Silas packed multiple rucksacks this time. Sitting on the floor of the SCU's main compartment, he opened them one by one, removing their contents, arranging them on the seat in front of him. As he double then triple checked each item before packing them away, he drew a check mark beside the respective bullet point in the list balanced on his knee.

  Powder? Present. Counted. Silas tightened the bottle caps to prevent any spills and flipped to the next page in his notepad.

  Notepads? Present. Luckily, Silas kept his primary notepad on the SCU during the Arboretum incident. He was glad it was spared from the flames. He'd brought several extras to use whenever he expected danger.

  Gloves? Silas frowned at his bare hands. While his notepad was saved from a fiery demise, his gloves were not so lucky. How did he always manage to destroy or lose them?

  Vera emerged from the SCU's front compartment, sliding the door open. "Everything seems to be in order," she said. "The autopilot is set for Farrow's End. I'm ready when you all are."

  Silas held up a finger to plead for more time. He hadn't triple checked every rucksack yet. What if he missed something important on the first two run throughs?

  Vera sighed and leaned against the wall, tapping her foot while she waited. Oscar grumbled his annoyance. Silas ignored them. This was important to him.

  "Lad, I believe you have everything you need and more."

  Silas glanced at Dr. Veyl, who sat a few seats down from his rucksack contents. The physick patted the apothecary box resting atop his lap. "I brought extras, too. Just in case."

  Silas huffed. It wasn't the Powder he was concerned about. It was…

  Silas reflected on the past several days, starting with Vera rescuing him from Locke's monologue in the dining hall. She guided him to the deliberation room, where Quirin, Ravelin, and Oscar were already waiting.

  With more seats open, Silas didn't have to face the machinist, to his relief. He situated himself opposite Vera's chair and clasped his hands over his book.

  Quirin didn't bother with theatrics this time. He jumped right into the meeting, forgoing his usual dramatic pauses and awkward silences.

  "I won't be joining you on this mission," he opened with, both palms pressed to the table.

  Silas scanned the room, gauging reactions. It seemed that he was the only one who was surprised to hear this. Oscar and Ravelin didn't even blink. Vera simply shrugged her shoulders.

  "I'm not a fighter," Quirin went on. "I'd only slow you down. Plus, most of this journey will be by boiler, not SCU. Remember there is a lack of SCU tracks in the Western Quadrant. I won't be needed to operate the vehicle. Ms. Stroud can man a boiler perfectly fine without me."

  Silas raised his hand, then let it fall. He had his book with him, but his notepad was left in his dormitory. Vera sat back, reaching for something in her pocket. With a crooked grin, she slid it across the table to Silas. It was his notepad and a stylus. She must have grabbed it for him.

  He thanked her with sign and wrote, "But you blew up your boilers after saving me from the Garrison Mordant."

  Quirin chuckled. "Indeed. But we have money. Plenty of it. You'll use it to purchase a new boiler in Farrow's End on the day of departure, along with any additional supplies needed."

  "What will you be doing while we're away?" Vera asked conversationally.

  Quirin sighed. "I'll be here, managing Perrin and anybody else he brings to the Underhalo. I suspect an influx of returning members in the coming days to weeks. It's a good thing you will be away when it happens, Silas. I suspect the process will be… messy."

  Locke's words bounced around Silas's skull. We don't need you, he'd said. The more Silas learned about the Covenant, the more he suspected Locke's words rang true. He studied the cover of his book, tracing the letters with his fingers.

  "Don't look so sullen, child," Quirin said. "Not everyone is against you. It's true that the people soon to join us will include those who demanded your termination. But they won't be the only ones. Your supporters will arrive with them. I will mediate the conflict that will certainly follow. Know that I am determined to protect the Covenant from further fracture. Don't worry about things here. We'll be fine. Focus on finding Echo and getting fixed up. No matter what Perrin says, we need you."

  Silas nodded without making eye contact. We need you. We don't need you. Which statement was true? Quirin was right. Silas lifted his head. He needed to have faith in those around him. Wasting energy worrying about things he couldn't control was not worth it.

  "I want Dr. Veyl to come with us," Vera insisted, her stare daring Quirin to argue.

  "Why?" Oscar said. "Machinist Quirin has a point. We already have Silas to protect. The physick is even more of a liability. He'll only make the journey harder."

  Silas's shoulders sagged, his fears realized. Other people saw him as a burden, too.

  Vera hummed. "It's interesting you say that, Oscar. Remind me again who stabbed the bounty hunter while you stood there looking pretty with your cudgel?"

  Oscar floundered, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Silas looked between them before his attention landed on Vera. She wasn't jesting. Oscar dropped his gaze, dejected. Silas sent him condolences across the table.

  Vera wouldn't be so angry if my secret hadn't upset her.

  "The physick must come," Vera asserted. Almost a whisper, she added, "We need him in case Silas's condition… takes a turn for the worse."

  "Alright," Quirin said placatingly, addressing Ravelin in case she had any opinions to bring up. She shook her head. "The physick goes. I'll inform him after this meeting."

  Silas inhaled sharply. All heads swiveled in his direction. Sloppily, he scrawled in his notepad, filling up the page with his hasty script. He'd yet to inform Quirin and the others about what he learned by listening to the Unspoken during their last mission. It was time he shared this knowledge with the group.

  "I couldn't converse with the Unspoken at the Arboretum," he wrote, "but I could still hear what they said. Additionally, I felt something else, something different. There were rats in the air ducts. The Unspoken used them to bypass your security apparatus."

  As succinctly as he could, Silas explained what happened when his mind brushed against the rats. The Unspoken were controlling the rodents like they did carrion wolves, commanding them to deliver blight to the Verdancy Array greenhouses and trip the explosive security mechanism by gnawing through its wires. When he was done writing, Silas passed his notepad to Vera, who read it aloud for the others.

  "Remarkable," Quirin breathed. "How do they do it? Are the rats domesticated by the Unspoken like carrion wolves?"

  Silas shook his head, holding out his hand for Vera to return his notepad. "No," he wrote, "their minds didn't feel like carrion wolves. How do I explain it?" Silas nibbled on the end of his stylus. "The rats were like the animals at Coldspire."

  He paused, ink bleeding into parchment as he held his stylus nib to the page. Then, he continued, the power of his strokes leaving scratches in their wake. "I get it! I think the rats have artificial minds like mine. Maybe the Unspoken encountered a storage facility the Covenant used to house Project Concordia research subjects."

  After he handed his notepad to Vera, Silas considered how the Unspoken were managing the rat colony. Rats don't live long—two, three syzygies at most. Had the rats been recently awakened from cryogenic suspension chambers, or were the Unspoken breeding them? Silas's restless fidgeting sprayed ink over his hands. He didn't notice. If the Unspoken were breeding them, did that mean Concordia's interventions could be passed on genetically? If Silas wanted a family one day, could—

  Vera snapped her fingers in front of Silas's face, wrenching his awareness back to the room. He blinked, his eyes meeting hers. She snorted a laugh and flicked her chin at Quirin, whose lips were pursed in impatience. Silas rubbed his hands, hoping to remove the ink stains. This action made the smears bigger.

  "As I was saying," Quirin said cautiously, like he expected Silas to ignore him again. "I want you to tell me everything you know about Echo and the Unspoken. In detail, describe your experiences in the Western Quadrant. You're the only one who was actually present. Elsbeth and Dr. Veyl did not attend these excursions with you."

  Silas did as he was told. He wrote for what felt like hours, jotting down everything he learned from Echo and the other Unspoken he met in the Western Quadrant. Silas gave the Unspoken's social structure the page count it deserved. Their eusocial hierarchy fascinated him, and he figured it would intrigue the others as well. Quirin and Vera were especially captivated by his recount. Mention of Soldier and Worker castes raised some eyebrows. Silas was asked to elaborate on these ranks, but he knew little besides what the child Unspoken imprisoned at the Garrison Mordant told him. Soldiers carried out the Queen's bidding. Workers foraged in exchange for land and protection. That was the extent of his knowledge.

  When Silas had no more information to share, the meeting was adjourned. Preparations for departure began immediately. Dr. Veyl didn't bat an eye when Vera told him he'd be joining the mission. If anything, he seemed relieved, even excited.

  Each day, Silas visited the medical bay to be examined by the physick. The sticky pads were still unpleasant, always reminding him of Dr. Korrel and the other white coats at the Garrison Mordant. Dr. Veyl never commented on the EEG's readings, but Silas understood well enough. Each time he sat for an exam, the lines became flatter, quieter. Time was not on his side.

  Silas avoided sleep as stubbornly as he could. His fatigue was worsening, but whenever Silas rested his eyes he worried they'd never reopen. An out-of-body experience greeted him nearly every instance he drifted away. Stronger and stronger stimuli were needed to merge his body and mind back together in the morning. Silas's coffee habit had evolved into a compulsion. He was surprised his humors didn't run black with all the bitters he was consuming. Caffeine became his new water. He chugged it like a man dying of thirst in the desert. To avoid Pa and Vera's fussing, he learned to brew his own coffee. The smell of it no longer bothered him. He'd grown fond of the dark, rich aroma.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The night before their departure date, Silas overheard a conversation in the kitchen. Caffeinated and jittery, he lay awake, staring at the rocky ceiling. There were two voices echoing along the walls. One was soft and gentle. The other was sobbing, near hysterical. Silas leapt out of bed and slipped into the corridor, padding on tip-of-toes. Luckily, the tile floor did not creak or groan when he stepped down. Silas pressed his ear to the door and listened, shutting his eyes to focus.

  "I-I'm just—" Pa hiccuped, sputtering between sobs.

  "Now, now, Elias," Vera whispered. "It's alright. Calm yourself first. There's no rush."

  Silas shifted. The knob twisted slightly, turned by his hip. He froze, holding his breath. All was quiet on the other side of the door, the only sound Pa's sniveling.

  "I'm worried," Pa finally croaked.

  "That's only natural," Vera said. "Worrying is what parents and grandparents do. It shows you know how to love."

  Pa blew his nose loudly. "What if he can't find Echo? What if he doesn't make it in time? What if—"

  Vera shushed him. "Why worry about hypotheticals, Elias? What-ifs aren't worth your time. Focus on the present—the here and now."

  "I know, I know." Pa sighed, the sound muffled, perhaps behind his handkerchief. "I just hate that I can't go along with him. I'm useless with my legs like this."

  Silas opened his eyes and wiped them. Now he was crying. Pa, useless? That couldn't be farther from the truth. Silas resisted the urge to stomp his foot. He was the useless one, not Pa. He wished to barge into the kitchen and shake some sense into his grandfather.

  "Listen, Elias." Vera must have leaned against Pa's wheelchair, because with her voice came a creak from its wheels. "I will be there. I promise to protect him. I swear on it with my life. I will return him to you, safe, sound, and mended."

  There was a pause. Silas pictured Vera and Pa regarding each other silently. At least Pa had stopped crying.

  "Thank you," Pa finally said. "I'm glad my grandson met you. You've been a fine influence on him."

  The tension shattered. Vera laughed, stifling the volume with her hand. Silas carefully extricated his hip from the doorknob—rubbing away the ache—and crept back to his dormitory.

  "An influence I maybe have been," Vera said loud enough for Silas to hear in front of his door. "But I wonder if 'fine' is the appropriate word."

  Pa's laugh joined hers. Silas snuck into his room, heart thudding.

  I'm worse than useless. Silas covered his head with his comforter. I'm a weight dragging everyone down. Silas felt like the first domino in a row. If he tipped back, everyone else would follow. Echo was the only one who could stabilize him and all those who stood behind.

  I will find her. Silas closed his eyes. I have to.

  His body and mind stayed together that night. Strangely, he found himself more tired than if his mind had slipped its leash. In hindsight, the extra mug of coffee before bed wasn't the brightest idea. Silas got up, ate, said his goodbyes, and lugged his rucksacks down to the SCU platform. His excessive baggage required several trips up and down the stairs.

  Silas relented, finally zipping up his rucksacks for good and stowing them under the row of seats. Vera activated the autopilot and the SCU lurched forward, onward to Farrow's End.

  It was a short hop to the city. Silas remembered Quirin saying Farrow's End was about ten miles north of the Underhalo. Just how fast did the SCU travel? Ten miles would have still taken at least an hour by boiler, realistically more. Instead, the SCU got them there in minutes. Vera never left the front, only returning to the compartment when the SCU had come to a stop.

  "Here's the deal," she said, regarding each person. "Oscar and I will go topside to procure the items and vehicle we need. Everyone else is to remain here. Is that clear?" Vera gave Silas a stern look as she said this.

  Silas held up his thumb to show he understood. Vera narrowed her eyes. Silas kept the thumbs-up going until she hummed and looked away.

  Before they left the SCU, Vera and Oscar donned disguises, different ones than before. Vera seemed to mourn the loss of her ginger wig, this time wearing a short brunette bob, spectacles, and a new style of makeup. Oscar wore a blonde wig. It was long. He tried styling it back into a bun but couldn't work the stretchy band Vera provided. She helped him, to his chagrin.

  With another warning to stay put from Vera and some indiscernible grumbling from Oscar, the pair left the SCU. In the quiet that followed Silas cracked open his novel and burned through several chapters, sipping on the coffee he brewed before departing the Underhalo. Ravelin was so silent and still Silas assumed she was sleeping. He was too engrossed in his novel to pay her any mind. Dr. Veyl—for all his earlier commentary—was now tinkering around in his apothecary box, mumbling while he rearranged his supplies. Silas shifted down the row of seats away from him. The physick's incessant muttering continued to distract him.

  "Is something the matter?" Silas finally wrote, exchanging his novel for a notepad.

  Dr. Veyl glanced up, blinking slowly like he was emerging from a daydream. Chuckling nervously, he said, "I'm not practicing what I preach, am I?" He snapped the apothecary box closed and set it next to him. "I'll admit I'm a tad nervous. I've never been the adventuring sort, as you can probably imagine. And things have been getting more dangerous lately. I worry that I will be a burden on you and the others. The least I can do is my job—ensuring that everyone is healthy. As healthy as can be, that is," he added with a sidelong look at Silas.

  A tingling warmth rose from Silas's belly, gathering in his chest. It brought a sad smile to his lips.

  I know how you feel, he thought but didn't say. Instead, he wrote, "Thank you for coming along, Dr. Veyl. I appreciate it." While the physick read his notepad, Silas held up his novel, showing how far along he was in the story. Dr. Veyl grinned. Silas might have been mistaken, but he swore a twinkle flashed behind Dr. Veyl's eyes.

  Dr. Veyl finally lapsed into silence, relaxing back in his seat. Silas read, growing increasingly anxious the longer Vera and Oscar remained above ground. They didn't specify how long it would take to obtain everything they needed, but Silas felt like it had been too long. Minutes? Hours? Silas couldn't tell how much time had passed. Reading his novel was no longer entertaining. The words were just words, not a vivid story any longer. In his agitation, he paced. If Ravelin had been sleeping, she wasn't now—making her best effort to pretend Silas's restlessness wasn't stirring up disquiet of her own.

  As Silas began to despair their demise, Vera and Oscar's voices reverberated down the tunnel. By Vera's laughter, their shopping had gone well. Silas sighed in relief, shuffling to the door just in time for Vera to slide it open. She stopped short, nearly crashing into Silas, who hovered in the doorway, peering up at her.

  "What's this?" she asked, stooping down to Silas's eye level. "By that look on your face, I'd wager you were worried about us."

  Silas grunted, stepping aside to allow them through. Vera hummed a merry tune under her breath, welcoming a heavily-encumbered Oscar into the compartment. With a breathless exhale, Oscar released the boxes and bags he'd been carrying, allowing them to fall to the ground with a heavy thump.

  "You have arms, you know," Oscar panted, wiping away imaginary sweat. "You could have helped me carry all this."

  "I could have," Vera agreed. "But I simply didn't want to."

  Oscar stared blankly. Vera fluttered her lashes. Silas laughed softly. Vera was back to her old self, jesting with Oscar like nothing was amiss. Relief didn't even begin to describe how he felt. A foolish grin found his face and wouldn't leave no matter how hard he tried to wipe it away.

  "For you," Vera said, pulling a small box out of her coat pocket, giving it to Silas. He stared at it dumbly. "So you don't freeze your little paws off in the Western Quadrant."

  Another new pair of gloves. Silas put them on. They were an exact copy of the ones that burnt to a crisp at the Arboretum. Silas wondered what manner of grisly destruction would befall this new pair.

  "I really ought to manacle those to your wrists," Vera teased, echoing Silas's thoughts. "It's rather impressive how often you manage to ruin them."

  Silas shrugged with one shoulder. Her idea wasn't half bad.

  Vera clapped once. "Now the fun begins. Our new boiler has tinted windows, but that means nothing until we get inside of it. I parked it as close as I could to the tunnel exit, but getting to it will necessitate a short walk through Farrow's End." She frowned at Silas. "Naturally, your mien is plastered all over the city. A disguise you will wear, but as we saw in Redreach, that may not be enough. Farrow's End is larger than that little backwater hamlet—so we can hide in the crowd. But all it takes is one set of prying eyes to see through a disguise. Silas, I trust you know the importance of remaining out of sight?"

  He nodded vigorously.

  "Good." Vera kicked a box, disturbing its lid. "Now get ready."

  Silas's new wig was short and wavy, the color like dark chocolate. His mask was still comfortable and plain, but of a different shape than the one he wore before. It extended farther down his face, wrapping around his jawline. He found the fit constricting but didn't complain. It was better than being noticed. Lastly, Silas slipped into his new coat. Like the gloves, it was a perfect replica of the one destroyed at the Arboretum.

  Ravelin wore a similar headscarf as before, this time with a less conspicuous color and design. Dr. Veyl somehow looked older and more frail with his getup. Vera even dabbed something under his eyes to make them look sunken. Silas found the physick's disguise most convincing. It was a subtle change, but nobody would suspect a sickly old man to be doing anything nefarious. Disguises donned, everyone stepped into the tunnel and ascended the ladder.

  The sound of the city greeted Silas immediately upon exiting the shaft. He welcomed it, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Farrow's End was no Droswick, but if he listened hard enough, he could convince his ears that it was.

  The screech and hiss of boilers bubbling down the cobbles blended with the airy puff of steamstacks. Voices chattered up and down the streets to the beat of bootsteps and crinkle of shopping bags. Doors jingled as they opened and closed, alerting proprietors of a customer entering their establishment. All of these sounds and more Farrow's End shared with Droswick. Silas opened his eyes and caught his first glimpse of the city.

  The lone word that came to mind was quaint. The architecture was an interesting mix of Droswick's masonry and Ashmere's metalwork. Stone walls supported shiny roofs bathed scarlet under Dysol's midmorning glow. Everything was just the right size. The steamstacks were short and stout, never jutting higher than the surrounding buildings. There was a perfect number of shops in the plaza—not too many so as to get lost in their variety. Only enough to have everything one needed. Vendors were present, but not in excess. They were quieter than in Droswick and Ashmere, too. They didn't shout to advertise their wares, only nodding a greeting as patrons walked past, occasionally offering free samples or printed advertisements.

  Silas's gaze wanted to wander, but he forced it down to the pedestrian path, avoiding eye contact. Still, he caught a glimpse of himself tacked to a starbloom lamppost. His bounty had increased tremendously. The person who captured Silas would be endowed with wealth that ensured prosperity for generations. Throat clenched, Silas looked away, trying to remove the image from his mind before it solidified into memory.

  Silas's nose caught whiff of a delectable scent. Sniffing, he followed the tantalizing trail to its end. Now he knew why the city was called Farrow's End. A butcher's shop specializing in pork products was the largest building he'd seen so far. By the smell in the air, Silas knew the bacon Pa fried each morn was fresh from this establishment. There were other smells, too. Honey ham. Whole roasts. Smoked jerky. Silas didn't realize he was meandering toward the butcher until Vera grabbed his shoulder and fixed his course on the pedestrian path.

  "Don't you worry, little mouse," she whispered. "We bought plenty of food. You can nibble away to your heart's content once we get to the boiler."

  Silas's stomach grumbled eagerly. Luckily, the boiler was parked nearby. Vera's poor attempt at positioning it parallel to the curb was instantly recognizable. Silas giggled at the sight, earning him a flick to the back of the head. Oscar joined into his mirth. Vera slapped him and scoffed, stomping into the driver's seat.

  The boiler was large—bulky and long with plenty of trunk space. Oscar, who had been toting most of their supplies, deposited his cargo in the spacious caboose before crawling into the passenger's seat. Silas made himself comfortable in the back with Ravelin and Dr. Veyl. Surprisingly, it wasn't cramped, despite the number of people.

  Vera was right about the windows. They were so dark they could have been a mirror. Silas appraised his appearance in the reflection, comparing what he saw to a nearby wanted poster. Since he didn't recognize himself, he figured his disguise was convincing enough.

  Vera dipped a starter rod in igniter fluid and inserted it. With a sputter, the boiler came to life. She eased the vehicle onto the cobbles, tossing a bag of something at Silas as the boiler rattled over the uneven ground. He opened the bag, inhaling the deep, smoky scent of jerky. As he ate, Ravelin asked for a share. Reluctantly, he relinquished the bag to her. He hoped Vera had bought more than one bag. Already, he wanted more.

  Farrow's End was soon behind them, Vera guiding the boiler along the lone westerly road. Silas watched the city through the boiler's mirrors until it disappeared below the horizon. He clenched his fists around his harness, attempting to subdue mounting dread. What-ifs were all he could think of. What if Echo wasn't in the Western Quadrant any longer, and they were wasting their time? What if Echo was there, but refused to help? What if this. What if that. Silas couldn't stop the thoughts from spiraling. He stared out the window, watching the boiler slowly chug along. He heard a whisper. Then another. The Unspoken were certainly still in the Western Quadrant. And by the sound of their Voices, they were fighting amongst themselves.