"I know about it, too," Cutwood complained.
     "Let  ъoperig  tell  it!"  ordered  Fitter.  Cutwood  flopped
  down in a snit.
     "We  have  some store  of rope  already," ъoperig  said. "And
  some cord, twine, string, thread -"
     "Get on with it," said Wingover.
     "Silly know-it-all," muttered Cutwood.
     "These  can  be braided  into whatever  thickness of  rope we
  need."  ъoperig  snapped  his  fingers and  sat down.  Only Fit-
  ter applauded his report.
    "Shall  we get  to it?"  Sturm asked,  bracing himself  to rise.
    They  formed  the  Cloudmaster  sewing  circle  on   the  dining
  room floor. A fair-sized  heap of  clothes grew  up in  the cen-
  ter,  around which  everyone sat.  It was  not an  easy process.

 Sturm  could  not sew  and Kitiara  steadfastly refused  to even
 attempt  it, confining  her contribution  to slitting  the seams
 of the sacrificed clothes  with her  bent-bladed dagger.  Of the
 gnomes,  only   ъoperig  and   Fitter,  not   too  surprisingly,
 proved to be adept  sewers. They  were so  adept, in  fact, that
 they  sewed  the  clothes  they  were  wearing  into  the  sail,
 which then had to be cut apart again.
   After  a  break  for  food  and rest,  the work  resumed. Some
 hours later (it was hard to  judge time  in the  constant night)
 the  ragged,  flimsy  sails  were  done.  Cutwood and  Flash had
 by this time chiseled out spars  from the  largest beams  in the
 ship. It was time then to rig the Cloudmaster for sail.
   They tied the ends of the spars to the  air bag's  rigging and
 the sails  stretched between  them. The  sails were  simple rec-
 tangles  that  overlapped the  deck rail  by several  feet. Once
 they  were  set,  the  flying ship  did come  slowly about  in a
 new direction.
   "How do we steer this thing?" Kitiara asked. Ordinary
 ships had rudders. The Cloudmaster had none.
   "We'll  have  to manage  by trimming  the sails,"  Sturm said.
 He was cheered by  the sight  of wind  filling the  funny patch-
 work sails.
   They  shifted  all their  loose baggage  forward and  the fly-
 ing ship  surged ahead  with noticeable  vigor. It  was possible
 to  feel the  wind now  out on  deck, and  the ship  rolled fore
 and aft like a rocking horse. Kitiara was a  bit green  from the
 motion.  The  rigging  creaked  and  stretched.  The  stars  and
 moons coursed by at an increasing rate.
   Clouds   loomed   ahead,   and   the  ship   quickly  overtook
 them.  Streams  of  warm  mist  flowed  over  the  ship, thawing
 the  frost  that  coated  the  windows  and  ports and  made the
 upper  deck  treacherous.  They  sailed  through the  clouds for
 only  a  short  time.  When  they  burst  through  the  wall  of
 white, a glorious sight greeted them.
   The brilliant blue  globe of  Krynn hung  before them,  a bau-
 ble of silver and glass. It looked so small and fragile this far
 away,  a marble  in a  child's hand.  Other cloud  banks towered
 around them, but by  luffing the  sails, the  Cloudmaster's crew
 weaved  the  ship  through  them.  Some  of the  banks flickered
 with  lightning.  ъainspot  eyed these  with longing.  He hadn't

 experienced  any  real  weather in  months. Unlike  Kitiara, he
 was  genuinely pleased  to have  lost his  gift. No  one should
 always walk about in a rainstorm, he had decided.
   An   odd   thing   happened   as   they   steered  cautiously
 through  the maze  of storm  and cloud.  Faint echoes  of thun-
 der  rolled  by,  and in  the dying  claps Sturm  heard another
 sound, a distant bleat, like the call of a trumpet.
   "Did  you  hear  that?"  he said  to Flash,  who was  by his
 elbow.
   "No," said the gnome. "What was it?"
   The  noise sounded  again, louder  and nearer.  "That's it!"
 said Sturm.
   "Funny,  it sounds  like a  -" Before  Flash could  finish, a
 green and gold mallard hurtled into the sail above their
 heads. "A duck!" Flash said hastily.
   The  mallard  was  a  good-sized bird,  and it  half-tore the
 flimsy sail from  the twig  spars. Duck  and spar  tangled, and
 fell  to  the  deck at  Flash's feet.  "Halloo! We've  caught a
 duck!" he shouted.
   "What did he say?" ъoperig asked.
   "He  said  to  duck," Fitter  replied, face  down on  the deck.
   "No, by ъeorx, he's snared a duck!" cried Wingover.
   Flash folded the  sail back  and the  mallard poked  its head
 out.  Its  beady  black  eyes  regarded the  Cloudmaster's crew
 with pure hostility.
   "Wonder where it came from," said ъainspot.
   "An egg, dumbhead," said Cutwood.
   "Hold on to it," said Kitiara. "Ducks are good  eating." Just
 as her strength had faded as they left  the influence  of Luni-
 tari, so too had the spear plants lost their magical variety of
 flavors.   They   had   become   rubbery,   tasteless.  Kitiara
 smacked  her  lips  at  the  thought  of  crisply  browned duck
 meat.
   "Not  much  meat  for  eleven," Sturm  said. "If  only there
 were more."
    "Ducks ahoy!" ъoperig sang out. Over the starboard rail,
 black against the gray clouds, came a great flock of ducks.
   "Bring  us  about!"  Sturm  shouted.  "They'll  wreck  us  if
 they hit usl"
   Gnomes  scampered  into  the  jury-rigging,   collapsing  the

 sails on the port  side. The  ship heeled  away from  the flock,
 swinging  under  the  air  bag  like  a  pendulum.  Some  of the
 mallards  hit  the  hull  and  bounced off.  A few  swept across
 the  deck,  squawking   loudly.  They   veered  and   banked  in
 panic,  thudding  on  the sides  of the  deckhouse. Fortunately,
 none hit the air bag or the sails.
   "This  is  crazy,"  Kitiara  declared.  "What are  ducks doing
 so far from home?"
   Flash stood up  from behind  the railing.  The first  duck was
 still  firmly  under  his  arm.  "Maybe this  is where  ducks go
 when they migrate," he posited.
   "Interesting theory," Sighter said. "Do  they just  fly around
 for three months, or do they have a destination?"
   Kitiara  hobbled  the  duck with  a loop  of twine  around its
 feet  and  pinioned  its  wings  with a  length of  cord. Fitter
 watched her every move.
   Unnerved, she said, "Would you rather do this?"
   "No, I just don't want you to hurt it."
   "Hurt it! I plan to eat it."
   "Oh,  no!  It's  so pretty.  Those green  and gold  feathers -"
   "Yes, and it'll look even better roasting on a spit," she said.
   The  ducks  who'd  been  lying  senseless  on  deck  chose that
 moment  to  rouse  and  take  wing,  quacking  loudly.  In  sec-
 onds,  they were  all gone,  save for  the mallard  that Kitiara
 had  trussed  up.  It  honked  forlornly  at its  departing com-
 rades.
   Fitter  stared at  the mallard  in his  hands. With  two large
 tears rolling down his face, he held the duck out ro Kitiara.
   Kitiara's  hands  closed  on  the  duck  and  a loud  sob came
 from Fitter. "Suffering gods!" she exclaimed. "Keep  it, Fitter.
 Enjoy it yourself."
   "Oh!  I  will!"  Fitter  dashed to  the deckhouse  door. "I've
 already  named  him  Highgold,  because  he  flew  so  high  and
 has gold feathers." The door banged shut behind him.
   "So,  instead  of  a  duck  dinner, we  have another  mouth to
 feed," said Kitiara.
   "Don't  worry," Sturm  said. "The  duck is  one of  us, flying
 too high and too far from home."

                      Chapter 32

                   The Lost Caravel

   It was hard to say just when the change occurred. It
 came on slowly,  with no  dramatic oscillations  or warnings.
 Somewhere  in  the  billowing  white clouds,  the Cloudmaster
 stopped  rising  toward  Krynn and  began falling  toward it.
 Sturm asked Sighter just  how this  worked, but  the astrono-
 mer  mumbled  something  about  "density  of matter  in rela-
 tion  to air"  and left  it at  that. Sighter  plainly didn't
 understand the effect himself.
 Nevertheless,  the  blue  face  of  Krynn  moved   from  over
 their heads to under their feet. The closer they got to their
 home world, the livelier the winds grew, and the  faster they
 flew.
 "We can't land  too soon  for me,"  Kitiara commented.  "If I
 have to eat pink spears  and drink  water much  longer, toad-

 stools will sprout from my ears!"
    ---Some txt missing ---
    The  air  grew  warmer  and  wetter.  While  the  warmth was
 appreciated,  the  denser,  moister air  proved a  hardship for
 them all after being used to Lunitari's thin air.  The weighti-
 ness oppressed them. For  a time,  it was  hard to  do anything
 strenuous.
    "By the  gods," Sturm  remarked, panting  as he  helped Cut-
 wood  and  Flash  trim  the  port sails,  "I haven't  been this
 winded since Flint and I had to flee the forest  dwarves, after
 Tasslehoff 'borrowed' some of their silver."
    Day  and  night  fell  into  a more  even rhythm  again, and
 Sturm  found  himself  sleeping  longer  and  more  soundly  as
 the  days  slipped  by. Sighter  recorded that  the Cloudmaster
 had  been  airborne  for  nineteen days  and estimated  that it
 would make landfall in two more days.
    The  sky  changed  from  black  to  blue,  and  the  horizon
 filled  with  clouds. Through  puffy gaps  they could  see for-
 ests,  fields,  mountains,  and  seas  below.  They  were still
 high, but at least  they had  a sense  of solid  ground beneath
 them again.
   The  morning  of  what  was  to  be  their  last   day  aloft
 dawned sultry and  wet. The  sails hung  from their  spars, and
 dew  stood  in puddles  on deck.  A clinging  mist held  to the
 flying ship, and nothing was visible ten feet beyond the rail.
    "Halloo!" Wingover shouted. "Halloo!"
    "Can't see a thing," Kitiara reported, squinting hard.
    "I  can't  even  tell  how  high  we  are," Sturm  said. The
 Cloudmaster seemed to be adrift in a box of wet fleece.
 Stutts appeared with the rope and grapnel.
    "We should d-drop this over the side,"  he advised.  "It m-
 may hook a tree and d-drag us to a stop."
    He lowered the grapnel from  the bowsprit  and tied  it off.
 When  he  returned  amidships  Kitiara  asked  him   when  they
 ought to open the bag and release the ethereal air.
    "Only when w-we're certain we're about, to l-land."
    She  stared  at  the  wallowing bag  overhead. The  dirty can-
 vas sack  had shrunk  steadily as  it got  warmer. Now  it hung
 against the rope netting, rolling about furtively like  a caged
 beast trying to escape. Kitiara fingered the  hilt of  her bent

 dagger,  No  more  nonsense,  she  thought.  When conditions
 look good, I'll open the bag myself!
   Wingover,  still entwined  in the  rigging, pointed  off the
 starboard bow. "Fire!" he cried.
   Sighter  clicked  open  his  telescope  and swung  it toward
 the orange glow far off in  the mist.  His mouth  dropped open
 for a second, then he lowered his glass and shut it.
   "You dolt!" he said to  Wingover. "Haven't  you ever  seen a
 sunrise before?"
   "What?"
   "Sunrise?" said Kitiara,  A sunrise  could only  mean they
 were low enough to the  ground for  the sun  to appear  as the
 ball of fire they remembered, and  not as  the yellow  disk it
 looked like from between the red moon and Krynn.
   The sun waxed hotter  and brighter,  and the  fog dispersed.
 A thousand feet below lay  only ocean  - as  far as  every eye
 could see, nothing but oily green sea. The salty smell rose to
 greet them as the sun heated up the water.
   A north  wind pushed  them along  at an  idle six  knots. As
 the day wore on, the humidity rose and all  the furs  and cold
 weather  gear  came  off.  The  gnomes  stripped down  to sus-
 penders  and  trousers. The  deck thumped  with nine  pairs of
 bare  pink  feet.  As  protection  from  sunburn,  Fitter made
 them  all  bandannas  from  their shirts  and soon  the gnomes
 looked like a band of pirates shrunk to half size.
   Kitiara  joyously  discarded  her  heavy   clothes,  keeping
 only  her  riding  breeches  and a  leather vest.  Sturm alone
 refused  to  shed  his long-sleeved  tunic and  boots. Kitiara
 noted the dark sweat stains  on his  chest and  arms. Dignity,
 she decided, could be an uncomfortable burden.
   By angling the sails, they were able to drive the  ship down
 closer to the  sea. The  grapnel dipped  and leaped  from wave
 crest to wave crest, slinging back from the impacts.
   Sighter worked hard  with his  astrolabe to  determine their
 location.  Without  a  compass and  accurate charts,  he could
 make  only  a  rough estimate,  but he  tried. The  deck, from
 the door of the  wheelhouse aft  to the  stern post,  was cov-
 ered  with  his figures.  Sweat collected  in his  bushy brows
 and dripped annoyingly from the tip of his nose.
      Kitiara and Sturm surveyed the vast calculations, and

 finally Kit asked, "Well?"
   "We're  on  Krynn,"  said Sighter.  Kitiara counted  to twen-
 ty, silently. "My best guess  is, we're  somewhere in  the Sir-
 rion  Sea,  either  four  hundred,  eight  hundred,  or  twelve
 hundred miles from Sancrist."
   "Four, eight, or twelve hundred?" Sturm said.
   "Lacking  a  compass, it's  very hard  to be  precise." Sighter
 flicked off a drop of sweat  that had  stubbornly clung  to his
 nose. I'm certain it's one of those multiples of four hundred."
   Kitiara  threw  up  her  hands.  "Wonderful!  We  may  cruise
 into Thalan Bay in four days, or  we may  starve to  death try-
 ing to reach an island a thousand miles away."
   "I don't think we'll starve," said Wingover.
   "Oh? What makes you so certain?"
   "There's a ship," he said quietly, pointing out to sea.
   Sighter's precious figures were trampled in the rush  to the
 rail. Off  the port  they saw  bow masts  and snowy  sails pok-
 ing  above  the  horizon.  Out  came  the   telescope.  Kitiara
 plucked it from Sighter's grasp.
   "What!" he  said, but  she already  had the  glass to  her eye.
   The  ship  was  a  two-masted  caravel  of   uncertain  origin.
 There  was  no figurehead  or name  scribed on  the forecastle.
 The  mastheads  were  bare  of  pennants  or flags,  though the
 deck was clean and the brightwork shined.
   Can you make out where she's from?" asked Sturm.
   "No," Kitiara said. "Can't see any crew."
   "Try  in  the  rigging.  They're  running  with the  wind, so
 there's bound to be somebody aloft."
   "I looked. There's nobody to be seen."
   The  Cloudmaster  slowed  as  it entered  a lower  stratum of
 air.  The  direction  changed, and  the patchwork  sails luffed
 and  flapped  impotently.  While  Sturm  and  four  gnomes  saw
 to resetting them, Kitiara studied the unidentified ship.
   "Pirate, maybe? Or smuggler?" she mused. There were
 plenty of reasons to hide a ship's name, few legitimate.
   "Sturm? Sturm?" she called.
   "What is it?"
   "Could we catch that ship and board it?"
   He came to the edge of the deckhouse and shaded his eyes
 to look down at her. "Why?"

 "They might have food and fresh water."
 It  was  a  powerful  argument.  Sturm was  as sick  of beans
 and  Lunitarian  fungi  as  the  rest of  them. "I  suppose we
 could," he said. "The grappling hook is still out.  We'll have
 to be careful not to snarl their rigging or rip their sails."
 The  unknown  ship  drove  on  with all  sails set.  There was
 no one  on deck,  and as  the Cloudmaster  flew around  to the
 ship's port beam, Kitiara could see  that the  caravel's wheel
 was lashed. The sterncastle lights were shuttered, and all the
 hull ports were closed.  On a  hot, still  day like  this, the
 'tween decks must be stifling, she thought.
   "Let them out now," Sturm said. Birdcall and ъoperig let
 the sails unfurl, and the flying ship spurted ahead. The
 swinging grapnel snagged the chain stays of the mainmast,
     and the Cloudmaster jerked to a stop. They pivoted with
 the drag and found themselves flying tail-first into the wind,
 towed by the far heavier caravel.
     "Now what?" said Wingover, leaning over the side.
     "Someone has to go down and tie us off," suggested
 Sturm. "I would go, but the grapnel rope is  too thin  for me."
 "Don't look my way," Kitiara said. "I've had all the rope
 climbing I care for on this trip."
 Fitter  agreed  to  go,  since  he was  small and  nimble. He
 shinnied  down  the  rope  to the  masthead. Standing  on the
 crosstree, he waved up to his friends.
  "Find a heavier line and tie us off!" Sturm bawled. Fitter
   nodded and slipped down the rigging to the ship's deck. A
 fat hawser line lay coiled behind the foremast. Fitter shoul-
 dered this burden and climbed back to the Cloudmaster.
  "That's my apprentice," said ъoperig proudly.
  "Did you see  any signs  of life  down there?"  asked Kitiara.
 Fitter  dumped  the  hawser  off  his  shoulder.  "No, ma'am.
 Everything's neat as can be, but there isn't a soul around."
 Sturm  went  down  into  the   deckhouse  and   returned  with
 his  sword. He  draped the  belt over  his shoulder  and threw
 one leg over the rail. "I'd better be first to look around."
 "I'll come behind you," said Kitiara.
 "Me,  too,"  volunteered  Fitter.  The  other  gnomes  chimed
 in in quick succession.
 "Someone has to stay on board," Sturm said. "You

 gnomes work it out, but don't all of you come."
   A  hundred feet  is a  long way  to climb  down a  rope. The
 heat was  so bad  that Sturm  got dizzy  halfway along  and had
 to  stop  to  mop  the  sweat from  his eyes.  How will  I ever
 climb back  up?he  wondered. It  was a  relief when  the dark,
 varnished  oak  of  the  yardarm  touched  his   feet.  Kitiara
 wrapped her bare legs around the hawser and started down.
   Deck level was just as Fitter had  described: tidy  and ship-
 shape.  Sturm  had  a  bad  feeling about  it. Sailors  did not
 abandon a well-founded vessel without good reason.
   Kitiara  dropped  down  to  the  deck. Sturm  whirled, sword
 coming out with a whisk of steel.
   "Easy!" she said. "I'm on your side, remember?
   "Sorry.  This  ship  has  me  spooked.  Go up  the starboard
 side to the bow. 111 take port."
   They  met  at  the  bow,  finding  nothing amiss  except the
 complete lack of  visible crew.  There was  a hatch  behind the
 bowsprit. Kitiara suggested they go below deck.
   "Not yet," said Sturm. "Let's chec aft."
   Sighter  and  Stutts arrived  on deck.  Sighter carried  a car-
 penter's  square  and  Stutts  a hammer.  These were  the only
 'weapons'  they  could  find.  More  than ever  they resembled
 diminutive pirates, boarding an unlucky ship from above.
   "F-find anything?" said Stutts.
   "Nothing."
   The ship's wheel was  firmly tied.  It creaked  an inch  or two
 left and right as the wind  and waves  fought against  the rud-
 der.  Sturm  was trying  to tell  how long  the wheel  had been
 fixed when Kitiara drew in her breath sharply.
   "Look here," she said.
   Nailed to the wall of the sterncastle was a crow. A
 stuffed, dead crow with its tail and wings spread.
   "I've  seen  these before.  Someone has  cast a  spell over this
 ship, and to ward off the evil magic  someone put this crow
 here," said Kitiara. "We've got to get out of here."
   "Take it easy," Sturm said quietly. "We've  seen no  signs of
 magic at work. Let's go inside and see if we can at least iden-
 tify this vessel."
       The louvered door creaked back on bright brass hinges.
 Within the sterncastle  it was  hot and  dim. Slivers  of light

 cast weird shadows across the room.
   "Stutts, open the shutters, will you?" The gnome made
 for the row of shades on  his right.  There was  a rustle  as he
 wrestled with the latch.  The shutters  fell open,  flo