From his vantage point on the sterncastle, Teldin watched as two halflings-as nimble as children, yet little weaker than human adults-swarmed up the ratlines to adjust the mainmast's single gaff boom. The crew was meshing well, he thought with satisfaction. That reflected well on Djan, the man who'd chosen them. To Teldin's surprise, only two crew members-twin hadozee, known to most of the crew as "deck apes"-had asked to be set ashore when Djan and Julia had explained that the voyage might be dangerous. The Boundless had set down on Starfall, the next world out from Crescent. As he'd promised, Teldin had paid the two hadozee the full sum Djan had negotiated, and the parting had been amicable on both sides. Teldin had assumed his first mate would replace the missing bodies, but Djan had declared it unnecessary. They already had enough hands to sail the squid ship efficiently… and, further, two fewer mouths and sets of lungs might make a difference over a long voyage.

Apart from the hadozee, the rest of the crew seemed more stimulated than disheartened by the news that the voyage might be risky. Or, more likely, Teldin thought cynically, it's the fact that they're getting paid twice what they expected that's making the difference.

Several of the crew had approached Teldin personally to thank him for leveling with them, for giving them the chance to decide whether or not to put their lives at risk. Further, they'd insisted on taking him out for a glass of sage-coarse-which had quickly become several glasses-at a strange little tavern on Starfall called The Philosophers' Rest. Surrounded by sages, metaphysicians, and philosophers- and a healthy number of would-be intellectuals-all discussing and arguing over contentions that had sounded meaningless to Teldin, they'd repeatedly toasted their captain's health.

It was surprising, the Cloakmaster had thought at the time; most captains must just keep their crews in the dark. But he couldn't have done that. He had an ethical and moral responsibility to them. He had to give them the chance to chart the courses of their own lives.

There was only one crewman who hadn't responded in any way that Teldin had expected. Instead of being pleased that he was getting paid double, he'd been surprised, even outraged, that Teldin had even considered it necessary. That man was Beth-Abz.

Beth-Abz. He was a strange one. Teldin hadn't experienced any repetition of the strange "revelations," if that's what they were, but then he hadn't been close to the man often. No, the Cloakmaster could only judge Beth-Abz's characteristics based on the reactions of others. Those reactions painted a strange portrait.

Even several weeks into the voyage, he still didn't seem to fit in-in any way-with the rest of the crew. The others on the same watch avoided him as much as they could and never spoke to him unless they absolutely had to. That would have bothered another man, but Beth-Abz seemed oblivious. Or maybe he was grateful; he showed no desire to talk to his crewmates either.

The broad-shouldered man was on the forecastle at the moment. He was supposed to be greasing the central bearing of the catapult turret, Teldin remembered, but the bucket of fish oil and the long-handled brush lay on the deck, while Beth-Abz stood against the port rail, staring off into the depths of space. The gunner's mate-Allyn, a weather-tanned, aging man who reminded Teldin of a piece of chewed leather-was rubbing linseed oil into the catapult's shaft, occasionally stopping to shoot venomous glances at the big warrior's back.

I've got to do something about this, Teldin told himself. He knew that Djan had already spoken to Beth-Abz, but the first mate's lecture obviously hadn't taken. Maybe what was needed was a dressing down from the captain himself.

"Hey." Teldin called to one of the crewmen passing below him on the main deck. When the fellow looked up, the captain pointed forward. "Get Beth-Abz," he ordered. "Send him to my cabin immediately." From the crewman's smile, quickly hidden, he knew he was doing the right thing. Beth-Abz was bad for morale, and one of the major lessons Teldin had learned from Aelfred Silverhorn was the importance of morale aboard ship.

Teldin climbed down the ladder to the main deck and headed forward into the forecastle. Julia sat in the saloon, eating a late dawnfry. "Got a minute?" he asked her as he passed. "I've got to speak with a friend of yours." Without waiting for an answer, he walked through into his own quarters.

She followed him, shutting the door behind him. "Beth-Abz?" Her tone made it more statement than question. Teldin nodded.

A knock sounded at the door. Hastily, Teldin sat down at one end of the table, indicated for Julia to sit to his right. "Come in," he called.

The door opened to reveal Beth-Abz. The big warrior seemed to fill the low doorway. "Captain?" he said in his rough, emotionless voice.

"Sit down." Teldin pointed to the seat at the opposite end of the table from him.

As the black-haired man seated himself, Teldin watched him with undisguised curiosity. There's something about him I don't understand, the Cloakmaster told himself, something that makes him seem alien. Was it his eyes, maybe?

Teldin focused his attention on the man's face.

His skin was smooth, without a trace of wrinkles; there weren't even squint lines around the eyes. And the man's eyes themselves were so pale as to be virtually colorless, "spit-colored" as some friends had once used the term. But it wasn't just the color, was it? It was their unusual steadiness, the way they fixed on a single point without shifting around as most people's did. Teldin realized he was leaning forward involuntarily, trying to get a better look at those eyes.

The image struck him without warning-struck him so hard it forced a gasp from his throat. For an instant, perception that wasn't quite sight overlaid his vision of Beth-Abz. His mind was again filled with an impression of daggerlike teeth, but now to that image was added a churning mass of something that could be tentacles, and a single, staring eye.

He reared back in his seat. As suddenly as it had come, the vision was gone.

He felt pressure on his left arm. Julia had grabbed his biceps, and was staring into his face. "Teldin… ?" she asked.

The Cloakmaster drew a hand over his eyes. There was no doubt about that, was there? That was definitely an image provided by the cloak.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, let his muscles relax, and listened to his heartbeat slow back to some semblance of normalcy. He looked at Beth-Abz again, bracing himself for a resurgence of the magical image. But this time all he saw was a large, handsome man.

He struggled to keep his voice calm as he said, "You're not really as you seem, are you?"

If the big man gave any response, it was too subtle for Teldin to spot it. "It's over," the Cloakmaster said, more harshly. Julia looked at him as though he were crazy, but he pressed on. "We're not buying it anymore. Drop your disguise now."

For almost half a minute, the only sound Teldin could hear was the pounding of his own heart. Beth-Abz's colorless eyes-unmoving, unblinking-were fixed on his. Teldin could almost sense the intensity of the man's thoughts. Beth-Abz's expression gave no indication when he reached his decision, but the moment was impossible to miss.

The lines and contours of the burly warrior's body shifted, like flowing water. His limbs withdrew into his body, and his body itself shortened and broadened. The chair he'd been sitting in scraped across the floor, pushed back from the table by his new bulk. His head, too, was reabsorbed into the bloated body, to be replaced by multiple, writhing processes that extended upward. As the outline changed, so too did the figure's texture and color. The man's clothes vanished as though they'd been, absorbed into his flesh through his pores. Then the skin thickened, shifted, and cracked into what looked like discrete scales. A mouth opened in the center of the swollen body, and above it lay a great, staring eye.