8. A Night Out on the Town
A NIGHT OUT ON THE TOWN
TALIA
In the Gateway saloon, wranglers and clerks share a whiskey bottle with merchants and landowners. Whether this is civilization or the absence of it remains a matter of debate.
The second day at the Consortium passed much like the first. On the third day, she stayed late to clear out the stack of field reports. She was the last person out of the office, and when she left, her desk was empty. She was excited to tackle more meaningful work.
It was a little surprising that she hadn’t heard from Holloway yet.
She’d assumed he would write as soon as he found her goodbye note.
She considered breaking the silence first, but what would she say?
She was sorry she’d left without saying goodbye, and she assumed the wedding was off?
That she’d nearly been killed by a bug monster on her first day?
Every time she pulled out her stationery she stopped and put it back.
Better to wait until she did something worth writing about.
That wouldn’t be today. Riven was waiting to escort her, as he had every morning and evening so far, and she was glowing from their conversation when she stepped into the basement.
Then she saw her desk. A new pile of field reports looked ready to tip over.
Easily twice as many files as she'd already cleared out.
Talia took a deep breath, gathering her courage, and walked over to Emmer’s desk. “When do field assignments happen?”
He looked up and sighed. “Fieldwork goes to senior fellows first. Six months, sometimes longer.” His gaze flicked over her. “People die out there. You are in no way prepared.”
Six months. Sometimes longer.
“Of course.” She fought to keep her voice steady.
She let her hand lightly brush his. Disdain prickled under her fingers. Not concern or respect. Just annoyance. So that’s how he really feels.
Her smile didn’t crack until she turned away. She made it back to her desk before she let out a slow breath. She had more reports to copy. Other people’s fieldwork to transcribe. Her mind replayed the interaction, picking apart her delivery.
Peat must have noticed she was spiraling. “It’s not you,” he said. “He’s like this with everyone.”
She doubted it. Emmer seemed to take special delight in shutting her down.
Peat cleared his throat. “You know, a few of us are going to the Broken Wheel tonight after work. Just for a drink. You should come.”
She hesitated. She would have said no a month ago, but she was supposed to be on an adventure.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, offering a smile.
The stack of files hardly seemed to shrink as the day dragged on.
Emmer left for lunch and didn’t come back, then Nadir and Peat headed out around lowsun.
When Talia found herself transcribing the same sentence for the third time in a row, she decided she could leave early too. Her feet felt heavy on the stairs.
Riven was waiting outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, even though she was early. Did he seriously just wait there all day? He straightened when she came around the corner.
“How’d it go?”
“Fine. Busy day.”
“Any progress on the journal?” He gestured at her satchel.
She bristled and glanced back over her shoulder. She kept forgetting he knew. “Some.”
He nodded and started walking ahead. She was stuck.
No closer to understanding the redacted field reports.
No closer to cracking the journal’s secrets.
Riven was her only real friend, and she hardly knew him.
Without thinking, she reached out and caught his arm.
He froze, eyes dropping to where her fingers pressed against his sleeve. She let go.
“Can I ask you something?”
He nodded.
“When we first met, back on the ship,” she said slowly, “you spoke Starscript.”
“Starscript?” His lips quirked. “That’s a rare skill.”
“If you did know anything about the journal, or flux, or how channeling works—”
He cut her off. “Do not trust anyone with those questions, especially not me.”
She almost never asked for help so directly, but she’d grown comfortable with Riven. His dismissal hit harder than she expected, and she fought to keep her expression neutral.
She was tired of being stonewalled—first by Emmer, now by Riven too. She stepped back and felt herself withdrawing, then stopped. No. She wasn’t just giving up. Not today.
Her pulse was racing when she said, “I’m going out tonight.”
“Where are we going?”
“I am going,” she said, “out with some colleagues. To the Broken Wheel. It’s a bar.”
His eyes narrowed. “Boss—”
“I’ll be back by curfew.” She met his eyes. “You were only hired to get me here, right? So you’re not actually my bodyguard, and I’m not asking permission. I’m telling you my plans.”
She held her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting. She wanted to look confident and capable. He studied her.
“Keep the revolver on you,” he said finally.
Her hand went to her satchel, feeling the weight of it. “Got it.”
“And if anything happens—”
“I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t sure it was true, but she needed this. Needed to make one choice for herself.
He gave her a dark look, but he stepped aside. She walked past him, heart hammering, a smile taking over her face. She was going out drinking in a frontier saloon.
The Broken Wheel was delightfully chaotic.
Stepping through the double swinging doors, she nearly sneezed at the sudden bite of sawdust and savuthe smoke.
Every table was packed with every manner of folks—prospectors, wranglers, fishermen, clerks—all mixing together under the gaudy antler chandeliers.
The jangly noise of bad piano playing barely cut through the roar of overlapping conversations.
She hovered in the doorway until she spotted Peat, Nadir, and Webb, who’d claimed a spot in the back. They waved her over and their warmth seemed genuine.
“You made it!” Peat pushed a chair out with his foot. “I was sure maybe meant no.”
She sat, hanging her satchel over the back of the chair.
Peat ordered a round of whiskey, and when he handed her the glass, the brush of his fingers carried good humor and joy.
The whiskey burned down her throat, but it left a sweet aftertaste.
To her left, Nadir laughed and winked at her.
He looked so different here, leaning back a little in his chair. Almost like a normal person.
“So,” Webb said, leaning forward with a crooked grin. He was about her age, but the brush of freckles across his nose made him look younger. “One week down. What’s the verdict?”
Talia set her glass on the table. “It was…educational.”
Nadir snorted. “Those sound like proper Vaelis manners talking. You know, I had to copy field reports for eight weeks straight when I got here. Absolute waste of time.”
Webb raised his glass. “To Emmer Hendricks, crusher of hopes and slayer of dreams.”
Talia laughed. They drank and warmth spread through her chest. Was she making friends?
“Cards?” Webb asked, flashing a deck from his coat pocket. “Gateway Fives. Loser buys the next round.”
Nadir leaned over to whisper dramatically in her ear. “He cheats.”
“I play to win,” Webb shot back.
Webb shuffled and snapped the deck, then dealt. The rules were easy. Easier still for Talia to track the cards. By the third hand, Talia was winning without trying.
“You’re suspiciously good at this,” Webb said, squinting over the fan of cards in his hand.
“Beginner’s luck,” she answered, biting her lower lip.
“Sure,” Nadir murmured. “I think you cheat too.”
“So everyone in the world is cheating now?” Webb asked. “Seems more likely you’re bad at cards.”
Nadir made a vulgar gesture, and Peat choked on his drink.
Webb dealt another hand, and the night loosened around her. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this—talk that wasn’t cautious, friends who didn’t hover, the simple joy of winning something that didn’t matter.
“You’re trouble, Salaren,” Webb said, tossing in his last coins.
Is he flirting? She let a finger brush his wrist as she reached for her cards. His emotions rushed through, curiosity and attraction braided together. Oh, he is.
A small, steady glow built in her chest. Maybe she’d been approaching this wrong. She was so fixated on mysteries about the past, but what if she let herself relax and just experience her own life for once? The work would still be there tomorrow.
“That seems like an exaggeration,” she said, trying not to grin.
She was still smiling when the shooting broke out.
The first gunshots cracked like books dropped flat. The crowded tavern froze. Then chairs scraped, and people scrambled to take cover under the tables.
A wave of cold dread crashed into Talia from around the room. A prickling surge of panic crawled up her legs. Her hand found her satchel, and she was walking across the room before she fully registered the choice. The revolver was heavy and cold in her grip.
Time moved strange and slow as she scanned the room.
Two bodies lay crumpled near the front door, blood pooling dark as ink across the floorboards.
Across the room, near the bar, a sweaty man had one arm locked around a woman’s throat and a smoking gun pressed to her temple.
A stocky bald man was facing them with his back to Talia.
He alone hadn’t taken shelter, and there was something off about his relaxed posture in the middle of a shoot-out.
The bald man turned his head to light a smoke.
She knew him. It was the man who’d cornered her in the flux shop.
Flint, was it? And the woman being held, that was Dawn, the wild pink-haired woman who’d punched him.
The room was frozen. The silence roared in her ears, and the moment felt too familiar, this quiet before violence.
She was back in the market square. The cage tilting, the ruthopanth breaking free. Standing there helpless while people died.
Not again. She couldn’t do this again.
Something hot and reckless was flowing through her. She stepped through the wreckage of chairs, spilled drinks, bodies pressed to the floor. She leveled the revolver. The bald man was so focused on Dawn, he didn’t notice until the barrel touched the back of his skull.
Talia reached around and locked her other arm around the man’s throat, mirroring the way Dawn was being held. “Let her go.”