Conundrum

by many wingspans. This dragon was a house cat to Pyrothraxus’s tiger. Nevertheless, Razmous could not help but be overcome by the majesty and beauty of the red creature. Even though it was evil. Very evil.

The unimaginable wealth that lay all about the dragon caught his eye. He could not suppress a sigh, fingering the gold in his mind, already seeming to feel the weight of it dragging at the straps of his pouches. It wasn’t some kind of dwarven greediness that he felt, kindled by the sight of all that wealth. It was the desire to be able to slap down a coin on a bar, hitch his thumbs behind his suspenders-he’d have to start wearing suspenders first-and tell everyone that the coin came from a dragon’s lair.

It wasn’t like he was going to steal it from the dragon, Razmous reasoned. He’d return it someday. Now that he knew where he could find a dragon, he imagined he’d come back many times just to look at it. He could return the coins then, after he was finished telling everyone who would listen about the time he borrowed a pouch full of coins from a dragon. Yes, that was it! That was it perfectly. There couldn’t be a better plan. He’d just slip down there, he thought as he started down the slope, moving as quietly as only a kender can move. Slip down there and…

Of course, this white-hot pain shooting through his back wasn’t part of the plan, nor his knees betraying him and going off in different directions. He fell heavily on his rump, then toppled over on his face. Some of the precious things in his pouches spilled out on the stone floor, and the rounder objects-a silver salt shaker from the Sailor’s Rest in Flotsam (how had that got in there?), a small steel coin with a hole punched through the middle for a string, a spool of green thread-rolled down the slope, picking up speed and noise as they neared the dragon.

Slowly, one of the dragon’s great heavy eyelids lifted and stared at the three tiny round intruders as they rolled to a stop at the edge of its treasure bed.

Meanwhile, Razmous was struggling with his rudely uncooperative arms. His head was grinding his nose into the stone floor, but he could not lift himself off it. His arms lay spread to either side, as lifeless as sausage. Finally, he managed to roll himself over, and, strangely, found Sir Tanar standing over him.

“Oh, Shir Tanner,” he said drunkenly. “Clad you arth ’ere. I canned seemb to move by armbs. Whathz thad in your hanth? A dagger?”

Charynsanth lurched up on her bed of treasure upon hearing the commotion and spying the gray-robed mage. Seeing the writhing creature at his feet and the bloody dagger in the wizard’s hand, she stayed her first impulse-to blast them both with dragonfire. But she did not spare the Thorn Knight the full onslaught of her dragonfear. It rolled out in waves, lashing his spirit, and he staggered back under the assault, but gamely he held his ground.

“What do you want here, human?” she asked, half in admiration of his bravado.

“I have slain the thief come to rob you of your treasures,” Sir Tanar answered. He was thankful that his voice did not tremble, for in the face of this dragon, he dared not show fear.

“Thief?” Razmous said weakly. He blinked up at the Thorn Knight. “Oh, good zhob. Now where wuz I?” His eyes closed again, and his face grew paler as the pool of blood grew wider around his outstretched body.

The Thorn Knight continued, “We serve the same mistress, you and I.'

“Takhisis is gone!” the dragon roared. “I serve no one but myself.”

“Be that as it may, I have been in contact with my Mistress, and it was she who suggested I make an alliance with you,” Sir Tanar ventured. “She knows you of old. She was, in fact, surprised that you are still alive. She has not heard your name spoken for many a year, not since the Dragon Purge began.”

Charynsanth’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She had fled here at the beginning of the Purge, after her mate was slain by the green dragon Beryl.

“We can help each other, you and I,” Tanar continued, feeling more confident. “I’ve killed this thief, and I know of your war with the giants. I can tell you of a way to get into the giant’s city, O mighty Charynsanth.”

“You were with those miserable little interlopers before,” she hissed. “I saw you go onboard their little ship after I roasted those two. They were small, barely more than a mouthful after I finished cooking them.”

“There are enough left over to satisfy even your appetite,” Sir Tanar said.

She purred, chuckling, the fires in her belly spouting from her nostrils. “And I after I kill them, what do you get?” Charynsanth asked.

“Their ship,” he answered. “Nothing more. Just their ship, and a few members of the crew to operate it. The city, the giants, and their treasure I leave to you.”

He did not mention that he needed the ship and her crew to find the entrance to the Abyss, nor that he planned to escape in the ship while Charynsanth was busy with the giants. Still, something in her eyes told him that she suspected as much.

“How very wise of you,” the dragon said, but her tone was sarcastic, as if she divined his motives.

“I’ll come tomorrow to tell you the way,” Sir Tanar said, his voice shaking, “and I’ll bring a morsel to whet your appetite.” With these words, he turned and strode away, swallowing the ball of steel wool that had formed in his throat.

Charynsanth pulled herself up the slope to watch him go, her massive ivory claws digging into the stone. She paused over the outstretched form of the kender, sniffing at him hungrily. He was barely enough even to take the trouble to swallow, but at least he was warm and juicy, not burned to a crisp.

As she hovered over him, Razmous’s eyes opened a slit. “Oh, hello,” he whispered. “My name izh Razhmouf Pingepogget. Are you going to defour me?”

“I thought I might,” the dragon answered with begrudging admiration, almost pity for this miserable wretch who had been treacherously stabbed in the back by what was probably his companion, if not his friend. That wizard would be one to watch, she thought. He might try the same with me.

“Oh, good,” Razmous sighed sleepily. “Do hurry, “fore I fall azleeb. I doan wanna mizh thizh.”

Chapter 29

Conundrum’s ascending kettle had been fully converted into what they had decided to call a diving bell. Inside the large copper kettle, they had built a shelf to sit on and a rack to hold bottles of compressed air, and they had placed a small porthole on one side to allow the occupant to see his surroundings. The whole thing was wrapped in a large cargo net and doubly secured at the top to make sure the bell wouldn’t tip over and let out all the air. It dangled by a rope that ran through a pulley, which was suspended by a boom attached to the stern of the Indestructible. From the pulley, the rope led down through a hatch into the engine room of the ship, where it wound round a wheel attached to the main drive spring-which, for this experiment, was connected both to the flowpellars and the wench, with power transferable between the two devices by way of an ingenious box of gears called a “dyno.” (Short for “how do I know?” As in, “What does that thing do?” “How do I know?”) Of course, the Indestructible had miles and miles of rope, because gnomes never went anywhere without miles and miles of rope, not if they could help it. One simply never knew when one might need to build, say, a suspension bridge, or for that matter, lower a diving bell to the other side of Krynn.

Maritime Sciences Guild motto: Be overly prepared.

The ship’s remaining red-jumpsuited ensigns were placed in charge of operating the wench, while Conundrum and the commodore stood by the boom. Conundrum found himself once more in charge of oilage, this time of the pulley. Doctor Bothy stood by with his medical trunk, hiccoughing softly. Captain Hawser and Chief Portlost were ready inside the crab in case of emergencies-like a sudden attack by giants. Normally, Sir Grumdish would have handled the security details, but he was strangely absent, as were Razmous and Sir Tanar. Commodore Brigg not- so-secretly hoped that Sir Tanar had gotten lost in the city. In his opinion, the wizard was up to no good in his secretive exploration of the ruins. “Maybe,” the commodore whispered in a prayer to Reorx, “he’s been eaten by giants.” He also crossed his fingers behind his back and tied a lucky knot in his beard, just for good measure.

For this experiment, they needed every bit of luck they could get, for this exploratory dive into the seemingly bottomless chasm at the bottom of the flooded cavern was fraught with danger. A million things could go wrong, and even the gnomes were willing to admit that, with them, things that could go wrong usually did. The rope could