Conundrum

by Jeff Crook

  The gnome picked up the box and turned toward the open window, swinging the box back, preparing to hurl it like a mechanical discus thrower at the Mount Nevermind Games. Sir Tartar scrambled to his knees and pointed one clawlike finger at the gnome. “Stop! I command you!”

  Conundrum felt as if his limbs had been turned to stone. He froze in place, his feet rooted to the floor, unable to even move an eyelid. Sir Tanar drew a dagger from his gray robes.

  “Oh, that’s impressive!” the kender said with a gasp. “Some kind of spell, I bet. I guess you’ve recovered from the dwarf spirits.”

  “Dwarf spirits?” the Thorn Knight snarled, spinning on his heel to face the startled kender. The man crouched like an animal, back hunched, fingers curled into claws around the hilt of his dagger, unkept black hair hanging in lank strands across his face. “Who said anything about dwarf spirits, you thief?”

  “Thief! Well, I never…” Razmous stammered, unable to continue as he choked in rage at this undeserved insult.

  Tanar turned once more to Conundrum, who had not moved. He stepped closer and pried the box from the gnome’s iron grasp. “This box contains rare and priceless magics,” he grunted, tearing the box free.

  “Oh, so that’s why Conundrum is frozen,” the kender said, forgetting for a moment his offended dignity. “Neat trick. Can you undo it?”

  A strangled cry escaped the gnome’s clenched lips. “Ro roar. Ro roar, rease!”

  “Who are you?” Sir Tanar growled, his eyes narrowing as he warily circled around the kender until he reached the desk. He set his box carefully on it, while never taking his eyes off the two.

  “Razmous Pinchpocket,” the kender said, proffering his small brown hand. The Thorn Knight ignored it. “I am chief acquisitions officer aboard the MNS Indestructible, sailing out of Pax on Sancrist Isle. This is First Assistant Cartographer Conundrum, of Mount Nevermind.”

  “Huh? What? The MNS Indestructible?" asked Sir Tanar, his speech slowing. “But you’re a… a… kender!”

  “Yes!” Razmous beamed.

  “So,” said Sir Tanar, licking his lips slightly, “you made it after all.” He turned and waved his hand absent-mindedly at the still-frozen gnome. Conundrum, suddenly free of the spell, finished his throw empty-handed, nearly pitching himself out the window. Razmous caught him and dragged the terrified gnome back into the room.

  “Naturally! Was there ever any doubt?” Razmous said.

  15

  For over two months the gnomes stayed in Flotsam completing their modifications to the Indestructible. The ship had to be cut in half and the automatic retractable ram built into its superstructure. The three-inch-thick glass for the portholes had to be specially made, and the glazier’s kiln was not large enough to accommodate the gnomes” needs, so a new one had to be designed. A large dwarven forge was converted, much to the dismay of the gnomes, who wanted to build the new kiln from scratch and incorporate into it their latest theories on the generation of high temperature by burning compressed garbage pellets.

  Most of their work was conducted under a shroud of the strictest security. Before ever a rivet was popped or a nail pulled, Commodore Brigg posted guards at checkpoints along the quay approaching their dry dock. He issued identification badges to the crew and to a few carefully-screened contractors, like the glazier and the man who delivered the beer. He armed the guards with crossbows from the ship’s weapons locker, for Flotsam was a seedy, disreputable town, and he feared the townspeople-pirates and thieves, every one-might steal even the barnacles from the ship’s hull.

  Having recovered from his bout of dwarf spirits, Sir Tanar prowled Flotsam’s scant libraries and poorly-stocked bookstores collecting information on Istar, the Cataclysm that sank it beneath the waves, and the chasm at the heart of the Blood Sea that supposedly led to the Abyss. He gathered from his discussions with Conundrum and Chief Navigator Snork that the entrance to the fabled sub-Ansalonian passage was within this chasm. He had to make plans of his own, and at night he visited graveyards to cast spells of divination. Unfortunately, these offered little useful information. Even with the power he drained from the device, his spells seemed most often to go awry.

  At long last, the day of departure finally arrived. It was a still autumn morning, with a bite of frost in the air. The Blood Bay lay like a mirror to the horizon. On the quays, the gnomes prepared to cast off. Commodore Brigg was anxious to get started. With Snork at his side, the commodore leaned against the rusty red rail of the conning tower and impatiently chewed his beard.

  The Indestructible rode low in the water, laden with enough food, fresh water, glowworm moss, clean socks, and lubricating oil to carry them through to the other side. The automatic adjustable self-extending ram lay just below the waterline, as did many of the ship’s smaller portholes. The largest porthole was installed in the forward face of the conning tower, which made it possible for those on the bridge to see where they were going while submerged. Another large porthole was placed in the bow of the ship just above the ram, which meant it was smack in the middle of the wall in Conundrum’s former quarters-what had been the sail room and was now the quarters of Sir Tanar Lobcrow.

  The ram itself was a marvel of gnomish engineering. It could be extended and retracted and even used as a hammer to drill through walls or widen narrow underwater passages. It operated under the same principle as the UAEP, with water pressure forcing it into its forward locked position in the Mink of an eye. To draw the ram back, one simply then drained the pressure tube and used a crank to return it to its retracted position.

  The nose of the ram was fashioned of steel in the shape of a giant squid. The gnomes affectionately dubbed it the Automatic Adjustable Self-Extending Ram, or the Two-A-SER, which became the To-aser, the Toaser, and eventually the Toaster. Its only drawback was that it often took a few moments to pop out once engaged, and then only when one had begun to think it was stuck for good, which was quite startling the first three-dozen or so times they tested it.

  Commodore Brigg and Navigator Snork saw three figures approaching along the docks. The shortest and the leading figure was Conundrum, dressed in a clean white robe and leather vest. Behind him bobbed Razmous, his pouches flapping about his thighs and chest as he hopped and skipped behind the gnome. Last of all strode a figure dressed in gray robes so long they dragged on the ground, hiding his feet. With the hood pulled up to hide his face and his hands folded into the sleeves, this last figure seemed to glide rather than walk.

  “That’ll be Sir Tanar,” Snork commented as the three approached the ship and stopped at the end of the gangplank.

  Commodore Brigg smoothed back the ruffled hair over his balding head, then grasped the lower hem of his dress uniform and gave it a sharp tug to smooth out the wrinkles. He had been looking forward to a glimpse of the Thorn Knight, who had steered clear of the submersible until now. All he had to go on was the somewhat fantastical reports relayed by the kender.

  “Very good, Mister Snork,” the commodore said gruffly. “Invite our guest aboard.” His voice lingered sarcastically over the word “guest,” hissing the “s" as though to further emphasize his dislike of the circumstances.

  The commodore passed his small, curious whistle to his first officer. Snork placed it to his lips and puffed out his cheeks. An eerie, three-note squeal erupted upon the air, setting every dog within a mile to howling balefully. It seemed an ill omen to the superstitious sailors who had gathered along the docks to watch the strange proceedings. They made signs to ward away evil.

  Conundrum strutted up the gangplank, followed by Razmous. As Sir Tanar stepped aboard, Commodore Brigg and Navigator Snork snapped to attention, their beards quivering with the effort. Commodore Brigg saluted grim-facedly. Sir Tanar looked up at the two standing on the conning deck. He scanned the aft deck of the ship, then glanced at the hatch leading into the conning tower. He looked up again, then grudgingly returned the gnome’s salute. The commodore’s hand snapped back to his side.<
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  Snork quickly descended the ladder to the aft deck, then snapped to attention once more. “Commodore Brigg welcomes you aboard the MNS Indestructible!" Snork said in a sharp military bark. “Your quarters are in the forward sail compartment, now the forward viewing station. If you’ll follow me…”

  16

  Sir Tanar quickly discovered the interior of the Indestructible was more cramped than he had imagined, and his room was as cold as the dark depths of the sea, which he knew to be dark because of the large glass porthole in the wall. It seemed to glare at him like an accusing eye. Seeing fish and other slimy creatures swimming past his window made him feel like he was already drowning, and perhaps for the first time in his life, he experienced acute claustrophobia. He determined to spend every moment he could above deck, and before the ship ever cast off its lines, he was already dreading the days, weeks, months they’d spend submerged unless he could take over the ship, find the Abyss, and return to give his report. This hope was the only thing that kept him from diving through the porthole and taking his chances with the sharks.

  So it was that, as the Indestructible made its way out of the Flotsam harbor and across the Blood Bay, Sir Tanar Lobcrow stood beside Commodore Brigg in the conning tower, crowding Snork from his usual place. The commodore was much perturbed by the nearness of the Thorn Knight, but he said nothing for the moment. Once at sea, he determined to put this “passenger” in his place.

  Meanwhile, the Indestructible churned a steady course east by northeast. The rugged, black mountains of Malys’s Desolation rose to their right, crawling like a line of angry clouds along the horizon. The ship plowed through the dark, rust-colored waters, while the commodore ordered the ship through its paces, raising and lowering the Peerupitscope, extending and retracting the Toaster, and checking the portholes and seams for leaks.

  Sir Grumdish stood on the aft deck and eyed the Thorn Knight suspiciously as Professor Hap and Doctor Bothy directed the filling of numerous glass and pottery bottles with air. Once again making use of the technology of the UAEP, the professor had come up with an ingenious plan to carry along spare air, just in case they ran out. A large bronze bilge pump that he had converted for this purpose was used to compress the air into the bottles, which were then sealed by two gnomes armed with sledgehammers and a supply of corks. The corks were then bound into place with bottleneck cages of strong steel wire, and the bottles loaded into padded racks (they tended to explode even when gently tapped) in the fore and aft storage compartments. Professor Hap had dubbed the pump an airstuffer, for obvious reasons.

  Conundrum and Razmous were in Snork’s cabin making the final adjustments to the ship’s planned course beneath the continent of Ansalon. Chief Portlost was busy ordering fresh oil splashed on every spring, pulley, wheel, gear and lever in the ship. The cook was testing the latest improvements to his flashcooker on the commodore’s dinner of mutton and spiced potatoes. Snork ordered the pilot to maintain his course, then, taking his navigator’s bag with its sextant and glass of farseeing, made his way to the aft deck to take a sighting for the ship’s log.

  Snork settled himself cross-legged on the deck and laid the logbook on his lap. With his sextant, he took a reading on the westering sun. A wind rising out of the east blew a fine spray over the bow of the ship and dampened his beard as he made his notes in the log. The commodore ordered the pilot to steer the Indestructible more into the wind. Snork adjusted his position and scanned the southern horizon with his glass of farseeing until he found the headland he was seeking. He took another reading off the sun and marked their position on the sea chart. Then he examined the headland again.

  The distant hills looked tiny even in his glass, but he could tell they were desolate. The mountains beyond looked rugged and inhospitable, as broken and haphazard as newly-turned earth, and the air seemed thick with haze or smoke so that the farthest peaks were like the ghosts of mountains, and the sky above them as gray and weak as old dishwater.

  From one of the distant, spectral peaks he saw a speck rise. It looked like a bird, but he knew that from this distance his glass of farseeing couldn’t pick up any bird known to gnome or man. There was only one native of the skies of Krynn large enough to be seen from this far away: A dragon.

  Snork leaped up, the logbook falling in a disordered heap at his feet and his sextant clanging noisily to the deck. The crew members, still busy filling bottles with air, stared at him in astonishment. He smiled wanly, not wanting to needlessly alarm the crew, and gathered up his things before hurrying forward and climbing up to the conning tower.

  When he reached the top, he shoved his way between Commodore Brigg and the Thorn Knight. Sir Tanar swore and tugged the hem of his robes from beneath the navigator’s feet, but Snork ignored him and pressed his glass of farseeing into the commodore’s hand.

  “Due south, sir,” he said in a low voice so that the crew would not overhear.

  Commodore Brigg took one look at the dour grimace on his navigator’s face and snapped the glass to his eye. He slowly scanned the mountainous horizon as waves broke across the bow of the ship. “I don’t see anything,” he muttered into the wind.

  “Above the mountains, sir,” Snork urged.

  At these words, Sir Tanar’s head snapped round. The mountains were too far away to see anything other than a broken black wall stretching across the southern horizon, but the commodore’s breath hissing through his teeth told him all he needed to know. His face turned gray beneath his hood.

  “It’s a red dragon,” the commodore said under his breath.

  “I couldn’t tell the color before,” Snork said. “It must be headed this way.”

  “What are its intentions?” the commodore pondered aloud as he lowered the glass. His brown forehead furrowed into a thousand worried wrinkles.

  “You never can tell with red dragons, sir,” Snork said.

  The commodore nodded, then raised the glass to his eye once more. “It’s a big dragon, bigger even than Pyrothraxus, and that’s saying a lot.” Pyrothraxus was the dragon who taken up residence in Mount Nevermind some thirty or so years earlier. “Yes, it’s definitely headed this way,” he finished after a moment. He handed the glass to Snork. “We’d better get below.”

  “The dragon is still too far away to see us,” Sir Tanar said. “I don’t think we should"-he gulped and finished with a whisper-”submerge.” The palms of his hands felt all cold and sweaty.

  Commodore Brigg spun on him, teeth clenching and veins popping out on his bulbous brown forehead. “What do you know of dragons? We’ve lived with a dragon in our very home for the last thirty years. It’s no accident that dragon is coming toward us. It means us no good, so I’m ordering this ship submerged.” He turned and shouted to the crew on the aft deck to gather up their bottles and get below, as they were diving immediately.

  “But my airstuffer!” Professor Hap-Troggensbottle exclaimed.

  “Leave it!” the commodore barked. “There’s no time. A dragon is headed this way.”

  Only Sir Grumdish perked up at these dire words, for to kill a dragon was his Life Quest. But a dragon was far beyond their power to battle, and the commodore knew it. While Doctor Bothy squeezed his enormous bulk through the hatch, Sir Grumdish and the professor quickly gathered up as many air bottles as they could carry and hurried below. They were followed by their assistants, but even so, numerous bottles remained above decks.

  “Here, you’re not getting a free ride!” Commodore Brigg shouted at the gray-robed wizard. “Go help them move those bottles below.”

  Sir Tanar remained rooted to the deck, his sweaty palms gripping the rusted rail of the conning tower. Someone tugged on the sleeve of his robe, and looking down, he saw Snork gazing up at him with worried eyes. “Come along,” the gnome said. “Help us get the bottles below. We may need them all!”

  Slowly, Tanar followed the navigator down from the conning tower. As he crossed the deck, Commodore Brigg stood up with a tremendous load of
air bottles stacked into his short arms. There still remained a loose pile of several dozen, more than he and Snork combined could carry, yet seawater was already washing over the aft deck as the Indestructible commenced to submerge. One wave lifted a bottle and carried it overboard. Sir Tanar watched it bob in the wake of the ship.

  “Good idea,” he said as he started picking up bottles. “I’ll help.” In a few moments, he arms were full, but still he stooped to grab a few more. He wanted all the air that he could carry inside that ship when it submerged. He was certain there wasn’t enough for all of them as it was.

  “You go on,” Snork said. “I can get the rest of these.”

  Tanar nodded and hurried away as Snork stacked the last dozen bottles in the crook of his arm. Snork glanced around and, satisfied that he had not missed any, waded to the hatch and climbed inside the ship. The door clanged shut behind him, and two crew members hurriedly sealed it.

  “Where’s Sir Tanar?” the commodore asked as Snork stood dripping on the deck of the bridge.

  “He went ahead of me with an armload,” Snork answered. Conundrum and Razmous took their own loads and disappeared with them below decks.

  “Shame he wasn’t washed overboard,” Commodore Brigg muttered as he raised the Peerupitscope. He pasted his eyes to it, then his whole body went rigid. “We got below just in time,” he hissed.

  A muffled roar echoed against the hull of the ship. The dim, murky water outside the forward bridge porthole suddenly burst into brilliant red light and began to boil. Commodore Brigg recoiled from the Peerupitscope, the skin around his eyes scorched by the heat.

  “It’s a good thing I designed it to Peer Up dragons, too,” Doctor Bothy commented. “The metal and lenses should even withstand that blast of dragonfire.”

  Glaring at the doctor, Commodore Brigg turned and shouted below, “Engage descending flowpellar!”