Abhorrent Practices - Book 1

Chapter 8.4 - Orrin's Rock (Scene 4: The Brig)

The Pewter Tankard, the inn recommended by Tomby, was little more than a tavern with a handful of rooms to let. It was frequented mainly by visitors to the island looking to conduct business with the city's tinners, Tomby explained, it being too far from the city centre for the locals to bother with. Having satisfied themselves that The Pewter Tankard would suit Alyss's purpose, Naylor tipped the boy five copper farthings, a sum which stretched the grin on Tomby's face even wider. Then, wiping his nose on his sleeve, the boy thanked him and disappeared once more into the maze of trenches.

Once Tomby had gone, Sandrine and Naylor returned to the Rotunda. Sandrine's plan for finding Jerome was simple. She and Naylor would pose as the former Ferryman's relatives, come to see him one last time before his execution. The sun had set by the time they joined the queue of distraught relatives lined up outside the Rotunda, and frock-coated lamplighters were walking the main trenches, touching their short poles to the lamps set into the walls.

The other queuing visitors said little, turning their heads from the patrolling guards whenever they passed by. The married couple ahead of them would occasionally exchange words of mutual support, and intermittent sobbing could be heard both from relatives at the head of the queue, and from those behind. Somewhere near the front, a pair of young men sniggered inappropriately. The other relatives glared at them angrily, but no one dared confront them. This wasn't a place where anyone wanted to draw attention to themselves.

It was late when the guards finally opened a gate for them in the east side of the Rotunda's wall, and the streets were filling with men and women making their way to the city's ale houses and drug dens. According to one report Sandrine had read at the Abbey on Brael, there were two hundred such establishments. Given that the island had a population of barely two thousand, she wondered how they all stayed in business.

Flanked by guards on either side, the crocodile of visitors filed through the gate and along a gently sloping corridor, which wound around on itself until it emerged into a vast oval-shaped arena. Banks of seats rose on all sides. In the dim light, it was impossible to see how high they climbed, but Sandrine counted more than a dozen tiers before they disappeared into the roof space. She was surprised to see how far they'd descended already.

"Stay together!" barked one of the guards near the front of the queue. The two youths who'd been sniggering earlier grumbled, and one punched the other's arm. Sandrine wondered who they'd come to visit, and whether they intended to cause trouble. They certainly weren't showing any signs of concern for a friend about to face execution.

Her thoughts turned again to Jerome. It was possible he knew nothing about the Rite of Passing, but if he did, what would he ask in return? Faced with imminent execution, it was likely he'd want help to escape. The thought made her uneasy.

In the centre of the arena, a statue of a Turlish seaman stood high on a marble plinth, his shirt open to the waist, the hilts of several daggers peeping over the top of his knee length boots.

"Orrin himself," whispered Naylor. She could hear the grin on his face.

Nine feet tall, the statue of Orrin stood with his hands on his waist, his large, square teeth bared as he threw back his head in a rich, hearty laugh. He was every inch a Turlander. Roguish good humour shone from his eyes, and his confident stance hinted at an insatiable lust for adventure. She glanced at Naylor by her side. He had that. She couldn't imagine he'd ever be happy to settle in one place. She wondered if, like Khrous, the Jennie's Turlish bosun, he'd be driven to drink if he ever thought his seafaring days were over. She squeezed his hand softly, but dropped it almost immediately, embarrassed by her show of affection.

All around the arena, gangs of men were at work. Some were dismantling stalls, a reminder that the Rotunda was the city's main market place. The largest covered market in the Northern Seas, Tomby had said. As efficiently as the stalls were taken apart, however, other workers were building new structures. On either side of the statue, a gang was stacking wood beneath a raised dais. A post had been erected in the centre of each dais, seven feet tall, and a grim realisation fell over the relatives of those facing execution. There was no doubt as to the purpose of those structures. They were designed to burn witches, and to burn them slowly.