When they finally got away, Isabella set a very brisk pace towards the town centre, weaving round the other pedestrians and rarely looking back to make sure they were keeping up. They walked with the characteristic swinging gait of people with bound hands; Poppy often felt that if she went too fast, she'd twist right round and fall down sideways. They were both naked, and felt better for the fact that their pace denied other people the time to get a good look at them. Poppy saw for the first time that Suzie was now plugged, and managed to get close enough to remark on the fact. Suzie grimaced. 'My bottom's constantly clenching and unclenching, and this route march isn't helping', she answered breathlessly. 'You'll get used to it', was all the comfort Poppy could offer. They were falling behind. 'If you can't walk and talk', Isabella called over her shoulder; 'just walk'. It was all she said until they reached their destination.

The Hall of Punishment was beyond the square, not far behind the Hall of Justice. Like most of the government buildings it was two storeys high and wooden, with a camouflaged roof and plenty of trees around it. It was sunk into the ground, obviously having cellars that were expensively waterproofed. As they stood in front, recovering their breath, Isabella started her commentary. 'It's designed inside to look imposing; intimidating', she told them. 'Those who come here must know that they're in the hands of something big, inexorable, irresistible. Now we go inside.'

She was obviously very proud of the institution run by her father, and walked very erect as she entered the large, ornate doors, carved with reliefs showing persons undergoing painful and sometimes injurious punishments. They didn't have time to look at those, and were startled to find that, inside, there was no sign of wood. The walls and floors were lined with various kinds and shades of marble. Both thought that it was probably a ceramic imitation, but it would have been impolitic to ask about that. Besides, there were more interesting things to look at. There were installations; punishments used as displays to arrest the attention of people entering and leaving the premises. All were worthy of a second look, and an explanation from Isabella.

The first was a woman of about thirty, naked and crucified a couple of feet from the floor. They were relieved to see that she was not nailed, but bound to the cross with ropes. She was extremely restless. She'd been tied in a way that gave her the choice of pushing herself up with her feet- almost standing- or letting more of her weight hang from her wrists. It didn't seem to Poppy and Suzie that it would be too difficult to achieve a reasonably stable position supported mainly by her legs, but that didn't seem to be the case. When she did that, her upper body tended to fall forwards, stretching her arms back and forcing her breasts forward. But hanging by her wrists was obviously painful, and she kept up an endless search for a compromise she could endure. Isabella explained. 'I don't suppose you've ever been crucified', she said, as if that was a sign of extreme immaturity. 'What people don't realise is that if they hang from their wrists in that position, they can't breathe properly, and eventually suffocate. Whether the subject is nailed or roped or stapled doesn't actually make the crucial difference; they tend to take the same time to die, and it's exhaustion that kills. But of course we don't take things that far here. She's only been a bit too quarrelsome with her fellow slaves, and she'll be there for four hours.'

The over-fractious slave was left to writhe on, and the next was also a woman; rather younger and quite slim, fortunately for her. She stood on a platform with her hands tied behind her back, and another rope led from her wrists to the ceiling. As they approached her it was just pulling her arms up a little behind her, but then the platform, which was in essence a kind of lift, began to descend. Her expression, which they could just about see behind a big panel gag, was increasingly pained, and after about twenty seconds she was hanging in strappado, twisting her body and obviously in great pain. Her ankles were tied together to prevent any kicking that might be unsightly or hazardous to passers-by. After another twenty seconds the platform rose again slowly, until she was standing with her arms snug against her back. Her breast was heaving, but she gradually recovered from the brief ordeal. 'It's a programmed cycle', explained Isabella. The owner- or whoever orders the punishment- decides how often it goes up and down; how long it stays up, the speed, and obviously, how long the session lasts. We have standard programs, of course. This one is quite mild. Each cycle takes three minutes, and she's there for two hours. There are no special requests. There is a program that jiggles the subject for a few seconds while he or she is hanging, and occasionally a whip is left in that stand there, for watchers to use if they feel like it. This girl is just being punished for careless oral work.'

The next exhibit was a naked man in a Perspex sphere about eight feet in diameter. His hands were tied behind his back and his ankles together. The sphere was on a complex mechanism that allowed it to rotate 360 degrees on any axis, moving in a completely random manner, and at a variable speed. Handicapped as he was, the occupant had to scramble about inside, trying to avoid a situation that would leave him tumbling down an almost vertical surface. 'This is more serious than it looks', said Isabella. 'He could suffer serious back or neck injuries, or tumble over to hit his head quite hard. It's just a matter of whether his owner wants him left there until he's too exhausted to help himself. He's only got another hour to go. He closed his mouth when his master's wife was urinating into it.' A moment later, the sphere stopped moving, and the house slaves prepared to remove him. 'His master's decided he's had enough', she explained. 'He probably likes him more than he likes his wife.'

The last of the public displays was another male. He was bound to a St. Andrew's Cross, stretched out quite tightly, and gagged. His genitals were bound with thin rope round the base of both his penis and his testicles, and from them dangled a tank containing water. On his chest, a slightly larger tank was linked to it with a thin tube, with a valve that allowed a very slow trickle of water from one to the other. His cock and balls were already badly stretched and distended, and his eyes were closed as he grimaced in pain. 'This is a simple one, for minor sexual offences', said Isabella. 'He tried it on with a slavegirl that his master had reserved for his own use. Another twenty minutes should do it. More might cause him permanent damage. A lot of owners time the punishments to finish near lunchtime, for convenience. We'll eat in about an hour, but I'll pick up some popcorn to put us on.'