The Archivist by Tom D Wright

doing. He even knew about your arrangement with my father, and said you would show up and leave, but he would always know where to find me and Papa. Whatever this thing is that Papa gave you, he wanted it bad. Real bad.”
    I am silent, lost in my thoughts. Could the Disciple have really known about the generator, or was he just lucky? Other than Wally, no one outside the Archives had any inkling of what we might have found, yet how do I explain that peculiar note? The prospect that the Archives may harbor a traitor is disquieting, to say the least.
    “So how much did he pay you?” I ask, probably harsher than I intend.
    Danae flinches, then turns away from me. “Nothing,” she protests vehemently. “Gold had nothing to do with it. He said that if I didn’t cooperate, they would ambush the two of you anyway and then kill you and Papa. But he promised me that if I went along with it and helped him get what he wanted, no one would get hurt. Plus, Papa could keep what you brought. So you see, I thought… I thought I was saving your lives.” Danae turns back to look at me as she states emphatically, “He wasn’t supposed to kill you.”
    I have seen more than my share of actors; the abject regret I see in her face is genuine. As genuine as the price she paid. Still, my anger is close to the surface, and it lashes out in my words. “Really? Don’t do me any more favors, okay?”
    Danae shrinks visibly and pulls her blanket tight around herself. At this moment I would just as soon just leave her right here in the wilderness to fend for herself, but I know that is just my anger coming out. The truth is she was naïve and foolish, but to someone encountering them for the first time, Disciples can be quite intimidating.
    I am already feeling regret for my harsh words. Nothing will derail righteous anger faster than an unrighteous response. “Look, he might have kept his promise if I hadn’t taken out his men in the alley. But after that it was a matter of Disciple honor to get even with me.”
    She simply nods. I promised Doc that I would take care of his daughter, and I will keep my word. At least, for long enough to get her back to town. After that, I think she will want to look out for herself.
    Night has fallen fast, with clear skies and a light breeze that blows down the rocky hillside, and is going to carry our scent. I rummage through Doc’s pack for spare clothing, but he did not stash any. One of the hired thugs was on the small side, so I grab his pack and pull out a light leather pullover shirt, which I toss to Danae.
    “Your shirt is soaked with blood. I don’t want the smell drawing any unwelcome attention, so change into this and throw your shirt in the fire.”
    In the decades following the precipitous decline of humankind on the planet, wildlife rebounded with almost explosive growth. A couple of apex predators that have thrived exceptionally well are wolves and cougars, but so has their natural prey. As long as we maintain a fire and do not overly attract them, we will give each other a wide berth, and they will pursue the prey they are accustomed to.
    Danae stares at the garment for a moment. I do not blame her, but washing her shirt is not an option, and she did not bring a change of clothing.
    When she turns her back to me and starts changing, I work on feeding the fire, but out of the corner of my eye I glimpse a tattoo. Then she tosses the soiled shirt into the flames, where it smolders before it bursts into a blazing pyre.
    “So what’s with the tigers on your arms?” I ask.
    She is silent at first as she takes up a stick to prod the fire. “I got them a month after my husband was lost at sea.” She pauses, as if debating with herself whether to elaborate, then continues. “My father gave me a children’s book about tigers, something from the Old Times. It said they are solitary animals that hunt and live in their own territory and take care of themselves. I liked that. A tigress only