Conundrum aom-1

by Jeff Crook

  Presently, several dozen gnomes could be seen lowering, by way of an enormous, six-armed crane, a very large catapult arrow through the open hatch in the stern deck. Nearby, three other UAEPs stood in racks along the wharf, awaiting loading. One important-looking gnome wearing a white jumpsuit sat astraddle the upper keel fore of the mast, shouting directions into what appeared to be a large beer mug. Strangely enough, his voice was amplified many times by this curious device, loud enough to be heard by those standing at the top of the bluff. He directed operations with a large heavy wrench, wielding it like a conductor’s baton.

  “Be careful with that, you slack-jawed sons of a kender and a gully dwarf!” he shouted at the crane operators. There were six of them, one for each arm. “Numbers Two, Three, and Six, swing her a little more to starboard. Starboard, not larboard, you misbegotten spawn of an Aghar! Ahoy, beware below!” This to those gnomes employed in various tasks near the bow of the ship.

  The UAEP began to swing crazily under the opposing directions of the crane’s six arms, sweeping the stern deck clean of its barrels and crates and boxes. One wild gyration sent it careening through the workers at the bow, knocking more than a dozen from perches along the ship’s sloping hull, which had been precarious to begin with. The remainder leaped for their lives into the sea.

  “The one shouting directions is Chief Engineer Port-lost,” Commodore Brigg explained, pointing out the gnome with the mugraphone and the wrench. “He’s our mishaps officer.”

  “How… um, how do they-meaning the UAEPs-work, exactly?” the professor asked while rubbing his bearded chin.

  “It’s quite ingenious, actually,” the commodore said. “They were invented by the Plumbers Guild, which was trying to find a way to supply water to the upper levels of Mount Nevermind. The theory was based on the old water-in-the-cheeks trick, only many times amplified. Water is pumped into a tube until the interior pressure of the tube is sufficient to launch a column of water up the central shaft of the mountain, where it is caught by a cauldron swung out from the level requiring water. Different pressures are used to reach different levels. One day, a plumber sent to work on a leaking launch tube unknowingly placed a length of filling pipe inside another launch tube while he worked on the faulty tube, not knowing that the second tube was about to be used. When they launched the water column with the length of pipe inside it, the pipe acted like a stopper. So they continued to pump more water into the tube, trying the free the obstruction. Finally, it went off like a cork from a bottle of gigglehiccup. The pipe penetrated the bottom of the cauldron, which was accidentally (but fortuitously) swung out a moment too soon to catch the water, thus inventing the UAEP and the funnel at the same time.”

  “Its uses as a weapon were immediately obvious, especially where there is an abundance of water-like aboard a ship,” Snork added. “That’s why Chief Portlost included the UAEP in the design of Indestructible. It should come in handy for battling leviathans, giant squids, velorptamanglers and whatnot.”

  “That’s more like it! I confess, I grow more enthusiastic with such weaponry aboard. How soon do we leave?” Sir Grumdish asked. “And what am I to do with my horse, Bright Dancer?” He stroked the massive beast lovingly on the knee.

  “Er… I’m sure some useful occupation can be found for your loyal warhorse here in the shipyards,” Commodore Brigg answered. “And as for leaving,” he added quickly, noting Sir Grumdish’s look of dismay, “we don’t call it “leaving” in the Maritime Sciences Guild. You can say “embark” or “set sail” or “weigh anchor” or “put to sea.” “Leaving” is a lubberly verb you should break yourself of using. That goes for every and all lubbers. If you are going to be a sailor, you must learn to speak like one. Navigator Snork here will conduct remedial classes in shipboard etiquette and protocol once we are under sail.”

  Sir Grumdish chewed on that, while Professor Hap raised his hand, as though he were in school. “I have a question. I thought this was a submersible deepswimmer Class C, yet you keep talking about setting sail. How does one use a sail underwater?”

  “One doesn’t use a sail, one sets sail, and one doesn’t set sail underwater at all. Unless…” the commodore’s voice trailed off as his brain wheels begin to spin. “A tidal sail, employed underwater to catch the sea currents…” he muttered while fumbling at his pockets in search of a pencil.

  Seeing his commander thus distracted, Navigator Snork completed his thoughts. “Indestructible is equipped with a normal step sail-you can see it there, rising from the conning tower-for use when “running on top,” as we call it. We shan’t always be traveling underwater. In fact, during the trip to the Blood Sea, we’ll probably not submerge at all, except for drills. We’ll sail on top for most of the way. Of course, Commodore Brigg has developed several improvements to the standard wind and sail design that should shorten the trip considerably.”

  Returning from his woolgathering, Commodore Brigg said, “So, no more questions? Good. Come. Let’s go meet your fellow officers. Sir Grumdish, you can leave your armor with the crane for loading.”

  Sir Grumdish eyed the crane dubiously as they made their way down the bluffs. There, all manner of activity was underway. Hundreds of gnomes scurried to tasks more numerous and varied than could possibly be identified. Most seemed concerned with the loading and preparation of the Indestructible. In addition to the shipwrights, carpenters, and ironsmiths engaged in the building of the various ships, boats, and other fascinating devices of mysterious purpose, there were carters and craters, net weavers and sail hemmers, accountants and bookkeepers and counters of everything from beans to butter tubs. Crates, boxes, and barrels lined the docks awaiting loading by surly, foul-mouthed longshoregnomes. And for every gnome lifting, pushing, pulling, dragging, flinging, hoving-to, clicking-off, checking-out, battening-down and buttoning-up, there were two or three more watching, worrying, directing, misdirecting, or noting the labors of the others. Over, under, around, and on top of it all were the ever-present, watchful members of the Mishaps Guild with their clipboards and surveying equipment. Every movement, every nail hammered and cog oiled was carefully catalogued and recorded in case something unexpected happened, for better or for worse.

  As Commodore Brigg led them through this hive of activity toward Indestructible’s dry dock, Sir Grumdish’s mechanical armor attracted its share of speculative whispers and appreciative exclamations. Behind Sir Grumdish’s horse, Professor Hap-Troggensbottle and Razmous Pinchpocket compared observations, shouting so as to be heard over each other. Navigator Snork ticked off the things he still had left to do before the launch as he walked closely behind Razmous and removed the various interesting objects that unaccountably tumbled into the kender’s pouches.

  Busy as he was with his musings and kender thwarting, Snork barely noticed the tugging at his sleeve. Only when a brash voice said his name almost in his ear did he turn.

  He found before him a younger gnome who was taller than he only by the shock of red hair standing up from the crown of his head. Red hair was most unusual in gnomes, the general rule being white hair or no hair at all, except for the obligatory beard. This one’s beard was as red as his hair. The newcomer wore a leather apron and long white pullover with the emblem of the PuzzlesRiddlesEnigmasEtcetera Guild mysteriously affixed-meaning it was not sewn, stitched, embroidered, pinned, or even heat-transferred-over the right breast pocket. His gray eyes had a sort of philosophic inward stare that made him look shy, as though he were trying to avoid meeting the gaze of anyone else because he was busy solving some complex mathematical puzzle, such as trying to compute the volume of an open container. As Snork looked him over, the young gnome looked right back.

  Suddenly, Snork slapped himself on the forehead. “Conundrum!” he shouted.

  The younger gnome bowed. “Cousin Snork,” he answered.

  “The last time we met, you were entering your guild back at Mount Nevermind. I see you made it.”

  “I did,” Conundrum answe
red proudly. “I am now an important member of the Guild of PuzzlesRiddlesEngimasRebusLogogriphsMonogramsAnagramsAcrosticsCrosswordsMazesLabyrinthsParadoxesScrabbleFeminineLogicandPoliticians-otherwise known as P3 for short, though no one knows exactly why it is called P3 for short, unless it is that there are three words starting with P in it, in which case it might also be called L2, M2, or even A2 for short.”

  “Hmm, what are you doing here?” Snork asked.

  “Didn’t you receive my letter?” Conundrum asked.

  “Letter? No, I don’t recall a letter. How did you send it?”

  “By the automated post,” Conundrum said.

  “Ah, of course, that would be the problem then. What did the letter say?”

  “I asked if I could go with you,” Conundrum said. His eyes twitched for a moment, and that brief flicker conveyed such an overwhelming flood of desperation that Snork took a step back in surprise. Then he stepped closer and took Conundrum by the elbow, leading him into a narrow alcove between stacks of crates.

  When they were alone, Snork leaned close to his cousin and whispered, “What’s the matter? Why do you want to go with me” on this dangerous mission? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  With each question, Conundrum twitched as though struck with a ruler across the knuckles. He pulled his hands up close to his bearded face, knitting his fingers in an endless weave of nervous energy.

  “It’s my Life Quest,” Conundrum said, “given to me by the Guild-to solve an unsolvable puzzle, to create the world’s most unsolvable puzzle. It doesn’t matter what kind of puzzle. It could be a puzzle or a maze or a riddle or whatever, the only stipulation being that it must be a true puzzle and not just a question without an answer. And it must be a puzzle with an answer, one which no one could ever possibly find out.”

  “But no one has invented the unsolvable puzzle yet!”

  Snork exclaimed. “How are you supposed to solve it if it hasn’t been invented?”

  “Yes, I know. You see my conundrum,” Conundrum answered.

  Snork pondered this for a moment, then asked, “What does that have to do with the voyage of the Indestructible?”

  “Nothing,” Conundrum said.

  “Then, why?”

  Conundrum’s gray eyes locked with those of his cousin. He breathed a sigh that seemed to come up from his shoes. “I have an office in the guild hall, an important office, with a secretary and an assistant. There aren’t any books in my office, no maps, no diagrams, not even any paper or a pencil or a protractor. I sit in my office and wait to invent an insolvent puzzle. And I wait. And wait. I need to get out and see and do things. No more waiting.”

  Pity and understanding welled in Snork, and, without another word, he dashed away, dragging Conundrum behind him in pursuit of Commodore Brigg and the others.

  Snork and Conundrum caught up with the commodore at the quays as Sir Grumdish’s armor was being hoisted aloft by the six-armed crane. Sir Grumdish stood beside his mighty steed, nervously stroking the beast’s knee while he watched his armor rise a hundred feet in the air and halt, dangling like a hanged man above the bay. His heart was in his throat, his face as gray as a sun-bleached board.

  Commodore Brigg was just introducing everyone to Chief Engineer Portlost, the gnome directing the loading operation, and explaining the chiefs Life Quest-to record and detail the most extraordinary mishap the world has ever seen, whenever that might occur.

  “I am confident of just such an opportunity on this voyage,” Chief Portlost was saying with a toothy grin as he shook hands with everyone. Like the commodore and the navigator, Chief Portlost wore the tarbrush-and-bilge-pump symbol of the Maritime Sciences Guild on his left breast pocket, but on his right breast pocket he wore the upside-down-burning-gnomeflinger emblem of the Mishaps Guild.

  “Chief Portlost is our engineer and chief mishaps officer,” Snork added solemnly.

  “Tell them to be careful with my armor, Mr. Mishaps,” Sir Grumdish croaked. “He’ll come apart with all that jerking and bouncing.”

  “He will?” Chief Portlost exclaimed. “You mean there’s someone inside that armor? Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?” He shouted into the beer mug-they called it a mugraphone-”Carefully, you lot of boot-scrapings! Gently, now! And someone alert the Mishaps Guild! Tell them to be ready!”

  Commodore Brigg continued the introductions, “And this, Chief Portlost, is Professor Hap-Troggensbottle, our science officer.”

  The professor shook the chiefs hand so vigorously that it made the zippers jingle on his white jumpsuit.

  “Ah, Professor!” the chief greeted just as vigorously in return, rattling his fellow gnome’s teeth. “I’ve heard a great deal about you-only favorably of course. We are glad you’ll be coming along for this little jaunt.”

  “Jaunt? It seemed rather more like a dangerous voyage of weighty consequence, to me,” the professor commented huffily.

  “Dangerous? Who says so? This ship is sound enough to balance eggs on her deck in a high sea. Two kender and a trained gully dwarf could run her in their sleep-not that I’d let them! And no offense intended to our chief acquisitions officer,” he finished with a nod to the kender.

  “None taken,” Razmous answered with a sly smile.

  “Of course you know Navigator Snork and…” the commodore paused, looking Conundrum over with an appraising eye. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

  “Conundrum,” Snork said quickly. “You haven’t met. Conundrum is my cousin, delegate from the Guild of PuzzlesRiddlesEnigmasEtcetera. "

  “Come to see us off, eh?” the commodore said as he shook hands with Conundrum. “Should be quite a show.”

  “Actually… that is… I, urn… the guild was wondering if he couldn’t sign on with us,” Snork said. “It fits in with his Life Quest, you see.”

  “Really? You don’t say,” Commodore Brigg said excitedly. “Are you going to solve the riddle of the seven seas? I’ve been wondering about that appellation for years. I only count four-North Sirrion Sea, South Sirrion Sea, New Sea, and the Blood Sea of Istar.”

  “What about Courrain?” Razmous interjected.

  ,"Courrain is an ocean, not a sea! Any idiot knows that,” the commodore muttered with a fierce glance at the kender. “Besides, that would make only five, wouldn’t it?”

  “Actually, his Life Quest doesn’t really have anything to with the sea,” Snork interrupted tentatively.

  “No?”

  Clearing his throat, Conundrum glanced at those gathered around him-the grim-faced Sir Grumdish, the smiling Razmous, and his encouraging and nodding cousin Snork. Professor Hap-Troggensbottle removed a pair of concave/convex lenses from his breast pocket and perched them on the end of his long nose to scrutinize him, while Chief Engineer Portlost fingered his directing wrench as though preparing to tighten a nut at a moment’s notice-or else clout someone over the head.

  “So, do tell-what experience have you aboard ships?

  What exactly is it that you plan to do, my good gnome?” Commodore Brigg asked.

  “I am very good at waiting,” Conundrum answered forthrightly.

  “A waiter?” Razmous asked. “Oh, that will be convenient, having a waiter onboard, bringing us sandwiches and whatnot.”

  “No, I wait,” Conundrum repeated, interrupting the kender with a dark look. “I wait until I am inspired,” and then, raising his voice slightly in what he hoped was an impressive tone, he added, “until it is time to do something.”

  “Hmm, I see,” the commodore mused as he stroked his long white eyebrows. “All that and riddle-solving too. A most unusual Life Quest. You could prove useful, for we never know when “the time” might come. And as luck would have it, the ship is designed for twenty and we have only nineteen. You seem more than qualified to fill that empty seat. Welcome aboard, Ensign Conundrum! You will be chief officer in charge of, hmmm… let’s see. How about seating? Chief Officer in Charge of Seating.”

  Everyone gathered around
to give Conundrum many a congratulatory smack on the back or tug of the beard, while the commodore strode about beaming with pride and trying to hitch his thumbs behind the suspenders he wasn’t wearing. He also checked his watch, then remembered he hadn’t invented one yet. When everyone had finished pummeling the newest member of the crew, the commodore turned to Chief Portlost. “Is everything ready? How soon can we launch?”

  “Not until all my instruments are aboard,” a voice answered him from the ship. Waddling down the gangplank came the owner of the voice-a short, enormously fat gnome wearing a tight blue jumpsuit stretched over his rolls and bulges. The gangplank creaked under his mass, bending dangerously in the middle. “This ship doesn’t sail-or dive or whatever it does-until I, as medical officer, say so.”

  “Doctor Bothy,” the commodore explained, introducing him with a gesture. There were nods and handshakes all around. “His Life Quest is to discover a foolproof cure for hiccups.”

  “Hiccoughs, sir! Hiccoughs! Hiccups are child’s play. Why, I could cure your hiccups with a snap of my fingers,” the portly doctor said, demonstrating beneath the commodore’s nose. “Hiccups are commonplace, while hiccoughs have been a mystery to the medical sciences for generations. Why, if one could cure hiccoughs, one could cure any number of involuntary spasms of the primary musculature. Take yawns, for example. Or blinking. I estimate that approximately thirteen hundred gnome hours are wasted every year with blinking. Imagine the savings, the increase in productivity, if we could but do away with blinking!”