Kitiara. 'Horses, oxen, anything.'
'Or carts, for that matter,' Sturm mused.
Kitiara shot him a knowing glance. 'Yes, the slope down from the saw-toothed ridge is steep but fairly smooth. We could roll quite a ways.'
The spirit of technical challenge was infectious, and ideas — wild, gnomish ideas — began flashing about the little group. The gnomes dumped their packs into one big heap and went into a close huddle. Their rapid patter made no sense to Sturm or Kitiara, but the humans saw it as a good sign.
As suddenly as the gnomes had put their heads together, they broke apart. Tools appeared, and the gnomes pro ceeded to knock their wooden backpacks to pieces.
'What are you making this time?' Sturm asked Cutwood.
'Sleds,' was the simple reply.
'Did he say 'sleds'?' asked Kitiara.
Within half an hour, each gnome had constructed, according to his lights, a sled — that is, a Single-Gnome Iner tia Transport Device. 'By these we expect to descend the cliff slope at prodigious speed,' announced Sighter.
'And break your reckless little necks,' said Kitiara under her breath.
'These are for you and Master Sturm,' said Roperig. He and Fitter pushed two flimsy sleds to the human's feet. Hav ing only short slats of wood to work with, the gnomes held their inventions together with nails, screws, glue, string, wire, and, in Rainspot's case, his suspenders. Wingover had designed his sled to let him ride on his belly; Sighter's allowed the rider to gracefully recline. Because of their rela tive size, Sturm's and Kitiara's sleds allowed them only a wide bit of plank for a seat.
'You can't be serious,' Kitiara said dubiously. 'Ride that down there?'
'It will be fast,' encouraged Sighter.
'And fun!' Fitter exclaimed.
'We've calculated all the available data on stress and strength of materials,' Cutwood noted. He brandished his notebook as proof; there were five pages covered with tiny, closely spaced letters and numbers. 'In all cases except yours, there'll be a safety factor of three.'
'What do you mean, 'in all cases except yours''' Kitiara felt obliged to ask.
Cutwood stowed his notebook in his vest pocket. 'Being larger and heavier, you will naturally put more stress on the
Single-Gnome Inertia Transport Devices. Your chances of reaching the bottom of the hill without crashing are no more than even.'
Kitiara opened her mouth to protest, but Sturm fore stalled her with a tolerant glance. 'Those are better odds than the Lunitarians will give us,' he had to admit. He boosted the flimsy sled to his shoulder. 'Are you coming!'
She looked more than doubtful. 'Why don't we stay here and break each others' necks? Then we'll at least save the trouble of tumbling and rolling.'
'Are you afraid?'
He knew just how to provoke her. Kitiara flushed and took up her sled. 'Want to..wager who gets to the bottom first?' she said.
'Why not?' he replied. 'I haven't any money.'
'What good is money here? How about if the loser has to carry the winner's bedroll all the way to the obelisk?'
'It's a wager.' They shook hands.
Wingover was giving his colleagues an impromptu course on steering and braking. 'Mostly you steer by leaning in the direction you want to go,' he advised. 'For stopping, use the heels of your shoes, not the toes. The downhill momentum can turn your feet under and break your toes.'
Rainspot and Cutwood flipped open their notebooks and scribbled furiously. 'Given a maximum velocity of fifty-six miles per hour — '
'And feet approximately seven inches long — '
'One can expect to break three toes on the left foot — '
'And four on the right,' said Rainspot. The gnomes applauded.
'Wingover just told us not to use our toes, so why in the name of the suffering gods do you calculate something no one in his right mind would try?' Kitiara asked.
'The principle of scientific inquiry should not be limited to merely the practical or the possible,' explained Sighter.
'Only by investigating the unlikely and the unthought-of is the sum total of knowledge advanced.'
Sturm was looking at his feet. 'What I don't understand is why more toes on the right foot would break than on the left.'
'Don't encourage them!' Kitiara told Sturm. She dragged her shaky bundle of slats to the edge of the cliff. The glass smooth slope plunged down at a breathtaking angle. Kitiara inhaled sharply and looked back. The gnomes crowded for ward to the edge, quite unafraid.
'Obviously an example of vitreous concretion,' observed
Cutwood, running a hand over the smooth, bubbly surface.
'Do you think? Volcanic?' Wingover said.
'Hardly. I should say this entire valley constitutes a ther moflexic astrobleme,' theorized Sighter.
Kitiara uttered an angry snort that cut off further gnom ish theorizing. She dropped her sled and straddled it. When she let her weight down on it, the slats creaked ominously.
'You did say even odds?' she said to Cutwood. The gnome babbled something about 'within two standard deviations,' and Kitiara decided not to query further. She pulled herself forward by hands and heels until she teetered on the brink.
'C'mon, Sturm! Or do you want to pack my bedroll for the next forty miles?'
Sturm laid his sled on the ground. He told Wingover that he and Kit were going to race. Wingover replied, 'Oh! Then you'll need someone at the bottom to see who wins! Wait, wait — I'll go down first, and when I'm in place, I'll call you.'
'All right with you, Kit?' She waved a casual affirmative.
'All right, lads. Here I go!' said Wingover. 'For science!' he proclaimed, and slid over. immediately, the other gnomes lined up and went right after him.
Cutwood called, 'For Sancrist!' and went over.
'For technology!' cried Rainspot, as he tipped over the edge.
'For the Cloudmaster!' was Roperig's toast.
'For raisin muffins!' Fitter followed close behind his boss.
Sighter, the last, pushed his sled forward and slipped into the seat. 'For Bellcrank,' he said softly.
The gnomes' sleds bounded down the hill, swaying and leaping over bumps in the glasslike rock. Wingover, lying prone on his mount, steered skillfully around the worst obstacles. He'd built a front yoke on his sled, and weaved a serpentine course down the slope. On his heels, Cutwood howled straight down, knees tight against his chin, his silky beard clamped firmly between them. Sturm and Kitiara heard his high-pitched 'Woo-haa!' as he hit bump after bump.
Rainspot had a drag-brake on the tail of his sled, and he coasted along at a relatively mild rate. Roperig, who had designed his sled to be ridden in a standing crouch, whistled by the weather seer, frantically waving his outstretched arms in an effort to keep his balance. His apprentice was having all sorts of trouble. Fitter's mount was wider than it was long, and it tended to rotate as it slid. This made his progress somewhat slower than the others but the spinning threatened to turn his stomach. Sighter, cool and rational, proceeded under perfect control. He would touch his heels to the ground at specific points to correct the direction he was taking.
All was going fairly well until Wingover reached bottom, four hundred feet away. There the glass cliff face changed to dry red gravel, and Wingover's sled stopped dead on its run ners. His stop was so sudden that the trailing gnomes piled right into him — Cutwood and Roperig immediately, Fitter and Rainspot a little later. Slats and tools and gnomes flew through the air after a series of hair-raising crashes. Sturm saw Sighter move unflinching toward the pile, but averted his eyes and missed Sighter's sharp turn, which left him two feet to the right of the
