The Broken Sphere
Page 8
The two figures reached the opening of an alleyway that opened to their left, and turned into it. Why? Teldin wondered. To discuss their next step? It really didn’t matter. Getting the two of them off the main street so he could talk to them uninterrupted had stood out in his mind as a major problem, one that they’d unknowingly solved for him. He smiled. With them out of his sight – and hence him out of theirs – he could hurry.
He stopped at the opening of the alley and cautiously looked around the corner. The two figures stood close together, not much more than a spear length from the road, apparently engaged in quiet conversation. All the better. He drew his sword and, holding it steady before him, stepped around the corner. “Greetings,” he said conversationally.
Two heads snapped around, one framed in curly black hair, the other shadowed. The big man turned an indifferent gaze on Teldin, then his eyes widened and he growled, “It is he!” His voice was rough but emotionless.
Suddenly, Teldin was struck with another mental flash. It wasn’t words this time; instead, it was an image as vivid as it was disconcerting. In his mind, the Cloakmaster saw a broad, loose-lipped mouth filled with teeth like daggers. And somehow, he knew that image was associated with the big man before him. Involuntarily, he let his magical disguise fade, revealing his true appearance. He took a step back and leveled his weapon at the man’s belly. “Don’t move,” he barked.
“No.”
It was the cloak-enshrouded woman who’d spoken.
Slowly Teldin lowered his blade and turned to the other figure. She’d thrown back her hood, exposing red hair, which shone in the sun like burnished copper. Her white teeth flashed in a smile he hadn’t seen since he and Aelfred had set down on the Rock of Bral. Even after all this time, however, all his recollections of this woman – her laugh, her sudden enthusiasm, even the way her hair swung around her neck – were as fresh as if they’d been formed just the day before.
A torrent of conflicting emotions flooded through him: surprise, doubt, excitement, fear, paranoia … but, most of all, a piercing, bittersweet emotion that he tried to suppress before he had to admit its nature.
“I hear you’re hiring a crew,” the woman said. “Are there any berths still open?”
Schooling his expression to neutrality, he replied, “Let’s talk. Come back to the ship with me, Julia.”
*****
The large compartment in the “head” of the squid ship was officially the captain’s cabin; so Djan had told him. It was so large, however, with two big, circular ports that made up the vessel’s “eyes”, that Teldin had felt uncomfortable keeping it for his sole use. Against his first mate’s suggestions, he’d had the crew move a table in there as well as his personal effects, so it could double as an officers’ meeting room. When the arrangements were made, the resemblance to the saloon aboard the Probe was enough to make him smile.
Right now, however, Teldin Moore wasn’t smiling. He and Djan sat at one end of the table. Julia – who’d doffed her gray cloak to reveal a green jerkin that perfectly set off the copper of her hair – sat at the other. Behind her and to one side sat the big man, who Julia referred to as Beth-Abz. He was handsome. Broad of shoulders and square of jaw, with thick black, curly hair down to his shoulders, he looked like the very quintessence of the heroic warrior. So far he hadn’t said a word aboard the ship and seemed satisfied just to watch everything with calm interest. Every now and again, Teldin shot him a curious look. The strange image of a tooth-filled mouth hadn’t recurred, and the Cloakmaster could determine no reason for it to have happened in the first place. He set that train of thought aside and returned his attention to Julia.
The attractive woman shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “I know,” she said tiredly, “I know what it looks like, but I didn’t follow you here.” She opened her hands, palms up. “I didn’t even know you were here, Teldin. I heard yesterday at the White Elf tavern that ‘Aldyn Brewer’ was hiring a crew. Honestly, I’m as surprised as you are.”
“You talked to people at other places as well,” he said sharply, “not just the White Elf.”
“Of course.” Her tone was almost impatient. “I wanted to find out as much about what you were up to as possible. I had to …” She paused, looking away uncomfortably. “I had decisions to make.”
Teldin was silent for a moment. He wanted to believe her. They’d been friends and comrades aboard the Probe. After the death of the treacherous Rianna Wyvernsbane, there’d been the strong hint they could become considerably more. But then Julia had left the Probe’s crew and signed on with another vessel setting sail from the Rock of Bral.
He could understand why; even though she’d never said it straight out, she’d hinted at it often enough. Teldin Moore would never be free to follow his own path, she feared. Even if he didn’t subsume his own desires and ambitions to the “enforced destiny” that the cloak seemed to carry with it, the fact that enemies would always be pursuing him implied that he’d always be reacting, not acting. It was a very limited existence; she’d said that often enough. It was also an existence – and this she’d never actually said – that held little space in it for Julia. Unwilling or unable to put herself through what a relationship with Teldin would involve, she’d gone off alone – leaving behind a note reading, “It’s better this way,” and a lock of copper hair nestled in the fold of the parchment. She’d also left behind a lot of memories, of course.
He wanted to believe her, yet there was still the fact of the six “alley bashers” who’d assaulted him. He was still convinced they’d got their information from someone who knew all too much about Teldin Moore, and here was someone from his past who definitely fit that description. “How did you come to Crescent, Julia?” he asked quietly.
Her hopeful half smile faded. She shrugged. “I signed on with a merchantman setting sail from the Rock to the world of Nivil,” she explained, “a safe billet but a dull one. Remember, at the time I didn’t really care where I was headed. I just needed to keep myself busy.” She shot him a quick glance from under her copper bangs.
“When we set down on Nivil,” she continued, “I was offered a commission as second mate, but I knew I’d die of boredom if I took it. So I signed on with a small ‘package trader’ who was bound for Radole.”
Teldin jerked upright in his chair. “Radole?”
Julia sighed. “I know, I know, you visited Radole, too. I know what it sounds like, but I didn’t know you were there, Teldin,” she went on earnestly. “You’d already left when I arrived.”
“But you knew I’d been there,” Teldin pointed out sharply.
“Of course I did,” Julia admitted sadly. “Everyone did. Just about every rumor I heard on the docks was about the human ‘admiral’ sailing on an Imperial Fleet vessel … and one that got itself badly chewed up, at that. Not many people knew your name, but they knew enough about the ‘admiral’ for me to make a good guess as to who it was.
“But I didn’t know where you were headed next,” she concluded firmly. “Nobody did. You covered your tracks well.”
“You’re here.” Teldin’s voice was almost a whisper.
For the first time, Julia’s eyes flashed with anger. “I know, damn the gods’ eyes,” she snapped. “I was planning to stay on Radole for a while, but you screwed that up, even though you weren’t there anymore. I had to get busy again. I couldn’t give myself time to think that maybe I’d made a wrong decision.” She glared at him. “Do you know what I’m saying?”
For a moment Teldin was silent, then, “Yes,” he said, nodding, “I know. But, how …”
“How come I’m here?” Julia shrugged again. “There was another merchantman setting sail the next day for Crescent. No other vessel I’d ever consider crewing on was leaving for a week, so I didn’t have much choice. I came to Crescent.”
Teldin snorted. “So I’m supposed to accept it’s just coincidence that you’re here? And that you were asking around about me?”
“
Coincidence?” Julia bared her teeth in an expression that was more snarl than smile. “I don’t think the word has any meaning around you, Teldin Moore,” she stated. “I think you make coincidences, because of what’s happened to you, and what and who you are. I’m sorry if I’m saying things that you don’t want spoken aloud” – she looked meaningfully at Djan – “but I’ve got to say them. I can’t not say them any longer.
“I think you warp the laws of probability, Teldin,” she went on, warming to her theme. “You and … what it is that makes you who you are. Think back on all the ‘coincidences’ – happy and sad – that have happened to you and around you. Do you honestly believe they were caused by pure luck? You’d have to be stupid … and you’re not stupid.
“The universe is huge, Teldin Moore, more vast than any of us can imagine. Yet you’ve kept ‘coincidentally’ meeting people who’ve channeled your destiny in new ways, focused them toward a goal. How probable is that, going on chance alone? I know it sounds ridiculous – even I don’t believe it all the time – but your destiny might be so strong that it overwhelms the normal laws of chance.”
She paused, and Teldin watched as she controlled herself. “So, Teldin,” she concluded, “in answer to your question: Yes, it’s just purest coincidence that I’m here … for whatever little that word may be worth.” With that she sat back in her chair and firmly crossed her arms before her chest.
Teldin was silent for three dozen heartbeats. He didn’t know what to make of the woman’s statements. Certainly, random events seemed to have conspired to force him along the course he now followed, events that almost seemed tailor-made to guarantee he’d act in a certain way.
But, in some sense, wasn’t that a meaning of the word ‘coincidence’? Several random events coming together to produce a certain result? Had one of those random events occurred differently, he’d probably have been channeled onto a totally different course. At the end of that course, however, he’d have looked back and remarked on how ‘predetermined’ his path had been ….
For an instant, he wished Estriss were present. He’d know how to deal with this strange philosophy, Teldin told himself … or at least he’d enjoy discussing it, and probably at ridiculous length.
The Cloakmaster suppressed his smile and turned to his first mate. “Djan?”
The half-elf didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered back and forth between Teldin and Julia, and he seemed to be mumbling under his breath.
“An interesting philosophy … Teldin Moore,” he said at last, stressing the name. “And one the Marrakites of Crescent would easily understand. The followers of the True Path believe there are some people they term ‘verenthestae,’ who weave the strands of fortune and destiny in different patterns by their very presence.” He smiled mildly. “An interesting question, Aldyn Brewer – or Teldin Moore. Are you verentheslae?” He shrugged. “In any case, my captain, your old friend is speaking the truth as she knows it.”
It took Teldin a moment to comprehend what his first mate had just said. Then, “What?”
“She did come to Crescent by chance, my friend,” Djan confirmed. “As a Child of the Path, I have some skills in this matter. She was utterly surprised – and both saddened and elated – to find you on Crescent. Her presence here is coincidence” – he chuckled quietly – “for whatever that word is worth in the presence of verenthestae.”
Teldin closed his eyes and forced his breathing into a more normal pattern. He realized his hands were clenched into fists and forced them to relax, laying them flat on the table before him. After a few moments, he opened his eyes again and raised his gaze to Julia. With an ultimate effort, he kept his tone light as he said, “It seems we have space in the crew for two more. Would you care to sail with us? We cast off tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
The individual who, here on Crescent, was known as Grampian watched the man before him shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. A scrawny, insignificant-looking example of his species, Grampian told himself. The man was less than average height, without much flesh on his bones, and had a face like a malnourished camp rat. Yet, here on Crescent, he was revered in certain circles as the most skilled at his specialized craft.
Grampian kept the face he’d assumed frozen into a hard expression, his cold gaze drilling into his ever-more-discomfited hireling. With every moment he could see the man’s fear grow. He’d chosen his current appearance specifically based on what he’d guessed humans would find intimidating, and now Grampian was pleased that his insight had been correct.
He kept the man on tenterhooks for another few moments, then let his face relax into a half smile. “You have completed your task, I take it?” he asked.
The man nodded quickly and prodded with his toe a leather backpack that lay on the floor before him. “Right here, everything right here, like you asked.”
Grampian nodded. “Good,” he pronounced. “There were no … complications?”
The small man’s confidence was obviously returning. He flashed a momentary smile, showing crooked and discolored teeth. “No worries,” he said, “I’m good at what I do, I tell you that. Just in and out. Nobody saw me. Nobody knows I was even there, the city guard, the librarians that run the place, nobody. Just like I was a wraith.” He paused for a moment, glancing down at the backpack at his feet. “These books,” he went on slowly, “they’re worth a lot?”
Grampian almost laughed out loud. This sneak thief may think he’s sly and subtle, Grampian thought, but he’s as transparent as a fine crystal goblet. He’s considering holding out for more money. The thought of someone like this extorting money from one of Grampian’s kind was almost hilarious.
Yet Grampian kept his face expressionless and amusement out of his voice. “Not as such,” he said, and almost smiled as the thief’s face fell. “They mean nothing to me.”
“Then …?”
“Why?” Grampian found himself enjoying this. Against all his expectations, he realized he enjoyed explaining his reasoning to this mere human. “Because they’re valuable to someone else. Extremely valuable. Their only worth to me lies in the fact that, if I have them, this other can’t have them. Do you understand?”
The thiefs disappointment was evident, but he nodded and forced a smile onto his face. “So I did a good job anyway,” he suggested.
“Perhaps.” Again Grampian was silent and watched the anxiety build on the other’s face. “Perhaps you did a good job,” he said slowly, “perhaps your efforts are worth a bonus. If you completed all of my instructions.” He pointed to the backpack. “Did you get them all?”
“Sure I did, every last one on your list.”
“Then, why, I wonder, did the … the subject make arrangements to set sail so soon after he’d visited the library?” Grampian mused. “It seems as if he found what he was looking for, doesn’t it? But how could he, if what he was looking for is in the bag at your feet?” He leaned forward, watched with satisfaction as the thief cowered. “You did consider the possibility of multiple copies, I take it? Stealing one copy of a book is little use if there’s another on the shelves. You did think of that, didn’t you?”
“Sure I did,” the thief protested in an aggrieved voice, “I’m not an idiot.”
But you are, aren’t you? Grampian told himself. He could see the guilt, the realization of his own stupidity in the man’s expression. He didn’t think of multiple copies.
“Maybe he … the subject … found out stuff from other books,” the thief babbled. “There’s lots of books in there. I seen them.”
Grampian sighed. Predictably, the thief was trying to excuse his failure. Of course, Grampian knew better. He understood a little about the indexing system in use at the Great Archive. There was no way that gnome-built monstrosity could have let the subject fill in the gaps left by the stolen books.
“If it’s so important,” the thief was still jabbering, “why don’t you just send someone to follow this subject of yours?”
Swallowing visibly, the thief shoved the purse into his own belt pouch. He bent to pick up the backpack.
Grampian’s sharp order stopped him. “And leave the books.”
With a quick bobbing of his head – a gesture that reminded Grampian even more of a man-sized rodent – the thief turned and fled the room.
As the door shut behind the thief, Grampian sighed. It was a good plan, he mused to himself. My mistake was to entrust it to an incompetent. But no matter.
He let his magical disguise drop away, stretched the stiffness out of the limbs of his true form. No matter, he thought again. Every good plan covers contingencies, and this is no exception.
If any humans had been standing in the hall outside the room, they wouldn’t have known how to interpret the strange, coughing sound coming from the other side of the door. A member of Grampian’s race would have recognized it at once, however. Grampian was laughing.
*****
“Captain Brewer?”
Standing atop the sterncastle, Teldin brought his mind back to the present with a start. He looked over to where one of his new crewmen, a rough-looking half-orc, was standing at the top of one of the ladders leading down to the main deck. Although the fellow looked easily powerful enough to tear the Cloakmaster’s arm off and beat him to death with it, the man was shifting uneasily from foot to foot as though uncomfortable in the presence of such an august personage as the squid ship’s captain.