Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

25 | The Explanation of Uncertainty

Archer hadn't moved much in the last few hours. He simply laid there, sun shining through the porthole in his room, body unable to process what his mind had figured out: Everything solid in his life was simply a story made up to fit the narrative Farley needed.

He tried to sit up, his progress almost as slow as the rest of him. He lifted his head, peeking over at the door he'd left ajar. He'd stumbled to bed last night, stumbled through the night and stumbled through his thoughts like a drunken sailor. And then, finally, when he came to the conclusion, he froze.

He should've wondered why someone hadn't been sent belowdecks to hassle him about not showing up on deck that morning. In fact, they probably had, but someone up there had covered for him. Perhaps it was Lyra or Denver, but more likely it was someone who knew he was putting together a nasty puzzle and decided to leave him to it.

And it was still a puzzle, because so much was missing. He knew what happened, but he didn't understand why—why Farley had concocted such a scheme, why he needed Silta dead. She could answer those questions for him, without a doubt, but he didn't have the energy to crawl back to her and ask.

The door to his room slowly slid forward on its hinges. Denver's face swam in the doorway.

"Archer?" he asked tentatively. "Are you okay? Afternoon duties are starting."

He stared at the wall, so bland, so conforming. "Can you get Silta for me?" he asked. His voice was hoarse after his lack of speaking for so long, and it reminded him of the day before he left Orphano. The day he'd come in from the ocean with a brilliant smile and high spirits. Before he'd been told he'd have to murder Jeanne, before he knew anything about Silta.

Denver's squinted a little as he sputtered a nervous laugh. "She scares me a little," he said.

When Archer didn't answer, Denver cleared his throat and didn't ask for further clarification. He turned and moved back out the door.

The seconds stretched out into hours and accordioned back into minutes.

The door to his room shut. There was no indication she'd even entered in the room except the unique feeling of her just being there. "It's Farley," he said. "It all comes back to Farley."

She leaned against the door. She said nothing.

"I need you to fill in the gaps," he said. "And I know I'm not your friend or someone you even like, but you can help me. I'm asking you to."

She took a deep breath, taking a step further into the room. "I'm not sure either, love," she said. "It's all just guessing."

"Your guesses are good enough for me."

She walked further into the room, golden eyes scanning. "Farley met you," she started. "He was just an orphan, just a normal guy, but then he left Orphano with a few boys. Only two of them made it—Farley and his best friend, Tyrian. They were practically starved when we found them.

"We pulled them over the hull, onto the deck. Same thing we always do, same thing we did with you. Told them what they had to do. It was a nasty fight—neither of them were very good and it went on for a long time. But Farley won out."

"He killed someone he loved," Archer concluded.

She didn't confirm, but she didn't need to.

"He became a member of the crew. He ended up being good, but he wasn't always that way. He was bad at hand-to-hand, especially. I find an underdog entertaining, so I took him under my wing, made him good. Taught him things I didn't teach anyone else. Imagine my surprise when years later, you show up using my best tricks and claiming them as your own. Thinking Farley mentored you when really, I taught you everything you know."