Conundrum

The professor turned back to Commodore Brigg. “The Indestructible, eh? Isn’t that a…”

“A Class C Submersible Deepswimmer, yes,” the commodore answered for him.

“Ah, so that is why you are here.”

“We would like to invite you-” Commodore Brigg began.

Sir Wolhelm cut him off angrily. “I am in charge here! There will be no inviting without my say so.”

“Yes, of course,” the commodore bowed. Professor Hap-Troggensbottle nodded his reluctant assent.

The leader of the Knights resumed his seat behind the table, settling himself onto the tiny stool with as much dignity as he could muster, and glared around the tent. “Now,” he said, his black beard bristling, “Professor Hap- Troggensbottle, you are hereby ordered by the Knights of Neraka, the rightful rulers- regent of Mount Nevermind for His Inestimable Majesty Pyrothraxus the dragon, to undertake the voyage of the MNS Indestructible, representing the interests of the Knighthood and of Mount Nevermind in all matters of a geologic question.”

Out on the beach, another of the catapults fired its load out to sea, forcing a pause. Commodore Brigg took this opportunity to resume the conversation.

“We know of your life quest to discover why small rocks, and even big rocks, sink, while really big rocks like islands and continents float. We intend to subnavigate the continent of Ansalon,” said Commodore Brigg, “to complete the great voyage begun by the MNS Polywog, which nearly ended in disaster, some twenty-five years ago.”

“It is ordered, by the Knights of Neraka,” Sir Wolhelm continued with a warning glance at the commodore, “that the legendary Sub-Ansalonian Passage between Mount Nevermind in the west and Winston’s Tower in the east be located and-”

“The first attempt nearly ended in disaster,” Navigator Snork chimed in. “The MNS Polywog actually succeeded in completing the west-to-east leg of the journey. Fortunately, on the return leg, the ship was lost, and the crew has not been seen since. So this still leaves the east-to-west leg of the journey to complete the life quest. Chief Acquisitions Officer Razmous”-a slight bow from same-“is vital to the success of this mission, as he claims to be in possession of a copy of the map left at Winston’s Tower before the Polywog began its return voyage.”

“Yes, I have it here somewhere,” the kender declared from under the table.

“The kender has the long-lost map?” Sir Wolhelm exclaimed, forgetting that he had been interrupted again. He glared under the table, but the kender had vanished.

“Yes, of course. And he is a most qualified cartographer,” Commodore Brigg asserted.

“The gods help you,” the young Knight in the gray robes sighed.

With a puzzled look at this remark, Commodore Brigg continued, “We intend to sail round the northern shore of Ansalon until we reach the Blood Sea of Istar. We’ll stop off in Flotsam to replenish our supplies-”

“I have additions to those orders,” Sir Wolhelm inserted hastily, while still searching beneath the table for the kender. The young Gray Robe read from his tablet. “When you reach the city of Flotsam, you are ordered take on board the Thorn Knight, Sir Tanar Lobcrow, and extend him every courtesy.”

The gnomes exchanged puzzled looks.

“Whatever for?” the commodore exclaimed. “I have no need of a sorcerer. My crew list is already completed.”

“You are so ordered, Brigg,” Sir Wolhelm said. “If you want the Knights of Neraka to finance this excursion of yours, as agreed, you must abide by our terms. We want one of our own on this voyage, but we’ll not needlessly risk the life of even one Knight until you have proved you can sail your ship from here to Flotsam.”

“I assure you, Sir Wolhelm, the MNS Indestructible will reach Flotsam,” the commodore responded in insulted tones. “However, my ship is not built to accommodate individuals of your… your…” he paused, waving his hand vaguely toward the Knight Commander.

“Stature,” Snork whispered.

“Stature!” Commodore Brigg snapped. “Yes, that’s it. This is a gnome-built ship built for gnomes, and, well, the occasional kender. Your Knight will be most uncomfortable, rest assured. One might even say cramped. We’ve agreed to turn over all logs, maps, records and so forth, upon our successful return. That should be sufficient. I should think that would satisfy your… how shall we say?… curiosity about our venture.”

The Knight’s face darkened, and the muscles along his jaw began to quiver. “There is no point in arguing. You have been ordered to take Sir Tanar aboard at Flotsam, and that is what you shall do. Sir Tanar will see that you do not accidentally get lost along the way and, for example, fall into the hands of any Knights of Solamnia.”

“Very well,” the commodore sighed. Obviously flustered, he turned back to the professor. “As I was saying, we will put into port at Flotsam. From there, we sail to the center of the Blood Sea, dive to the bottom, and enter the chasm that once led to the Abyss. In the wall of this deep crevasse is an opening, a cave, from which the Polywog emerged all those years ago at the end of their legendary west-to-east journey. We should emerge in the New Sea somewhere near the Isle of Schallsea.”

“Sounds impossible,” the professor said while gnawing thoughtfully on the pencil in his mouth.

“Perhaps-but let me remind you that no one is going anywhere until these ordinance experiments are completed,” Sir Wolhelm said.

The professor’s eyes narrowed beneath his shaggy white brows. “These maybe ordinance experiments to you Knights, but they are scientific experiments to me,” he snarled. “Need I remind you that my life quest is to unravel the mystery of buoyant stone? And these experiments, I tell you, are a complete failure!” He stabbed his pencil into the ream of wet schematics he had thrown onto the table upon first entering the tent. Then he drew the pencil from his beard, hurled it to the ground and stomped on it vehemently.

“Every time we come up with a useful, time-saving device you military types twist our machines to your own evil uses!” he shouted while stomping around the tent. “Take the gnomeflinger, for instance, designed to transport gnomes to the various levels within the central shaft of Mount Nevermind. You use it to hurl rocks to batter down the walls of your enemies. Or the cheese-holer, an ingenious device designed to put the holes in cheese, yet you make it an instrument of torture! Science has ever been the pawn of the military!”

Sir Wolhelm rose, his face scarlet with rage, hut fortunately whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the young Thorn Knight. “Come now, Professor. They haven’t been a complete waste of time. And there is still the last and greatest of your experiments-Big Bertrem.” He pointed out over the sands toward the catapult of truly monstrous proportions, requiring the pulley systems of three normal catapults just to draw, and a crew of well over two hundred gnomes. The stone currently being loaded onto it was easily large enough to knock a dragon out of the sky.

“Well, hmm, true, I would like to see Big Bertrem fired, just once,” the professor said dreamily, his pique momentarily forgotten. He reached twitchingly for the pencil behind his ear, then spun back to the table and began scribbling calculations of the tangents of imaginary circles.

The Knights nodded and smiled to one another over the gnomes” heads.

By the time the sun had dropped an hour closer to the horizon, the gargantuan ballista was ready. From their vantage point in the tent, Commodore Brigg and Navigator Snork could see the professor scurrying about in its shadow, shouting last-minute orders. Someone lit the stone with a torch, setting fire to the tar covering every inch of its surface. As the flames blazed up, gnomes scattered in all directions, leaving the professor alone by the catapult’s release. In the light of the westering sun, they saw an axe rise up, then flash down. A report like the cracking of a whip echoed against the cliffs. There followed a tremendous bone-shaking thud, and a wave of sand spread like ripples in a pond away from Big Bertrem. The throwing arm rose slowly, bending under the weight of the massive flaming stone, but then counterweights swung into place, and a gout of steam escaped from what appeared to be a smokestack. Two giant flywheels, attached to the fulcrum post, began to whirl faster and faster. The throwing arm of the catapult hesitated for a moment, like a diver taking a deep breath before leaping, and then the entire contraption flipped over backwards, pivoting around a point in space centered on the house-sized stone. The spinning fly wheels dug in, throwing up a huge fountain of sand that instantly buried three dozen members of the Mishaps Guild who were rushing in to record and measure the event as it was happening. Meanwhile, the flywheels found purchase in the sand and the thing began to move. Its steam whistle screaming, the monstrous