“Don’t send me back to die, Palin,” Tas begged. “Don’t turn me into a... a dead thing! Please, Palin. Promise me you won’t!” Tasslehoff clutched at him. “Promise me!”
Palin had never seen the kender so upset. The sight moved him almost to tears himself. He stood perplexed, wondering what to do, all the time absently smoothing Tasslehoff’s hair in an effort to calm him. What can I do? Palin asked himself helplessly. Tasslehoff must go back to die. I have no choice in the matter. The kender must return to his own time and die beneath the heel of Chaos. I cannot make the promise he asks of me. No matter how much I want to.
What Palin found perplexing was that Tasslehoff had seen his own ghost. Palin might have thought this a ruse, an attempt by the kender to distract Palin from finding the device. But while Palin knew that Tas would never hesitate to tell a lie—either out of self-interest or for its entertainment value—Palin was convinced that this was the truth. Palin had seen fear in the kender’s eyes, an uncommon sight, and one that Palin found heart-wrenching.
At least this answered one nagging question: Had Tasslehoff truly died or had he just been roaming about the world for all those years? The fact that he had seen his own ghost proved the answer conclusively. Tasslehoff Burrfoot had died in the final battle against Chaos. He was dead. Or at least, he should be dead.
The gnome left his corner, walked up and poked Palin in the ribs.
“Didn’t somebody mention food?”
The significance of the gnome. What was the significance of this irritating gnome?
Disengaging Tas’s clutching hands, Palin knelt down in front of Tas.
“Look at me, Tas,” he said. “Yes, that’s it. Look at me and listen to what I am saying. I don’t understand what is going on. I don’t understand what is happening in the world and neither does Dalamar. But I know this. The only way we can find out what has gone wrong and maybe fix it is if you are honest with us.”
“If I am honest,” said Tas, wiping away his tears, “will you still send me back?”
“I am afraid I have to, Tas,” Palin said reluctantly. “You must understand. I don’t want to. I would do anything or give anything not to have to. You’ve seen the dead souls, Tas. You’ve seen for yourself that they are desperately unhappy. They aren’t supposed to be here in the world. Something or someone is keeping them prisoner.”
“You mean I’m not supposed to be here?” Tas asked. “Not the live me. The dead me?”
“I don’t know for sure, Tas. No one does. But I don’t think so. Don’t you remember what Lady Crysania used to say—that death was not the end but the beginning of a whole new life? That we would join our loved ones who have passed beyond, and we would be together and make new friends—”
“I always thought I’d be with Flint,” Tas said. “I know he misses me.”
He was quiet a moment, then said, “Well . . . if you think it will help . . .”
He unhooked the strap of his pouch and, before Palin could stop him, upended the bag, spilling its contents onto the floor.
Amid the birds’ eggs and the chicken feathers and ink pots and jam jars and apple cores and what appeared to be a peg someone had been using for an artificial leg, the gears and jewels and wheels and chain of the Device of Time Journeying winked and sparkled in the candlelight.
“Why, what’s this?” said the gnome, squatting down and sorting through the pile. “Cogs, a widget and a whatsit and a thinga-majig. Technical terms, you know,” he added, glancing at Tas and Palin to see if they were impressed. “Not understandable to the amateur. I’m not sure what it was.” He gathered up the pieces one by one, eyeing each in turn.
“But it doesn’t appear to be in proper working order. That’s not a guess, mind you. That’s the opinion of a professional.”
Making a tray of his robe, the gnome carried the pieces of the device to a table. Bringing out the remarkable knife that was also a screwdriver, he settled down to work.
“You, there, boy,” he said, waving his hand at Palin. “Bring us some lunch. Sandwiches. And a pot of tarbean tea. Strong as you can make it. Going to be an all-nighter.”
And, then, of course, Palin remembered the device’s history. He understood the significance of the gnome.
Apparently, so did Tasslehoff, who was staring at Conundrum with a hopeless and woebegone expression.
“Where have you been, Majere?” Dalamar demanded, confronting Palin as he came through the library door. The dark elf was nervous, on edge. He’d obviously been pacing the floor. “You took long enough! Did you find the Device?”
“Yes, and so did the gnome.” Palin looked intently at Dalamar. “His coming here—”
“—completes the circle,” Dalamar finished.
Palin shook his head, unconvinced. He glanced around the room.
“Where is Goldmoon?”
“She asked to be taken to the old laboratory. She said she was given to know that the meeting would be held there.”
“The laboratory? Is that safe?”
Dalamar shrugged. “Unless she’s afraid of dust bunnies. They’re the only danger I can see.”
“Once a chamber of mystery and power, the laboratory is now a repository of dust, the refuge of two impotent old men,” Palin said bitterly.
“Speak for yourself.” Dalamar laid a hand on Palin’s arm. “And keep your voice down. Mina is here. We must go. Bring the light.”
“Here? But how—”
“Apparently she has free run of my Tower.”
“Aren’t you going to be there with them?”
“No,” said Dalamar shortly. “I was dismissed to go about my business. Are you coming or not?” he demanded impatiently. “There’s nothing we can do, either of us. Goldmoon is on her own.”
Still Palin hesitated, but then he decided that he might best serve Goldmoon by keeping an eye on Dalamar. “Where are we going?”
“Through here,” Dalamar said, halting Palin as he was continuing on down the stairs.
Making a turning, Dalamar passed his hand over the wall and whispered a word of magic. A single rune began to glow faintly on the stone. Dalamar put his hand over the rune, and a section of the wall slid to one side, revealing a staircase. As they entered, they could hear heavy footfalls echoing through the Tower. The minotaur, or so they guessed. The door slid shut after them, and they could hear nothing more.
“Where does this lead?” Palin whispered, holding up the lamp to illuminate the stairs.
“The Chamber of the Live Ones,” Dalamar replied. “Hand me the lamp. I’ll go first. I know the way.” He descended the stairs rapidly, his robes fluttering around his ankles.
“I trust none of the ‘Live Ones’ are left alive,” said Palin with a grimace, remembering what he had heard of some of his uncle’s more gruesome experiments.
“No, they died a long time ago, poor wretches.” Dalamar paused and looked up at Palin. His dark eyes glittered in the lamplight. “But the Chamber of Seeing remains.”
“Ah!” Palin breathed, understanding.
When Raistlin Majere became Master of the Tower of High Sorcery of Palanthas, he also became a recluse. Rarely leaving his Tower, he spent his time concentrating on increasing his powers: magical, temporal, and political. In order to keep current on what was happening in the world, especially those events that might affect him, Raistlin used his magic to create a window onto the world. In the lowest regions of the Tower, he carved out a pool and filled it with enchanted water. Whoever looked into the pool could call to mind a location, and he would both see and hear what was transpiring in the location.