There were three other residents waiting for court to open. Mr. Wilson, a shopkeeper, was first in line; his face slacked on the right side, his mouth turned down severely. She watched him as they waited, wondering whom his assailants were and what they’d beaten him for. He was a kind, old man, if not terse, but Lady Mae’s mother had on more than one occasion said how he was one of the only shopkeepers that would talk to her. Lady Mae watched her mother smile at him, and even though his mouth was injured, he tried to smile back. He had all his parts it seemed—no missing fingers or limbs—and it was possible he’d never done anything wrong. Not all disobeyed the law. But though everyone knew the punishments for wrongdoings—up to twenty atonements—there were crimes still. For as long as Lady Mae could remember there were brawls and murders, cheating and thievery. Certain times were worse than others—usually toward the end of the month when the residents had used up their allowance and resorted to unseemly behavior to get what they wanted and needed. Some thought the atonements were worth it and plotted and planned their transgressions. Others were simply swept up in the moment, lashing out at those in nearest proximity. Whatever the case, the victims could show at the courthouse during inquest hours and request that their perpetrators be charged with what they felt fair and just. Until the day before, Lady Mae couldn’t understand why anyone could do anything wrong knowing the consequences. But when she was there in the dust, her heart beating wildly, sweat dripping into her eyes, she wanted the children to pay, wanted them to hurt as she hurt. She remembered then as she stood outside of the courthouse how the vengeance had stuck under her skin.

The courthouse opened, and Lady Mae followed those who had also come to seek justice up the steps and through the large, iron doors. No one spoke; she heard only the clicking of boots on the wooden floors and the rustling of stiff fabrics as they lined up outside of the courtroom. Mr. Wilson had tied a cloth around his arm to staunch the bleeding. It was dark and dirty; underneath was the muscle, a white fleck of bone where she couldn’t see. What does it feel like, Mama? He breathed hard and quick, sweat on his brow and a darkness just below his eyes.

When it was their turn, Lady Mae and her mother entered the courtroom. They walked up the aisle past pews that would be filled when the hearings began that day. The highest ranked Deputy sat up on the bench. He oversaw the other three Deputies that had worked Settlement Five since before Lady Mae was born. Her mother had said that there was talk of an uptick in crime and the need for a fifth Deputy. Supposedly, one was on his way from Settlement Six, but it was on the other side of the mountains that stretched to the east. They’d been waiting for months, and her mother didn’t see the point, as they were able to make do with what they had.