Page 4 of Red in Tooth and Claw

Mr.Speed took our plates out with his cigarette, and I was left to my own devices. I decided to go check on Gertie to see how she was settling in. It looked like the goats had already been herded into the barn, so I headed that way. Miss Moon had only waved at it on our tour, barns being much the same this world over, so I hadn’t had a good look.

The barn wasn’t the tallest building at the Settlement, but it was a good size, built out of sturdy timber. I unlatched the door and stepped in, greeted by the familiar smell of animal musk, hay, and droppings. The Settlement did have two cows, one of them heavily pregnant. Next to their pen were the goats, and across the aisle a few horses were stabled along with one mule.

The goats had likely just been put away, as a young woman was still fussing with the latch. She was a tiny thing with tan skin, her black hair braided up around her head like many of the other women I’d seen at the Settlement. From her size, I would have guessed her younger, but she had a gravity to her, a steadiness that made me think she might be around my age or even older.

Amos, the same young fella who’d ordered me to carry some of Cartwright’s delivery, stood beside her, doing nothing to help. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself, Dai. Ain’t you heard? Barn’s haunted. Ankle biters say so.”

“Is that so?” she said absently, focusing on her task. I couldn’t see much beyond the girl’s profile, but there was a stiffness to her movements that told me she wasn’t happy with his presence.

He smirked at her, leaning on the fencing. “That’s right. Amelia said she saw a big ol’—” He cozened up to her, and I’m not sure what he would have said next, because he caught sight of me. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to check on a randy goat,” I said, striding up. The girl, Dai, made a noise like a stifled cough, and Amos frowned. I barreled forward. “Ah, there you are, Gertie.” I held out my hand, letting my goat nuzzle my palm. I gave her a good scratch around the ears.

“Well, you found it,” Amos said. “Now scuttle off.”

I ignored him, making no move to leave. Dai took the opportunity to dip away, heading for the doors.

Amos made to go after her, and I stepped back into his path like I hadn’t been paying attention. He slammed into me, almost sending us sprawling. Amos grabbed me before I could fall, yanking me up by the shirt and lifting me off the floor. My hat fell to the straw, and I heard a few of the stitches pop in my new shirt collar.

If Amos was afraid of my eyes, he didn’t show it. He snarled in my face. “Someone needs to teach you to step lightly, boy.” He shook me. More stitches popped and one of the horses whinnied shrilly.

Hang it all, I was going to have to mend my new shirt already. I snarled back at him. “Put me down, you buffle-headed—”

He shook me hard enough to make my teeth clatter. “Or what?”

My blood boiled, and I’ll admit I let my temper get the best of me. I grabbed his arms for leverage and swung my knee up into his gut. Amos huffed out a breath, dropping me in his surprise. I slammed against the hard ground, pain radiating up my backside. Still fighting for breath, Amos kicked out, hitting me in the side. I rolled, trying to get up and protect my ribs, which ached from Amos’s bootheel.

He growled curses under his breath as he tackled me, his weight hitting me like a bag of grain. We scuffled, rolling around in the dirt and hay. I was fair with my fists and quick, but Amos was bigger. His knuckles slammed into my jaw, snapping my head back, the iron tang of blood filling my mouth. The next second, I was pinned under him, his face in mine.

“You stay out of my way, freak, or next time I won’t be so forgiving.” He spit then, the liquid hitting my face.

I didn’t respond, only stared up at him, defiant even in my defeat.

He grinned, a wicked unveiling of teeth. “Good. Keep fighting. I could use the practice.” His voice dropped to a taunting whisper. “And if you know what’s good for you, I’d keep this little scuffle to yourself. Bad things happen to snitches around here, understand?”

“I understand.” And I did. Bullies speak a universal language, and I was well-versed in it.

Amos dipped his head, like we’d come to some sort of accord, before shoving off me to stand on his own two feet. He swiped the dust off his clothing, unconcerned about me bleeding in the dirt and seething up at him. He gave me one more good kick before sauntering over to the door. “Oh, and, freak? Do lock up behind you. Wouldn’t want anything coming for the goats, now, would we?”

I didn’t say anything, waiting until the door had shut before rolling to my knees. Pain lanced through my ribs, and I retched, but after a few slow, careful breaths and delicate prodding, I decided they probably weren’t broken. I spit blood into the dirt as I dug out my handkerchief, wiping away Amos’s spittle and dabbing at my jaw.

The cloth came back bloody.

Hiding my injuries was right out, then. Not only did I need to clean up my face, but I’d need to treat my bloody lip. Miss Moon was attentive as a hawk on the hunt, and I decided my best bet would be to get ahead of this little incident. I’d concoct some piece of flimflam to explain my injuries. The last thing I needed was her watching me.

I held my handkerchief to my lip, my other hand pressing against my side, as I went to the door. Once through, I closed the big metal latch, surprised to find scratches around it. Claw marks maybe, or a tool? It was a closed fort—what critter was getting in here? What fool would try to steal a horse from inside closed gates? My aching head could make no sense of it, and I decided to leave the mystery for another day. For now, I straightened, dropping my hand and doing my best to walk like I wasn’t injured while I searched for Miss Moon.

I found her in the kitchen, and I paused for a moment to marvel at the large stove squatting against the far wall. I’d seen illustrations of such things in the catalog back in New Retienne mercantile, but I’d never seen one in real life.

The rest of the kitchen was fairly standard. Cabinets held various kitchen tools and dishes, and two poor youngins were off to the side, scrubbing at dishes in a washtub. A large worktable split the middle, where Miss Moon stood with another woman as they went over kitchen business.

The cook, a short, doughy woman, was shaking her head. “Won’t work. I could use some of the canned pears instead.”

“I think that will be very fine. In the morning— Skies above, Faolan, what happened to your face?” Miss Moon didn’t wait for an answer as she ushered me to the Still room immediately.

The cook scowled at the interruption and went back to her work.

“She looked mighty sore,” I said, letting Miss Moon herd me. “Sorry about the ruckus, Miss Moon.”

“Don’t mind Miss Lita,” Miss Moon said quietly as she shut the door behind us. “She’s very focused on her work.”

“Okay, miss,” I said absently, my handkerchief pressed to my swelling face as I took in my surroundings while Miss Moon lit the lamp. The Still wasn’t big, more of a glorified pantry, although it did have its own window. A scarred, narrow table took up most of the space. A spirit lamp, bottles, and jars took up a portion of the surface, everything neatly organized, along with a few knives. Herbs hung from the ceiling to dry, giving the room a pleasing aroma—clean and bright.

Miss Moon brushed my hand aside, her cool fingers adjusting my face so she could get a good gander at my injuries. “What happened?”

“I fell,” I said. Lies are best when they aren’t heavily embroidered.

Miss Moon snorted. “You expect me to believe that, Mr.Kelly?” She took one look at my stubborn jaw and shook her head. “I see. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Miss Moon moved about the room with efficiency, first bathing my face with a wet rag dipped in water and something astringent before dabbing at my lip and jaw with a salve. “It’s got arnica in it, which will help with the bruising.”

“Thank you, miss,” I mumbled. “I’ll try to not make a habit of it.”

She sighed again, shaking her head. “Now, why don’t I believe that one bit?” When I didn’t respond, she heaved another sigh. “Be careful, Mr.Kelly. HisBen doesn’t tolerate violence or tomfoolery of that sort.”

I perked up a little. Surely it couldn’t be that easy. “I suppose if I caused too much trouble, he’d have to ask me to leave.” It would be a joy if the only thing I had to do to get out of the Settlement was to plant a facer on Amos.

Miss Moon finished with the salve, closing the container and wiping her hands. “That’s not how things work around here.” Her voice was stern as she turned to put the tin of salve away. “HisBen doesn’t give up as easy as that. His job is to instruct wayward souls, Mr.Kelly. As HisBen says, ‘The Shining God teaches, showering us with knowledge and kindness. All we have to do is turn our faces up to Him.’?”

Before I could say anything, she continued on, her voice softer, filled with something like gratitude. “The Settlement doesn’t tolerate fisticuffs.”

There was relief in her tone that contrasted with her straight spine and tense shoulders. Her lips firmed, twisting the scar on her face. It was like she was simultaneously relieved a blow wasn’t coming and braced for it at the same time.

Before I could think better of it, I spoke. “Pops told me you should never lay hands on anyone smaller than you, unless they done it first and gave you no choice.” He’d followed that up with Faolan, if I ever hear of a man laying a hand on you in anger, I’ll gut him like a trout. I didn’t think Miss Moon would quite appreciate the sentiment. “And in my experience, women tend to be shorter than men.”

Miss Moon stilled, then let out a tired little laugh. “I see someone’s been carrying tales.”

“Not to me, they haven’t.”

She crossed her arms. “Well, I’d rather you hear it from me, then. I was married once. Charming fella, until the day he wasn’t. I left.”

There was so much she was leaving out that it was like there were chasms between sentences. I wasn’t about to say a word about it, neither.

“I had nothing.” The corner of her mouth turned up as she looked around the room. “HisBen welcomed me here. Now I’ve got this. Now I’ve got you and a bunch of other little noses to wipe, scrapes to mend, and bellies to keep fed. I’m needed here.”

Miss Moon glanced at the door to the Still, a strange expression on her face. Before I could figure out what it meant, she turned stern. “So just heed my words, Mr.Kelly. Mind your manners and keep your nose clean. I’d rather not see you end up in the Box, you understand?”

“The Box?”

“A place of penance.” She herded me to the door. “Now shoo off to bed. I’ve got other matters to attend to.”

I dug in my heels, curiosity getting the better of me. “What happened to your husband, Miss Moon?”

She wrapped an arm around her middle. “He cheated the wrong man at cards and found himself in the bone orchard.”

“Couldn’t have happened to a better man,” I said, then scuttled off to the bunkhouse.

Turns out sleeping in a new place was a trial for me, though admittedly my sore ribs weren’t doing me any favors. Amos, luckily, was bunked on the other side of the cabin. Luckier still was the fact that I was bunking near the gunslinger, as he had the lower bunk to the right of mine, though I was up top. Amos would be less likely to come back for another round that way. I had a feeling he was the type who liked to find a body alone before he scrapped with them.

I lay awake staring at the ceiling. People sure made a racket while they slumbered. The gunslinger snored, but it was a pleasant rumble, and I found I didn’t mind. The younger boys cried out in their sleep and flopped around. Fabric rustled as people got comfortable. Until I was accustomed to the new sounds, I would have a devil of a time.

A scream woke me from deep sleep. A shriek, a sound of purest terror. I held my breath, trembling in my bunk. I wasn’t sure what had awoken me at first. I’d heard—no, not exactly heard—I’d felt a scream, though that wasn’t right, either. I couldn’t rightly recall if the sound had been real or a remnant of dreams.

I trembled in my bunk, my breath held, my body taut. The night was quiet in a way that spoke of predators.

No night sounds. Nothing. Just eerie silence.

The banked fire and sliver of moonlight behind the clouds gave off feeble light, not even enough to really make out shapes. Eventually sounds returned. One of the children mumbled and the gunslinger snored in response. My tension eased.

But I don’t think I got another wink of sleep the whole night through.

We were awake with the roosters and the dawn, and I learned the new rhythm of my days. Up, beds neatened, teeth brushed, and boots on. Shuffled to prayer. A restless night left me a trifle thickheaded, and my empty belly didn’t help.

I followed Mr.Speed like a sleepy duckling as he scooted onto the pew next to Miss Moon. She smiled shyly at him, greeting us both quietly. He responded to her softly, both of them focused on their brief conversation, so I didn’t bother to do anything else besides mumble good morning. The room grew quiet as HisBen took to his spot at the front with Stuckley, both of them in their ceremonial robes. HisBen’s was made of a shiny gold cloth—like he’d been robed in sunshine—the cuffs, collar, and hems embroidered in oranges, reds, and white. Stuckley, who wore a similar getup, though his was white, shuffled about with thick incense that made my head even fuzzier.

HisBen smiled at us real prideful-like, as if we were a creation he himself had wrought. “It is so good to see your faces this morning. Old faces”—he turned his attention toward me and the gunslinger—“and new. Welcome, Mr.Speed. Mr.Kelly. How lucky you are to be here, to witness His benevolence firsthand.” He spread his arms wide. “For are we not all lucky to be here, healthy, surrounded by such riches?”

The crowd in the chapel chorused back that they were lucky. Some, like the two guards, Davens and Harris, looked like they were just saying back what was expected.

Others, like Miss Honeywell, were more jubilant in their response. “We welcome His gifts!” She watched HisBen like every word he uttered was a shiny coin just for her.

“And the Shining God is grateful for all that you’ve given Him.” He smiled at her, before turning back to the rest of us. “Many of you came to our gates with nowhere else to go. You have praised me, along with our God, for the gift of a new life, a new home. My children, you humble me. Know that the Shining God doesn’t see it that way, and neither do I—you are the gift. To us. To our Benevolent God. Never doubt that.” He spread his arms wide, the light from the windows gilding him in a pleasant glow.

To my unlearned eye, he didn’t look particularly humbled. I’m of the notion that some of Pops’s feelings toward the new god and his followers had rubbed off on me. It would be kind of me to put my judgments aside and give the preacher a fair shake.

Luckily, I had no interest in being fair or kind, so I was able to judge him harshly and gleefully within the confines of my own mind. HisBen Dillard was a man who had bought his own song and dance.

“Let us raise our faces to Him, thanking Him for shining down upon us and entering our hearts.” Everyone raised their faces at the ceiling for a moment of silence before dropping them back down and moving along with the ritual.

Stuckley aided HisBen Dillard in the ceremony, their movements a well-worn waltz. Elegant, with precise footwork.

I preferred a country dance, myself. More lively. You could really kick your heels up at a country dance, unlike the stately waltz.

Which might have been why I fell asleep.

“Faolan,” Mr.Speed hissed, his elbow jabbing me in the side. I startled, dropping my hat to the floor. It had been in my lap. I reached for it, only to be yanked back by Mr.Speed’s quick reflexes. His low, quiet voice held a warning. “Leave it.”

I glanced up to see if anyone else had noticed and caught Stuckley glaring at me. Well, if he wanted me awake, they should have fed and watered me first. I didn’t think HisBen had caught me, but I had no doubt that Stuckley would rat me out.

After that, we were led in song by Acolyte Stuckley, with Miss Honeywell playing the piano. Stuckley’s voice was reedy, and I didn’t care for it. He cracked open the fiddle case after that, which surprised me, as he didn’t seem the fiddling sort—and he wasn’t. Stuckley played violin, and I will admit, he was good at it. Miss Honeywell joined him on the piano as she sang along with HisBen about the Shining God’s love for us. I didn’t know the words to the songs, but I kept an ear carefully turned to them. I would need to learn them quick-like if I wanted to blend in. The thing about passionately religious folk, I’d found, was that they expected you to be equally passionate. If you weren’t, they became suspicious.

After we finished singing, we gave a last prayer of gratitude to the Shining God before finally filing out of the chapel. My stomach was growling fierce by then, my eyes fixed on the kitchen, when I caught the sound of my name. Miss Honeywell beamed at me, striding over holding a bundle of papers wrapped up in ribbon.

“I thought you could use these,” she said, handing over the bundle. “So you could join us in song a little more easily.”

A quick glance told me the bundle contained sheet music, the top one being among the very songs we’d sung today. “Thank you, miss.”

Miss Honeywell squeezed my shoulder, her eyes bright. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mr.Kelly, and I just know you’ll pick these songs up quick. HisBen Dillard believes a congregation joined in song forges unbreakable bonds, so it’s important, you see.” She told me this very earnestly before she patted my cheek. “Now you hustle off to breakfast.”

I hustled off as I was bid, the packet of papers weighing heavy in my hand. I didn’t much care for the idea of forging unbreakable bonds with anyone here.

Like my previous meal, I was surprised by the generous portions. It was oats, to be sure, but they were freely dished, and I was given a pat of butter, honey, and a handful of dried berries on top of that. There was even toast.

The cook, Miss Lita, gave the young man next to me double what she’d put in my bowl. With a smile. “There you go, Jesse.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, smiling wide as she added another dollop of honey to his bowl. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Not that you need sweeting, mind—not with such fine manners.” She glared at me.

I was mighty tempted to pull a face, but I bit my tongue. It was poor thinking, getting on a cook’s bad side when they controlled your vittles. Instead, I smiled at her as I got myself a cup of coffee and grabbed a seat, Jesse taking the one next to me.

I assessed Jesse from the corner of my vision as I scraped along the bowl with my last bit of toast. His bunk was below mine, so I’d be seeing him regularly. He didn’t have much in the way of extra meat on him—sinewy muscle held his bones together, although he sat inches over me. His skin was a warm brown with a golden tone underneath, like he’d swallowed sunshine and it agreed with him. A very healthful aspect.

Wire spectacles perched on his nose as he read the small paperback book in his hand. He’d finish a page and then hand it over across the table to the girl who sat opposite—the same girl I’d seen the day before in the barn. She’d greeted me with a sharp nod, not mentioning the incident, so I kept my trap shut as I tried to remember her name.

She’d take the book from my bunkmate and read while he ate, and then she’d hand it back. There was a familiar rhythm to it, a well-worn ritual feeling.

She was about our age, with a delicate bone structure and fine dark eyes. Her black hair was pulled back from her tan face and plaited, revealing a pointed chin and winged brows. She appeared a dainty thing, like a firm breeze would knock her down. But something about the way she moved, the way she met the boy’s eyes and smiled, told me to not trust that appearance one bit.

I drank my black coffee, wrapped in the hum of a room full of people, and listened with my ears full open. Listening to people when they were relaxed, their bellies full, was a good way to learn about the place.

I daydreamed for a spell, thinking up ways of escaping the Settlement and sneaking back to my cabin without the mayor knowing. The daydream evaporated quickly, popped by several sharp realities. The mayor would be checking on the land—that was as certain as moonrise. Miss Honeywell could tell him I’d left. Then I thought of that wagon. I’d never make it home on my own right now. Not without supplies and not until the weather warmed.

I let go of the idea for now, sipping and listening instead, catching snatches of conversation.

“I’m counting the days, Louis, you’ll see. My brother will send for me, and then I’ll hotfoot it out of here.” This was Amos, boasting to a boy sitting across from him.

The boy, Louis, seemed dubious. “You ain’t heard from your brother in months.”

“It’s the mail,” Amos said, his voice airy. “I bet his last letter was lost, is all.”

I wouldn’t learn anything from Amos’s thick skull, so I shut his voice out. Behind me, at the next table, two little girls whispered back and forth, just quiet enough that I only managed to hear snippets.

“—ghost in the yard. I saw—”

“No such—”

I strained, but they only got quieter. Hoping to pick up something more, I cast my gaze upon the room. Long tables lined up in two neat rows, the bench seats mostly full of all kinds of folks, more children than not. Seated in the front were the adults, taking up two whole tables. The gunslinger sat between Miss Moon and Ignatius Stuckley. I noticed that he, like me, had his jaw shut but his eyes and ears open as he drank his coffee, though he did trade a few words with Miss Moon.

He caught me staring and lifted his mug in greeting. I nodded and dropped my gaze.

The dining hall was cheery in the morning light. The plates were tin, but the serving dishes looked fine and new. My eyes misted as a sudden yearning to see Pops’s battered teakettle overwhelmed me.

Every time I’d told him to buy a new one, he’d simply shake his head. That kettle’s got history to it, Faolan. Why would I waste money on something new when ours works just fine?

I could almost hear his voice—I missed him so much. Frustration nipped at the heels of my grief. I hadn’t heard or seen anything useful. I knew I’d only just arrived, and I needed to cultivate patience. Pops always said it was the impatient hunter that went home hungry. Going off half-cocked only resulted in startled quarry, though I will admit it was my natural inclination.

Breakfast finished and dirty tin plates put neatly in bins, I was once again taken in hand by Miss Moon. She needed to place me properly, and as such she needed to assess my skills and see how the Settlement could use me best.

She watched me tackle barn work first. I mucked stalls and helped clean out the chicken coop, greeting the animals as I went. I’m handy with creatures of all sorts—Pops had taught me young how to tend the animals on our homestead. Any creature in our care had entered into an agreement with us—we nurtured them and fed them, and in turn they provided us with food and labor. To abuse an animal was to renege on that agreement on a basic level and to expose ourselves as cruel in manner. My grandfather was clear on this—it took no skill or power to mistreat those beneath us, and those who thought different were to be sneered at.

I rubbed a fist over my heart, swallowing down my grief. Thinking about Pops hurt.

I wasn’t one to complain about doing things like mucking stalls or brushing down cattle. Animals are soothing company, and I was used to hard labor.

With the season being what it was, most of the Settlement’s food came from stored staples, their livestock, and the land outside the Settlement’s gates. The smaller children were already prepping the area for the gardens, picking up stones and such. I spent the day under Miss Moon’s command—peeling potatoes, hauling wood, even helping herd the smaller children when needed.

I was helping one of the other boys, Zeke, corral the goats into their pen before the dinner bell when Miss Moon returned from checking in with the cook, Miss Lita.

“You’re a dab hand with the animals,” she said, stating it calmly as fact, but I responded to her anyway.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” I chased the last one, a small black-and-white goat that had tried to dodge me at the last minute as we made our way back into the enclosure. Zeke secured the gate behind me. After giving Gertie a final pat, I clambered out of the pen and into the main part of the barn.

“How are you with traps and things of that nature?” Miss Moon asked, nodding at Zeke as he left the barn.

I adjusted my hat. “I do alright, I reckon.” I’d kept Pops fed when he was sick, after all.

I liked keeping my hands busy, as it left my mind free to wander, but if I was kept on this particular round of duties long, I would go mad. Trapping would also get me outside the Settlement walls, offering me the opportunity to get the lay of the land.

“Any child that can hold a paring knife can peel potatoes, miss. If I may be so bold, there seem to be plenty of small hands for that work.” I said it casually, not wanting to appear too eager.

She nodded at me, her eyes trained on the bruising on my face. “We need older boys to go out into the forest,” she admitted.

“I would be happy to oblige.” Maybe if I played it smart, I could create a cache in the woods, lay up a few supplies for my escape.

“You’ll have a partner, of course,” Miss Moon said, almost as if she was following my train of thought. “To show you the trails but also for safety. There are predators in these woods. Big ones.”

“I’ll be careful, ma’am.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I better go check the Still’s inventory. Something tells me we’re going to need more salve.”