‘What does your name mean?’ Tas asked.
Gnosh smiled happily. ‘In The Beginning, The Gods Created the Gnomes, and One of the First They Created Was Named Gnosh I and these are the Notable Events Which Occurred in His Life: He Married Marioninillis...’
Tas had a sinking feeling. ‘Wait—’ he interrupted. ‘How long is your name?’
‘It fills a book this big in the library,’ Gnosh said proudly, holding his hands out, ‘because we are a very old family as you will see when I contin—’
‘That’s all right,’ Tas said quickly. Not watching where he was going, he stumbled over a rope. Gnosh helped him to his feet. Looking up, Tas saw the rope led up into a nest of ropes connected to each other, snaking out in all directions. He wondered where they led. ‘Perhaps another time.’
‘But there are some very good parts,’ Gnosh said as they walked towards a huge steel door, ‘and I could skip to those, if you like, such as the part where great-great-great-grandmother Gnosh invented boiling water-’
‘I’d love to hear it.’ Tas gulped. ‘But, no time—’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Gnosh said, ‘and anyway, here we are at the entrance to the main chamber, so if you’ll excuse me-’
Still talking, he reached up and pulled a cord. A whistle blew. Two bells and a gong rang out. Then, with a tremendous blast of steam that nearly parboiled all of them, two huge steel doors located in the interior of the mountain began to slide open. Almost immediately, the doors stuck, and within minutes the place was swarming with gnomes, yelling and pointing and arguing about whose fault it was.
Tasslehoff Burrfoot had been making plans in the back of his mind as to what he would do after this adventure had ended and all the dragons were slain (the kender tried to maintain a positive outlook). The first thing he had planned to do was to go and spend a few months with his friend, Sestun, the gully dwarf in Pax Tharkas. The gully dwarves led interesting lives, and Tas knew he could settle there quite happily—as long as he didn’t have to eat their cooking.
But the moment Tas entered Mount Nevermind, he decided the first thing he would do was come back and live with the gnomes. The kender had never seen anything quite so wonderful in his entire life. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Gnosh glanced at him. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Not quite the word I’d use,’ Fizban muttered.
They stood in the central portion of the gnome city. Built within an old shaft of a volcano. It was hundreds of yards across and miles high. The city was constructed in levels around the shaft. Tas stared up...and up...and up...
‘How many levels are there?’ the kender asked, nearly falling over backwards trying to see.
‘Thirty-five and—’
‘Thirty-five!’ Tas repeated in awe. ‘I’d hate to live on the thirty-fifth level. How many stairs do you have to climb?’
Gnosh sniffed. ‘Primitive devices we improved upon long ago and now’—he gestured—‘view someofthemarvelsoftechnologywehaveinoperat—’
‘I can see,’ said Tas, lowering his eyes to ground level. ‘You must be preparing for a great battle. I never saw so many catapults in my life—’
The kender’s voice died. Even as he watched, a whistle sounded, a catapult went off with a twang, and a gnome went sailing through the air. Tas wasn’t looking at machines of war, he was looking at the devices that had replaced stairs!
The bottom floor of the chamber was filled with catapults, every type of catapult ever conceived by gnomes. There were sling catapults, cross-bow catapults, willow-sprung catapults, steam-driven catapults (still experimental—they were working on adjusting the water temperature).
Surrounding the catapults, over the catapults, under the catapults, and through the catapults were strung miles and miles of rope which operated a crazed assortment of gears and wheels and pulleys, all turning and squeaking and cranking. Out of the floor, out of the machines themselves, and thrusting out from the sides of the walls were huge levers which scores of gnomes were either pushing or pulling or sometimes both at once.
‘I don’t suppose,’ Fizban asked in a hopeless tone, ‘that the Examination Room would be on the ground level?’
Gnosh shook his head. ‘Examination Room on level fifteen—’
The old mage heaved a heart-rending sigh.
Suddenly there was a horrible grinding sound that set Tas’s teeth on edge.
‘Ah, they’re ready for us. Come along—’ Gnosh said.
Tas leaped after him gleefully as they approached a giant catapult. A gnome gestured at them irritably, pointing to a long line of gnomes waiting their turn. Tas jumped into the seat of the huge sling catapult, staring eagerly up into the shaft. Above him, he could see gnomes peering down at him from various balconies, all of them surrounded by great machines, whistles, ropes, and huge, shapeless things hanging from the sides of the wall like bats. Gnosh stood beside him, scolding.
‘Eldersfirst,youngman,sogetoutoftherethisinstantandlet’—he dragged Tasslehoff out of the seat with remarkable strength—‘the magicusergofirst—’
‘Uh that’s quite all right.’ Fizban protested, stumbling backwards into a pile of rope. ‘I—I seem to recall a spell of mine that will take me right to the tap. Levitate. How did that g-go? Just give me a moment.’
‘You were the one in a hurry—’ Gnosh said severely, glaring at Fizban. The gnomes standing in line began to shout rudely, pushing and shoving and jostling.
‘Oh, very well,’ the old mage snarled, and he climbed into the seat, with Gnosh’s help. The gnome operating the lever that launched the catapult yelled something at Gnosh which sounded like ‘whalevel?’
Gnosh pointed up, yelling back. ‘Skimbosh!’
The chief walked over to stand in front of the first of a series of five levers. An inordinate number of ropes stretched upward into infinity. Fizban sat miserably in the seat of the catapult still trying to recall his spell.
‘Now,’ yelled Gnosh, drawing Tas closer so he could have the advantage of an excellent view, ‘in just a moment, the chief will give the signal, yes—there it is—’
The chief pulled on one of the ropes.
‘What does that do?’ Tas interrupted.
‘The rope rings a bell on Skimbosh—er—level fifteen, telling them to expect an arrival—’
‘What if the bell doesn’t ring?’ Fizban demanded loudly.
‘Then a second bell rings telling them that the first bell didn’t—’
‘What happens down here if the bell didn’t ring?’
‘Nothing. It’s Skimbosh’sproblemnotyours—’
‘It’s my problem if they don’t know I’m coming!’ Fizban shouted. ‘Or do I just drop in and surprise them!’
‘Ah,’ Gnosh said proudly, ‘yousee—’
‘I’m getting out...’ stated Fizban.
‘No,wait,’ Gnosh said, talking faster and faster in his anguish, ‘they’reready.
‘Who’s ready?’ Fizban demanded irritably.
‘Skimbosh! Withthe net tocatchyou,yousee—’
‘Net!’ Fizban turned pale. ‘That does it!’ He flung a foot over the edge.
But before he could move, the chief reached out and pulled on the first lever. The grinding sound started again as the catapult began pivoting in its mooring. The sudden motion threw Fizban back, knocking his hat over his eyes.
‘What’s happening?’ Tas shouted.
‘They’re getting him in position,’ Gnosh yelled. ‘The longitude and latitude have been precalculated and the catapult set to come into the correct location to send the passenger—’
‘What about the net?’ Tas yelled.
‘The magician flies up to Skimbosh—oh, quite safely, I assure you—we’ve done studies, in fact, proving that flying is safer than walking—and just when he’s at the height of his trajectory, beginning to drop a bit, Skimbosh throws a net out underneath him, catching him just like this’—Gnosh demonstrated with his hand, making a snapping motion like catching a fly—‘and hauls him—’