The roar from the crowd is terrifyingly loud – the stage rocks with the stamps of the joyous people and my ears ring with their screams of praise.

Yes. A man like that, they would worship.

Chapter Eleven

Jack Minnow steps to the fore.

“People of Saintstone, I call on you to witness and to pass on what you see. You will tell your children, and they will tell their children of this day.”

Phillip Knowles is jostled to the side of the stage as robes of scarlet are brought to the mayor and slipped on over his bare skin. A crown of red roses is placed on Longsight’s head as he is led to the chair. Petals flutter to the ground as he walks, to be crushed underfoot.

The drape of the robes as he sits on the chair before Obel reminds me of water cascading – rivers of blood. He gathers the fabric so that the mayor’s left arm is fully exposed; Obel shifts his stool closer. I see him reach for a razor. He’s preparing the skin; he’s really doing this.

Jack Minnow anoints his leader’s feet with perfumed oil and the kneeling crowd rises.

The machine whirrs to life with its insect-shrill sound and Obel dips the needle into the ink. He holds Longsight’s arm still, his skin taught. He’s managing, despite his broken hand. I hear the higher pitch as needle attacks skin and the hitch of Mayor Longsight’s breath as he submits to the bite.

The line that emerges is wide and red. The mark of a thief.

I breathe deeply and inhale the fragrance of petals blending with richly scented oil. The air is heavy and seductive. The machine stutters to silence. I know what will happen next – Obel’s routine never changes. He will clean, cover and dress the mark. After a moment, when Obel releases him, Mayor Longsight stands, bidding his people to stand with him.

They see his forearm, bound in transparent film. They smell the oil and crushed flowers and they praise him. Their leader – one who sits in the seat of punishment and takes it upon himself. This is a new day, a new teaching, a new era.

Chapter Twelve

“What’s he going to do now?” I say sourly when Mel and I reach her study. “Get a mark for every sneak thief in the jail?”

I’m playing down my shock. Despite myself, I was stunned out there. Longsight took a mark for another. Took on that man’s sin. But now, back in Mel’s office, I feel my cynicism kicking in. Whatever that was today, it was for show. Longsight might believe himself immortal, but he’s pragmatic. There are reasons for the charade and they will be reasons that somehow benefit him.

Mel sits at her desk in silence – she must hear me but it’s as though she has learned to turn my volume down. She stares into space, hand resting on her marbled notebook. She looks like she’s waiting for something. Long minutes pass and she appears to come to, her eyes sharply focused on me.