‘That’s for me to decide,’ said the bailiff, marching self-importantly across the marketplace, his gaoler’s keys jangling on his hip. The crowd parted to let him through to the pond, where two burly men still held Akiko aloft. The bailiff gazed up at his prisoner, his thumbs tucked firmly into the belt that secured his ample belly.

‘You have been accused of witchcraft,’ he pronounced. ‘Do you confess to being a witch?’

‘No, of course not!’ Akiko replied defiantly. ‘That wou–’

At the nod of the bailiff’s head, the ducking stool was tipped into the pond. Akiko plunged beneath the surface, her words lost in a bubbling slosh of foul water. The crowd let out a jubilant roar. Jack and Yori watched horrified, as their friend disappeared entirely, only a swirl of froth marking her entry into the water. After several excruciatingly long seconds, the bailiff waved for the ducking stool to be raised.

Akiko emerged, gasping and spluttering, covered head to foot in pondweed, sludge and reeds.

The bailiff repeated his question. ‘Do you confess to being a witch?’

‘N-n-no,’ Akiko spluttered, spitting out a clump of waterweed. ‘Why would I con–’

The bailiff signalled the two men again, and Akiko was once more dunked into the pond. The townsfolk all leaned in, trying to make out Akiko’s flailing figure under the murky waters.

‘What’s the point of this trial?’ demanded Yori, his voice trembling.

The bailiff turned towards him, a sneer on his slimy lips. ‘To prove whether she’s a witch or not.’

Yori frowned in bewilderment. ‘But how? You’re simply torturing her.’

‘If she doesn’t drown, then we know she’s a witch,’ replied the bailiff as if Yori was stupid. ‘Of course, she could simply confess and avoid all this needless suffering.’

Yori stared at the rippling surface of the pond in mounting distress. ‘But what if she does drown?’

‘Then at least we know she isn’t a witch.’

‘But then it’s too late!’ cried Yori.

The bailiff shrugged indifferently. ‘Better to be safe than sorry, I say.’

After a couple of minutes, he waved to the men to raise the ducking stool. Akiko came up, bedraggled and shivering. She was evidently weaker this time. Gagging, she spewed up the revolting pond water into her lap.

‘Do you confess now?’ asked the bailiff.

Akiko shook her head, her long hair hanging in dark wet tendrils across her pale face. Once again, the ducking stool plunged into the pond. Once again, the crowd cheered.

Jack raged and kicked against the pillory, trying to loosen the wooden post that held him fast. But the frame was solid and its foundation too deep. He could only watch in terror as the water in the pond settled and the bubbles gradually fizzled out.

‘She’s drowning!’ he yelled in desperation. ‘Let her up! I beg you, let her up!’