"What's that?" The cry came from somewhere nearby, and was followed immediately by a female scream of panic.
Teldin looked wildly around him. Gray-clad passersby were staring up into the blue sky, some of them pointing. The Cloakmaster looked up, too.
Something was burning its way across the sky, a teardrop shape of fire leaving a turbulent trail of white smoke behind it. For an instant, Teldin thought it was a shooting star, a space rock that had plunged into Crescent's atmosphere and was now burning up. But then cold realization struck him. He'd seen this before-months ago, on Ansalon, on the last night of his old life. It was a crippled spelljamming vessel, on fire and plummeting to earth.
As he watched, the ship hurtled overhead, now so close to the ground that he imagined he could hear the rushing of its passage and the roaring of the flames. It was definitely near enough that he could make out the kind of ship-a wasp, painted a familiar light gray. The angular ship was crippled-only one wing remained, and Teldin was sure the keel was shattered-spinning and tumbling wildly. If the crewmen were still aboard, if they hadn't abandoned the stricken vessel before it entered its final dive, they were doomed. To punctuate that realization, the burning vessel drove into the surface of the lake about half a league offshore, bursting into splinters on impact.
The people around Teldin were stunned into momentary silence by the terrifying violence of the impact. But then the yells began again, and people again pointed upward.
More ships were rising into the blue sky-three more gray-painted wasp ships, clawing for altitude. Something serious had to be happening above the planet's surface, the Cloakmaster knew. The wasp that had crashed was definitely part of the Crescent Peace Force-maybe the same ship that had intercepted him-and now three more official vessels were heading for space. Just what in the hells was happening here?
Well, whatever it was, the Cloakmaster decided that Compact's harbormaster could go whistle if he wanted any more paperwork filled out for the squid ship. Regardless of the details, Teldin didn't like the new turn of events, and he figured he'd feel happier aboard his ship and well out into the void. He turned and ran back toward his vessel's berth.
Panic was spreading along the docks as he ran, dodging knots of people. He was almost back at the squid ship when screams of dread rang out again, redoubling in volume. Teldin looked up.
A bloated black shape-no bigger than his smallest fingernail held at arm's length but nonetheless threatening for that-hung in the sky over the city. The Cloakmaster had seen that shape before, too, more times than he cared to recall. Even at this distance, it was impossible to mistake a neogi deathspider….
As he watched, two much smaller dark specks-presumably Crescent-based wasps-swooped down onto the spider ship's stern. One blew apart into fragments, probably shredded by the neogi vessel's aft-firing jettisons. The other continued its attack run, and a small fireball bloomed, bright red against the black of the deathspider.
The Cloakmaster turned away from the spectacle in the sky and sprinted for his ship. He could see Djan on the sterncastle. "Cast off!" Teldin screamed at the top of his lungs. "Get us out of here now!"
Teldin raced up the gangplank and onto the squid ship's deck. Behind him, two crewmen dragged the gangplank aboard the instant he was off it. "Get us spaceborne!" he cried.
"The helm's manned, and we're cast off." Djan's pale and pinched expression belied his calm and controlled tone. "We can lift any minute."
"Port regulations say we've got to clear the harbor area before lifting off," Dargeth pointed out.
"To the Abyss with the port regulations!" Teldin snarled, and he saw the half-ore quail before him. "Djan, get us into space as soon as possible." He looked up at the fight in the skies above them, and shivered. "Sooner."
*****
Neogi! May what gods there be damn them to hells everlasting!
From his window, Grampian glared into the sky. If those foul creatures had interfered with his plans, if they'd driven the subject off Crescent before Grampian's own stratagems were fully in place, they'd pay. Grampian would make sure of that, one way or another.
*****
Teldin sighed. Apparently his ship had managed to avoid the neogi entirely. With no sign of the bloated ship, the Cloakmaster grew ever more confident that he and his crew were safe. Either the Crescent vessels had crippled or destroyed the deathspider, or they'd simply kept it too busy to pursue as the squid ship made its escape. Teldin didn't really care what the truth was. All that mattered was that there were no neogi on his tail. The Cloakmaster was free to take the next step in his great quest.
Even after more than a day underway, the main deck still seemed to be in chaos, as the new crew members struggled to get used to each other and their duties. He knew this was necessary, a normal part of getting a new vessel and crew shipshape, but that didn't make it any less distracting and frustrating.
How much worse must it be for Djan? the Cloakmaster found himself wondering. Djan Alantri had voluntarily taken on most of the responsibilities of organizing the crew. He was handling almost all facets of shipboard routine, from assigning duties to organizing watches, right up to training those crew members who might need a little help. For example, not long ago, Djan had been directly below him in the helm compartment, discussing with the primary helmsman-a corpulent human priestess of Ptah with the unlikely name of Blossom-exactly how to handle the orders she'd hear when the ship next went to battle stations. Teldin sighed. He was lucky to have Djan as his first mate; he was constantly being reminded of that fact. As if to reinforce it again, he noted that the indefatigable half-elf was running the crew through yet another battle station drill.
Well, up here on the sterncastle, at least, it was peaceful. By unspoken agreement, the crew had deemed the sterncastle as "officer country." Until battle stations were officially sounded and the ballista crews had to man their weapons, the afterdeck was reserved for the ship's pensive captain and any members of his officer corps with the temerity to interrupt his thoughts.
Even though he found this strange sign of respect rather amusing, Teldin had to appreciate the privacy. He needed time to think and figure out his feelings.
Just what do I feel? he asked himself. Excitement, definitely. He might well have found the most important clue yet in his quest for an answer to the question of the cloak. Fear? That, too-stemming largely from the two sides of a single question: What if I don't find the answer, and what if I do? Then there was a flurry of conflicting emotions, a bubbling stewpot of wants and desires, fears and anxieties, that he didn't really want to analyze yet.
"Serious thoughts?"
He turned at the sound of a soft voice beside him.
Julia was leaning against the aft rail an arm's length from him. How long has she been there? he asked himself. The light of the distant Heart reflected off her hair, making it look like burning copper. With an effort, he turned his gaze away. He tried to appear natural as he strolled forward to the rail overlooking the open portion of the main deck. "Just thoughts," he said as casually as he could manage. "How are you settling in?"
She didn't answer his question, just came forward as well to stand beside him. He could feel her proximity, even though she didn't touch him, like the heat of a nearby fire. While the urge welled up inside him, he knew he couldn't walk away again.