It would be different if Julia were still sharing his bunk, he thought, a little sadly. They'd slept together the first couple of nights after leaving Nex, and that had dissipated most of the Cloakmaster's stress.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. He forced himself to be honest. What had actually happened had been that Julia had taken on his stress as her own. His edginess had spread to her. While he'd been able to sleep, he'd known from her drawn, haggard appearance in the mornings that she hadn't. When he'd asked what was wrong, she'd been unwilling to tell him, apparently out of some mistaken belief that she could shelter him from some unpleasant reality. It had taken some direct questions to extract the truth.

He was talking in his sleep, she'd told him-incessantly carrying on conversations with friends and colleagues long dead, sometimes yelling out orders to avoid events that had already happened. Even though he couldn't remember them in the morning, she'd convinced him that his sleep was tormented by almost continuous nightmares.

She'd toughed it out for almost a week-never complaining, always trying to be there for Teldin when he needed someone to talk to, or just to sit silently with him. He'd watched the toll it was taking on her, however, and that added to his stress. It hadn't taken him long to realize-and admit to himself-that it wasn't working out, that instead of diminishing his stress, the situation was guaranteeing that they were both suffering from crippling tension. When he'd quietly suggested that they sleep apart again, the copper-haired woman had tried to conceal her relief, but Teldin had seen it clearly. Over the next few days, he'd watched her return to normal as her anxiety had receded.

During the time that Julia had been sharing his cabin, however, she'd helped him reach some important insights into the sources of his own tension. Destiny, he told himself, that's what it all comes down to. Whose destiny do I follow? My own, or the one forced upon me by the cloak?

Or are the two really different? Maybe my destiny is-and always has been-to be the Cloakmaster, to captain the Spelljammer.

It was those questions that were constantly churning through his mind, keeping him on edge, not letting him sleep. He'd thought he'd come to terms with them some time back, in essence deciding not to decide-withholding decision on whether to assume captaincy of the great ship until he'd actually found it. It had made sense, that course of action; what good making a decision now, when he couldn't act on it-might never be able to act on it if he didn't manage to track down the vessel? He'd thought at the time that this tactic relieved him of much of his stress in the short term.

What it had actually done, he recognized now, was simply suppress it-drive it so deep into the recesses of his mind that he wasn't aware of it anymore. But it was still there. Julia had helped him recognize that. It bubbled to the surface in his dreams, keeping his body keyed up to a high pitch of fight-or-flight stress-incredibly self-destructive, since there was nothing that he could actually fight or flee from.

It's almost exactly like the situation Julia was in when we were both aboard the Probe, Teldin mused. He took another swallow of sagecoarse and felt its warmth-and its temporary, sham relaxation-spread throughout his body. Which destiny should she choose? Hers, or that of another? She chose hers, and that's why she left.

Can I make the same decision? he asked himself. Theoretically, yes. For the first time, perhaps, since he'd closed the cloak's clasp around his throat, he had the opportunity to be rid of it. The cloak was a magical item, after all, and didn't the beholder Beth-Abz's central eye emit a beam that suppressed magic? With the eye tyrant's help, he could finally remove the cloak. And what then? Just tossing it overboard would be easiest, letting it drift forever in the Flow. Or, if he decided to follow the long-dead reigar's injunction to keep it out of the claws of the neogi, he could destroy it-burn it on the afterdeck, perhaps, with Beth-Abz's antimagic ray to counteract any magical defenses the cloak might have.

And then I'd be free…

But could he actually do that? For practical reasons, probably not. Just because he'd gotten rid of the cloak wouldn't mean that his many enemies would believe he'd done so. If the foes who were tracking him found they could no longer scry on the location of the cloak, would they believe he'd destroyed it? Of course not. Consciously giving up such power would be against their nature, and of course they'd assume that Teldin viewed the universe the way they did. No, instead of concluding that Teldin had destroyed the cloak, they'd decide that he'd just found some way of suppressing its magical "signature." Further, they'd probably even intensify their attempts to find him, since wouldn't suppressing that signature hint that he'd increased his control over the cloak's many powers?

So, to be free, he'd have to not only destroy the cloak, but inform everyone else that he'd actually done so. And convince them, too, because if they figured there was even a chance he was dissembling, they'd continue to pursue him. How could he do that?

He couldn't, he concluded sadly. It was a paradoxical position in which he found himself. He needed the powers of the cloak to protect him against his many enemies. Destroying it wouldn't get those enemies off his trail, but it would leave him helpless against them.

I've got no choice, after all, have I?

He gulped back the last of the sagecoarse, relishing its fire in the back of his throat. For a moment he considered pouring himself another, but then set the glass aside. What he really needed was fresh air.

The Boundless was on a three-watch rotation, with every crew member on duty for eight hours out of twenty-four. That meant that one third of the crew was on duty at any given time. Even though there was no day or night in wild-space or in the Flow, most human and demihuman crews kept to a twelve-hour day-night orientation, however. During the forenoon and the afternoon watches, two thirds of the crew were usually up and about-one third on duty, the other off but awake. During the night watch, however, most of the off-duty crew was asleep. It didn't make much sense if you looked at it logically, Teldin thought, but he'd noticed it held true on every ship he'd been aboard. That made the night watch-particularly the "bottom" of the watch, after four bells-the quietest time aboard the squid ship.

The saloon was empty as Teldin headed aft, out onto the main deck. Then he climbed the ladder against the port rail, up to the foredeck. Dargeth, the half-orc, was working on the catapult, lubricating the bearings with oil and checking the ropes and fiber skeins for rot or damage. He looked up as Teldin stepped onto the forecastle.

"Captain," the burly fellow said, pulling himself up to his full height. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Teldin couldn't help but smile. Even after weeks of serving aboard the Boundless, Dargeth still seemed as keen and eager to please as he'd been the day he first stepped aboard. "No, nothing," he answered, "just out for a stroll. Don't let me interrupt you." The half-ore relaxed visibly, but still obviously didn't feel comfortable turning his back on his captain to return to work. The Cloakmaster strolled over to the rail and stared out into the swirled colors of the Flow.

After a moment, he felt Dargeth's presence as the larger man joined him. "Did… did the captain come out for some fresh air?" he asked diffidently.

Teldin nodded. "Sometimes the captain would like to forget for a couple of minutes that he is the captain," he said wryly. He turned to regard the big half-ore. "Are you from Crescent, Dargeth?" he asked.