The Governor of the Island – Part 1: The Sentence

The fort stood on a headland, a squat grey fortress with a lighthouse tower, a heavy iron gate and a row of cells in its seaward wall. The tour company rented it out for weddings and, once, for a corporate retreat. Tonight it was rented for a different purpose, by a woman who had told the caretaker she was shooting a short.

Magdalene stood in the gatehouse at dusk with a lantern in one hand. She was forty-five, a venue owner with an eye for spectacle and a voice that carried to the back of a marquee. Cassian was thirty-seven, her partner of four years, a ferry captain, strong and dependable and weary of being responsible for a hundred and forty lives every day. He had told her once, at the rail of his own boat, that his deepest private wish was to be the one who is sentenced.

In the old guardroom, with a storm brewing out over the water, she laid a roll of parchment on a barrel-top. The Island Code. His limits and hers, in black ink: no marks, nothing painful, no real humiliation, nothing beyond the fort, no one else. The cell door fitted a simple lever that opened from inside. The word was Tide.

"Say it."

"Tide."

"If you say it, the Governor sets down her lantern. I am Magdalene. We make tea in the guardhouse and watch the storm."

"I understand."

"And every watch, which is every half hour, I will ask whether you wish to continue. You answer truly."

"Yes, Governor."

"Not yet." She put on a long black greatcoat with silver buttons and a naval cap, and drew on a pair of black gloves. The lantern threw her shadow huge on the stone. When she spoke again, her voice was low, unhurried and absolutely level. "Convict. You were brought to this island in chains for crimes against the Crown. Do you deny them?"

"No, Governor."

"Then you will hear your sentence."

She walked a slow circle round him in the flickering light. The wind howled round the tower, and the first heavy rain began to hit the stones. He stood with his hands behind his back, looking straight ahead, and felt the long familiar tiredness slide off his shoulders.

"Your sentence," said the Governor, "is one night in the cliff cell. You will obey every order. You will speak only when asked. You will be corrected as I see fit."

"I accept, Governor."

"You do not accept. You are sentenced." She took the iron key from her belt and held it up. "Walk."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Low Tide.