“Can we watch?”
Linda gave Tom an odd look, half-pity, half-challenge. Tom shrugged. “Why not --he seems to have got over the old man’s death.”
"Kids are resilient," Linda said.
Linda took Shane's hand, and Tom took Abi's, until she snatched it away. What thirteen-year-old wants to hold her Dad's hand, Tom thought with sadness. He was losing her already.
The four of them nudged, wriggled and oozed through the crowds. The smell of frying onions from a hot-dog stand blended with the singed flesh of cauterized stumps.
The so-called stool was a strapped chair -- under the water when the family nudged their way through to the front. Tom took Abi's hand again. It was sweaty, but he kept a tight grip. “See,” Tom said. “This is the follow-up to an Anti-Social Behavior Order: When a criminal breaks an ASBO, it’s the stool for them.”
A mop of brunette hair floated on the surface, the naked woman clamped by her wrists and ankles to the stool. A thin stream of bubbles drifting to the surface was the only sign that she still lived.
When the bubbles stopped, Tom wondered if the Knights Inquisitor were going to suffer the unprecedented embarrassment of two deaths in one afternoon.
The attendants scrambled and brought her up. The woman vomited a lungful of sanctified water and took a whoop of air. Her head lolled as the attendants swung the chair around and the crowd hooted in derision. A loudspeaker intoned, “…forgive those who trespass against us.” She began to convulse, and the first-aiders pulled her out of the seat.
Even with her face hidden by the lank bundle of sodden hair, the woman’s body sent shivers of recognition down Tom’s spine. Then he heard the words “…Lord, forgive your daughter, Alice Lisle, for the sin of fornication…” and felt sick.
He looked down at the children, who watched it all, rapt, unaware. Tom caught Linda watching him, her gaze unwavering.
The first-aiders released Alice Lisle, and draped a robe around her. She leaned unsteadily against the central pylon of the ducking stool. Her hair hung down over her face in a matted shroud, but one eye peered Medusa-like through a small gap, and burned into him. He wanted to look away, but might as well have been turned to stone. She mouthed something which he couldn’t make out.
“Just as well she’s single,” Linda said. “They’ll shave her head, and tar and feather her. If she were married, kids, they’d brand her.” Abruptly, she looked away, and Tom saw her wipe angrily at her face.
Without warning, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and a gruff voice said, “Thomas James Goodman? Would you accompany me to an interrogation area, please?” Tom looked around into a lantern-jawed, blue-stubbled face from whose fleshy nose black hairs peeked.
Tom licked his lips and tried to protest, but his tongue suddenly wouldn’t work properly. Tears streaked Linda’s make-up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
The constable continued, “You do not have to say anything until you meet the Inquisitor, but if you do, it may be used in evidence.”
The man was a walking mountain of muscle; it would be futile to argue, Tom decided.
Linda chewed her lower lip, wiping the tears from her face. “Officer, would you give us a moment?” The behemoth nodded and the grip on Tom’s shoulder eased infinitesimally. She murmured, “I’m sorry, darling. I had to do it. One of the children at school saw you with her, and started teasing Abi. You understand?”
“I know,” Tom said, wondering how pure her motives really were. But recrimination would only make his punishment worse so. “You’d only have rung the help-line after a lot of soul-searching.” “I’m sorry, too,” he added so he kept his voice flat as well. “I tried so hard to resist temptation…” Now that his worst fears had come true, it was almost a relief. Almost, but not quite: He knew what he was due.
“I hope they break him before
Linda gave Tom an odd look, half-pity, half-challenge. Tom shrugged. “Why not --he seems to have got over the old man’s death.”
"Kids are resilient," Linda said.
Linda took Shane's hand, and Tom took Abi's, until she snatched it away. What thirteen-year-old wants to hold her Dad's hand, Tom thought with sadness. He was losing her already.
The four of them nudged, wriggled and oozed through the crowds. The smell of frying onions from a hot-dog stand blended with the singed flesh of cauterized stumps.
The so-called stool was a strapped chair -- under the water when the family nudged their way through to the front. Tom took Abi's hand again. It was sweaty, but he kept a tight grip. “See,” Tom said. “This is the follow-up to an Anti-Social Behavior Order: When a criminal breaks an ASBO, it’s the stool for them.”
A mop of brunette hair floated on the surface, the naked woman clamped by her wrists and ankles to the stool. A thin stream of bubbles drifting to the surface was the only sign that she still lived.
When the bubbles stopped, Tom wondered if the Knights Inquisitor were going to suffer the unprecedented embarrassment of two deaths in one afternoon.
The attendants scrambled and brought her up. The woman vomited a lungful of sanctified water and took a whoop of air. Her head lolled as the attendants swung the chair around and the crowd hooted in derision. A loudspeaker intoned, “…forgive those who trespass against us.” She began to convulse, and the first-aiders pulled her out of the seat.
Even with her face hidden by the lank bundle of sodden hair, the woman’s body sent shivers of recognition down Tom’s spine. Then he heard the words “…Lord, forgive your daughter, Alice Lisle, for the sin of fornication…” and felt sick.
He looked down at the children, who watched it all, rapt, unaware. Tom caught Linda watching him, her gaze unwavering.
The first-aiders released Alice Lisle, and draped a robe around her. She leaned unsteadily against the central pylon of the ducking stool. Her hair hung down over her face in a matted shroud, but one eye peered Medusa-like through a small gap, and burned into him. He wanted to look away, but might as well have been turned to stone. She mouthed something which he couldn’t make out.
“Just as well she’s single,” Linda said. “They’ll shave her head, and tar and feather her. If she were married, kids, they’d brand her.” Abruptly, she looked away, and Tom saw her wipe angrily at her face.
Without warning, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and a gruff voice said, “Thomas James Goodman? Would you accompany me to an interrogation area, please?” Tom looked around into a lantern-jawed, blue-stubbled face from whose fleshy nose black hairs peeked.
Tom licked his lips and tried to protest, but his tongue suddenly wouldn’t work properly. Tears streaked Linda’s make-up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
The constable continued, “You do not have to say anything until you meet the Inquisitor, but if you do, it may be used in evidence.”
The man was a walking mountain of muscle; it would be futile to argue, Tom decided.
Linda chewed her lower lip, wiping the tears from her face. “Officer, would you give us a moment?” The behemoth nodded and the grip on Tom’s shoulder eased infinitesimally. She murmured, “I’m sorry, darling. I had to do it. One of the children at school saw you with her, and started teasing Abi. You understand?”
“I know,” Tom said, wondering how pure her motives really were. But recrimination would only make his punishment worse so. “You’d only have rung the help-line after a lot of soul-searching.” “I’m sorry, too,” he added so he kept his voice flat as well. “I tried so hard to resist temptation…” Now that his worst fears had come true, it was almost a relief. Almost, but not quite: He knew what he was due.
“I hope they break him before
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