Doctor Bothy gazed out over the mirror-flat water at this stream and sighed with longing before continuing. “We are almost out of fresh water,” he said.

“I am aware of that,” the commodore answered. His attention was focused on the sky and the setting sun. He was waiting for darkness so he could take a star reading and enter their location in the ship’s log before retiring for the evening. It had been another hard day of sailing, tacking against the prevailing winds in an effort to reach Thoradin Bay and the port city of Kalaman.

This leg of the journey had taken longer than the commodore had expected, for the winds were blowing more strongly out of the north than was usual for this time of the year. They had made good time for the most part, sailing without incident around the tip of Northern Ergoth, then crossing Zeboim’s Deep to the peninsula known as Tanith. Much to everyone’s dismay, especially Dr. Bothy, they did not then turn south and visit the fabulous port of Palanthas, City of Seven Circles, gleaming jewel of the old Solamnic Empire. Dr. Bothy had long looked forward to sampling the city’s gastronomic offerings, while most everyone else on board simply wanted to get off the ship and visit the greatest city in all Ansalon, especially Razmous, who had passed through and been expelled from Palanthas more times than he could count. Conundrum had never been out of Mount Nevermind in his entire life, so this entire voyage was a wonder and a mystery to him. The world was far larger than he had ever imagined.

Instead, they had sailed due east, crossing the mouth of the Bay of Branchala in the early hours of the morning, while most of the crew crowded the deck, hoping for a glimpse of the city. But they passed the rocky headland an hour after sunrise without spotting even a twinkle of a lamp or glimmer of sunlight off a golden dome or marble tower. Palanthas slipped away, hidden behind the Vingaard Mountains marching up from the south.

Their course took them eastward until they reached the coast of the Northern Wastes. There, they had turned north, and their troubles and delays began. The wind was blowing hard out of the north, raising the seas in anger, and the ship climbed the swells and tacked back and forth across the face of the wind. Day after day they had fought their way along the coast, finding rest at night in bays and inlets and natural harbors, rather than dropping anchor in uncertain and wind-swept waters. Meanwhile, their supplies had dwindled.

“Of course, fresh water isn’t too great a concern,” Dr. Bothy commented. “After all, I still have plenty of my fresh water tablets.” He reached into a pocket of his tight blue jumpsuit and removed a small brown bottle, inside which rattled several dozen tiny pills. “When I made these, I was trying to invent a pill to remove fresh water from seawater, leaving behind only the salt. With such pills, I could have cornered the salt market. However, they worked in the opposite manner, removing the salt instead, and leaving the water fresh and drinkable. We need only draw a barrel of sea water and drop one of these pills into it, and hey!” He rattled the bottle for emphasis. “Presto! Fresh water.”

“Most ingenious,” the commodore said with a bored little yawn. He’d been reminded of the doctor’s invaluable fresh water pills at least a dozen times since leaving Sancrist. Bothy had an almost kenderish tendency to repeat his favorite stories, especially when he was the hero of said stories, but Commodore Brigg tolerated him because he was a doctor with remarkable deductive abilities and scientific acumen. Even if his Peerupitscope had proved too big to peer up much of anything.

“No, it isn’t fresh water that concerns me,” Doctor Bothy continued as he tucked away the bottle of pills. He leaned closer to the commodore and whispered. “It’s the crew. Morale is flagging.”

Commodore Brigg snorted in derision and angrily stroked his white whiskers. “Ever have leaders been plagued by the bellyaching of those they lead!” he growled. “They’ll cheer up once this north wind shifts.”

The doctor shook his head. “If we had stopped in Palanthas, this wouldn’t have happened, no matter how the wind blows. They’ve been sailing for weeks without a break in the monotony of their sailorly duties. Only this morning, I had to treat the cook for severe burns after he tried out a new stove that he has been designing-a strange device, but it has great possibilities once he discovers a way to contain the explosion. He calls it a flashcooker. But when he lit it, it blew the door off and flashcooked the cook rather than the flatbread he was trying to bake.”

“So that’s what that noise was,” the commodore said. He had not paid much attention to the explosion, because explosions aboard gnomish vessels are fairly common and are generally ignored unless followed by something else, like a massive inrush of water.

“Yes. You see, Commodore, I fear…” He leaned closer still, so that his full, bearded lips tickled the commodore’s ear. “I fear even the kender is becoming bored!”

Suddenly, the hatch at their feet flew open, and Professor Hap-Troggensbottle climbed out. He kicked the hatch shut with a clang and turned on the commodore. “Sir, you really must do something about Razmous!” he hissed so that the gnomes working above deck to prepare the ship for night watches wouldn’t hear.

“See what I mean?” Doctor Bothy nodded, thumbing his bulbous nose.

Commodore Brigg frowned at the doctor, then turned to the professor and asked, “What has he done this time?”

With a deep sigh, Professor Hap groaned, “I found him in my cabin again, going through my things. He claimed to be trying to return my combination slide-rule-and-nose-hair-clippers, but he very nearly ruined a delicate experiment.”

“I will say something sharp to him,” the commodore said as he turned back to his skygazing.

“If you can get a word in edgewise,” the doctor mumbled.

“You can talk until your beard grows to your belt, words will not dissuade a bored kender,” the professor warned. “Of all the punishments devised by man, elf, dwarf, or ogre,” he added, “few rival the sentence of being shut up in an enclosed space-for example, a deepswimmer submersible-with a bored kender.”

“What do you suggest I do, my dear gentlegnomes?” Commodore Brigg turned and said. “There isn’t another port until we come to Kalaman.”

“Send a party ashore to explore and collect fresh water from yonder stream,” Doctor Bothy suggested. “Give the others a day of relaxation. This is a fine place, the water is warm and still. They can swim, wash their linens and uniforms in the stream, and there are some wrecks. Perhaps they can explore those.”

“I begrudge even a day’s delay, for we are already behind schedule,” Commodore Brigg answered. “Besides, this is the worst possible place for swimming and exploring. Probably you haven’t noticed, but these waters are filled with sharks. We can’t approach yonder shore in this ship because of the reefs, and we don’t have a dinghy or other vessel to go ashore in.” Placing his arms round their shoulders, the commodore drew his two companions closer. “I have already taken all these matters into consideration,” he whispered. “Trust my sage experience.”

“My apologies,” the professor said, bowing.

“S-sir…” Doctor Bothy stammered.

“Ahem, I appreciate your concern, but leave the sailing to the members of the Maritime Sciences Guild. The crew will have to grit their teeth and struggle onward. This is no place for a shore leave,” the commodore finished.

“Indeed, I bow to your wisdom,” Professor Hap offered in a docile tone, before raising one eyebrow and adding provocatively, “but after working all night, I have invented an option that is bound to intrigue even you, my captain.”

“Commodore,” Brigg corrected with a grunt, looking intrigued.