Conundrum

Chapter
25

Green water streamed in through Indestructible’s numerous wounds. The crew picked itself up and hurriedly dragged out various leak-plugging and bulkhead-bracing devices invented over the years by the Maritime Sciences guild. One after another, these inventions failed spectacularly. One leak-plugger swelled so quickly that it split the wood it was supposed to repair, sending a tremendous gush of water into the galley. Chief Portlost and Doctor Bothy were washed into the corridor, but the cook, still wearing his bandages, managed to catch the edge of the watertight door. He slammed it shut and sealed himself inside, thus dooming himself and possibly saving the Indestructible from a watery grave. Watertight doors on the Indestructible could be sealed only from the inside, an unfortunate design flaw that nearly proved the ship’s undoing. Despite the cook’s heroism in stopping the largest of the leaks, there were still enough holes in the ship’s hull to sink her faster than they could hope to effect repairs. Commodore Brigg stared round at his drenched crew, despair creeping into his heart. “We can’t abandon ship in this dragon’s lair,” he said.

“If you’d listened to me and gone to the Abyss, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Sir Tanar said.

“Before we surfaced, I noticed some passages leading out,” Conundrum offered.

“We don’t have much time,” Commodore Brigg said. “Point the way. We’ll try it. Chief Portlost, we’ll need everything she’s got. If we can get into another cave, we might be able to escape through Conundrum’s ascending kettles. We’re not dead yet.”

He strode to the con and firmly gripped the controls. Conundrum wiped the porthole with the sleeve of his white robe, then peered through the glass into the lurid green water.

“There, sir,” he said, pointing. “That one looks large enough.”

“We’ll have only one chance. I hope your luck holds. Chief Portlost?”

“Ready, sir!” came the answer from below. Glancing down the ladder, Sir Grumdish saw the lower deck swimming with loose barrels and broken crates. A crew member wearing a red jumpsuit-his name was Faldarten-floated past, facedown, bumping against the ladder before swirling aft, a trail of blood following him through the water. Sir Grumdish turned away.

Indestructible lurched ahead drunkenly. Commodore Brigg fought the wheel, trying to keep her on course, but with hundred of gallons of water sloshing about her lower decks, and with gaping tears in her hull, she handled little better than a log raft riding a storm-swollen river. First one way, then the other, then back again, the ship swung, her escape passage growing nearer by the second but seemingly never in line with the bow of the ship. The bridge crew clutched at anything sturdy, bracing for an impact with the wall.

At the last possible moment, the exit passage lurched into view. The commodore swore like a dwarf, and then they were through with only one bump-the Peerupitscope. It snapped off against the overhead rock. A fresh blast of water shot from the viewpiece and struck Sir Tanar full in the chest, bowling him head over heels back to his cabin.

Now began as hair-raising a journey as any of them had ever adventured. Indestructible, still at full speed, zoomed through dark winding passages, round hairpin turns, narrowly avoiding the stalactites and stalagmites that crowded this submerged tunnel. In the distance, they saw another shimmering red light, dimmer than the cavern they had just fled but visible nonetheless.

“Not another dragon’s lair!” Sir Grumdish shouted.

“I thought you wanted to slay dragons,” the commodore snarled as he battled the wheel.

Two more tight turns, the last of which they did not escape without first suffering a scrape that set their teeth on edge, and they were into another cavern. This one, like the last, was lit from above by a red glow, and it also proved to be partially submerged. They shot out from the passage and were immediately confronted by a dark sloping wall.

Commodore Brigg threw the wheel hard to port, at the same moment screaming, “Allstopengageascendingflow-pellarsemergencyblow! "

But it was too late. The bow struck a thundering blow that lifted the ship so suddenly and violently that it was a wonder she didn’t break in half. Indestructible ground to a shuddering halt, thrown up on a steep shore of black sand, her crew tossed about like Abanasinian popping corn in a pan.

Doctor Bothy awoke with the certain knowledge that he was dead. He was a doctor, after all, so he should know.

He discounted his continued breathing as an unimportant temporary state. It would be only a matter of time, he was sure. A body could not hurt like this and not be dead. The mortal frame was not designed to withstand such punishment. He assessed his current state of health as very grave without meaningful hope of recovery. He was suffering from numerous contusions and lacerations about the head, shoulders, ribs, arms, legs, and feet. Even his toes hurt, having stubbed them all at the same time against the base of his examination table when the ship underwent its most spectacular misadventure. He found that he had been struck blind-or else the lights had all gone out, and there was an annoying whining in his ears. What was more, every so often he was subjected to an acute spasm of the muscles of the upper abdominal cavity, which resulted in a sharp, painful inhalation of breath. Soon, this recurring malady proved so uncomfortable that, despite his better medical judgment, he was forced to adjust his prone position.

This shifting of weight revealed a number of things. First, he learned that the light had indeed gone out, or to be more precise, spilled. Most of the ship’s glowworm-globes had fallen during the crash, scattering their glowing contents. The decks were littered with tiny blue worms milling aimlessly about in search of food. The whining noise proved to be the kender, atop whom Doctor Bothy had come to rest, and who, once released, loudly complained of nearly being suffocated just when things were getting interesting.

Finally, it dawned on the doctor that the annoying spasms of his abdominal musculature were in fact symptomatic of a full-blown case of the hiccoughs. This realization caused him to shout, “Eureka!” for reasons quite beyond his comprehension. Nevertheless, he was quite pleased with the turn of events, even if it had nearly killed him. He set about collecting enough glowworms to light his desk so that he could begin recording the particulars of his malady.

Meanwhile, the other members of the crew took stock of their situation. A head count showed that ten of the original crew of twenty remained alive, not including Sir Tanar, who survived the collision bruised and battered but no more surly than usual.

The Indestructible had come to rest half out of the water, thrown up on a sandy beach at the edge of the small cavern. Most of the ship’s glowwormglobes were broken in the crash. The ship listed about twenty degrees to port and lay at a rather severe angle to fore. The water she had taken on after the dragon attack had all rushed to the stern, completely flooding the engine room.

Chief Portlost, wet and bedraggled, clambered up from below. A little reddish light, shining in patches through the muck-caked bridge porthole, illuminated his wan features as he squeezed water from his beard and shivered.

“It’s no use, Commodore,” he reported. “Engine room is filled to the door with mud and water. We need to pump her out and patch her up before we can hope to float her again, provided we can unbeach ourselves. Meanwhile, there’s no telling what’s happened to the engines. Drive-shaft probably bent; flowpellar blades snapped. And we haven’t enough scrap iron on board to make even minimal repairs.”

“I see,” the commodore said, thoughtfully stroking his own wet beard. “How long, do you think?”

“With plenty of iron and a full crew, I’d say a week,” the chief answered after a few moments” consideration.

“Then you’ll need at least two weeks, provided we can find you the iron. Our first order of business is to see to our provisions. I heard cargo break loose, and I imagine most of our stores are waterlogged and useless. We’ll need to load the UAEPs-with arrows this time,” he said with a wry smile, “and make everything ready should the dragon appear. Once that is done, we can set to pumping out the ship, repairing what we can, and prospecting for some iron in the cave. The Khalkist Mountains are supposed to be filled with ore-or so say the dwarves. In any case, I suggest we take a look around. If we are still in the dragon’s lair, we’ll need to find someplace safe to hide. Sir Grumdish, bring out your armor.”

“Yes, sir!” Sir Grumdish responded happily.

“And open the weapons locker. Daggers and crossbows all around.”