Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

08 | The Tricks of Uncertainty

Archer's hand was nothing but constant, searing pain. He took a sharp breath through gritted teeth as another wave came. The curly-haired woman who Denver declared the doctor of the Avourienne glanced up at him apologetically.

"Sorry about this, Kingsley, but I need to clean it to determine if you need stitches. It's all gnarled from the rope." The doctor didn't look up again as she continued to blot at Archer's hand. She inspected it closely, then said, "I think you'll heal fine without. I'll just wrap it, and then I'll be out of your way."

"Thank you," he replied, glancing next to him. Silta was slouched down on the couch in the strategy room, ankles crossed on the coffee table in front of her. The blood on her jaw hadn't been hers, and after washing it off, she looked utterly unfazed.

They didn't speak as they waited. Apparently the gunshots—the thrill, the danger—didn't seem to bond them whatsoever. The only indication she knew of his presence was the occasional toss of a marble his way. After one of the tosses, she let out a sigh and shifted slightly.

It was just a small action, but it caused a muscle in her thigh to flex. He watched it relax again, settling back into a harmless state. Genetics, Kingsley, Britter had said.

Genetically speaking, her body was evolved for ocean pressure, and therefore a better foundation for muscle. She could probably build it in places others couldn't, a good trait for acrobats and unique movements. Still, she couldn't throw punches like a bigger man, and she struggled to keep up with them in terms of speed and cardio. Silta would not be able to beat Bardarian, or even Archer, without some incredible feats of creativity.

The door opened and Bates hurried through, followed by a calm Bardarian. In seconds, Silta was on her feet.

Sighing at her immediate aggression, Bardarian shook his head and mumbled away a laugh. "Nelson relayed your threat to me," he said, settling into his chair. "But I have a feeling he left out some of the more colourful wording."

Her words were composed but sharp, "You knew there was money out for me."

He shrugged. "I hear things." He raised his eyebrows as he glanced up at her. "Did I not mention it to you?"

"Liar," she said.

Miller cleared her throat as she continued to wrap Archer's hand.

"Liar, sir," Bardarian corrected.

Silta took a few steps forward, that same muscle flexing and relaxing. Maybe if he pissed her off enough, Archer would get to see exactly how she would beat a man twice her size.

Instead, she spoke calmly, "You sent me into an attempt on my life. You gave me nothing to work with but duds."

"Well, now, darling let's not be dramatic," Bardarian replied. "My minnow is hardly a dud. I heard he did fine." He leaned back in his chair without glancing across the room at Archer, who refused to feel praise. Praise from Bardarian was praise from a killer, but it was also combat praise from a legend of combat.

"I could've picked Tanner," Silta replied, clear tone slipping. "You would've had a dead deckhand and I would've had a two-on-one."

Bardarian glanced up at her with a simple smile. "I've seen you effortlessly handle two men," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Silly you," she said, ignoring whatever degrading innuendo that had been. "Forgot to mention the bounty, isn't that right?"

"Downright foolish. I fear I'm quite forgetful these days." He shrugged again. "Old age, perhaps?"

She nodded slowly. Stared him down, picked apart his act.

He tilted his head. "I'm not exactly known to be the brains of the ship. I believe that's you." It was a smart reply, but he only spoke again to stop her from keeping that stare on him, Archer knew.