“There’s no accounting for dwarves,” the professor commented as he cupped his hands to accept Sir Grumdish’s foot. Together, he and Conundrum lifted the gnome into the legs of his mechanical armor. Once he was settled safely inside, they hoisted his top half and set it down over his head. They heard him ratcheting home the retaining bolts.
While they were doing this, the remainder of the crew disembarked and spread out along the sandy shore, staring in fear and wonder at the monumental architecture stretching off into the red haze of distance. Even Doctor Bothy had been dragged away from his research. He staggered down the sagging gangplank, his expansive, blue jumpsuited midriff convulsing with regular spasms, each one of which he dutifully recorded in a handy pocket medical diary that he continually misplaced between hiccoughs. Sir Tanar stood on the shore, staring at the Indestructible lying in the sand with her stern in the water.
Chief Portlost came down the gangplank last, bearing the keys to the ship-a massive bronze crank, nearly as tall as himself, which was used to wind the main drive spring.
He had retrieved it from the flooded engine room, nearly drowning in the effort.
With a few preliminary rattles, pings, and clangs, Sir Grumdish’s armor whirred to life. Conundrum handed him his broad sword, which his mechanical gauntlet gripped clumsily. Lifting it aloft, he shouted, his voice muffled by his armor, “Follow me!”
The shining steel blade, which like his armor he kept immaculately polished, glinted in the scarlet glow of a nearby lava pool. The others looked at him and shook their heads in disbelief. They were stifling in the heat of the cavern, so Sir Grumdish must surely have been baking in his armor.
But he did not complain. Instead, he led off in a clanking stride, sword still held high over his head like a standard. Commodore Brigg tucked a dagger into his belt and then followed, the others falling in behind him, each checking his weapon. The professor carried his last UANP-Underwater Arrow of Normal Proportions-over one shoulder, while Razmous tested the willowy flex of his hoopak. Satisfied of its soundness, the kender pulled from one his pouches Commodore Brigg’s remarkable all-purpose-thousand-in-one-uses-folding-knife, which he still hadn’t given back after the adventure of the haggis burial party, and continued his search through its many useful tools for an actual knife blade. Sir Tanar glared hungrily about, perhaps imagining the untold riches that might still lie buried in some hidden vault, forgotten by time.
Conundrum hefted the crossbow given him by Chief Portlost. He had, of course, fired a crossbow before. The crossbow was as much the birthright of every gnome as the long bow was for the elves. The crossbow, in all its varieties, was the one truly mechanical weapon, an ingenious design invented by dwarves, much to the shame of gnomes everywhere. Sure, over the centuries, the gnomes had introduced numerous improvements, like the crossbow that fired a weighted net rather than a normal bolt, and the self-propelled all-terrain crossbow and recreational vehicle. The one in Conundrum’s hands was one of the light crossbow variety, with the standard issue apple peeler and vegetable juicer ingeniously stowed in the wooden stock of the weapon.
Conundrum settled his weapon into the crook of his arm and plodded after the others. Unlike his fellows, this cavernous place filled him with foreboding. Not the unreasoning terror he had experienced when the dragon soared over and glared down at him with its hateful red eyes. Instead, he seemed to feel eyes watching him. In his fancy he imagined that the spirits of the builders of this place were staring down at them as they crawled like ants along the broad and broken avenues. This place reeked of some ancient tragedy, as well as more recent violence. Here and there, he saw fire-blackened walls and piles of charred bones, pillars of stone with huge sword gashes marring their stark marble beauty, gigantic doors of granite, each large enough to serve as the banquet table of kings, thrown down and shattered like cheap crockery. At one point, the avenue was blocked by a massive pillar that had fallen from the facade of a nearby building. In several places, it had broken apart, and it was through one of these gaps, as tall and wide as the grandest hall of Mount Nevermind, that they passed, every one of them nearly overcome with awe.
After what seemed like miles, Sir Grumdish came to a halt at the edge of a vast, stone-paved plaza surrounded on all sides by buildings that towered into the darkness overhead. At the far side of the plaza, they saw a fountain as large as the lake filling the crater peak of Mount Nevermind. In its midst, a column of shimmering golden water rose a hundred feet in the air before splashing down with a noise like a mighty waterfall.
Sir Grumdish said within his armor, “I don’t think the dragon is here. We’d have been attacked by now.” He clumsily sheathed his broad sword, then opened a little hatch in the belly of the armor and took a gasp of warm, moist outside air. “We might shelter in one of these buildings.”
“I’ll not spungh-” Doctor Bothy hiccoughed-“spend a single night any where nnnungh-near here. I couldn’t sleep in ungh-anything so huge.”
“Maybe there are smaller buildings off one of the side avenues,” Conundrum suggested.
“Let’s not split up just yet. First let’s check out that fountain. We need fresh water badly, especially if we are to spend much time here,” the commodore said, mopping his sweating brow with a handkerchief. “Our supplies were ruined in the crash.”
Closing the belly hatch of his armor, Sir Grumdish started ahead. He led them across the broad paved plaza, over stone littered with broken piles of rubble and large, fire-blackened boulders. The golden color of the fountain’s water came from four flames, each burning from the top of a slender stalagmite that rose from the pool’s depths. From the center of the pool, the water shot in a thick stream high into the air, filling the area around it with a fine cool spray that proved a welcome relief to the heat. At the first hint of such blessed coolness, the crew threw caution to the wind and hurried ahead, passing Sir Grumdish and leaving him clanking along in a stiff-legged stagger.
The water in the fountain proved to be as cool and sweet as elven wine compared to the stale stuff out of their ship’s stores. Some of the more reckless crew members dove headfirst into the waters, the most vocal and frolicking among them being, of course, Razmous Pinchpocket. With a shrill scream of delight, he leaped in, performing a perfect catapult stone splash while still wearing his pouches. The others knelt on the low stone curb and splashed the refreshing stuff in their faces and over their heads, cupping their hands to drink deeply or lying with their beards streaming in the water. Sir Tanar leaned over the curb and plunged his whole head into the water.
Sir Grumdish arrived last and latest, his top half already swaying as he loosened the restraining bolts. Razmous, floating on his back near the fountain’s curb, playfully sent a thin stream of water arcing from his pursed lips high into the air. “Look at me,” he laughed. “I’m a fountain.”
“I’ll fountain you!” Sir Grumdish howled. “Help me out of here, somebody!”
“Shhh!” Razmous cautioned, sitting up. His wet topknot hung over his eyes like a pony’s mane. “Be quiet.”
The others, having learned long ago of the kender’s extraordinary hearing, paused in their cavorting, straining their ears to hear over the roaring of the fountain.
A horrible metallic grinding noise, like an old rusty gate, three hundred feet tall and weighing a couple thousand tons, swinging open, set their teeth on edge. The ground shook with heavy footsteps. As they watched in horror, a huge green crab, half as big as the Indestructible, lurched from the entrance of a nearby building and scuttled toward them, pinchers clanging together like shields. It crossed the distance to the fountain in three rapid heartbeats, closing on the nearest of the crew-Sir Grumdish, madly retightening the restraining bolts of his armor-before the others could react.