by Jeff Crook
Razmous looked down the hole and heaved a pained sigh before pulling himself up into the tree. He sat balanced on the tree limb for a moment, contemplating his next move. The sea breeze felt cool as it stirred the fine downy hair covering his much-paler legs.
“It’s a good thing this is the balmy north,” he groaned as he scrambled to his feet on the branch and teetered there like a high-wire artist that he had seen in Palanthas once, “and there are no ladies about.”
Conundrum faced the creature thrashing through the woods toward them, the ball of convenient tools clutched protectively before him. He hoped it would make him look more dangerous somehow.
“It’s only me!” said a high, thin voice from the deep shadows beneath the trees.
“Razmous?” Conundrum asked.
“I see him!” Doctor Bothy said from his vantage point dangling high up in the tree. “I see his topknot!”
“Razmous, come help me!” Conundrum shouted. “There isn’t a knife in Commodore Brigg’s wonderful all-purpose knife.”
“First I have to put some pants on,” Razmous answered.
“What’s happened to your pants?” Conundrum asked.
“More importantly, what happened to the troll?” Sir Grumdish demanded.
“Both fell in the trap,” Razmous said as he stepped into the clearing, a large sheet of rotting bark held modestly before him. With every step, it rotted and crumbled just a little more.
Conundrum explained the trap to his companions while Razmous crossed the clearing and retrieved his pouches. From them, he pulled a freshly-washed pair of homespun trousers and a new set of bright yellow leggings. Behind the screen of the vines, he slipped them on, then settled his pouches over his shoulders and around his waist. When he returned to the clearing, he felt like a new kender.
“That’s better,” he announced.
“Do you always carry an extra set of clothes in your pouches?” Sir Grumdish said from the treetops. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a knife or a dagger or anything actually useful for our current situation?”
Presently, Razmous produced one of Doctor Bothy’s scalpels-one that had been missing for some weeks.
“It’s a good thing for you that I found it!” the kender chirped as he sawed at the doctor’s ropes.
But even with the ladder and the scalpel, there was little to prevent them from falling on their heads and breaking their necks once cut free. So cleverly had they been trussed that the cutting of a single strand would unravel the whole bunch and send them both plummeting headfirst to the ground. Conundrum managed to scrape together a smallish pile of dead leaves to cushion their fall somewhat, while Razmous advised them to try to fall as softly as possible.
“How, pray tell, shall I do that?” Sir Grumdish snarled as he watched the sharp blade slice into the final bit of rope from which he dangled.
“I don’t know,” Razmous answered crossly. “Pretend you are a feather!”
14
In two weeks” time, the Indestructible looked quite a different ship than the one that had sailed from Sancrist. For a solid fortnight after the adventure of the haggis burial party, Commodore Brigg had worked the crew relentlessly, re-outfitting the ship with various improvements and changes necessary for the last unsubmerged leg of the journey. For one thing, the mast and sails were gone, replaced by Doctor Bothy’s Peerupitscope. Commodore Brigg declared that they would either be a sailing vessel, or a spring-powered vessel, but they couldn’t be both any longer. Besides, they were now within a few days of beginning the underwater portion of their journey, at which time they wouldn’t need the mast and sails any longer. The mast was removed and sold to a Palanthian timber merchant, and the sails were cut up and made into new hammocks for the crew. The forward sail compartment was converted into an oil storage space and private cabin for Chief Oilage Officer Conundrum. He had his own small hammock stretched over several dozen large amphora jars filled with various local oils, and a locker for his extra pair of clean new woolen socks. The oils were for oiling the gears and springs-something that would require all his attention now that they were using only the spring engines to power the ship.
Aft of the Peerupitscope, they installed the Snorkel. A network of pipes and tubes running all through the rafters of the Indestructible were connected to this Snorkel, which was in turn connected to a large bellows. The bellows were meant to pump the smoke out of the ship once the torches were lit and the ship submerged. This was a sound principle, though it hadn’t been tested yet.
However, the haggis burial party’s discovery of the glowwormglobes had made the Snorkel prematurely obsolete. In the two weeks it took to re-outfit the Indestructible with the Peerupitscope, Snork, Conundrum, and Razmous spent their days building a small, compact glowworm farm in the dark hold of the bilge. Fed on a rich supply of moss, the worms multiplied quickly enough to fill several dozen small glass globes in just two weeks. These were placed strategically throughout the ship-the bridge, the engine room, the kitchen, and the head-with an ensign assigned to conduct regular feedings at least twice each day. Razmous helped Conundrum collect enough moss to make sure they could feed their ever-growing population of tiny light sources.
They were sailing south by southeast, steering for the island of Saifhum. They had no intention of stopping there, but Saifhum guarded the entrance into the Blood Sea of Istar. By the time they sighted its shores after ten days of steady going, Conundrum was nearly worn out. The ship’s spring engine provided plenty of power to push them along at a good clip, but it needed constant oiling. Finally, Commodore Brigg realized the enormity of his duties and reduced an exhausted Conundrum to the sole duty of first assistant cartographer, while his oilage assignments were passed on to Chief Portlost for distribution among the idlest members of the crew. Conundrum moved his meager possessions back to his cousin’s quarters and slept for three solid days.
When he awoke, Saifhum was far behind, and the dirty crimson expanse of the Blood Sea lay all around, below, and above them. Indestructible had submerged.
The disappearance of the Maelstrom that once swirled at the Blood Sea’s center didn’t change the fact that the area was a dangerous place. It was still home to innumerable hazards-especially minotaur pirates, for their islands defined the eastern edge of the Blood Sea. It was also the abode of countless dragon turtles, leviathans, kraken, and all manner of dangerous sea beasts, not to mention ghost ships, will-o-the-seas, and other evil spirits who made a habit of leading ships to their watery graves on shallow rocks and dangerous shoals.
Therefore, the Indestructible was running submerged in order to avoid the worst of these dangers. There was still nothing to keep some sleepy leviathan from mistaking the ship for a large fish and swallowing it whole.
Even submerged, they had two close calls with pirate ships, one Ergothian and the other the same minotaur galley-or one very much like it-they had avoided off the coasts of Nordmaar not so very long ago. The minotaur ship nearly surprised them in the dark off the southern coast of Saifhum, but their encounter with the Ergothian pirates was an accident as a result of heavy fog. Without Doctor Bothy’s Peerupitscope, they would have come to grief for certain.
In any case, Commodore Brigg asserted they could not continue to avoid these hazards much longer, as their luck was quickly running out. Therefore, he declared that should they reach Flotsam intact, they would re-outfit the ship once more, this time adding an extendable/retractable, iron-shafted ram. He and Chief Portlost sequestered themselves in the commodore’s cabin for several nights drawing up the designs, which would require cutting the ship in half and opening it like a clam.
Eight days south of Saifhum, they passed over the ruins of ancient Istar, many hundreds of feet below the surface of the bloody sea. For a time, they discussed going down to at least have a look round and maybe draw up some maps so that they could better plan their course, but Commodore Brigg and Chief Portlost were anxious to get started on their ram and wouldn’t abide a
delay.
It was during these conversations that Conundrum asked, innocently enough and perhaps a bit naively, how exactly did they intend to have a look around and draw maps of the ruins, once they were down there? The Indestructible had no windows. This ended all further discussion about diving to the site, and the commodore and Chief Portlost spent several more sequestered evenings drawing up plans for installing portholes.
Soon they were but a day away from Flotsam, and Commodore Brigg had finished his designs. Chief Acquisitions Officer Razmous and Chief Engineer Portlost were below compiling a list of the supplies and materials they would need to effect the improvements. Doctor Bothy and Sir Grumdish were in the galley along with the rest of the crew eating the last of the ships” store of beans and salt meat. All that was left was hardtack and crackers, and everyone was glad to be nearing their destination, if for no other reason than they were dead tired of beans and salt pork. Professor Hap was in his quarters, heating very small rocks in the tiny oven he had designed according to the principles first enunciated by the cook’s flashcooker (which still wasn’t working properly; the cook was in sick bay at the moment, soaking in a barrel of pickle juice to ease his burns). Conundrum was on the bridge discussing the course of the sub-Ansalonian passage with his cousin Snork, while the commodore kept a close eye on things through the Peerupitscope.
It was the end of a long and wearisome day, and even the commodore was glad that they’d be arriving in Flotsam on the morrow. The city was quite old and had a dark reputation. Thieves, cutthroats, pirates, and ne’er-do-wells of every evil sort found their way there, for Flotsam was a bustling port, the largest human city on the eastern coast of Ansalon, and the pickings were better there than anywhere else for many hundreds of miles around.
Still, they weren’t likely to find any better place. Flotsam had decent dry dock facilities, plenty of supplies, and good food and entertainment of the seedier sort. If one knew where to look, and Razmous’s A Wandering Render’s Almanac and Pocket Guide To Krynn was a good place to find out, one could find places where the host didn’t water the beer.
As Commodore Brigg stood with his eye pasted to the Peerupitscope, he ran through all the things needing doing once they reached Flotsam. The first order of business was to arrange dry dock facilities. Next, he’d send Razmous in search of a glazier capable of producing porthole windows several inches thick, and also a good ramming beam, preferable something made of aged ash or even ironwood, to which they could then bolt a layer of iron. Not only would the ram serve them well in an attack, they could also use it to widen passages of the undersea caverns they’d be exploring.
Next, they’d need to restock the ship with provisions. Once they departed Flotsam on this final leg of the journey, their supplies would have to last until they reached the other side of the continent-if they made it.
Also, he reminded himself, they urgently needed to locate this Knight, this Tanar Lobcrow, although Commodore Brigg hoped that they’d not be able to find him. He didn’t want a human aboard his vessel, especially not a Knight of the Thorn, for they were sorcerers, and like most of his race, Commodore Brigg had a fascination with magic, but no real use for it. And he distrusted Thorn Knights. Like most humans, they didn’t take gnomes seriously, but Thorn Knights were especially bad because such sorcerers were generally distrustful of technology, and to be quite frank, jealous of it. Every gnome knew this by the time he learned to spell his name, a feat which usually takes years to master. (Commodore Brigg’s name, for example, told the story of his entire family, from the time of the Graygem to the present, and took three days to pronounce.)
The commodore harbored no illusions about the real reason why the Knights of Neraka wanted to place one of their own aboard his ship. Just as Professor Hap-Troggensbottle was fond of saying, scientists had ever been the pawns of the military. With a fleet of deepswimmer submersibles, the Knights of Neraka could rule the seas. They could strangle any Solamnic port on the face of Krynn, or extort heavy “protection” fees from honest merchants. Commodore Brigg didn’t trust this Tanar. He suspected him of being a warmonger and a spy, added to his trappings of sorcery.
Brigg hoped they’d not find the Thorn Knight, but, unfortunately, he knew exactly where to look for him. He had explicit directions from Sir Wolhelm, and indeed carried orders for Sir Tanar. He’d read these, of course, steaming the wax seal loose from the scroll and perusing its contents before they’d even left Sancrist. It was filled with the usual inane dribble, ordering Sir Tanar to observe and report any findings. As if they needed an official observer during this voyage! Everything would be duly recorded in triplicate and notarized by a notorious republican from the Useless Functionaries Guild. The Knights could glean from it all that they needed. Certainly, gnomes were better suited to the rigorous recording of minutiae than some infernal gray-robed human.
Sir Tanar Lobcrow took his meals in his room these days, as a general rule. The maids of the Sailor’s Rest took turns changing his bedding-ever an unnerving undertaking, for the Thorn Knight often sat in a darkened corner of the room and watched them with glowering eyes. Rumors connected him to a mysterious suicide, and other rumors circulated that he was performing monstrous experiments and conversing with creatures that he summoned with his magic. The voices sometimes heard from behind his door seemed to prove this last point especially. He rarely bathed, shaved, or cut his hair, and his room, which he never seemed to leave any more, smelled abominably. Not even a small fire in the inn’s kitchen provoked him to exit his chambers, even though the rest of the inn was evacuated.
And so it was that Sir Tanar failed to hear of the strange craft that appeared almost at the city’s doorstep, rising up leviathan-like from the murky waters of the harbor at dusk the day before. Nor did the cries of the crowd that quickly gathered to view the curious ship and its even more curious crew reach his ears. While the citizens of Flotsam gathered to marvel at the new arrival, empty bottles of dwarf spirits continued to pile up outside Sir Tanar’s door. As he had done most days, and as was his habit when not occupied with a job for the Knighthood, he drank all night long and into the late hours of the next morning, watching the sunrise but blind to its beauty. After wetting his parched lips with the last drop of dwarf spirits from his last bottle, he crawled under the bed to sleep.
It was in this state that Razmous and Conundrum found Sir Tanar, after pounding on the door failed to rouse him from his exhausted stupor. Conundrum had wanted to go for the innkeeper, but Razmous thought it better not to bother him, as it was such a simple lock on the door. It took him only seconds to open, and they entered cautiously, whispering the Thorn Knight’s name.
At first they thought he’d stepped out for a moment, gone to enjoy the beautiful day despite the tale told by the innkeeper about Sir Tanar’s drunken cloistering. They found the bed, rumpled and reeking of sweat, pushed into the far corner away from the window like some sort of barricade. A single wooden chair sat beside it. On the seat of the chair was a crust of stale bread on a gray pewter plate, and beside it an empty battered pewter flagon.
Razmous peeled back the sheets and recoiled at the sight of the vermin scurrying away from the morning light. Meanwhile, Conundrum lifted the edge of a blanket that had fallen off the end of the bed, and he discovered a foot in a worn gray slipper. The foot, which twitched in its sleep, was attached to the Thorn Knight. He lay on the floor under the bed on his side, curled into a ball, with a wooden box clutched to his chest. His thin lips were pulled back from his teeth in a hideous grin, his breath wheezed through his teeth as he slept, and his eyes rolled wildly beneath closed lids.
“Why is he sleeping under the bed, I wonder?” Conundrum pondered aloud.
“It’s probably cleaner than the bed. Ugh!” Razmous shivered.
“Shall I wake him?” Conundrum asked.
“Let’s have a look around first, and make sure nothing’s been stolen while he slept. If it has, he’ll be bound to accuse us. Wizards alwa
ys do,” the kender said sagely.
Razmous made a further search of the bed, but there were no treasures hidden beneath the pillows or the mattress. Conundrum sloshed the chamber pot with the toe of his shoe, one hand clapped firmly over his nose, while the kender hung half out the window and examined the exterior of the inn and the alley below. Next they overturned the table and the other chair to make sure nothing had been secreted on the underside. Finally, the desk beside the wall failed to yield anything of interest.
“How do you like that?” Razmous huffed. “This is some wizard. Not a ring or magic wand in sight. Just that box he’s clutching like death. I wonder what’s in it."
“Soap, I hope!” Conundrum said, pinching his nose. “He smells worse than a gully dwarf. I wonder what’s wrong with him.”
“Nothing some of Doctor Bothy’s tonic won’t cure,” Razmous chuckled as he clambered under the bed. “I’ve seen cases like this before. Dwarf spirits will do this to a man. That box is probably full of bottles of liquor. The first thing to do it take it away from him and chuck it out the window.”
“Do you think so?” Conundrum asked uncertainly.
" 'Sgotta be done. Can’t cure him until the poison is removed,” Razmous said with a grunt. “But he’s holding… onto… it… awfully… tight.”
Suddenly, the entire mattress and springs leaped from the bed frame. At the same moment, the kender cried, “Ow!” and the box came sliding out from under the bed. It bumped to a stop against Conundrum’s shoe.
“Thieeeeeeeffff!” Sir Tanar howled as he crawled from beneath the bed. His long yellow fingernails clawed at the floor. “Thief! Stop, thief!”
“Hurry, Conundrum!” Razmous cried. “Throw it out the window!”
