by Jeff Crook
7
“We should have stopped in Palanthas,” Doctor Bothy said. He stood beside Commodore Brigg in the conning tower in the last light of the day.
Fore and aft, gnomes were busy stowing the sheets and dropping anchor. Indestructible lay in a calm harbor several hundred yards from shore. Although at first glance it seemed an excellent safe haven for ships, this was but a disguise concealing a lurking danger. Little more than a dozen yards from the bow of the ship, jagged reefs and rocky shoals lay just beneath the placid surface. All around them stood the naked masts of ships that had sailed heedlessly into this place and found their doom. Perhaps they had come here seeking shelter from storms, or concealment from pirates, or perhaps they came in search of fresh water and game. From where the commodore and Dr. Bothy stood, they could count four wrecks, while dark shadows in the depths spoke of numerous others.
This particular stretch of the coastline was one of Ansalon’s most desolate. On maps, it was called the Northern Wastes, a vast desert region lying within the domain of the blue dragon Khellendros, home to little more than rock vipers, lizards, and scorpions. Nearer the sea, the land was broken into hills, and here where the warm moist winds blew could be found a few green plants, creosote bushes, palms, and thorny willows clinging to the stubborn soil wherever a trickle of water appeared. Only wild goats, rabbits, and the leopards and desert eagles that stalked them managed to wring a meager existence from this place.
Into the harbor flowed a small river. Down from the surrounding hills it tumbled, white and frothing over the stones. Likely, it had been the sight of cool, fresh water that had drawn the ships into the bay, only to wreck themselves upon the shoals.
Doctor Bothy gazed out over the mirror-flat water at this stream and sighed with longing before continuing. “We are almost out of fresh water,” he said.
“I am aware of that,” the commodore answered. His attention was focused on the sky and the setting sun. He was waiting for darkness so he could take a star reading and enter their location in the ship’s log before retiring for the evening. It had been another hard day of sailing, tacking against the prevailing winds in an effort to reach Thoradin Bay and the port city of Kalaman.
This leg of the journey had taken longer than the commodore had expected, for the winds were blowing more strongly out of the north than was usual for this time of the year. They had made good time for the most part, sailing without incident around the tip of Northern Ergoth, then crossing Zeboim’s Deep to the peninsula known as Tanith. Much to everyone’s dismay, especially Dr. Bothy, they did not then turn south and visit the fabulous port of Palanthas, City of Seven Circles, gleaming jewel of the old Solamnic Empire. Dr. Bothy had long looked forward to sampling the city’s gastronomic offerings, while most everyone else on board simply wanted to get off the ship and visit the greatest city in all Ansalon, especially Razmous, who had passed through and been expelled from Palanthas more times than he could count. Conundrum had never been out of Mount Nevermind in his entire life, so this entire voyage was a wonder and a mystery to him. The world was far larger than he had ever imagined.
Instead, they had sailed due east, crossing the mouth of the Bay of Branchala in the early hours of the morning, while most of the crew crowded the deck, hoping for a glimpse of the city. But they passed the rocky headland an hour after sunrise without spotting even a twinkle of a lamp or glimmer of sunlight off a golden dome or marble tower. Palanthas slipped away, hidden behind the Vingaard Mountains marching up from the south.
Their course took them eastward until they reached the coast of the Northern Wastes. There, they had turned north, and their troubles and delays began. The wind was blowing hard out of the north, raising the seas in anger, and the ship climbed the swells and tacked back and forth across the face of the wind. Day after day they had fought their way along the coast, finding rest at night in bays and inlets and natural harbors, rather than dropping anchor in uncertain and wind-swept waters. Meanwhile, their supplies had dwindled.
“Of course, fresh water isn’t too great a concern,” Dr. Bothy commented. “After all, I still have plenty of my fresh water tablets.” He reached into a pocket of his tight blue jumpsuit and removed a small brown bottle, inside which rattled several dozen tiny pills. “When I made these, I was trying to invent a pill to remove fresh water from seawater, leaving behind only the salt. With such pills, I could have cornered the salt market. However, they worked in the opposite manner, removing the salt instead, and leaving the water fresh and drinkable. We need only draw a barrel of sea water and drop one of these pills into it, and hey!” He rattled the bottle for emphasis. “Presto! Fresh water.”
“Most ingenious,” the commodore said with a bored little yawn. He’d been reminded of the doctor’s invaluable fresh water pills at least a dozen times since leaving Sancrist. Bothy had an almost kenderish tendency to repeat his favorite stories, especially when he was the hero of said stories, but Commodore Brigg tolerated him because he was a doctor with remarkable deductive abilities and scientific acumen. Even if his Peerupitscope had proved too big to peer up much of anything.
“No, it isn’t fresh water that concerns me,” Doctor Bothy continued as he tucked away the bottle of pills. He leaned closer to the commodore and whispered. “It’s the crew. Morale is flagging.”
Commodore Brigg snorted in derision and angrily stroked his white whiskers. “Ever have leaders been plagued by the bellyaching of those they lead!” he growled. “They’ll cheer up once this north wind shifts.”
The doctor shook his head. “If we had stopped in Palanthas, this wouldn’t have happened, no matter how the wind blows. They’ve been sailing for weeks without a break in the monotony of their sailorly duties. Only this morning, I had to treat the cook for severe burns after he tried out a new stove that he has been designing-a strange device, but it has great possibilities once he discovers a way to contain the explosion. He calls it a flashcooker. But when he lit it, it blew the door off and flashcooked the cook rather than the flatbread he was trying to bake.”
“So that’s what that noise was,” the commodore said. He had not paid much attention to the explosion, because explosions aboard gnomish vessels are fairly common and are generally ignored unless followed by something else, like a massive inrush of water.
“Yes. You see, Commodore, I fear…” He leaned closer still, so that his full, bearded lips tickled the commodore’s ear. “I fear even the kender is becoming bored!”
Suddenly, the hatch at their feet flew open, and Professor Hap-Troggensbottle climbed out. He kicked the hatch shut with a clang and turned on the commodore. “Sir, you really must do something about Razmous!” he hissed so that the gnomes working above deck to prepare the ship for night watches wouldn’t hear.
“See what I mean?” Doctor Bothy nodded, thumbing his bulbous nose.
Commodore Brigg frowned at the doctor, then turned to the professor and asked, “What has he done this time?”
With a deep sigh, Professor Hap groaned, “I found him in my cabin again, going through my things. He claimed to be trying to return my combination slide-rule-and-nose-hair-clippers, but he very nearly ruined a delicate experiment.”
“I will say something sharp to him,” the commodore said as he turned back to his skygazing.
“If you can get a word in edgewise,” the doctor mumbled.
“You can talk until your beard grows to your belt, words will not dissuade a bored kender,” the professor warned. “Of all the punishments devised by man, elf, dwarf, or ogre,” he added, “few rival the sentence of being shut up in an enclosed space-for example, a deepswimmer submersible-with a bored kender.”
“What do you suggest I do, my dear gentlegnomes?” Commodore Brigg turned and said. “There isn’t another port until we come to Kalaman.”
“Send a party ashore to explore and collect fresh water from yonder stream,” Doctor Bothy suggested. “Give the others a day of relaxation. This is a fine place, the wate
r is warm and still. They can swim, wash their linens and uniforms in the stream, and there are some wrecks. Perhaps they can explore those.”
“I begrudge even a day’s delay, for we are already behind schedule,” Commodore Brigg answered. “Besides, this is the worst possible place for swimming and exploring. Probably you haven’t noticed, but these waters are filled with sharks. We can’t approach yonder shore in this ship because of the reefs, and we don’t have a dinghy or other vessel to go ashore in.” Placing his arms round their shoulders, the commodore drew his two companions closer. “I have already taken all these matters into consideration,” he whispered. “Trust my sage experience.”
“My apologies,” the professor said, bowing.
“S-sir…” Doctor Bothy stammered.
“Ahem, I appreciate your concern, but leave the sailing to the members of the Maritime Sciences Guild. The crew will have to grit their teeth and struggle onward. This is no place for a shore leave,” the commodore finished.
“Indeed, I bow to your wisdom,” Professor Hap offered in a docile tone, before raising one eyebrow and adding provocatively, “but after working all night, I have invented an option that is bound to intrigue even you, my captain.”
“Commodore,” Brigg corrected with a grunt, looking intrigued.
“I have been dying to try these underwater uniforms out,” Professor Hap-Troggensbottle whispered to Doctor Bothy as they stood in the conning tower the next morning. The sun mounted the sky beyond the eastern hills from which the white stream flowed and tumbled. “I perfected them only last night, but I have been working on them, in secrecy, for several days.”
The doctor nodded and leaned over the rail to observe the activities on the aft deck. The commodore had called an assembly of all hands, and now the deck was crowded with every member of the crew, not counting the doctor and the professor, who observed from above. Fifteen gnomes-most wearing the red jumpsuits of the Maritime Sciences Guild-and one green-vested kender jostled elbows and tried to arrange themselves into a line under the directions of Commodore Brigg, who strode the deck dressed in a tight-fitting suit of grim black with gold braids at the sleeves. He pointed and directed with a white cane carved from a whale’s tooth, and his tall crested black hat with its red plume nodded as though in emphasis of each shouted command.
The twentieth member of the crew stood apart from the others, but not by choice. The original color of his uniform was indiscernible under the coating of black grease that seemed to cover every inch of his diminutive body, even his shaggy unkept beard and long pointed nose. He was shorter than any of the other gnomes-even shorter than Conundrum, who stood closest to him and held his nose. The whites of his eyes blinked out of the greasy black of his face as he stared about him in awe or squinted at the rising sun. He was surrounded on all sides by at least five feet of empty deck, for he smelled abominably. Not even the wholesome odor of axle grease and gear oil could quite cover up the stench of gully dwarf.
“Who is that one?” the professor asked of the gully dwarf. “I haven’t seen him before. Where has he been hiding?”
“Ensign Gob,” Doctor Bothy answered. “He keeps the ship’s gears properly oiled and greased. He is so small he fits nicely into the deepest workings of the ship. His bunk is in the bilge, and he’s not allowed into the inhabited parts of the ship, usually. That’s why you haven’t seen him.”
Finally, the crew was lined up to the commodore’s satisfaction. He thumped his cane on the deck to get everyone’s attention, then strode over and hopped atop a large, leather chest that had been brought on deck. Beside it lay a wooden case not unlike the kind used to store weapons for long sea voyages, and beside this an ordinary water barrel filled with ballast stones. All eyes turned to the commodore.
“I have called all of you on deck because I have decided to allow Professor Hap-Troggensbottle to conduct an experiment,” Commodore Brigg announced. At these words, an excited whisper rolled down the line of crew members.
“As you can see, getting ashore is no easy matter. We have no side boat, nor can we risk taking the ship through those reefs. We might swim, but it is a long way to shore, and these waters are infested with sharks.” Suddenly, all those eager smiles became thin with concern, and no one, except Razmous, would meet the commodore’s gaze.
“Professor Hap-Troggensbottle has come up with a solution that should prove… interesting. Professor, if you wouldn’t mind explaining?” the commodore prompted.
The professor nodded and climbed down from the conning tower. He approached the leather chest and threw back its lid. Despite their reservations, what with the talk of reefs and sharks and all, the gnomes leaned a little forward to better see what surprises were inside. Razmous, breaking with all naval discipline, stepped completely out of line and stood on his toes.
The professor removed from the opened chest several items and laid them out carefully on the deck. “Gather round,” he said. “Everyone take a look.”
First there was a large round glass fish bowl, but it didn’t look like it would hold water as it had a long tube projecting from the bottom. Next came a tiny jumpsuit of some glossy black material. It looked far too small even for a gnome. After this, the professor removed a sort of backpack that contained a large, silvery fish’s bladder. Last of all, grunting with exertion, he pulled out a pair of very large shoes, which thumped noisily as he dropped them to the deck.
During all this, he was assaulted by a barrage of questions. The shoes, the fish bowl, and tiny black jumpsuit excited everyone, but the hose sticking out of the top of the fish bowl drew the most attention, its purpose obscure to even the most imaginative theorists. Meanwhile, Razmous discovered that the chest contained several more identical objects.
As the hubbub died down and everyone returned his attention to the professor, he gathered up his unusual items. “I will explain the function of each in turn,” he said. “If I might have a volunteer.”
Razmous eagerly stepped forward, but the professor instead turned to Conundrum. “You are the smallest-er, the youngest,” he said. “Might I trouble you?”
“Please,” Conundrum acquiesced.
“First the suit,” the professor said, handing Conundrum the tiny black jumpsuit.
Conundrum dubiously eyed the outfit as he took it from the professor. It appeared barely large enough for a small gnomish child. However, the material proved most unusual, springy and elastic to the touch, like the belly of a frog. Conundrum stripped out of his leather apron and white under-robe, then with the professor’s assistance and guidance he stepped into the black suit, pulling it up from the legs, then over his back and shoulders, and working his arms into the sleeves. Amazingly, it fit, the material stretching to almost double its previous size to accommodate his gnomish physique, until only his hands and his bearded head were left uncovered. He looked like he had been dipped in dark chocolate and set out to harden into candy.
“This material will keep the body quite warm,” the professor explained. “Though snug, it allows for full range of movement.” Snug it was indeed, embarrassingly so. Conundrum was only glad there weren’t any female gnomes aboard. Even so, Razmous could not stop giggling at his bulgy protuberances. Conundrum’s face turned quite red, almost as red as his beard.
Next, Conundrum donned the backpack, which the professor called a bladderpack, and the professor set the fish bowl over his head. The hose stood straight up out of the top of the glass, falling down over his shoulder. Professor Hap took the hose and connected it to the fish bladder in the bladderpack. The bottom of the fish bowl was then sealed to the black jumpsuit with a ring of similar black material. A buckle allowed it to be tightened until no air could escape around his neck.
With each breath, the fish bladder on Conundrum’s back inflated and deflated. Now, the other gnomes could see that as the bladder expanded, pleats along either side opened up, revealing a mesh of crimson material.
“How is that?” the professor asked. To Conu
ndrum, his voice sounded strange and distant, as if he were speaking out of a cave.
“A little stuffy,” Conundrum repeated. His own voice sounded as if he were speaking with his head inside a large bell, which was not very far from the truth. To those outside, his voice was muffled but hollow, as if he had fallen down a well.
“The bladder and the sealed fish bowl allow the wearer to breath underwater, by way of the pleats, which act like the gills of a fish, drawing in water and transforming it into breathable air,” the professor said. “Of course, it has never been tested when fully immersed, but the theory is sound, so it should work.”
The gnomes began to nod and talk. They now saw the full extent of the possibilities of this apparatus. Not only could it be used for undersea exploration, it could also prove advantageous anywhere there was an undesirable overabundance of water, such as inside a clogged sewer, flooded mineshaft, drowned wine cellar, or, for that matter, a sinking ship.
Last of all, the professor had Conundrum step into the large shoes. He called them duckfeet, and they did indeed look rather like the natural paddles of a large waterfowl. When Conundrum tried to move, he found his feet firmly planted to the deck. Only by tremendous effort was he able to lift even one foot.
“The duckfeet are lined with lead, to help you sink to the bottom,” the professor explained. “That way you can walk wherever you need to go, without the bothersome need to swim.”
Everyone clambered for an opportunity to try out the professor’s invention. Although it had no moving parts-those would likely come later, as improvements were designed-the underwater uniform seemed a wonderful innovation. Everyone thought so, that is, except Chief Engineer Portlost, who found the entire thing rather fanciful. Actually, he was thoroughly jealous for never having come up with the idea himself.
All told, there were only six suits to go around. Commodore Brigg solved the problem by assigning the first party to go ashore. Because he was already suited, Conundrum would go, along with Sir Grumdish, in case they met any creatures of hostile intent. Unfortunately, Grumdish would have to go armorless; his knightly Uniform wouldn’t fit inside the “frogsuit”-the professor’s name for the ingenious elastic-skinned underwater garb.
