Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

10 | The Faith of Uncertainty

Sweat glistened on Archer's forehead, running down the side of his face as he strained to keep a hold of the line he had in his hands.

"A little to the left," Nelson directed from behind them.

Archer grunted as he moved. "Better?"

"Maybe a little less."

"Are you kidding, mate?" Denver said as they moved back a step. "You just moved us from here."

Nelson didn't seem to mind the complaining. "That looks fine. Tie it off."

Archer tied his portion off and rolled his shoulders, stretching the kinks out of his back. He found out rather quickly that the deckhands of the Avourienne were a tireless cog in the workings of the ship, causing a different part of his body to ache after every day. Fortunately, the gruelling work was a welcome distraction.

The little ticks he kept under his nightstand added up to one month today. One month since Jeanne and the bullet, one month since he'd last seen Orphano. The weather held no consistency; sometimes he couldn't sleep from a raging storm rocking the ship, other days he felt his skin turn darker and darker from the constant sunlight. He got up, completed his heavy workload, took his meals in silence and stepped out of Silta's way. He spent his evenings with Denver and Nelson, drinking the only thing that could make him forget. Since the navy ship incident, he'd managed to avoid speaking with anyone who wasn't a deckhand—but sometimes, when he passed Silta on the deck or they ended up in the same room, she'd toss him that marble, and he'd toss it back, too proud to ask why.

Licking his dry lips, Archer headed to the water barrel, expertly keeping his head down as Britter came by, shuffling a few maps on his way to the strategy room. As the sun began its final leg towards the horizon, he felt that familiar nag in his heart, ready to begin the nightly prayer that no navy ship would be spotted in the coming darkness.

His water was halfway to his lips when Tanner's voice came from the crow's nest.

"Ship ahoy...I think!" he shouted.

All heads on deck swivelled to scan the water. Archer took a step to the side, glancing over the rail to where Tanner was looking.

"Huh," Denver said behind him.

Archer squinted, seeing the ship on the horizon to the east. "Who is it?" he asked Denver. "Do we know them?"

Starle popped out of the navigation room just as Archer voiced his questions. As the assistant navigator, it was odd to see him without Rusher smacking the back of his head or adjusting the pencil in his meaty fingers. "We know them," he declared, leaning against the rail to get a look.

Footfalls sounded from above as Bardarian took the steps of his balcony, parting the crowd that had gathered. He jogged up the steps to the topdeck, speaking to the old wheel scout, Jackson.

Archer followed Denver to the topdeck, where he asked again, "Who is it?"

Jackson handed Bardarian a spyglass, then glanced over at Archer. "The Forlorn," he said. There were no nerves to his tone, but there was definitely something unusual.

"Who are they?" Tanner said, pushing through the group, right until he knocked into Bardarian.

Bardarian made a noise in the back of his throat as he glanced behind him, causing Tanner to take a few careful steps back. The Captain said nothing, just brought the spyglass up again. As he tilted his head up, Archer saw the tattoo on the back of his neck, the Avourienne in script, a common practice for a pirate captain. There should be a symbol of the Avourienne on his ring finger, too—married to the ship, not to a woman—but Archer wasn't the least surprised to find the finger bare. He'd guessed Bardarian right, then.