Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(17)
The man gestures to poor, dumb Othello who hasn’t left his spot near the cage, and I can’t hold my tongue any longer. The Negro scholars ahead of us don’t seem inclined to say anything, and I cannot just let a man commit suicide, even if it is in the name of science.
I jump to my feet and clear my throat. “Excuse me, Professor Ghering?”
Everyone turns in their seats, and a few of the ladies nearer the front gasp, though whether because of my terrible hairdo or because I dared to interrupt, I ain’t certain. Either way, I have everyone’s attention.
Here’s a thing about me: I ain’t all that good at knowing when to keep my fool mouth shut.
The professor turns to me, adjusting his spectacles. “Yes, um, miss?”
I wave and smile large. “Hi there, Professor. My name is Jane McKeene, and I’m a student at Miss Preston’s School of Combat. Before we get to all the biting, I just wanted to say thank you for having us here at your esteemed lecture. It is an honor.”
The professor’s guarded expression fades, and he gives me a benevolent smile. “Well, yes, of course. You colored girls are part of the future of our great nation, and it is vital for all Negroes to understand how important they are to the fight to save humanity. This is also why we have invited your Negro scholars and leaders here to witness such a momentous experiment.”
“Oh, of course, Professor. Most definitely.” I nearly choke on the words, because the men in the row in front of me are looking very uncomfortable. They know this lecture is a sham just as much as I do, but none of them are willing to stand up and lose what little standing they have with the mayor. Leaders they are not.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my throat. “Now, I just have one question, and I was hoping you would answer it before you get to your demonstration.”
Next to me, Katherine grabs my arm and tries to pull me down, hissing at me under her breath. The Negro scholars in front of me are also muttering, saying some not-so-nice things about me. I ignore them.
The professor laughs. “Why, go right ahead.”
“Well, see, in the event—however unlikely—that your vaccine does not have the desired effect, and Othello there turns, I was wondering what your contingency plan is. Have you taken the vaccine yourself?”
“Oh, most certainly not,” the professor says, his already ruddy face going positively crimson.
“Oh. Well, sir, that is a problem. See, shamblers are pretty strong when they first turn, and I can’t help but notice that you don’t have anyone at the ready to put the big man down. You do understand he’s going to go after you first, don’t you?”
The crowd shifts uncomfortably, and the professor forces out a dry laugh. Next to me Katherine whispers, “Sit down, Jane!” while a few of the ladies in the gallery exclaim over the rudeness of this new crop of Negroes.
This was a bad idea. This is the worst idea in the long and storied history of terrible ideas, right on up there with Julius Caesar marching up to the Roman Senate when he knew everyone wanted him dead. Why did I open my mouth? Why don’t I just learn to mind my place, like Miss Anderson is always harping on about? For a moment my bravado falters. Maybe I should just sit down and leave Othello to his fate.
But, along the wall, one of the girls catches my eye and gives a slight nod. I know her. Her name is Maisie Carpenter. She was in her last year of Miss Preston’s my first year there. Her silent approval warms me.
“Miss McKeene—” the professor begins, but he’s interrupted by Mayor Carr himself climbing to his feet.
“Girl,” he begins, in his condescending politician’s voice, “your concern for your betters is a credit to the fine training you’ve received out there by Miss Preston’s. But you can rest assured that this demonstration is going to go quite as expected. That is to say, our good man Othello here will only experience but a little discomfort from the shambler’s bite. There is nothing that I value more than the safety of the good citizens of this fine city, and Professor Ghering’s work is a testament to the vision of the Survivalist Party and the future of these American states. It is men of science like him, and brave patriots like Othello, who will restore this nation to its former glory.” The mayor grins wide, and there is a smattering of applause in reaction to his speechifying. Then he makes a shooing motion in my direction. “Now, why don’t you take your seat. With due respect to Miss Preston, this ain’t your place.”
His words are mild; his tone is not. And what he says unlocks some long buried memory. Just like that, I’m no longer in the lecture hall but back at Rose Hill Plantation, watching as the major slowly uncoils the horse whip from its hook.
This ain’t your place, girl. You run back on inside ’fore you’re next.
I blink. This is where I cash in my chips. No way I can outtalk Old Blunderbuss, especially now that my moment has passed. After all, he’s a professional liar. I might be good, but I ain’t no politician.
“Well, Mr. Mayor, that is a relief.” I force a shaky smile and bob a curtsy before sinking back into my chair.
“You are most unseemly sometimes,” Katherine whispers next to me. “Honestly, Jane, I don’t know why you even bother with Miss Preston’s. It’s obvious from anyone paying attention that you’ll never make it as a lady’s Attendant. Why, can you just imagine—”