That had been-what?-three weeks ago now, give or take. While he'd tried to use the liquor sparingly, only when he felt he couldn't handle the insomnia any longer, his self-control had been slowly slipping. For the last three-or was it four? or even more?-nights running, he'd hit the sagecoarse hard. He shook his head carefully, so as not to aggravate the dull ache. This isn't the way it should be, he repeated.

Slowly he swung himself out of bed. Not bothering to dress, he expanded the cloak to its full size and wrapped it around his body. He headed out onto the deck, stopping only at the water barrel to wash the sour, dead taste out of his mouth.

Wildspace in this crystal sphere was cool but not cold.

The air was brisk on his skin through his cloak and cotton undergarments. Although it made his headache spike momentarily, the relative chill seemed to clear the cobwebs from his brain, giving his thoughts more clarity. He removed the starchart from its tube and unrolled it, comparing what it showed him with what he could see over the Foots railing.

This was the major problem with traveling alone, he admitted to himself. Even using the cloak, he could control the ship only for limited periods before he grew too exhausted to continue. At first he'd managed only four or five hours before his thoughts started to fog up and his control of the vessel started to slip. With practice, though, he'd brought himself along so he could helm the Fool at full speed-more than four times normal spelljamming speed, he guessed, even without additional crew-for more than twelve hours. In that time, he figured-based on what Sylvie, the late navigator for the Probe, had once told him- the small vessel could travel more than a hundred million leagues. A literally unimaginable distance, he thought for the thousandth time, particularly for a know-nothing farmer. That was a distance equivalent to traveling around Krynn's equator more than seven thousand times in a single day. How could people ever take spelljamming travel for granted?

Anyway, helming the ship accounted for twelve hours of every twenty-four. The rest of the day was taken up with the maintenance chores that every ship requires, with charting and checking his course, but mainly with sleep. During that time the Fool simply drifted. In wildspace, it usually-and "usually" was the key word-kept to roughly the same course it had held when under power, and maintained a decent speed. Travel in the Flow was quite another matter, there were rivers, eddies, even whirlpools, in the phlogiston that could catch the drifting ship and fling it in totally unpredictable directions. Considering, Teldin was surprised he'd ended up at the crystal sphere he'd wanted to reach.

It had been worth the inefficiency, and the risks, however.

On first leaving Radole, he hadn't had any real plans. He'd just wanted to get away-away from the elves, away from the bionoid Hectate, away from everyone and everything that reminded him of the burden on his shoulders. His first couple of days in space he'd spent mired in self-pity, alternately cursing himself and the fate that had seen fit to afflict him with the ultimate helm. Eventually, he'd rid himself of these negative feelings as he'd known he would, and was able to concentrate on finding a solution, rather than just dwelling on the problem.

If he'd hoped to come up with the answer, the one, simple key that would solve everything, he'd have been disappointed. What he did find, however, was a new way of looking at the matter. Plainly put, he didn't have to make a decision now-at least, not the central decision, whether or not to become the Spelljammer's next captain. Even if he were to decide-either in the affirmative or the negative- exactly how would that change things here and now? If he chose "no," he had to learn how to be rid of the cloak, and how to keep it out of the hands of those who'd use the Spelljammer for ill. If "yes," he had to track down the ship. Either course required that he learn a lot more than he currently knew.

Which, of course, nicely defined his next move. He had to find out as much as he could about both the Spelljammer and the ultimate helm. The question, then, was how?

For a while he'd considered returning to Herdspace to question One Six Nine again, but he'd eventually discarded that idea. How could he be sure the giant slug-sage was telling him the truth, and not shading his answers to manipulate Teldin into doing what the fal wanted him to do? Certainly, One Six Nine didn't seem to have any personal interest in the cloak-and Teldin couldn't envision the creature wearing it-but did that reflect reality, or just the Cloak-master's ignorance of the situation?

The same argument held for the elves, the gnomes… and everyone else, for that matter. For all he knew, any sage he approached might have some hidden agenda concerning the ultimate helm and the Spelljammer itself. No, he had to find some totally objective, uninvolved source of information: a library-a daunting conclusion for a barely literate farmer, but one he couldn't avoid.

While on the Rock of Bral, Teldin had heard stories about a massive library or archive, allegedly the greatest repository of knowledge in the universe, located on a world called Crescent in the crystal sphere known as Heartspace. He'd brought the Fool in for a landing at Remagin, a small port on the world of Whyst in the same sphere as Radole, to learn more.

Most people had heard at least something about the Great Archive on Crescent, but didn't know where in the universe it could be found. It took Teldin almost two days to track down a sage who not only described the way to reach Heartspace, but also sold him a starchart for that distant crystal sphere. Armed with the information he needed, Teldin took to the spaceways again, setting a course for Heartspace.

He rerolled the chart and inserted it back into its protective tube. Allowing himself a tight smile of satisfaction, he rested his hands on the rail, looking forward along the Foots course.

Directly ahead of the small vessel was the sun of Heart-space, the fire body at the center of the crystal sphere. It was much dimmer than the sun of Krynnspace-so much so that Teldin could stare directly at it without pain-and it had a cool, brick-red color to it. From what the chart told him, the sun-predictably called "the Heart"-was more than ten times bigger than Krynn's own sun, a bloated, tenuous thing reaching the end of its natural lifespan, destined to become a solar cinder in "only" a few more million years. At this distance, though, it looked only a little larger than the midsummer sun had from Teldin's north field.

He watched the sun for a few minutes, trying to detect the slight changes in size that gave the Heart-and, hence, the entire crystal sphere-its name. According to what the Whyst sage had told him, the Heart "beat" slowly, expanding and contracting by a slight but noticeable margin over a cycle of a few hours. What must it be like living here, the erstwhile farmer asked himself, under a sun that's not a constant thing?

If he gave himself enough time, he knew, he'd be able to see the Heart change size. But he didn't have the patience for that, not now. According to the chart and his own admittedly inaccurate observations, he was less than a day's travel from Crescent, with the ultimate helm powering the Fool.

Excitement tingled in his chest. If the Great Archive was as wonderful as everyone had claimed, he should be able to find out-for himself, without any intermediary to distort the information-more about the mighty Spelljammer. Maybe he'd find what he needed to know to make the grave decision that was always weighing on him… and further, what he needed to know to actually implement the decision once he'd made it.