“No, sir.”
“Of course you’re not,” the Admiral spat. “And nor do you deserve to be.” He caressed the age-polished wood with chocolate-stained fingers. “This device is known as the Sinner’s Sorrow. She was here even before myself, a lovely leftover from one of Slabhenge’s former lives.” The Sinner’s Sorrow was made all of wood, and rose as high as the Admiral’s bulging belly. At its base was a rail where Jonathan’s knees rested, a long piece of stained wood that was sharpened to a vicious edge that was biting at his flesh like a dull saw blade. At its top was a slanted, flat desktop and an old inkwell. “Who knows how many lunatics and criminals have knelt here, paying the price for their evil.” The Admiral’s eyes, blurry from liquor, lapped hungrily at the wretched wood of the Sinner’s Sorrow. His gray tongue licked at his dry lips. “How does that rail feel on your young knees? It burns, doesn’t it?”
Jonathan looked up, straight into the Admiral’s eyes for the first time. “No,” he answered in a level voice. “It doesn’t burn, sir. It just hurts.”
The Admiral raised an eyebrow and sniffed. “Yes, well, you would know, wouldn’t you, Jonathan Grisby?” Jonathan looked down quickly, stung by the man’s words. The Admiral cleared his throat and took a step back. “You’re just the latest degenerate to feel her bite. And she is just one of the tools we use at Slabhenge to educate and civilize and correct. And you will be corrected. A crime as wicked as yours will require quite severe correction.” The Admiral leaned close so that Jonathan could feel as well as hear his next words in his ear. “You have done terrible things, haven’t you, Jonathan Grisby?”
Jonathan lowered his head and didn’t answer. The Admiral wheezed out a phlegmy sigh and took a step back.
“But all that begins tomorrow. You’ll see. You’ve arrived late. It’s nearly all-dark time. Only one little thing remains to be done.”
He reached for something from his desk and slid it onto the Sinner’s Sorrow’s little writing surface: a pen, and a blank piece of paper.
“At Slabhenge, all of our boys write a letter home to Mommy and Daddy every day. To let them know that you are safe and sound and that their investment is paying off. The mail goes out in the morning, and yours is the last letter we need.”
“What do you want me to say?”
The Admiral’s eyebrows dropped. The corner kid shuffled over and squeezed the back of Jonathan’s arm in a hard, vicious pinch. “Sir!” he spat into Jonathan’s ear.
Jonathan tried to shift from knee to knee to ease the growing pain.
“What do you want me to say, sir?”
The Admiral turned his hands palm up and spread his fingers.
“Whatever you like.”
Jonathan frowned at the paper and thought of all the things he’d like to say to his parents.
“I can’t write with my hands cuffed, sir.”
“Of course not.” The Admiral tossed a heavy ring of keys to the chubby kid, who jangled and fumbled behind Jonathan until there was a click and Jonathan felt his hands finally swing free. He rubbed his sore wrists and wiggled his stiff shoulder sockets. With a quick glance at the Admiral, he picked up the pen and scribbled out a few sentences, then folded the paper and handed it to him.
The Admiral unfolded the paper.
“Dear Mom and Dad,” he read aloud. “This place is just as terrible as I deserve. Give my love to Sophia. Jonathan. Hmm.” The Admiral shook his head and clicked his tongue. “No, no, this won’t do. Try it again, Jonathan Grisby. You can say whatever you wish, of course, but you cannot speak poorly of our fine institution. We don’t want them regretting the difficult decision they made to send you here. So, again, without the parts about Slabhenge.” The Admiral slid another blank piece of paper across the desk.
“My parents didn’t send me here. Sir.” Jonathan knew that it wouldn’t help him at all to argue, but he felt he had to say it. “A judge did.”
The room hung in taut silence.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” the Admiral asked, and his voice was darkly low and quiet. Jonathan didn’t answer. “Yes. A judge sentenced you to a reformatory for your heinous crime. But he gave your parents several choices, did he not? And they chose Slabhenge, did they not?”
Jonathan swallowed. All of his trembling parts screamed at him to let it go. But he couldn’t.
“Yes, sir. But … only because it was the cheapest. They had to … to pay for half, and we don’t have—”