Sir Grumdish stood on the aft deck and eyed the Thorn Knight suspiciously as Professor Hap and Doctor Bothy directed the filling of numerous glass and pottery bottles with air. Once again making use of the technology of the UAEP, the professor had come up with an ingenious plan to carry along spare air, just in case they ran out. A large bronze bilge pump that he had converted for this purpose was used to compress the air into the bottles, which were then sealed by two gnomes armed with sledgehammers and a supply of corks. The corks were then bound into place with bottleneck cages of strong steel wire, and the bottles loaded into padded racks (they tended to explode even when gently tapped) in the fore and aft storage compartments. Professor Hap had dubbed the pump an airstuffer, for obvious reasons.
Conundrum and Razmous were in Snork’s cabin making the final adjustments to the ship’s planned course beneath the continent of Ansalon. Chief Portlost was busy ordering fresh oil splashed on every spring, pulley, wheel, gear and lever in the ship. The cook was testing the latest improvements to his flashcooker on the commodore’s dinner of mutton and spiced potatoes. Snork ordered the pilot to maintain his course, then, taking his navigator’s bag with its sextant and glass of farseeing, made his way to the aft deck to take a sighting for the ship’s log.
Snork settled himself cross-legged on the deck and laid the logbook on his lap. With his sextant, he took a reading on the westering sun. A wind rising out of the east blew a fine spray over the bow of the ship and dampened his beard as he made his notes in the log. The commodore ordered the pilot to steer the
The distant hills looked tiny even in his glass, but he could tell they were desolate. The mountains beyond looked rugged and inhospitable, as broken and haphazard as newly-turned earth, and the air seemed thick with haze or smoke so that the farthest peaks were like the ghosts of mountains, and the sky above them as gray and weak as old dishwater.
From one of the distant, spectral peaks he saw a speck rise. It looked like a bird, but he knew that from this distance his glass of farseeing couldn’t pick up any bird known to gnome or man. There was only one native of the skies of Krynn large enough to be seen from this far away: A dragon.
Snork leaped up, the logbook falling in a disordered heap at his feet and his sextant clanging noisily to the deck. The crew members, still busy filling bottles with air, stared at him in astonishment. He smiled wanly, not wanting to needlessly alarm the crew, and gathered up his things before hurrying forward and climbing up to the conning tower.
When he reached the top, he shoved his way between Commodore Brigg and the Thorn Knight. Sir Tanar swore and tugged the hem of his robes from beneath the navigator’s feet, but Snork ignored him and pressed his glass of farseeing into the commodore’s hand.
“Due south, sir,” he said in a low voice so that the crew would not overhear.
Commodore Brigg took one look at the dour grimace on his navigator’s face and snapped the glass to his eye. He slowly scanned the mountainous horizon as waves broke across the bow of the ship. “I don’t see anything,” he muttered into the wind.
At these words, Sir Tanar’s head snapped round. The mountains were too far away to see anything other than a broken black wall stretching across the southern horizon, but the commodore’s breath hissing through his teeth told him all he needed to know. His face turned gray beneath his hood.
“It’s a red dragon,” the commodore said under his breath.
“I couldn’t tell the color before,” Snork said. “It must be headed this way.”
“What are its intentions?” the commodore pondered aloud as he lowered the glass. His brown forehead furrowed into a thousand worried wrinkles.
“You never can tell with red dragons, sir,” Snork said.
The commodore nodded, then raised the glass to his eye once more. “It’s a big dragon, bigger even than Pyrothraxus, and that’s saying a lot.” Pyrothraxus was the dragon who taken up residence in Mount Nevermind some thirty or so years earlier. “Yes, it’s definitely headed this way,” he finished after a moment. He handed the glass to Snork. “We’d better get below.”
“The dragon is still too far away to see us,” Sir Tanar said. “I don’t think we should'-he gulped and finished with a whisper-”submerge.” The palms of his hands felt all cold and sweaty.
Commodore Brigg spun on him, teeth clenching and veins popping out on his bulbous brown forehead. “What do you know of dragons? We’ve lived with a dragon in our very home for the last thirty years. It’s no accident that dragon is coming toward us. It means us no good, so I’m ordering this ship submerged.” He turned and shouted to the crew on the aft deck to gather up their bottles and get below, as they were diving immediately.
“But my airstuffer!” Professor Hap-Troggensbottle exclaimed.
“Leave it!” the commodore barked. “There’s no time. A dragon is headed this way.”
Only Sir Grumdish perked up at these dire words, for to kill a dragon was his Life Quest. But a dragon was far beyond their power to battle, and the commodore knew it. While Doctor Bothy squeezed his enormous bulk through the hatch, Sir Grumdish and the professor quickly gathered up as many air bottles as they could carry and hurried below. They were followed by their assistants, but even so, numerous bottles remained above decks.
“Here, you’re not getting a free ride!” Commodore Brigg shouted at the gray-robed wizard. “Go help them move those bottles below.”
Sir Tanar remained rooted to the deck, his sweaty palms gripping the rusted rail of the conning tower. Someone tugged on the sleeve of his robe, and looking down, he saw Snork gazing up at him with worried eyes. “Come along,” the gnome said. “Help us get the bottles below. We may need them all!”
Slowly, Tanar followed the navigator down from the conning tower. As he crossed the deck, Commodore Brigg stood up with a tremendous load of air bottles stacked into his short arms. There still remained a loose pile of several dozen, more than he and Snork combined could carry, yet seawater was already washing over the aft deck as the
“Good idea,” he said as he started picking up bottles. “I’ll help.” In a few moments, he arms were full, but still he stooped to grab a few more. He wanted all the air that he could carry inside that ship when it submerged. He was certain there wasn’t enough for all of them as it was.
“You go on,” Snork said. “I can get the rest of these.”
Tanar nodded and hurried away as Snork stacked the last dozen bottles in the crook of his arm. Snork glanced around and, satisfied that he had not missed any, waded to the hatch and climbed inside the ship. The door clanged shut behind him, and two crew members hurriedly sealed it.
“Where’s Sir Tanar?” the commodore asked as Snork stood dripping on the deck of the bridge.
“He went ahead of me with an armload,” Snork answered. Conundrum and Razmous took their own loads and disappeared with them below decks.
“Shame he wasn’t washed overboard,” Commodore Brigg muttered as he raised the Peerupitscope. He pasted his eyes to it, then his whole body went rigid. “We got below just in time,” he hissed.
A muffled roar echoed against the hull of the ship. The dim, murky water outside the forward bridge porthole suddenly burst into brilliant red light and began to boil. Commodore Brigg recoiled from the Peerupitscope, the skin around his eyes scorched by the heat.
“It’s a good thing I designed it to Peer Up dragons, too,” Doctor Bothy commented. “The metal and lenses should even withstand that blast of dragonfire.”
Glaring at the doctor, Commodore Brigg turned and shouted below, “Engage descending flowpellar!”
“Engaging descending flowpellar, aye.”
“Come about due north, Mr. Snork.”
“Coming about due north, aye.”
“Secure stations.”
“Hull integrity secure. Peerupitscope undamaged.” “Portholes holding, sir!”
Above them, the dragon roared again in frustration and anger.
