But Beth-Abz was speaking again. “What will you do when you captain the Spelljammer, Teldin Moore?” it asked quietly. “Is that still your intention?”
Good question, Teldin thought. He shrugged, trying to find a way to put into words his doubts, his confusions.
Again, the beholder didn’t wait for him to speak, but continued, “Will you then become the over-Krezt?”
“The what?”
“The over-Krezt,” Beth-Abz said calmly. “Is that your desire?”
“Tell me what a Krezt is, and maybe I can answer you,” the Cloakmaster suggested.
“The Krezl is a figure from ancient religious myth among those of my nation,” the beholder explained. “Few clans of the nation Gurrazh-Ahr still hold to the ancient words that tell of the Krezt, but clan Beth is one of those. The ultimate aboard my hive mothers ship ensured that all of the clan learned of the prophecies.”
Teldin leaned forward, fascinated despite himself. Even though Beth-Abz had been very open in the past about the day-to-day realities of life in a beholder hive, it had said nothing whatsoever about more spiritual issues. “What prophecies?” he asked.
“It is said that the Krezl will come forth and put an end to the wars of the form, melding the disparate nations into one.” The creature “shrugged” with its eyestalks. “Since this would require the nations of the true ideal to allow those of perverted form to survive – which is obviously anathema to many – most of my nation ignore the prophesies, or dismiss them as distortions. Those who disbelieve the prophesies jest that the Krezt must have the mightiest ship in space,” Beth-Abz continued dryly, “since only by defeating all of the nations, true and false, could the Krezt bring peace to the universe.
“So is that what you intend to do as captain of the Spelljammer, Teldin Moore?” the eye tyrant asked. “To use it to defeat all of the warring races of the universe, and thus bring them to peace? To be the over-Krezt who pacifies not one race but all? Is that your intention?”
Teldin turned away, suddenly unable to meet the globular creature’s multiple gaze. It wonders about the grand scheme that I’m following, he thought, the ultimate agenda that guides my actions. It wonders what universe-rocking plans I’ve got in my mind.
How can I tell it that I don’t have any plans past finding the Spelljammer?
“Would you be the over-Krezt?” Beth-Abz pressed.
“I haven’t decided yet,” the Cloakmaster said uncomfortably. “I’m still thinking about it.”
Chapter Ten
Even the longest voyage eventually comes to an end, Teldin reminded himself, and this one was no exception. The crystal sphere boundary of Vistaspace was fifteen days behind them, and Garrash was no more than five days ahead. From this distance, the mighty world appeared as nothing more than a point of ruddy light, occasionally tinged with a brighter yellow that had to come from its fire ring. Even the Cloakmaster’s spyglass wasn’t sufficiently powerful to resolve the fire world into a visible disk.
They’d been fortunate, the Cloakmaster knew. By sheer luck, the point at which they’d penetrated the Vistaspace crystal sphere was relatively near – on a cosmic scale – to Garrash. If the planet’s orbital plane had been oriented differently, or if the world were at a different point along its orbit, their voyage would have been fifteen days or more longer.
Throughout the voyage, Teldin had used the amulet regularly to keep tabs on the Spelljammer – not every day, but at least every few days. The results had been inconclusive. Since that first time, the great ship’s perception hadn’t included anything as distinctive as Garrash and its fire ring. Each time he’d used the amulet, Teldin had seen nondescript views of star-studded blackness – obviously wildspace, but within which crystal sphere? Conceivably, the patterns of the stars might have given some idea – at least confirmed that the vessel was still within Garrash’s crystal sphere – but the Boundless didn’t have a detailed starchart of Vistaspace on board.
Still, Djan had pointed out, the fact that Teldin had never once seen the Flow seemed to hint strongly that the Spelljammer hadn’t yet left the sphere. The Cloakmaster wasn’t as firmly convinced as his half-elven friend. After all, he knew from his reading at the Great Archive that the manta-shaped ship seemed able to complete in a day or two voyages through the phlogiston that would take any other vessel weeks. Yet, he had to admit, the odds of finding his quarry still in Vistaspace rose with each observation.
Of course, as Djan had stressed to him several times before, crystal spheres are almost inconceivably huge. Large though the Spelljammer may be on the scale of ships, and even of worlds, considered on this scale it was a very small needle in a very large haystack. Thus, actually locating the Spelljammer could turn out to be a task in and of itself.
Julia and Djan had both agreed with him that the best place to start was in the vicinity of Garrash itself, however. At least that was a recognizable “landmark” in the vastness of the void.
From his cabin, Teldin heard Julia “make” eight bells – sounding the ship’s brass bell in the stern – indicating the time. The beginning of the forenoon watch, he thought. That put the time at about eight in the morning, according to the groundling clock. He hadn’t been awake long, and he had yet to make an appearance on deck. He’d long since lost his farmer’s habit of rising early, and he’d been getting up progressively later recently as he’d gone to sleep well past four bells in the bottom of the night watch – past two in the morning. That’ll change, he told himself firmly. I’ll make it change. Yet still there was some part of his mind that cast doubt on his resolve.
He reached above his head, pressing both his forearms flat against the overhead, feeling the muscles of his back and legs stretch. His stomach felt like a fist clenched around emptiness, and the stretch only intensified the sensation. Breakfast, he thought.
The four sailors sitting in the saloon just aft of his cabin greeted him politely. Nothing was cooking in the galley – he was between meals, after all, too late for what the crew still called dawnfry and too early for highsunfeast – but the cook had left out a plate of cold meats, pickled vegetables, and a sliced loaf. Teldin built himself a hand meal, which he munched as he headed out onto the main deck.
Djan called a cheery, “Well met,” down to him from the afterdeck as Teldin emerged from the forecastle. He waved back and started to head aft to join him.
It was then that the commotion broke out belowdecks, just a muffled yell at first, but quickly followed by the pounding of running feet. Teldin stopped in his tracks, looked questioningly up at Djan.
A figure – it was Dargeth – dashed up the ladder from the cargo deck and the crew’s quarters. His face was pale. “It’s Blossom,” he gasped.
Blossom? She’s on the helm … But, no, this was the forenoon watch, wasn’t it? That meant it was the dwarf, Dranigor, currently helming the ship. “What about Blossom?” he demanded.
“She’s hurt bad,” the half-orc told him. “Maybe dead, I don’t know.”
“Where?”
Dargeth pointed down the ladder he’d just climbed. “The cargo deck.”
Teldin went down the ladder so fast that he might as well have jumped. He heard footsteps behind him – Djan probably, he thought. At the bottom, he turned left, then left again, sprinting aft past the foot of the mainmast.
There was a small crowd already there, five or six crewmen crouching or kneeling in a group at the aft end of the dimly lit cargo hold near the mizzenmast. As they saw him, they all backed away, giving him his first view of Blossom.
The rotund woman lay flat on her back, arms outstretched. Her eyes were closed, her round, cherubic face at peace, as though she were asleep, Teldin thought. Even from a distance he could see great bruising on the right side of her neck, under her ear – a great, spreading hemorrhage under the skin, reddish pink, not yet turned to purple. “Where’s a healer?” he demanded.
Then he saw the angle at which her head lay, and he knew there was n
othing a healer could do. He dropped to one knee beside the corpulent shape and touched two fingers to the unbruised side of her throat just to be sure. For an instant, he thought he could feel some feeble trill of life left in the woman, but then it was gone. Was that just my imagination, my own anxiety? he asked himself. Or did I feel the woman die? Regardless, he knew that Blossom was dead.
He looked away and saw Djan kneeling beside him. “I’ll deal with this,” the half-elf told him quietly. “You talk to the crew.”
Teldin nodded, climbed slowly to his feet. The crowd of crewmen – larger now – had backed away, leaving a respectful space around the captain, Djan, and the dead priest. The Cloakmaster could see Julia at the back of the group, by the mainmast. “Who found her?” he asked.
“I did, Cap’n.” One of the sail trimmers – a stout halfling woman named Harriana – stepped forward. She looked uncomfortable, slightly pale. At first Teldin wondered why, but then she added, “I sing out as soon as I found her, Cap’n, I promise you. I wasn’t no sluggard about it ….”
He smiled as reassuringly as he could under the circumstances and clapped her on the shoulder. “I know you did, Harriana,” he told her firmly. “I know you weren’t a sluggard. Nobody thinks you were. I don’t think it would have mattered even if you’d found her sooner.” He looked down into the diminutive woman’s eyes and saw the specter of guilt fade from them. “Now, tell me what happened.”
Harriana shrugged. “I come down to the hold just a couple of minutes back, looking for a sail patch. I keeps my repair things back aft there, by the mast foot.” She pointed aft, toward where assorted gear had been stacked against the hold’s rear bulkhead. “On the way I passes the bilge watch.”
The Cloakmaster nodded. The woman was referring to a wooden hatch, about two feet square, giving access to the bilges and the keel under the hold deck for repair or inspection. “So you passed the bilge hatch,” he prompted.
“And I sees it’s open,” the halfling said. “Not all the way, like, but just a thumbspan. I think there’s somebody down there, inspecting the bilges. So, just to be friendly like, I opens the hatch and I calls down, ‘halloo.’
“And that’s when I sees her.” Harriana pointed at Blossom’s still body. “The helm-priest, just lying all huddled up at the bilges. She doesn’t look comfortable,” she went on with a shrug, “so I thinks she might be hurt. I calls for help, and these two” – she pointed out Dargeth and Anson – “they answer. They drags the helm-priest out, and then we just fells like the blazes.”
Teldin looked questioningly at the two. It was Anson, predictably, who answered. “That’s how it was, Captain,” he confirmed. “We thought she’d maybe been checking the bilges, fell in, and hit her head. We didn’t think it might be her neck until we saw it.” He hesitated, obviously uncomfortable. “Did we do wrong, pulling her out?” he asked quietly. They say you don’t move them with less …”
It was Djan who answered, his voice quiet but carrying, You didn’t do her any harm, Anson, or you either, Dargeth. nobody could have done her any more harm by the time you got here.”
The two men looked noticeably relieved. “Captain,” Anson started tentatively, “one thing I wondered … What was Blossom doing in the bilges anyway? Checking the keel?
“That’s right.” Again it was Djan who responded – louder, more firmly this time. He stood and strode over to join Teldin and the others. “She was checking the keel, like I ordered her to.”
The Cloakmaster shot the half-elf a quizzical glance. There was something strange about his friend’s manner. He trusted Djan, and it wouldn’t do to question him about it here.
“I think you were right, Anson,” Djan continued, “I think she must have slipped, fallen, and landed badly. A tragic, fluke accident.” He turned to the half-orc. “Dargeth, would you see to the body, please? Pick the people you need.” Then he looked over at Teldin – meaningfully, the Cloakmaster thought – and said, “Captain? I think we’ve got to discuss the watch list. Can we speak in your cabin?”
*****
As soon as Djan and Julia had followed him into the cabin and shut the door behind them, Teldin turned to his first mate. “Could someone tell me what in Paladine’s name is going on?” he asked quietly.
Djan pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. There was something in his expression that Teldin hadn’t seen before – a tension that chilled the Cloakmaster to the bone. “I didn’t send Blossom to check the keel,” he said bluntly.
“Then, why …?” Teldin’s voice trailed off. A sharp pang of suspicion stabbed his chest. He suggested softly, “So the crew wouldn’t think … what?”
“Blossom’s neck was broken,” Djan answered, “but not in a fall.” He looked up, meeting the Cloakmaster’s gaze squarely for the first time. “Somebody killed her, Teldin. Somebody – a skilled warrior, I’d say – broke her neck with his hands. Then he stuffed her in the bilges.” He blinked thoughtfully. “I say ‘he,’ but it could just as easily have been a woman, I suppose. Breaking a neck isn’t hard if you know how to go about it.” He shook his head briefly, as if forcing his mind back to the subject at hand. “Somebody killed her,” he repeated. “It wasn’t an accident. We’ve got a murderer on board.”
Teldin pulled a chair over and sat down. He nodded slowly.
“Do you have any idea who?” Julia asked. Her face was pale and drawn.
The first mate shook his head. “It could have been just about anyone, really,” he answered. “It definitely happened less than half an hour before Harriana found the body. But half an hour’s a long time on a ship this size, and it doesn’t take long to kill someone if you’ve got a mind to.” He sighed. “Somebody leaves his watch station – he claims it’s a lead call – or slips out of his hammock. Or, if he’s off duty and awake, he just goes belowdecks. Nobody’s going to question him. He finds Blossom, leads her down to the cargo hold on some pretext. He kills her – snap! – and disposes of the body. Then he just strolls back to wherever he’s supposed to be and waits for the commotion to start so he can look suitably shocked and horrified.”
“Why do you think she was killed there?” Julia asked.
Djan chuckled mirthlessly. “You try carrying Blossom more than a couple of paces,” he suggested. “Anyway, the hold’s the only place deserted enough to get away with it.”
“He must have known the body would be found soon enough,” Teldin pointed out.
The half-elf nodded agreement. “But he didn’t need it to stay hidden for long,” he explained. “Just long enough to fade back into the woodwork, so to speak.”
Teldin was silent for a few moments. A murder, he thought. That’s a long step up from sabotage, isn’t it? A murderer among the crew. Someone who wants to … what?
What does he want? he asked himself. Why kill Blossom? Why kill a helmsman? And there he had his answer. If you look at it from the right standpoint, it’s not that much different from sabotage. If you want to slow down a ship or cripple it, you can sabotage its rigging or you can eliminate its source of power. With Blossom dead, the Boundless had only one official helmsman left – the dwarf, Dranigor. Eliminate Dranigor, or just incapacitate him somehow, and that just leaves me. Then do something about me, and the ship’s dead in space ….
“Put some kind of a guard on Dranigor,” the Cloakmaster told Djan. “Come up with some kind of excuse.” The half-elf, nodded. “I like the way you handled things back there,” he added.
Djan’s lips quirked in a half smile. “I was making it up as I went along,” he said, “but I had to do something. If the crew figures out we’ve got a murderer aboard, then everything we’ve done – you’ve done – to build morale goes out the porthole … and I think I want to get off this ship.” His smile faded. The murderer knows I made it up,” he went on grimly, “and he knows that you two know now as well. But I couldn’t see any way of avoiding that.”
Teldin waved that aside. “I don’t think that matters much,”
he decided. He paused. “Can we ask around – see if anyone did make a head call during the half hour in question?’”
Djan looked doubtful. “I can try,” he reflected. “I will try, but I can’t be too obvious about it, or people will guess what happened.”
The Cloakmaster nodded sadly. “You’re right, of course.” He patted his friend on the shoulder. “Well, do what you can,” he suggested, is there anyone other than the three of us that you think we can trust?”
“Beth-Abz?” Julia proposed.
Djan nodded agreement. “If the beholder wanted Blossom out of the way – for whatever reason – it could have just disintegrated her, and we’d have thought she fell overboard or something.” He stood. “I’ll get on to things, Captain,” he promised, in the meantime, … I suggest we all watch our backs.”
*****
Djan had been as good as his word, Teldin thought five days later. He’d asked around, just as he’d said he would, trying to get a line on anyone who might have been inexplicably missing around the time of Blossom’s death. But, for obvious reasons, he’d had to be very circumspect, and that had seriously limited his effectiveness.
At first, the Cloakmaster had considered helping his friend by asking his own oblique questions, but then had discarded the idea as counterproductive. The whole purpose was to prevent anyone in the crew from attaching any significance to the questions, and – almost by definition – any queries by the captain, the master of the ship, would attract such significance. Although it galled him to sit back and let Djan do all the work, he had to admit that this was the most logical course.
After two days, Djan had sadly admitted to Teldin that he hadn’t found out anything useful. Nobody could remember seeing someone acting in a suspicious manner – but that didn’t really mean much, he’d stressed, since he couldn’t let anyone think that his questions were important.
A highly skilled priest or mage would have come in really handy, Teldin told himself. He’d heard enough folk tales about powerful spellcasters being able to speak with the souls of the dead. Surely Blossom herself – her soul, wherever it happened to be at the moment – would be able to shed light on the details of her death, and even the identity of her killer. But the only person aboard of sufficient aptitude for such a task had been Blossom herself.
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