Chapter 31
The second voyage of the Cloudmaster was very different from the first. The engine's incessant turning, and the great wings' wafting had given those on board a sense of passage, of activity. The silent drift of the ship, now sup ported only by the ethereal air, was not like that. A perva sive lethargy invaded everyone on board. There was little to do in the way of managing the ship, and the less there was to do, the less anyone cared to do.
The gnomes quarreled, too. In the past, they had traded scoffing remarks and mild blows with equanimity; ten sec onds afterward, no one remembered or cared. But now, cooped up in the bare hull of the Cloudmaster, the gnomes lost their generous natures. Roperig and Fitter squabbled over the correct way to store the small supply of rope they had left. Cutwood grew deafer and deafer as he adjusted to his normal level of hearing. Flash yelled at him all the time, and Sighter yelled at Flash for yelling. Wingover had a slap ping match with Birdcall that left red welts on both their faces for hours. And Rainspot, poor gentle Rainspot, sat in the 'tween decks and wept.
Stutts sought out Sturm. 'Things are s-seriously wrong,' he said. 'My c-colleagues are behaving like a band of gully dwarves. They are b-bored. Now there's no great task to bc accomplished, l-like toppling the obelisk.'
'What can I do about it?' asked Sturm.
'We m-must give them a task, something that will t-take their minds off the slowness of our p- passage.'
'What sort of task?'
Stutts said, 'P-Perhaps Sighter could enlist their help in n-naming all the stars?'
'They would only argue,' Sturm replied.
'Hmm, we c-could make a batch of m-muffins.'
'No flour,' Sturm reminded him. 'Try again.'
'Well, you c-could get seriously ill.'
'Oh, no, your good colleagues would want to cut me open and find out what was wrong. Try again.'
The gnome's shoulders sagged in defeat. 'That was m-my last idea.'
This is serious, Sturm thought. Who ever heard of a gnome out of ideas? 'You know,' he said, smoothing out his mustache, 'perhaps there is some way to make this ship move faster.'
'Without an en-engine?'
'Ships girdle the world without engines,' Sturm observed. 'How do they do it?'
'Let's s-see.' Stutts twined his fingers together and thought hard. 'Oars, s-sails, draft animals on shore, magic — ' Here he traded a disapproving look with Sturm.
'— muscle-turned p-paddle wheels, towing by whales or sea s-serpents — ' A light kindled in his pale blue eyes. 'Excuse me. I m-must confer with my colleagues.'
'Good man,' said Sturm. He watched the gnome hurry away, almost skipping with delight.
A cheer penetrated the deck from below as Stutts explained his notion to the other gnomes. Thumps and squeaks told only too well that the gnomes' idleness had vanished. Sturm smiled.
He went looking for Kitiara. She was not in the dining room, so he went below. The gnomes were gathered in the berth deck's aft cabin. He peeked in the doorless doorway, to see Flash and Wingover sketching madly on the deck planks with lumps of charcoal.
'No, no,' Sighter was saying, 'you must increase the degree of camber, relative to the angle of incidence.'
'What a lot of goat cheese! Any fool knows you have to decrease the planar surface,' argued as, rapping his fist on the deck.
'Yes, any fool!'
Sturm withdrew. The gnomes were happy again.
He descended the short ladder to the hold. It was bitterly cold down there, since the flimsy patch in the hull scarcely kept out the wind, much less the cold. It was there that
Sturm found Kitiara, perched on one of the stout hull ribs, sipping from her water bottle.
'You look comfortable,' he said.
'Oh, I am. Care for some?' said Kitiara. She handed
Sturm the bottle. He raised it to his lips, but before taking a swallow smelled the sweet tang of wine.
He lowered the bottle. 'Where did you get this?'
'Cupelix made it for me. Wine of Ergoth.'
Sturm took the smallest sip. It was extremely sweet, and as the few drops flowed down his throat, they burned strongly. His face must have reddened, for Kitiara chuckled at him.
'Deceptive, isn't it? Tastes like syrup at first, then it kicks like a bee-stung mule.'
He gave the bottle back to her. 'I thought you preferred ale,' he said.
Kitiara drank. 'Ale is for good times, good meals, and good company. Sweet wine of Ergoth is for melancholy hours, loneliness, and funerals.'
Sturm knelt beside her. 'You shouldn't be melancholy,' he said. 'We're on our way home, at last.'
Kitiara leaned back against the curving rib. 'Sometimes I envy you your patience. Other times, it sets my teeth on edge.' She closed her eyes. 'Do you ever wonder what the rest of your life will be like?' she asked.
'Only in a very basic way,' Sturm replied. 'Part of knighthood is acceptance of the fate the gods mete out.'
'I could never think that way. I want to make it happen.
That's what hurts so much about lost opportunities. I had strength, and now it's fading; I had a dragon for an ally, and now he's gone, too.'
'And Tanis?'
Kitiara shot him a cold look. 'Yes, damn your honesty. Tanis is gone, too. And my father.' She swirled the bottle around. It was almost empty. 'I'm tired,' Kitiara said. 'I'll make a resolu tion, Sturm, and you can be my witness From now on, I shall contemplate, plan, reason, and calculate; whatever serves my purpose will be good and whatever impedes me will be evil. I'll not rely on anyone but myself; not share with anyone except my most loyal comrades in arms. I'll be queen of my own realm, this,' she patted herself on the leg, 'and not fear any thing but failure.' She turned her rather bleary eyes to him.
'What do you think of my resolution?'
'I think you've had too much wine.' He rose to go, but she called for him to stop.
'It's cold down here,' she complained.
'So come up to the berth deck.'
Kitiara held out her arms and tried to stand. She didn't get very far before sagging back to the hull rib. 'I'm better off not trying,' she said. 'Come here.'
Sturm stood over her. She grabbed hold of his sleeve. Still quite strong, Kitiara easily pulled Sturm down to her level.
He tried to protest, but she pushed him back against the curving planks and nestled in close. 'Just stay here a while,' she said, eyes closed, 'to keep me warm.'
So Sturm found himself lying very still in the coldest part of the ship, Kitiara nestled under his left arm. Her breathing grew soft and regular. He studied the face showing under her fur-trimmed hood. Kitiara's tan had lightened over the past weeks, but her dark lashes and curls seemed out of place on so rugged a warrior. Her dark lips were parted slightly and her breath smelled of sweet wine.
The gnomes presented their grand design for improving the drifting Cloudmaster's speed a few hours later in the former dining room. Birdcall had drawn the whole plan on the wall in chalk and charcoal. Sturm sat on the floor, listen ing attentively. Kitiara leaned on the wall several feet away, tight-lipped. She was experiencing ill effects from the wine.
'As you can see,' Wingover began, our plan calls for rig ging the Cloudmaster with sails on each side of the ethereal air bag. That, and trimming the hull with the excess of weight well in the bow, should increase our speed
