Chapter 32
It was hard to say just when the change occurred. It came on slowly, with no dramatic oscillations or warnings.
Somewhere in the billowing white clouds, the Cloudmaster stopped rising toward Krynn and began falling toward it.
Sturm asked Sighter just how this worked, but the astrono mer mumbled something about 'density of matter in rela tion to air' and left it at that. Sighter plainly didn't understand the effect himself.
Nevertheless, the blue face of Krynn moved from over their heads to under their feet. The closer they got to their home world, the livelier the winds grew, and the faster they flew.
'We can't land too soon for me,' Kitiara commented. 'If I have to eat pink spears and drink water much longer, toad stools will sprout from my ears!'
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The air grew warmer and wetter. While the warmth was appreciated, the denser, moister air proved a hardship for them all after being used to Lunitari's thin air. The weighti ness oppressed them. For a time, it was hard to do anything strenuous.
'By the gods,' Sturm remarked, panting as he helped Cut wood and Flash trim the port sails, 'I haven't been this winded since Flint and I had to flee the forest dwarves, after
Tasslehoff 'borrowed' some of their silver.'
Day and night fell into a more even rhythm again, and
Sturm found himself sleeping longer and more soundly as the days slipped by. Sighter recorded that the Cloudmaster had been airborne for nineteen days and estimated that it would make landfall in two more days.
The sky changed from black to blue, and the horizon filled with clouds. Through puffy gaps they could see for ests, fields, mountains, and seas below. They were still high, but at least they had a sense of solid ground beneath them again.
The morning of what was to be their last day aloft dawned sultry and wet. The sails hung from their spars, and dew stood in puddles on deck. A clinging mist held to the flying ship, and nothing was visible ten feet beyond the rail.
'Halloo!' Wingover shouted. 'Halloo!'
'Can't see a thing,' Kitiara reported, squinting hard.
'I can't even tell how high we are,' Sturm said. The
Cloudmaster seemed to be adrift in a box of wet fleece.
Stutts appeared with the rope and grapnel.
'We should d-drop this over the side,' he advised. 'It m may hook a tree and d-drag us to a stop.'
He lowered the grapnel from the bowsprit and tied it off.
When he returned amidships Kitiara asked him when they ought to open the bag and release the ethereal air.
'Only when w-we're certain we're about, to l-land.'
She stared at the wallowing bag overhead. The dirty can vas sack had shrunk steadily as it got warmer. Now it hung against the rope netting, rolling about furtively like a caged beast trying to escape. Kitiara fingered the hilt of her bent dagger, No more nonsense, she thought. When conditions look good, I'll open the bag myself!
Wingover, still entwined in the rigging, pointed off the starboard bow. 'Fire!' he cried.
Sighter clicked open his telescope and swung it toward the orange glow far off in the mist. His mouth dropped open for a second, then he lowered his glass and shut it.
'You dolt!' he said to Wingover. 'Haven't you ever seen a sunrise before?'
'What?'
'Sunrise?' said Kitiara, A sunrise could only mean they were low enough to the ground for the sun to appear as the ball of fire they remembered, and not as the yellow disk it looked like from between the red moon and Krynn.
The sun waxed hotter and brighter, and the fog dispersed.
A thousand feet below lay only ocean — as far as every eye could see, nothing but oily green sea. The salty smell rose to greet them as the sun heated up the water.
A north wind pushed them along at an idle six knots. As the day wore on, the humidity rose and all the furs and cold weather gear came off. The gnomes stripped down to sus penders and trousers. The deck thumped with nine pairs of bare pink feet. As protection from sunburn, Fitter made them all bandannas from their shirts and soon the gnomes looked like a band of pirates shrunk to half size.
Kitiara joyously discarded her heavy clothes, keeping only her riding breeches and a leather vest. Sturm alone refused to shed his long-sleeved tunic and boots. Kitiara noted the dark sweat stains on his chest and arms. Dignity, she decided, could be an uncomfortable burden.
By angling the sails, they were able to drive the ship down closer to the sea. The grapnel dipped and leaped from wave crest to wave crest, slinging back from the impacts.
Sighter worked hard with his astrolabe to determine their location. Without a compass and accurate charts, he could make only a rough estimate, but he tried. The deck, from the door of the wheelhouse aft to the stern post, was cov ered with his figures. Sweat collected in his bushy brows and dripped annoyingly from the tip of his nose.
Kitiara and Sturm surveyed the vast calculations, and finally Kit asked, 'Well?'
'We're on Krynn,' said Sighter. Kitiara counted to twen ty, silently. 'My best guess is, we're somewhere in the Sir rion Sea, either four hundred, eight hundred, or twelve hundred miles from Sancrist.'
'Four, eight, or twelve hundred?' Sturm said.
'Lacking a compass, it's very hard to be precise.' Sighter flicked off a drop of sweat that had stubbornly clung to his nose. I'm certain it's one of those multiples of four hundred.'
Kitiara threw up her hands. 'Wonderful! We may cruise into Thalan Bay in four days, or we may starve to death try ing to reach an island a thousand miles away.'
'I don't think we'll starve,' said Wingover.
'Oh? What makes you so certain?'
'There's a ship,' he said quietly, pointing out to sea.
Sighter's precious figures were trampled in the rush to the rail. Off the port they saw bow masts and snowy sails pok ing above the horizon. Out came the telescope. Kitiara plucked it from Sighter's grasp.
'What!' he said, but she already had the glass to her eye.
The ship was a two-masted caravel of uncertain origin.
There was no figurehead or name scribed on the forecastle.
The mastheads were bare of pennants or flags, though the deck was clean and the brightwork shined.
Can you make out where she's from?' asked Sturm.
'No,' Kitiara said. 'Can't see any crew.'
'Try in the rigging. They're running with the wind, so there's bound to be somebody aloft.'
'I looked. There's nobody to be seen.'
The Cloudmaster slowed as it entered a lower stratum of air. The direction changed, and the patchwork sails luffed and flapped impotently. While Sturm and four gnomes saw to resetting them, Kitiara studied the unidentified ship.
'Pirate, maybe? Or smuggler?' she mused. There were plenty of reasons to hide a ship's name, few legitimate.
'Sturm? Sturm?' she called.
'What is it?'
'Could we catch that ship and board it?'
He came to the edge of the deckhouse and shaded his eyes to look down at her. 'Why?'
'They might have food and fresh water.'
It was a powerful argument. Sturm was as sick of beans and Lunitarian fungi as the rest of them. 'I suppose
