“Stephens, O. 409562”

Diah stepped through. A prison guard stood behind a counter. Shelves lined the walls on the other side. There was a heavy steel door on his side.

“Step forward!”

Diah did so.

“Everything, into this box.”

“I don’t have anything, sir.”

“Then strip!”

Diah sighed and removed his jacket. “Glad to be out of that to tell you the truth. Too small for me now.”

“Medical problems?”

“None, sir.”

He stripped down to his underwear, putting it on the counter where the guard shoved it into a bag.

He was done, or so he thought.

“All of it.”

Diah sighed and stripped

The guard pointed at two rulers on the wall.

“Arms extended. Stand straight. Back to the wall. Boot size?”

“Seven, sir.”

He went into a back, emerging with a stack of grey cloth.

He pointed at Diah’s chest. “What are those tattoos?”

“Swallows, sir. Right one, five thousand miles travelled by sea, left one, ten thousand.”

“Anymore?”

“Anchor, sir. Atlantic crossing.”

“Dress.”

Diah examined the uniform. A pinstriped white shirt, grey everything else. Black boots.

“Stop faffing about. You’ll not see anything else for a very long time.”

“Forty days isn’t that long, sir!”

“Forty days?! That’s not what it says here.”

“What!?”

“You’re in for twenty years!”

“Twenty years? For fucking contempt of court?!”

“Stop pissing about.”

“I’m not! What else does it say?”

“You’re twenty years into a forty-year sentence! Age. Thirty-nine. Murder.”

“Well I know that’s impossible! I’m only fucking fifteen!”

“Watch your tongue!” A little concern entered his expression.

“First name?”

“Obediah, sir.”

“Lucky I caught that. So, you’re not Oscar Stephens. Very troubling. I don’t have any paperwork for you.”

“Probably that fucker of a magistrate.”

“I told you to watch your tongue, boy! One more outburst and I’ll have you on report!”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll try.”

He got a blank form.

“Full name.”

“Obediah Stephens.”

“Date of birth?”

“Twenty-fourth of March, 2004, sir.”

“Address?”

“Fifteen Wood street, Kidsgrove, sir.”

“Next of kin?”

“David Stephens. Same address.”

Diah was dressed. It wasn’t too bad. The trousers were a little itchy.

“Top pocket. Give me the number.”

Diah pulled out a strip with 409562 on it “What is that?”

“You wear that number, you’d be the person on that form. Oscar, remember? Last place you want to be put is where he was set for. D wing’s for dangerous criminals. Crime?”

“I said, sir. Contempt.”

“So you did. Sentence, forty days. What the hell did you do, boy? Spit in the magistrate’s face?”

Diah laughed. “God, I wish I’d thought of that.”

“Can you read?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Other skills?”

“I’ve portered, stoked, can mend sails and splice rope. Sailor, sir.”

“Making sacks for you. You also sew that above your left pocket. You’ll be inspected, daily.”

Diah nodded.

The guard left, returning with more kit,

He held up a strip. “Stephens. O. 853945. That’s your name. Memorise it. If anything happens to any of your kit issue, you’ll be charged.

“Charged? I don’t have any money!”

“You earn money. One shilling a day when put to work. If you don’t cause any trouble you’ll earn privileges.”

“What like?”

“Standard prison food’s foul. Deliberately so. You’re here to be punished. If you’re good, you get better food and time out of your cell among other things”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then you’ll have the shittiest food, be put on the shittiest jobs or spend twenty-three hours a day locked up with nothing to do. Fairly straightforward. If you’re trouble, there are punishments too.”

“Punishments? Worse than being only let out for an hour a day eating nothing but slop?”

“Solitary confinement. Minimum one week. We also have whips for the worst of you.”

“I take it swearing at other prisoners is allowed at least!”

“As long as it’s not within earshot of a guard, we don’t give a shit what you say.”

“So work tomorrow, then?”

The man chuckled. “Work? It’s Sunday. You stay in your cell when you’re not being fed, washed or preached at.”

He picked something else off a shelf.

“Wash kit. Towel, flannel, soap, toilet roll, razor, needle and thread. Replacement blade issued once a week.”

“I won’t be needing that.”

“You’ll shave, boy.”

“But I’ve not started shaving yet.”

“You shave. Daily.”

“But I don’t even know how! I’ll cut myself to ribbons!”

“You’ll just have to learn, won’t you?”

He wrote his number on a board.

“Hold this, back to the wall.”

Diah did as he was told.

The guard placed camera on the desk.

“No smiles. No funny faces. Mess this photo, you’ll be charged for that too.”

“What if I want to write a letter?”

“Pen, pad and ink’ll cost you a shilling. When you’ve earned it.”

“But my dad’ll be scared silly!”

“Well you’ll just have to buckle down then won’t you? Stand still, blank expression...”

There was a blinding flash and the guard removed a plate and put it into an envelope.

“Left turn!”

Diah turned.

“Hold the board up to your side, boy! Do I have to explain everything!?”

“It’s my first time!”

“Make sure it’s your last!”

Another flash.

“Why were you in court, anyway?”

“I caught some thieves robbing a barge. I was just about to testify when the arsehole accused me of lying.”

The man sighed. “Heed my advice. Lie through your teeth, boy. You were a witness for the defence!”

“Why?”

“They hate informants in here.”

Diah shuddered.

“Thanks.”

“Must say, you’re handling it well.”

Diah nodded.

The guard placed a clipboard on the counter. “Sign here.”

He signed.

“Roll your clothing and wash kit into a bundle, you can shove it under your arm.”

“Why?”

“So you can shove this under your other arm.”

The next thing to appear on the counter was a mattress, rolled and tied up.

The guard banged three times. A peephole opened and then the door.

“Go on through lad. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks a lot. Very funny.”