Conundrum

It seemed an ordinary infirmary, only there weren’t any nurses or doctors or engineers or mishaps officers scurrying about, taking peoples” temperatures and prescribing soapy water enemas and treatments of epsom salts. The ward was strangely silent.

He rose from his bed and walked to the window, staring out over the silver gray treetops dripping with rain. It was winter here-wherever here was. It had the look and smell of Darkember, as the Solamnics called it, Bleakcold to the kender.

Tears started in his eyes. At first he didn’t know why, but then he remembered-the kender, Razmous Pinch- pocket. The memory of the Indestructible’s unflappable cartographer brought everything flooding back to him. There was the battle with the giant and the dragon, and the fire onboard, the deck collapsing beneath his feet, him falling, falling into a light that burned like a thousand suns. And then darkness. Nothingness.

How did he get here? Where was here? And where was everybody else-Commodore Brigg, Captain Hawser, Chief Portlost, Razmous, even Sir Tanar? He leaned out the window and scanned the ground below. A narrow path wound through the trees, beside which marble benches stood at regular intervals, but there was no one moving along the path, and the benches were all empty.

He turned away in frustration and scanned the empty ward once more. At the far end of the room, a single door provided the only exit. The walls of the room were made of stone, the floor of polished stone flags, the ceiling overarched with thick wooden beams and roofed with timber planks. Three windows provided the only light.

The room had all the appearance of perfect order and sterility, neither warm nor cold, neither inviting nor forbidding. There were eight identical beds, four along either wall. Under each bed lay a shiny metal bedpan, and beside each bed stood a small table with a washing bowl resting atop it. Pushed against the wall opposite the door was a desk on which lay several thick books, a bottle of ink, and a feather. A simple wooden chair was pushed beneath it. Hanging on the wall beside the desk was a tall mirror. Conundrum saw himself in it, but it took him several moments to notice the difference. His flaming red hair, so unusual in gnomes, had turned bone white.

Conundrum turned away in shock. As he fingered his beard and ran his hand through the thin strip of hair circling his otherwise shiny, bald head, his eyes came to rest on a thick, black leather-bound book sitting on the table beside his bed. The edges of the pages appeared to have been burned, the cover warped and cracked as though doused with water and then carelessly allowed to dry without first oiling it. He picked it up, and a smell arose from its pages that brought choking sobs to his throat. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, his fingers trembling as he stroked the cover, terrified, afraid to open it, afraid not to. At last, he bent back the cover and examined the first page.

Ship’s log

— MNS Indestructible

Over the next few hours, Conundrum gingerly turned the cracked and brittle parchment pages, reliving each stage of his journey, from the day the Indestructible first sank in the harbor of Pax, to her second sinking and final successful launch, through the journey north and east around the continent of Ansalon. He read with a certain measure of pride and delight the commodore’s account of his exploits with the chaos monster. He laughed at the antics of the kender, duly recorded in Commodore Brigg’s own rough, masculine script and dispassionate scientific writing style, which only made them funnier. He then marveled at the description of the modifications installed during their period in Flotsam, and he learned for the first time of the commodore’s misgivings about taking on the Thorn Knight.

The mention of the Thorn Knight seemed to lift a veil from Conundrum’s eyes, and he remembered with painful clarity that moment in Sir Tanar’s cabin when he planned to take over the ship. He realized then that the Thorn Knight had murdered his cousin, and that his own testimony about the “accident” had all been a lie planted in his mind by Sir Tanar’s magic. Bitter hatred filled his heart then-hatred for the Thorn Knight for using him to cover his own crime and aid his attempt to wrest the Indestructible from the commodore’s control.

Conundrum flipped through the last pages, only briefly scanning the contents as he searched for the answers now burning bright as dragonfire in his heart. What happened after the dragon set the ship on fire? How did he get here? Where was everyone else? Finally, near the end of the log, he found what he was looking for. He read:

Knowing that the flowpellars were still engaged and the Snorkel was in the open position, I did the only thing available to me. I flooded the ballast tanks. Ship sank straightaway and water from the open Snorkel quickly doused the flames, as I had intended. Unfortunate side effect being that we were sinking. Closed Snorkel and hatch, but the ship had already passed into the bottomless chasm leading to the professor’s underside of the continent. Could only hope that he was right. Meanwhile, set about checking for surviving crew and pumping out the water.

Found Conundrum badly burned but still alive. Ensigns Dnat, Felthallow, Ruark, and Rimbortion burned almost beyond recognition, but still at their posts in the engine room. Recommend them for special recognition, if this ship survives. Unable to pump out the ship. Speculate that at such depths, pressure outside hull too great to expel water from inside ship through bilge valves. Used ascending flowpellar to slow and control descent, but main controls were shot. Had to do everything by hand.

Finally reached bottom of continent, found it much as Professor had described-a great roof of rock stretching away in all directions, millions upon millions of tiny glowing shrimp bumping their heads against it. It was at this time that I observed that the Indestructible was leaking air, for bubbles were forming on the rocky underside of the continent. Noticed that the bubbles did not stay in one place. Instead they moved like quicksilver along the undersurface of the stone, indicating upward slope, although slope was not detectable through normal observations. Concluded that upward slope led to edge of continent. Set course and engaged flowpellars.

It has been five days now since we sank, and I regret leaving behind my brother and the others, although I doubt that any of them still lived. Razmous Pinchpocket, if still alive, is a kender, and so I have little concern that he will find his way out eventually. The others … I would have preferred to confirm their fates before departing, but I had no choice.

The MNS Indestructible is nearly out of air and the lower deck is completely flooded, including engineering. Amazingly, the spring engines have continued to run, outperforming by several hours the length of time needed between windings. I have welded the controls into place to hold the ship on course, should I faint from want of air. My initial concerns about the bilge were unfounded. I effected repairs, and it is now working, slowly emptying the ship of its weight of water, and she is rising up toward the surface. Last night, we came out from under the continent and are now coursing through open sea, though deep beneath its surface. I think it is New Sea, but I cannot be sure without taking navigational readings.

The ship will live up to her namesake, I think, though I fear none of us will survive. Conundrum- hangs on somehow. His burns seem to be healing with the help of some ointments I found in Doctor Bothy’s spare kit-lucky for us that the Medical Sciences Guild has long known the best cures for burns.

Air grows thinner by the minute. We shall not reach the surface in time. This log shall be our testament to the endurance of the will of gnomes, if it and this ship are ever found. I pray to Reorx who is no more that it does. We should not die in vain.

Conundrum turned the last page and found it blank. He closed the log, sighed, and lifted his eyes slowly from its worn cover. Before him stood a woman wearing long white robes with the symbol of the sun emblazoned on the breast. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a simple ring of silver, revealing a sad, smiling face, soft and radiant.

“It is good to see you awake at last, Conundrum,” she said, “but you should not tire yourself overmuch. You arrived here only seven days ago, and you were at the door of death.”

“Here? Where is here?” Conundrum asked.

“This is the Citadel of Light,” she answered softly.

“I’ve heard of this place,” he said excitedly. “This is where the healers are. You must have healed me!”