Chapter 144: What Do You Want?

Penelope’s note was still beside my bed when I woke up.

This was unfortunate. I had hoped it might disappear during the night. It had not.

Theoran. After lunch.

Underneath that:

Do not sleep through it.

I looked at the second line for a while, and then at the System. Not literally; there was nowhere to look. But it knew.

[She was right.]

’I haven’t said anything.’

[You were considering returning to sleep.]

’I was considering options.’

[There was one option.]

’There are always several.’

[One of yours involved a pillow.]

I pulled Dream Haven over my face. That seemed like a reasonable end to the discussion.

[Alash.]

’I’m awake.’

[Your eyes are closed.]

’Those conditions can coexist.’

The System went quiet. I waited. Nothing.

Suspicious.

I moved Dream Haven far enough to see the room again.

’You’re learning.’

[I have had fifteen years.]

That sounded slightly bitter.

I got up, mostly because if I went back to sleep now, Penelope would know. I had no idea how. That had stopped mattering some time ago.

***

The morning passed without anything trying to kill me. Zenith was becoming unreliable.

Ferran made us repeat Friday’s exercises with the pairings changed. Daphne ended up with someone from Sanctuary who had Earth and Water. I ended up with a Greywall boy whose only useful advice was that he disliked healing magic because it made injuries feel temporary.

I told him most injuries were temporary. He said that wasn’t his point. I said I knew. He didn’t believe me.

He was probably right.

After that came lunch, and after lunch, the Administrative Wing.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. There were too many. Zenith had been built by people who disliked knees, and mine were fifteen years old and already offended.

I started climbing.

[You could have left earlier.]

’That would not reduce the number of stairs.’

[You would not be late.]

I stopped, looked at the nearest window to judge the light, and then kept climbing, faster.

’I am not late.’

[Yet.]

I disliked that word.

The Headmaster’s office was at the end of the upper corridor. The assistant outside looked up as I approached, then at the clock, then back at me. I did not like the sequence.

"I’m here."

"I can see that."

"On time."

She looked at the clock again. "Yes."

There was no warmth in it. No disappointment either. Possibly she had reached a state beyond both.

She knocked once on the door.

"Come in," Theoran called.

She opened it, I went inside, and the door closed behind me.

The office had not improved. Books everywhere: on shelves, in stacks, and in further stacks in places where stacks should not have been. One chair near the desk had three books on it and therefore no longer counted as a chair.

Theoran sat behind the desk with his cane resting against one knee. A pot of tea waited between us.

That was worse than the stairs.

"Lord Vortex."

"Headmaster."

He gestured to the chair without books. I sat. He reached for the teapot.

"No, thank you."

His hand stopped. "You have not tried today’s."

"I’ve tried the others."

"Ah."

He poured himself a cup. Apparently that settled it.

I watched. The tea was too dark, which had been its first mistake. Then the smell reached me, which was its second. Theoran took a sip and his face did not change at all. I had begun to suspect that age removed whatever part of the tongue handled fear.

He set the cup down. "How was your week, lad?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Silence. I waited. He drank tea. I waited longer. He still drank tea.

This was how Theoran did things. He asked one question and then behaved as though he had several years available for the answer. At eighty-one, this felt unfair.

"Sanctuary came last in the Crucible," I said.

"I heard."

"Minus ninety."

"I heard that too."

"People have been talking about it."

"People talk about most things. My wife used to say gossip was what happened when a village had finished discussing the weather."

I looked at him. "You were married?"

Theoran raised his eyebrows. "I am eighty-one, not a fungus."

"I didn’t mean..."

"No, no. Quite all right." He took another sip. "My wife asked the same thing on our second meeting, though for different reasons."

I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Theoran seemed happy to leave it there. His eyes moved toward the papers on his desk.

"Minus ninety."

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what?"

"How was your week?"

"I told you."

"You told me a number."

That was true. Unfortunately.

I leaned back. "Sanctuary is fine."

"Fine."

"Roland almost sent Brightvale two barrels of vinegar that already belonged to them."

Theoran’s mouth moved slightly. "Almost?"

"Penelope stopped him."

"A fortunate woman."

"Usually."

"What else?"

"Lena handled a hand injury."

"Serious?"

"No."

"Cedric?"

"Still Cedric."

Theoran nodded as if this was sufficient medical information. "Mira?"

"I saw her yesterday."

"You sound uncertain."

"I saw someone sleeping on a bench. I’m assuming it was Mira."

"Reasonable."

He took another sip, and the silence came back.

I looked at the books. One stack near the wall leaned far enough that I did not trust it. Another had papers shoved between the volumes. There was a small wooden box near the window. Nothing interesting.

When I looked back at Theoran, he was watching me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

That was suspicious. "You’re doing something."

"Sitting."

I knew that answer. I had used it myself, and I disliked hearing it from someone else.

He smiled, very slightly. "You may tell me whatever you decide to tell me, lad. That was the arrangement."

"I remember."

"Good."

Another silence.

I could have left it there. Technically, there had been no rule saying weekly reports needed to contain anything useful. I had arrived. I had sat. I had reported that Cedric remained Cedric. All requirements seemed satisfied.

Then I remembered Monday. D-Black. SS. Ten cycles, and ten not being enough.

I looked at Theoran’s tea. Somehow that was easier than looking at Theoran.

"How long does it take to reach SS?"

His hand stopped halfway to the cup. Only for a second. Then he picked it up.

"That depends on where a person begins."

"D-Black."

Theoran drank, and set the cup down. "That is a rather specific starting point."

"I’ve been told specificity is useful."

"By whom?"

"Several people."

"Any of them eighty-one?"

"No."

"Then their data is incomplete."

I waited. He rubbed one knee, not dramatically, just once.

"Forgive me. Rain tomorrow."

I looked toward the window. The sky was clear. "You can tell?"

"My knee can. It has been more dependable than the academy weather instruments for twenty-three years, though Selene refuses to accept that as evidence."

"Maybe you should submit a paper."

"I did."

I stared at him. He smiled into his tea. I couldn’t tell whether he was joking, which was probably intentional.

Then his expression settled. "D-Black to SS."

"Yes."

"Years."

"How many?"

"There isn’t a useful single answer."

"There must be an average."

"There is."

"What is it?"

"Not useful."

I frowned. Theoran leaned back.

"Potential changes the pace. Age changes it. Access to instruction. Mana density. Injuries. Constitution. Attribute development. Whether someone is sensible. That last one is surprisingly important and therefore quite rare."

I ignored that. "Fastest."

He looked at me. "Fastest what?"

"The fastest anyone has gone from D-Black to SS."

"In this kingdom?"

"Anywhere you have records for."

He rested both hands over the top of his cane. This time the silence was different. He wasn’t waiting me out. He was thinking.

"I would need to check."

"Approximately."

"I could give you a poor answer quickly or a better one later."

"Poor first."

That got a small laugh. "Years."

"That’s the same answer."

"It remains true."

"Four?"

Theoran stopped smiling.

There. I had said too much. Not everything, but enough.

He didn’t move. "Four years?"

"Approximately."

"From D-Black."

"Yes."

"To SS."

"Yes."

He looked at me for a long time. I considered the door. Not seriously. Mostly.

"Why?"

There it was.

I looked down at my hands. There were several answers. A divine barrier around the world would collapse, and demons would come through it. The Akashic Key had split, and four other vessels were sitting around Zenith without knowing what they were. Two of them were bonded to me; two were not. A System that had lived in my head since before I had a body thought ten cycles a day would not be enough. And somewhere beyond all of that was the promise that if I reached SS and finished the bonds before the countdown ended, maybe the world would not end.

Those were difficult things to put into conversation. Especially before tea.

"I need to."

Theoran waited. I didn’t add anything. He nodded once, neither accepting the answer nor rejecting it.

"Four years is a poor deadline."

"I noticed."

"Did you choose it?"

"No."

"Can it move?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Another pause. "Does anyone else know?"

"Not exactly."

Theoran’s fingers shifted on the cane. "That is a very Alash answer."

"I’ve had practice."

"I imagine." He looked toward one of the shelves, then back at me. "What have you tried?"

"Cultivation."

"I assumed."

"Ten cycles."

"Daily?"

"When allowed."

"And Selene?"

"Says not to rush."

"Good."

I almost said the rest. The System says ten isn’t enough. The words reached the back of my teeth and stopped there.

Theoran noticed. Of course he did. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Something?"

"No."

He waited. I didn’t continue. After a while, he let it go.

"Professor Selene is right. There are ways to increase pressure and shorten cycles, but most of them are excellent methods for becoming impressive at sixteen and crippled at twenty-five."

"She said something similar."

"Less cheerfully, I imagine."

"More."

"Hm." He took another sip.

I looked at the cup. "Does that help you think?"

"The tea?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Then why drink it?"

Theoran looked at the cup as though the question had never occurred to him. "Habit, perhaps."

"That’s bad tea."

"I am aware."

"You could buy better tea."

"I could."

He did not. I understood him slightly less after that. Maybe more. It was hard to tell.

He set the cup aside. "What else?"

"Gravity."

That surprised him, a little. "Your minor attribute."

"Level three."

"I remember."

"I was using it wrong."

"That is usually how level three works."

I ignored that too. "Daphne showed me something."

"Miss Spinster."

"She changes things before they become a problem."

"That sounds useful."

"It is."

I took the pebble out of my pocket. Theoran looked at it.

"Should I ask?"

"No."

"Good."

I tossed it once, not high. At the top I reached for it. Lighter. It came down slower, and Theoran watched it land in my palm.

"Again."

I did. This time the mana slipped, and the pebble came down at exactly the speed pebbles come down.

Theoran nodded. "Very level three."

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome."

I put it away. "The point isn’t the pebble."

"I had hoped."

"Barrier deals with the hit at the end. Gravity can change what reaches it. If something is lighter before it falls, Barrier pays less later."

Theoran nodded slowly. "And you think cultivation may have something similar."

I looked at him. He had got there faster than I wanted.

"Maybe."

"Something before the pressure."

"Maybe."

"Something that changes the cost rather than tolerating more of it."

"Yes."

He leaned back, and the chair creaked. For a while he said nothing, and I waited, willingly this time.

"I don’t know," he said.

That was not the answer I had expected. "You don’t?"

"No."

"You’re the Headmaster."

"An administrative position has never granted omniscience. I checked."

I stared at him. He looked completely serious. Probably.

"Selene?"

"She will know more about channel development than I do."

"The Hermit?"

Theoran’s eyes changed. Not much. "He might."

"The only SSS."

"The only one we know."

"Can you contact him?"

"I can write."

"Will he answer?"

"No idea."

"That’s useful."

"You asked whether I could contact him."

Fair.

Theoran looked toward a pile of correspondence on the far side of his desk. "Three kings have tried summoning that man. He ignored them."

"All three?"

"Yes."

"Can you find him?"

Theoran laughed quietly. "Forgive me, lad. If I could find him whenever I wished, I would have considerably fewer headaches."

"So no."

"So I can try."

I nodded, and then remembered something. "He left me a note."

Theoran’s eyes lifted. "Did he?"

"At the submissions office."

"What did it say?"

I hesitated. "Something useful."

Theoran waited. I didn’t continue. After several seconds he nodded.

"All right."

No pressing. No asking again. Just that.

I looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

Now he was definitely doing it deliberately.

"The note means he expected something," I said.

"Possibly."

"He knew the Crucible rules before they were announced."

Theoran’s expression shifted slightly. That part, he knew. "He did."

"And he knew what I would do."

"Apparently."

"So maybe he’ll answer."

"Perhaps."

It was not much. It was more than no.

Theoran watched me for a moment. Then he asked, "What are you asking me?"

"I just asked."

"No. You asked whether I could find a man."

I looked away. He went on, quietly.

"What do you want me to do?"