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?"

This time Grampian couldn't control his smile. "I believe I have that covered," he murmured, "in several ways." He reached into his robe and pulled out a small but heavy pouch, lofted it across the room and into the hands of the thief. "Your payment," he stated. "Discuss this with no one if you want to live to spend it."

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.

"Yes?" Teldin asked, suppressing a smile.

The half-ore tugged at his forelock. "First mate's compliments, Captain," he said carefully, as though reciting something he'd memorized, "and he wants to see you down on the wharf, at your earliest convenience."

Teldin nodded. "Thanks,… Dargeth, isn't it?"

Dargeth bobbed his head enthusiastically, as though awed that his captain remembered his name. Then he just stood there.

It took Teldin a moment to realize he was waiting for further orders. "Uh,… that'll be all, Dargeth," he muttered. With another tug of his forelock, the half-ore turned and scurried back down the ladder to the main deck.

Shaking his head, Teldin followed at a more sedate pace.

There's more to being a captain than I thought, he mused. He didn't want a ship aboard which his crew treated him with awe-though he did want them to follow orders, of course. What he really wanted was a ship like the Probe had been with Aelfred Silverhorn as captain, where the feeling had been relaxed, yet everything got done efficiently. Maybe when the ship was underway he'd be able to discuss the matter with Djan and his other officers. At the moment, though, he had other things to think about. There was more to getting a ship underway than he'd ever thought, more details that could be handled only by the captain. Djan's probably thought of another one, the Cloakmaster thought wryly.

He was right. "I'm sorry I didn't know earlier, Captain," the half-elf explained when Teldin met him on the dock, "but"-his voice took on a sarcastically officious tone-"the masters of ships departing from Compact harbor must get official permission from the harbormaster's office." He shrugged. "I think that's the last outstanding issue."

Teldin sighed. "Can't somebody else handle it?"

"Officially, it's got to be the ship's master," the first mate stressed again. "Sorry, Captain."

The Cloakmaster nodded resignedly. "I'll handle it." He looked around. "Which way's the harbormaster's office?"

*****

Once he'd set off along the wharfside walk in the direction Djan had indicated, Teldin found that he was, in fact, glad for an excuse to get off the ship for one last time before they set sail. The decks and compartments of the squid ship were still scenes of chaos, as the crew gamely struggled to get everything shipshape for departure. The consequence of the last-minute work, however, was that there was nowhere quiet where the Cloakmaster could go and wrestle with his thoughts.

Things were different ashore. There were plenty of people around at this time of day-an hour or two before highsun-feast-but none of them required anything of Teldin Moore, captain of the as-yet-unnamed squid ship. The Cloakmaster found himself thoroughly enjoying the stroll. The sun was warm on his skin, and the breeze blowing onto the shore was crisp and refreshing, carrying with it a fascinating melange of odors-tar, woodsmoke, and other scents that Teldin couldn't identify.

The harbormaster's office was half a dozen spear casts around the curving harbor from where the squid ship was moored. It was a low, stone building, little different from the warehouses, suppliers, and taverns that lined the docks. Totally unprepossessing, the building's only feature that set it apart was the small gray flag bearing the white crescent-and-star emblem that Teldin had first seen on the wasp that had intercepted his approach to the world. As he drew nearer, Teldin took a deep breath, bracing himself for another run-in with frustrating bureaucracy.

"What's that?" The cry came from somewhere nearby, and was followed immediately by a female scream of panic.

Teldin looked wildly around him. Gray-clad passersby were staring up into the blue sky, some of them pointing. The Cloakmaster looked up, too.

Something was burning its way across the sky, a teardrop shape of fire leaving a turbulent trail of white smoke behind it. For an instant, Teldin thought it was a shooting star, a space rock that had plunged into Crescent's atmosphere and was now burning up. But then cold realization struck him. He'd seen this before-months ago, on Ansalon, on the last night of his old life. It was a crippled spelljamming vessel, on fire and plummeting to earth.

As he watched, the ship hurtled overhead, now so close to the ground that he imagined he could hear the rushing of its passage and the roaring of the flames. It was definitely near enough that he could make out the kind of ship-a wasp, painted a familiar light gray. The angular ship was crippled-only one wing remained, and Teldin was sure the keel was shattered-spinning and tumbling wildly. If the crewmen were still aboard, if they hadn't abandoned the stricken vessel before it entered its final dive, they were doomed. To punctuate that realization, the burning vessel drove into the surface of the lake about half a league offshore, bursting into splinters on impact.

The people around Teldin were stunned into momentary silence by the terrifying violence of the impact. But then the yells began again, and people again pointed upward.

More ships were rising into the blue sky-three more gray-painted wasp ships, clawing for altitude. Something serious had to be happening above the planet's surface, the Cloakmaster knew. The wasp that had crashed was definitely part of the Crescent Peace Force-maybe the same ship that had intercepted him-and now three more official vessels were heading for space. Just what in the hells was happening here?