“Anders, why are we breaking your speerschleuder?”
“We are not breaking it, liebchen. We are making it more difficult for somebody else to be fixing it. There is a difference.”
Anders hunched under the bow of the half-constructed ballista, in the dimly-lit armory of the Man’s Promise.
The work had already taken too long. Up on deck, the rest of the exploration party could be heard assembling. If Anders and Skabswerth delayed any longer, their absence would be noted, and punished.
The gnome stepped back from the pair of ballistae, a look of satisfaction spread across his sweaty face. To the untrained eye, his work area looked exactly as disorganized and cluttered as before.
“So we are going now…to save the ship?”
Skabswerth scuttled in a tight circle, before crouching. Four short jets of steam issued from his release vents.
“Not just the ship,”
Anders secured his pack to the leather harness strapped to his friend’s carapace.
“…there is also a damsel in distress, don’t be forgetting.”
He steadied a boot against a large rivet on rear of the crab’s shell. Then, with a practiced flourish, swung up into a riding position.
“There will be more of those seegoblins, Anders.”
Skabswerth lurched up the steps to the deck, a motion resembling an angry fishwife, pushing through a crowded marketplace.
“Oh I am counting on that, Skabswerth.”
Anders adjusted his wide-brimmed hat to block the sun.
“More grindylows, more adventure, and more FAME!”