The Cloudmaster quivered like a living thing. The leather bat-wings lifted in a graceful arc and froze there. Sturm threw himself through the door and landed on his belly. He covered his head tightly with his hands. The wheels touched, spun, and snapped off with brittle, wrenching sounds. When the hull of the flying ship plowed into Lunitari, the bow bucked, rose, and jerked to port. Sturm careened across the deck. The Cloudmaster tore along, trailing a wake of dirt and stones. Finally, as if too tired to continue, the flying ship settled to a creaking, grinding stop.

Foty Pounds of Iron "Ane we dead?" Sturm uncovered his head and lifted it. Wingover was jammed through the spokes of the steering wheel, his short arms squeezed tightly against his chest. His eyes were just as tightly closed. "Open your eyes, Wingover; we're all right," said Sturm. "Oh, Reorx, I'm stuck!" "Hold on." Sturm grabbed the gnome's feet and pulled. Wingover protested all the way, but when he was finally free, he forgot his discomfort and said, "Ah! Lunitari!" The gnome and the man went out on deck. The rear door of the dining room banged open, and the other gnomes piled out. Wordlessly, they surveyed the barren landscape. Aside from a distant hump of hills, Lunitari was flat all the way to the horizon. One gnome gave a high chortle of delight, and they all scampered inside. Sturm heard things flying as they sorted through the pillows for their tools, instruments, and notebooks. Kitiara appeared on deck with Flash and Birdcall. They hadn't been able to see from the engine room, being too busy to stare out the porthole. Kitiara had a fine goose-egg bruise over her right eye. "Hello," said Sturm. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, I knocked my head against an engine fitting when we crashed." "Landed," he corrected. "Did you break the fitting?" His rare attempt at humor left Kitiara silent for a moment. Then they threw their arms around each other, grateful for their lives. The ramp in the starboard side of the hull dropped down, and the whole gang of gnomes boiled out onto the red turf. Kitiara said, "I guess we'd better go down and look after them, before they hurt themselves." The gnomes were lost in their specialties by the time Kitiara and Sturm joined them. Sighter scanned the horizon with his spyglass. Bellcrank and Cutwood were filling jars with scoopfuls of red dirt. Rainspot stood apart from the rest, his nose and ears tuned to the weather. He reminded Kitiara of a hunting dog. Stutts was rapidly filling pages in his pocket notebook. Wingover walked around the hull of the Cloudmaster, kicking the tight wooden planks now and then. Roperig and Fitter examined their anchor line and measured the amount that it had stretched when pulled taut. Birdcall and Flash were in a heated discussion. Sturm overheard something about 'wing camber variance' and listened no further. He scooped up a handful of Lunitarian dirt. It was flaky, not granular like sand. As it fell from his fingers, it made a tinkling sound. "Do you smell what I smell?" asked Kitiara. He sniffed. "Dust. It'll settle," he said. "No, not that. It's a feeling more than a smell, really. The air has a tingle to it, like a draft of Otik's best ale." Sturm concentrated for a moment. "I don't feel anything." Stutts bustled over. "Here are m-my preliminary findings," he said. "Air: normal. Temperature: c-cool but not cold. No sign of w-water, vegetation, or animal life." "Kit says she feels a tingle in the air." "Really? I h-hadn't noticed anything." "I'm not imagining it," she said tersely. "Ask Rainspot, maybe he's noticed." The weather-wise gnome came running when called, and Stutts asked for his impressions. "The high clouds will dissipate soon," said Rainspot. "Humidity is very low. I don't think it has rained here in a very long time, if ever." "Bad news," Kitiara said. "We haven't much water left on the ship." "Do you sense anything else?" Sturm queried. "Yes, actually, but it's not a weather phenomenon. The air is somehow charged with energy." "Like l-lightning?" "No." Rainspot pivoted slowly. "It's constant, but very low in intensity. It doesn't feel harmful, just… there." He shrugged. "Why don't we feel it?" Sturm asked. "You're not the sensitive type," Kitiara said. "Like old Rainspot and me." She clapped her hands. "So, Stutts, now that we're here, what do we do?" "Explore. Make m-maps and study local conditions." "There's nothing here," said Sturm. "This is only one small 1-location. S-suppose we had landed on the Plains of Dust on Krynn. W-would you then say that there is nothing on Krynn but s-sand?" Stutts asked. Sturm admitted that he would not. Stutts called his engineers, and Flash and Birdcall trotted up. "St-status report." "The lightning bottles are two-thirds empty. If we don't find some way to refill them, we won't have enough power to fly home," Flash said. Birdcall sang his report, and Flash translated for the humans. "He says the engine was shaken loose from its mountings by the hard landing. But the cut power cable can be patched." "I have an idea about that," said Wingover, who'd joined them. "If we install a switch at that juncture, we can bypass the fused setting damaged by Rainspot's lightning." "My lightning!" the weather gnome protested. "Since when do I make lightning?" "Switch? What kind of switch?" Cutwood asked. The sound of disputation had drawn him and Bellcrank. "A single throw-knife switch," said Wingover. "Ha! Listen to the amateur! Single-throw! What's needed is a rotary pole switch with isolated leads -" Kitiara let out a blood-curdling battle cry and swung her sword around her head. The silence that followed was instant and total. "You gnomes are driving me mad! Why don't you just appoint someone to each task and be done with it?" "Only one mind on each task?" Sighter was scandalized. "It would never get done right." "Perhaps Bellcrank could make the switch," Fitter suggested timidly. "It will be made of metal, won't it?" Everyone stared at him, mouths open. He edged nervously behind Roperig. "Wonderful idea!" Kitiara said. "Brilliant idea!" "There isn't much spare metal left," Wingover said. "We could salvage some from the anchor," Rainspot said. The other gnomes looked at him and smiled. "That's a good idea," said Cutwood. "Fitter and me'll pull in the anchor," Roperig said. They picked up the thick cable hanging down from the tail and hauled away. Fifty feet away, where the field of stones gave way to the deep dust, the buried anchor leaped ahead in dusty spurts. Then the hook caught on something. The gnomes strained and pulled. "Want some help?" called Sturm. "No – uh – we can do it," Roperig replied. Roperig slapped Fitter on the back and they turned around, laying the rope over their shoulders. The gnomes dug in their toes and pulled. "Pull, Roperig! Heave ho, Fitter! Pull, pull, pull!" shouted the other gnomes. "Wait," said Kitiara suddenly. "The rope is fraying -" The hastily woven cable was coming undone just behind Fitter. Twine and strands of twisted cloth spun away, and the two gnomes, oblivious, braced their backs against it. "Stop!" This was all Sturm had time to shout before the rope parted. Roperig and Fitter fell on their faces with a plunk. The other end of the cable, weighted down by the anchor, snaked away. Bellcrank and Cutwood took off after . it. The roly-poly chemist tripped over his own feet and stumbled. The ragged end of the cable whisked out of his reach. Cutwood, with surprising verve, leaped over his fallen colleague and dived for the fleeing rope. To Sturm's amazement, he caught it. Cutwood weighed no more than fifty or sixty pounds, and the anchor weighed two hundred. As it continued to sink into the red dust, it dragged Cutwood along with it. "Let go!" Sturm shouted. Kitiara and the gnomes echoed him, but Cutwood was already in the dust. Then, as the others looked on in horror, Cutwood upended and disappeared. They waited and watched for the carpenter gnome to surface. But he did not. Bellcrank got up and took a few steps toward the rim of the rock field. He was shouted to a halt. "You'll go in, too!" Kitiara said. "Cutwood," said Bellcrank helplessly. "Cutwood!" A ripple appeared in the motionless dust. It roiled and grew into a hump of crimson grit. Slowly the hump became a head, then developed shoulders, arms, and a squat torso. "Cutwood!" was the universal cry. The gnome slogged forward heavily, and when he was waist-high out of the dust, everyone could see that his pants had ballooned to twice their usual size. The waist and legs were packed with Lunitarian dust. Cutwood stepped to firmer ground. He lifted one leg and shook it, and a torrent of grit poured out. Bellcrank rushed forward to embrace his dusty friend. "Cutwood, Cutwood! We thought you were lost!" Cutwood responded with a mighty sneeze, which got dust on Bellcrank, who sneezed right back, prompting Cutwood to sneeze again. This went on for some time. Finally, Sighter and Birdcall came forward with improvised DustFree Face Filters (handkerchiefs). The siege of sneezing overcome, Cutwood lamented, "My suspenders broke." "Your what?" asked Bellcrank, sniffling. Cutwood pulled up his deflated pants. "The anchor dragged me under. I knew it was taking me down, but I couldn't let all our scrap metal get away. Then my suspenders broke. I tried to grab them and the rope jerked out of my hands." He sighed. "My best suspenders." Roperig walked around Cutwood, plucking at his baggy trousers. "Give me your pants," he said. "What for?" "I want to do some structural tests. There may be an invention in them." Cutwood's eyes widened. He quickly removed his rusty twill trousers and stood by in blue flannel long johns. "Brrr! This is a cold moon," he said. "I'm going for another pair of trousers, but don't you invent anything until I get back!" Cutwood hurried to the Cloudmaster with showers of dust still cascading from his shoulders. Sturm took Kitiara aside. "Here's a pretty problem," he said in a low voice. "We need metal to repair the engine, and all our scrap was lost in a lake of dust." "Maybe Bellcrank could salvage a bit more from the flying ship," Kitiara said. "Maybe, but I don't trust him not to ruin the whole ship in the process. What we need is more metal." He faced the crowd of gnomes who were busy examining Cutwood's pants as if they were the find of a lifetime. Now and then a gnome would turn his head and sneeze. "Oh, Bellcrank? Would you come over here, please?" Sturm said. The gnome scurried over. He stopped, pulled out a handkerchief stained with grease and chemicals, and blew his nose loudly. "Yes, Sturm?" "Just how much metal do you need to fix the engine?" "That depends on what type of switch I make. For a double throw, rotary pole -" "The very least you'll need, in any case!" Bellcrank chewed his lip a moment and said, "Thirty pounds of copper, or forty pounds of iron. Copper would be easier to work than iron, you see, and -" "Yes, yes," Kitiara said hastily. "We don't have forty pounds of anything except beans." "Beans wouldn't work," Bellcrank offered. "All right. We'll just have to find some metal." Sturm looked around. The high clouds were beginning to thin, and the twilight that had persisted since their landing was beginning to brighten. The sun that warmed Krynn was rising higher in their sky. Taking that direction as east (for convenience), they could see a distant range of hills far off to the north. "Bellcrank, would you know iron ore when you saw it?" said Sturm. "Would I know it? I know every ore there is!" "Can you smelt it?" The germ of Sturm's idea spread to the gnome, and he smiled widely. "A fine notion, my friend. Worthy of a gnome!" Kitiara slapped him on the back. "There you are," she said. "A few days in the air and you start thinking like a gnome." "Never mind the wit. We've got to organize an expedition to those hills to see if there is any metal there." Bellcrank ran back to his fellows to share the news. Exclamations of joy rang across the empty plain. Cutwood, coming down the ramp from the Cloudmaster, was nearly bowled over as his fellows charged up. He was carried back inside with them. The thumps and crashes that always signified gnomish enthusiasm were not long in coming. Kitiara shook her head. "Now see what you've done." The first argument began over who would go on the trek and who would stay with the flying ship. "Everyone can't go," Sturm said. "Wfhat food and water we have won't sustain us all on a long march." "I'll st-stay," Stutts said. "Cloudmaster is m-my responsibility." "Good fellow. Who will stay with Stutts?" The gnomes looked at the purple sky, the stars, their shoes, anywhere but at Sturm. "Whoever stays will get to work on the ship." Birdcall whistled his acceptance. Hearing him agree, Flash said, "Oh, well, burn it! No one understands the lightning bottles but me. I'll stay." "I'll stay behind," Rainspot offered. "I don't know much about prospecting." "Me, too," Cutwood said. "Hold your horses," Kitiara objected. "You can't all stay. Rainspot, we need you. We'll be out in the open, and if storms threaten, we'll want to know beforehand." The gnome grinned and placed himself by Kitiara. He gazed happily up at her, pleased that someone needed him. "Three should be enough to watch over the ship," Sturm said. "The rest of you get your belongings together. No one is to take anything more than he can carry on his back." The gnomes all nodded vigorous affirmatives. "After we eat, we'll all get some sleep and start fresh in the morning." "When is morning?" asked Bellcrank. Sighter unfolded his tripod and clamped his telescope in place. He studied the sky, searching for familiar stars. After a lengthy perusal, he announced, "Sixteen hours. Maybe more. Hard to tell." He snapped the telescope tube shut. "Sixteen hours!" said Kitiara. "Why so long?" "Lunitari doesn't sit in the same part of the heavens as Krynn. Right now, the shadow of our home world is over us. Until we move clear of it, this is all the light we'll get." "It will have to do," Sturm said. To Fitter, who as the youngest gnome had permanent kitchen duty, he said, "What is there to eat?" "Beans," said Fitter. Boiled beans, seasoned with their last tiny bit of bacon, was dinner, and it promised to be their breakfast, too. Sturm squatted under the overhang of the flying ship's hull and ate his bowl of beans. As he ate, he tried to imagine what lay beyond the dust and stones. The sky was not black, but purple, lightening at the horizon to a warm claret. Everything was wrought in tones of red – the dirt, the rocks; even the white beans seemed vaguely pink. Was all of Lunitari like this, lifeless? he wondered. "Kitiara sauntered up. She'd shed her heavy furs for a less confining outfit. The hip-length jacket and leggings she'd retained, and had slung her sword over her left shoulder, as the Ergothites often did. In that position, it freed the legs for walking. "Good, huh?" she said, dropping down beside Sturm. "Beans are beans," he replied, letting them fall from his spoon back into the bowl. "I've eaten worse." "So have I. During the siege of Silvamori, my troops' menu was reduced to boiled-boot soup and tree leaves. And we were the besiegers." "How did the people in the town fare?" Sturm asked. "Thousands died of starvation," she said. The memory did not seem to trouble her. Sturm felt the beans turn to paste in his mouth. "Don't you regret that so many died?" he asked. "Not really. If a thousand more had perished, the siege might have ended sooner, and fewer of my comrades would have died." Sturm all but dropped his bowl. He stood up and started to walk away. Kitiara, puzzled by his reaction, said, "Are you through? Can I finish your beans?" He stopped, his back to her. "Yes, eat them all. Slaughter spoils my appetite." He mounted the ramp and disappeared into the Cloudmaster. A quick flush of anger welled within Kitiara. Who did he think he was? Young Master Brightblade presumed to look down on her for her warrior's code. The spoon Kitiara had clenched in her fist suddenly snapped. The pieces fell from her fingers. She stared at them, her anger dissolving as quickly as it had come. The spoon was made of sturdy ash wood. But it broke cleanly where her thumb had pressed on it. Kitiara's eyebrows rose in amazement. Must be a defect in the wood, she thought.