Nigel Findley: The Broken Sphere

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 larger than the minor helm it housed. Lucky I didn't remove the helm the way I was thinking of doing, the Cloakmaster told himself. That would have fired up the officer's curiosity if nothing else had-a spacegoing vessel without a spell-jamming helm….

Gorase spared the helm compartment only the briefest of glances. "And the cargo hold, please," he said.

The Cloakmaster led the way back on deck and indicated the closed hatch near the bow. Without waiting to be asked, he opened the securing bolt and swung back one side of the hatch cover. Gorase crouched down beside the opening, craning over for a better view into the hold. He cleared his throat, and Teldin clearly heard the sound echo in the emptiness.

Gorase stood again, indicating that Teldin could close the hatch cover once more. The officer scratched away at his slate for a few more seconds, then nodded briskly. "You're free to proceed, Master Brewer of the Ship of Fools," he said officiously. "As a visitor to Crescent, your first landfall must be made at the city of Compact. Landing anywhere else is strictly forbidden and will be considered evidence of intent to smuggle. Do you understand?" He waited for Teldin's nod. "Do you have any questions?"

"Just one," the Cloakmaster said slowly. He walked to the rail and looked downward to the planet below. "Just where is Compact? If I land anywhere else, it'll be evidence of getting lost."

For the first time, Gorase's thin lips twisted in what could almost have been a smile. "I think I can see my way free to selling you a planetary chart, Master Brewer," he said wryly.

*****

Gorase's chart had more than paid for itself, Teldin had to admit later. As he'd brought the Fool spiraling down into the atmosphere, he'd compared the geographical features he could see on the world below with the chart. With that chart showing him where to look, he'd managed to pick out the world's major city-Compact, home of the Great Archive. Without that guidance, he'd have spotted the metropolis only by purest luck, or after an extensive search. Even though Compact was said to be huge, and Crescent itself was only a small world, the scales-human and planetary- were so far apart that the city could just as well have been invisible from orbit.

Once he'd known what to look for, however-and once he'd brought the Fool down to a low enough altitude-it had been easy to spot Compact. It had looked to be a huge metropolis, spread three-quarters of the way around a large lake of azure-blue water. As large as Rauthaven, if not larger, Compact had none of that port city's beauty. Instead of the pure white walls and bright red tile roofs, this city had seemed to be all grays, the only bright color being the lake itself.

Teldin had shrugged. It's not as if I'm here for the scenery, he'd reminded himself, and brought the Ship of Fools in on its final approach to the lake.

He now walked the narrow streets of Compact-a strange name, he found himself thinking. I wonder where it came from? From the ground, the city was even more drab than it had looked from space. There were no colors anywhere that he could see. Everything, from the streets, to the walls of the buildings, to the clothing of the citizenry, was rendered in different shades of gray. No colors-not even any black. Even the inhabitants' skin had a gray tinge, Teldin thought wryly.