Conundrum strutted up the gangplank, followed by Razmous. As Sir Tanar stepped aboard, Commodore Brigg and Navigator Snork snapped to attention, their beards quivering with the effort. Commodore Brigg saluted grim-facedly. Sir Tanar looked up at the two standing on the conning deck. He scanned the aft deck of the ship, then glanced at the hatch leading into the conning tower. He looked up again, then grudgingly returned the gnome’s salute. The commodore’s hand snapped back to his side.

Snork quickly descended the ladder to the aft deck, then snapped to attention once more. “Commodore Brigg welcomes you aboard the MNS Indestructible!" Snork said in a sharp military bark. “Your quarters are in the forward sail compartment, now the forward viewing station. If you’ll follow me…”

Sir Tanar quickly discovered the interior of the Indestructible was more cramped than he had imagined, and his room was as cold as the dark depths of the sea, which he knew to be dark because of the large glass porthole in the wall. It seemed to glare at him like an accusing eye. Seeing fish and other slimy creatures swimming past his window made him feel like he was already drowning, and perhaps for the first time in his life, he experienced acute claustrophobia. He determined to spend every moment he could above deck, and before the ship ever cast off its lines, he was already dreading the days, weeks, months they’d spend submerged unless he could take over the ship, find the Abyss, and return to give his report. This hope was the only thing that kept him from diving through the porthole and taking his chances with the sharks.

So it was that, as the Indestructible made its way out of the Flotsam harbor and across the Blood Bay, Sir Tanar Lobcrow stood beside Commodore Brigg in the conning tower, crowding Snork from his usual place. The commodore was much perturbed by the nearness of the Thorn Knight, but he said nothing for the moment. Once at sea, he determined to put this “passenger” in his place.

Meanwhile, the Indestructible churned a steady course east by northeast. The rugged, black mountains of Malys’s Desolation rose to their right, crawling like a line of angry clouds along the horizon. The ship plowed through the dark, rust-colored waters, while the commodore ordered the ship through its paces, raising and lowering the Peerupitscope, extending and retracting the Toaster, and checking the portholes and seams for leaks.

Sir Grumdish stood on the aft deck and eyed the Thorn Knight suspiciously as Professor Hap and Doctor Bothy directed the filling of numerous glass and pottery bottles with air. Once again making use of the technology of the UAEP, the professor had come up with an ingenious plan to carry along spare air, just in case they ran out. A large bronze bilge pump that he had converted for this purpose was used to compress the air into the bottles, which were then sealed by two gnomes armed with sledgehammers and a supply of corks. The corks were then bound into place with bottleneck cages of strong steel wire, and the bottles loaded into padded racks (they tended to explode even when gently tapped) in the fore and aft storage compartments. Professor Hap had dubbed the pump an airstuffer, for obvious reasons.

Conundrum and Razmous were in Snork’s cabin making the final adjustments to the ship’s planned course beneath the continent of Ansalon. Chief Portlost was busy ordering fresh oil splashed on every spring, pulley, wheel, gear and lever in the ship. The cook was testing the latest improvements to his flashcooker on the commodore’s dinner of mutton and spiced potatoes. Snork ordered the pilot to maintain his course, then, taking his navigator’s bag with its sextant and glass of farseeing, made his way to the aft deck to take a sighting for the ship’s log.

Snork settled himself cross-legged on the deck and laid the logbook on his lap. With his sextant, he took a reading on the westering sun. A wind rising out of the east blew a fine spray over the bow of the ship and dampened his beard as he made his notes in the log. The commodore ordered the pilot to steer the Indestructible more into the wind. Snork adjusted his position and scanned the southern horizon with his glass of farseeing until he found the headland he was seeking. He took another reading off the sun and marked their position on the sea chart. Then he examined the headland again.

The distant hills looked tiny even in his glass, but he could tell they were desolate. The mountains beyond looked rugged and inhospitable, as broken and haphazard as newly-turned earth, and the air seemed thick with haze or smoke so that the farthest peaks were like the ghosts of mountains, and the sky above them as gray and weak as old dishwater.

From one of the distant, spectral peaks he saw a speck rise. It looked like a bird, but he knew that from this distance his glass of farseeing couldn’t pick up any bird known to gnome or man. There was only one native of the skies of Krynn large enough to be seen from this far away: A dragon.

Snork leaped up, the logbook falling in a disordered heap at his feet and his sextant clanging noisily to the deck. The crew members, still busy filling bottles with air, stared at him in astonishment. He smiled wanly, not wanting to needlessly alarm the crew, and gathered up his things before hurrying forward and climbing up to the conning tower.

When he reached the top, he shoved his way between Commodore Brigg and the Thorn Knight. Sir Tanar swore and tugged the hem of his robes from beneath the navigator’s feet, but Snork ignored him and pressed his glass of farseeing into the commodore’s hand.

“Due south, sir,” he said in a low voice so that the crew would not overhear.

Commodore Brigg took one look at the dour grimace on his navigator’s face and snapped the glass to his eye. He slowly scanned the mountainous horizon as waves broke across the bow of the ship. “I don’t see anything,” he muttered into the wind.

“Above the mountains, sir,” Snork urged.

At these words, Sir Tanar’s head snapped round. The mountains were too far away to see anything other than a broken black wall stretching across the southern horizon, but the commodore’s breath hissing through his teeth told him all he needed to know. His face turned gray beneath his hood.

“It’s a red dragon,” the commodore said under his breath.

“I couldn’t tell the color before,” Snork said. “It must be headed this way.”

“What are its intentions?” the commodore pondered aloud as he lowered the glass. His brown forehead furrowed into a thousand worried wrinkles.

“You never can tell with red dragons, sir,” Snork said.

The commodore nodded, then raised the glass to his eye once more. “It’s a big dragon, bigger even than Pyrothraxus, and that’s saying a lot.” Pyrothraxus was the dragon who taken up residence in Mount Nevermind some thirty or so years earlier. “Yes, it’s definitely headed this way,” he finished after a moment. He handed the glass to Snork. “We’d better get below.”

“The dragon is still too far away to see us,” Sir Tanar said. “I don’t think we should"-he gulped and finished with a whisper-”submerge.” The palms of his hands felt all cold and sweaty.

Commodore Brigg spun on him, teeth clenching and veins popping out on his bulbous brown forehead. “What do you know of dragons? We’ve lived with a dragon in our very home for the last thirty years. It’s no accident that dragon is coming toward us. It means us no good, so I’m ordering this ship submerged.” He turned and shouted to the crew on the aft deck to gather up their bottles and get below, as they were diving immediately.

“But my airstuffer!” Professor Hap-Troggensbottle exclaimed.