Purpose

"Hiccoughs, sir! Hiccoughs! Hiccups are child's play. Why, I could cure your hiccups with a snap of my fingers," the portly doctor said, demonstrating beneath the commodore's nose. "Hiccups are commonplace, while hiccoughs have been a mystery to the medical sciences for generations. Why, if one could cure hiccoughs, one could cure any number of involuntary spasms of the primary musculature. Take yawns, for example. Or blinking. I estimate that approximately thirteen hundred gnome hours are wasted every year with blinking. Imagine the savings, the increase in productivity, if we could but do away with blinking!"

  "But what about the drying of the orbital surfaces?" the professor asked with the avidity of a fellow scientist.

  "A simple device could be invented, not unlike your spectacles, which periodically squirts soothing fluids into the eyes. I should know. I've already invented it," Doctor Bothy declared humbly.

  "Sounds fascinating," the professor agreed.

  "A squirting device?" Razmous asked. "Actually, I think I have something here in pouches that is quite similar, if only…"he muttered as he began to rummage through his pouches.

  "Another time," the doctor said with a sharp glance.

  "What medical equipment have you still to load?" the commodore asked with rising impatience.

  "Just my Peerupitscope. It is on its way from Mount Nevermind, but they are having some trouble with the mule train transportation system," Doctor Bothy said.

  "Mules? How quaint! Why don't they use our newer, mechanical transportation systems?" Commodore Brigg asked.

  "The Coastandroll is still down for repairs. They are having trouble with the braking system, which, if not resolved, may reclassify the steam-powered rail cars as a system for launching heavy projectiles. The Weapons Guild seems most interested in its applications. Besides, the Peerupitscope is too long to make the corners."

  "Can't we get along without it?" the commodore asked. "I am anxious to set sail."

  "Why take the risk? The Peerupitscope is an invaluable tool of the medical sciences. With it, we can look into matters previously hidden from our knowledge."

  "Oh, very well," Commodore Brigg said as he turned and stalked up the gangplank. "Only remember, we have a schedule to keep. We sail in three days!"

The morning of the launch of the MNS Indestructible dawned as bright and clear as anyone who dares the perils of the briny deeps could desire. Not a cloud marred the brilliant blue dome of the sky, and it seemed a fine day for putting out to sea.

  Hundreds of gnomes gathered along the bluff overlooking the shipyard where the Indestructible waited in the quays. In their midst stood a smallish catapult, newly built for the occasion out of Sancrist yew wood and gnome-forged iron, gilt with silver images of gnomes in flight. The purpose of the machine remained something of a mystery even to those busily examining and commenting on its newest safety features and design improvements. Papers fluttered in the stiffening land breeze as several dozen gnomes attempted to sketch the catapult's more interesting safety devices.

  The event had the party atmosphere of a technology fair, the gnomish national pastime. There were banners, flags, and standards of the various representative guilds snapping in the land breeze. The largest contingent was from the Maritime Sciences Guild, naturally enough, but almost as prevalent were the members of the Boilermakers Guild. Important personages from this guild had been wheeled out from the hospital for the occasion, their bandages decorated with ribbons and buttons of every color of the rainbow. The Caterers Guild drove their steam-powered serving trays through the crowd, proffering a variety of savories, prepared by automatic stoves towed behind them and shot out of dispenser tubes at random into the crowd, most of which were nabbed by the hundreds of seagulls swarming overhead.

  There was, of course, a wagon of beer parked beneath a nearby tree. In the wagon's traces stood Bright Dancer, Sir Grumdish's doughty steed, who seemed happy enough in his new occupation, if fence posts can be happy. The beer, being the product of a gnomish brewery, packed quite a wallop, enough to satisfy gnomish sensibilities-despite the early hour, many having sensibly already begun-though dwarves might have found the recipe a bit lacking. Luckily, there were no dwarves around to complain.

  Indeed there were dwarves watching, but from a safe distance across the bay, and they had their own beer, which they weren't inclined to share. They sat behind a row of tower shields, somewhat apart from the other citizens of the city who had gathered to witness the promised event.

  The city of Pax treated the event as something of a spectacle. The citizens thronged the docks-at a respectful distance of course-to watch and wonder at the preposterousness of gnomes. "The ship is supposed to sink on purpose, which means that it won't," was the consensus among the onlookers. Still, the occasion promised to be fun, and wagers were being taken as to how fast the strange-looking vessel would sink, and when it did, how many of the twenty crew members would survive.

  A great cheer went up from the gnomish side of the harbor as Commodore Brigg and his crew took their places on the narrow aft deck of the Indestructible. Out from the top of the mast rippled the red banner of the Maritime Sciences Guild, crackling in the wind. The crew saluted it, while a band on shore hooted, honked, oom-pahed, and bellowed in a weird cacophony of sound that purported to be an anthem of some sort. It frightened away most of the gulls. The crew remained rigidly at attention throughout the song's ten-and-a-half-minute duration, while the band members, nearly invisible in a jungle of brass, tooted and blew until their faces were quite flushed. When the song wandered off to its broken and disjointed conclusion, it was discovered that three band members had succumbed to asphyxiation, still propped up inside their instruments, some of which required a team of horses to move.

  Afterward, Commodore Brigg made a speech, little of which could be heard or even understood by those in the city across the bay-the common gnomish dialect being too compressed and rapidly-spoken for the human ear to comprehend. With much heroic gesturing, the commodore extolled the virtues of the Indestructible, from its sleek, shark-like body to its innovations in propulsion and weaponry. He promised that, before they put out to sea, everyone would witness a demonstration of the ship's most remarkable features. To that end, a decommissioned garbage scow had been towed into the center of the bay. They would circle the scow once, then submerge and sink her.

This brought an appreciative round of applause from the crowd of gnomes and indistinguishable noise from the other onlookers. At a shout from the commodore, the crew members scurried to their stations below decks, while Commodore Brigg and Navigator Snork climbed into the conning tower. Now the ship's single mast began to rise, growing taller and taller. When it shuddered to a stop at its full height, Commodore Brigg gave a nod and a wave to the crowd.

  Suddenly, members of the Maritime Sciences swarmed around the curious small catapult at the top of the bluff. The dwarves across the bay perked up, smiles splitting their grim beards, while the betting grew hot and furious amongst the humans. Something was loaded into the basket of the catapult, and with a loud huzzah! fired at the Indestructible.

  It missed, splashing in the bay a hundred yards aft. Another was loaded and fired. This missile struck the ship's taut rigging, bounced off with a twang, and clouted an onlooker in the forehead, knocking him senseless to the wharf. A pack of gully dwarves swarmed out from their hiding places beneath the pier and looted his body before anyone could say Jack Robinson. A third missile was loaded and fired. This one struck where it was supposed to, shattering against the bow of the ship and dousing its iron hull with a generous splash of golden foamy giggle-hiccup. Third time seemed to be the charm, indeed.

The band struck up a march as the ship slipped from its moorings into the bay. Someone in the crowd set off a volley of gnomish fireworks, which wreaked havoc among the crowd and frightened Bright Dancer from his stupor; he snorted once and galloped away with all the beer. As several gnomes leaped in pursuit, one of the representatives of the Boilermakers Guild, who unfortunately had not locked the brakes on his eight-wheeled chair, got bumped from behind and ended up in the bay.

  Meanwhile, Commodore Brigg ordered the MNS Indestructible hard alee once clear of docks. She swung slowly round, her iron sides gleaming darkly, like some great whale come up to take a look at the city. Except it was a whale with a stepped mast, up which now rose the ship's sails. Two gnomes scurried to the bow along her footrails to secure the jib to inset stirrup belays-quite ingenious!-while four more raised the boom from the aftdeck and rigged the mainsail and main gaff topsail.