Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

07 | The Thrill of Uncertainty

Archer was listening. Every word, every interaction, and athough he was still confused about what Silta had against his roommate, he knew why she didn't want him on her team.

"You don't want me to know any personal information about the ship," he concluded. "That's why you were so hellbent on getting me off the scout team."

She said nothing.

"You think I'm a king's agent?" he pushed.

"A king's assassin, perhaps."

Archer laughed. The king's assassins—although once a respected, feared branch of royalty—were now an absolute embarrassment of a regiment. Silta's assumption wasn't an assumption; it was an especially witty insult.

"Then why pick me over Tanner?" he asked once he'd sobered.

She kept walking. "If Bardarian told Nelson not to let me go alone, it's because he knows something I don't. I'd rather not have the dud if things get bad."

Archer frowned. He hadn't even realized that exchange before. The amount of information she actively processed was incredible.

"How did you—"

"I just do," she said.

Archer abandoned his formation of a reply when he saw a stray dog run across the road. He'd never seen one before; they didn't have dogs on Orphano. They also didn't have stone buildings or actual shops with actual money, of which Archer had none, since he'd been trading fish for his whole life. He also didn't have any of those comfortable-looking fur clothes, since Orphano was always warm. And he also didn't have—

"Overwhelming?"

Archer glanced at her. He didn't like that she'd guessed his thoughts, didn't like that she was apart of something so monumental to him.

"Did you go through this, too?" he asked, his attempt at an olive branch. "When you left Canale?"

"Not quite," she replied, unphased he knew about her birthplace. "We had dogs on Canale."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Hush," she said. She crouched a little and pulled up next to a building.

"What?" he whispered back.

She ducked under the ledge of a building. "This is the place. No talking, just watching. Don't say a thing, Kingsley." She pushed open the door to a small pub next to them. He followed.

The room was dimly lit, with big wooden mugs on the tables and huge, sweaty men drinking their contents. None of them looked up as they entered. The light conversation continued.

Silta made her way over to the counter, then slid by the wooden gate. She continued down the hallway to the back of the restaurant. She rapped on a door to her right, and a grey-haired man opened it.

"He'll be there shortly," the man said, then closed the door.

Silta didn't respond. She moved further down the hallway, opening the door into some sort of office room in the back.

She maneuvered around the room, which was a tight, small space with a musty smell. She picked up a large trophy on the desk and moved it to the ledge beside the door.

"Do you have a knife or anything, Kingsley?" she asked, looking around.

Archer nodded and touched the longknife Denver had given him. "Why?" he asked.

"Precaution," she said, running her hands over the wall. She spun and tossed something to him, so he reached up to catch it. It was a rock she'd picked off the desk. He tossed it back.