Then the saddle girth snapped.

Saddle and rider bounced once last time on the horse’s pumpkin-colored rump, then rose together, a little too slowly for belief, while the horse, galloped out from beneath them. At the top of their arcing flight, Sir Grumdish kicked free of the stirrups, and he and the saddle parted ways, like an apple sliced in half by the trick swordsman at the fair.

The bonnie Knight struck the ground with a clang-and broke cleanly in two at the waist. His top half hounded along the path of the still-galloping horse, arms flailing, and a startling stream of curses and exclamations of pain flowed from within the helm. His bottom half bounced to its feet and began running in a large but ever tightening circle, like the proverbial chicken. The Knight’s horse continued obliviously across the meadow and vanished into the undergrowth of the trees beyond.

The top half of the Knight finally rolled to a stop, expelling during its last few revolutions a gnome (whole and uninjured except for his pride) wearing only a dirty white loincloth and a rag wound turbanlike around his enormous bald brown head. As soon as he regained his feet, the gnome dove on top of the still-thrashing upper half of his armor, reached inside, and with a curse worthy of a dwarf, twisted some knob that shut the thing off. The arms fell to each side, limp and dead, while the gnome collapsed across the breastplate, exhausted.

The legs continued their mad scamper around the meadow, passing the two gnomes and their kender companion, who watched them with something combining curiosity, amusement, and horror. Commodore Brigg snapped a short command, and Razmous dropped his hoopak and chased after the legs. But once he had caught up with the Knight’s legs, he didn’t quite know what to do with them, so he ran alongside, hopping up and down to try to see into the waist for the switch or lever to shut them off. Finally, finding no other solution, he threw his arms around the knees and tackled them. Legs and kender went down together in a scrabble of dust.

The legs continued to thrash, flinging up large tufts of grass and odd items from the kender’s pouches. Razmous clung grimly to one knee, while the other battered him about the ears in its throes. His companions rushed to his aid. While Snork and Commodore Brigg wrestled the free leg, the professor felt inside the top of the legs. The legs suddenly fell limp and lifeless. They clung to the legs a few more moments in anticipation of their bursting into frenzied motion once again, before finally rising to their feet, slapping off the dust, and laughing nervously. Razmous gingerly palpated the pointy tips of his well-pummeled ears.

The kender was about to say something clever when the turbaned gnome was suddenly among them, rudely shoving them out of the way as he knelt beside his armored legs and examined them for damage. “What did you do?” he angrily demanded of the professor. “You’d better not have broken anything.”

“I simply flipped the kill switch,” Professor Hap said, pointing to the device in question, only to have his hand slapped away. “It seemed the logical thing to do,” he finished in hurt tones.

The turbaned gnome stood and, crossing his grease-smeared arms in front of his naked chest, frowned grimly. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asked, studiously glaring at the kender.

Commodore Brigg stepped forward. “We are searching for Sir Grumdish.”

“Thou hast found us. What wouldst thou have of us?” the turbaned gnome asked.

“We are gnomes of Mount Nevermind,” Commodore Brigg said. Razmous cleared his throat. “And a kender of impeccable reputation,” the commodore added.

“Nevermind is home to the vile dragon Pyrothraxus and controlled by those evil Knights, is it not?” Sir Gram-dish shrewdly observed. “My Life Quest is to slay just such a dragon. I am busy at my quest. If you are its servants, I warn thee to get thee hence lest I sheath my blade in thy black innards.”

“Your Life Quest is to slay a dragon?” the kender interjected. “How interesting! Most gnomes” Life Quests are to build some useful device or other.”

“Well, actually, it is a rather interesting story,” Sir Grumdish said, flattered and brightening visibly. “My great-grandfather Jugdish, you see, was trying to build a flying machine to aid the Knights of Solamnia in the great War of the Lance. He dreamed of one day becoming a Knight himself, and hoped his invention would pave the way for his admittance. Since dragons are formidable aerialists-as even I, who am sworn to slay them, must admit-he decided to model his machine on dragons, with various improvements, of course.”

“Of course,” the three listeners agreed, nodding.

“Yes, but he needed a dragon in order to obtain his measurements and design his pattern. Dragons are notoriously unwilling volunteers, having a natural dislike of being boiled down to their bones for the sake of our technological curiosity. Therefore, Jugdish determined to slay one. It became his Life Quest. After he was burned to crisp, the Life Quest passed to my father, Lugdish, and after he was frozen into a solid block of ice, it passed to me.”

“Sir Grumdish, we are all servants of the Life Quest of our race,” Commodore Brigg answered fervently. “No evil has or ever shall corrupt our noble purposes, and if you come with us, you shall see that we are devoted to a quest of our own that will accrue to the further glory of the gnomish race. This I swear by the Cog and the Wheel, and the All-seeing Mobile Optical Scanning Device of Reorx, our god of old.”

The gnome’s faced hardened a bit below his turban. “Those are indeed grave oaths. But be that as it may, what would you have of me? By the devices on your uniform, you are a ship’s captain.”

“I am Commodore Brigg of the MNS Indestructible. This is Navigation Officer Snork, Cartographer and Chief Acquisitions Officer Razmous Pinchpocket, and Science Officer Professor Hap-Troggensbottle.”

Sir Grumdish nodded to «ach in turn as he was introduced. Then he turned back to the commodore, his bushy white eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Indestructible is a Class C Deepswimmer,” Commodore Brigg said proudly.

“A submersible!” Sir Grumdish exclaimed.

“You’ve heard of them, then?”

Sir Grumdish nodded his turbaned head. “Deathtraps,” he said.

“Yes, well.. ." the commodore hemmed and hawed. “Most likely, you are thinking of the Class A or Class B. We’ve added a number of safety features.”

“Of course,” Sir Grumdish said as he stooped and grabbed his armor legs by the belt. “Pardon me. I have work to do.”

The gnomes parted to watch him struggle to drag his legs across the meadow to where the upper body armor still lay. Commodore Brigg followed after him. “And we’ve made the hull out of iron instead of bronze this time,” he persisted.

“That… should… help it… sink… much… faster,” Sir Grumdish grunted as he tugged. Razmous and Snork each grabbed a foot and helped him carry his legs the rest of the way. With a sigh, they set the legs beside the body.

“Thanks, lads,” Sir Grumdish said as he removed his turban and used it to mop his face.

“Our mission, if you must know, is to try to complete the voyage of the MNS Polywog," the commodore continued. “The Polywog actually completed the west-to-east leg of the journey, but it was lost during the return voyage. It is Navigator Snork’s Life Quest to complete this journey.”

“Good show. Best of luck,” Sir Grumdish said to Snork. “It’s getting dark. I’d better be a-looking for my warhorse. Thanks for stopping by and telling me about all this.” He extended one grease-grimed hand. Razmous shook it vigorously.

“But we want you to come with us, to serve as security officer,” Navigator Snork begged.

“We were hoping for a Knight, but of course a gnomish knight is much better,” Commodore Brigg added. “After all you are the only one… that is, I mean, you are a sterling example.”