Even the normally professional captain found it difficult to suppress his natural pride in the Unquenchable. “The spelljammer helm has been mounted, as instructed by the large, blue-skinned stranger who calls himself Gomja-"
“You told us that already,” Teldin snapped. “Well, yes,” Captain Wysdor said, catching his breath and slowing down, “but now we have finished all the modifications to the helm-”
“Does this mean the ship can leave?” Teldin asked, ignoring the gnome’s wordy barrage.
“-yes-and furthermore we have made several improvements on the design, which, though untested, should enhance the overall performance of the spelljammer engine, assuming, of course, various assumptions about the physical properties of space made by Master Alphonlongrutadinatachruvinuscadilmastrki-”
“We can leave, right?” Teldin demanded again, laying one hand on the captain’s shoulder. He wanted to be absolutely certain that the gnome had answered his question. Teldin suppressed the urge to shout in the little fellow’s face.
The captain stopped, pointedly removed Teldin’s hand, and carefully straightened his braid. “Yes,” he answered icily, glaring up at the human with impressive dignity, the mantle of professionalism restored.
Teldin stared just as fiercely back, unintimidated by the gnome’s posturing. “Is everything else ready?” He kept his finger poised to cut off any long-winded speeches.
“The Unquenchable will be ready to depart as soon as the admiralty reaches the bridge and gives the necessary-"
“Excellent,” Teldin interrupted. Human patience with gnomes and their ways was wearing thin.
Gomja, poking his head out the door, called back to those inside. “The admirals are coming, sir. I don’t think you’re going to like it, though.”
“Admirals?” Teldin echoed.
“Admirals, sir. Three of them,” Gomja explained as he stepped back into the room. Captain Wysdor hastily stepped out of the way.
Marching in lockstep, the three admirals-neatly groomed Ilwar, wild-haired Niggil, and paunchy Broz- strode onto the bridge. The three were dressed in comical blue-and-green uniforms, overloaded with gold braid and heraldic symbols. Behind them came a jostling gaggle of technicians, toting unruly boxes of charts and papers. Gomja unconsciously stiffened to attention and snapped off a salute. “Admirals on the bridge, sir!” he bawled in proper military fashion.
With a groan Teldin collapsed into one of the gnome- sized chairs. Spotting him, the three admirals burst into congratulations at his escape, and shook his hands until Teldin though his miserable joints would be wrenched ftee once again. Finally Ilwar srpoothed his square, black beard and asserted control. “Officer of the Day, prepare a boat to carry Teldin Moore of Kalanian back to shore,” Ilwar ordered. Captain Wysdor moved toward the door.
“That’s not necessary,” Teldin quickly put in, before the orders could be set in motion. “I’m staying.”
“You are staying?” the gnome squeaked with surprise. His wrinkled eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Teldin. The concerned old gnome laid a paternalistic hand on the yeoman’s arm. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked softly, keeping his question simple. “What about the farm you talked about? You may never get back, you know.” Teldin nodded in understanding, but the square-bearded admiral would not be put off. “Teldin Moore of Kalaman, you do not have to do this because of us, and you are not to blame for what has happened, nor do I want you to go with us for these reasons, so be sure of what you are saying-”
“I would be honored to sail with you,” the cloakmaster answered firmly.
Ilwar nodded a little reluctantly. “Belay that order, Officer of the Day!” he shouted back over his shoulder. “Excellent to have you aboard, Teldin Moore of Kalaman,” the admiral said cheerfully, his demeanor completely changing upon seeing Teldin’s resolve. “I am very glad we will have the opportunity for further scientific study of your cloak, which, of course, you realize, can only be conducted beyond the earthly influences of Krynn, and that is why we recommended you come with us in the first place-” Behind Ilwar, admirals Niggil and Broz eagerly chattered in excitement to each other, clearly pleased with the human’s decision.
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.