' flying
ship. He and Kitiara strained against a rough-hewn lever
they'd made over the gnomes' protests. Crude levers! the
gnomes protested. Bellcrank claimed that any gnome could
invent a device ten times better for lifting heavy objects. Of
course, it would take a committee to study the stress analy-
sis of the local wood, as well as to calculate the proper pivot
point for raising the ship.
"No," Kitiara had insisted. "If you want us to help get
your ship out of the mud, then we'll do it our own way." The
gnomes had shrugged and rubbed their bare pates. Trust
humans to do things the crudest way.

The gnomes rolled several large rocks up to the hull.
These would be the fulcrums. After Sturm and Kitiara had
made the ship level, the gnomes shoved short, thick timber
balks into place to brace it upright. It was slow, sweaty
labor, but by noon of the day after the storm, the flying ship
was finally on an even keel.
"A problem," Wingover announced.
"Now what?" Kitiara asked.
"The landing gear must have a firm surface on which to
roll. Therefore, it will be necessary to construct a roadbed.
Here; I've made calculations as to how much crushed stone
and mortar we'll need --" Kitiara plucked the paper from his
hand and tore it in two.
"I've gotten wagons out of mud before," she said, "by put-
ting straw or twigs in the ruts."
"Might work," Sturm said. "But this thing is very heavy."
He spoke to Stutts, who promptly removed the protesting
gnomes from their important (though completely useless)
'improvement' work and set them to gathering windfall
branches and brushwood. They all turned out except Bell-
crank, who was busy with his pots of powders and vials of
noxious liquids.
"I must attend to my first task, generating the ethereal
air, he said, pouring iron filings from a keg. "When the air
bag is filled, it will help lighten the ship."
"You do that," said Kitiara. She leaned against the hull to
watch. She didn't like strenuous work. Work was for dul-
lards and peasants, not warriors.
The gnomes returned with a scant armful of brush. "Nine
of you, and that's all you have?" Sturm said incredulously.
"ъoperig and Sighter disagreed on which kind of sticks to
bring, so in the spirit of cooperation, we didn't pick up
either of their choices," Wingover said.
"Wingover," Sturm said pleadingly, "please tell ъoperig
and Sighter that the kind of wood doesn't matter in the
least. We just want something dry for the wheels to run
over." The tallish gnome dropped his bundle of sticks and
led his fellows back to the woods.
Meanwhile, Bellcrank had managed to enlist Kitiara's aid
in inflating the Cloudmaster's air bag. On the ground beside

the ship he'd set up a big clay tub, five feet wide." He poured
powdered iron and other bits of scrap metal in the tub and
smoothed the pile out around the edges. "Lower away!" he
told Kitiara, and she set a domed wooden lid, like the top
half of a beer barrel, on top of the ceramic tub. Bellcrank
worked around the outside, poking a long strip of greased
leather into the joint. "It must be tight," he explained, "or the
ethereal air will seep out and not fill the bag."
She hoisted the gnome up and set him on top of the barrel.
With a corkscrew, Bellcrank popped a large cork in the top
of the barrel. "Hand me the hose," he said. v
"This?" asked Kitiara, holding up a limp tube of canvas.
"The very thing." She gave it to him, and he tied it over
the neck of a wooden turncock. "Now," said Bellcrank, "for
the vitriol!"
There were three very large demijohns sitting in the tall
grass. Kitiara stooped to pick one up. "Oof!" she gasped.
"Feels like a keg of ale!"
"It's concentrated vitriol. Be careful not to spill it; it can
burn you very badly." She set the heavy jug down by the
tub.
'You don't expect me to pour that stuff in there, do you?"
Bellcrank said, "No indeed! I have a most efficacious
invention that will circumvent such tiresome duty. Hand me
the Excellent Mouthless Siphon, would you?"
Kitiara cast about but saw nothing that resembled an
Excellent Mouthless Siphon. Bellcrank pointed with his
stubby finger. "That, there; the bellows-looking item. Yes."
She gave him the mouthless siphon. Bellcrank put the beak
of the bellows into the demijohn and pulled the handles
apart. The sinister brown liquid in the jug sank by an inch.
"There!" the gnome said triumphantly. "No sucking on
tubes. No spillage." He pushed the beak into the hole in the
barrel where the cork had been, and emptied the vitriol.
"Ha, ha! Gnomish science overcomes ignorance again!"
Bellcrank repeated the siphoning four more times before
Kitiara noticed vapor escaping from the leather hinges of
the Excellent Mouthless Siphon. "Bellcrank," she said hesi-
tantly.
"Not now! The process has begun, and it must be kept

going at a steady pace!"
"But the siphon --"
A drop of vitriol seeped through a hole that it had eaten in
the hinge of the siphon, and splashed on Bellcrank's shoe.
He carelessly flung the siphon away and began hopping
around on one foot, trying desperately to pry the shoe off
his foot. The vitriol ate the buckle strap in two, and with a
mighty kick, Bellcrank flung the shoe away. It missed the
returning Fitter's nose by a whisker.
"Oh, ъeorx!" said Bellcrank sadly. The Excellent Mouth-
less Siphon was a pile of steaming fragments.
"Never mind," Kitiara said. Whe wrapped her arms around
the vitriol jug and planted her feet firmly. "Hai-yup!" she
grunted, and raised the demijohn to Bellcrank's level. He
guided the jug's mouth, and soon a steady stream of the
acrid fluid was spilling into the ethereal air generator.
The hose from the keg to the air bag swelled. The sagging
bag itself began to fill out and grow firmer inside its web of
netting. Soon all the rope rigging and tackle was taut. The
bag strained against the confining ropes. At Bellcrank's sig-
nal, Kitiara lowered the heavy demijohn.
Sturm came around the bow with the other gnomes. "The
ruts are full of brush," he said.
"The bag is full of ethereal air," said Bellcrank.
"My back is killing me," said Kitiara. "What next?"
"We f-fly," said Stutts. "All colleagues to their flying st-
stations!"
Stutts, Wingover, and the two humans went into the for-
ward end of the deck house. The other gnomes lined the rail.
"ъelease ballast!" cried Wingover.
"ъelease b-ballast!" Stutts called out an open porthole.
The gnomes took up long, sausage-shaped bags that lined
the rail. The ends opened, and sand poured out. The
gnomes flung sand over the side, getting as much in their
own eyes as they did out of the ship. This went on until
Sturm felt the deck shift under his feet. Kitiara, wide-eyed,
grabbed the brass rail that ran around the wheelhouse at the
gnomes' shoulder height.
"Open front wings!" cried Wingover.
"Opening f-front wings!" Stutts replied. He leaned against

a lever as tall as he was and shoved it forward. A rattle, a
screech, and the leather 'sails' that Kitiara and Sturm had
noticed on the hull unfolded into long, graceful batlike
wings. The goatskin covering the bony ribs was pale brown
and translucent.
"F-front wings open," Stutts reported. Wind caught in
them, and the ship lifted an inch or two at the bow.
"Open rear wings!"
"Opening rear w-wings!" A slightly wider and longer pair
of leather-clad wings blossomed aft of the deckhouse.
"Set tail!"
The gnomes on deck ran out a long spar and clamped it to
the stern. ъoperig and Fitter clambered over the spar,
attaching lines to pulleys to hooks. They unfolded a fan-
shaped set of ribs, also covered in goatskin. By the time they
finished, the Cloudmaster was swaying and bucking off the
ground.
Wingover flipped the cover off a speaking tube. "Hello,
Birdcall, are you there? A shrill whistled answered. "Tell
Flash to start the engine."
There was a sizzle and a loud crack, and the deck quiv-
ered beneath their feet. Wingover twirled a brass ring han-
dle and threw another tall lever. The great wings rose slowly
in unison. The Cloudmaster lost contact with the ground.
Down came the wings, folding inward as they came. The
flying ship lurched forward, its wheels sucking free of the
mud and bouncing over the scattered brush. The wings beat
again, faster. Wingover grasped the steering wheel in both
his small hands and pulled. The wheel swung toward him,
the bow pitched up, the wings flapped crazily, and the
Cloudmaster was borne aloft into the blue afternoon sky.
"Hurray! H-Hurray!" Stutts said, jumping up and down.
The Cloudmaster climbed steadily. Wingover eased the
wheel forward, and the bow dropped. Kitiara yelled and
lost her footing. Sturm let go of the handrail to try to catch
her, and he fell, too. He rolled against one of the levers,
knocking it out of place, and the wings instantly stopped
moving. The Cloudmaster wobbled and plunged toward
the ground.
There were several seconds of stark terror. Sturm disen-


tangled himself from the lever and hauled back on it. The
wings sang as the taut skin bit the air. Stutts and Kitiara, in a
knot, rolled to the rear of the room. Shakily, Wingover
steadied the ship.
"I think passengers ought to leave the wheelhouse,"
Wingover said. His voice shook with fear. "At least until
you get your air legs."
"I agree," said Sturm. From his hands and knees he
grabbed the handle of the door and crept out on deck. Kiti-
ara and Stutts crawled out behind him.
The rushing wind was strong on deck, but by taking firm
hold of the rail and leaning into it, Kitiara found it tolerable.
The wings flexed up and down in close harmony. Kitiara
slowly straightened her legs. She looked over the side.
"Great Lord of Battle!" she exclaimed. "We must be miles
and miles straight up!"
Stutts boosted himself to the rail and hung his head over
the side. "N-not as high as all that," he remarked. "You can
st-still see our shadow on the ground." It was true. A dark
oval sped across the treetops. Sighter appeared with his spy-
glass, and he promptly announced their altitude as 6,437.5
feet.
"Are you certain?" Kitiara asked.
"Please," said Sturm, "take his word for it."
"Where are we headed, Sighter?" asked Kitiara.
"Due east. That's the Lemish forest below. In a few min-
utes, we should be over the Newsea."
"But that's seventy miles from where we were," Sturm
said. He was sitting on the deck. "Are we truly flying that
fast?"
"Indeed we are, and we shall go faster still," Sighter said.
He strolled forward, his spyglass stuck to one eye as he sur-
veyed the world below.
"It's wonderful!" Kitiara said. She laughed into the wind.
"I never believed you could do it; but you did. I love it! Tell
the whistler to go as fast as he can!" Stutts was almost as
excited, and he agreed. He turned to re-enter the wheel-
house. Sturm called to him, and he paused.
"Why are we heading east?" Sturm asked. "Why not
north and east -- toward the Plains of Solamnia?"

Stutts replied, "ъainspot s-says he feels turbulence in that
direction. He f-felt it wouldn't be prudent to fly through it."
He disappeared into the wheelhouse.
"Sturm, look at that!" Kitiara said. "It's a village! You can
see the housetops and chimney smoke -- and cattle! I won-
der, can the people down there see us? Wouldn't that be fun-
ny, to swoop down on their heads and blow a
trumpet -- ta-ta! Scare them out of ten years' growth!"
Sturm was still sitting on the deck. "I'm not ready to stand
up yet," he said sheepishly. "I was never afraid of heights,
you know. Trees, towers, mountaintops never disturbed
me. But this..."
"It's wonderful, Sturm. Hold the rail and look down."
I must stand up, thought Sturm. The Measure demanded
that a knight face danger with honor and courage. The
Knights of Solamnia had never considered aerial travel in
their code of conduct. I must show Kit that I am not afraid.
Sturm grasped the rail.
My father, Lord Angriff Brightblade, would not be
afraid, he told himself as he faced the low wall and rose to
his haunches. Blood pounded in Sturm's ears. The power of
the sword, the discipline of battle, were of little help here.
This was a stronger test. This was the unknown.
Sturm stood. The world spun beneath him like a ribbon
unspooling. Already the blue waters of the Newsea glittered
on the horizon. Kitiara was raving about the boats she could
see. Sturm took a deep breath and let the fear fall from him
like a soiled garment.
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed again. "I tell you, Sturm, I
take back all the things I said about the gnomes. This flying
ship is tremendous! We can go anywhere in the world with
this. Anywhere! And think of what a general could do with
his army in a fleet of these devices. No wall would be high
. enough. No arrows could reach you up here. There's no
spot in the whole of Krynn that could be defended against a
fleet of flying ships."
"It would be the end of the world," Sturm said. "Cities
looted and burned, farms ravaged, people slaughtered -- it
would be as bad as the Cataclysm."
"Trust you to see the dark side of everything," she said.

"It happened before, you know. Twice the dragons of
Krynn tried to subjugate the world from the sky, until the
great Huma used the Dragonlance and defeated them."
Kitiara said, "That was long ago. And men are different
from dragons." Sturm was not so sure.
Cutwood and ъainspot climbed a ladder to the roof of the
wheelhouse. From there they launched a large kite". It flut-
tered back in the wind from the wings, whipping about on
its string like a new-caught trout.
"What are you two doing now?" Kitiara called out.
"Testing for lightning," Cutwood responded. "He smells it
in the clouds."
"Isn't that dangerous?" Sturm said.
"Eh?" Cutwood put a hand to his ear.
"I said, isn't that --"
The brilliant white-forked bolt hit the kite before Sturm
could finish. Though the sun was shining and the air clear,
lightning leaped from a nearby cloud and blasted the kite to
ashes. The bolt continued down the string and leaped to the
brass ladder. The Cloudmaster staggered; the wings skipped
a beat, then settled back into their regular rhythm once
more.
They carried the scorched ъainspot into the dining room.
His face and hands were black with soot. His shoes had been
knocked right off his feet, and his stockings had gone with
his shoes. All the buttons on his vest were melted as well.
Cutwood lowered his ear to ъainspot's chest. "Still beat-
ing," he reported.
The ship's alarm went AH -- OO -- GAH! and the speak-
ing tube blared, "All colleagues and passengers come to the
engine room at once." Stutts and the other gnomes filed
toward the door, with the humans trailing behind.
Stutts paused. "What ab-bout him?" He indicated the
unconscious ъainspot.
"We could carry him," Sighter said.
"We can make a stretcher," said Cutwood, checking his
pockets for paper and pencil to draw a stretcher design.
"I'll do it," Sturm said, just to end the discussion. He
scooped the little man up in his arms.
Down in the engine room, the ship's entire company col-

lected. Sturm was alarmed to see Wingover there. "Who
steering the ship?" he asked.
"I tied the wheel."
"Colleagues and passengers," Flash said, "I beg to report,
fault in the engine."
"You needn't beg," said ъoperig. "We'll let you report."
"Shut up," said Kitiara. "How bad is it?"
"I can't shut it off. The lightning strike has fused the
switches in the 'on' position."
"That's not so bad," Sighter said. Birdcall warbled in
agreement.
"But we can't fly around forever!" Kitiara said.
"No indeed," said Flash. "I estimate we have power to fly
for, oh, six and a half weeks."
"Six weeks!" cried Sturm and Kitiara in unison.
"One thousand, eighty-one hours, twenty-nine minutes. I
can work out the exact seconds in a moment."
"Hold my arms, Sturm; I'm going to throttle him!"
"Hush, Kit."
"Could we unfasten the wings? That would bring us
down," said ъoperig.
"Yes, and make a nice big hole when we hit," Bellcrank
observed tartly.
"Hmm, I wonder how big a hole it would be." Cutwood
flipped open a random slip of parchment and started figur-
ing on it. The other gnomes crowded around, offering cor-
rections to his arithmetic.
"Stop this at once!" Sturm said. Kitiara's face was scarlet
from ill-concealed rage. When the gnomes paid him not the
least heed, he snatched the calculations from Cutwood. The
gnomes broke off in midbabble.
"How can such clever fellows be so impractical? Not one
of you has asked the right question. Flash, can you fix the
engine?"
A gleam of challenge grew in Flash's eyes. "I can! I will!"
He pulled a hammer from one pocket and a spanner from
another. "C'mon, Birdcall, let's get at it!" The chief mechan-
ic chirped happily and followed on Flash's heels.
"Wingover, where will we go if we keep flying as we are
now?" Sturm asked.

"The wings are set on 'climb', which means we'll keep
going higher and higher," Wingover replied. The gnome
wrinkled his beaky nose. "It will get cold. The air will thin
out; that's why vultures and eagles can only fly so high.
Their wings are too small. The Cloudmaster shouldn't have
problems with that."
"Everyone will have to dress warmly," said Sturm.
"We have our furs," Kitiara said, having mastered her
anger at the situation. "I don't know what the gnomes can
wear."
"Oh! Oh!" ъoperig waved a hand to be recognized. "I can
make Personal Heating Apparatuses out of materials I have
in the rope locker."
"Fine, you do that." ъoperig and his apprentice hurried
away with their heads together. Fitter listened so intently
that he walked under an engine part and into the door
frame.
ъainspot moaned. Forgetting his burden in the excite-
ment, Sturm had tucked him under one arm like a loaf of
bread. The gnome coughed and groaned. Sturm set him on
the deck. The first thing ъainspot did was to ask for his kite.
Cutwood explained how it was lost, and tears welled up in
ъainspot's eyes. As they trickled down his cheeks, they
scored clean tracks in the soot.
"One thing more, Wingover," Kitiara said. "You said the
air would get thin. Do you mean as it does on very high
mountaintops?"
"Exactly like that."
She planted her hands on her hips and said, "I once led a
troop of cavalry over the high Khalkist Mountains. It was
cold, all right, and worse, our ears bled. We fainted at the
slightest exertion and had the worst headaches. A shaman
named Ning made a potion for us to drink; it eased our
way."
"What a primitive shaman can do with m-magic, a gnome
can do with t-technology," said Stutts.
Sturm looked out the engine room porthole at the darken-
ing sky. A rime of frost was already forming on the outside
of the glass. "I certainly hope so, my friend. Our lives may
depend on it."

Chapter 7
Hydrodynamics!
It was quiet on deck. Sturm worked his way around
the starboard side to the bow. Sighter had mounted a tele-
scope on a spindle there, and Sturm wanted a look around.
It wasn't easy moving in his thick fur coat, hood, and mit-
tens, but he decided that it was no worse than being in full
body armor.
The flapping of the wings scarcely could be heard as the
Cloudmaster climbed steadily upward. The flying ship had
pierced a layer of soft white clouds, which left a coat of
snow on the deck and roof. Once it cleared the cloud layer,
however, the rush of air over the wings swept the snow
away.
Great pillars of vapor stood around them, fat columns of
blue and white that looked as solid as marble in the moons'

light. Sturm studied these massive towers of cloud through
Sighter's spyglass, but all he could see was their sculpted
surfaces, as smooth and still as a frozen pond.
He hadn't seen a gnome in over an hour. Wingover had
tied the steering wheel again, and they'd all disappeared