Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(73)

“Bill, would you be so kind as to keep the count?”

“Of course, Sheriff.” The satisfaction in his voice makes me long to put a bullet in him.

The whip whistles through the air before it carves agony across my back. I inhale sharply and arch away from the pain, my chest slamming into the post.

“One.”

The second lash comes too quickly, stealing my air and making my muscles tighten.

“Two.”

The whip comes round again, and I’m trying to think of something else, trying to be anywhere else, but I am bound to my cursed flesh, and tears make their way down my cheeks as the whip tears into my back again, and again, and again.

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Five.”

My heart nearly stutters to a stop when Bill counts five twice in a row. My back is a fiery mess of agony, and when the whip comes across again a sob tears out of me.

“Six.”

I’m shaking from the pain, delirious with it. With each crack of the whip I make a new promise to the Lord Almighty. “I will never lie again if this stops.” Crack. “I will dedicate my life to your good works.” Crack. Either the good Lord is unimpressed with my offerings, or he thinks I deserve this, just as the preacher told me.

Bill has just counted off the eleventh lash when the crowd behind me begins murmuring. I can’t think, the pain robbing me of whatever wit I possess. I’m crying and muttering, half-mad with the pain. Nine more lashes, and that’s if Bill keeps the count correctly. Somehow, I know he won’t. He’s enjoying this as much as the sheriff.

“Stop, please, stop!”

Katherine’s voice is unmistakable, and at first I think my ears are deceiving me. But the sheriff pauses and says, “Miss Deveraux, this is no place for you. You should go back to your home. What brings you here?”

“I did,” comes another voice. “You’re killing her Attendant, and she has a right to know that since the girl has been in her employ.”

“Gideon, you are not the law in this town.” There’s tightness to the sheriff’s voice, but I’m too relieved that the whip has ceased its torment for the moment to analyze why he would even listen to Mr. Gideon in the first place.

“Sheriff, it is said that the man who exercises compassion is the wisest of all. I’m urging you to be a wise man. It’s obvious that the girl won’t survive much more. And neither will this town. You’ve done enough.”

“Gideon—”

“Please, Sheriff,” Katherine pleads, a tremor in her voice. “Jane is a bit headstrong, but she is also an excellent companion. I’ve become fond of her, and I would be heartbroken if she were to come to any more harm. Please let her go. Show her mercy.”

Behind me the sheriff sighs. “Miss Deveraux, you are a kind girl, but law and order must be upheld.”

“‘And if a man smite his servant, or his maid, with a rod, and he die under his hand; he shall be surely punished.’ That’s Exodus, chapter twenty-one, verse twenty. I’m certain this isn’t what the good pastor meant to happen. There is no doubt that Jane broke the rules, as she is known to do from time to time. But she is suffering greatly, and as she’s my servant, my soul would bear the burden of her misfortune. Please, Sheriff,” Katherine says, her voice choked with emotion. I know without even looking at her that her face is probably streaked with tears, her light eyes too bright. “Have mercy.”

There’s a pause, and the sound of my labored breath fills my ears, heartbeat keeping time to the seconds ticking by.

After too long the sheriff says, “You are right, of course. Compassion is critical in a leader.”

“Yes, Sheriff. No one doubts your word is law.”

My hands are suddenly released, and when I try to stand I stumble. Katherine is there to help me, and when she turns me around two things strike me at once.

The first is the sadness and anger warring on Mr. Gideon’s face as he watches me. His jaw is tight and his fists are clenched. Whether these emotions are about me being whipped or because he just don’t like the sheriff, I don’t know.

The second thing that strikes me is the way the sheriff is looking in my direction. It’s a soft kind of look, the way one would watch a baby or a bunny, full of wonder and interest. At first I can’t figure why the man would look at me in such an indulgent way, but then I realize that he ain’t looking at me. He’s looking at Katherine.

And just like that, the plan I’ve been struggling to come up with for weeks explodes in my brain like a stick of dynamite with a too-short fuse.

Katherine half carries, half drags me past the assembled crowd. I lift my head just long enough to see Cora give me a smug look, and I know at that moment she’s the reason the sheriff caught me in the first place. The Duchess comes over, worry on her face.

“You bring her to my room, I’ll help you get her cleaned up.”

“Jane doesn’t belong in a whorehouse,” Katherine says, as muttonheaded as ever.

“Her bosoms are hanging out for the world to see and she won’t make it to the proper side of town,” the Duchess snaps back.

“She’s right,” Mr. Gideon says. “I’ll bring by some salve. Let the Duchess take her. You’re going to have to contend with Pastor Snyder.”