Live to Venture (#0)

16 | The Familiarity of Adventure

"Barely any people down this hallway," Everson remarked. "Not much of a challenge."

Vallin noticed Silta watching Everson. She knew he was the threat to her skill, right off the bat. She turned around. "We have to get past a large mealroom to get out of this building. There'll be a lot of people in there. The Sirens are blind for now; they're not a problem. The rest have the advantage of numbers, but they aren't skilled."

Everson pushed past Vallin and Silta. "Then let's get down to it."

Vallin passed his pistol to Bates, knowing he needed it more. The dark hallway turned loud with shuffles as the crew followed Silta further into the building. The stones creaked. Vallin remembered the way the wind had whipped against his skin when they'd been on the roof. He hoped Visco and Tailsley would be able to make sail on their own.

Vallin doubled the size of his steps so he could reach Silta again. When he did, she glanced at him, noticed the lack of the pistol, and handed him her knife.

They ran into a few people, scattered around the building as they found their way out. Silta or Everson would get to them first, and they worked well together. They were both lithe fighters, with similar styles. Vallin found himself wondering which of them would win in a fight.

The sounds of silence ceased as the mealroom came into view. Candles had been lit in the absence of light, but the shadowing flickering did little to help the bundled people. As Silta had confirmed, the banished Sirens were almost all stumbling or bumping into things. The rest of the people were huddled, coming to some sort of consensus. Silta ordered the crew to stop before they were seen.

"Empty any pistols as fast as possible," she told them, clearly not trusting them to hold on to them. "Move quick. It's only a matter of time before they send someone to turn back on the gas." Then, she gestured forward, spinning and walking into the room.

She raised her voice, speaking clearly, "Weapons on the ground, hands in the air. No one moves; no one gets hurt." The room was eerily silent at the realization of who it was.

The crew of the Avourienne fanned out behind her, pistol aim swinging. Nobody shot yet. There was still a chance to get out of this by avoiding bloodshed.

One of the huddled people stepped out, raising a pistol and pulling the trigger. The bullet just missed Silta's head, leaving the crew of Avourienne to their instruction. The guns were emptied, leaving it up to knives and hands.

Vallin was rarely approached during a fight, so he had to find his own battles. He glanced over at Silta, doing the same. Her movements were a performance, delicately rehearsed and perfectly executed. He peeled his eyes from her, bringing his knife up.

Bloodshed wasn't exactly the word for it. There were only a few knives, and the rest of the fighting was done with nothing but the body. It wasn't bloodshed, but it was just as nasty.

Vallin was about to reach for someone else when the building hummed. The sound was deep and dark.

He whirled around at the sound, trying to find Silta. She was across the room, crouching down to speak to a someone who was sitting up against the door. Vallin fought his way over to her. As he got nearer, he heard their conversation. The blonde girl—thin and frail, was looking up at her with loving eyes.

"This is good for you," the frail girl whispered.

Silta was still kneeling, not speaking. From the stance of her body, she didn't want to hurt this girl. She glanced up as Vallin approached.

"There was a sound," Vallin told her, feeling too big above both of them. "Is the gas coming back on?"

Silta looked back down. She nodded, but she was looking at the blonde girl.