Longsight smiles, and raises his hands. “Those of you calling for the crow – I ask you, do not forget mercy.” He says it like they are overexcited children that he must reluctantly chide rather than grown men and women who have called for this man’s soul to be obliterated. “But, you are right – a sin cannot go unpunished.” Longsight is speaking slowly and clearly; the sound calms the crowd and they hush, ready to listen to his verdict, holding back their eager cheers. “But what if there was a way for this sin to be punished and yet at the same time for this man to be unmarked? For him to experience atonement, forgiveness, freedom?”

I frown then, because what Longsight is talking about is impossible. Unless this man is marked, unless the sin is written on the body, then there is no way he can be free.

Next to me, Mel lifts a hand to her open mouth. I wonder what she has seen that I have not.

Two more guards come for Obel then, undoing his cuffs and chivvying him along one at each of his shoulders. His marks look perfect, I notice, with a flicker of professional pride. Anyone who didn’t know Obel before would think he was in fine health; only I see the slight stoop in his posture and the weight in his steps.

Obel is escorted up the steps to the stage by Jack Minnow. All the inking paraphernalia is set up: two seats – a stool for Obel, and another chair. There is a workstation ready to be used. Obel sits on the stool, looking calmly out at the crowd.

The prisoner begins to weep.

Obel gives Minnow a little nod to show that he is ready, and Mayor Longsight steps to the microphone again and addresses his prisoner.

“Mr Knowles. Do you admit your guilt?”

The man answers. “Yes, Mayor Longsight. I admit my guilt.” The words sigh from him, almost inaudible.

“And you agree that your actions deserve – indeed, require – punishment?”

“I do,” he murmurs, but his quiet voice can’t hide from the microphone and he has called punishment down himself, in front of us all.

“Do you trust in me, Philip Knowles?”

A strange question. And, bravely, I think, Philip Knowles pauses.

People shift their feet and cough, unnerved by the silence.

“I … I do trust you Mayor Longsight.” And there is steel in those words. One of Mayor Longsight’s eyebrows flickers.

“A wise answer.” Mayor Longsight smiles enigmatically. “Now, Philip. Do you worship me?”

The man is silent, but the crowd cheers and that is enough for Longsight.

“If a man could bear your sorrows. If a man could take on your guilt, because he himself had pleased the ancestors where you could not. If a man could be marked in your place, the ink on his skin, your sin in his blood. If a man could do all this. Then, would you worship him?”