Abhorrent Practices - Book 1

Chapter 8.1 - Orrin's Rock (Scene 1: New Heights)

The tower of tawny sandstone and stained yellow granite known as Orrin's Rock was clearly visible a full two days before the Jennie Seaholme reached it. Rising up out of the sea, it seemed to grow taller and wider as the ship approached and, by the time the Jennie dropped anchor at the foot of the cliffs, the huge cranes lining the dockside seemed no more substantial than a row of broken spinning wheels far above them.

Four hundred and fifty feet, according to Naylor's estimate, that's how far the sea level had fallen. Khrous had the tenders lowered into the sea, and watched them row towards the landing pontoons. As a rule, the Jennie's bosun tried to avoid going ashore herself.

In the first of the two boats, Perrick sat next to Sandrine, staring up at the yellow granite bulk of Orrin's Rock, growing ever taller and wider as they drew nearer. The first drops of perspiration were already breaking out across his forehead, and he was grateful for the fine sea mist that covered them. There was no disguising the haunted look in his eyes, though. It was too high, he thought. He'd never make it to the top. He struggled frantically to think of an excuse to return to the Jennie.

"The wind's not as strong as I expected," said Sandrine, smoothing her hands over the heavy wax-coat folded on her lap. She raised her eyes to look at the crewman rowing them ashore. Anything other than meeting Perrick's gaze. Things had been awkward between them since his outburst in the Communications Cabin two days earlier.

"Not down here." Perrick's voice was hoarse, and in imminent danger of catching in his throat. "It's worse at the top. On a bad day, it can rip the clothes clean off your back."

Sandrine didn't reply. The happier, more relaxed Sandrine which had begun to emerge on the journey from Brael had disappeared the moment Marla had raised the prospect of finding Jerome, the Lord High Abbot's former apprentice. She was on a mission again now, focused solely on finding the retired Ferryman.

"Seems we're always breaking people out of prison these days," Naylor had joked. Sandrine had glowered in reply. There were only two crimes punishable by death on Orrin's Rock: murder and witchcraft. "You don't believe in witchcraft any more than I do!" the Turlander had laughed. That much was true. If Jerome had been convicted of witchcraft, she'd have no qualms about helping him to escape.

"And if he's in there for murder?" The idea that a Ferryman, even a former Ferryman, would commit murder was deeply troubling. Helping people to die was an act of compassion. Killing them was something else entirely.

She'd hardly noticed that Naylor didn't answer, her mind busy, re-examining her options in case Jerome refused to cooperate. Could she, in good conscious, free a convicted murderer in exchange for the information she wanted? She'd also been considering what to do about the Griellean woman, Alyss.

"You've given Naylor the list of inns that might be suitable?"

"A couple," grunted Perrick. "But I can't imagine she'll stay here long. Once we're gone, she'll want to book passage on a ship back to Brael or somewhere."

It made sense.  Alyss's rich caramel skin and star-speckled eyes would mark her out as a Griellean immediately. In Tremayne, the suspicion she might be a witch had resulted in Alyss being imprisoned on suspicion of murder. In Orrin's Rock, the consequences could be even worse.

"There won't be too many ships coming this far north," she said. "Not at this time of year. She could be trapped here for the whole of the Dry Season."

Perrick nodded. The same thought had been troubling him too, but taking her with them to the Isle of Charon was clearly out of the question. So far they'd managed to keep secret Sandrine's association with the Order of Charon, but the longer Alyss spent with them, the greater the risk she would discover the truth.