I tripped several times while following my guides, nearly trapping myself between the jutting stones that littered the landscape. They weren’t exaggerating when they said this island was mostly rocks. Seemed the small patch of sand we washed up on with our boat was one of the very few. Yet somehow these people had found a way to make it a home. Very small homes rested on long wooden pillars. Not the skyscrapers of Arc City, but impressive in such a harsh environment with a limited amount of lumber.

Rocky terrain meant this also was no dense forest, and PanTech limited the range they could travel on the mainland. In fact, I wasn’t sure they’d been able to reach the mainland before at all. Bereth had mentioned this was a new phenomenon they were dealing with. Perhaps they’d make good use of the extended reach.

“Now, look…” Resnir said, stopping in front of a very loud establishment, reeking of alcohol. Presumably a tavern. “There are a few things you need to know as an outsider. First, we don’t have a ruler on this island. Jeremy is the founder, and is involved in everything. Second, the man isn’t himself.”

“That’s been true for a while now,” Gregory added. “Obviously you can handle yourself, but just… well, best you just see for yourself.”

Resnir swung open the heavy wooden doors, and we walked in.

Normally these types of establishments didn’t start booming until late at night, but late evening was close enough.

I’d never seen a place quite like this. Torches lined the walls, candles on the tables. All of the tables were large, like park benches. Taxidermy lined the walls, along with various other decorations that could’ve been trophies. Things I didn’t know the significance of. But the thing that stood out the most, more than any other place like this I’d been, was the smell of alcohol. It was splashed all over the place. No one was here for a quiet dinner. This place seemed most welcoming to loud drunks.

And that’s exactly who frequented it.

I immediately spotted my target from across the room. An older man, perhaps in his early sixties, but fit. His beard was long, rough, and contained fragments of at least his past three meals. The last time he’d combed it was anyone’s guess. He had a woman under each arm. They both looked old enough to be my mother, and one looked far too large to be dancing around the way she was, yet surprisingly nimble on her feet.

They’d broken out into song, some kind of shanty I didn’t recognize, and the other patrons joined them.

A barmaid approached me from the side, shoving a massive tankard into my hand, along with Resnir and Gregory behind me, pulling us toward an empty table. Don’t suppose it would’ve done any good to try to speak over the commotion.

The tune was catchy, and it didn’t take more than a few seconds to learn the words. Tankards crashed down on the table in time with the cadence. Rather than sit there awkwardly, I joined in. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sang anything.

I followed the lead of Gregory and Resnir, initially mindful that I might not appear very ladylike, as some zones might expect. Roles were very clear on Redbank, too. Here? No one batted an eye.

Every time we slammed our tankards down, beer would splash everywhere. After the third or fourth time of being drenched, Ghost shook himself off and flew out the door. This place definitely wasn’t his thing.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

After what felt like forever, they finally finished the song. Jeremy, or who I assumed was Jeremy, immediately released his two dancing partners and walked up to one of the largest men in the room.

“What’s the matter, didn’t like my singing?” he said, half-burping the words.

The big man looked down at him, seemingly unsurprised by the random accusation.

“Go sober up, Jeremy, before you get hurt.”

“Oh yeah? What don’t you make me sober up, boy?”

“I’m not going to fight you old man. Go bother someone else.”

“You think I’m too old to throw down, boy? Or maybe it’s that you’re scared of getting the fish kicked out of you by somebody old enough to be your dad!”

Jeremy reached down to steady himself on a chair that wasn’t anywhere near where he thought it was, stumbling and nearly falling onto the table.

I stood up, but Gregory gently nudged my arm, shaking his head.

“No matter how it plays out, you’d better just stay over here and watch until it’s over,” he said quietly.

I ignored him and walked to the end of the table where the argument was happening. I didn’t really have time for all this.

“Are you Jeremy?” I asked.

“Who’s asking?” he spat, turning to face me.

“I’m Taylor.”

“Taylor? I’ve never seen your face here before. Why don’t you make yourself useful and get me another drink?”

“You’ve had enough already,” I said.

“Yeah? Goes to show what you know. You one of those fruit bats from Redbank?”

“I’m from PanTech,” I said.

The whole place grew eerily quiet, except for the loud sigh I heard from Gregory behind me.

“Oh, PanTech? Where’s your armor? You got guts walking in here alone. Realize there was something else you could take from us and come here to get it?”

“She’s just kidding around,” the big man said, chuckling. “No one from Adversity Management would be stupid enough to walk in here.”

“I’m not from the Adversity Management unit on the island. I’m from HQ. Or what was HQ, at least.”

They all continued to look at me, like I was a dinosaur that had come back to life. With three heads.

“Find yourself dealing with a lot of sick people lately?” I asked.

“I knew that was PanTech’s doing! You going to try to deny it?” Jeremy roared, throwing his tankard aside.

“Why would I? PanTech made the virus. I’m here to help.”

“Here to help, huh?”

He took a step toward me, grabbing my collar and nearly lifting me off the floor. He drew back his fist.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t knock your head off, wench!”

“Because you don’t have what it takes, you old drunk,” I said, staring him in the eyes, my lip curling into a grin.

I could speak his language too, if I needed to.

“You insane? You’re a little girl that’s what… a hundred pounds soaking wet. I could send you to the floor for a long nap in one punch, and you’d be lucky to get up from it.”

“Try it,” I said.

“Alright, don’t fight,” Gregory said, standing and taking a step toward us.

“Mind your own business!” Jeremy growled, still holding my collar.

“It’s not a fight,” I said. “It’s a race. See who makes it to the floor first.”

Jeremy’s fist clenched, tight enough his knuckles turned white. I could see the pain boiling on his face, and he looked like he might scream or cry at any moment. He blamed PanTech for everything. I could see it. It wasn’t me he was angry at. He was just angry.

“She already threw Resnir around when she got here, Jeremy. Don’t fall for the little girl thing.”

“You think I don’t know these people and their tricks?”

“What are you waiting for?” I asked. “I came here to talk to you. You want to fight, or talk? We can do both if you want. You really think we’re so different?”

He seemed to calm for a moment, searching my face. Maybe he was looking at me and thinking the same thing I’d just been thinking.

Either way, something softened in his features. His fist relaxed, as did his grip on my shirt. All the fight seemed to leave him before the first punch was thrown.

He let go, sighed, and slumped down to the table, sitting on the bench.

He raised his drink to his lips, but stopped before sipping it, placing it back on the table and sliding it to the side.

“I’m tired. Just leave. You’re not welcome here,” he said.

“I’m not leaving. I have a mission, and whether or not you choose to be a part of it, I intend to see it through.”

He looked up at me, narrowing his eyes, and a small glimmer seemed to return to them.

“You may be from PanTech, but you’re no friend to them, are you?”

“Ah, and there we’ve found our thing in common. Ready to talk?”

“I’m listening.”