The sun was riding low on the second day when we made it to the Settlement. I will be honest here if nowhere else--the sight sent a chill through my gizzards. I'd never seen the like. The palisade walls were tall and hewn together from entire logs, the tops carved to points, the bottoms buried within the earth. I was a good climber, but those walls were beyond my expertise. The palisades went on for ages, broken only in the center by an intimidating door the size of several donkey carts. On a few of the logs we passed I could see long furrows cut into the wood. They reminded me of the scratches bears left on trees in the woods sometimes. I'd lived through lean times. I didn't expect feather pillows and silver spoons. But this place looked like it might chew you up and spit you out if it didn't like your flavor, and it would do worse to you if it did. The wagon creaked across the open space, making its way through the rutted dirt path that led up to the only entrance in sight. The ground was still hard, half-frozen, though a spring thaw might happen soon. Around the fort was a wide swath of dirt, and I could tell at least part of it would be tilled and turned into crops as soon as the ground allowed. Then nothing but evergreens for as far as the eye could see. Far off in the distance, I could make out the faintest trace of smoke. Not enough for a town. A cabin or two, or a camp, maybe. Off to one side, a range of hills, too short to be mountains but large enough to give the land character, cut against the sky. When the cart got close to the gate, a dark-haired man peeked over the top. One of his ruddy cheeks was thick with chaw. I knew this because he spit a glob of it, and I watched it splatter next to me in the cart. "Who goes?" The words came out officious and sneering, the tones of a bully. Cartwright removed his pipe, shouting up at the gatekeeper. "Delivery." The man looked us over. "Not sure we want any of what you got." He must charm the little birds down from the sky, that man. A disembodied voice floated over from another part of the palisades. "Aw, let them in, Harris, before Miss Moon grabs your ear." A man's head popped up next to Harris's. Shaggy blond hair stuck out from under a bowler cap over an equally shaggy beard. He looked like the kind of man who would laugh when you tripped. "Shut your yap, Davens." Their heads floated there for a minute, seemingly unattached to any sort of body as they bickered. The gates were too tall for either of them to be standing on the ground, which meant there must be something built against the interior wall, a perch or a walkway. Finally, Davens raised a hand in a stopping motion. "Hold there, if you please." Once I was through those gates, there would be no getting out unless I was let out. I briefly considered running for it. The gunslinger looked at me. "Don't even think about it." "I wasn't!" I said hotly. Not when I had no real idea where to run to, anyway. A hint of smoke in the distance was hardly a sure bet. I was stubborn, but I wasn't stupid. If I ran now, I'd have to leave my things, and even if by some miracle I made it to the tree line, I could easily become like those people in the wagon. Besides, I had no weapon beyond my hunting knife. Who knew what beasts filled these woods? I would not give Mr. Clarke the satisfaction of my death. No, I would eat the Settlement's food, sleep under their roof, and bide my time. I would leave when the time was right. Until that moment, I'd survive out of spite. I might be a weed, but I had strong roots. After the gate swung open and we were ushered in, I was allowed to scramble out of the cart. I stretched out the knots in my back and took a gander at my new stomping grounds. I wish I could say that the inside was welcoming and didn't match the outer trimmings of the Settlement. That would be a crooked yarn. Ahead of me stood a two-story building, the tallest at the Settlement. Tucked next to it was a kitchen garden, making me think that was where the kitchens were, probably along with a dining hall. The upper floor was likely for sleeping rooms. To the left of that, hugging the palisade wall, was a long, low-slung building, painted white. A belfry jutted up from it. The chapel, then. To the left there was a good-sized barn where they would probably have stalls for horses, a few cows for milking, and a pen for the handful of goats and sheep that were wandering about the place chomping on winter grass. I patted Gertie's side, saying softly to her, "You'll have a few friends, girl." I bet a place like this would even have a pig or two to feed the dinner scraps to until it was time to carve them up for chops. In the middle of the yard sat a well, the kind with a crank and a bucket. Around that, the goats milled about, chewing on what grass they could find, as a few chickens scattered around them pecking away at this and that. I had a certain fondness for chickens, though they were often the most brainless of creatures. They could be mean and silly, but I liked them just the same. I supposed you could say I have a fondness for animals in general. Unlike humans, animals never lied. They might try to gore you with a horn or kick you in the backside, but they were honest about it. A wildcat never pretends that it wouldn't eat you. People lied like the sun shone. Off to my right was another building, this one taking up an entire length of the outer wall and had the look of living quarters. There weren't many people about at this time in the afternoon. Two smaller children, perhaps nine or ten years in age, sat outside on the ground by the kitchen garden, peeling potatoes. They were dressed uniformly, the boy in brown canvas trousers, a flannel shirt, and suspenders to keep the pants on his lanky frame. The girl wore an ankle-length dress, her hair in neat braids under a matching bonnet. Though neither of them was wearing a jacket, I was surprised to see that they had on stout boots. In winter they were necessary, but that didn't mean everyone got them. I, myself, had boots we'd bought secondhand from the mercantile in town. They were too big, which I was grateful for now as I toed the bundle of old rags that held my grandfather's watch and my future. The boots on the children may seem like a kindness from the Settlement, but if they'd lost a foot to frostbite, they wouldn't be able to do their choring. So I suspect they'd been shod like they would do a workhorse, nothing more. Despite the lingering grasp of winter, the day had been sunny and clear, and there was washing hung up on the line next to one of the buildings. A girl with neatly pinned and braided hair was taking it down, folding it into a basket. Those were the only souls I could see until I looked up. A narrow walkway had been built along the palisades. Davens plodded along it, rifle slung over his back. Whether they were here to discourage people from coming in, or from going out, would remain to be seen. Out of one of the buildings trotted a young fella, about my age, lanky as a scarecrow, with freckles and curly brown hair. After a cursory glance at me, he focused on Cartwright. "I'm to help you unload the wagon." Cartwright tapped his pipe against the side of his cart. "Go on, then." "You," the boy said, nudging me. "C'mon. Drop the sacks of potatoes behind the kitchen." Amos, as I learned he was called, released my chickens and Gertie into the yard while I emptied the wagon. When I'd finished stacking the potatoes neatly by the kitchen door, I headed back to the wagon to make my first real unpleasant discovery. My suitcase was gone. "Temporarily confiscated." A tall, angular woman in the same sturdy clothing as the children earlier stood by the now-empty cart. Her milky skin was wind-roughened, and a scar split her face from the corner of her mouth to past her chin, giving her lip a permanent curl to it. A tight braid was pinned to the back of her head. Her eyes were hard but not hateful. Not that I was about to trust her. I kept my voice even, passably pleasant. "Where are my things?" I always attempted to lead with manners. It cost me nothing, and a smart mouth from the beginning would get me labeled as difficult. The fewer eyes on me, the better. "The Settlement will provide you with clothes, food, and shelter. After we've gone through your belongings thoroughly and you've proven yourself, we'll return your things. His Benevolence prefers that everyone start their journey here on the same level." A flash of relief cut through my boiling anger--at least I'd had the forethought to tuck my watch into my boot. But that didn't mean I wasn't as hot as a toad on a buttered skillet. I canted my head, and the light caught my eyes. I wanted to see her better, for one. Her tone was blunt, almost harsh, but her words sounded true. So I showed her my eyes. Like I said, my hair made people wary. My eyes gave them the shudders. They were a gray so light they were almost colorless, except for the thin darker ring at the very edge. Pops had eyes just like them, and sometimes when he looked at people a certain way, I swear their intestines turned to water. The woman's small mouth pursed, her eyebrows shooting down. The cart driver and the gunslinger had returned as we'd been talking, and stood a little behind her. The gunslinger didn't so much as blink. He was hawkeyed, and I'm sure not a single detail of my person had escaped him. The driver was another story. Despite my spending almost two days in the back of his cart, he'd not truly seen me until now. "The Shining God, have mercy!" He stumbled back, all the blood leaving his face. With a shaking hand, he ran his fingers over his heart, warding off evil. I smiled at him, tight-lipped. Fear could often shift into anger faster than a lightning flash in a thunderstorm. He shooed me back from that cart, hissing like a cat. "I've got to get going," he growled, crawling up onto his seat. "Ghost eyes," he mumbled. "Should have charged 'em double." The woman's frown grew. "Mister Cartwright, I cannot in good faith let you leave. We have a cot available to you. Night will fall soon, and it isn't safe to travel these woods then." He gathered up his reins. "All due respect, matron, but you'd have to tie me down for me to share a roof with such a creature." He looked at me and spit on the ground. "It isn't safe," she repeated, her gaze imparting a message to the driver I didn't understand. He hesitated, just barely, but I saw it. Excerpted from Red in Tooth and Claw by Lish McBride All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
