Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

30 | The Gratification of Uncertainty

Port Trivv, nestled deep in the northern islands, was cold enough to make Archer want to seek the safety of warmth in every passing building. He was freezing to his bones, and he wasn't unthawing any time soon.

"It's damn cold," Britter said, for perhaps the trillionth time.

"It's damn cold," Archer added.

The two of them, along with Rusher, were walking through the streets of Port Trivv with nothing more than their crew long sleeves, constantly cursing the weather. In the past few months, Archer spent most of his time with Rusher and Britter, watching the inferior crew members go about the exhausting work that had once been his job. He steered clear of Denver, choosing to spend his days in fake friendships instead.

"Why do people live where it's this cold?" Rusher asked, breathing out on his hands and rubbing them together vigorously.

"Meat doesn't rot," Archer said. He was far too cold to string together full sentences.

Britter looked over. "Hey—that's a good point."

Archer tapped the side of his head. "Good for more than strategy."

Rusher took a few excited steps forward. "This is the one!" he exclaimed. He gestured to the building on their right.

"That is not the one. It had a red door," Britter pointed out.

"Do you know what paint is?" the navigator threw back.

"They did not paint the pub in the last year," Britter argued.

Archer rolled his eyes. They'd been looking for this famous 'pub' for almost two hours. Alexander and Liam claimed it offered them the time of their lives last year—some variation of extremely cheap drinks and good company—but it was nowhere to be seen.

"Do you think it could be near the south side?" Archer asked. "It might be warmer there," he added under his breath.

"No. North side," Britter said. "Keep walking."

"It's freezing."

"Why didn't you just ask Novari?" Britter wondered. "She'd remember."

"She was gone when I woke up," Rusher replied. "Her and half the crew. No clue where they went."

"Maybe we should get up earlier," Archer pointed out.

It appeared he'd wandered his way to the popular side of the ship. The decreased workload and hours in the strategy room left him constantly in the presence of higher ranks. When he wasn't avoiding Denver, he was with Britter and Rusher, playing darts or cards and waving away anything with liquor in it. Sometimes he'd be avoiding eye contact with Bardarian, other times he'd be fighting to make it with Silta.

On some occasions, when he came down to his room late at night, sometimes even in the early hours of the morning, he'd find her there. She'd always be doing something nonchalant, so he often felt as though he were intruding on her rather than her lounging in his room.

She was there last night, long legs crossed over his covers and back against the wall. She'd been reading something, but she said something simple when he walked in, gave him some bare minimum greeting. It'd been mere seconds before he'd been back in her little trance.

That morning, Silta was gone when he rolled over for the first time—an extremely rare occurrence. So he'd went back to sleep until nearly noon, followed Britter into port for food shortly after, and had been wandering around since then. The sun was beginning to dip already.

"It's getting late," Archer said.

"Minnow's afraid of the dark?"

He thought he'd outgrown that nickname, but apparently he still had a ways to go—and truthfully, he was a little scared. For some reason, he was terrified they were going to be attacked by the same person that had gotten to Silta. Although that was unreasonable on many levels, it still maintained itself as his irrational fear.