His fears on that other day had been well grounded, then.
He gazed at the lowering sky, then out at the waves. Where could a lone, friendless man find help in this waste of wind and water?
Slowly, he climbed down the ladder leading to his tiny cubicle.
Once inside, he again started checking over his personal items. There was nothing there to help. Hopelessly, he looked at the collection in the chest, then he got out a scroll of prose and went to the central table to read in an effort to clear his mind of the immediate circumstances.
Minutes later, he went back to his bunk and threw the scroll aside. Possibly, he was just imagining that he was the target of a plot. Possibly there was a real sea god named Kondaro—an omnipotent sea deity, who could tell when persons within his domain were too curious, or harbored impious thoughts, and who was capable of influencing the actions of the faithful.
Possibly, his opinions of the priesthood had been noted and had offended. Or, perhaps, that peculiar little device he had seen a priest studying was capable of warning the god that it had been profaned by an unsanctified gaze. Possibly, this storm was really the result of such a warning. He was sure the priest hadn't seen him, but it could be that the device itself might—
Musa threw himself on his bunk.
A deep voice resonated through the room.
"Musa of Karth," it said, "my master, Dontor, desires your presence on deck."