"Why?" Teldin wondered.

Because of the auction I wish to attend. It seems likely that the arcane will be interested in many of the same artifacts as I am, and that they will send at least one representative to view them… and perhaps bid to acquire them.

"They're interested in the Juna, too?" Teldin asked in surprise. Before Estriss could answer, he went on, puzzled, "But I thought you said the arcane inherited their powers from the Juna in the first place. If that's true, why would they be interested in old stuff that a collector's had for years?"

Estriss was silent for a moment. His facial tentacles writhed, seemingly about to tie themselves in knots… and Teldin realized he now knew what illithid embarrassment looked like. That is my theory, about the origin of the mane's knowledge, Estriss admitted finally, but the arcane I have spoken with deny it, though such a secretive race would probably deny it even if it were true. In fact… The illithid's mental voice slowed down, as if he were unwilling to go on. In fact, the arcane I have spoken with claim to consider all my theories about the Juna as so much foundationless speculation. There was no such race as the Juna, they claim. He raised a three-fingered hand as if to forestall Teldin's next question. Certainly, I believe that if there is an arcane in attendance at the auction, it will lend some credence to my beliefs.

Teldin shook his head. He was convinced there was a logical flaw in the illithid's argument somewhere, but he didn't feel the urge to pursue it. Estriss was entitled to his own beliefs-even to his own monomania, because that's what his research was starting to sound like-and while Teldin found the theories interesting on a casual level, the main issue came down to finding an arcane.

That, Teldin was sure, was very important. Despite the illithid's apparent belief to the contrary, Teldin was more and more of the opinion that the arcane were the "creators" he'd been sent to find. The only way he could think of to confirm this was to talk to an arcane-a situation that would represent its own risks and problems, of course. If Estriss was right, there would be an arcane in Rauthaven… and it might be better if he let the mind flayer think that's what Teldin expected. If not, it shouldn't be too difficult to get passage to the Beacon Rocks. After all, after a voyage from one world to another, how difficult could it be to get to some islands? And if the tales of arcane on the Beacon Rocks proved false, then Aelfred should be able to tell him how to get to Calimport or Waterdeep.

His reflections were interrupted by the loud clanging of a bell, apparently from on deck. He heard running footsteps in the corridor.

Aelfred catapulted out of his chair and flung open the saloon door. "What?" he bellowed.

A crewman who'd been running by-it was the old man, Shandess, Teldin saw-stopped to answer. "Ship ahoy, sir, approaching fast."

"What ship?" Aelfred demanded.

"Lookout says deathspider, sir."

Aelfred nodded. "Battle stations," he ordered. As Shandess ran on, Aelfred turned to Estriss. "Captain?"

Illithid and human left the saloon together. Teldin sat alone in the wash of flow-light, a cold fist of fear tightening on his heart.

Much of the fear remained-of course!-but after a dozen or so heartbeats Teldin was able to shake off the worst of the mind-numbing terror that kept him frozen in his seat. He forced himself to his feet. Where would Estriss and Aelfred be during battle stations? The bridge, of course.

The forward bridge was almost as crowded as it had been during the passage into the phlogiston. The captain and first mate were there, as he'd expected, as were Sylvie and Sweat Tobregdan. Vallus Leafbower was conspicuously absent, but his place was filled by two others, whom Teldin had met but had barely spoken to: Liono Marlot and Bubbo.

The latter two made an almost absurd contrast; even in his present state, Teldin could appreciate that. Liono Marlot, the ship's "tactician," was a quick-tongued man, slender in build, and short. The top of his gray head came up to Teldin's chin… and up to Bubbo's armpit. Bubbo-if the man had a second name, Teldin had never heard it used-was the Probe's weapons master, and his body matched the scale of the ship's heavy weapons, which were his responsibility and chief interest. He was a black-bearded mountain of a man with a good layer of fat sheathing powerful muscles. Friendly in a gruff sort of way, Bubbo would never use two words when one would do and seemed to prefer using none at all. Despite these differences, or perhaps because of them, Liono and Bubbo were fast friends and inveterate drinking companions in the saloon when both were off duty. Their normal camaraderie was absent now, and they shared the same air of tense expectation as the rest of the bridge crew.

Everyone's gaze was fixed firmly forward, presumably toward the approaching neogi vessel. Teldin scanned the bizarre sky of the flow. It was hard to make out anything against that background, through the intervening ribbons and sheets of color.

Finally he picked it out. At this range it was just a black dot, but Teldin's mind and memory filled in the details: a grossly swollen black body and the eight angular legs that gave the deathspider its name. Teldin fought the desperate urge to turn aside, to cover his eyes… to hide, but there was no safety in that. He struggled to force down the terrible memories that threatened to paralyse him. "Fear is the great killer," his grandfather had once told him. "Conquer that, and the battle is halfway yours." How would the old man deal with this, he wondered, a foe he'd never known existed, in an environment he could never have imagined? Very well, more than likely, Teldin admitted with grim humor. In any case, the thought of the old man's calm wisdom seemed to lend him strength. He forced the fear from his mind and observed.

"When did we drop to tactical speed?" Aelfred asked. "I had the alert bell rung as soon as the ship was sighted," Sweor Tobregdan answered.

Aelfred looked upward at the overhead. "What heading the deathspider?" he bellowed.

After a moment, the answer echoed down from above- presumably from the spotter on the forecastle, or maybe relayed down from the high lookout in the crow's nest atop the mast. "Still directly toward us."

The first mate glanced over at Estriss and nodded in answer to a silent order. "Hard a-port," he boomed.

It was impossible to sense the ship's maneuver from watching the flow itself, but the black spot that was the deathspider shifted slowly to the right until it vanished behind the bulkhead.

"We should fight this from the forecastle," Aelfred said grimly.

"It's a fight, then?" This from Sylvie.

Aelfred raised an eyebrow skeptically. "With neogi? Of course it's a fight." He looked around the bridge. "Sylvie, stay below. Sweor, head aft. If we have visitors, I want you in command." Without a further word, he strode to one of the ladders that led up to the forecastle and started to climb. The others-Estriss, Bubbo and Liono-followed him, while Sweor left through the aft door.

Teldin hesitated. What about him? He wasn't an officer, not strictly speaking, but Aelfred, Estriss, and the others certainly seemed to accept him as more than just another crewman. He had no battle station duties-at least, nobody had told him what they were. Probably the best thing he could do would be to stay belowdecks and keep out of everyone's way, but he wanted to see what was happening. He didn't think he could stand knowing there was a neogi ship out there, apparently closing for the attack, but not being able to see how the battle was going. He didn't want to depend on what little information might trickle down to him. That was a sure recipe for madness.