Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

08 | The Thrill of Uncertainty

Archer caught up with her in the alleyway, slamming hard into her back. She wasn't running. Why wasn't she running?

"What are you doing?" He pushed her forward. "Move."

"Relax, love," she said, frowning as she glanced at the wall to her left.

Archer opened his mouth to protest again, but a bullet whizzed right past his head. He blinked, his pulse spiking. Silta turned sharply, then glanced at the hole the bullet made in the wall just inches from his shoulder. She looked back at Archer.

"I know you're new here, love, but that means someone just shot at you."

"I know what it means." He ducked as another bullet shattered a stone block to their right. "Why are they shooting at me?"

Silta reached the end of the alley and took the corner onto another street. "I don't think they're shooting at you," she said, eyes scanning the rooftops. "They just haven't got great aim."

Archer tried to shove her forward faster. He should've tried running after Nelson. He could've asked for directions back to port or figured something out—anything would be better than getting shot because of Silta's apparent lack of urgency. "Can we run, please?" he asked.

"Patience, Minnow," she said. "Running draws attention."

"Gunshots draw attention."

As soon as he said it, another shout came from behind him, and those two men came skidding out onto the street. "You have to start running," he begged. "Seriously."

She stopped walking, turning to face the building on their left. "I'm not big on running," she said evenly. "Men are better at it." She reached up to the windowsill of the house, then planted one foot on the ridge and boosted her other one to the eavestrough, where she rolled up onto the roof.

"I'm not big on"—he gestured with his hand to the window, to her on the roof—"whatever that was."

"You can stay down there, if you want." Her voice came from somewhere above as she disappeared from view.

Another bullet. Archer snatched the windowsill and attempted the same maneuver. He got his hands on the ridge and should've been able to pull his body up, but all the movement had caused him to forget the slice on his hand. It gave out at the last second, so he ended up having to perform a weird clamber over the side of the eavestrough, getting to his knees at Silta's feet right as the shingles in front of him split from another bullet. He shuffled back. "Now we run," he said, pushing at her again.

She turned. "Yes, but now we have the lay of the maze better, and—"

"Oh, that's enough," he snapped. "I'm running." He scrambled to his feet and sprinted across the rooftop, leaving her behind. When he spotted the six-foot gap over the alley in front of him, he only had time to panic for a moment before he leaped, blood pounding in his ears and still gushing from his hand. Freefalling now, he floundered for control, losing altitude a lot faster than he anticipated. He lunged for the connecting rooftop, his extended foot just managing to graze the eavestrough.

He crashed onto the other side, knocking the air from his chest. His knees buckled and his face slammed into the shingles, but his momentum was still in full force as he tumbled halfway across the building, sharp edges catching and ripping his uniform before he came to a full stop.

He bit back a groan as he pushed up on his hands, trying to find which way was up.

"Kingsley!"

He got to his knees again, watching as Silta took the same gap, no hesitation in her step. She hit the next roof with elegance and grace, effortlessly rolling back onto her feet without even breaking her stride. "I trained you so much better than that, love," she breathed as she went by.