Chapter 150: This Was Supposed to Be a Good Thing

I made a list.

That was the first sign something had gone wrong. The second was that I made another one, and by the third I had begun to suspect the royal family of attacking me personally.

Dream Haven was spread along the sofa in the Sanctuary common room, holding up most of my back while a notebook rested against my knees. At the top of the page I had written:

Things Sanctuary Needs While I Am Gone

Underneath that:

1\. Penelope.

I stopped there for almost a minute. It was a strong list. Leaving it at one item felt irresponsible, though, so I added a second.

2\. Cedric should not let people injure themselves.

I crossed out should not and wrote should try not to, which was more realistic.

3\. Lena handles medical issues.

Obvious, but lists needed bulk.

4\. Roland should not be allowed to organize betting pools involving injuries, cultivation failures, disciplinary action, or my return date.

I thought about it, and added one more.

5\. Mira should be informed that number four includes her.

"What are you doing?"

Penelope was standing behind the sofa. I closed the notebook.

"Nothing."

She looked at the notebook, and then at me. "You were writing."

"Unrelated."

"To nothing?"

"Exactly."

She held out her hand.

"No."

"Alash."

"This is private."

"You’re holding it upside down."

I looked down. I was.

Penelope kept her hand out. I considered refusing, but refusing would only make her more curious. I handed it over.

She read the first line, and the second, and the rest of the page, and nothing at all happened to her face, which was worse than if she had laughed.

"’Penelope,’" she read.

"You’re first."

"I noticed."

"It’s a position of honor."

"And the entire plan."

"Strong foundation."

"’Cedric should try not to let people injure themselves.’"

"Important."

"’Roland should not be allowed to organize betting pools involving injuries, cultivation failures, disciplinary action, or your return date.’"

"Especially important."

She turned the page. The next one was blank. She looked at me.

"I started recently," I said.

"Clearly."

I held out my hand for the notebook. Penelope walked around the sofa instead, sat down in the chair opposite me, and put my notebook in her lap.

"You don’t need a list."

"Everyone needs lists."

"You hate lists."

"I’ve grown."

"No."

"That’s discouraging."

"Sanctuary already has one."

I looked at her. "One what?"

"A plan. For while you’re gone."

"Who made it?"

"I did. Yesterday."

I sat up a little. "Yesterday?"

"You came back from the Headmaster’s office holding a royal letter as though it had insulted your family. Then you skipped dinner."

"I had things to process."

"You went to sleep."

"Processing can happen horizontally."

Penelope ignored that and took several folded pages out of the satchel beside her chair. Several. I disliked it already.

The first page was names, with responsibilities beside them: Cedric for practical safety, Lena for medical supplies and anyone who needed pulling from practical work, Roland for supplies and class funds, Mira, Marcus, Marren, Delia, and more besides. The second page was weekly rotations. The third was assignments. The fourth was headed Contingencies, and I decided not to read it yet.

"This is excessive."

"It’s four pages."

"Exactly."

"You once handed Professor Ferran seventeen."

"Under coercion."

"He asked for three."

"Then it was voluntary excellence."

Penelope almost smiled. I went back to the pages, and the irritating thing was that the plan was good. Cedric handled practical safety but couldn’t change the training schedule without Penelope. Lena could pull anyone out of practical work for medical reasons and didn’t need to explain herself. Roland managed supplies, but every expense needed a second signature, which was the smartest line on the page until I reached the next one: Mira was responsible for noticing whether anyone had quietly stopped coming to meals or classes. Marcus would settle disputes if Penelope was busy. Marren would look after the training equipment.

"Marren?"

"He asked."

"You’re trusting him with the equipment."

"I’m trusting him with the inventory."

"That’s almost the same thing."

"It isn’t."

Fair. "Does he know?"

"He suggested the system."

That was new. Not impossible, just new. I had missed things before, and I would miss more while I was gone, and that thought sat oddly in me.

"You did all of this yesterday?"

"Most of it already existed." Penelope folded her hands on my notebook. "We’ve been running Sanctuary for months, Alash."

"I know."

"Do you?" She went on before I could answer. "Cedric already handles most of the practical safety. Lena already handles anything medical. Roland already handles supplies."

"Poorly."

"Well."

"He enjoys it too much."

"That’s a different problem. Mira already notices when people drop out of their routines. Marcus already settles arguments when neither of us is there. Delia already keeps half the first-years from forgetting their assignments."

"When did Delia start doing that?"

"About two months ago."

Nobody had told me. Then again, nobody had needed to, which was probably the point.

"You aren’t leaving behind an unfinished class," Penelope said.

"I never said I was."

"You made a list."

"Lists aren’t emotional."

"Yours had my name as the entire first point."

"Efficient planning."

She gave me a look, and I took refuge in the paperwork.

If I vanished tomorrow, Sanctuary would still wake up in the morning. People would still go to class. Cedric would still shout at someone for running in the corridor, Roland would still find a way to make money out of it, and Lena would still threaten people with her medical authority. Penelope would still know what everyone was supposed to be doing before they remembered it themselves. A class that didn’t fall apart because one person left the room, especially when that person was me: it was exactly what I had wanted.

So why did it feel strange?

[Because it worked.]

I ignored the System. Penelope was watching me, which was becoming a habit of hers.

"You’ve gone quiet."

"I’m reading."

"Your eyes stopped moving."

I moved them.

"No," she said.

I put the pages down. "You’re sure?"

"About what?"

"That you’ll be fine."

Her expression changed, very slightly. "Yes."

"Three weeks is a while."

"Close to three."

"Still."

"We survived before you’d learned everyone’s names."

"That was different."

"How?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. It had been different. I just couldn’t explain why without admitting I cared that much, which was dangerous territory.

"I was here," I said.

Penelope looked at me for a long moment. Then she nodded once.

"Yes."

She didn’t add anything to it, and for some reason that helped.

Out in the corridor, somebody started an argument. Roland, probably. A second voice answered, and that was definitely Cedric. The argument went past the door without coming in. Everything was normal, and I had become used to it, and that was the problem.

***

After dinner, I packed.

Packing eleven days early was not like me. Neither was making lists. I told myself it was efficiency, because something packed now was something I would never have to think about again, and I almost believed it.

Penelope knocked once and came in before I answered.

"Doors are supposed to involve permission."

"You said come in."

"I didn’t."

"You were about to."

"That’s concerning."

She ignored me and looked at the bed, then at the storage ring beside it, then at the three shirts folded next to Dream Haven, and finally at me.

"Packing?"

"Yes."

"Where’s the rest of it?"

"This is the rest."

"You’ll be gone close to three weeks."

"I own more clothes. They’re in the ring."

"Show me."

"Trust is important."

"Show me."

I sighed and touched the ring, and things appeared on the bed: two more shirts, a pair of trousers, a travel cloak, my medical kit, the apothecary case, three notebooks, the advancement book, and a folded blanket. Penelope waited. I added a second pair of trousers. She kept waiting.

"This is becoming invasive."

"You have five shirts."

"Yes."

"For close to three weeks."

"There are rivers."

She closed her eyes. "I am not washing clothes in a river."

"I wasn’t asking you to."

"You aren’t washing clothes in a river either."

"Then why did you mention yourself?"

"Because I know how this ends."

I wasn’t sure I liked what that implied.

[You forgot formal clothing.]

’I didn’t forget.’

[It is not on the bed.]

’That isn’t the same thing.’

[It is exactly the same thing.]

Penelope pointed at the ring. "Formal clothes."

"How did you know?"

"Because I know you."

That was disturbing. I took out the formal set my father had sent to Zenith months ago. Penelope inspected it, then held out her hand, and I produced the second one.

"Why two?"

"In case something happens to one."

"Then I wear the other one repeatedly."

"Correct."

"That sounds like agreement."

"It is."

She began rearranging everything, and I objected on principle.

"Those were organized."

"No."

"By category."

"You put the medicine beside the socks."

"Both are useful."

"That isn’t a category."

"It is now."

She moved the apothecary case, and I let her, and watched. Not because she needed help. Penelope packing my things without asking felt familiar in a way I couldn’t immediately place. She had been organizing my life since we were children, I suppose, and I had been letting her for just as long. That thought was more dangerous than the clothes, and I looked away from it.

"What are you doing with the notebook?"

"Packing it. You should write."

"While I’m traveling?"

"Yes."

"We have communication artifacts."

"Write anyway."

"To whom?"

"Sanctuary. One letter, not thirty-six."

"That still sounds like work."

"Tell us where you are. What happened. What James broke, what Elizabeth tried to organize, what Sophie found interesting."

"That last one is everything."

"What Daphne said."

I considered it. "Possibly manageable."

Penelope put the notebook into the ring.

"You really want letters?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She stopped folding a shirt, for about a second, and then carried on.

"Because you’re leaving."

That was the whole answer. She didn’t decorate it, and it didn’t need decorating.

"Letters take effort," I said.

"Yes."

I waited for her to say something else, and she didn’t. She knew exactly what she was asking. Writing meant effort, and apparently she wanted some of mine.

"Fine," I said.

"Good."

"One."

"Several."

"One."

"Every few days."

"That’s several."

"I’m aware."

"Penelope."

"Alash."

I looked at Dream Haven for support. It offered none.

[You could simply agree.]

’Whose side are you on?’

[The side attempting to make you communicate.]

’There shouldn’t be a side.’

[There very clearly is.]

"Two," I said.

Penelope considered it. "Three."

"Two."

"Three."

"That’s negotiation abuse."

"Three."

We looked at each other.

"Fine. Three."

"At least."

I pointed at her. "No."

She smiled, barely, and I decided that was the most dangerous thing that had happened all day.

***

The next morning, Sanctuary had theory. I arrived late enough to avoid being early, but not late enough for anyone to complain, which is a precise art. Penelope was already there, and so was everyone else: thirty-seven seats, thirty-seven students, nothing unusual.

I had barely sat down when Roland leaned across the aisle.

"How many formal outfits are you taking?"

I looked at Penelope. She was reading, and did not look up.

"Why?"

"There’s a pool."

"No."

"It isn’t gambling."

"That’s what you said last time."

"It’s prediction."

"That’s gambling with better manners."

Cedric turned round in his seat. "Three."

Roland pointed at him. "See?"

"You joined?"

Cedric looked mildly offended. "I’m enforcing realistic expectations."

"Two," said Mira, from two rows back, with her eyes closed.

"You too?"

"I can hear Roland whispering from across the room. Joining was less effort."

Lena looked up from her notes. "Four."

"Why four?"

"Because Penelope packed."

I looked at Penelope again. She turned a page.

"Two," I said.

Mira held her hand out toward Roland without opening her eyes. Roland stared at it, and then at me, as though I had done something unsporting by answering.

"This class has become far too comfortable," I said.

"That’s your fault," said Roland.

That shut me up for half a second, and he saw it, and grinned. I disliked him. Mostly.

Selene came in before I could find a reply, and the room settled. The theory was channels and recovery and stability after advancement, which felt pointed. I opened my notebook and, for once, took notes. Not many; we shouldn’t become unreasonable. At one point Selene drew a diagram comparing channel expansion with channel reinforcement, and I copied it and wrote a question beside it.

What adapts first?

I looked at the words for a while. Theoran’s book came back to me, and the records, and the margin notes about recovery and the body. Nothing connected. I was relieved. I wasn’t ready for more problems.

When class ended, the noise came back at once. Roland resumed the clothing argument immediately. Cedric told him to stop gambling in a classroom, and Roland insisted it wasn’t gambling, and Mira pointed out that he had used the word odds twice, and Lena sided with Mira. Penelope collected two papers from Delia. Marren and Marcus were discussing a damaged practice frame.

All of it moved without me. Nobody needed directions, or permission, or looked lost. I stood there for a moment and felt proud, and then, a moment later, strangely unnecessary. The second feeling lasted about three seconds.

"Alash," said Cedric, from across the room.

"Yes?"

"Marren wants to change the equipment rotation while you’re gone."

Marren turned round. "It’s more efficient."

Cedric folded his arms. "It’s stupid."

"It isn’t."

"It is."

Thirty-seven people became extremely interested. I sighed. That was home.

***

That evening, I found Penelope alone in the common room. I dropped onto the sofa opposite her, and Dream Haven expanded beneath my head. She looked up from her book.

"Done packing?"

"Mostly."

"Formal clothes?"

"Regrettably."

"Medical supplies?"

"Yes."

"The advancement book?"

"Against my will."

"Good."

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. It rarely was with Penelope anymore.

After a while, she closed her book. "Does D-Grey feel different?"

I looked at the ceiling. "Denser."

"You said that before."

"It’s still true."

"I meant otherwise."

I knew what she meant, and pretended not to. "More grey."

She waited, and I sighed.

"Not really."

"You seemed disappointed."

"I wasn’t."

"Alash."

I pushed Dream Haven a little higher. "It’s progress. I wanted progress. So I’m not disappointed."

Penelope watched me. "Did you want it to solve something?"

That was annoyingly close.

"Maybe," I said.

She didn’t ask what, which was why I answered.

"It didn’t."

"I thought so."

"How?"

"You reached D-Grey and looked less happy the next day."

"I was happy."

"You were," she agreed. "You were also worried."

Both could be true. I hated that.

"I’ll figure it out."

"I know."

She didn’t say it with any particular confidence. She said it the way she had been saying versions of it to me since we were children, often with no evidence at all.

"You don’t know that."

"No."

"Then why say it?"

"Because you’ll keep trying."

I looked away. That was worse, somehow.

Outside the windows, the grounds were dark, with a few lights still burning in the other residences. Twelve days had already become ten. Then there would be the road, and Fort Halden, and the beastkin, and five vessels traveling together, and things I wasn’t ready to explain and might have to.

"You’ll be fine?" I asked.

Penelope tilted her head. "You already asked me that."

"I’m checking."

"Yes."

"Sanctuary too?"

"Yes."

"Roland?"

"No."

I looked at her, and she smiled.

"There are limits."

I laughed before I could stop it, quietly, and then the room settled again around us. I looked at it properly: the tables, the notice board, the grey circle around the V that Cedric had eventually given up rubbing out, a blanket someone had left over the back of a chair, three cups by the window. I would miss them. That was an inconvenient thing to realize, and I pulled Dream Haven over part of my face so that I wouldn’t have to look at any of it.

Penelope opened her book again. "Three letters."

I lowered the pillow. "We agreed."

"You agreed."

"Under pressure."

"It still counts."

"I’ll write."

"Good."

I closed my eyes. Sanctuary would be fine without me, which was exactly what I had wanted. Apparently wanting something and liking it once you had it were not always the same experience.

Ten days until departure. For the first time, I wasn’t worried about what would happen to Sanctuary without me.

I was worried about how much I would miss it.