Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [142]
“What incredible timing that must take!”
“The timing is ingenious since it all depends on a certain hook we’ve developed, though”—Gnosh pursed his lips, his eyebrows drawing together—“something is throwing the timing off a bit, but there’s a committee—”
The gnome pulled down on the lever and Fizban—with a shriek—went sailing through the air.
“Oh dear,” said Gnosh, staring, “it appears—”
“What? What?” Tas yelled, trying to see.
“The net’s opened too soon again”—Gnosh shook his head—“and that’s the second time today that’s happened on Skimbosh alone and this definitely will be brought up at the next meeting of the Net Guild—”
Tas stared, open-mouthed, at the sight of Fizban whizzing through the air, propelled from below by the tremendous force of the catapult, and suddenly the kender saw what Gnosh was talking about. The net on level fifteen—instead of opening after the mage had flown past and then catching him as he started to fall—opened before the mage reached level fifteen. Fizban hit the net and was flattened like a squashed spider. For a moment he clung there precariously—arms and legs akimbo, then he fell.
Instantly bells and gongs rang out.
“Don’t tell me,” Tas guessed miserably. “That’s the alarm which means the net failed.”
“Quite, but don’t be alarmed (small joke),” Gnosh chuckled, “because the alarms trip a device to open the net on level thirteen, just in time, oops—a bit late, well, there’s still level twelve—”
“Do something!” Tas shrieked.
“Don’t get so worked up!” Gnosh said angrily. “And I’ll finish what I was about to say about the final emergency back up system and that is, oh, here it goes—”
Tas watched in amazement as the bottoms dropped out of six huge barrels hanging from the walls on level three, sending thousands of sponges tumbling down onto the floor in the center of the chamber. This was done—apparently—in case all the nets on every level failed. Fortunately, the net on level nine actually worked, spreading out beneath the mage just in time. Then it folded up around him and whisked him over to the balcony where the gnomes, hearing the mage cursing and swearing inside, appeared reluctant to let him out.
“Sonoweverything’sfineandit’syourturn,” said Gnosh.
“Just one last question!” Tas yelled at Gnosh as he sat down in the seat. “What happens if the emergency backup system with the sponges fails?”
“Ingenious—” said Gnosh happily, “because you see if the sponges come down a little too late, the alarm goes off, releasing a huge barrel of water into the center, and, since the sponges are there already, its easy to clean up the mess—”
The chief pulled the lever.
Tas had been expecting all sorts of fascinating things in the Examination Room, but he found it—to his surprise—nearly empty. It was lighted by a hole drilled through the face of the mountain which admitted the sunlight. (This simple but ingenious device had been suggested to the gnomes by a visiting dwarf who called it a ‘window’; the gnomes were quite proud of it.) There were three tables, but little else. On the central table, surrounded by gnomes, rested the dragon orb and his hoopak.
It was back to its original size, Tas noted with interest. It looked the same—still a round piece of crystal, with a kind of milky colored mist swirling around inside. A young Knight of Solamnia with an intensely bored expression on his face stood near the orb, guarding it. His bored expression changed sharply at the approach of strangers.
“Quite all right,” Gnosh told the knight reassuringly, “these are the two Lord Gunthar sent word about—” Still talking, Gnosh hustled them over to the central table. The gnome’s eyes were bright as he regarded the orb. “A dragon orb,” he murmured happily, “after all these years—”
“What years?” Fizban snapped, stopping at some distance from the table.
“You see,” Gnosh explained, “each gnome has a Life Quest assigned to him at birth, and from then on his only ambition in life