Abhorrent Practices - Book 1

Chapter 9.4 - Dicing with Death (Scene 4: Dressed to Kill)

Beneath the tiers of seats in the Rotunda, Sandrine soothed the pain in her head by resting her forehead against the cold metal of the supporting scaffold. Her entire body still felt as if the lightest tap could shatter it into a dozen pieces, but at least the pounding in her temples had eased to a dull  ache. Whether because of, or in spite of, Naylor's eels and brine, the after-effects of the Open Sky were beginning to fade. Peering between the feet of the spectators above her, she watched as Jerome strutted into the centre of the Rotunda's oval arena. He wore a gold and silver version of the full-hooded mask he'd worn in the Brig, and a matching cape that furled around him, shimmering in the light of the lanterns set around the perimeter.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he roared, his arms raised above his head. "Tinners, dockworkers and sailors!" The crowd cheered. "Taverners, shop-keepers, trench rats!" The cheers grew louder. "And, of course, let's not forget the men and women of ... of comfort and happiness!" The loudest cheer yet. The number of brothels on Orrin's Rock was legendary. "Some of you will have seen me before. For those of you who are new to the Rotunda, I am your host for this evening. And I am Rhenn ... the Dispatcher!"

Whatever else he was, Sandrine had to admit Jerome was a consummate showman. He walked as he spoke, rousing first one side of the arena and then the other, swirling his cape for dramatic effect, glorying in the applause. Everywhere she looked, the seats were full, and Jerome played to them all. As he moved, he was followed by a trolley, pushed by two men dressed entirely in black. A large mirror had been mounted on the trolley, reflecting and amplifying the light of the four lanterns suspended in front of it, keeping Jerome fully illuminated.

"We have a spectacular show for you today," he cried to the whooping crowd. "Four of the meanest, vilest, most gruesomely horrible murderers who ever deserved to swing!" He gestured first to the mast that had been erected at one end of the arena and then to the other.

Crouched in the dark below the stands, Sandrine bit her lip. This wasn't right. In a few minutes, Jerome was going to execute four murderers, and she'd promised to help him. In all her years as a Ferryman, she'd always been clear that nothing she did could be considered "killing". She feared that simply by being here, even as nothing more than Jerome's "assistant", she might be crossing that line.

"And that's not all," Jerome was saying, strutting towards the statue of Orrin in the centre of the oval, "For your further delectation, we have not one but two practitioners of the darkest of the dark arts; two of the foulest witches ever to have set foot on Orrin's Rock."

The Rotunda filled with a new sound, uncertain cheers mixed with a rising chorus of boos.

"And what do we do with witches?"

"Burn them!" The crowd responded as the lighting trolley pivoted away from Jerome, and directed its light onto the pyre erected to the left of the great statue. "Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" The trolley swung around again, its light falling on the second pyre.

Sandrine clenched her fists. Witchcraft! Did people really believe in such nonsense, or did they just not care, as long as they were entertained? Either way, Jerome knew just how to tap into the crowd's superstition and draw out its bloodlust. A hand tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and she turned to see a man in a brown smock standing just behind her. Jerome had introduced him earlier as the stage manager. He beckoned to her, and she followed him to a space between the stands. He ushered her onto a square platform raised two feet from the ground.

"Don't worry, Miss," he said, "you look great." She frowned at him. Black and decorated with red sequins, the outfit Jerome had insisted she wear was gaudy and tasteless, far too frivolous to wear to someone's death. The stage manager mistook her look of disgust. "Everyone gets stage fright the first time," he assured her, his grin exposing the many gaps in his teeth. He walked behind her and took hold of the lever that would catapult her into the air and out into the arena. She glanced up at the rows of seating on either side.