The young and impressionable girl I had been had believed that – if only because my parents had never spanked me – yet now I knew that it was nonsense, total nonsense. I had inspected myself in the mirror as soon as I had been released and allowed to go to my room and discovered that my aching buttocks were covered with no less than ten ominous red stripes. It hurt to walk, to touch them or to sit down. I lay face down on the bed and started to cry. Sometime afterwards, I fell asleep, still lying on my chest. My dreams were strange things, images of the slaves, the desperate rescue and the cane looming over me blending together to produce a surreal nightmare. I couldn’t sleep well at all, if only because every time I twisted in bed my aching bottom rubbed against the sheets, snapping me awake. I was grateful when Fiona flew into the room and settled down next to me, one scaly paw holding my hand. When I finally awoke, it was eleven o’clock and I felt dreadful.
