Most of the material he'd absorbed had confirmed what he'd already known-that there were hundreds of rumors, many mutually contradictory, about the great vessel, and that nobody knew for sure where it came from or how. But there were some interesting threads that had kept recurring throughout his reading.
First of all, he could finally understand where Estriss had developed his conviction that the Spelljammer and the ancient race known as the Juna were somehow connected. Nowhere in the books Teldin had scanned was there any categorical statement that the Juna had or hadn't created the mysterious ship, or even that there was any linkage. No categorical statement… but there was certainly circumstantial evidence. In more than a dozen retellings of ancient legends-drawn from the mythology of a dozen races, from elvenkind to the insectoid thri-kreen-both the Spelljammer and a mysterious, vanished race appeared in close proximity. Sometimes the race was called the Elders, other times the Ancients. In only one case did Teidin recognize the name-in an elven tale, the race was known as the Star Folk-but he could understand how Estriss had concluded that all the legends referred to the Juna. He could also comprehend how the illithid had decided that proximity implied connection: if the Spelljammer and the Juna were mentioned together often enough-even if no direct link was ever stated-there must be some connection. So the illithid's mind must have worked, at least. Although Teidin himself wasn't convinced, he had to admit the connection was a good hypothesis.
With that established, he'd followed a couple of other leads. First he'd read whatever he could about the Broken Sphere.
There wasn't much, unfortunately-or, at least, much that he didn't know already. There were several dozen legends involving the Broken Sphere, most of which had little or no similarity with each other. Teldin was sure that someone reading the legends normally wouldn't have made any connection between them. Yet the enhanced understanding the cloak gave him let him pick out some basic similarities. Just as it was possible to infer a connection between the Juna and the Spelljammer, he could infer a central thread of truth that formed the basis of all the legends. He thought he could, at least. He didn't understand enough about what the cloak was doing, about its abilities and limitations, to be sure that the central thread existed, and wasn't a product of his own imagination. In any case, he decided to operate on the assumption that his inference was correct.
Apparently the Broken Sphere, in some tellings, was said to be the origin of many races. There had once been a crystal sphere that had ruptured in a cataclysmic explosion… or so Teldin's inference told him. The matter and energy spewed out by this blast had spread throughout space, littering the cosmos with debris and life forms. The legends claimed that many nearby crystal spheres were moving outward from this explosion, away from the remnants of the Broken Sphere. Theoretically, then-or so certain philosophers hinted-it should be possible to locate the Broken Sphere simply by backtracking the movements of related spheres.
Theoretically, perhaps. But half a dozen books written by less philosophical sages and scientists claimed that, practically speaking, it was impossible. Rivers and eddies in the Flow had so disturbed the motions of the spheres that such a simple backtracking was doomed to failure.
Teldin had been surprised to find no linkage between the Broken Sphere and the Spelljammer. No myths or legends made any connection.
What did that mean? The fal, One Six Nine, had been adamant that there was a connection. Was the sluglike sage wrong? Or had he told Teldin something really significant, given him an important lead that he couldn't have found anywhere else? It bore thinking about.
He'd then tried to trace the Juna, to find some hint about whether they still existed. At first he'd found nothing: every mention of the Juna, or the Star Folk, or the Ancients, or whatever, claimed they'd long since vanished from the universe-perhaps died out, perhaps moved on (whatever that might mean). No matter what reference he dug up, the result was the same: the Juna were gone. Oh, their works were still around-on the planet of Radole, for example, they'd crafted huge tunnels and caverns leading deep into the titanic mountain range that girdled the world-and their symbols, the three-petaled flower or the three-pointed star, could be found on a hundred planets. But of the Juna themselves there wasn't a trace.
In a fit of frustration, Teldin had stuck his finger back into the digitizing tablet and quickly traced the trilaterally symmetrical symbol that was woven into the lining of his cloak, then pulled the processing lever. He'd had no idea whether the indexing system could handle symbols as well as words; Fazin hadn't mentioned it, and the gnome had been down in the stacks at the time. For all he knew, he could have broken the temperamental mechanism. When the output slot had disgorged a single reference then, he'd been surprised… and intrigued. And when Fazin had brought him the book…
Teldin patted his belt pouch, felt the stiffness of a piece of parchment. Nex, he thought, the planet Nex.
He felt the excitement in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he had something to go on. If the information he'd copied from the book was right, he might have a lead that would eventually answer all his questions.
He forced himself to relax. No point in getting all keyed up about it now, he told himself. I'll have plenty of time to think about it later.
Time…
"Fazin."
The gnome looked up, an expression of dread on his face. "More books?" he whined.
Teldin chuckled. "Not this time. I've got all I need." He patted the digitizing tablet. "This thing really works," he mused.
Fazin was on his feet in a moment, staring hard at the tablet, as though trying to wrest some secret out of it. "I know," he said darkly. "It's never this efficient. Something must be wrong with it…."
*****
It was full night when Teldin left the Great Archive. He walked quickly through the streets of the city, under guttering oil lamps and the unfamiliar constellations of Heart-space. Retracing his steps was much easier than finding the archive in the first place, so it didn't take him long to find the wineshop where he'd agreed to meet the half-elf Djan.
The tables and chairs that had been on the street were gone, and the place looked closed for the night. Guiltily, Teldin glanced up at the stars, as though they'd be able to tell him the hour, as they would in Ansalon. His ignorance of the local constellations made the gesture useless, of course. Even so, he knew he was late. He pushed open the wineshop's front door-it was open, after all-and stepped inside.
He spotted Djan immediately, sitting at a corner table, immersed in a small book. The half-elf looked up immediately when Teldin cleared his throat, and a broad smile creased his face.
"Well met, Master Brewer," Djan said, rising. He set his book-open, to hold his place-on the table and extended a hand to Teldin. The Cloakmaster took it, returning the half-elf s firm grip. "You had a busy afternoon, I'd guess."
"Sorry I'm late," Teldin started.
Djan waved the apology aside. "No matter," he said lightly. He patted the small leather-bound book. "I put the time to good use. Come, sit." As they both took seats, the half-elf waved to a waiter and requested, "Two glasses of nightwine, late harvest." He leaned toward Teldin mock-con-spiratorially, and whispered, "About the only thing worth drinking on Crescent, I'm afraid."
The two remained silent as the waiter brought their drinks. Teldin found himself a little uncomfortable, sitting here with the amiable half-elf. What does he want from me? he found himself wondering. He's so friendly, so open….