Conundrum

the stresses for which it had never been designed. Rivets began to pop, and they heard the rending of wood. Despite the efforts of Chief Portlost, a dozen barrels of grain broke loose and tumbled aft with a noise like thunder, in the midst of which they heard a hideous scream suddenly cut short.

But more than anything else, what they saw through the forward bridge porthole filled them with such terror as few of them had ever known. The dragon had its claws wrapped around the bow of the Indestructible and was lifting her in the air. It was a normal red dragon of Krynn-if such monsters can be called normal-not one of the gargantuan new dragons like Pyrothraxus and Malystryx that had come after the Chaos War. But this dragon was also protecting its egg, and the hells hath no fury like a mother hen distraught over her brood.

The dragon continued to lift the bow of the ship out of the water. Meanwhile its powerful claws ripped gaping holes in the iron hull, even tearing through the wooden under-hull. Its glaring red eyes burned with a mixture of curiosity and hatred as it twisted the ship this way and that to examine its terrified contents through the portholes, perhaps searching for a way to shake out the juicy bits inside. At the same time she snapped the mooring lines that had threatened the Indestructible’s demise.

Finally gathering his wits, Commodore Brigg realized the full measure of their danger. Any moment now, the dragon would tear the ship apart or incinerate them with its fiery breath. Lunging up the sloping deck of the bridge, he grasped the lever that released the attacking ram, pulling against it with all his strength.

The steel point of the ram shot out, shuddering to its full length mere inches from the breast scales of the dragon. The monster started back in surprise, nearly dropping the Indestructible. But then its red eyes narrowed and its wings spread out to either side of its body, quivering in anticipation as it sucked air in through gleaming ivory fangs, stoking the fires in its belly to a thrumming roar.

“Sir Grumdish!” the commodore shouted at the fire-blackened gnome warrior. “The UAEPs! Fire!”

Sir Grumdish stared for a moment longer in fascinated horror. Then, reaching above his head, he thrust home two large red buttons. The dragon opened its jaws to breathe crimson death over the ship, and the Indestructible seemed to recoil in fear.

Then, with a hollow rush, twin jets of water spouted from the bow of the ship, sousing the dragon thoroughly, pouring several hundred gallons of seawater into its gaping maw. It tumbled over backward with the force of the spray. As it fell, the dragon tossed the Indestructible aside, and the ship fell with a thunderous crash into the fire-licked water.

Immediately, she began to sink.

Chapter 25

Green water streamed in through Indestructible’s numerous wounds. The crew picked itself up and hurriedly dragged out various leak-plugging and bulkhead-bracing devices invented over the years by the Maritime Sciences guild. One after another, these inventions failed spectacularly. One leak-plugger swelled so quickly that it split the wood it was supposed to repair, sending a tremendous gush of water into the galley. Chief Portlost and Doctor Bothy were washed into the corridor, but the cook, still wearing his bandages, managed to catch the edge of the watertight door. He slammed it shut and sealed himself inside, thus dooming himself and possibly saving the Indestructible from a watery grave. Watertight doors on the Indestructible could be sealed only from the inside, an unfortunate design flaw that nearly proved the ship’s undoing. Despite the cook’s heroism in stopping the largest of the leaks, there were still enough holes in the ship’s hull to sink her faster than they could hope to effect repairs. Commodore Brigg stared round at his drenched crew, despair creeping into his heart. “We can’t abandon ship in this dragon’s lair,” he said.

“If you’d listened to me and gone to the Abyss, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Sir Tanar said.

“Before we surfaced, I noticed some passages leading out,” Conundrum offered.

“We don’t have much time,” Commodore Brigg said. “Point the way. We’ll try it. Chief Portlost, we’ll need everything she’s got. If we can get into another cave, we might be able to escape through Conundrum’s ascending kettles. We’re not dead yet.”

He strode to the con and firmly gripped the controls. Conundrum wiped the porthole with the sleeve of his white robe, then peered through the glass into the lurid green water.

“There, sir,” he said, pointing. “That one looks large enough.”

“We’ll have only one chance. I hope your luck holds. Chief Portlost?”

“Ready, sir!” came the answer from below. Glancing down the ladder, Sir Grumdish saw the lower deck swimming with loose barrels and broken crates. A crew member wearing a red jumpsuit-his name was Faldarten- floated past, facedown, bumping against the ladder before swirling aft, a trail of blood following him through the water. Sir Grumdish turned away.

Indestructible lurched ahead drunkenly. Commodore Brigg fought the wheel, trying to keep her on course, but with hundred of gallons of water sloshing about her lower decks, and with gaping tears in her hull, she handled little better than a log raft riding a storm-swollen river. First one way, then the other, then back again, the ship swung, her escape passage growing nearer by the second but seemingly never in line with the bow of the ship. The bridge crew clutched at anything sturdy, bracing for an impact with the wall.

At the last possible moment, the exit passage lurched into view. The commodore swore like a dwarf, and then they were through with only one bump-the Peerupitscope. It snapped off against the overhead rock. A fresh blast of water shot from the viewpiece and struck Sir Tanar full in the chest, bowling him head over heels back to his cabin.

Now began as hair-raising a journey as any of them had ever adventured. Indestructible, still at full speed, zoomed through dark winding passages, round hairpin turns, narrowly avoiding the stalactites and stalagmites that crowded this submerged tunnel. In the distance, they saw another shimmering red light, dimmer than the cavern they had just fled but visible nonetheless.

“Not another dragon’s lair!” Sir Grumdish shouted.

“I thought you wanted to slay dragons,” the commodore snarled as he battled the wheel.

Two more tight turns, the last of which they did not escape without first suffering a scrape that set their teeth on edge, and they were into another cavern. This one, like the last, was lit from above by a red glow, and it also proved to be partially submerged. They shot out from the passage and were immediately confronted by a dark sloping wall.

Commodore Brigg threw the wheel hard to port, at the same moment screaming, “Allstopengageascendingflow-pellarsemergencyblow! '

But it was too late. The bow struck a thundering blow that lifted the ship so suddenly and violently that it was a wonder she didn’t break in half. Indestructible ground to a shuddering halt, thrown up on a steep shore of black sand, her crew tossed about like Abanasinian popping corn in a pan.

Doctor Bothy awoke with the certain knowledge that he was dead. He was a doctor, after all, so he should know.

He discounted his continued breathing as an unimportant temporary state. It would be only a matter of time, he was sure. A body could not hurt like this and not be dead. The mortal frame was not designed to withstand such punishment. He assessed his current state of health as very grave without meaningful hope of recovery. He was suffering from numerous contusions and lacerations about the head, shoulders, ribs, arms, legs, and feet. Even his toes hurt, having stubbed them all at the same time against the base of his examination table when the ship underwent its most spectacular misadventure. He found that he had been struck blind-or else the lights had all gone out, and there was an annoying whining in his ears. What was more, every so often he was subjected to an acute spasm of the muscles of the upper abdominal cavity, which resulted in a sharp, painful inhalation of breath. Soon, this recurring malady proved so uncomfortable that, despite his better medical judgment, he was forced to adjust his prone position.