Abhorrent Practices - Book 1

Chapter 4.2 - The Jennie (Scene 2: The Bosun)

Sandrine strode through the men playing cards or tossing stones across the deck. She'd sent Skrawl with instructions to fetch the Griellean woman from her cabin, and bring her to the Chart House. The cut on her hand throbbed, and she wanted to be sure she'd learned everything she needed to know about the Rite of Passing long before they reached Brael. Once there, they could be rid of the infernal pest.

"Ma'am." Khrous straightened as she drew level. The broad-faced Turlander had been the Jennie's bosun since before Sandrine had first chartered her on behalf of the Order. She glanced down at the deckhands scattering stones around their feet in a game of Teeth and Bones. "The men are just ..."

"Not a problem, Mistress Khrous." The men deserved a little downtime. When she and Naylor had bustled the Griellean woman on to the Jennie Seaholme last night, the crew had already been at their stations and, at a word from Khrous, they'd snapped into action, quietly and efficiently setting the giant paddle wheels in motion.

They'd steered the ship silently between the port's twin watchtowers and out onto the open sea. Only when the winking light of Tremayne's lighthouse, perched high above the mansions of the Hillside, was far behind them - a distant pinprick in the night's blackness no bigger than the stars above their heads - did they increase speed. The first mate, Farrer, had overseen the manoeuvre, but Khrous had command of the crew.

Her voice hoarse with urgency, she'd coaxed the men tirelessly, first those turning the huge starboard paddle wheel, then those turning the one to port. The ship would have moved faster under sail, but Naylor was cautious. He wouldn't raise the sails until he was sure they wouldn't be seen from shore.

For an hour or more the men had turned the huge wheels, Khrous stalking from one side of the ship to the other, barking instructions, hurling abuse and challenging each team to outdo the other. Farrer had stood on the stern deck with Naylor, keeping a watchful eye on the harbour as Tremayne receded into the distance.

"Permission to speak freely, ma'am?" Khrous stepped purposefully in front of Sandrine, barring her way. In her three years on the Jennie Seaholme, Sandrine had had very few conversations with the bosun. She could remember none at which neither Naylor nor Farrer had been present.

"Ship matters should be addressed to Mister Farrer," she answered, sidestepping the bosun and taking a step forward. "You know that." She had no desire to interfere in the running of the ship. If Khrous had something to say, she should take it to the first mate.

"Apologies, ma'am," Khrous corrected herself, again moving to block Sandrine's path. "Permission to speak ... privately."

The bosun's persistence was unexpected, and Sandrine felt her uninjured hand instinctively clench into a fist. She relaxed it immediately but, as a matter of habit, she found herself already surveying the roofs of the cabins around them. There was no one there. The deckhands crouched nearby continued to play their game of Teeth and Bones, barely acknowledging the two women standing close by. Nevertheless, Sandrine didn't appreciate being delayed. She'd arranged to meet the Griellean early.

"Very well," she said at last. "Why don't you talk to me as we walk?"

Khrous stood to one side and fell into step beside her. Her gait, Sandrine noticed was tense, her shoulders and neck stiff.

According to Naylor, Khrous had joined the Jennie seven years ago. Farrer, the first mate, had found her in a Muranian alehouse, unable to pay her bill and barely able to lift her head out of the puddle of wallop and drool on the table before her. She was a Turlander, like Naylor, but it had been three months since she'd last had a regular posting on anything grander than a harbour tug and nearly twelve since she'd served on anything from Turland. She had not adapted well to a life on land.