Djan watched the half-orc scramble to his feet and vanish out the door. Then he turned to Teldin and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he said neutrally.

"As my grandfather always told me," Teldin said, "Troubles are like raindrops; they never come singly."

The half-elf nodded agreement.

*****

Julia, Teldin thought. It couldn't be Julia, could it?

He lay in his bunk, staring off into infinity. Through the closed door he heard someone make six bells. Six bells in the bottom of the night watch-that made it three in the morning by the groundling clock.

It couldn't be Julia…

But… how else to interpret their conversation of earlier that evening? He'd sought her out soon after Dargeth had left, to confirm the half-ore's memories about the catapult repairs. She'd been sitting in the saloon, eating a hand meal and chatting with Lucinus, the navigator. He'd joined her at the table.

After the quick kiss with which they usually greeted each other-just a peck, not the more intense kiss they used to share-he'd said, "Tell me about the catapult."

She'd looked at him blankly. "What about the catapult?"

"What condition was it in?" he'd asked. "When you tuned it with Dargeth after we left Nex."

"I never went near it," she'd responded lightly, and then she'd shrugged. "I know Dargeth was asking for my help, but I was busy with other things and never got around to it. I guess he found somebody else to help him."

"You're sure?" he'd pressed.

"Of course I'm sure," she'd replied. "I'd remember if I did it, wouldn't I?" Four bells had sounded, and she'd got to her feet. "No rest for the wicked," she'd joked. "I've got bridge duty. See you later, maybe?" And with a warm smile, she'd left the saloon.

That's when Lucinus had cleared his throat. "Captain…" he'd started uncomfortably.

"Yes, Lucinus?"

"Captain, I…" The ginger-haired halfling had paused to order his thoughts. "Captain," he'd begun again, "I don't mean to contradict the second mate, but…" His voice had trailed off.

That's when the cold chill had started to invade Teldin's bones, his blood. "But what?" he'd pressed, maybe a little harshly.

The halfling had blinked in surprise at the Cloakmaster's tone-had visibly considered dropping the entire matter- but he'd swallowed hard and pressed on. "I saw her, Captain," he'd said quietly. "I saw her working with Dargeth. I don't know quite what they were doing. I don't know anything about catapults. But they were working on it," he'd stressed. "The two of them. Then Dargeth left, and the second mate continued to work." He'd shrugged. "I didn't pay it any mind at the time, of course, but I do remember it, clear as day. Just thought I should tell you," he'd finished, then hurriedly vacated the saloon, leaving Teldin to his thoughts.

Julia. Could it have been her?

She certainly knew her way around the ship. She'd exhibited an incredible knack for fixing just about anything, from a sprung hull plank to a sticking hatch hinge. And didn't the ability to fix things imply the ability to unfix them, to sabotage them? He knew she was a doughty warrior, despite her pelite size-he remembered the three sellswords she'd dispatched aboard the Nebulon in orbit around Toril. Was she was skilled with her bare hands as she was with a blade? Maybe Blossom's spirit could tell him….

He shook his head forcefully. No. But…

But. His mind kept drifting back to Julia's surprise appearance on Crescent, when the Boundless was readying for departure. The strange, circumstantial tale she'd told about now she'd come to be there. He'd never really felt comfortable with that, had he? Even with Djan's declaration that Teldin was verenthestae, a weaver of the strands of destiny, the coincidence had seemed just too strong, too unlikely. At the time, he'd suppressed his doubts from pleasure at having Julia back in his life, accepting Djan's half-baked metaphysics as a way of denying his thoughts. Now, however, he had to reexamine things. How likely was it-really-that Julia had "just happened" to appear on Crescent right at that crucial moment? Not very likely at all. In fact, astronomically unlikely.

He ground his teeth in frustration. I should have thought all this through long ago, he berated himself. Instead I let myself be blinded, didn't I? I let myself be taken in. Again, by Paladine's blood. By another woman. He remembered Rianna Wyvernsbane, the lustrous fall of her honey-blond hair, the flash of her green eyes.

Her snarl as she lunged at him with his own sword.

Her betrayal.

Teldin writhed in degradation. Another betrayal, by another woman he loved-this time without the intervention of a magical charm, which made it even worse… By all the gods, how could I be so stupid twice in a lifetime? Tears stung his eyes, tears of bitter humiliation.

Yet, was he being stupid now? Was he overreacting, letting his suspicions-perhaps unfounded-get the better of his reason? He forced himself to think dispassionately-or, at least, as dispassionately as was possible given the circumstances.

Maybe he was being too quick to suspect-no, to be honest, to suspect, try, and convict-Julia. Considering his history, his experience with Rianna Wyvernsbane, it was perfectly understandable, he told himself. But did that make it right'

No, it didn't. What was he basing this on, really? On the coincidence of her appearance on Crescent-which, Djan attributed to the Cloakmaster being verenthestae. Although Teldin didn't believe it fully, Djan most certainly seemed to. And on the fact that she denied working on the forward catapult with Dargeth. The first point seemed telling, but-who knew?-maybe the half-elf s metaphysical mumbo-jumbo was right after all. And the second point: it came down to a lapse in Julia's memory, perhaps. The first weeks after leaving Nex had been busy ones, the crew scrambling all over the ship and each other to repair the damage. Wasn't it possible that Julia herself had been so busy that she'd simply forgotten tuning the catapult?

Possible, yes. Likely? Maybe.

He was sorely tempted to seek her out-she had bridge duty tonight, didn't she?-and question her again about the catapult. Maybe if he pressed, she'd remember.

But he couldn't do that. Maybe she'd remember, but if she was involved in the sabotage, she'd pretend to remember. And he'd have tipped her off that he suspected her. It was just like the investigation after Blossom's murder. He couldn't ask the questions he most wanted answered be-cause those very questions would communicate too much to the people hearing them.

He sighed-a sigh that threatened to turn into a sob. What do I do? he asked the overhead. I can't trust her, not fully, but I can't let her know I don't trust her.

He rolled over, let his hand fall to the cocked and loaded hand-crossbow that he'd taken to keeping under his bunk since Blossom's death. When will this all be over?

*****

When would this voyage be over? Grampian asked himself sourly. The ship he'd commandeered was reasonably large as spelljamming vessels went, but that still didn't represent much elbowroom. The sense of claustrophobia that always accompanied travel in space was strong in him.

The crew didn't help. It was all human-a necessity, he had to admit, but still a disappointing one. Like most of his race, he enjoyed the company of his own kind. But there had been none of his race available, and, anyway, "Grampian"-the identity he'd maintained for much too long now- was human, and would presumably hire a human crew.

He sighed, a high-pitched whistling sound. Still, the quarry was near, now: still in the crystal sphere it had entered two days ago, the same sphere Grampian's ship had entered, too, just hours before. Why remain here? he wondered. What was so fascinating that the quarry would remain in this vicinity? The question troubled him slightly. Anything that fascinated the quarry might turn out to be of help to him. And anything that helped the quarry would hinder Grampian.