Conundrum

that led to a pit as black as any nightmare hell.

“There it is, Conundrum,” Tanar said in a voice trembling with excitement, “the door to glory.”

Conundrum, misunderstanding the wizard, nodded in agreement and continued to stare open-mouthed through the porthole. Their breath had begun to fog the glass, so he wiped it with his sleeve, but this only served to smear it and further ruin his view-it had been some days since he last washed his robe. He turned to search for a clean rag and found Sir Tanar pulling a crate up to the edge of his hammock.

On top of the crate lay the curious box Conundrum had almost tossed out the window that morning at the Sailor’s Rest when he and Sir Tanar first met. As soon as the Thorn Knight had moved the crate into position, he seated himself carefully in the hammock and opened the box.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Conundrum edged closer to see what rare and magical treasures lay inside it, but Sir Tanar turned quickly, as if sensing the gnome’s approach, and said, “Make sure the door is closed securely, Conundrum. The others would not understand, were they to see what I am about to show you.”

Conundrum hurried to do as he was bade. A strange loathing overcame him as he tested the latch-a soiled feeling, as if he were betraying his friends. Yet at the same time, he felt superior to them, as if they weren’t his friends at all or didn’t deserve to share in the wizard’s secrets. A voice inside him was screaming for rescue, but it never found its way past his teeth.

Assured that the door, which had no lock, would not suddenly fly open, Conundrum moved to the wizard’s side. With a predatory smile on his narrow face, Sir Tanar turned the box slightly so that the gnome could better see what lay within. Conundrum leaned closer, his eyes growing wide in his wrinkled brown face. But then a frown creased his red beard. It was only a silver plate set into the lid of the box. He had expected at the very least to behold some bejeweled rod of great power and mysterious purpose, or a tome filled with vile spells, the mere sight of which would drive the uninitiated to madness and death. But it was only a silver plate. He could not hide his disappointment.

Despite himself, Sir Tanar couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. He had hoped at least to elicit a gasp of awe from his ensorcelled companion. But then again, how was a simple gnome supposed to grasp the import of what he beheld? A gnome could not feel the magic that radiated from this artifact of power, nor was he likely to divine its purpose and uses. Conundrum’s mind was geared to understanding gears and levers and redundant safety systems, not the nuances and subtleties of magical paraphernalia.

Tanar had his reasons for exposing his secret to the gnome. The time had come for him to dominate Conundrum completely, to bind him to his will. Using the power of the magical communications device, he could cast a spell that would create such a powerful bond that only death could break it. Once enslaved, the gnome would do anything he asked of him, even murder his companions.

To prepare Conundrum for the spell, Tanar started by creating as friendly and companionable an atmosphere as possible. The sharing of a secret would open the gnome to suggestion, so Tanar began to explain to Conundrum how the magical plate was used to communicate across great distances.

“There are actually two of these plates, each one made of silver polished to a mirror sheen, as you can see,” he said. “This one is but half of a matched pair. When the proper incantation is spoken, its twin, wherever it is in the world or outside it, even in the Abyss, will ring like a bell. These two mirrors then become like a single window. Whoever sits before this mirror can be seen in the reflection of the other mirror, and whoever sits before the other mirror can be seen here.”

“Are you going to make it work now?” Conundrum asked. “Who are you going to contact? You…”

His voice trailed off as the plate chimed of its own accord.

“Did you do that?” Conundrum asked.

“Silence!” Sir Tanar snapped. The plate chimed again, insistently. Suddenly, his reflection on its surface vanished, replaced by the now-familiar spot of oily darkness. Conundrum’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of it, but he said nothing.

“It is good to see that you are still alive, Tanar,” the Voice said from the darkness.

“I am, and I have news,” Tanar answered, unable to suppress the excitement in his voice. “We are here. Even as we speak, the ruins of ancient Istar surround us. In moments, we will begin our descent into the Abyss.”

Chapter 21

As the Indestructible drew ever closer to the gaping black chasm in the center of the ruin of Istar, those on the bridge gathered near the porthole to gape in awe and wonder. Even the normally unflappable commodore joined the others in pressing his nose against the cold glass. Professor Hap-Troggensbottle was quite beside himself, and Sir Grumdish accused him of acting like a kender. Both Razmous and the professor felt insulted, but they were in too good a humor to complain. It seemed the final and most important-and probably the most difficult, though no one thought so at the moment-leg of their journey lay before them.

Snork maneuvered them into position above the pit. The ruins of Istar were a barely-visible collection of darker shadows hovering around the chasm’s rim. The gnomes grew quiet, one would almost say respectful, thinking of those who died here in the Cataclysm.

After a time, the commodore shook free of the shadow that had descended upon them. Addressing the crew, he said, “We begin now on the last stage of our journey. I ask you to remember your duty. Let us not forget that we are scientists.”

“Aye, Commodore,” Chief Portlost acknowledged first, “that we are, and we shan’t forget it!” With these words, he leaped to the ladder and descended it in a flash.

Sir Grumdish took his position at the firing station, joined now by the professor. Doctor Bothy returned to the sick hay. Snork gripped the wheel, and the commodore took up a post beside the half-raised Peerupitscope. He glanced once more round the bridge, as if settling himself, and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Navigator, engage the descending flowpellars,” he said.

“Engage the descending flowpellars, aye,” Snork confirmed. He turned and shouted down the ladder to engineering, “Engage the descending flowpellars!”

The Indestructible began to sink.

Down she went, and the walls of the pit rose up to surround them, as if it were not them but the sea floor that had begun to move. The lip of the chasm passed, shutting off their view of the ruined city. Now, they dropped past a dark face of rock pocked with caves and fissures.

“Which cave is it, Snork?” the commodore asked. “It’s not one of these, is it?”

“No sir,” Snork said as they continued their descent. “These caves lead to flooded passages beneath the ruined city. Once, these housed all manner of vile and evil creatures, attracted here by the nearness of their Dark Queen. Conundrum and I discovered a small travel guide written by a kender over a hundred years ago that spoke of a particularly evil being called the King of Darkness that was supposed to dwell here.”

“You’ve, ah…” the commodore stammered as he gazed through the porthole at a darkness that had suddenly become quite ominous. “You’ve never mentioned this, ah… before. Do you think it is possible this king might still be around?”

“The Polywog seemed to have no trouble with him or any of the other sea creatures,” Snork answered. “I imagine this king and his minions departed with their Dark Queen. Without the Maelstrom to suck hapless sailors down to their doom, there probably hasn’t been much around here to keep evil creatures occupied.”

“I see,” the commodore said without conviction.

Descending flowpellars a-whirl, the Indestructible sank deeper into the black pit to the accompaniment of an ever more alarming series of groans, pops, and creaks from the hull and bulkheads. Guided downward by Snork’s sure hand on the helm, they glided harmlessly past protrusions of black stone that would have dashed them to pieces. At first, the walls of the pit were pockmarked with dark cavelike openings, but soon the stone planed away to a glassy black smoothness polished by the incessant swirling of the Maelstrom.