Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
IRIS
I sat alone in the back seat of the old car, clutching the brown musty envelope tightly in my lap.
Heavy rain lapped at the windows, obscuring my view almost entirely.
I could just make out the white, watery glow of the street lamps lining the road as the car slowed, approaching the small, misty seaside town.
‘Here we are, Miss,’ the driver called from the front seat. He was a short man, with a thick accent and a scraggly beard. ‘Welcome to Stonewall.’
We edged to a stop in what appeared to be Stonewall’s town square. The driver opened his door and stepped out into the rain. He disappeared for a moment before my door clicked open and he offered me a hand. Shoving the envelope in my pocket, I took it gratefully and stepped out of the vehicle.
My legs ached from being bent for so long, and breathing in fresh air for the first time in hours was delightful.
We must be near the docks because I could smell the sea – citrus and salt – and the faint scent of…
decay. Next to us was a row of buildings – some dilapidated shops, a run down looking cafe and what appeared to be a pub, which was the only thing that seemed to be open at this late hour.
Warm light poured through the windows, though I couldn’t see any people.
The driver walked around to the boot of the car to retrieve my luggage. Pulling my thick woollen scarf up further, I inhaled the crisp night air.
‘I need to get to the docks,’ I said to the man politely. ‘Do you know the way?’
He looked at me strangely. His eyebrows lowered, and he tilted his head slightly.
‘Yes…’ he said slowly, almost like a question. ‘It’s over that way,’ he pointed towards a narrow road on the other side of the square. ‘There’s not much around here, Miss.’ He seemed to hesitate before asking, ‘Where is it you’re trying to get to, exactly?’
‘The island south of here,’ I replied, not understanding his sudden change in demeanour. ‘Ashcroft University.’
‘Oh,’ was all he said for a moment, before adding in a quiet tone, as if he were worried about being overheard despite the empty square we stood in, ‘be careful, Miss, that crossing isn't safe.’ He passed me my luggage.
A leather satchel and a black suitcase. ‘Those waters—’ He stopped, shaking his head and letting out a huff.
‘Just rumours, I'm sure. Didn't mean to scare you.’
‘I don't scare easily, don't worry,’ I laughed, knowing that was definitely not true.
‘Glad to hear it.’ He turned back to his vehicle, ‘You better hurry, Miss. The ferry will be leaving soon and trust me,’ he chuckled, ‘you definitely don't want to wait until tomorrow for the next one.’ He indicated the rundown buildings all shuttered for the night.
‘Thank you,’ I called after him, raising my voice over the howl of the wind. He just nodded and returned to the shelter of his vehicle, and I set off across the square towards the docks.
The docks turned out to only consist of one small fisherman's hut, a few moored boats – one so rundown it was half submerged in the murky water – and a cluster of ramshackle buildings. A rickety-looking wooden pier edged out across the water with a small car ferry docked at the end. It was maybe only big enough to fit up to four cars. Though I noticed there weren’t any on board.
The streetlamps were fewer down here, shining pools of orange light on the wet cobblestone walkways. The moon was just about visible in the sky through the dark, stormy clouds.
Rummaging in my satchel for my ticket, I pulled my coat tighter and stepped onto the pier.
A squat man leant against the railing further up. He looked surprised to see me approach.
‘Well, hello,’ he said, and I noticed he wore a badge that read “Ferryman”.
A cigarette hung between his lips, the orange nub illuminating his lower face as he inhaled a drag.
His eyes looked me up and down in a way that made goosebumps rise on my arms, and then he exhaled smoke out the corner of his mouth.
I watched as it curled up into the night sky. ‘What can I do for you?’ he said.
I didn’t say anything, just handed him my ticket. He inspected it momentarily and indicated me forwards with a shallow nod of his head.
As I stepped onto the boat’s uneven decking, the waves immediately began to toss it back and forth beneath my feet.
A wave of nausea rose quickly within me.
Within seconds, my stomach lurched and my vision blurred.
I’d never felt seasick before – especially like this.
My eyes darted across the deck until I spotted a narrow bench beside the small cabin at the rear.
The overhanging roof offered a sliver of shelter from the rain.
I hurried over, perched on the edge of the metal bench, and leaned forwards, breathing hard as I fought to keep the nausea at bay.
Lifting my eyes slightly, I looked around. There seemed to only be four of us on the ferry: me, and three men wearing fishermen gear. I thought this odd, because I assumed this was the main connection between Ashcroft University and the mainland.
Ashcroft University.
I reached into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out the crumpled brown envelope again. I ran my fingers over the sprawling neat script for what must have been the hundredth time. I opened it, the folds sharp from being opened and refolded so many times, and reread the letter.
Dear Miss Blackthorne,
It is my great pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to study at Ashcroft University.
We are pleased to announce your scholarship status has been approved in full, and you are therefore invited to attend orientation on the 2nd of September.
Please confirm your acceptance by post.
Further details within.
Cordially,
Headmaster Agnar Draven,
Ashcroft University.
I had received this letter three months ago, and at first, I was confused, considering I'd never heard of Ashcroft University … let alone applied there.
The accompanying letter had informed me that my deceased father was an alumnus at Ashcroft. It explained that the children of alumni automatically get registered for consideration when they come of age.
I refolded the letter and stashed it in my leather satchel.
My hair was soaked through from the rain so I pulled out a ribbon and fastened the strands into a messy ponytail as best I could.
In an attempt to settle my stomach, I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my boots on the old bench, trying to get comfortable.
Looking around the ferry, I was surprised to see it in such a state.
According to my research, Ashcroft University was one of the most prestigious Universities in the world, so seeing Stonewall in such disarray was not what I was expecting.
Vandals had covered about half of the surface with vulgar remarks and drawings, and litter spotted the decking everywhere I looked.
One thing did catch my eye, however. Running along the gunnel of the boat, etched into the dirty, splintering wood, the same phrase appeared again and again.
Some had been written in thick pen or spray paint. Others were gouged roughly into the surface. But a few stood out above the rest – deep, violent cuts that looked less like writing and more like knife slashes.
Aqua mortuorum.
I didn’t know what it meant, but I guessed it was maybe Greek, or Latin – or some other language I didn’t know.
I was just tucking the letter safely away in my bag when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of white dart across the deck.
My head whipped towards the movement, and I saw it seem to fly towards the railing, before vanishing off the edge of the boat.
It looked, for a moment, like the figure of a man.
I stood instinctively, all thoughts leaving my brain, and ran over to the edge.
Gripping the wooden railing, I leant over and searched the waves.
But nothing was there.
Looking out across the black water was unnerving. My mind was playing tricks on me as, for just a split second, the waves created the illusion of faces floating below the surface. I gasped, blinked, but when I opened my eyes they were gone.
Breathing heavily and feeling even more nauseous than before, I walked back over to my shaky little bench. I could only see two of the fishermen now.
An earsplitting horn blasted out, sending crows flying as they made a hasty exit from their perch upon the ferry's canopy. With a loud clunk, the ferry started chugging along and I settled in for an unnerving journey across the water.
Ashcroft University awaited.
I spent the crossing sitting on my little bench with my hands clenched in my lap, staring into space. The mist got thicker, and at one point it was so dark I couldn’t see three feet in front of me. The relentless fog refused to shift even as I stepped off the boat and onto dry land.
My legs felt odd for a moment, needing time to readjust to still surfaces. Two of the fishermen disembarked first, and I followed behind. It was only when the ferries horn blew a second time that I realised the third fisherman wasn’t on the dock.
I turned back to the boat, expecting to see him, but the decking was completely empty.
I looked around.
He wasn’t anywhere.
There were definitely three.
The two fishermen began walking off briskly.
‘Hey!’ I called after them, ‘Excuse me?’ One of the men stopped and turned as I caught up with them. ‘Where’s your friend?’
The man looked at me strangely. ‘Sorry?’
‘The other man?’ I said. ‘The fisherman? The one that was with you on the boat?’ I asked.
‘Other man?’ he repeated, cocking his head slightly. ‘There was no other man on the boat,’ he said, eyebrows drawing together. ‘Are you okay, Miss?’
My breathing hitched. ‘It was me, you two, and another fisherman,’ I persisted.
‘I can assure you, Miss, it was only the three of us,’ the other fisherman said, having turned back to join us.