"The Broken Sphere" - читать интересную книгу автора (Findley Nigel)

Chapter Twelve

"This is how it got in," Djan said quietly.

Dully, Teldin looked up.

The half-elf was standing by the starboard "eye" porthole. With a fingertip, he traced a smooth-edged hole, not much bigger than a man's clenched fist, that had been cut in the glass crystal. Then he crossed to the corner where the short sword was driven into the decking, surrounded by the spider's fragments. He stirred the shards with a booted toe. "A highly sophisticated magical construct," he mused. "We're dealing with a high level of magical power here."

The Cloakmaster turned away again. What did it matter? What did anything matter? He looked down again at the still body of Julia at his feet and knelt beside her again. Djan had arranged the corpse, crossing her hands on her chest, then covering her with a blanket from Teldin's bunk. For that he was glad. He knew all too well that if he looked at Julia's peaceful, pale face again, he'd lose control.

I killed her.

His thoughts kept turning back to that hideous, unescapable fact.

I killed her, when she was here to save my life. I distrusted her; I mentally accused and convicted her of treachery. And then I killed her. He swallowed a sob, fearing that if he let his control slip again, he'd never get it back.

Djan came toward him and squatted down beside him.

You didn't do this, Teldin," he said, his voice quiet and intense, as though he were responding to the Cloakmaster's churning thoughts. "They did it."

Teldin looked up at his friend. He felt the unshed tears burning what he knew were haunted-looking eyes. "I was the one who pulled the trigger," he croaked.

"What else were you supposed to do-supposed to think-when you saw what you did?" The half-elf shook his head impatiently. "You didn't kill her. Do you blame a sword when it kills? No, you blame the person wielding the sword.

"You're the sword, Teldin," he pressed on. "That's the way it worked out. You may have struck the blow, but the responsibility lies with those who set things up so that you had to."

Teldin shook his head. The half-elf s words were persuasive, but he knew he wouldn't be able to absolve himself of responsibility that easily. At best, he shared responsibility with the saboteurs, the poisoners, the people who'd tried to kill him with the magical spider. But, still, it had been he who'd pulled the trigger. He remembered the small crossbow bucking in his hand, the bowstring singing its lethal song. He shuddered and closed his eyes.

He felt a grip on his arm-tight enough to be painful. He opened his eyes again and looked into Djan's face. He saw a new emotion there-anger.

"No," Djan snapped. "What's done is done-a tragedy, a terrible tragedy-but it's done, by the mind of Marrak! You can choose to accept that and work to find out who's behind all of this, or you can choose to turn in on yourself, spend all your energy on punishing yourself."

"Maybe I deserve punishment," Teldin mumbled.

"Maybe you do," the half-elf echoed, "but leave that to the gods. That's what they're for. Will torturing yourself solve anything? Will it tell you the names of the killers? Will it bring Julia back from the dead?"

Teldin jerked as if stung.

Djan's grip on his arm slacked off. "I know it's hard, Teldin, maybe the hardest thing you'll ever do, but you've got to put it behind you, at least for now." He smiled wryly. "If you want to torture yourself, you'll have the rest of your life to do it… which might not be long unless we figure out what to do now."

"What?"

"They tried to kill you once, my friend," Djan stated, "whoever they are. You can bet they'll try again, unless we think of some way of stopping them."

Teldin nodded slowly. Djan was right, he knew. Self-pity and self-blame weren't any kind of answer. He'd known that all his life, and had been confused-and vaguely disgusted-when he'd seen others crippling themselves with self-blame.

And yet it was so seductive. While he was busy blaming himself, he wouldn't have to take action, wouldn't have to do anything. It was a nice, safe excuse, with the added advantage of a smug sense of moral superiority. Sure I'm not doing anything, but look how guilty I feel…. Seductive, but totally pointless.

He forced himself to his feet, driving his guilt and his sadness into the recesses of his mind. He knew all too well that he'd have to deal with them sometime, but his friend was right: now wasn't the time for self-castigation.

Think, he told himself.

"Who else knows about what happened here?" he asked after a few moments. The vague outlines of an idea were taking shape.

Djan raised his eyebrows. "Nobody," he answered, "I heard noise and came to investigate. I don't know if anyone else heard anything or not, but nobody else came with me." He gestured to the closed cabin door. "When I saw what had happened, I shut the door." He shrugged. "I don't think anybody else knows anything happened here… apart from the murderers themselves, of course."

"Is Dranigor on the helm?" Teldin asked, thinking about the helmsman's expanded perception.

The half-elf shook his head. "Why should he be? No, he's still resting up from his injuries."

The Cloakmaster nodded. He thought he had his plan. It would be difficult-not practically, but emotionally-but it might just lead the murders to show their hand and reveal their identities….

"What if the murderers succeeded?" he asked Djan quietly.

*****

While Djan went aft to spread the word of the captain's "foul murder," Teldin spent a few minutes in his cabin.

The face and body he'd assumed-using the cloak's shape-shifting powers-felt alien, his balance very different from normal. He touched the smooth skin of his cheeks and felt the tears that leaked from eyes that weren't his.

I'm sorry, Julia, he thought. Wherever you are, forgive me. Forgive me for taking your life, and forgive me for this deception.

He straightened his spine, brushed his short, copper hair back from his face, and opened the door. "Julia" walked out into the saloon, carefully shutting and locking the door of the captain's cabin.

There was a handful of crewmen in the saloon, standing around uncomfortably in silence, as though they didn't know how to react or where to go. When they saw Julia emerge, they dropped their gazes and looked away-looked anywhere but at the petite woman. Nobody stopped Teldin as he crossed the saloon. Nobody spoke to him-which was just as well, since if he'd been forced to speak, the deception would have come to an end instantly. He hoped that, if anyone did try to talk to him, he could just pretend to be too overcome with emotion to speak. Everyone on board knew about the on-again-off-again relationship between the captain and the second mate, and would presumably expect Julia to take her erstwhile lover's death hard.

The entire ship felt heavy and somber, Teldin thought as he emerged onto the main deck. Or was that just his own emotions coloring his perception? No, he decided after a moment, the sense of depression was real enough. The ship had lost its captain-or so the crew thought-and that was a major tragedy. Julia's lips quirked in an ironic smile. I'm one of the few people who know how people react after he's died, he told himself.

There were a dozen crewmen on the main deck and the fore- and sterncastles, working to repair the damage inflicted by the beholder's death spasms. Actually, at the moment they weren't working, just standing around as though they didn't know what to do, as though waiting for orders from their dead captain to get back to their lives. As he crossed to the ladder leading belowdecks, Teldin observed them from his peripheral vision, watching for some inappropriate reaction-a sense of satisfaction, perhaps. He knew Djan was already belowdecks, moving among the crew, looking for the same kind of thing, waiting for the murderers to take the next step in their plan.

Suddenly he heard a yell from belowdecks. "Fire in the hold!" From another part of the ship, a hoarse scream sounded, followed by the crash of footsteps. He sprinted down the ladder, almost falling as he forgot to compensate for Julia's shorter legs. The air was acrid with smoke, which drifted forward from the cargo hold. He ran aft.

The fire was small, a pile of oil-soaked rags burning next to one of the holes the dying beholder had blown in the portside hull. Most of the smoke from the blaze was pouring out through the hull breach, instead of fouling the air of the hold. Crewmen had responded instantly to the warning shout, and three sailors were already throwing buckets of sand on the fire. As Teldin watched, the small fire was extinguished. He heard more commotion in the area of the crew compartments and ran forward.

There was a small knot of crewmen in front of the door to the forward sleeping compartment. One of them-Anson, Teldin saw-clutched a nasty gash in his left forearm, blood seeping between the fingers of his right hand.

"What in the hells is happening?" It was Djan, pushing his way through the crowd.

It was the wounded Anson who answered, his voice rough with pain. "They're in there," he gasped. "They killed Dranigor."

The last helmsman, Teldin thought. With Dranigor, Blossom, and (presumably) the Cloakmaster eliminated, the Boundless should be dead in space.

"Who?" Djan demanded.

"Dargeth and Lucinus."

Teldin closed his eyes and swayed as the world seemed to spin around him. Dargeth, who'd claimed that Julia had worked with him on the forward catapult-probably just to sew dissension and suspicion, he recognized now, a psychological analogue of physical sabotage to the ship. And Lucinus, who'd reinforced it by contradicting Julia's claim that she'd never touched the catapult. He ground his teeth together, struggling to bottle up the scream that threatened to tear from his throat. Paladine's blood, I'll kill them…

"Tell me what happened," Djan ordered.

"They came in, swords drawn," Anson replied, "ordered us all out of there. We were unarmed. What could we do?"

The half-elf pointed at the man's wound. "You tried to do something."

Anson grimaced. "For all the good it did. Before Dargeth shut the door, I saw Lucinus kill Dranigor in his hammock, just slash his throat open. Then they shut the door and secured it."

"Why?" Djan asked. "They're planning to just hole up in there? What are they…" The look of shock on the half-elf s face told Teldin he'd come to the same conclusion that the Cloakmaster had reached.

"They're expecting help," Teldin stated flatly. "Rhom, get up on deck. Keep a close lookout for other ships. Now!"

The crewman he'd named paled as he heard his captain's voice coming from Julia's mouth. But at least he didn't stop to question. As he sprinted away, Teldin turned back to the other crewmen and the door.

"I want them out of there," he almost snarled.

The crew turned shocked eyes on him. "They're armed," Anson said.

"So get weapons yourself," Teldin snapped. "I want them." To emphasize his point, he drew Julia's short sword from the scabbard on his belt.

While Teldin and Djan watched the door, the crewmen vanished, reappearing a few moments later with knives, swords, belaying pins, and other weapons. They looked tense, ready… dangerous. The Cloakmaster smiled grimly. He let his disguise slip away, let his body return to its normal form. The time for secrecy was past.

He saw the expressions on the faces of his crew-bewilderment, shock, but, most of all, relief coupled with renewed confidence. They've got their captain back, he told himself. He felt a flush of pride. Sword at the ready, he stepped forward and tried the door.

Predictably it was secured-latched from the inside, maybe secured in other ways, too. He hesitated, feeling a faint, almost subliminal tingle from the door handle. Magic? Was the cloak allowing him to sense magical energy now? Why not?

He stepped back. "I think the door's been magically sealed," he announced.

Djan raised an eyebrow. "By who?" he asked. "Neither Lucinus nor Dargeth is a mage…" He smiled mirthlessly. "They didn't tell us that they were mages, but then they didn't tell us they were saboteurs and murderers either. So, how can we counter if"

Teldin felt rage flaring within his chest. May the gods damn them to the Abyss! he thought. Saboteurs. Murderers. He felt his lips draw back from his teeth in a snarl.

He felt the cloak around his shoulders resonate with his anger-felt the cloak's power feed the rage, and vice versa. His fury swelled in his heart, moving like a live thing, with its own will and desires-like the thing he saw in Beth-Abz's mouth in the dream, he recalled, a bloody, writhing thing fighting for relief. Never had he felt anything like this before, this sensation that his rage was somehow independent of him, with its own distinct existence. That it could burst from him if only he let his guard down…

And why in the hells not? he demanded. He felt a growl nimble in his throat. The power of the cloak flared through his bones and sinews, pulsing in time with his racing heart.

Gods damn you…! With a wordless yell, he thrust with his sword toward the door, as though he were about to run it through. The power of the cloak virtually exploded within him, channeling down his arm and through the sword blade. With a thunderclap, an invisible bolt of force struck the door, shattering it from its hinges and driving it into the compartment beyond, to slam against the forward bulkhead. Ears ringing from the noise, Teldin leaped into the doorway.

Part of the door had slammed into Lucinus, knocking the halfling off his feet and stunning him. Dargeth was unharmed, however, his face twisted with mixed fear and anger. The half-orc pointed a finger at Teldin's chest and muttered a harsh phrase under his breath. Four tiny projectiles, burning like coals, burst from his fingertip and flashed across the intervening space, unerringly heading for their target….

They struck the Cloakmaster in the torso… almost. A finger's breadth before they touched his flesh, a scintillating curtain flashed into existence to block the missiles. With a hiss, they vanished.

Dargeth's eyes widened with shock. He scrabbled for his belt pouch-going for the material components of a more punishing spell, Teldin knew.

"No!" The Cloakmaster snarled. He raised his sword, sighting along it almost as though it were a crossbow. The power of the cloak pulsed and throbbed through him, seemingly eager to lash out again if he released it. "No," he repeated.

He could see-almost feel-the thoughts racing through Dargeth's mind. He saw him reach his decision. The half-orc flung the contents of the pouch on the floor and raised his empty hands. "Don't kill me," he gasped. On the deck next to him, the dazed-looking Lucinus pushed his own sword away and raised his hands as well.

"You miserable devil-kin bastards," Teldin growled. His pulse pounded in his ears as the power thundered in his heart and mind. He could kill them both, he knew. The power was there, at his fingertips-more amenable to his control than it had ever been, as though the strength of his emotions somehow refined the link between him and the cloak. It would be so easy, not so much an act of will as the relaxation of will. He felt himself grinning and knew the grin was terrible….

"No, Teldin." Djan's gentle voice sounded from behind him. He felt a gentle touch on the shoulder; he felt the half-elf's presence, his concern. He felt, also, his determination. "No, Teldin," he said again, his voice quiet, but still filled with force.

The point of the sword started to tremble. He's right, Teldin knew, but… I owe them death. For Julia, for Dranigor, for the rest.

"Let it go, Teldin."

The Cloakmaster took a deep, quivering breath and lowered the sword. He saw Dargeth and Lucinus relax minutely as they realized they might live a little longer. He turned away in revulsion. "Guard them," he said tiredly. He stepped out of the compartment into the companionway and leaned against the wall for a moment while his racing pulse slowed somewhat.

I almost killed them, he told himself. I almost set myself up as judge, jury, and executioner in one, pronouncing sentence and carrying it out without any hesitation. He'd never realized he had that capability for swift retribution; and now that he knew, he recognized he'd have to struggle to keep it forever in check.

"Ship ahoy!" The yell echoed down the ladder from one of the lookouts on deck.

In the turmoil of his showdown with Dargeth, Teldin had forgotten what the two saboteurs' actions had to mean. Now realization flooded back. "Battle stations!" he yelled, and he sprinted up the ladder.

"Ship ahoy!" the forward lookout repeated when he saw Teldin on deck. He pointed. "High on the port bow, collision course and closing fast!"

Teldin looked in the direction the crewman indicated.

There, silhouetted against the dull red glow of Garrash, was a shape like a spiral shell, tapering at the bow to a lethal point: an illithid nautiloid. Its piercing ram was aimed directly at the squid ship.