That's when Lucinus had cleared his throat. "Captain…" he'd started uncomfortably.
"Yes, Lucinus?"
"Captain, I…" The ginger-haired halfling had paused to order his thoughts. "Captain," he'd begun again, "I don't mean to contradict the second mate, but…" His voice had trailed off.
That's when the cold chill had started to invade Teldin's bones, his blood. "But what?" he'd pressed, maybe a little harshly.
The halfling had blinked in surprise at the Cloakmaster's tone-had visibly considered dropping the entire matter- but he'd swallowed hard and pressed on. "I saw her, Captain," he'd said quietly. "I saw her working with Dargeth. I don't know quite what they were doing. I don't know anything about catapults. But they were working on it," he'd stressed. "The two of them. Then Dargeth left, and the second mate continued to work." He'd shrugged. "I didn't pay it any mind at the time, of course, but I do remember it, clear as day. Just thought I should tell you," he'd finished, then hurriedly vacated the saloon, leaving Teldin to his thoughts.
Julia. Could it have been her?
She certainly knew her way around the ship. She'd exhibited an incredible knack for fixing just about anything, from a sprung hull plank to a sticking hatch hinge. And didn't the ability to fix things imply the ability to unfix them, to sabotage them? He knew she was a doughty warrior, despite her pelite size-he remembered the three sellswords she'd dispatched aboard the Nebulon in orbit around Toril. Was she was skilled with her bare hands as she was with a blade? Maybe Blossom's spirit could tell him….
He shook his head forcefully. No. But…
But. His mind kept drifting back to Julia's surprise appearance on Crescent, when the Boundless was readying for departure. The strange, circumstantial tale she'd told about now she'd come to be there. He'd never really felt comfortable with that, had he? Even with Djan's declaration that Teldin was verenthestae, a weaver of the strands of destiny, the coincidence had seemed just too strong, too unlikely. At the time, he'd suppressed his doubts from pleasure at having Julia back in his life, accepting Djan's half-baked metaphysics as a way of denying his thoughts. Now, however, he had to reexamine things. How likely was it-really-that Julia had "just happened" to appear on Crescent right at that crucial moment? Not very likely at all. In fact, astronomically unlikely.
He ground his teeth in frustration. I should have thought all this through long ago, he berated himself. Instead I let myself be blinded, didn't I? I let myself be taken in. Again, by Paladine's blood. By another woman. He remembered Rianna Wyvernsbane, the lustrous fall of her honey-blond hair, the flash of her green eyes.
Her snarl as she lunged at him with his own sword.
Her betrayal.
Teldin writhed in degradation. Another betrayal, by another woman he loved-this time without the intervention of a magical charm, which made it even worse… By all the gods, how could I be so stupid twice in a lifetime? Tears stung his eyes, tears of bitter humiliation.
Yet, was he being stupid now? Was he overreacting, letting his suspicions-perhaps unfounded-get the better of his reason? He forced himself to think dispassionately-or, at least, as dispassionately as was possible given the circumstances.
Maybe he was being too quick to suspect-no, to be honest, to suspect, try, and convict-Julia. Considering his history, his experience with Rianna Wyvernsbane, it was perfectly understandable, he told himself. But did that make it right'
No, it didn't. What was he basing this on, really? On the coincidence of her appearance on Crescent-which, Djan attributed to the Cloakmaster being verenthestae. Although Teldin didn't believe it fully, Djan most certainly seemed to. And on the fact that she denied working on the forward catapult with Dargeth. The first point seemed telling, but-who knew?-maybe the half-elf s metaphysical mumbo-jumbo was right after all. And the second point: it came down to a lapse in Julia's memory, perhaps. The first weeks after leaving Nex had been busy ones, the crew scrambling all over the ship and each other to repair the damage. Wasn't it possible that Julia herself had been so busy that she'd simply forgotten tuning the catapult?
Possible, yes. Likely? Maybe.
He was sorely tempted to seek her out-she had bridge duty tonight, didn't she?-and question her again about the catapult. Maybe if he pressed, she'd remember.
But he couldn't do that. Maybe she'd remember, but if she was involved in the sabotage, she'd pretend to remember. And he'd have tipped her off that he suspected her. It was just like the investigation after Blossom's murder. He couldn't ask the questions he most wanted answered be-cause those very questions would communicate too much to the people hearing them.
He sighed-a sigh that threatened to turn into a sob. What do I do? he asked the overhead. I can't trust her, not fully, but I can't let her know I don't trust her.
He rolled over, let his hand fall to the cocked and loaded hand-crossbow that he'd taken to keeping under his bunk since Blossom's death. When will this all be over?
*****
When would this voyage be over? Grampian asked himself sourly. The ship he'd commandeered was reasonably large as spelljamming vessels went, but that still didn't represent much elbowroom. The sense of claustrophobia that always accompanied travel in space was strong in him.
The crew didn't help. It was all human-a necessity, he had to admit, but still a disappointing one. Like most of his race, he enjoyed the company of his own kind. But there had been none of his race available, and, anyway, "Grampian"-the identity he'd maintained for much too long now- was human, and would presumably hire a human crew.
He sighed, a high-pitched whistling sound. Still, the quarry was near, now: still in the crystal sphere it had entered two days ago, the same sphere Grampian's ship had entered, too, just hours before. Why remain here? he wondered. What was so fascinating that the quarry would remain in this vicinity? The question troubled him slightly. Anything that fascinated the quarry might turn out to be of help to him. And anything that helped the quarry would hinder Grampian.
Or perhaps the quarry just doesn't know where to go next, he mused. That was possible, wasn't it? Perhaps even probable. Grampian had been surprised by the quarry's moves of late. Apparently the quarry had found something important in the Great Archive-why else the voyage to that tiny crystal sphere, deep in the Flow? And why else the trip to this undistinguished sphere, this valueless world in the vicinity of which the quarry now remained?
Still, any line of inquiry could play out at any time- Grampian knew that all too well from personal experience. Perhaps that had happened to the quarry.
Well, it wouldn't matter soon enough. Grampian's ship was closing the gap rapidly. It would arrive in another few days, unless the quarry decided to move on.
And, if Grampian's plan worked as he expected it to, the quarry wouldn't be able to move on. Grampian felt the muscles of his assumed face-quite different from his own muscles-twist thick lips into a smile. If all was happening according to schedule, his agent aboard the quarry's ship should already be seeing to that. He nodded slowly. He'd chosen well with that agent, an intelligent operative, and highly innovative.
Grampian sat back in his chair, staring out of the red-tinged, ovoid porthole set in the bulkhead of the captain's day room. Yes, he thought, a few more days, and then we'll see what we shall see.
*****
Teldin emerged from his cabin into the saloon. His head felt stuffed full of cotton batten, and his eyes felt as though somebody had thoughtfully taken them out and sanded them for him while he'd slept.