“No, no! A ship, Yonor,” answered several at once. “A ship!”
“A ship has landed Outside.” Lof waved a hand vaguely upward. “Yonor,” he added belatedly and somewhat sullenly. He had never liked Limbeck.
“An elf ship?” Limbeck asked eagerly. “Crashed? Is it still there? Can you see any elves moving about? Prisoners,” he said in an aside to Jarre. “It’s what we’ve been waiting for. We can interrogate them and then use them for hostages—”
“No,” said Lof, after some thought.
“No what?” demanded Limbeck, irritated.
“No, Yonor.”
“I mean, what do you mean, by saying no.”
Lof considered. “No the ship hasn’t crashed and no it’s not a Welf ship and no I didn’t see anyone.”
“How do you know it’s not a Wel—elf ship? Of course, it has to be an elf ship. What other kind of ship could it be?”
” ‘Tisn’t,” stated Lof. “I should know a Welf ship when I see one. I was on one once.” He glanced at Jarre, hoping she’d be impressed. Jarre was the main reason Lof didn’t like Limbeck. “Leastwise, I was close to one, the time we attacked the ship at the Liftalofts. This ship doesn’t have wings, for one thing. And it didn’t fall out of the skies, like the Welf ships do. This one sort of floated down gently, like it meant it. And,” he added, eyes still on Jarre, having saved the best for last, “it’s all covered with pictures.”
“Pictures…” Jarre glanced at Limbeck uneasily. His eyes, behind his glasses, had a hard, bright gleam. “Are you sure, Lof? It’s dark Outside and there must have been a storm—”
“‘Course I’m sure.” Lof wasn’t to be denied his moment of glory. “I was standing in the Whuzel-wump, on watch, and the next thing I know this ship that looks like a … like a… well, like him.” Lof pointed at his exalted leader. “Kind of round in the middle and sawed off at both ends.”
Fortunately, Limbeck had removed his spectacles and was thoughtfully polishing them again, and so missed the comparison.
“Anyway,” Lof continued, swelling with importance, noting that everyone, including the High Froman, was hanging on every word, “the ship sailed right smack out of the clouds and plunked itself down and sat there. And it’s all covered with pictures, I could see ’em in the lightning.”
“And the ship wasn’t damaged?” Limbeck asked, replacing his spectacles.
“Not a bit of it. Not even when the hailstones the size of you, Yonor, came smash down onto it. Not even when the wind was tossing pieces of the Kicksey-winsey up into the air. The ship just sat there, snug as could be.”
“Maybe it’s dead,” said Jarre, trying hard not to sound hopeful.
“I saw a light inside and someone moving around. It’s not dead.”
“It isn’t dead,” said Limbeck. “It’s Haplo. It has to be. A ship with pictures, just like the ship I found on the Terrel Fen. He’s come back!”
Jarre walked over to Lof, grabbed hold of his beard, sniffed at him and wrinkled her nose. “Like I thought. He’s had his head in the ale barrel. Don’t pay any attention to him, Limbeck.”
Giving the astounded Lof a shove that sent him rolling backward into his fellows, Jarre took hold of Limbeck’s arm and attempted to turn him around, drag him back inside his quarters.
Once his feet were planted, Limbeck, like all dwarves, was not easily moved. (Jarre had caught Lof off guard.) Limbeck shook Jarre loose, brushing her off his arm as if she were a bit of lint.
“Did any of the elves sight the ship, Lof?” Limbeck asked. “Make any attempt to contact it or see who was inside?”
Limbeck was forced to repeat his questions several times. The puzzled Lof, reestablished on his feet by his comrades, was staring in hurt bewilderment at Jarre.
“What’d I do?” he demanded.
“Limbeck, please—” Jarre begged, tugging again on Limbeck’s arm.
“My dear, leave me be,” said Limbeck, staring at her through the glittering spectacles. His tone was stern, even harsh.
Jarre slowly dropped her hands. “Haplo did this to you,” she said softly. “Haplo did this to all of us.”