Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

09 | The Death of Uncertainty

The Avourienne slowed, agile and deadly in the silent night. She was the smaller ship, but it didn't feel that way as she pulled in close to the navy one like predator and prey.

Archer, along with the rest of the crew, quickly organized himself and made his way onto the deck. He squinted into the darkness, watching the navy ship sail quietly, not a care in the world.

"Everyone's got a job, Kingsley," Silta whispered, breath hot. "There are catchers to control the ropes and make sure we don't drift, and scouts for the scouts. Three will go down to the storage and loot them for everything they have. Darian will lead the rest of the crew belowdecks; they'll take care of the sleeping crew."

"What about you?" he whispered back.

Her expression was focused; there appeared to be no humour in this for her now, no incorruptible orphan worth bullying in this moment, just the epitome of calculation.

"I go for the Captain, Kingsley," came her reply. "You're with me."

Archer held back his protest. Wouldn't he rather witness her destruction of one man rather than the massacre of an entire innocent crew?

The Avourienne drifted closer, the night almost windless. He saw the scout of the navy ship, high in the crow's nest. He turned towards them but didn't alert his crew.

"Why can't he see us?" Archer asked the pirate on his other side, which happened to be Rusher.

"Devil's handiwork," the navigator said back.

Once the navy ship was close enough, two crew members leapt elegantly from the Avourienne, each with a rope in hand. They landed and rolled, not making a sound. Nelson and the old wheel scout quietly followed. Once they were on the ship, the younger scout began a dangerously fast climb up the mast, his small limbs lithe like a spider while the other scout disappeared around the back to the wheel.

"Here we go," Silta whispered, who Archer followed around the back of the Avourienne. They ducked and quickly made their way around across the deck.

"For extra security," she told him, "the one door to the captain's quarters is guarded. Before Jackson or Nelson get to that guard, we'll go in the window."

He looked at the navy ship as Silta lifted herself onto the rail of the Avourienne with. She was right; there was a guard on the front and a large bay window out the back of the captain's quarters. Archer had almost forgotten how lavish it must be to be a captain for the King—until the Avourienne found you, of course.

Silta stepped off the rail, leaving him to lean over the side to see where she'd gone. She'd slid down to the lip of the Avourienne's hull, balancing like a dancer on the small protrusion of wood. Carefully and slowly, he hefted himself over the rail and let go, landing beside her as the waves thrashed between the two ships.

"What now?" he whispered.

"We jump." She bit down on her knife, freeing up her hands, and pushed off the lip without so much as a second thought. With a small jump over the water, she stepped onto the jut of the navy ship.

Archer looked down at the black water below him. They had no harness, no way to be pulled out if they fell.

She wasn't waiting for him as she reached for the navy rail. He looked up, knowing better than to stare at that dark water. He'd had to jump in Port Marcel, too—from the roofs—but this was so much different. He wasn't being hunted or chased now; he was hunting others.

The distance was far smaller this time, but the mental block was far worse. Swallowing that part of his brain still trying to adhere to the rules of safety, he stepped out, boots slick as they connected with the lip of the navy ship.