The Cloakmaster turned away again. What did it matter? What did anything matter? He looked down again at the still body of Julia at his feet and knelt beside her again. Djan had arranged the corpse, crossing her hands on her chest, then covering her with a blanket from Teldin's bunk. For that he was glad. He knew all too well that if he looked at Julia's peaceful, pale face again, he'd lose control.
I killed her.
His thoughts kept turning back to that hideous, unescapable fact.
I killed her, when she was here to save my life. I distrusted her; I mentally accused and convicted her of treachery. And then I killed her. He swallowed a sob, fearing that if he let his control slip again, he'd never get it back.
Djan came toward him and squatted down beside him.
You didn't do this, Teldin," he said, his voice quiet and intense, as though he were responding to the Cloakmaster's churning thoughts. "They did it."
Teldin looked up at his friend. He felt the unshed tears burning what he knew were haunted-looking eyes. "I was the one who pulled the trigger," he croaked.
"What else were you supposed to do-supposed to think-when you saw what you did?" The half-elf shook his head impatiently. "You didn't kill her. Do you blame a sword when it kills? No, you blame the person wielding the sword.
"You're the sword, Teldin," he pressed on. "That's the way it worked out. You may have struck the blow, but the responsibility lies with those who set things up so that you had to."
Teldin shook his head. The half-elf s words were persuasive, but he knew he wouldn't be able to absolve himself of responsibility that easily. At best, he shared responsibility with the saboteurs, the poisoners, the people who'd tried to kill him with the magical spider. But, still, it had been he who'd pulled the trigger. He remembered the small crossbow bucking in his hand, the bowstring singing its lethal song. He shuddered and closed his eyes.
He felt a grip on his arm-tight enough to be painful. He opened his eyes again and looked into Djan's face. He saw a new emotion there-anger.
"No," Djan snapped. "What's done is done-a tragedy, a terrible tragedy-but it's done, by the mind of Marrak! You can choose to accept that and work to find out who's behind all of this, or you can choose to turn in on yourself, spend all your energy on punishing yourself."
"Maybe I deserve punishment," Teldin mumbled.
"Maybe you do," the half-elf echoed, "but leave that to the gods. That's what they're for. Will torturing yourself solve anything? Will it tell you the names of the killers? Will it bring Julia back from the dead?"
Teldin jerked as if stung.
Djan's grip on his arm slacked off. "I know it's hard, Teldin, maybe the hardest thing you'll ever do, but you've got to put it behind you, at least for now." He smiled wryly. "If you want to torture yourself, you'll have the rest of your life to do it… which might not be long unless we figure out what to do now."
"What?"
"They tried to kill you once, my friend," Djan stated, "whoever they are. You can bet they'll try again, unless we think of some way of stopping them."
Teldin nodded slowly. Djan was right, he knew. Self-pity and self-blame weren't any kind of answer. He'd known that all his life, and had been confused-and vaguely disgusted-when he'd seen others crippling themselves with self-blame.
And yet it was so seductive. While he was busy blaming himself, he wouldn't have to take action, wouldn't have to do anything. It was a nice, safe excuse, with the added advantage of a smug sense of moral superiority. Sure I'm not doing anything, but look how guilty I feel…. Seductive, but totally pointless.
He forced himself to his feet, driving his guilt and his sadness into the recesses of his mind. He knew all too well that he'd have to deal with them sometime, but his friend was right: now wasn't the time for self-castigation.
Think, he told himself.
"Who else knows about what happened here?" he asked after a few moments. The vague outlines of an idea were taking shape.
Djan raised his eyebrows. "Nobody," he answered, "I heard noise and came to investigate. I don't know if anyone else heard anything or not, but nobody else came with me." He gestured to the closed cabin door. "When I saw what had happened, I shut the door." He shrugged. "I don't think anybody else knows anything happened here… apart from the murderers themselves, of course."
"Is Dranigor on the helm?" Teldin asked, thinking about the helmsman's expanded perception.
The half-elf shook his head. "Why should he be? No, he's still resting up from his injuries."
The Cloakmaster nodded. He thought he had his plan. It would be difficult-not practically, but emotionally-but it might just lead the murders to show their hand and reveal their identities….
"What if the murderers succeeded?" he asked Djan quietly.
*****
While Djan went aft to spread the word of the captain's "foul murder," Teldin spent a few minutes in his cabin.
The face and body he'd assumed-using the cloak's shape-shifting powers-felt alien, his balance very different from normal. He touched the smooth skin of his cheeks and felt the tears that leaked from eyes that weren't his.
I'm sorry, Julia, he thought. Wherever you are, forgive me. Forgive me for taking your life, and forgive me for this deception.
He straightened his spine, brushed his short, copper hair back from his face, and opened the door. "Julia" walked out into the saloon, carefully shutting and locking the door of the captain's cabin.
There was a handful of crewmen in the saloon, standing around uncomfortably in silence, as though they didn't know how to react or where to go. When they saw Julia emerge, they dropped their gazes and looked away-looked anywhere but at the petite woman. Nobody stopped Teldin as he crossed the saloon. Nobody spoke to him-which was just as well, since if he'd been forced to speak, the deception would have come to an end instantly. He hoped that, if anyone did try to talk to him, he could just pretend to be too overcome with emotion to speak. Everyone on board knew about the on-again-off-again relationship between the captain and the second mate, and would presumably expect Julia to take her erstwhile lover's death hard.
The entire ship felt heavy and somber, Teldin thought as he emerged onto the main deck. Or was that just his own emotions coloring his perception? No, he decided after a moment, the sense of depression was real enough. The ship had lost its captain-or so the crew thought-and that was a major tragedy. Julia's lips quirked in an ironic smile. I'm one of the few people who know how people react after he's died, he told himself.
There were a dozen crewmen on the main deck and the fore- and sterncastles, working to repair the damage inflicted by the beholder's death spasms. Actually, at the moment they weren't working, just standing around as though they didn't know what to do, as though waiting for orders from their dead captain to get back to their lives. As he crossed to the ladder leading belowdecks, Teldin observed them from his peripheral vision, watching for some inappropriate reaction-a sense of satisfaction, perhaps. He knew Djan was already belowdecks, moving among the crew, looking for the same kind of thing, waiting for the murderers to take the next step in their plan.
Suddenly he heard a yell from belowdecks. "Fire in the hold!" From another part of the ship, a hoarse scream sounded, followed by the crash of footsteps. He sprinted down the ladder, almost falling as he forgot to compensate for Julia's shorter legs. The air was acrid with smoke, which drifted forward from the cargo hold. He ran aft.