-deep water. "Pira!" she called. "Pira,
you pea-brained nag, where are you?" All she got for her
shouting was a mouth full of water. She scanned both sides
of the gully for tracks. In the lightning's glare Kitiara saw a
strange thing. An angular black shape, like a warrior's
shield, was silhouetted against the clouds, some forty feet
overhead. The dazzling glow faded, but not before she saw
a long line trailing below the shield to the ground. Kitiara
slogged forward, not knowing what she would find.
Tallfox easily outran his master, but Sturm was able to
follow the chestnut's prints in the mud. A wall of closely

growing cedar saplings blocked the end of the orchard.
There was only one gap wide enough for a horse to pass
through, and sure enough, Sturm found Tallfox's trail there.
He plunged into the dense tangle of evergreen. Broken sap-
lings told well which way his horse had gone.
The lightning was unusually active overhead. It crackled
and pulsed from cloud to cloud. One prolonged stroke illu-
minated a wonder to Sturm's eyes: an enormous bird flut-
tered in the storm wind. The bird wobbled from side to side,
but never flew off. Another bolt of lightning crackled, and
he saw why. Someone had tied cords to the bird's feet.
Kitiara climbed a hill of solid mud. Her hair was plastered
to her head, and her clothing felt as if it had absorbed a ton
of water. At the top of the hill, she could see down into a
wide clearing. There was no sign of Pira. There was, how-
ever, plenty to see.
In the center of the clearing was a thing such as Kitiara
had never seen. It was like a huge boat with large leather
sails furled along each side. There were no masts, but the
prow was long and pointed, like a bird's beak, and there
were wheels on the underside of the hull. Above the boat,
tied to it by a rope netting, was a big canvas bag. A huge
egg-shaped bag squirmed and writhed in the wind like a liv-
ing thing. A swarm of little men surrounded the boat-thing.
Beyond them, a couple of tall poles rose straight up from the
ground. From the tops of these four poles, long ropes
whipped about, and at the end of the ropes were more of the
'warrior's shields' that Kitiara had seen.
At the same time, Sturm emerged from the cedars on the
opposite side of the same clearing. He gaped at the thing.
Wordlessly, he headed toward it.
A little man in a shiny hat and long coat greeted Sturm.
"G-greetings and felicit-tationsl" he said cheerily.
"Hello," said a bewildered Sturm. "What is going on
here?" Even as he spoke, a bolt of lightning struck one of the
'birds' tethered on a pole (the same thing Kitiara had mis-
taken for a shield). Blue-white fire coursed down the line to
the pole. From the pole, it flashed along another line a foot
off the ground, until it reached the boat-thing, where it van-
ished. The boat swayed on its wheels, then settled back.

"D-Doing? Well, charging up, as you c-can see," said the
little man. When he flipped the wide brim of his hat back,
Sturm saw his pale eyes and bushy white brows and realized
that he was a gnome. "It really is a w-wonderful storm.
We're so l-lucky!"
Kitiara wandered around the odd-looking craft, warily
keeping her distance. By one especially vivid bolt of light-
ning, she saw Sturm talking to the little fellow. She cupped
her hands around her lips and yelled, "Sturm!"
"Kit!"
She joined him. "Did you find the horses?"
"No, I was hoping they ran to you."
She waved her arms in great circles. "I fell in a ditch!"
"So I see. What are we going to do?"
"Ahem," said the gnome. "D-do I understand that you
t-two have lost your m-means of transportation'"
"That's right," said Sturm and Kitiara in unison.
"Fortuitous f-fate! Perhaps we can help one another." He
flipped the brim of his hat down again. A tiny torrent of
water spilled down his coat. "Will you c-come with me?"
"Where are we going?" asked Sturm.
"For n-now, out of the w-weather," said the gnome.
"I'm for that!" said Kitiara.
- The gnome led them up a ramp into the left side of the
boat. The interior was brightly lit, warm, and dry. Their
guide removed his hat and coat. He was a mature male of his
race, with a fine white beard and bald pink head. He gave
Sturm and Kitiara each a towel -- which, being sized for
gnomes, was no bigger than a hand-towel. Sturm dried his
hands and face. Kitiara loosened some of the mud from
hers, wrung out the towel, and tied it scarf-fashion around
her head.
"F-follow me," said the gnome. "My c-colleagues will join
us l-later. They're busy now g-gathering the lightning."
With this amazing statement, he led them down a long,
narrow passage between two banks of machinery of unfath-
omable purpose. All the rods, cranks, and gears were skill-
fully wrought in iron or brass and carefully hollowed out.
Their guide came to a small ladder, which he ascended. The
upper deck they entered was subdivided into small cabins.

Hammocks were slung from hooks, and all sorts of boxes,
crates, and great glass demijohns were packed on every inch
of floor space. Only a narrow track down the center of the
passage was clear for walking.
They climbed a second ladder and were in a house built in
the center of the deck. There were portholes in the walls,
and Sturm could see that rain still lashed at them. The deck-
house was split into two large rooms. The forward room,
where they entered, was fitted like a ship's wheelhouse. A
steering wheel was set at the bow end, which was extensive-
ly glazed with many glass panels. All sorts of levers sprout-
ed from the floor and ceiling, and there were mysterious
gauges labeled Altitude, Indicated Air Speed, and Density
of ъaisins in Breakfast Muffins.
Kitiara introduced them. The gnome's eyes widened, and
he smiled benignly when he learned that Sturm was the son
of an ancient Solamnic family. Ever curious, he inquired
after Kitiara's antecedents. She turned his query aside and
described their journey so far, their goal, and their general
frustration at having lost their horses.
"P-perhaps I can be of s-service," said the gnome. "My
name is He-Who-Stutters-Ap-propriately-in-the-M-midst-
of-the-Most-Abstruse-Technical-Explanations --"
Sturm interrupted, knowing the length of gnomish
names. "Please! What do those not of the gnomish race call
you?"
The gnome sighed, and said very slowly, "I am often
c-called 'Stutts', a wholly inadequate approximation of my
true n-name."
"It has the virtue of brevity," said Sturm.
"B-brevity, my dear knight, is no virtue to those who love
knowledge for its own s-sake." Stutts folded his stubby fin-
gers across his round belly. "I should like to offer you a
p-position, if, under the circumstances, you are i-
interested."
"What sort of position?" asked Kitiara.
"My c-colleagues and I arrived here today from
Caergoth." The awkward spectacle of the gnome ship in
Caergoth harbor came to the humans' minds. "We c-came to
this region of Solamnia because the weather patterns are

well known for v-violent thunderstorms."
Sturm brushed his drying mustache with his fingers. "You
were seeking a storm?"
  "P-precisely. The lightning is vital for the operation of oui
m-machine." Stutts smiled and patted the arm of his chair
"Isn't it a b-beauty? It is called the C-Cloudmaster."
"What does it do?"
"It f-flies."
"Oh, of course it does," Kitiara said with a chuckle. "Very
ingenious of you gnomes. What does that have to do with
Sturm and me?"
Stutts's small face flushed a deeper shade of pink. "Ahem.
W-we've had a bit of b-bad luck. You see, in calculating the
op-optimal lift-to-weight ratio, someone failed to consider
the effect of the Cloudmaster coming to r-rest on soil in an
advanced state of hydration."
"What did you say!"
"We're st-stuck in the mud," said Stutts, turning pink
again.
"And you want us to dig you out?" asked Kitiara.
"For which we will g-gratefully fly you to any point on
Krynn that you wish to go. Enstar, B-Balifor, or far
Karthay --"
"The Plains of Solamnia were where we were headed,"
said Sturm. "That's as far as we need to go."
Kitiara swung an elbow into Sturm's ribs. "You're not tak-
ing this little lunatic seriously, are you?" she hissed from the
corner of her mouth.
"I know gnomes," he replied. "Their inventions work with
surprising regularity."
"But I don't --"
Stutts hopped up. "You'll want to d-discuss it. May I sug-
gest you clean up, have a good m-meal, and then d-decide?
We have a cleansing station on board like nothing you've
s-seen before."
"I'm sure of that," Kitiara muttered.
They agreed to bathe and dine with the gnomes. Stutts
pulled a light chain that hung from the ceiling by the steer-
ing wheel. A deep-throated AH -- OO -- GAH! echoed
through the flying ship. A young gnome in greasy coveralls

and with very bushy red eyebrows appeared.
"Show our g-guests to the cleansing station," said Stutts.
The bushy-browed gnome whistled a string of notes in
reply. "No, one at a t-time," Stutts said. Bushy-brows whis-
tled again.
"Does he always talk like that?" queried Kitiara.
"Yes. My c-colleague --" Here he recited about five min-
utes of gnome-name. "-- has evolved the theory that spoken
1-language was derived from the songs of birds. You may
call him --" Stutts paused and looked at the bushy-browed
fellow, who tweeted and chirped. Stutts continued, "--
Birdcall."
Birdcall took Sturm and Kitiara below deck to the stern.
There, with whistles and gestures, he indicated two cubicles
on either side of the corridor. The doors bore identical signs
that read:
ъapid and Hygienic Cleansing Station
Perfected and Provided to the Flying Ship Cloudmaster
By the Guild of Hydrodynamic Masters and Journeymen
And the Apprentices of
Mt. Nevermind
Level Twelve
Sancrist
Ansalon
Krynn
Sturm looked from the door to Kitiara. "Do you think it
works?" he asked.
"Only one way to find out," she replied, pulling the filthy
towel from her head and dropping it on the floor. She
stepped through the door and it swung shut behind her with
a soft click.
The tile walls inside the cleansing station were covered
with writing. Kitiara squinted at the hand-painted script.
Some of it ran sideways, and some of it was upside down.
Most of the writing concerned proper and scientific bathing
procedure. Some of it was nonsense -- she saw a line that
declared, "The absolute value of the density of raisins in the
perfect muffin is sixteen." And some of the writing was rude:

"The inventor of this station has dung for brains."
She peeled off her outer clothing and put it in a conven-
ient wicker basket. Kitiara stepped to a raised wooden plat-
form. There was a ghastly, rubbery hissing sound, an
water began to spray from a pipe above her head. It caught
her by surprise, so she clamped a hand over the spoutin
end. No sooner had she stopped one spray than another
started from the wall on her left. That one she plugged with
a finger. Then the real melee began.
With mud and water trickling down her face, Kitiara
heard a rattling and squeaking behind her. She twisted
around without unstopping the spouts. A square tile on the
wall had popped open, revealing a jointed metal rod that
was unfolding and reaching out for her. On the end of the
rod was a round pad of fleece, rapidly spinning. Wheels and
pulleys set along the jointed rod made the sheepskin turn.
"What a time to be without a sword!" Kitiara said aloud.
The rod wavered and came toward her. It was a moment of
decision. She accepted the challenge and released the pipes.
Water gushed out, sluicing the mud from her body. Kitiara
grappled with the whirling fleece, grabbing it with both
hands. The pulleys whined and the cords twanged.
Finally she succeeded in snapping the rod off at the first
joint. The water stopped. Kitiara stood, panting, as the
water drained through slots in the floor. There was a knock
on the door.
"Kit?" Sturm called. "Are you finished?"
Before she could reply, a heavy piece of cloth dropped
from the ceiling over her head. She yelled and threw fists at
her unseen attacker, but all she hit was air. Kitiara pulled the
cloth off her head. It was a towel. She dried off and wrapped
herself in it. Sturm was in the corridor, likewise swathed in a
dry blanket.
"What a place," he said, grinning more widely than Kiti-
ara had ever seen him do.
"I'm going to have a few words with Stutts!" she declared.
"What's wrong?"
"I was attacked in there!"
Stutts appeared. "Is there a p-problem?"
Kitiara was about to voice her outrage, but Stutts wasn't

actually speaking to her. He bustled on by and opened a
panel in the wall. Inside, a rather harried-looking gnome lay
in a tangle with a three-legged stool. At the gnome's waist
level was a hand-crank, labeled Cleansing Station Number
2 -- ъotary Washing Device.
"Is that what I was fighting?" Kitiara said.
"Looks that way," said an amused Sturm. "The poor fel-
low was just doing his job. The fleece is like a washcloth,
only he does the scrubbing for you."
"I can do my own scrubbing, thank you," she said sourly.
Stutts mopped his face with his sleeve. "This is all v-very
distressing. I must ask you, Mistress Kitiara, to not
d-damage the machinery. Now I shall have to write a report
in qui-quintuplicate to the Aerostatics Guild."
"I'll keep an eye on her," Sturm said. "Kit has a tendency
to bash things she doesn't understand."
Birdcall came down the corridor whistling furiously.
Stutts brightened. "Oh, g-good. Time for d-dinner."
The gnomes dined in the rear half of the deckhouse. A
long, plank table was suspended from the ceiling, as on an
ocean-going ship, but the gnomes had 'improved' on the
sailors' arrangement by hanging their seats from the ceiling,
too. They swung happily from side to side. Thus, Sturm
and Kitiara had to squeeze into narrow chain swings just to
sit at the table. Dinner proved ordinary enough: beans,
ham, cabbage, muffins, and sweet cider. Stutts apologized;
they had no scientifically trained cook on board. The war-
riors were grateful for that.
The gnomes ate rapidly and without conversation
(because it was more efficient). The sight of ten bowed,
balding heads, accompanied only by the sound of spoons
scraping on plates, was a little unnerving. Sturm cleared his
throat and said, "Perhaps we ought to introduce
ourselves --"
"Everyone knows who you are," said Stutts without look-
ing up. "I s-sent out a memorandum while you were b-being
cleansed."

"Then you can introduce your crew to us," said Kitiara.
Stutts's head snapped up. "They're n-not crew. We are
c-colleagues."
"Pardon me!" Kitiara rolled her eyes.
"You are p-pardoned." He spooned the last of his beans
swiftly into his mouth. "But if you insist." Stutts slipped
from his swinging seat and walked down the row of eating
gnomes. He gave a yawningly elaborate profile of each of
his colleagues, including the name by which "those not of
the gnomish race" could call each one. Sturm distilled all of
this into a short mental list:

Birdcall, chief mechanic in charge of the engine,
Wingover, Stutts's right-hand gnome; in charge of actu-
ally flying the machine,
Sighter, astronomer and celestial navigator,
ъoperig, expert with rope, cord, wire, cloth, and so forth,
Fitter, ъoperig's apprentice,
Flash, collector and storer of lightning,
Bellcrank, chief metal worker and chemist,
Cutwood, in charge of carpentry, woodwork, and all
non-metal parts,
ъainspot, weather seer and physician by designation.
"How did you come to build this, uh, machine?" asked
Sturm.
"It is part of my Life Quest," said Wingover, a taller-than-
average gnome with a hawklike nose. "Complete and suc-
cessful aerial navigation, that's my goal. After years of
experimenting with kites, I met our friend Bellcrank, who
has discovered a very rarefied air, which, when enclosed in
a suitable bag, will float and support other objects of
weight."
"Preposterous," said Sighter. "This so-called ethereal air is
humbug!"
"Listen to the stargazer," the tubby Bellcrank said with a
sneer. "How do you think we were able to fly to this point
from Caergoth, eh? Magic?"
"The wings supported us," Sighter replied with heat. "The
lift ratios clearly show --"

"It was the ethereal air!" retorted ъainspot, who sat by
Bellcrank.
"Wings!" shouted Sighter's side of the table.
"Air!" cried Bellcrank's allies.
"Colleagues! C-colleagues!" Stutts said, holding up his
hands for quiet. "The p-purpose of our expedition is to
establish with scientific accuracy the c-capabilities of the
Cloudmaster. Let us not argue needlessly about theories
until the d-data is available."
The gnomes lapsed into sullen silence. ъain drummed on
the skylight over the table. The hostile silence lingered for
an embarrassing length of time. Then ъainspot lifted his
eyes to the dark panes and said, "The rain is stopping." A
few seconds later, the steady thrumming ceased completely.
"How did he know that!" asked Kitiara.
"Theories differ," said Wingover. "A committee is meeting
even now on Sancrist Isle to study our colleague's talent."
"How can they study him when he's up here?" Sturm
wondered. He was ignored.
"It's his nose," Cutwood said.
"His nose?" Kitiara asked.
"Because of the size and relative angle of ъainspot's nos-
trils, he can detect changes in relative air pressure and
humidity just by breathing."
"Hogwash!" ъoperig said.
"Hogwash," echoed Fitter, the smallest and youngest of
the gnomes, from his place by ъoperig.
"It's his ears," continued ъoperig. "He can hear the rain
stop falling from the clouds before it reaches the ground."
"Unmitigated tommyrot!" That was Sighter again. "Any
fool can see it's his hair that does it. He can feel the roots
uncurl when the moisture in the air falls --" Bellcrank, sit-
ting opposite Sighter, snatched up a muffin from the table
and bounced it off his rival's chin. Flash and Fitter pounced
on the fallen muffin and broke it open.
"Twelve, thirteen, fourteen," Flash counted.
"What's he doing?" Sturm asked.
"C-counting raisins," answered Stutts. "That's his current
project: to determine the world average density of raisins in
muffins." Kitiara dropped her face into her hands and

moaned.
The dinner debacle over, the gnomes left the flying ship to
dismantle their equipment in the meadow. Kitiara and
Sturm, now dry, dressed in enough clothing to hike back to
their campsite in the fig orchard and pick up their gear. The
storm had blown itself out, and stars showed in the ragged
holes between the clouds.
"Are we doing the right thing?" asked Kitiara. "These
gnomes haven't got all their bootlaces tied."
Sturm glanced back at the queer machine lying cockeyed
in the muddy field. "They are lacking in common sense, but
they're tireless and creative. If they can get us to the high
Plains of Solamnia in a day, then I, for one, don't mind help-
ing to dig them out of the mud."
"I don't believe that thing can fly," she said. "We never saw
it fly. For all we know, the storm blew it here."
They reached the sodden remains of their camp and
packed up their scattered belongings. Kitiara hoisted Pira's
saddle on her shoulder. "Blast that horse," she said. "ъaised
her from a filly, I did, and she never looked back once she
got loose. I'll bet she's halfway to Garnet by now."
"Tallfox was a bad influence, I fear. Tirien warned me that
he was skittish."
"It may be that Tallfox had the right idea," Kitiara said.
"How so?" said Sturm.
She slung the damp bedroll over the saddle. "If the
gnomes can do half the things they claim, we may end up
wishing we'd run away in the storm, too."

Chaptea 6
1,081 Hours,
29 Minutes
"Higgher! Higher! Get that balk in place!- Sturm
grunted against the massive weight of the gnomes