Live to Venture (#0)

43 | The Message of Adventure

Silence was the key. Novari had repeated that a thousand times to the crew of the Starling. And still, as she helped to heft them over the rail of the Avourienne, she could hear their feet hit the ground with tiny thumps. Each thump, she winced. This wasn't just a mission she was leading from afar. It wasn't one she was guaranteed to get out of. She needed this to go smoothly.

The Starling had been briefed on a cunning plan: Two of the Starling crew for every one of the Avourienne. Cover their mouth, knock them out, drag them upstairs. If they couldn't be knocked out, they would be gagged. Since the Starling had a crew nearly twice as big, there were enough people to do it all at the same time.

They positioned themselves at the doors down the hallway of the Avourienne. When they were in position, Novari left Brynn to give the command.

They rushed the doors, exploded into the rooms. Shouts, yells and grunts of effort shattered the still night air. There was more shuffling than there should have been, but the Starling was doing their best. One by one, dragged out either unconscious or kicking, came the members of the Avourienne. Only two times, one of them broke free, and Novari had to step in. She watched every crew member be pulled from their room and up the steps. So the Devil's crew had lost their fight.

The air was completely still, but it hadn't been when they'd approached. It was almost as if the night had calmed for her, for them. She stayed unmoving belowdecks, the only one left in the now-silent space.

She glanced down the hallway. Somewhere down there was her room.

She had never been one to let emotions get in the way of a plan, but her feet moved without permission. She walked all the way down the hall, cracked open the already ajar door.

It was a shrine. It had not been touched, been entered. Her blankets were all the way she'd left them, the extra boots and shirts still ordered nicely. And there, curled into the pillow, was Novari's kitten. Except Minnow wasn't a kitten anymore; he was a fully-grown cat that seemed to have aged ten years in one. His whiskers were graying and his fur was matted. The pillow was indented as if the animal hadn't moved in ages.

Minnow lifted his head when she entered, almond eyes on her. He hissed, and Novari flinched. Traitor, he seemed to say.

"Novari."

She whirled around, reaching out and twisting the pistol out of Rusher's hands before even realizing it was him. She got a firm handle on it and put to it his forehead.

"Shoot," he said. "Please."

Novari blinked, then lowered the pistol.

He took a step forward, once-lively eyes now defeated. "I'd rather be the first," he said. "I just can't bear to be the last."

Novari raised the pistol again. It was going to happen. Slint wanted them all upstairs—probably so he could do some stupid spiel and risk the luck that they'd already had. The least Novari could do was give Alexander his wish.

He nodded, then closed his eyes. He leaned forward a little so the pistol touched his head. It was a soft, understanding gesture in the darkness.

Novari didn't move for a moment. Then, as the desperation she'd holed up inside of her released, she lowered the pistol again.

"I'll take you with me," she said. He was talented enough that Slint might go for it.

"Never," he whispered, a fight in him still. "I die with Bardarian. I die with my friends."

Bardarian. That name, that presence. He was here somewhere.

It hit her, fierce, heavy. He was here. Britter was here. Rusher was here. Everyone was here. The smell of the ship, the feeling of the magic, the pull of her soul. It was all here.