netting, was a big canvas bag. A huge egg-shaped bag squirmed and writhed in the wind like a living thing. A swarm of little men surrounded the boat-thing. Beyond them, a couple of tall poles rose straight up from the ground. From the tops of these four poles, long ropes whipped about, and at the end of the ropes were more of the 'warrior's shields' that Kitiara had seen. At the same time, Sturm emerged from the cedars on the opposite side of the same clearing. He gaped at the thing. Wordlessly, he headed toward it. A little man in a shiny hat and long coat greeted Sturm.
'G-greetings and felicit-tationsl' he said cheerily.
'Hello,' said a bewildered Sturm. 'What is going on here?'
Even as he spoke, a bolt of lightning struck one of the 'birds' tethered on a pole (the same thing Kitiara had mistaken for a shield). Blue-white fire coursed down the line to the pole. From the pole, it flashed along another line a foot off the ground, until it reached the boat-thing, where it vanished. The boat swayed on its wheels, then settled back.
'D-Doing? Well, charging up, as you c-can see,' said the little man.
When he flipped the wide brim of his hat back, Sturm saw his pale eyes and bushy white brows and realized that he was a gnome. 'It really is a w-wonderful storm. We're so l-lucky!'
Kitiara wandered around the odd-looking craft, warily keeping her distance. By one especially vivid bolt of lightning, she saw Sturm talking to the little fellow. She cupped her hands around her lips and yelled, 'Sturm!'
'Kit!' She joined him. 'Did you find the horses?'
'No, I was hoping they ran to you.'
She waved her arms in great circles. 'I fell in a ditch!'
'So I see. What are we going to do?'
'Ahem,' said the gnome. 'D-do I understand that you t-two have lost your m-means of transportation''
'That's right,' said Sturm and Kitiara in unison.
'Fortuitous f-fate! Perhaps we can help one another.' He flipped the brim of his hat down again. A tiny torrent of water spilled down his coat.
'Will you c-come with me?'
'Where are we going?' asked Sturm.
'For n-now, out of the w-weather,' said the gnome.
'I'm for that!' said Kitiara.
The gnome led them up a ramp into the left side of the boat. The interior was brightly lit, warm, and dry. Their guide removed his hat and coat. He was a mature male of his race, with a fine white beard and bald pink head. He gave Sturm and Kitiara each a towel — which, being sized for gnomes, was no bigger than a hand-towel. Sturm dried his hands and face. Kitiara loosened some of the mud from hers, wrung out the towel, and tied it scarf- fashion around her head.
'F-follow me,' said the gnome. 'My c-colleagues will join us l-later. They're busy now g-gathering the lightning.'
With this amazing statement, he led them down a long, narrow passage between two banks of machinery of unfathomable purpose. All the rods, cranks, and gears were skillfully wrought in iron or brass and carefully hollowed out. Their guide came to a small ladder, which he ascended. The upper deck they entered was subdivided into small cabins. Hammocks were slung from hooks, and all sorts of boxes, crates, and great glass demijohns were packed on every inch of floor space. Only a narrow track down the center of the passage was clear for walking. They climbed a second ladder and were in a house built in the center of the deck. There were portholes in the walls, and Sturm could see that rain still lashed at them. The deckhouse was split into two large rooms. The forward room, where they entered, was fitted like a ship's wheelhouse. A steering wheel was set at the bow end, which was extensively glazed with many glass panels. All sorts of levers sprouted from the floor and ceiling, and there were mysterious gauges labeled Altitude, Indicated Air Speed, and Density of Raisins in Breakfast Muffins. Kitiara introduced them. The gnome's eyes widened, and he smiled benignly when he learned that Sturm was the son of an ancient Solamnic family. Ever curious, he inquired after Kitiara's antecedents. She turned his query aside and described their journey so far, their goal, and their general frustration at having lost their horses.
'P-perhaps I can be of s-service,' said the gnome. 'My name is He-Who-Stutters-Ap-propriately-in-the-M- midstof-the-Most-Abstruse-Technical-Explanations — ' Sturm interrupted, knowing the length of gnomish names. 'Please! What do those not of the gnomish race call you?'
The gnome sighed, and said very slowly, 'I am often c-called 'Stutts', a wholly inadequate approximation of my true n-name.'
'It has the virtue of brevity,' said Sturm.
'B-brevity, my dear knight, is no virtue to those who love knowledge for its own s-sake.' Stutts folded his stubby fingers across his round belly. 'I should like to offer you a p-position, if, under the circumstances, you are iinterested.'
'What sort of position?' asked Kitiara.
'My c-colleagues and I arrived here today from Caergoth.' The awkward spectacle of the gnome ship in Caergoth harbor came to the humans' minds. 'We c-came to this region of Solamnia because the weather patterns are well known for v-violent thunderstorms.' Sturm brushed his drying mustache with his fingers.
'You were seeking a storm?'
'P-precisely. The lightning is vital for the operation of oui m-machine.' Stutts smiled and patted the arm of his chair 'Isn't it a b-beauty? It is called the C–Cloudmaster.'
'What does it do?'
'It f-flies.'
'Oh, of course it does,' Kitiara said with a chuckle. 'Very ingenious of you gnomes. What does that have to do with Sturm and me?'
Stutts's small face flushed a deeper shade of pink.
'Ahem. W-we've had a bit of b-bad luck. You see, in calculating the op-optimal lift-to-weight ratio, someone failed to consider the effect of the Cloudmaster coming to r-rest on soil in an advanced state of hydration.'
'What did you say!'
'We're st-stuck in the mud,' said Stutts, turning pink again.
'And you want us to dig you out?' asked Kitiara.
'For which we will g-gratefully fly you to any point on Krynn that you wish to go. Enstar, B-Balifor, or far Karthay — '
'The Plains of Solamnia were where we were headed,' said Sturm.
'That's as far as we need to go.' Kitiara swung an elbow into Sturm's ribs.
'You're not taking this little lunatic seriously, are you?' she hissed from the corner of her mouth.
'I know gnomes,' he replied. 'Their inventions work with surprising regularity.'
'But I don't — ' Stutts hopped up. 'You'll want to d-discuss it. May I suggest you clean up, have a good m- meal, and then d-decide? We have a cleansing station on board like nothing you've s-seen before.'
'I'm sure of that,' Kitiara muttered. They agreed to bathe and dine with the gnomes. Stutts pulled a light chain that hung from the ceiling by the steering wheel. A deep-throated AH — OO — GAH! echoed through the flying ship. A young gnome in greasy coveralls and with very bushy red eyebrows appeared. 'Show our g-guests to the cleansing station,' said Stutts. The bushy-browed gnome whistled a string of notes in reply.
'No, one at a t-time,' Stutts said. Bushy-brows whistled again.
'Does he always talk like that?' queried Kitiara.
'Yes. My c-colleague — ' Here he recited about five minutes of gnome-name. '- has evolved the theory that spoken language was derived from the songs of birds. You may call him — ' Stutts paused and looked at the bushy-browed fellow, who tweeted and chirped. Stutts continued, '-Birdcall.'
Birdcall took Sturm and Kitiara below deck to the stern. There, with whistles and gestures, he indicated two cubicles on either side of the corridor. The doors bore identical signs that read: Rapid and Hygienic Cleansing Station Perfected and Provided to the Flying Ship Cloudmaster By the Guild of Hydrodynamic Masters and Journeymen And the Apprentices of Mt. Nevermind Level Twelve Sancrist Ansalon Krynn Sturm looked from the door to Kitiara.
'Do you think it works?' he asked.
'Only one way to find out,' she replied, pulling the filthy towel from her head and dropping it on the
