Conundrum

Chapter
10

After another fortnight’s sailing, the Indestructible made port in Kalaman, the halfway point of their journey. There, the crew purchased nine more large copper cauldrons to convert into Conundrum’s ascending-kettles, as he named his invention, for these held much promise as escape devices useful for vacating a permanently submerged submersible. Commodore Brigg granted everyone three days” shore leave, most of which was spent visiting relatives among the city’s resident population of gnomes and inspecting their rather quaint and antiquated collection of catapults. Really, they were rather behind the times, but that was to be expected with anyone living so far from Mount Nevermind. The kender spent the larger part of his time in the city jail, also visiting relatives.

When the ship was stocked and provisioned for the journey to Flotsam, they bailed Razmous out, and the Indestructible set sail with a diminished crew of eighteen. A makeshift plaque honored Ensign Wigpillow as a fallen hero, while Gob was officially listed as missing in action. No one knew his fate for certain; they had waited a full day and seen no sight of him, even though the chaos beast was dead with the Indestructible’s UAEP in its belly. Conundrum, now the smallest member of the crew, was promoted yet again, this time to chief officer in charge of oilage.

Now, in addition to his duties as first assistant cartographer, Conundrum had also to make sure the ship’s gears were properly oiled. This had been the meat of Gob’s job, and it was a nasty and uncomfortable job indeed, fit only for gully dwarves and their ilk.

Still, the maze of gears, pipes and conduits lurking behind the Indestructible’s walls, beneath her floors, or sprawled across her ceilings did whet his professional curiosity to a certain extent. Everything, simply everything had to be oiled and greased to the nth degree-this fact being drubbed into his head by Chief Portlost-from the largest spring engine to the tiniest screw valve. The ship’s schematics were nearly as complicated as Razmous’s map of the sub-Ansalonian passage. Luckily, he had a few weeks in which to master his new business. They still had to sail round Nordmaar, the last northern cape of the continent of Ansalon, before turning south and making for the Blood Sea. If all went well, they wouldn’t have to submerge until then, and they hoped not at all before they reached Flotsam.

Although the exterior of the ship was plated with heavy iron, the interior compartments were not unlike their below-deck counterparts on normal wooden sailing vessels. The officer’s cabins-located forward of the bridge on the main level-though not large, were comfortable and accommodating, paneled in rich browns and warm tans. Open fire was ever a danger aboard any ship, but the Indestructible was outfitted with several redundant fire-suppression systems, so for light they burned candles or small pottery lamps of whale oil. Here also was the mess and the kitchen, the fabrication shop for creating new devices and improvements-that work never stopped, and Doctor Bothy’s sick bay.

The rest of the crew occupied community quarters beneath the bridge on the engineering level. There they slung their hammocks wherever there was a free space, among the machinery and stores that powered the ship and its crew. They also shared their chambers with the Indestructible’s main drive springs, as well as her ascending and descending spring, and the two UAEP tubes that ran the length of the ship. In the forward compartments on this level were the chambers where sails were stored. Aft was the engine control room and mechanism that diverted energy from the springs to the pumps to pressurize the UAEP tubes.

Beneath this level was the bilge, where Ensign Gob had had his quarters before his untimely… whatever-it-was that happened to him. For the most part, Conundrum avoided the bilge, as there was little here requiring his attention other than the bilge-pump valves, which required oiling only every three days. Fore and aft of the bilge were the fore and aft ballast tanks. These were more important, their valves requiring oiling every day. When fully flooded, they began the ship on its descent beneath the waves.

The days waxed longer as they sailed farther and farther north-longer and considerably warmer, until most everyone was wearing little more than a loincloth wound about their hips. At night, when duties allowed, they worked on the aft deck by lamplight, stripped down to their skivvies to take advantage of every breeze. These were the most pleasant hours of the voyage as far as Conundrum was concerned, these days spent lazing through tropical waters, watching dolphins play by moonlight, and eating as many deep-fried, flying fish as they could catch with their butterfly nets.

A tiny tinkling noise wakened Sir Tanar Lobcrow from his reverie. He sat in the open window of his room at the Sailor’s Rest in Flotsam, thoughtfully sucking on a lime. The night was warm; silver-lined gray clouds raced across the setting moon. He wore only his undertrousers, letting the breeze play over his naked chest, and stretching his toes against the windowsill of his fourth-floor window. The sea gently lapped at the nearby shore, the slightly stale scent of Flotsam Bay competing with the rank odors rising from the alley below his window.

At the noise, he started, realizing he had been hearing it for some time without noticing it. He looked round his bedchamber, still a little groggy from the balmy night and his woolgathering journey. A figure moved impatiently beneath the sheets of his bed, rolling over in annoyance at the disturbance of the ringing bell. Sir Tanar smiled at the figure, not lovingly, his teeth gleaming in the darkened room. Then he moved to his desk and removed the small box from its drawer. He opened the box as its last bell-like tones faded.

“Good of you to answer my summons, Tanar,” the gruff feminine voice purred from the magical communication device.

The figure on the bed rolled over again, crying out in her sleep, “Wha…? Sweetest, did you say something?”

“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep,” the Thorn Knight muttered. The figure murmured something sleepily and rolled back to face the wall.

“A woman, Tanar?” the Voice of the Night softly inquired.

“It is not forbidden,” he said, turning his head to the side and blinking at the moonlight shining in through his window.

“No, but revealing the secret of our communications most certainly is,” the Voice said in a dangerously calm voice. The steadiness of her tone spoke of her underlying anger.

The Thorn Knight swallowed. A sudden lump of fear had risen in his throat. “She is sufficiently… subdued,” he said tersely.

“And how did you manage that?” the Voice roared.

Before he could answer, the woman sat up in the bed, clutching the sheets to her breast in terror. Her eyes rolled in her head as she stared round the room, confused, bewildered. “What? H-how…” she stammered. Her gaze fell on Tanar.

“Who are you?” she cried, crawling to the head of the bed and pulling the sheets close to hide her nakedness. “How did I get here?” Her eyes darted in panicked confusion around the room, noting the open window, the closed door, the half-naked man, the small box on the desk.

The Voice laughed mirthlessly from the magical device. Tanar stepped in front of the woman, trying to hide the box from her gaze, but she had already seen it.

“What is that? Who is that?” she gurgled in terror as the sound of the bodiless voice.

Suddenly, the laughter ceased, as though cut off with a knife. “Silence her, Tanar. Silence her now.”

Without hesitation, he leaped across the bed, grabbed the woman by the arm, and dragged her to the floor. She lashed out with her free hand, clawing the Thorn Knight across the face, while at the same time sinking her teeth into the root of his thumb.

Tanar snarled in pain and cuffed her with the back on his fist, stilling her protests for a moment. She fell limp at his feet, moaning.

“She mustn’t be allowed to tell what she has seen,” the Voice urged.

With a sigh, Tanar lifted her from the floor by her dark disheveled hair. She clutched weakly at the fingers knotted in her hair as he dragged her naked heels across the wooden floor. He set her in the windowsill with a thump. Still dazed by his blow and blinking stupidly, she tried to steady herself against the window frame. Tanar stooped, lifted her feet, and dumped her like a wheelbarrow out the window. She struck the filthy cobbles sixty feet below before she could think to open her mouth to scream.

Tanar turned back to the magical communication device. His sheets lay stretched from the bed to the window, a long white accusing finger pointing the way to his crime. He balled them up and tossed them on the bed before returning to his seat at the desk.

“It is done,” Tanar sighed, as he slid into the chair. “The woman will not speak.”

“Well done, Tanar,” the Voice purred. “I hope her death does not interfere with your duties.”

Tanar stiffened. “The proper authorities will be consulted. There is nothing to worry about. I know how to do my job.”

“I sometimes wonder. You were warned not to abuse the power of this artifact, yet here I find you using it to subdue your… evening’s entertainment.”

“A simple spell,” he answered. “I could have cast it without the magic of the device.”

“Remember that when you are at the bottom of the sea.”

Tanar started, genuinely surprised.

“You are ordered,” the Voice of the Night continued, “to accompany a ship of gnomes on their journey to find the sub-Ansalonian passage, and to report back everything that they find. Should they attempt to return to a Solamnic port, or find themselves in danger of capture by Solamnics or any other power, you will destroy the crew and scuttle the ship. Do you accept this assignment, even though it may mean your own death?”

“I’ll do it,” Tanar answered darkly.

“Of course, you know that Lord Targonne has ordered you on this journey, even though he has no confidence that these gnomes will succeed on their mission, and that he fully expects you may die with the gnomes in their ship. He would be rid of you, but without directly offending the Order of the Thorn. You, Sir Tanar, are a Thorn in his side. He fears you as he fears me.”

“Then why do you concur with his orders?” Tanar ventured to ask.

“Because I have confidence,” the Voice continued. “Confidence the gnomes will succeed in their curious task. Portents and auguries indicate a high probability of success. These gnomes are not yet aware that they are also working for me, to further my power, but you shall teach them this-and other lessons on my behalf. Besides, I do not wish to openly oppose Lord Targonne.”

“How shall I proceed, then?” Tanar asked petulantly. He despised politics and didn’t really care who he was working for or why, as long as he was paid according to agreement.

“You shall sail this submersible of theirs with them to the bottom of the Blood Sea and there discover the crack that leads to the Abyss. If you can find the way for me, Tanar, we shall enter the Abyss together.”

Tanar’s face darkened. “The Abyss?” he growled suspiciously. “What do you seek there? Takhisis is no longer there. She doesn’t answer our prayers. She fled with the other gods from Allfather Chaos.”

“It’s the Abyss, Tanar. Why do I need to explain every little detail to you? Think! If a magical artifact such as the communication device can grant a little power, how much more power is there in even one stone of the Abyss? The Abyss served once as the home of a goddess, Tanar. Its power must be infinite. And so shall be ours, if you succeed. Will you do it?”

“I said I would,” he answered shortly. “Don’t I always do what I say?”

“Eventually,” she answered. “In your own time. But you must not dally this time. You must be of the most serious mind. You must not fail. Barring any unforeseen accidents, the gnomes should be in Flotsam before winter arrives. Be ready for them.”

“I will,” he said, glancing around and rehearsing his story of the poor woman’s suicide, as the Voice of the Night faded.