Dread Nation

by Justina Ireland

  Now, I’m almost ready to graduate from Miss Preston’s, but I have no idea if there even is a Rose Hill to return to anymore. What is my future? This, right here, standing at the edge of a room like a piece of furniture?

  The dinner bell rings, jarring me out of my reverie. I slip out of the dining room and into the gathering area, falling back to where the ladies mill about, waiting for their escorts. Katherine looks over as I sidle up, wearing her lemon-eating face.

  “Where have you been?” she whisper-yells at me.

  “I was right there in the doorway, watching the entrances. Why’re you so out of sorts?”

  Katherine just gives a quick shake of her head, and I shrug. Whatever’s amiss, she ain’t sharing.

  “Well, Jackson is in the dining room, by the by, all decked out like a servant.” I glance over in the direction of the white ladies, who talk to each other behind fans and gloved hands. They cast us curious glances that ain’t the least bit friendly. I look around the room and frown. “Where are their girls?”

  Katherine glances around as well. “That is an excellent question, Jane. Perhaps you would have heard how most of them were dismissed after their cowardly behavior at the lecture, if you had joined us in the sitting room.”

  “They dismissed their girls? Just like that?”

  Katherine adjusts her gloves and ducks her head in respectful acknowledgment to a young fellow that can’t seem to stop staring at her. “Just like that. But get this: apparently there is some sort of scandal with folks going missing. The Edgars never made it home from Miss Preston’s two weeks ago. Their pony was overrun and they were consumed by shamblers! All things you would know if you hadn’t been off skulking about.”

  “I was watching the entrance—”

  Katherine silences me with a single glare. “There’s something going on here. Between the Edgars and the Spencers . . . Keep your head about you, Jane. And in the meantime, don’t ruin this opportunity for me.”

  Folks line up to enter the dining room, the mayor and his wife at the front of the line. Katherine and I stand along the wall at attention, but even though we’re doing just what we’re supposed to, I can feel Miss Anderson’s glare burrowing into me, and I stand a little straighter. I ain’t going to afford that woman an excuse to give me any grief. But mostly, I don’t want to ruin things for Katherine. The mayor and his Survivalist pals might be as corrupt as the night is long, but this is the life she wants, and even though I’m lukewarm on her, I won’t do anything to stand in the way of her future.

  Formal dinners require a procession from the sitting rooms into the dining room, a process I find to be the height of silliness. All the men and women pair off and go marching in to eat food that’s like as not gotten cold by the time they get there.

  A handsome young swank comes to offer his arm to Katherine, and she reddens. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, sir. I’m an Attendant.” The man looks like he’s about to object to her polite refusal, but then he catches an older woman’s eye and moves off to escort a homely girl in a yellow dress instead.

  Once everyone has filed into the dining room Katherine and I follow the dinner party in. “Well, that was a whole barrelful of awkward,” I say.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Katherine says stiffly, her eyes darting around like she’s afraid she might be on the dinner menu.

  We take up our places along the wall opposite the serving board, a space left vacant for serving girls and Attendants. Someone clears his throat loudly next to me. I look to my left and all but groan.

  “Mr. Redfern.”

  “Indeed, Miss McKeene.”

  “You here to keep an eye on us? It would be difficult to steal the silver when everyone’s using it.”

  His lip twitches. “You aren’t the only one working tonight.”

  I nod. “Well, then, what exactly are we supposed to do?”

  “Wait and watch our betters eat.” The man crosses his arms, and there’s a recognizable bitterness to his voice that asks for no response.

  The first course is served, a cream-based soup the servants ladle out from a large tureen. I sniff the air. Crab bisque. It looks heavenly. Mr. Redfern watches me intently, and I shrug. “What?” I ask.

  “You aren’t missing anything,” he says. “What they’re eating is a little past it’s prime, carted in days ago from the docks. You girls eat better out at the school.”

  My stomach growls, and I shift. “Would that we had eaten.”

  Mr. Redfern shrugs. “Lesson learned I suppose.”

  It’s the first time he’s been anything but dismissive to me, and I seize the opportunity to pry. “What tribe are you from, Mr. Redfern?”

  “Lenape. I doubt you’ve heard of us, my people don’t exactly get featured in the weekly serials.”

  “Is Redfern a Lenape name?”

  His lips tighten. “No, it was the name given to me by a teacher at the school I was sent to when I was six.”

  I brighten and cling tight to the fact that we have something in common. “Did you go to a combat school?”

  He doesn’t look at me as he answers. “They called it an industrial school, but yes.”

  “What was it like?”

  “They took me from my family, cut my hair, beat me every time they felt like it, and sent me to work for the mayor when I was eighteen.” His expression is still calm.

  “Sounds familiar,” I say before I consider my words too carefully.

  His eyes widen slightly, and he looks straight ahead once more. “You should spend less time conversing and more time listening.”

  “You don’t like me very much, and I ain’t sure why. I’ve done nothing to earn it.” His words have opened up an ugly feeling in me, part rage at the unfairness of it all, part anguish, and I don’t know what to do with it but throw it back at Mr. Redfern.

  “I’ve seen you skulking on the county roads in the dead of night, Miss McKeene. Do you know they call you the Angel of the Crossroads, the people you save?”

  I get an uncomfortable feeling like I’m sliding backward down a slope into a deep hole that I dug my own self. If people are whispering about me, that isn’t good. Stories have power, and how long will it be before Miss Preston hears about my nocturnal exploits?

  Mr. Redfern continues. “I don’t like you because you’re arrogant and self-important. You could be so much better than you are, but you’re too selfish to see it.”

  There ain’t much I can say to that. His words sting, and he isn’t even looking at me to determine their impact. Next to me, Katherine hasn’t said a word during our entire exchange, just kept watch over the white folks eating their meals. Seems like as good a plan as any, so I look straight ahead and wish the time away.

  The servants return to clear the plates and set down the next course, a fruit compote with cheese melted on top. Then there’s a fish course that smells like something died, yet all those fine gentlemen and ladies gobble it up. All the while, there’s a fierce hollowness gnawing at my insides and I try to imagine a life of this, watching fine people eat while I nigh on starve to death. It’s the first time I’ve considered what the life of an Attendant might truly be like. It ain’t a comforting thought.

  Up to now I’ve been focused on whatever mischief Jackson is getting mixed up with, Mr. Redfern’s inscrutable glare, and the food everyone has been eating. I’ve been so preoccupied that I’ve just now noticed Miss Anderson’s companion, a sickly pale man who is draining his third glass of wine. The man sweats, dabbing his brow with his pocket square, his hands shaking as he puts it away. Next to him Miss Anderson is talking, but the man is too far gone to pay her proper attention. Saliva makes a discreet trail down the side of his mouth, and he reaches with clumsy hands for his napkin.

  He’s turning. Right there, at the table. Any moment now his eyes will start to yellow, and when he does Miss Anderson will be his first course.

  I don’t have a moment to wonder how on earth this rich man could have
become infected. I look around to see if anyone else notices what I do, but Katherine stares into the distance, the disciplined gaze that functions to make our charges feel watched and not watched at the same time; and Mr. Redfern is speaking in low voices with one of the servants, directing the girl to stop serving wine to this guest or that one. Even Miss Anderson is too busy with her own wine glass to see that her neighbor is panting, laboring under the change his body is going through.

  I tap my companion’s shoulder. “Mr. Redfern.”

  He gives me an irritated glare before turning back to the conversation with the serving girl on his other side.

  I grab his arm, shaking him. “Mr. Redfern!”

  His head whips around. “What?” he snarls, all pretense of manners gone.

  “Might I borrow your blade for a moment?” I ask sweetly, pointing across the table to the man stumbling to his feet, knocking over glasses as he does so. A low growl comes from his throat and a chorus of answering screams ring through the dining room as everyone realizes that there’s a shambler in their midst.

  Mr. Redfern seems to be as much in shock as everyone else, so I grab his blade without waiting for permission. I heft the knife in my hand, taking just long enough to get a feel for the weight. Then, as the man lunges for Miss Anderson, I hurl the knife through the air.

  It’s a good throw, and the blade goes end over end between the heads of the dinner guests before lodging squarely in the temple of the shambler. For a moment the creature continues its grab for Miss Anderson before crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

  My instructor backs away in terror, her face gone pale as she stares at me across the table. Everyone’s eyes are upon me now, their faces twisted in disgust, as if killing a dinner guest, shambler or no, is a terrible faux pas.

  “My word,” the mayor’s wife says from the far end of the table. The look she gives me makes me feel less human and more like a bear that’s managed to stumble into the middle of dinner.

  “Yes, it was an amazing throw, wasn’t it?” Katherine says, her voice a tad too bright. “Jane was first in our class for knife handling. You should see what she can do at thirty feet!”

  No one answers, but the Misses Duncan and Anderson both give me looks that make it clear that I have very much made a mistake.

  Feh. I should’ve let the shambler eat Miss Anderson’s face.

  I daresay my education here has been more than a little enlightening. You cannot fathom the benefits I have reaped here in Maryland. Sometimes riches are bestowed upon me whether I want them or not.

  Chapter 14

  In Which I Go Snooping

  “Yet again, we owe our gratitude to the fine young ladies of Miss Preston’s,” says Mayor Carr, once everyone at the table has calmed down. “While I do wish they were perhaps a bit more discreet in their work . . . I can’t deny that this is twice this month that they’ve saved us from a rather rare and unfortunate accident.” He pulls the napkin from where it’s tucked into his collar, folds it, and places it next to his plate. “Well, I think we can officially consider the dinner portion of our evening concluded, no?” At this, he smiles, and his guests give a tentative laugh. “Let’s allow my house staff to tidy up in here. Gentlemen, I invite you to join me for cigars and brandy—prewar, of course.”

  Despite this fine invitation, not everyone remains; a fair few people quietly make their excuses and leave. Maybe it’s due to my thrilling knife-throwing skills, but I get the feeling it has more to do with seeing one of their friends turn shambler before their very eyes. He couldn’t have been that popular, though. Most of the mayor’s cronies and their wives remain, and Katherine and I are informed by Miss Anderson that we are to join the women in the salon while they partake of sherry, fruit, and cheese.

  “Are you serious?” I whisper, for the sake of decorum. “A man just turned shambler in the middle of Baltimore County and nobody cares how it happened?”

  “What are you suggesting, Miss McKeene?” Miss Anderson smiles tightly to a passing party guest before turning her attention back to me. “That there’s a pack of shamblers here in the city? The man was probably bitten on the road coming here and failed to disclose it. A terrible breach of decorum, but nothing more. A rogue shambler slipping through the county line patrols and bothering a pony near the city walls is not unheard of.”

  “But it’s not just one shambler, Miss Anderson,” I shoot back. “The Edgars were attacked inside the county line, and the—” I catch myself before letting the Spencers’ name slip. “I’ve heard rumors other families have gone missing as well.”

  Miss Anderson straightens and adjusts her gloves. When she speaks, her words are straight razors. “I don’t know where you have heard this gossip, but I can assure you we’re quite well-protected here. Now, unless you two want to find yourselves expelled from Miss Preston’s this very evening, I suggest you freshen yourselves up and get into that parlor.”

  Rather than continue to argue, I nod and curtsy. As Miss Anderson walks away, I ask a servant where the comfort room is and hurry off down the hall. I’ve heard enough from Baltimore’s upper crust, and I aim to find my own answers. But Katherine is hot on my heels.

  “Where are you going?” she whispers.

  “Anywhere but in there,” I say.

  “Jane, you threw a Bowie knife at one of the mayor’s guests. That man, by the way, was an editor for the Sun. His death is going to be all over the front page tomorrow, and the mayor’s wife is distraught.”

  “Katherine, can you hear how ridiculous that sounds? We could’ve died. Who cares what the newspaper thinks? Half the city can’t read it, anyway.”

  Katherine stops. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Jane McKeene.”

  “What?”

  “I agree with you. Something is very, very rotten here. But you’re not going to get what you want from them, especially after throwing a knife into a man’s face at the dinner table. All they care about is how it will look in the papers. Now think for a moment. The man could have gotten bit out on the roads, but that’s unlikely, don’t you think?”

  I shift from foot to foot. The fact Katherine is on my side is as much a surprise as her cool logic. The bite takes anywhere from a few minutes to an hour or so to change a person. We were on the last course. How long ago had the man been bitten? Could he have somehow gotten the bite here, at the mayor’s estate?

  “I don’t know, Kate, but I do know that I need to find the comfort room in a hurry or I am going to embarrass myself yet again.”

  Katherine makes a face. “Look, we need to get to the bottom of all this. If neither of us are in that parlor, they’re going to come looking. I’ll cover for you as long as I can.”

  I nod, and hurry down the hall, my brain turning over the possibilities of a shambler being in Mayor Carr’s house. The mayor doesn’t strike me as a foolish man, so I can’t imagine he would tolerate the kind of incompetence that would allow the undead on his property. So does that mean he has them here purposefully? Why would a man like him keep the dead around?

  It’s such a ridiculous line of thought that I shake my head. There has to be a reasonable explanation, one that doesn’t involve Baltimore’s mayor keeping shamblers as pets. I just got to figure out what it is.

  Despite a head full of questions and suppositions, I still manage to find the latrine, but before I can make use of the mayor’s very fancy water closet I see Jackson, waving at me from a doorway at the end of the hall. A quick glance reveals that no one is around to see me, and I sprint down the hallway and duck into the room.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, my eyes adjusting to the low light. There are gas lamps on the walls but they ain’t lit, and even though a bit of light filters in through the windows, it is too dark to see anything other than the vague outline of bookshelves and a massive square that I take to be a desk.

  “I need your help,” Jackson says, striking a match and lighting a kerosene lantern. “I’m supposed to be in the c
ellar bringing up a couple of bottles of port for the men, but I saw you duck out and figured you were looking for evidence of where Lily is.”

  “Please. I was trying to use the water closet. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Even if I am looking for answers, Red Jack is only going to get me caught. I make to leave but he grabs my arm. “Jackson—”

  “Jane, you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.” I cross my arms and he sighs. “I know things ended badly between us, and you’ve always been more accommodating than I got any right to expect, but you know I can’t read a damn word of the files the mayor’s got in here. I don’t know what’s the household accounting and what might be dastardly. So, I’m asking you, with a whole heap of consideration I don’t deserve: Will you please help me?”

  The lamplight plays across Jackson’s features, but somehow I don’t think he’s acting. If he’s desperate enough to mention our falling-out, then I know he’s worried something fierce.

  Even so, nowhere in that speech did I hear an apology.

  “I just want you to know that I’m doing this for Lily, not you. As far as I’m concerned, you can rot in hell.” Relief relaxes his features and he nods. I purse my lips, taking in the desk and accompanying drawers. “Here, hold the light so I can see.”

  The mayor’s desk is well organized, and there are enough cost sheets and file folders that my head spins. I open the drawers beside the desk, but there’s nothing unusual, just the normal ledger keeping and invoices you’d expect for a tobacco farm.

  I try to pull out the bottom drawer and it refuses to budge. I wave Jackson over and point to the drawer. “Can you get it open?”

  He sets the lantern on the desk. “You got a hairpin?”

  I touch my hair and pull one out, thankful when the weight and mass of my hair stays put. Jackson starts to work on the lock, glancing up at me, his expression nearly unreadable in the dark. “You look real pretty tonight.”