by R.G. Chilton
Part of Tracy Hickman hated when she had to visit her Uncle Frank at his place of employment, but after what she had witnessed during her last visit, another part of her was almost curious. She knew that it wasn't likely that she would stumble across anything like that again, but there was always a chance.
On that last visit, over a week ago, she had been on an errand whose nature had escaped her memory. Whatever it had been it was something that could not wait until his return, and when asked to do it, Tracy's only concern was inconveniencing him whilst he was working. Frank Hickman might not have been the mayor or hold high office, but as magistrate his time was not his own, and to distract him from his important duties for a domestic task seemed so trivial.
And what had happened had been at least partly her fault. Rather than to go through channels (talking to the assistant who would bring her to her uncle's clerk) she had seen Gary and asked him if he knew where her uncle was.
Gary, not blessed with an excess of intelligence to accompany his strong back, had grunted and said, "It's around, no, it's down, no... 'tis faster I show ya than tell ya."
He had led Tracy past the public areas of the courthouse. Where others might have been stopped, those who saw her with Gary had assumed she had legitimate business in these back areas and let her be about it.
The wooden panels on the walls had given way to bare stone before Gary had reached their destination. Gary had stopped at a heavy wooden door near the end of a long corridor and opened it with an oversized key that hung beside two others on a ring.
"They's don't give me the keys to most places, only to where I needs going," Gary had confided as he led her into a room.
The room had a few bare benches and was dominated by a door on the opposite wall.
"Ya uncle's through there," Gary had said unnecessarily. "But I's needs to lock this one first."
Tracy had been about to use this pause to graciously thank Gary for his work so far when sounds filled the air.
Swish!
THWACK!
And a wordless, oddly stifled, cry sounded.
Tracy had frozen. The cry was clearly a female one, and the sound was unmistakable. Whilst she had always been a dutiful student, she had heard the sound of the cane many times - sometimes whilst passing the headmistress's office or occasionally from a cloak room - and whilst this sounded to be a much harder impact than those had been (even with the sound carrying through the door at the opposite side of the room), it was clearly the sound of a female bottom being caned.
Time had seemed to stop. Tracy had strained for breath, battling her corset in her attempt to do so. Her dizzy eyes had flashed around, taking in the entire room, including the wooden benches with rings at their ends, something that a chain could be run through, a chain that would run through manacles. The awful purpose of this room became clear: it was to house prisoners awaiting their turn in the next room, their turn for what had been brought home by another awful swish-thwack-cry combination.
"Gary?" Tracy had said softly, her lungs barely drawing enough air to speak. "Should you have brought me here?"
Tracy had hated to address the man so informally, but didn't feel that she had much of a choice.
Not that he had heeded her words. Gary merely finished locking the door they had entered and went to the other one. Tracy had forced herself to speak again.
"Gary, I fear that I should not be here. My errand here is of no great import. Perhaps it would be best for all concerned if I were to leave and speak to my uncle when he is less busy," Tracy offered.
"What? Naw, I's just finished locking that door," Gary had said whilst selecting a key for the new door. "Lock that door, unlock this one, that's the job."
Tracy had looked away from the man. Her breath still short, she had forced herself to brush a space on one of the benches clean, then sit to recovery herself, a task she had found near impossible under the steady stream of noises coming from the second room. They were not hurried, but rather slow and measured, so precise in their timing that Tracy could not help but envision a gigantic pendulum swinging.
Swish!
THWACK!
"EYYAH!"
Swish!
THWACK!
"EIIAYH!"
Time had seemed to stretch forever. Tracy had almost gained an impression of what it must feel to be a prisoner waiting in this cell-like room. The stone walls, ceiling and floor held no possible distraction from the sound of one's predecessor. But Tracy had admitted to herself that it was only in her imagination; unlike the wretches that normally waited here, she knew she wasn't next. Still, she couldn't help but wince each time the cane fell.
Glancing up from the stone floor, Tracy had seen Gary fumbling with a key, then trying another one. She had wondered just how long it took a man to find the correct key on a ring of three. She had wondered it aloud in a curt voice.
"Ya the first that's ere been bothered by the wait," Gary had said, then switched to the next key.
Swish!
THWACK!
"EEEAH!"
"Oh for heavens sake, you just tried that one," Tracy had blurted out, stunned by her own forwardness. "It's the one next to it. No, not the one in your hand, the other one."
"Thanks, Miss," Gary had said. "Some time the keys don't want to be opening that lock."
Tracy had watched as he turned the key, then rapped his fist against the door loudly four times.
"What was that for?" Tracy had asked.
"Now I's lost me count," Gary had said.
Tracy had waited patiently whilst the man's lips moved as he counted slowly. When he smiled and turned back towards the second door, Tracy hadn't been able to stop herself from asking again, "And what was that for?"
"Oh, 'tis the way it's done," Gary had answered solemnly. "I's unlock that door, I's lock that door, I's unlock this door, I's knock, then I's count. 'Tis a bit confusing, but I's got the hang of it."
When Gary had finally opened the door, Tracy had discovered her Uncle Frank standing on the other side of it. As usual, he looked stern and focused in his black magistrate's gown.
"Tracy?" her uncle had asked, then he turned to Gary and said, "That will be all, Gary. You may leave us."
"Um, buts this door is opened, see? So if I's open that one..."
"Yes Gary, but this is a special case so you may, no, wait! You are to wait here for my niece and accompany her back to the front steps of this building. Do you understand?"
"Um, I's to wait..."
"I'll explain it to you again later," Frank had said briskly, to Gary's obvious relief. "Now Tracy, what brings you here today?"
Tracy had stammered out her errand, ending it with, "But I now see that I should never have bothered you whilst you were busy with your official duties. I understand I must now take my leave from you and humbly ask that you grant it."
Tracy had expected things to end there. What happened next had taken her completely by surprise.
"Leave now? After what you have no doubt heard? Nonsense. Gary might have been overly helpful to bring you back here, but now that you are here I don't wish you to leave with visions of a Turkish torture chamber running through your head. You have seen me in court and now, to dispel any strange fancies you might have, you should see one of the more unpleasant tasks I might be called on to supervise. If you would wait for a moment so that things may be made ready I may be able to set your mind at ease."
With that, Frank had shut the door, giving Tracy no time to form an answer, much less give it.
Tracy had been half suspecting that the prisoner was being moved from the room, but it was less than two minutes later when the door opened again and her uncle invited her in. With the hulking frame of Gary beside her, Tracy had chosen not to delay her entrance into the room lest Gary act and with that act remove an illusion that she was entering the room by choice.
The room beyond the door had done nothing to dispel Tracy's fancies. It was wider than it was deep, and other doors were present. Tracy hadn't really expected her uncle to enter through the prisoner's room, but Gary must lack the keys for those other doors. As for furnishings, they were sparse. Several chairs faced a series of benches of curious design. Their purpose had been obvious by their design, even without one being occupied.
Tracy's breath had once more vanished, but her uncle had stood by her reassuringly, urging her forward for a better view. Her eyes had darted around the room, and it hadn't been until she was halfway to the occupied bench that she saw its occupant lacked all clothing below her waist. What the leather straps attached to the others benches had hinted at, this last one delivered.
"Oh uncle, it is indecent for me to be here with her like this," Tracy had protested when she found the breath to do so.
"Nonsense, my dear, simply nonsense. This room is under the authority of the magistrates, so by definition nothing indecent may occur here," Frank had answered, his arm on her shoulder as he guided (almost forced) her forward in a fatherly manner. "This little piece of business came before the court. Following her legal hearing, one of the kind that you have often seen, she was sentenced to six months in custody and thirty strokes of the cane."
"But Uncle, she's unclothed!" Tracy had protested, attempting to avert her eyes.
But she couldn't. Tracy's eyes had been drawn to the angry red lines and welts on the bottom, which had looked far worse than anything she had seen before. And that person with the bottom! The taut leather straps that had held her firmly in place, either by accident or design, held her legs inches apart, exposing her secret glory to any with eyes. Tracy had rarely seen such an open view of a quim in all of her days. The only times she could remember seeing something remotely close to this involved remedying bathroom accidents in the nursery.
"But of course!" Frank had thundered. "For safety reasons. This isn't some school cane we are using. Why, imagine the unintentional harm that could be done if the wielder could not see which areas had been struck and where it was safe to lay the next stroke. No, whilst we do not speak openly of this in court, this is the manner is which all judicially ordered canings are delivered."
"But she is, um, a she," Tracy had pointed out. "And you are a he!"
"Whilst I asked them to leave, so that their presence would not embarrass you, witnesses are generally present to ensure that reputations are maintained," Frank had explained. "Quite often when, as you so aptly pointed out, the subject is female, a woman warden is brought in to aid with the correction. So you see this is no more indecent than what happens in countless schools when a female pupil is corrected by the hand of one of her instructresses. Oh, the setting is different, that I must allow you, but the theory is the same. Now look, take it all in. I wish to banish any false impressions you might have formed regarding the nature of this chamber."
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