Teldin could already see the greedy scientific gleam in Niggil’s eyes. Holding his hand up, he firmly announced, “There’ll be no testing of the cloak until I say so-if I say so. Is that understood?” Somewhat crestfallen by the announcement, the three gnomes, Niggil in particular, reluctantly agreed in their long-winded way.
“But my life-quest-” Niggil began to whimper before a shudder ran through the deck and cut him off. Through the forward portal they all could see the deathspider fire a missile from its aft. They heard the grinding noise of another ballista bolt hit.
“Captain Wysdor, get this thing out of here before the neogi sink us,” Teldin urgently suggested. Captain Wysdor looked lamely at the three admirals. It didn’t surprise Teldin that the gnomes would be redundant in choosing officers.
“Yes, yes, do as the human orders,” Ilwar said. “Crew, assume positions and prepare presailing check. Bridge doors closed?”
The valves rattled shut. “Bridge doors closed-check!” shouted a squeaky voice. Even before that was finished, Niggil called out another step, followed by a shouted reply. Soon all three admirals were calling for confirmations, overlapping and, to Teldin’s ear, contradicting each other. The crew seemed to find nothing unusual at all in the whole procedure, though at one point it seemed as if bearded Ilwar and goggle-eyed Niggil were about to come to blows over whether the bridge doors should be open or closed. They finally compromised by leaving them halfway.
Teldin kneeled next to the captain, who, throughout all the checks, double checks, and counterchecks, had said or done nothing but wait patiently to assume his place at the center of the bridge. “How does this ship fly anyway, Captain Wysdor?” Teldin asked, curious to know just how he was going to be traveling. “Where’s that chair, the helm?”
Wysdor drew himself up, proud to be of service. “The chair, as you call it, is the spelljammer engine, and it has been installed in the engine room, where is can provide motive power to the paddlewheels-”
“Engine room? What’s that?”
“Why, that is the room where the spelljamming engine is housed, since the engine must be close to the paddlewheel shafts to turn the-”
“Well, how does the bridge tell it what to do?” Teldin asked, sensing that he was getting an elaborately circular explanation.
“Ah,” Wysdor said brightly, “that’s the ingenious part of it, because from here we can visually examine our route, then, by means of automated carillon signal system…"
Seeing the human’s confused look, Wysdor stopped and struggled to find a simpler explanation. “By means of signal bells, the bridge tells the engine to go slow or fast,” he finally explained, as if talking to a child.
At least that made sense to Teldin. The clamor on the bridge continued unabated, and Teldin had to shout over the noise for Wysdor to hear him. “So what powers the engine? It was only a chair.”
Wysdor stared at the ceiling as he tried to think of the simple way to describe the process. “This is very hard to explain. According to studies of the Spelljammer’s Guild, the spelljammer engine derives its energy through the absorption of thaumaturgical power, which it then redirects into motive force, which-”
“Eh?” the puzzled human interjected.
Wysdor sighed and tried again. “It, uh, drains spells from our ship’s wizard and uses that power to lift the ship.” The captain looked to see if Teldin understood.
“But I thought you said the paddlewheels moved the ship.” The farmer’s head was hurting again. A bustling gnome carrying a bundle of charts and scrolls squeezed between Teldin’s legs, bound for the admirals.
“The paddlewheels are a vital part of the secondary systems, as are the masts and sails, just in case the engine should fail at some critical time during flight and the need for secondary backup systems becomes apparent, in which case-"
“Ready and away!” Ilwar finally shouted, interrupting
Captain Wysdor’s explanation. Wysdor bobbed a quick bow, ushered everyone to a seat, and hurried to assume his post beside Ilwar, Niggil, and Broz. A hush fell over the assembled gnomes, giving the maiden flight-and first field test-of the new and improved Unquenchable a near-religious significance. Teldin tensed with eager expectation, not really knowing what was supposed to happen.
All at once the silence was shattered by the blaring of clanging bells and ear-shattering whistles. Teldin sprang from his seat. “What’s wrong?” he shouted to anyone who would listen. Gomja stood wincing, his ears pressed tightly against his head.
Instead of answering, the gnomes let loose with a cheer. Their celebration was broken by a violent jerk as the deck suddenly lurched upward, a movement that threw Teldin and the rest of the crew sprawling to the floor. The cloakmaster hit the wooden deck on one shoulder and lay gasping for breath as the reignited pain of his injuries coursed along his nerves like molten fire. Only Gomja, feet widespread and knees braced, remained standing. With one big hand, the giff easily hoisted the numb human back to his feet.
The deck wobbled underfoot. Eager and fearful, Teldin joined the gnomes crowding around the portholes. Tall enough to stand in the back, the human was able to look over the assembled heads as the gnomes jumped up and down, fighting for a glimpse of the outdoors. Beyond the edges of the deck, the crater lake’s dark water slowly receded. The Unquenchable was airborne.
And headed straight for the neogi deathspider, Teldin noted when he raised his eyes to the horizon. “Gomja!” he shouted. “What’s the plan for getting past the enemy?”
Gomja pushed his way over to Teldin and shouted over the pinging racket the Unquenchable made. “Plan? I assume the improvements to speed the gnomes made on the helm will let us easily outrun the neogi ship, sir.”
“Improvements to speed?” Admiral Niggil spoke up, overhearing their exchange. “Oh, no, no, no. We improved the sound and color of the helm, not the speed, since- Teldin and Gomja looked at him with expressions of fear on their faces. “Admiral,” Teldin practically screamed, “that’s a neogi ship out there! How do you expect to get past it?”
The impractical Niggil looked at the human with a pained and confused look on his face. “But why should they chase us? This is only a scientific-”
“Gods, Gomja, we’ve got to do something!” Teldin yelled as he comprehended the gnomes’ utter naivete. The giff nodded in agreement, still stunned to find the gnomes so unprepared. Out the fore porthole, Teldin could see that the deathspider had already started into motion. The slender legs were beginning to open, ready to receive the onrushing Unquenchable. Teldin grabbed Niggil, practically lifting the little gnome off the floor. “Niggil-that deathspider. What are you going to do?”
The gnome sputtered and kicked, as unprepared for Teldin’s assault as he was for the attacking ship. Furious, Teldin pushed Niggil aside and grabbed Ilwar. “The deathspider!” Teldin yelled at him, pointing at the approaching ship.
The stately Ilwar looked out the window. His brownish skin went pale at the sight of the voracious neogi ship bearing down on the lumbering Unquenchable. “Oh, dear,” Ilwat mumbled, awestruck by the vision. “They mean to attack us, don’t they?”
The answer to Ilwar’s question came as a shattering boom mingled with the grating screech of tearing metal. The Unquenchable heaved forward and everyone, Gomja included, slid to the back of the bridge as the bow suddenly angled upward. As the portholes flashed by, Teldin caught glimpses of the deathspider’s metal legs wrap around the Unquenchable’s hull in a murderous embrace. The view ended when the farmer thudded into an unyielding mass of arms, legs, chests, and boxes.