Conundrum

Chapter
24

They followed the light to its source through one of the passages that they had not yet tried, a narrow crack barely wide enough to allow the Indestructible to pass. But Commodore Brigg’s firm hand on the controls guided them safely between two vicious angles of rock that could have torn the ship in two. Soon, it opened out into a much larger chamber that was filled with similar light. The water here was a clear green, lit from above by a flickering red glow. Everywhere they looked, bubbles rose up in unceasing streams to a glimmering silvery surface, proving that the cavern was not entirely flooded. Glad for a chance at some fresh air-the interior of the ship had begun to ripen with the smells of gear oil, gnome sweat, and flashcooked beans-the commodore quickly ordered the ballast tanks blown and the ship surfaced.

A cloud of bubbles swarmed up around the ship as his orders were carried out, and the Indestructible slowly rose to the top. With their last glimpse before breaking the surface, Conundrum noticed several underwater passages leading off from this cavern. Quickly, he turned to his maps to note the exits, only to find that most of the maps had unaccountably disappeared. He grabbed the kender and began rifling through his pouches.

“Hey! You were walking all over them!” Razmous protested. “I didn’t want them to get damaged.”

The large, half-flooded chamber was lit by lurid flames dancing along the surface of the water. Sometimes the flames were like foxfire, thin shimmering veils floating dreamily along the surface. Sometimes they were bright roaring jets of blue-white fire that could have melted through the hull of the ship in seconds. But the danger of their situation was nothing compared to their wonder and amazement. Heedless of the fires leaping around them, Commodore Brigg steered the Indestructible toward a broken stalagmite protruding above the surface of the water near the center of the lake. The large stalagmite was a flat plateau large enough to put on a respectable circus-an island. A number of smaller stalagmites rising from the water around it promised a safe place to moor the ship.

At the center of the island lay a mound or heap, like an old mud hut thatched with golden straw. It was difficult to tell at this distance whether it was a construction or an accident of the light. The cavern itself stretched away into hazy darkness in either direction, a natural cathedral the dimensions of which could only be guessed at. With the ship fully surfaced, the hatches were opened and most of the crew members poured out onto the aft deck to marvel at their discovery. Commodore Brigg steered the ship nearer the island, guiding it between two stalagmites jutting like teeth from the flaming water. Crew members cast ropes over these and moored the ship fast, tying it off to the portside fore and aft recessed cleats. The island itself lay within easy reach of the Indestructible’s gangplank. Razmous was all for going immediately ashore, but most of the crew was more interested in the flaming waters that lay all about them.

Professor Hap-Troggensbottle was the first to put forth a theory. “If many such caverns exist, then the hot air trapped within them might provide sufficient buoyancy to make the islands and continents float,” he said.

“Imagine the engine such a cavern could drive!” Chief Portlost said, beginning his own conjectures. “Hot air rising up through chambers drilled in the roof above could drive fans to wind enormous springs. Those could then be used to power the moving stairs I have always wanted to build to replace the gnomeflinger system currently employed in Mount Nevermind for travel between levels.”

“Moving stairs?” Razmous asked. “I thought you were Maritime Sciences/'

Smiling, the chief removed his jacket and turned it inside out, revealing a gray tweed with the emblem of the Intramountain Transportation Guild sewn over the right breast pocket.

“But what about the island?” Sir Tanar groused, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his gray robe. The air in the cavern was sweltering, but the gleaming mound at its center had attracted his attention. “Isn’t someone going ashore to explore?”

“I’ll go!” Razmous offered.

The commodore eyed Sir Tanar suspiciously. “Very well,” he said. “Sir Tanar, since it was your idea, you may go ashore with Razmous, Conundrum, and Sir Grumdish. Report back immediately if you find anything. There may be creatures here that it would be wiser not to trifle with.”

“Shall I get my armor, then?” Sir Grumdish asked hopefully.

“There’s no time,” the commodore answered. “I’ve no intention of remaining surfaced longer than it takes to fill our air bottles. This cavern is too large. There may be unfriendly eyes watching us even now. Go quickly and return.”

Crestfallen, Sir Grumdish waited with the others while the gangplank was run out. He led the way ashore, followed by the kender and the Thorn Knight, with Conundrum bringing up the rear.

As they neared the center of island where the mound or hut stood, the flames from the water provided only a pale illumination. The walking proved more difficult than they expected. What had from a distance appeared to be a broad, smooth surface turned out to be pitted and blackened as though some intense flame had blasted it. The cracked edges of the stone were sharp as barbed knives, continually snagging the hem of the wizard’s robe and tearing it to shreds. Once, Conundrum stumbled and fell, slicing the palms of his hands into ribbons. They almost turned back then, but Razmous had gone ahead a bit, and as Sir Grumdish helped Conundrum to his feet, the kender called out, “I believe it’s gold.”

“Gold?” Sir Tanar asked.

Using his hoopak staff, the kender vaulted over a particularly large crack, then knelt and peered ahead through the gloom at the glittering mound at the island’s gloomy center. “Yes,” he said almost matter-of-factly. “It’s a large pile of gold.”

“He’s insane,” Sir Grumdish muttered, using the universal gesture of a finger circling the ear to emphasize his meaning.

“And jewels, too!” the kender exclaimed shrilly, as though to prove the gnome’s point. “And some really big swords and stuff, and…” He had nearly disappeared from their sight, his travel-worn clothes blending into the hazy dun background. “Oh!”

“Oh?” Sir Tanar shouted. “Oh? Oh, what?”

“A dragon’s egg! Sir Grumdish, you were right. This really is a dragon’s lair!”

Bottles littered the aft deck of the Indestructible. Professor Hap-Troggensbottle had designed a new air compression device after his original one was lost overboard when they were forced to crash dive after leaving Flotsam. The new pump was, like the first one, a converted bilge pump, but to this he had devised several improvements, including a self-capping mechanism that exploded only one out of every three bottles. It required twice as many operators as the previous model just to monitor the safety features. It also could be used as a sausage grinder, had they any spare meat in need of grinding.

As the professor directed the filling of the bottles, several members of the crew busied themselves stowing the filled bottles below while others brought the remaining empty ones topside. Doctor Bothy was busy belowdecks concocting yet another cure for indigestion to counteract the cook’s newest recipes, which Chief Portlost had kindly agreed to test. Commodore Brigg stood in the conning tower, keeping one eye out for anything approaching over or under the water, while with the other he followed the progress of his landing party until it were no longer visible in the darkness. Even so, he continued to listen to team members” voices, though he had difficulty discerning their words over the banging and clanging of the air compression system.

It had been several minutes since last he heard the kender’s shrill voice, and he was on the verge of growing concerned. The island was not large, but it was large enough for them to wander out of earshot or become lost. He wondered if they hadn’t fallen down some hole or been overcome by fumes, or, more likely, been done in by the treacherous wizard. He shaded his eyes with one hand as he peered into the darkness, not because shading his eyes helped him see better, but because it was a habit long ingrained by gazing out over the featureless gray sea. He could still see the yellow blob that hinted at a hut thatched with straw, but of his party there was no sign.

Lifting a tube from its hook within the conning tower, Commodore Brigg placed it to his lips and blew. Then he shouted into it, “Chief Portlost!” He pressed the end of the tube to his ear.

“Aye, sir?” came the tiny response through the tube.

The commodore shouted into the tube, “Take two of your command and search for the landing party.”

“Aye, sir,” the chief responded.

Before Commodore Brigg had finished returning the tube to its hanger, the chief and two gnomes in red jumpsuits were clambering out of the forward hatch and leaping to shore. They rushed off into the darkness, the chief bringing up a puffing and wheezing rear. He was not the gnome he used to be, having put on a few pounds in recent decades.

They had only been gone a few moments when it began-a curious whirring noise. It started low, almost at the edge of hearing, so that it was some time before the commodore realized he was hearing it. Then the low whirring grew into a whine, increasing in volume and pitch until it sounded like the voice of a banshee crying across the moors.

The crew members on the deck looked around in wonder, dropping what they were doing to stare at their commander. The commodore shouted down to the professor, “What’s that noise?”

“Hoopak!” the professor answered, demonstrating by twirling an imaginary kender weapon above his head. “Generally used to scare off intruders, or as a warning.”

“A warning?” the commodore shouted in alarm. “Get everyone below deck! Hurry!”

The whirring sound died abruptly. The commodore turned and stared into the darkness. Still, he saw nothing, unless it was a vague swirling in the hazy shadows at the far end of the cavern. He heard confused shouting, curses, the kender’s shrill cries, yet nothing clear enough to discern the nature of the trouble.

Chief Portlost appeared from the darkness. He swerved aside to make use of the gangplank, and in moments was aboard.

“What’s wrong?” the commodore shouted.

“I don’t know,” the chief gasped, pausing for a moment before the open hatch. “Someone said run, so I did.”

“Where is your command?”

“Sir Grumdish ordered them into some kind of defensive line. They haven’t any proper weapons-no catapults or anything.”

“Damn his eyes, I told him… Get below!”

Chief Portlost saluted by tugging his beard, then dove through the hatch and disappeared. Commodore Brigg turned his gaze back to the center of the island. Now, the darkness there was complete, as though no light had ever been. He wondered if perhaps Sir Tanar had cast some kind of defensive spell to shield the party’s retreat, but before he had time to form any other theories, all mundane thoughts were driven from his mind, replaced by a sickening, unreasoning fear. Out from the depths of the cave rolled a hollow roar of such rage and hatred that he felt his knees go weak beneath him. It struck him like a storm wave, and he was forced to clutch the rusty rail of the conning tower to keep from being blown overboard. And where there had once been impenetrable darkness, there was now brilliant light-fire, red and golden, liquid fire pouring down upon what, for the briefest of instances, appeared to be three diminutive figures throwing up their hands to fend off destruction. They quickly vanished in the white-hot inferno, perhaps leaving behind three tiny piles of oily ash.

It was a dragon, red as murder, soaring on leathern wings, pouring down its fiery breath on the tiny figures fleeing back toward the ship. In that one brief flare of light, Commodore Brigg saw them and despaired. But even as he was overcome with horror, he gaped in awe at the majesty and beauty of the evil wyrm as it passed within arm’s length over the top of his bald brown head. As it passed over, he heard it give a small cry of surprise at the sight of him, and then it howled in fury. Its great wings pummeled the air, lifting it into the gigantic heights of the cavern. The wave of dragonfear that passed over him turned his bones to water and his blood to ice, just like the storytellers always said.

As the dragon soared overhead, banking round and peering over its outstretched wing at the ship, out from the darkness stumbled Razmous, helping Conundrum, who had fallen and skinned his shins. Sir Tanar was right behind them, the bottom of his robes a mass of flapping tatters. Commodore Brigg took heart and found new courage at the sight of them, as he had believed them dead already. Not that he was overjoyed to see the wizard, but even an unreliable and untrustworthy evil wizard might prove useful against a dragon.

“Thank Reorx!” he cried. “Hurry and get below. Where’s Grumdish?”

“Coming! Coming!” a hoarse voice shouted from the shadows. Moments later, Sir Grumdish staggered onto the gangplank, his clothes reduced to a few tattered, smoking threads, and his Solamnic mustaches scorched down to a gray stubble. His skin was blackened and wet. He looked like a coal miner escaped from a cave-in.

“The others?” the commodore asked.

His jaw quivering with anger, Sir Grumdish shook his head. “They were guarding our retreat. I took cover beneath a magical shield in the beast’s treasure hoard.”

“Get below,” the commodore ordered, turning round to glance up at the dragon. Even as he did so, the gigantic beast was swooping toward the ship, its jaws agape. He dove through the hatch and slammed it shut behind him.

“Flood fore and aft ballast and engage descending flowpellars!” he shouted as he cranked the watertight seal into place. The ship commenced to bubble and sink, waves lapping against the hull.

All of a sudden the Indestructible jerked to a stop, tumbling the commodore from the ladder leading down from the conning tower to the bridge. The ship rolled to starboard. “What’s wrong?” Brigg cried as he grasped the Peerupitscope and pulled himself to his feet.

“We’re still moored!” Conundrum answered, pointing through the porthole at the forward mooring line, pulled taut and quivering. The ship continued to list heavily to starboard, so much that it was in danger of capsizing. Not even Chief Portlost knew what would happen if the Indestructible capsized. They heard him shouting below to secure some barrels threatening to break loose.

“Purge the ballast tanks,” the commodore ordered. “Purge them before they sink us!”

“But the dragon, sir!” Conundrum exclaimed, pulling away from Doctor Bothy, who was trying to drag him to the medical bay.

“We’ll have to fight,” Commodore Brigg stated.

“A-ha! That’s more like it!” Sir Grumdish howled with glee.

The ship righted itself, flinging everyone to starboard. Then it began to tilt slowly backward, water streaming down the hull and against the porthole. The bow of the ship rose up from the water, while the iron hull screamed at the stresses for which it had never been designed. Rivets began to pop, and they heard the rending of wood. Despite the efforts of Chief Portlost, a dozen barrels of grain broke loose and tumbled aft with a noise like thunder, in the midst of which they heard a hideous scream suddenly cut short.

But more than anything else, what they saw through the forward bridge porthole filled them with such terror as few of them had ever known. The dragon had its claws wrapped around the bow of the Indestructible and was lifting her in the air. It was a normal red dragon of Krynn-if such monsters can be called normal-not one of the gargantuan new dragons like Pyrothraxus and Malystryx that had come after the Chaos War. But this dragon was also protecting its egg, and the hells hath no fury like a mother hen distraught over her brood.

The dragon continued to lift the bow of the ship out of the water. Meanwhile its powerful claws ripped gaping holes in the iron hull, even tearing through the wooden under-hull. Its glaring red eyes burned with a mixture of curiosity and hatred as it twisted the ship this way and that to examine its terrified contents through the portholes, perhaps searching for a way to shake out the juicy bits inside. At the same time she snapped the mooring lines that had threatened the Indestructible’s demise.

Finally gathering his wits, Commodore Brigg realized the full measure of their danger. Any moment now, the dragon would tear the ship apart or incinerate them with its fiery breath. Lunging up the sloping deck of the bridge, he grasped the lever that released the attacking ram, pulling against it with all his strength.

The steel point of the ram shot out, shuddering to its full length mere inches from the breast scales of the dragon. The monster started back in surprise, nearly dropping the Indestructible. But then its red eyes narrowed and its wings spread out to either side of its body, quivering in anticipation as it sucked air in through gleaming ivory fangs, stoking the fires in its belly to a thrumming roar.

“Sir Grumdish!” the commodore shouted at the fire-blackened gnome warrior. “The UAEPs! Fire!”

Sir Grumdish stared for a moment longer in fascinated horror. Then, reaching above his head, he thrust home two large red buttons. The dragon opened its jaws to breathe crimson death over the ship, and the Indestructible seemed to recoil in fear.

Then, with a hollow rush, twin jets of water spouted from the bow of the ship, sousing the dragon thoroughly, pouring several hundred gallons of seawater into its gaping maw. It tumbled over backward with the force of the spray. As it fell, the dragon tossed the Indestructible aside, and the ship fell with a thunderous crash into the fire-licked water.

Immediately, she began to sink.