Abhorrent Practices - Book 1

Chapter 7.6 - Downtime (Scene 6: Beneath the Surface)

Naylor entered the galley, closely followed by Skrawl. He briskly rounded the table in the centre, aware of the preen's clawed feet scratching against the bare boards behind him. Marla was expecting news from her contact, Pumbol, and so Sandrine had convened this meeting of the Ship's Council in the Communications Cabin, rather than the octagonal Chart House.

He opened the door at the far end of the galley, and stepped through into the adjoining cabin. A small, square room, the Communications Cabin had originally been used for storing vegetables, but he'd had it converted when the Order of Charon had arranged for Skrawl and Marla to join the crew of the Jennie.

In the centre of the floor, a three-foot high safety rail ran around an open trap. Sandrine was already there, leaning against the rail, peering down into the open space below. She raised her eyes as they entered.

"Perrick's not with you?"

"I t-told him to be here," Skrawl assured her, lingering in the doorway. "He was just seeing the Griellean w-woman back to her cabin."

Sandrine wasn't surprised. In the three weeks since they'd left Brael, Perrick had hardly left the woman's side.

"You think it's love?" grinned Naylor. He found the thought of the surly Tharn caring for anyone but himself highly amusing.

"No," said Sandrine. "I think it's guilt."

Skrawl shuffled into the room, swivelling his eyes upward to inspect the pulley that hung suspended over the open trap in the centre of the floor. Naylor shifted to one side, making room for the lizard-like preen to join him at the rail. Looking down, they could see the sea rushing by between the Jennie's twin hulls, and washing through the net suspended from the pulley above their heads. Below them, languishing in the net, Marla looked back up, the sea streaming over her soft, jelly-like form.

"Hello, handsome," she greeted Naylor, her slit like gills rippling with mirth. "Enjoying the view?" Her throaty laugh gurgled and the dozens of tiny filaments covering her head swayed back and forth in unison.

"You're as beautiful as ever," grinned Naylor. "Any news on when your friend might be in touch?"

"Oh, Pumbol's hardly a friend," replied Marla. "Between you and me, she can be a little crotchety. Why, did you and I have plans this evening?" She laughed again, filling the room with the sound of babbling water.

Skrawl sniggered. He never felt threatened by Marla's flirting. It made her happy, and invariably brought a smile to the object of her attention.

"I'll just get set up," he said, scurrying to a small, ink-stained desk standing against the wall. Sandrine had already arranged several sheets of paper and a number of reed pens. He pulled a stool out from under the desk and climbed up onto it, his four feet gripping the edges of the wooden seat.

Marla must have chosen that moment to project a thought to him, because he choked, trying to suppress a snort of laughter, before casting a hurried look around the room. To his relief, Naylor and Sandrine were paying him little attention.

"You know, I can't promise this will be much help," gurgled Marla. "Pumbol is a woman of few words, and most of those are usually unrepeatable." Pumbol and Marla had crossed paths on several occasions over the years. She was now serving aboard a Ferraline grain ship which had called at Orrin's Rock almost a week ago. At Marla's request, Pumbol had promised to pass on anything the crew might hear about the retired Ferryman rumoured to live in the city.

Sandrine nodded. Marla had warned her from the outset that Pumbol could be a little terse. "Cranky," was the word she'd used. Before she could question the preen further, however, Perrick entered the room, hunching his shoulders to duck through the low door. His eyes roved around the room, checking that the others were all present.