At first Teldin could see nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing that would cause the tinkers to break into cheers. Then he noticed the ship’s shadow below them. It moved, rippling over the broken crater floor. The Unquenchable was no longer where it had been; the neogi ship had shifted to port, and the lake’s blue water was coming closer.

“Attention,” began one of the senior gnomes, or so Teldin judged from the little tinker’s wrinkled face, bushy, gray eyebrows, and incongruous gray braids, “upon making contact with the water, artifice engineers will begin dismantling the spelljamming helm and transfer it to the Unquenchable before this ship, which our naval engineers have determined is unseaworthy, sinks-”

“Sir,” Gomja called from across the room, “are you able to walk, sir, or would you like me to arrange a litter? We can’t stay on this ship too much longer.”

“I can walk," Teldin insisted. Even though his legs felt like lead, his streak of familial stubbornness refused any aid. He took two steps and pitched forward as the ship jerkily lowered. Gomja quickly came to his side.

“Let me help you, sir. We have to hurry.” Teldin shot him a quizzical look, too fogged to understand Gomja’s meaning. “The gnomes plan to land this ship beside the Unquenchable, sir. I don’t think deathspiders float very well.” Lending support to Teldin, Gomja stopped near the crew of tinkers busily disassembling the captain’s chair. “How long will it take you to get the helm out?”

The gray-braided supervisor looked up and popped an oversized jeweler’s loupe out of his eye. “Well, the whole frame attachment is counter-buckled to the-”

“I asked how long, Section Three,” Gomja groused. The gnome paled and earnestly held up five fingers.

“Five minutes, Sergeant Gomja,” the gnome briskly said.

“Make it four.” Without waiting for a reply, Gomja guided his friend to the door.

“What was that all about?” Teldin asked in a shaky voice as the giff led him down the hall.

“Just a little discipline, sir,” Gomja cheerfully replied. “Oh,” Teldin commented, unconvinced. There was a loud splash and the deck bounced as the deathspider hit the water. Recovering from the jolt, Gomja hurriedly lifted the weakened human from the floor and urged him toward the gangway. The hull creaked and groaned as the water quickly seeped into the lower hold.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’d better hurry,” Gomja explained, scooping Teldin up before the human could protest. The giff cradled his frail friend in his massive arms and set out at a jarring sprint for the upper decks.

“What about the gnomes? What was that thing they were working on? The helm, you called it?” Teldin painfully asked as they bounced along.

“The helm? It’s the engine, the thing that makes a spelljammer go,” Gomja explained between pants.

“That thing? It was like a chair,” Teldin said.

“Well, sir, that’s what it is. Without it, this deathspider will never fly-and the gnomes can use it on the Unquenchable. I don’t really understand, but the tinkers do.” Gomja strode up a ramp to the upper deck. Bright sunlight assailed Teldin ‘s eyes as the giff stepped onto the weapons deck. A team of gnomes was swarming over a half-disassembled catapult, passing the pieces to a boat waiting over the side. Reaching the edge of the deck, Teldin could see bubbles rise as water rushed into the deathspider’s bowels. The human reveled in the thought of the great old master trapped in fast-flooding chambers.

“It’s time to leave, sir,” Gomja said, lowering Teldin, bleeding and bruised, to the outstretched hands below. A gnomish flotilla, rowboats that looked as if they couldn’t possibly float, waited alongside.

Gomja was dozing at a small conference table, his head flat on the metal surface, when Teldin finally tottered onto the Unquenchable's bridge. His cloak, prize of the neogi, flapped against his arms as the wind blew through the open doorway. Teldin tugged the door shut, listening to the creaks and groans as the counterweights and pulleys slid the valves into place. The door was definitely a piece of gnomish work.

The racket was even enough to rouse the the normally hard to wake giff. With a tired lurch, the big alien pushed back the little chair he precariously perched on and brought himself to attention. "Good afternoon, sir!" Trooper Gomja hailed.

Teldin stared in wonderment, perhaps at the clutter of dials and levers on the tiny bridge, perhaps only in confusion over the missing hours. "What happened?" the cloakmaster finally asked, trying to get some bearing on where he was.

"We rescued you, sir, from the neogi," Gomja carefully explained, suddenly concerned for his friend. "Do you remember the deathspider, getting on the rowboats?" Teldin nodded, and the giff continued, "You collapsed, sir, so I had them bring you over to the Unquenchable where I could keep an eye on you. I wouldn't trust a gnome doctor unless I was around."

"Thank you for that," Teldin said paling slightly at the thought of what a tinker might do to his body. "But how did you rescue me, and with gnomes to boot?" Still somewhat wobbly, thr farmer gently lowered himself onto one of the ridiculously small gnomish chairs.

Gomja smiled. "It wasn't that hard, sir. After you left, I organized my gnomes into a proper platoon, as a sergeant should. The little fellows were quite taken by the idea and spread it around. At one point, the whole mountain was a single platoon, but I managed to get that straightened out!" Gomja cheerfully allowed, banging his fist on the table at the humor of the thought. Once they got the idea, the gnomes were just demons for fighting. They don't like being kicked out of their mountain, I guess."

"They drove the neogi out?" Teldin asked in disbelief. It was hard to imagine the gnomes resolute about anything.

"Just about, sir." Gomja pointed with his big finger to the top of the cone of Mount Nevermind, clearly visible through the bridge windows. "The gnomes have pushed the neogi into those small spires. There're only a few of the beasts in the uppermost towers, levels thirty-seven through thirty-nine. The neogi are trapped and can't retreat. I've got six platoons up there trying to root them out. We'd have them out by now except for that other deathspider."

Teldin sat up straight at the words, inducing a wave of pain through his stiff shoulders. "What other deathspider? I thought there was only one!"

"Not anymore, sir," the giff grimly explained, pointing in the opposite direction. There, framed by the window, was the malevolent, black shape of a second spider-ship, hovering over the far end of the crater lake. "It showed up a few hours ago. It's my fault, sir. I forgot these things travel in packs. So far, it hasn't done anything. My guess is that they're waiting for reinforcements."

Teldin's bandaged arm throbbed. "Then?" The answer was obvious, but fatigue was making it hard to think.

Gomja scanned the ground between the enemy ship and the crater wall. “Then I think the neogi will attack again, better organized and with more forces. The gnomes might not fare so well against a serious attack.”

“I thought we just had one,” Teldin remarked, not encouraged by the giff’s gloomy claim.

Gomja shook his big head. “No, sir. With only one ship, that was more like a raid. I imagine the neogi didn’t expect resistance, but now they’ll be prepared for a fight.”

“Until they get the cloak,” Teldin added as an unpleasant afterthought. The fabric hung on his shoulders like lead, the burden of death it carried suddenly crushing.

“I suppose so, sir.”

Teldin painfully ambled to a porthole window and looked out over the deck. From on board, the Unquenchable seemed more like a proper ship, though still strange in its design. Unlike the ocean-going Silver Spray, the gnomish vessel appeared to have the flat hull of a riverboat, with the decks stacked on the hull. Each deck was surrounded by a balcony that opened onto all the cabins for that level. A crazy assemblage of ladders and stairs manage to ruin the neat-seeming arrangement, but Teldin was certain the gnomes considered these an improvement.