Page 54 of The Garnet Daughter
“Move aside, Frithian!” He points, feigning authority.
I regard him flatly and shake my head.
“Convincing or no?”
“No,” I say and place a blade in my boot.
He laughs, the cheerful sound muffled by the helmet. He places a small but powerful gun under the armor of his forearm and another in his waistband.
“This dock is quite empty. No officials took our information or replied to our outgoing comm that we were landing.” Commander Wesley steps into August’s space as he passes to retrieve more weaponry, making sure the task is taken seriously.
“What does that mean?”
“It means either no one works at the dock or we’re about to walk into something unsavory,” August mutters.
“Should I fold into town and take a look around?”
“No,” he says. “We do this together. But if we are ambushed, make sure you fold back to safety with the right commander.”
“I can tell you apart.”
“Can you?” I can hear the sly smile in his voice.
I groan at his attempt to lift my spirits, but I don’t plan on forgiving him anytime soon. He is here now and we need help, but I don’t have to approve.
Commander Wesley pushes the ramp button and the mechanics answer, working as the door opens, letting in the dry outside air of our next destination.
“How exactly did you know I was leaving, August?” I say right up into his visor.
The shock of my tone shift makes him take a step back.
“Come on, Calliape. Suddenly a trip to the birthlands appeared on the Viathan manifests, and I know you.”
I roughly brush past him and descend the ramp with Commander Wesley. I follow him out of the ship into an empty docking bay, tools and machinery left unattended as if abandoned.
The town square connects to a small village, lined with stone homes, vacant. Some show damage, with char marks and smoke trails from an extinguished fire. The atmosphere is ghostly, no sign of life, human or animal.
“Appears deserted.” August inspects our surroundings with caution. His armor keeps bumping into me, like he’s not used to the extra bulk but wants to stay close.
“The population is minuscule,” Commander Wesley reports.
“There.” August points to a building with a small candle in the window. The sign above is broken, the painted letters and alcohol barrels chipping and faded.
Commander Wesley takes the lead, guiding us toward the building, hand rested on the weapon on his hip. “Stay close.”
Inside, it is dimly lit. Tables and chairs furnish the space with a large counter in the middle, like some sort of dining hall. Askew paintings hang on the walls; I run my finger over the many holes dotting the surface, realizing they may be from weapons fired in this room.
“Hello?” Commander Wesley calls out.
It’s silent.
“Maybe we should knock on one of the homes. Something obviously happened here,” I say.
A sound from the back rooms has both Commander Wesley and August drawing their guns and focusing on it.
But floorboards behind me also creak, and when I turn to investigate, I am looking straight down the barrel of a weapon.
Chapter
