Conundrum

waited in the quays. In their midst stood a smallish catapult, newly built for the occasion out of Sancrist yew wood and gnome-forged iron, gilt with silver images of gnomes in flight. The purpose of the machine remained something of a mystery even to those busily examining and commenting on its newest safety features and design improvements. Papers fluttered in the stiffening land breeze as several dozen gnomes attempted to sketch the catapult’s more interesting safety devices.

The event had the party atmosphere of a technology fair, the gnomish national pastime. There were banners, flags, and standards of the various representative guilds snapping in the land breeze. The largest contingent was from the Maritime Sciences Guild, naturally enough, but almost as prevalent were the members of the Boilermakers Guild. Important personages from this guild had been wheeled out from the hospital for the occasion, their bandages decorated with ribbons and buttons of every color of the rainbow. The Caterers Guild drove their steam- powered serving trays through the crowd, proffering a variety of savories, prepared by automatic stoves towed behind them and shot out of dispenser tubes at random into the crowd, most of which were nabbed by the hundreds of seagulls swarming overhead.

There was, of course, a wagon of beer parked beneath a nearby tree. In the wagon’s traces stood Bright Dancer, Sir Grumdish’s doughty steed, who seemed happy enough in his new occupation, if fence posts can be happy. The beer, being the product of a gnomish brewery, packed quite a wallop, enough to satisfy gnomish sensibilities-despite the early hour, many having sensibly already begun-though dwarves might have found the recipe a bit lacking. Luckily, there were no dwarves around to complain.

Indeed there were dwarves watching, but from a safe distance across the bay, and they had their own beer, which they weren’t inclined to share. They sat behind a row of tower shields, somewhat apart from the other citizens of the city who had gathered to witness the promised event.

The city of Pax treated the event as something of a spectacle. The citizens thronged the docks-at a respectful distance of course-to watch and wonder at the preposterousness of gnomes. “The ship is supposed to sink on purpose, which means that it won’t,” was the consensus among the onlookers. Still, the occasion promised to be fun, and wagers were being taken as to how fast the strange-looking vessel would sink, and when it did, how many of the twenty crew members would survive.

A great cheer went up from the gnomish side of the harbor as Commodore Brigg and his crew took their places on the narrow aft deck of the Indestructible. Out from the top of the mast rippled the red banner of the Maritime Sciences Guild, crackling in the wind. The crew saluted it, while a band on shore hooted, honked, oom-pahed, and bellowed in a weird cacophony of sound that purported to be an anthem of some sort. It frightened away most of the gulls. The crew remained rigidly at attention throughout the song’s ten-and-a- half-minute duration, while the band members, nearly invisible in a jungle of brass, tooted and blew until their faces were quite flushed. When the song wandered off to its broken and disjointed conclusion, it was discovered that three band members had succumbed to asphyxiation, still propped up inside their instruments, some of which required a team of horses to move.

Afterward, Commodore Brigg made a speech, little of which could be heard or even understood by those in the city across the bay-the common gnomish dialect being too compressed and rapidly-spoken for the human ear to comprehend. With much heroic gesturing, the commodore extolled the virtues of the Indestructible, from its sleek, shark-like body to its innovations in propulsion and weaponry. He promised that, before they put out to sea, everyone would witness a demonstration of the ship’s most remarkable features. To that end, a decommissioned garbage scow had been towed into the center of the bay. They would circle the scow once, then submerge and sink her.

This brought an appreciative round of applause from the crowd of gnomes and indistinguishable noise from the other onlookers. At a shout from the commodore, the crew members scurried to their stations below decks, while Commodore Brigg and Navigator Snork climbed into the conning tower. Now the ship’s single mast began to rise, growing taller and taller. When it shuddered to a stop at its full height, Commodore Brigg gave a nod and a wave to the crowd.

Suddenly, members of the Maritime Sciences swarmed around the curious small catapult at the top of the bluff. The dwarves across the bay perked up, smiles splitting their grim beards, while the betting grew hot and furious amongst the humans. Something was loaded into the basket of the catapult, and with a loud huzzah! fired at the Indestructible.

It missed, splashing in the bay a hundred yards aft. Another was loaded and fired. This missile struck the ship’s taut rigging, bounced off with a twang, and clouted an onlooker in the forehead, knocking him senseless to the wharf. A pack of gully dwarves swarmed out from their hiding places beneath the pier and looted his body before anyone could say Jack Robinson. A third missile was loaded and fired. This one struck where it was supposed to, shattering against the bow of the ship and dousing its iron hull with a generous splash of golden foamy giggle-hiccup. Third time seemed to be the charm, indeed.

The band struck up a march as the ship slipped from its moorings into the bay. Someone in the crowd set off a volley of gnomish fireworks, which wreaked havoc among the crowd and frightened Bright Dancer from his stupor; he snorted once and galloped away with all the beer. As several gnomes leaped in pursuit, one of the representatives of the Boilermakers Guild, who unfortunately had not locked the brakes on his eight-wheeled chair, got bumped from behind and ended up in the bay.

Meanwhile, Commodore Brigg ordered the MNS Indestructible hard alee once clear of docks. She swung slowly round, her iron sides gleaming darkly, like some great whale come up to take a look at the city. Except it was a whale with a stepped mast, up which now rose the ship’s sails. Two gnomes scurried to the bow along her footrails to secure the jib to inset stirrup belays-quite ingenious! — while four more raised the boom from the aftdeck and rigged the mainsail and main gaff topsail.

Actually, they didn’t need all this sail to make a turn around the harbor, but Commodore Brigg wanted to show off the Indestructible under full sail. The fresh breeze carried them past the jetty and well out into the main fjord of Gunthar, and threatened to take them on out to sea, which would have been a public relations disaster. At least they hadn’t sunk yet, which was making unhappy the lives of the oddsmakers on shore. The dwarves drank their beer and watched patiently.

They were almost out of sight of the city when Commodore Brigg, tearing at his beard in frustration, ordered all sails lowered. The Indestructible handled like a barrel under sail, and he couldn’t get the ship turned in the narrow inlet for fear of running her aground. Finally, with all the sheets safely stowed below decks, he ordered the engines powered up and the main flowpellar engaged. The engines were, in fact, large springs, and to power them up one simply turned them by way of a crank until they were tight. Spring engines were found to be much safer underwater than steam engines, even if they did occasionally break their retaining bolts and unwind rather explosively and all at once.

The flowpellar was the large six-bladed fan fitted into the ship’s stern. When spun, this ingenious device chopped up the water into a chaotic froth. Since it is a well-established fact-the Natural Philosophies Guild having proven it in their famous 213,000-page treatise on the subject-that Nature abhors chaos, when the flowpellar creates this chaotic froth, the water behind the ship rushes in to still it. At the same time, this wave of water pushes against the stern of the ship, thus imparting forward motion.

Thus the Indestructible moved back into the bay under her own power. The gnomes along the shore had recovered the beer wagon, and so they were cheering mightily at the ship’s return. Not a few thought she had already completed the voyage for which she had been built. The townspeople of Pax also cheered, especially those who had money riding on a generous time spread before the Indestructible sank completely. The dwarves watched patiently.

Commodore Brigg ordered a stealthy assault on the garbage scow. They completed their circuit of the bay and hove-to before the gnomish shipyard, her bow pointed directly at the unsuspecting scow. The commodore ordered all hands below, UAEPs loaded, and Tube One flooded and pressurized. The mast was retracted, leaving only its top third above deck. Navigator Snork ushered the last sailor into the hatch before following himself, leaving the commodore above. With one final wave to the crowd on shore, the skipper stepped into the hatch, climbed down, and secured it behind him. The gnomish band broke into song.

The Indestructible lay still in the water, without a sign of life about her. Seagulls settled onto her mast and conning tower, while the waves lapped quietly at her darkly gleaming hull. The band finished its song and the cheering crowd quieted into bemused silence. The dwarves glanced at one another with a knowing glint in their eyes.