The Broken Sphere

unrelieved, drab gray-had slowed and was edging directly toward the Fool. From this distance, about a spear cast away, Teldin could see motion on the angular vessel's deck. Standing exposed on deck, he felt vulnerable-a single, well-aimed shot from the wasp's heavy ballista would put an end to him, and there was little the cloak could do to save him- but he brutally suppressed those fears. He stood at the rail, feet braced, hands on his hips, and waited.

The two vessels were close enough now that their atmosphere envelopes had merged. Teldin heard a voice ring across the open space between them. The language was the Common tongue, but the accent was unfamiliar. 'Permission to come alongside?' the voice called.

Teldin cupped his hands around his mouth. 'What vessel are you?' he hollered back.

'We are the Pathwalker,' the voice rang out from the wasp, 'of the Crescent Peace Force. Permission to come alongside.'

'What's your purpose?' Teldin called.

'Routine inspection of incoming ships,' the answer came back immediately. 'Please stand to. Permission to come alongside, third request.' This time the 'request' for permission wasn't even phrased as a question.

Teldin hesitated. From the way the man aboard the wasp had specified this was the third time he'd asked, the Cloakmaster had to assume some official policy would come into play if he didn't respond correctly. He glanced nervously at the weapon platform filling the bow of the angular ship. A ballista shot into the hull, perhaps? 'Permission granted,' he yelled back quickly.

He watched tensely as the wasp maneuvered closer, side on to the Fool. Now he could see a small white insignia painted on the hull near the vessel's widest point-a simple crescent with a seven- pointed star framed between its 'horns.' The ballista, set on a swivel mount on the ship's upper weapon deck, was trained out over the starboard rail, pointing directly at the Cloakmaster's smaller ship. The weapon was cocked and loaded, Teldin could see, and armed with a full crew of four. They wore gray uniforms of a severe, militaristic cut, and looked-to his partially experienced eye-chillingly disciplined and competent. How competent do they have to be, after all? he asked himself wryly. At this range, even I couldn't miss….

The Pathwalker edged nearer. The wasp's crewmen were definitely competent, he had to admit-neither that or suicidal and phenomenally lucky. Huge wings of fragile, translucent material extended from the top of the ship's hunched back, with a total span easily equal to the wasp's eighty-foot length. If that weren't enough, the six slender, jointed legs- the craft's landing gear-extended down and outward from the keel. If anyone had asked him, the Cloakmaster would have stated-categorically and without doubt-that it would be patently impossible for the wasp to come close alongside the Fool without either driving one of its legs through the smaller ship's hull or shearing off one of its fragile wings.

Yet that was exactly what the Pathwalker's captain had in mind, it seemed. The wasp's starboard wings loomed over the Fool's deck, while three sharply pointed legs extended only a couple of feet below the river trader's keel. For an instant, Teldin was uncomfortably reminded of when the Probe had been grappled by a neogi deathspider soon after his departure from Krynnspace.

The wasp finally finished its delicate maneuver, hanging in space-totally motionless relative to the Fool-with the rail of its foredeck no more than a man's height from the smaller ship's hull. Fancy ship-handling, Teldin admitted grudgingly. If I'd. tried that-even with the ultimate helm- I'd probably have holed both hulls.

As he watched, a figure emerged from a hatch onto the open foredeck. He was tall and slender, Teldin noted, much the same build as the Cloakmaster but perhaps half a hand-span taller. Even though the man wore a uniform similar to those worn by the weapon crew, Teldin recognized at once he was looking at an officer.

The man looked across the six-foot gap at the Cloakmaster, nodded briskly, and made a curt gesture that Teldin took to be a form of salute. 'Permission to come aboard.'

Teldin hesitated only long enough for a quick glance at the ballista-now at absolute point-blank range-before he answered, 'Permission granted.'

These people are good at this, the Cloakmaster told himself. Within heartbeats of his giving his permission, three more gray-clad crew members appeared on the wasp's foredeck. From below the rail-out of Teldin's view-they produced a broad wooden plank, which they quickly swung into place between the two ships. The officer stepped lightly onto the plank and, as casually as if he were walking on a town's street, crossed the gap. He stepped down onto the river trader's deck and repeated his earlier salute.

The Cloakmaster inclined his head in a sketchy half bow. 'Welcome aboard,… ?'

'Lieutenant Commander Gorase,' the man said briskly. From inside his gray jacket he withdrew a small, hand-sized slate and a sharpened piece of chalk. 'Ship's name?' he asked.

'Uh, the Ship of Fools.'

Gorase raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, scrawling a notation on the slate. 'Master's name?'

Teldin hesitated for a moment. Then, 'Aldyn Brewer,' he said, offering the same pseudonym he'd used in Rauthaven.

'Brewer,' the officer muttered as he made another notation on the slate. Then he glanced up at Teldin from under thick, dark brows. 'Brewer?' he repeated, pitching the word as a question.

The Cloakmaster felt a sudden flash of fear. Were people on the lookout for 'Aldyn Brewer'? He felt a cold prickling along his hairline, and his chest was suddenly tight.

But, no, he told himself firmly, that's ridiculous. I'm how many months away from Rauthaven? How could anyone be looking for me here, under that name? He felt the officer's gaze on him, his clear eyes clouding with growing suspicion. 'That's right,' Teldin said quickly, 'Aldyn Brewer.'

Gorase shook his head. 'No, I meant 'are you a brewer?' It was a small joke.' He looked levelly at Teldin for a long moment, then glanced down to write something else on his slate. When he looked up again, his face was even more carefully expressionless than normal. 'Arid what is your trade, sir?' he asked.

Teldin shrugged. 'Traveler.'

'Not a merchant?'

'No,' the Cloakmaster replied.

'No trade goods aboard?'

'None.'

Gorase's chalk screeched against the slate, raising the hackles on the back of Teldin's neck. 'No trade goods,' the officer mumbled. He fixed the Cloakmaster once more with his cool stare. 'Then what is your purpose for coming to Crescent, if I may ask?'

'The Great Archive,' Teldin replied at once, and truthfully.

The officer nodded slowly. 'So you come seeking knowledge,' he said emotionlessly. 'What knowledge, specifically?'

Again Teldin hesitated. This wasn't going well, he recognized. If Gorase hadn't been suspicious of him-for whatever reason-when he first came aboard, there was no doubt he was now. Teldin's fumbling of the name issue had seen to that. The best way to divert that suspicion was to tell the truth-free and full disclosure.

But he couldn't do that, could he? Admitting he was looking for information on the Spelljammer was just too risky.

'Just some old spacefaring legends,' the Cloakmaster said vaguely, 'travelers' myths, that kind of thing.' He winced mentally; his explanation sounded dubious to his own ears.

It didn't sound much better to Gorase, either, judging by the man's sharp-eyed look. The officer didn't say anything for almost a minute, simply watching Teldin steadily. The Cloakmaster knew the officer was waiting for him to babble on, just to fill the silence, and maybe incriminate himself in so doing. It was all he could do to hold his tongue, and wait the man out. Difficult though it was, he instinctively knew that was his best course.

Finally, Gorase glanced away from Teldin's face, to scratch another note on the slate. 'Travelers' myths,' he mumbled to himself. 'And no trade goods.' He looked up again. 'Then you wouldn't mind showing me belowdecks, I suppose,' he said guilelessly.

Teldin led him into the small main cabin, watched the officer's cold eyes flick around him, apparently itemizing mentally all the compartment's contents. 'What's back here?' Gorase asked, indicating the small door at the aft of the main cabin.

'The helm,' Teldin answered. He swung the door open to let Gorase look into the cramped compartment, little