The Broken Sphere s-5

by Nigel Findley

  Teldin nodded and gave his friend a tired smile. "Thanks," he said simply.

  "Just think on it," Djan suggested. "And maybe try this again when you're feeling up to it." He tossed the amulet to the Cloakmaster, then he stood and walked toward the door. "Plus," he added over his shoulder, "I think you should get some rest."

  As the first mate reached for the door latch, a diffident knock sounded. He quirked an eyebrow at Teldin-"Expecting company?"-and opened the door. The half-orc, Dargeth, was framed in the doorway. He tugged his forelock. "Sir, Captain." He shifted from foot to foot in discomfort. "Captain, do you have a moment, sir?" Teldin sighed. He didn't want to take a moment for dealing with ship's business, not right now, but duty does bind both ways, he reminded himself again. "Of course. Come on in, Dargeth. Have a seat. Is it all right if the first mate hears this, or is it personal?"

  Dargeth ducked to avoid cracking his head on the overhead and crossed to the table. "No, sirs, it's not personal. It's…" He glanced at the open door behind him.

  Taking the cue, Djan shut the door.

  "Have a seat," Teldin repeated. To make the sailor more comfortable-obviously he didn't like the idea of sitting while his captain stood-he pulled a chair out for himself. "Now, Dargeth," he prompted, "what is it?"

  Dargeth seated himself, hands in his lap, wringing them together uncomfortably. He glanced back and forth between his captain and the first mate.

  "It's all right, Dargeth," Teldin told him, trying to inject as much reassurance as he could into his voice. "Whatever it is, it's all right."

  The half-ore bobbed his head. "As you say, sir," he said tentatively, though he obviously didn't believe it.

  "I've been thinking, Captain," Dargeth started slowly, his voice pitched little above a whisper. "About Blossom… about the helm-priest's death."

  Teldin shot a quick glance at Djan, but tried to keep his face expressionless. "What about her death?" he asked, as lightly as he could.

  "I've been thinking it's not an accident, Captain. Sorry to say it, but it's true. I think… I think she was killed."

  The Cloakmaster sighed. Well, it had only been a matter of time, hadn't it? He had to admit he didn't have much respect for the half-orc's intellect, so if Dargeth was entertaining suspicions, what about the rest of the crew? "Why do you think that?" he asked coolly.

  Dargeth shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Lots of things, really, Captain," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, but…"

  "No," Djan broke in, "no apologies. You've figured something out, or think you have. If you're correct, you did the right thing in coming to talk to us about it. If you're wrong, you still did the right thing. I've always told the entire crew I want them to use their heads, to think for themselves, haven't I?" The half-ore nodded. "You can be sure you're not going to get in trouble for doing what I told you to do," the first mate concluded. "Tell on."

  The sailor looked immeasurably less uncomfortable, and Teldin again found himself respecting his friend's ability to deal with people.

  "Like I said," Dargeth said, more confidently, "it's lots of things. I just sort of put them all together. First off, I got to wondering why the helm-priest would be checking the bilges or the keel." He looked directly at Djan, patently struggling not to drop his gaze. "I know you said you ordered her to, sir, but…"

  "Yes," Djan said simply. "Go on."

  "So there was that. Then there was the business about her falling and breaking her neck." Dargeth hesitated again. "It's just that Blossom… wasn't a small woman, if you take my meaning," he went on, "but nobody heard her fall. And, anyway, the distance in the bilges isn't much of a fall to get you a broken neck."

  "She wasn't a small woman, remember," Djan pointed out.

  Dargeth bobbed his head again. "I know that, sir, but it's like I said: it's not just one thing, it's a lot of things all coming together."

  Teldin signaled for the man to go on.

  "And then there's the hatch," the sailor continued. "Harriana said it was shut-not all the way, but shut. I don't think any of the other jacks remembered that, but I did. If Blossom fell and broke her neck by accident, who shut the hatch?"

  The Cloakmaster was silent. Maybe he'd been hasty in underrating Dargeth's intelligence after all. "That's one thing," he pointed out. "What are the others?"

  "The accidents, when we were fighting the pirates and before," the man answered. "When Merrienne fell, and when the catapult broke. All on their own, they didn't mean much." He-shrugged. "Things break on board ship, that's why you need jacks like me to fix them, but to have two things break, just when we're about to be attacked by a pirate who knew we were coming… Well, it made me think.

  "And now it's the catapult again."

  Both Teldin and Djan jerked upright in their chairs as though they'd been stung. "What's wrong with the catapult?" the Cloakmaster demanded.

  "You know we wound it back when that metal thing was coming after us," Dargeth explained. "You ordered us to do it yourself, Captain. Well, when we were told to stand down again, it was my job to let the tension out of the catapult so it wouldn't be damaged staying ready to fire for too long.

  "Well, when I was letting it back, I looked at the skeins and the bearing." His gaze settled steadily on Teldin's face. "They've been jiggered, Captain. Somebody split the bearing with a spike and cut one of the skeins. Not all the way through, otherwise she'd have torn apart right when we wound her back. But real clever, a couple of strands here, a couple of strands there, all the way around. If we'd left her wound back for any longer, she'd have gone soon enough. But she'd certain have gone the first time we fired her. She'd have torn herself right apart, and that first shot wouldn't have hit the side of a barn even if we'd been in the barn."

  "Hold it." Djan raised a hand to interrupt the half-ore's rapid words. "When could this have happened? When did you last check the catapult?"

  Dargeth shrugged. "During the repairs after we landed on the planet with those three-legged things," he explained. "I was tuning the catapult-Miss Julia was working with me- and everything was fine then."

  So this happened recently, then, Teldin realized, during the voyage through the Flow after leaving the Nex crystal sphere. "Who else worked on the weapon, Dargeth?"

  "Just me and Miss Julia at the time, Captain, but others might have come to work on it later. I don't know."

  Teldin nodded. "Go on."

  "So I put it all together, Captain," Dargeth mumbled, "and I'm sorry if I was wrong, but I think they're all connected. Somebody jiggered things so the boom and the catapult would break, outside Heartspace, just like somebody jiggered the catapult now.

  "And"-his voice firmed up-"I think maybe that same somebody killed Blossom." He lowered his eyes. "If I'm wrong, Captain, tell me, and I'll take whatever discipline you see fit."

  Impulsively, Teldin leaned forward, clapped the big man on the shoulder. "No discipline, Dargeth," he told the sailor. "I just have one question: who have you talked to about this?"

  The half-orc looked up, surprised. "Why, nobody, Captain," he asserted. "It's not my place."

  "And nobody else has talked about any of this in your hearing?" Djan asked.

  "Nobody, sir," Dargeth said firmly. He paused and looked at his two superior officers.

  Then I am right, sirs?" he asked quietly. He didn't wait or them to speak; apparently their expressions were all the answer he needed. "I won't mention this to anyone, ever, without you give me leave first," he stated flatly. "Is that what you want me to do, sir? Captain?"

  "That's exactly what I want you to do," Teldin confirmed. He patted the big man's shoulder again. "Thank you, Dargeth. You've done exactly what you should have done, exactly what both of us would have wanted you to do." He smiled-difficult, since he didn't feel at all like smiling. "You can return to your duties now."

  Djan watched the half-orc scramble to his feet and vanish out the door. Then he turned to Teldin and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he said neutrally.
/>   "As my grandfather always told me," Teldin said, "Troubles are like raindrops; they never come singly."

  The half-elf nodded agreement.

  *****

  Julia, Teldin thought. It couldn't be Julia, could it?

  He lay in his bunk, staring off into infinity. Through the closed door he heard someone make six bells. Six bells in the bottom of the night watch-that made it three in the morning by the groundling clock.

  It couldn't be Julia…

  But… how else to interpret their conversation of earlier that evening? He'd sought her out soon after Dargeth had left, to confirm the half-ore's memories about the catapult repairs. She'd been sitting in the saloon, eating a hand meal and chatting with Lucinus, the navigator. He'd joined her at the table.

  After the quick kiss with which they usually greeted each other-just a peck, not the more intense kiss they used to share-he'd said, "Tell me about the catapult."

  She'd looked at him blankly. "What about the catapult?"

  "What condition was it in?" he'd asked. "When you tuned it with Dargeth after we left Nex."

  "I never went near it," she'd responded lightly, and then she'd shrugged. "I know Dargeth was asking for my help, but I was busy with other things and never got around to it. I guess he found somebody else to help him."

  "You're sure?" he'd pressed.

  "Of course I'm sure," she'd replied. "I'd remember if I did it, wouldn't I?" Four bells had sounded, and she'd got to her feet. "No rest for the wicked," she'd joked. "I've got bridge duty. See you later, maybe?" And with a warm smile, she'd left the saloon.

  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?<
br />
  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.

  Slept, he thought bitterly. If you could call what I did "sleep." He'd tossed and turned for hours, replaying scenes over and over again on the stage of his mind. His betrayal by Rianna Wyvernsbane, the line of reasoning that supported his suspicion of Julia… Even an unhealthy volume of sagecoarse hadn't stilled the churning thoughts and allowed him to relax.

  And now he was paying the price for his "medication." Lights seemed too bright, even the small lanterns in the saloon, and sounds too intense. Even the sound of someone making two bells had sounded like the tolling of doom. And smells-anything seemed capable of making his stomach writhe. He needed food, he decided, something bland but solid, to settle his stomach.