Kaylar Ch. 01: Contraband

"I opt for summary judgment by the Magistrate, please."

Officer Essalta nodded and Officer Imiken tapped the information into an on-screen Charge Sheet (Minor Offences) proforma, into which Jennifer's photograph, passport details and full home demographics had already been scanned and entered. A moment later, the printer whirred briefly and the form emerged into the hands of Officer Essalta, who added it to the items on the tray.

"Would you follow me, please, Mrs Carmall." Again, the female voice was so calm and almost reassuring, but Jennifer's tummy was a chaotic flutter of butterfly wings beating furiously in a cloud of deep uncertainty.

By now, Jennifer had resolved to bite her tongue, state her case, pay whatever fine was involved and get on the ferry out of the port at the earliest opportunity. She rose and slowly followed the three officials, who were carrying her bag and the various items of evidence for the Magistrate.

Over the ensuing five minutes in the Magistrate's Chamber, Jennifer learned a new meaning for 'summary' as the evidence was presented and her statement in defence was made. The magistrate leaned back from the bench and reflected for a few moments before leaning forward again to address the law officers and the accused. She was a mature woman, probably in her late 50s, who very much fitted the lawyer image in just about any country, but Jennifer was not altogether concerned with imagery at this point, anxious only to clear the case up as a matter of urgency. Her heart almost stopped as the Magistrate made her pronouncement:

"Mrs Carmall, the evidence against you is overwhelming and the Bench has only your word for it that you were unaware of the nature of the item in question that resulted in your committing an offence against the law of this country, as read out to you by Officer Essalta. You acknowledged that you had read the Prohibited Exports Notice that was handed to you when you boarded the inbound ferry on the mainland, for which reason you are now deemed wholly responsible and liable for any offences arising from your transaction with the proprietor of Imenari Antiques.

Your need to catch the ferry today is understood and, in the circumstances, the Court is prepared to be lenient, as this is your first offence, but the fact remains that it was you, not Mr Batar, who committed the offence, wittingly or otherwise, of attempting unlawfully to remove an artefact from the island, the export of which is prohibited by law.

You may therefore leave the island as soon as the sentence has been carried out. If you wish to appeal against the sentence, I am afraid that you will need to remain on the island until the Minor Offences Court session on Thursday.

The Court hereby orders that the artefact be confiscated and sentences you to receive eight strokes of the cane across your buttocks, to be administered in the punishment room. Do you wish to appeal against the sentence?

For a moment, Jennifer thought she was going to pass out, but her tight grip on the handrail was sufficient to prevent her from falling. She was just beginning to doubt her ability to bring the manic chaos of her mind to some semblance of order when her crisis management function suddenly took over and she became the cool and level-headed woman who had earned the coveted place within The Hallswell Design Consultancy. She looked calmly at the Magistrate and spoke quietly:

"I will accept the penalty imposed by the Court, Madam."

The Magistrate nodded, wrote a note on the case file, then handed the papers and evidence to Officer Essalta.

"I believe that you made a wise choice, Mrs Carmall. Officer Essalta will show you the way. The case is now closed."

***

Officer Essalta and Jennifer walked through a very ordinary looking door bearing no identification other than "CR19". The room was airy, well lit, but entirely with reflected artificial lighting. The decor was soothing and far from unpleasant, whilst the furnishings consisted solely of a small desk and chair at the side of the room, a cupboard and, at the far end of the room, what appeared to be a frame in the shape of a small vaulting horse, with a padded side and top and with a pair of steel rings set into it a few inches above the floor. Close to the frame, on the far wall, there was a row of clothes hooks with coat-hangers.

Jennifer looked at Officer Essalta, who had placed her uniform jacket inside the cupboard, from which she had removed a 36-inch dark yellow cane with a handle fashioned from what looked like strips of black leather. Jennifer shivered, but not entirely from apprehension. However, she could not help but notice how very smart the young woman looked in her elegantly cut uniform trousers, her crisp pale blue blouse bearing her name badge, a striped lilac and blue cravat at her neck and highly polished shoes.

"What happens now, please?"

Officer Essalta looked surprisingly relaxed as she half smiled and informed Jennifer that she was free to use the cloakroom on the far side of the room if she needed to before her punishment was carried out. Jennifer nodded and walked slowly towards the facility. She smiled rather nervously at Officer Essalta, who said, rather in the manner of a stylist making a fashion statement, that she should take her skirt off before returning to the punishment room and place it with her jacket on one of the hangers provided for sentenced people.

A couple of minutes later, Jennifer returned, dressed in her loose shirt, hold-ups, plain white Thai briefs and canvas shoes. She was carrying her jacket and skirt, which she hung on the wall. She looked at Officer Essalta, who beckoned to her to approach the frame over which she was to bend. The unusual, but not unfamiliar sensations were now increasing and working their way more deeply into Jennifer's thoughts. Something told her that this would not be a Singapore-style caning, although she was certain that she would know for quite a while that she had been caned. What was puzzling her was the identity of the official who would carry out the sentence.

Officer Essalta was standing in front of the frame as Jennifer bent over it from the opposite side, allowing her arms to hang down towards the rings at the base, to which the officer attached them swiftly and efficiently before testing her pulses and reaching a hand out in a comforting gesture to rest on Jennifer's cheek: "Have you ever been caned before, Jennifer?"

The woman who was about to be caned blushed deeply at being addressed so personally, even intimately, and simply nodded. Paradoxically, this manner and style of address had gone some way towards calming the intense activity in her head and tummy.

The young officer smiled again and continued: "OK, so you know just take deep breaths, focus on your breathing and it will be over before you know it."

Jennifer's eyes opened wide in astonishment. She nodded and whispered to Officer Essalta: "Do you know who is going to cane me?"

The young woman smiled at her again, stroked her cheek and looked her in the eye: "I am going to cane you, Jennifer. There will be no lasting damage, I promise, but it will sting a lot! Remember, deep breaths between each stroke."

Officer Essalta stood up and walked to the other side of the frame, where she secured Jennifer's ankles in place. Jennifer froze as she felt the young hands slide over her hips inside her briefs, which were slowly folded down into an upside-down position. Jennifer blushed furiously and grappled with the most odd mixture of fear and excitement as she heard the officer's footsteps walking towards the door, through which a third person entered after a brief and hushed exchange of words. She heard a chair being pulled backwards, before a mature female voice that she recognised as that of the magistrate ordered that the punishment proceed forthwith.

Jennifer turned her head to her left, to where Officer Essalta was now standing, flexing the cane. Jennifer heard her whispered word of advice: "Try and keep your eyes on the circle on the carpet, Jennifer."

Whilst the punishment probably took no longer than two and a half minutes in all, it felt as if it took two and a half hours. Jennifer felt the cane tap very briefly and lightly across the centre of her clenched cheeks and a heard a further whispered word of advice to try to relax them. This was followed almost immediately by a brief swishing sound as the cane sliced through the air, followed by a sharp crack as it landed, the first of eight equally firm, but by no means brutal strokes that left a perfect set of eight parallel weals across her firm buttocks.

Much to her own surprise, Jennifer barely flinched throughout the caning and she succeeded in suppressing an almost overwhelming urge to scream out in pain. This was the first time she had been caned by another woman, a woman almost 20 years her junior at that! What Jennifer did not fully understand was why she felt no resentment whatsoever towards the young officer who was dealing so effectively and expertly with her. Quite the contrary, in fact!

***

Jennifer dressed again, with exquisite care. Next, back in the Magistrate's Chamber, she completed her part of the 'process' by signing the punishment form and watched as it was countersigned by Officer Essalta and the magistrate. Then, she was asked to wait for a few moments whilst her property was collected and brought to her. She nodded and looked around her as the magistrate and Officer Essalta left the Chamber.

Jennifer's attention was caught by what appeared to be an A3-sized loose-leaf stamp album on the desk, with the heading "Import and Export Offences Register" at the top of the open page. It dawned on her that this was a gallery featuring images of people who had met the same fate as she had suffered. She blushed deeply as she realised that her photograph would soon be added. As she scanned down the page, she was thinking through the possible consequences of being seen in the book; suddenly she froze, for there, in front of her, four rows above the last photo, was an image that she recognised instantly. Like cogs engaging in a gear mechanism, the component elements in the recent events started to fit together like a perfectly-cut jigsaw puzzle. This had been no misadventure. This had been an ingenious conspiracy.

With her composure restored and her property intact apart from one small package, Jennifer soon found herself in the departure area and located her friends. With a mendacious talent that even surprised her, she informed Jo, Katrina and Sam that there had simply been a malfunction with the passport recognition system but that, after quite detailed examination, all had been resolved satisfactorily. There were sighs of relief all round just as a message appeared on the passenger information screen, informing them that boarding had now commenced.

Jennifer was only partially aware of what was going on and brushed off enquiries as to whether or not she was feeling alright with a convincing light-hearted comment that she could not wait to take her place on deck, with a long cold drink, for the crossing back to the mainland. That part of her mind that was not engaged upon self-navigation was occupied by just one thing - the half-smiling image of the face of the woman whom she had pipped to the post in the promotion stakes, a woman who had clearly been blessed with greater cunning than any of them had imagined. Jennifer had been well and truly framed.

Revenge, they say, is like a fine champagne: best served well chilled. Fortunately, there was no rush to serve it, but Jennifer was already polishing the champagne glass in her mind when the gentle hum of the powerful turbines on the high-speed ferry speeded up to a deep roar as the vessel rounded the breakwater in the late afternoon sunshine and set course for the mainland.

Jennifer felt the gentle and slightly cooling sea air blowing around her skirt, with a draught helpfully blowing up her skirt, around her extremely sore behind. She managed to prevent her skirt from rising too high by leaning back against the rail, resting the tops of her hips against it, just above the line of the uppermost stripe. Now, the value of a high-speed ferry crossing in such circumstances became all too obvious.

Overhead, a pair of ubiquitous seagulls flew just astern of the vessel with apparent ease, at a speed of several knots, before succumbing to laziness and peeling off across the almost glass calm sea towards a slow-moving fishing-boat that offered far more promising and less demanding prospects of a tasty high tea.

***