at the sick dwarves. “Could we go now? Will you swoosh us out of here the way you used to in Istar? That was great fun and—”
War of the Twins Page 35
