Night fell across the face of Ironpiece. Watches changed at the naval base, and spelljammers began landing in the evening, the last of those returning from the battle that had been joined after the Probe's escape. Teldin heard from various nurses and technicians that the humanoid and elven ships had fought each other mercilessly, but both sides had been driven away from Ironpiece by the gnomes' dreadnoughts, deathglories, spellfighters, and other craft. Confusion had reigned at first as to whether the elves were allies or enemies, but the matter was resolved on a practical level when an elven man-o-war opened fire on a deathglory. From that point on, it was every side for itself. As usual, the gnomes took the greatest casualties from their own experimental weapons. Once the humanoids had retreated and the elves had simply vanished (minus one of their man-o-wars), the gnomes had mopped up and gone home. Teldin went to sleep with a certain amount of satisfaction at the news.
The infirmary's inhabitants slept. In the dark corridors, a handful of gnome attendants snored on their stools or wrote medical notes by candlelight. One of them was in the middle of listing a series of proposed experiments to determine the best design for a new lighting system for the infirmary-one that would not burn the place to the ground, as the previous natural-gas system had done sixty years earlier. She finished with another page, admiring the simplicity of her design-to have giant, refillable wicks installed in the walls-and set it on the ever-growing pile beside her.
"Somnoluncia, parafar, nombilbulum" came a whispered voice from the darkness down the hall to her left.
Startled, the gnome looked up-and immediately started to yawn. She leaned back, a quill pen and a stack of unblemished paper sliding from her lap as she fell off her stool. A soft thump sounded as she hit the floor, accompanied by the sound of an upended ink bottle rolling away across the floor to empty its contents in a widening puddle.
Out of the darkness came a darker thing, floating soundlessly up to the snoring gnome. The figure observed the slow rise and fall of her chest, then moved on to the door on her right. There the figure took a last look around-then it simply moved through the entry as if the door did not exist.
Beyond the door the darkness was broken by faint light from a window. After an appropriate wait to assure that the rhythmic breathing from the bed in the room was genuine, the figure silently drifted closer. A lone being slept there, curled up like a baby. The sheets were bunched up at the foot of the bed. Peace was written across the sleeper's face.
The dark figure raised a finger of white jointed bone and pointed it at the sleeper's head.
"Obedia ooamei, ptejarki noh," it said quietly. The rhythmic breathing from the victim immediately became heavier and deeper. The sleeper's eyes opened and stared at the wall, seeing nothing. The dark thing felt relief. The controlling spell had worked on the first attempt.
"Much from me this spell has cost, but much need I have of you, live meat," the dark thing whispered. "Much for me in the weeks to arrive you will do. The cloakmaster to approach I dare not. Dangerous he is, and because of him my not-servants exist not. But you in my service will be, hidden slave with hidden master, you by all trusted, yes. My words now attend you will, much to learn, and my dreams to fulfil. Power everlasting mine will be, the cosmos to hold."
The dark figure spread its arms wide, covering the window and the light, and began the next enchantment.
The following morning, before Teldin forced his own release from the infirmary, Gomja visited him and announced he, too, would be going with Teldin to find the Spelljammer.
"I don't understand," Teldin said. He stopped rubbing his knees to ease the aching in them. "Why would you leave your work here? You've got everything you've ever wanted."
Gomja sighed, sitting on a heavy crate and looking at a spot on the floor. "I know, sir, but the gnomes decided that they need a marine commander aboard the ship they're taking to the Spelljammer, and they felt that I was the best choice. The commanders that I replaced wanted their old jobs back, too. It's all for the best." He looked uncomfortable and dropped his voice as he looked up. "Besides, sir, not a lot has been going on here, and I've been hoping for a little more action. I'm also worried that you might need a strong arm at your side, given your current goals."
Teldin grinned and shook his head. "I can't deny that, Colonel-Commander. It seems as if I'm going to have company with me, whether I want it or not." His smile faded. "To be frank, after the fight just before we crashed here, I'd almost decided to go on to the Spelljammer alone. Anyone who goes with me is in danger. I don't even think I can trust the elves on this one. They're as eager to get their little hands on this cloak as everyone else."
Gomja said nothing, but still stared at the floor. Teldin leaned forward and slapped the giff on the shoulder. "It will be good having you with me again," he said with feeling. "I need someone I can trust. I don't have many these days, and you, Aelfred, and Sylvie are about it."
The giff looked up into Teldin's face for a moment with an unreadable expression. "Thank you, sir," he finally said. The floorboards groaned as he eased himself to his broad, round feet. "I'll get my things then."
"Do that," Teldin said. "I'm getting the hell out of here right now myself." He waved as the giff left, then went back to collecting the few things that his rescuers had managed to bring to him from the wreck. The worst loss was the sheaf of papers about the Spelljammer that Cirathorn had given him. The scroll tube must have come loose during the crash, meaning that it was undoubtedly resting on the bottom of Lake Crashsplash this very moment. He gritted his teeth at the thought, but there was no help for it. Maybe this slug, One Six Nine or whatever it was, would know more.
Teldin slung his small bag of personal belongings over his shoulder, then looked the room over before he left. Seeing that it was fairly clean, he closed the door behind him and set off down the hall in search of real food.
At least, he reflected as he started down the stairs, he would be traveling with people he knew he could trust.
Chapter Nine
"It should be right in this next berth… no, wrong one, just ignore the mess. There! Here it is! This one right here, this beautiful ship, this is the Perilous Halibut, my labor of love for many years. Glorious, isn't she?" Dressed in a brown tweed suit with a lime-green shirt and a yellow tie that could blind onlookers within ten feet of it, Dyffed stood before the long black ship he had named and beamed up at its bow. His face was wreathed in beatific happiness. "I feel ninety years old all over again," he sighed.
There was a long silence as Teldin, Aelfred, and Sylvie stared at the ship with thoughtful expressions.
"It's very"-Teldin struggled for a word, glancing at Aelfred for help but finding none-"interesting," he finished. It looks like a black banana with fins, he thought.
"I absolutely agree," said Dyffed, reaching up to pat the bottom of the ship's metal-plated hull. "The Perilous Halibut was called such because, first, it is sort of like a fish, and the Office of Yachting Names, Designations, Codes, and Other Completely Nonmilitary Appellations had run out of all the other fish-type names, and all the paperwork with our previous suggestions had already been filed and lost. Secondly, it is perilous because it's a dangerous ship-I mean, dangerous to our enemies, of course. We built it, so it can't be dangerous to us. We were originally going to paint it blue to go with Vice Rear Admiral Blekinmangrars's new uniform, but we had already ran out of that particular shade and Midnight Ebony was all the supply office had left, which was a very fortunate error for all concerned, because now the ship is perfectly camouflaged against the blackness of space, though we might someday have to paint stars on it here and there to make the camouflage more authen-ouch!"
The gnome hastily stuck a finger in his mouth. "Dratted riveting," he muttered, popping his finger out for a second to speak, then putting it back in.
Teldin stepped around to the side to gauge the ship's size. The Perilous Halibut rested on a massive and complex framework of wooden supports inside the gigantic
hangar on Port Walkaway. The ship appeared to be about the same length as the Probe, two hundred feet or so, and was about twenty-five feet thick and prism-shaped, octagonal in cross section. A rectangular black tower stuck out from the upper deck of the ship, almost like a shark's fin, and smaller fins stuck out from several places along its sides. The ship's tail retained the fishlike imagery, with the lower end of the tail falling well below the bottom of the ship itself. The ship would lose its tail if it landed on solid ground, but Teldin guessed it had been meant to land on water.
Teldin's eyes scanned the upper deck of the Perilous Halibut, noting a simple gold railing running around the edge. The railing was, of course, at the height of a typical gnome's waist-in other words, just about the height of a human's knees. It wouldn't do to get close to it and trip over the side of the ship.
"I can't believe we're lucky enough to have this whole ship to ourselves," Aelfred said. Teldin and Sylvie turned to stare at him in amazement. Aelfred glanced aside at them, putting a finger momentarily to his lips.
"Ah, nothing lucky about it at all," said Dyffed, pleased. He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "Nothing at all. Experimental ships are sent out all the time from here, and most have come back. Or some of them have, at least. I last heard the return figure was closer to twelve point eight percent, including all ships bearing the expected casualties but not counting fragmental returns if they couldn't tell which
'iip the fragments belonged to. But that's neither here nor shi there, of course, for though this is its first flight test, the Perilous Halibut is of a proven theoretical model, the first of its kind to be built, and we have nothing whatsoever to fear, nothing at all, unless the tail falls off." Dyffed chuckled, glancing at the tall threesome behind him. "An old gnomish joke, you understand."
No one else so much as smiled.
Dyffed coughed and went back to admiring the Perilous Halibut. "Yes, this lovely ship will be ready to fly at any time, right after a few last adjustments are made. Then she'll be fit for space."
"Ah, adjustments," said Aelfred with interest, "by which you mean…" He waited and looked at the gnome.
"Oh, the usual things, of course," said the gnome. "Check a few fittings, tighten a few bolts, install the lavatories, order the weapons, unpack the helm and install that, then run the usual experiments to find out if it can float. It should float, or at least it does on paper. By that, I mean that the ship doesn't float on paper, but rather it floats on water, as the expression-"
"Do you mean the ship has no weapons or helm right now?" Teldin asked, barely beating Aelfred to the question. Dyffed cleared his throat and managed to look everywhere but directly at Teldin. "Well, deck weapons were accidentally left off the design prints at first-careless of me-but we did manage to find places to put one, a ballista, right there on the front-the bow, as I believe it's called. Perhaps someday we'll have our, um, ah, birthday party mounted there instead."
"Birthday party?" Sylvie asked, an eyebrow raised. "Are you serious?"
Dyffed quickly eyed Teldin, then grinned and waved his arms elaborately. "Yes, oh, yes, we're going to have a birthday party-right, Teldin? — to celebrate her first birthday. I mean, to celebrate the admiral's birthday. We should have the helm installed within the hour, give or take a bit, if we can get the paperwork filled out. All we can do in the meanwhile is sit back with our fingers in our ears and hope everything works properly. Ah, which reminds me, I need to bring out a piece of old equipment and run some tests on it before we leave for One Six Nine. It's a locating device, something One Six Nine called a 'thingfinder,' which he made for us. We, of course, have improved upon it-just a tiny bit, mind you-and if it hasn't decayed or been sat upon, it should lead us right to old Thirteen Squared's address without fail. Remarkable device-operates completely on thought power. Not as efficient as hydrodynamics, I know, but-ah, I see someone signaling me, so I shall have to leave you here to marvel at the marvel, as it were. Don't touch the riveting or the tail." Dyffed was off at once, striding purposefully toward a group of other gnomes standing near a maze of scaffolding at the ship's stern.
Teldin watched Dyffed go, shaking his head slightly as he did. He turned away and kept his arms crossed in front of him as he looked the outside of the ship over, occasionally chewing on a thumbnail.
"Do you know," said Aelfred, who had adopted a similar posture, "that in the last three and a half years, I have never once taken a long voyage on a spelljammer other than the Probe? And not once, never, did I ever ride on a gnomish ship." He nodded thoughtfully.
"I don't like this," Sylvie said, her hands jammed into her pockets. "Our chances of getting killed look awfully good."
The three stood in silence after that, looking at the ship and listening to the gnomes argue and hammer things in the distance.
Teldin sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm not crazy about this, either, but I sailed on a gnomish ship once, when I left Krynn, and I'm still alive. Of course, I wasn't on it very long. Let's find out when this thing takes off. We may as well enjoy ourselves before we have to go."
"What's this 'birthday party' he was talking about?" asked Sylvie, looking at Teldin. "He thought you knew about it."
"It's some sort of secret weapon that they're taking with us on the ship," Teldin said. "Dyffed won't say anything about it that I can understand."
"Secret weapon," said Aelfred noncommittally. All three stared at the black ship a little while longer.
Aelfred finally uncrossed his arms and sighed heavily. "Teldin, did the gnomes recover any of those sagecoarse casks from the Probe?" he asked.
Teldin thought. "Just one. It's at the lake docks, Pier Twelve, with the rest of what they could salvage."
Aelfred nodded solemnly. He took a last look at the Perilous Halibut, then turned without a word and walked off at a casual pace toward the hangar doors and the docks beyond. Sylvie followed with only a slight hesitation.
Teldin watched them go, then looked back at the black ship and sighed.
There had been no sign of Gaye at the infirmary in the morning. Inquiries to the gnomes who were carrying the personal belongings of Teldin and his companions to the Perilous Halibut brought a variety of long responses, all of which could be boiled down to a simple "I don't know." Gomja said he would take a walk around the base and find out what she was up to, then he disappeared, too.
Teldin wandered aimlessly around the base for several hours, inspecting the variety of bizarre gnomish ships. He was mildly fascinated by the heavily armed, shiplike deathglories and the tiny clockwork spellfighters, watching as they took off on their deep-space patrols. In time, he found himself standing inside a hangar, feeling his cloak flap against his legs. The cloak had become a dark rich emerald hue, almost black, just within the last hour.
Did that color mean anything? he wondered. Why does this cloak do anything at all? What's the point of it? The frustration was neverending.
He looked around, frowned, and spotted Dyffed speaking with two other gnomes across the hangar, perhaps two hundred feet away. They were bunched together and appeared wry secretive, but their arms were waving and gesturing wildly in some intense discussion.
Teldin was suddenly seized with a perverse urge to know what they were talking about. He couldn't walk over to them and ask. That is, he couldn't-unless he were a gnome. He pushed the thought away, but it came back unbidden. What would he learn if he were suddenly a gnome? What would they tell him?
He'd never tried to use his cloak's powers to change his shape into a gnome. He'd had good success with human-sized male and female forms, but this was different. His old inhibitions against assuming other forms had eroded steadily in recent weeks under the twin pressures of curiosity and frustration. Things had been out of his control for too long.
Teldin looked around and spotted some gnomish work clothing hanging from a peg. On impulse, he casually walked over to pick it up. The gnomes paid no attention to him. Teldin walked on until he
had stepped behind a large stack of wooden crates shrouded in darkness. After a brief, final moral struggle, he carefully looked around, then removed his own clothing. He felt intensely foolish, worrying that someone would see him at any moment. Why am I doing this? he asked himself, struggling out of his pants. Because I want to know what's going on, he answered himself. I want to know what this secret big-named device is that Dyffed's so fired up about. I'm tired of being left in the dark.
When he was undressed, he hesitated and strained to hear any sounds of someone approaching. Satisfied, he closed his eyes and stood perfectly still.
Miggins. He remembered the friendly little gnome who once had traveled with him on the Probe and was now left far behind on Toril; then he pictured his own features and body slowly melting down to Miggins's size. He felt a tingle of power surge through his shoulders as the cloak released its energies, and he avoided opening his eyes to look around. The floor grew larger, making his feet scuff the floor as they pulled apart. In his mind, his face took on Miggins's features, down to the gnome's excited grin.
When Teldin felt the power stop flowing, he opened his eyes again. The floor was much closer to his face now, and the hangar seemed bigger. He raised his arms, noted how short and brown they were, how stubby his fingers looked. His hand came up to his face and touched it, and he knew without doubt that those whiskers and that outrageously big nose were his. Teldin tugged on a chin hair and winced. It had worked. He was now a gnome. He was so astounded that he could hardly speak.
He reached for the gnome clothing, marveling at how different everything seemed from his new height and how far he had to reach to get anything. It was like being a child again. He noticed then that he was still wearing the cloak in its full-length version, and he quickly shrank it down to necklace size. Moments later, he had tugged on the work clothing-Gods, he wondered to himself, do these gnomes ever take baths? — and carefully hid his own clothing. With a deep breath, he walked with short, quick paces out from behind the crates and headed as nonchalantly as he could toward the three gnomes across the hangar.
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