The Archivist by Tom D Wright Page A

toward the edge of town while I figure out the next step of our plan. I must get to Entiak within a week. Even if I were traveling alone, it would still take at least two weeks to travel over land, and that would be after procuring a couple of horses, which is not an option here and now. That means we have to find passage on the waterfront.
    First, however, we need to get out of this town one casual step at a time.
    “Really? That was your exit strategy?” I ask once we are well away from the chapel.
    “Well, it fooled them, didn’t it?” she laughs. “Look, don’t get any funny ideas. I didn’t give Father Alendo your real name, so we aren’t actually married.”
    “Good, we’re still just friends?”
    “Absolutely, sworn friends,” Danae purrs as a Disciple walks into view. I guess they are not all at their service after all. She smiles as she grabs my hand. “It’s not like we’re going to sleep together or anything. This is just a cover for us to travel under.”
    Well, that is good. Because if it were a real marriage, I would have to tell Danae that depending on how strictly you define the meaning, she just became a party to bigamy.

Chapter six
    We manage to avoid any more Disciple patrols as we slip outside the town into the deepening twilight. The knot in my stomach eases, but does not completely unclench until I find the travois undisturbed where we left it.
    I do not want to use my flashlight to create any shining beacons on top of the hill, so I work quickly in the remaining daylight to consolidate Danae’s few belongings into my pack. Grabbing the generator pack, I stack the fins and wires inside and then cram in as many other parts as I can.
    Most of the chips and other parts, I have to leave wrapped in the vellum covering I used for the e-reader. Just inside the barn door, an abandoned tool rack yields a rusted shovel, which I use to dig a shallow trench.
    I dig carefully with the weakened tool until the handle snaps apart, but the pit is deep enough by then to cover what I cannot bring with me. I pull a rusted anvil on top of the buried treasure to mark the spot, in case I ever come back for it.
    Then we wait in the abandoned building, and I doze as much as I can. I am not risking a fire, so Danae and I huddle together for warmth. At least we are out of the wind, and thankfully she keeps her thoughts to herself, while mine are focused on how we are getting out of this new Disciple stronghold.
    Finally I hear the distant toll of the midnight bell down in the town, and I stand up. I pull Danae to her feet, and she grimaces but doesn’t complain about the weight when I fit my pack onto her back and adjust the straps.
    That backpack is really an extension of me, so it grates my nerves to let someone else carry it, but even at about fifty pounds, it is by far the lighter of the two.
    I hoist the pack with the generator in it onto my shoulders, and the thin straps bite into my trapezius muscles. This one belonged to one of the thugs, and he did not invest in quality. It must weigh well over a hundred pounds, but I do not expect to carry it far.
    This time, rather than walking straight into Port Sadelow, I lead Danae around the mostly fallow fields and skirt the outer edge of the town down to the river. Since we have spent the evening in the dark, our eyes are already adjusted to the clear, moonless night, and the bright trifecta of Saturn, Jupiter and Mars provides more than enough light to navigate across the countryside easily.
    The calm night is peaceful, and aside from occasional distant barks from town, the only sound is the soft shuffling of our steps. Half a dozen deer watch warily from afar as we pass. When we near the bottom of the hill, I see the silhouette of someone patrolling the edge of town and take cover behind a low stone wall. I assume that anyone out here at this time of night is foe; the only friend I have within a hundred miles is crouching beside me.
    Eventually we reach the