A Proper Education: Chapter Three

Credence imagined she would learn reading and sums in school.

Given that she felt proficient in both, she assumed she would do quite well, and might even excel beyond her peers. Or perhaps they would learn a bit of alchemy or even history, subjects which had always intrigued Credence, but were rarely taught at home due to their lack of usefulness. Maybe school would be more like her time with Lilith, and they would brew medicines and learn about wild beasts and how to use every piece of them.

What she wasn't prepared for were the Headmaster's lessons, which had nothing to do with reading or history.

They weren't centered around anything important at all.

"Today," the Headmaster announced, "we're going to talk about colors."

It was a silly topic, but it sent a thrill through the other students, especially when the Headmaster called on each of them to say which was their favorite. A few of the girls gave their favorite color as pink or yellow, while Gregory revealed his as black. The other boy said blue, but only the bright kind. When the Headmaster came to Credence, she realized she didn't think much of colors at all. It felt childish to have a favorite, for all colors had their place and beauty.

But Credence knew this answer would not be pleasing, so when she opened her mouth to give her reply, she thought of the only color that ever held any meaning to her.

"Purple. A very dark purple. Dark enough that it could almost be red, like the color of wine."

"Excellent choice," the Headmaster complimented, making Credence feel proud, "and a difficult one to spell. Tell me, do you know what letter the word 'purple' begins with?"

Credence nodded. "I could write it for you, if you like."

The shoulders of her classmates tensed, and the Headmaster raised an eyebrow.

"You can spell?"

"Yes, Headmaster. I can read and write. My parents taught me."

"I see."

From his pockets the Headmaster withdrew a piece of white rock, about the length of his finger. He moved to the black wall behind his desk and tapped the rock against it.

"Come and write the word here."

Credence hesitated, wondering if she might be walking into a trap, but rather than risk the ire of the Headmaster she walked to the front of the room. She took the piece of white rock and pressed it against the black wall to form the letters of the word, and the class waited in anxious silence until Credence stepped back so the Headmaster could appraise her work.

"My, my," the Headmaster said and added nothing else.

Credence glanced at the other students, expecting them to be awed by her ability, but their faces held worry.

"Did...did I do wrong?" she asked the Headmaster. "Am I not supposed to spell?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "You've done nothing wrong, Credence, but not many here can read words, let alone write them."

"Don't you teach them how?"

A few of the students gasped and Credence instantly feared she had offended the Headmaster, but he chuckled.

"School is not for reading and writing. School is for helping you get ready for the Auction, to prepare you for potential keepers. You do not need letters for that."

"Oh." Credence paused before her next question. "What do I need?"

"Exactly what I'm teaching. Colors, for example, are an absolute necessity. You may retake your seat."

He held his hand out and Credence returned the piece of white rock before moving to her seat. A few heads turned to watch her, but the Headmaster cleared his throat to regain their attention.

"Colors are vital. When used correctly, they enhance one's natural beauty. You have all given me your favorite colors, but I wonder...are they the right colors?"

The Headmaster opened a drawer in his desk and produced several long swaths of cloth, each one matching a color that had been given as a favorite. One by one the Headmaster called upon the students to come to his desk, where he held a cloth dyed their favorite color close to their face. The Headmaster turned to the class after doing this to question whether the shade made their peer more beautiful or not.

One of the girls, whom the Headmaster called Lily, had chosen yellow as her favorite, but when the color was held up to her the class recognized that it clashed against the tint of her face.

"You see," the Headmaster explained, "Lily's favorite color is yellow, but she would do well to stay away from it, for it makes her eyes look small and her skin sickly. If she were to put yellow flowers in her hair, the brightness of them might ruin her."

Lily, who had been on the verge of tears, burst into a quiet sob. The Headmaster clucked his tongue and pulled her into a small embrace.

"There, there," he soothed and patted her head, "you're not the first to pick the wrong color. This is why we must go to school, yes? To learn these things."

Lily pulled away and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

"I'll never like yellow again," she declared through a sniff. "I'll hate it forever."

"That's very wise of you."

"What color should I like, Headmaster?"

The Headmaster studied her quickly before pulling a cloth from his pile, a pale, wintery blue. He held it up to her face.

"Ah, see here," he said to the class, "what beauty this brings out!"

The class gasped in wonder, and whispers spread throughout the room about Lily's newfound beauty.

"This is your color," the Headmaster said and the girl broke into a wide grin.

"Blue is my favorite color then," she beamed. "Thank you, Headmaster."

A few more students were corrected with a new favorite color, and the class agreed with the Headmaster that they were better for it. Credence concurred with the Headmaster's assessment, but she was of the mind that a person's favorite shouldn't be dictated by a piece of cloth, but on how they felt when they saw the color.

If Lily liked yellow, yellow should be her favorite.

When it came time for Credence to stand in front of the class, she was relieved to hear that purple fit wonderfully with her features, and she would not be forced to reject it. Credence knew that either way she still would have liked the color, though she was happy not to have to keep it a secret.

At the conclusion of the lesson, the Headmaster gifted each of them their own piece of cloth dyed in their "favorite" hue and told them to use it as a reminder of what made them beautiful. He instructed them to practice conversation for the rest of their time, as he was leaving to tend to another class, and paired them off before giving them wooden cups and teapots.

"Your topic today is colors and their appropriate use," the Headmaster said before he left. "Use the cloth I've left on my desk and take turns holding different colors to your partner's face to see what other shades might make them beautiful or plain."

The class set to their task.

Credence was paired with Lily, who had perked up considerably, and she watched as the girl commenced with an odd sort of ritual with the wooden toys. There was no liquid in any of them, and it was humorous to Credence, watching everyone pour air into empty cups, and lift them to their lips in mock drinking.

"You have to do it like this," Lily explained, tipping the pot over the cup just so, "and don't spill a drop. They don't like it when you spill."

"Who doesn't like it?"

Lily shrugged. "Anyone. Patrons."

"Patrons?"

Lily shot her a look that suggested she thought Credence quite dim, but ignored the question and continued, "You bring the cup to your lips like this—and never slurp."

They were playing a game, Credence realized, a very pointless one. Who cared if Credence held her cup this or that way? Who cared if anything was spilled—which was impossible given that nothing was inside their teapots. The pretending bewildered her, and Credence began to feel like she was wasting her time. Lily prattled on and on about colors, explaining at length why blue was her most favorite in all the world.

"It's the color of the sky," she mused, "and bird's eggs and all of the loveliest flowers..."

Credence didn't care. She didn't want to drink air or listen to Lily lie about the color blue.

Still, she bit her tongue and tried her best to perfect her pour, which was never enough to please her partner.

After some time, Credence heard ringing outside of the door. She was instantly alarmed, fearing somehow the Collector had found her, but she quickly realized the sound was coming from one of the old domestics, who was stomping through the hallway and banging on a bell with a small brass rod.

This, Credence learned, meant the first lesson of the day was over and it was time to move on to the next, so she walked downstairs with the rest of her class, into a room where the stone walls were lined with ivy. The Headmaster did not come to them there, but the class knew what to do, so Credence followed their lead as they began to stretch into different poses, remaining silent as they did so.

She was embarrassed to discover she could not maintain many of the poses, but a few of her classmates helped her along the way, offering brisk instruction. Credence was wobbling on one leg with her hands high in the air when the ringing of the bell came again and the class moved to another lesson, stopping in a room where two domestics were sitting in chairs and sewing.

There were small stations placed on the floor, which contained nothing but a torn piece of fabric and a needle and thread. Just as the children had taken a specific desk, they found their own spot and began to work. Credence caught on that the class was expected to sew up the torn fabric, but she was caught off guard when she discovered that upon completion they were made to break the seam and start again. Over and over, sewing up the tear only to rip through it, always in silence, until the bell announced their movement to the next room and task.

Is every day like this? Credence wondered. Is it always this dull?

In one room they washed clothing. In another they practiced holding their breath. In another they arranged flowers in clay pots.

There was rarely a grown up around to monitor them, but every child remained obediently focused, moving from one mindless task to the next with barely a word spoken.

These aren't lessons, Credence thought. These are distractions.

The only enjoyable part of the day came in a room where the students practiced dancing. Repeating after one of the domestics, the moved their bodies, and though the old woman they copied looked quite funny as she waved her arms and swiveled her hips, no one dared laugh or smile. They simply mimicked her as she wobbled in front of them, until the bell rang.

Credence didn't see the Headmaster for the rest of the day, and was relieved when she found herself back in the room with tables and food.

Was it dinner already? Credence's stomach agreed it was, and she moved quickly to have her bowl filled with stew, this time purposefully ignoring the old woman behind the pot. She took her seat at a table where a handful of her classmates were eating, eager to question them about their day now that they were free to speak.

"What are these lessons for," Credence asked, happy her peers didn't argue against her sitting with them.

"To prepare us," answered Gregory, who had grown a little less hostile since morning.

"Prepare us for what?"

"Life outside of school."

"Yes, but I don't understand what kind of life that is. What kind of life needs dancing and arranging flowers?"

Gregory clucked his tongue. "That's what you get from living in the woods—a brain as dim as night."

"That's not nice," Credence bit back, thinking of no better retort that wouldn't involve vulgar words or the threat of violence.

Gregory snorted. "Don't need to be nice to you. Just need to finish school so I can be sold."

"At the Auction?"

"You do know something."

"I saw the Auction," Credence admitted, her tone dropping to a soft pitch as the gruesome memory came alive in her mind.

"So?" Gregory spat. "We all have."

"I haven't," said one of the girls at the table. "Mum says I'm not allowed until I have a keeper."

"That's 'cause you're spoiled," Gregory snapped back.

"You don't want to see it," Credence blurted, causing the others to pause in their eating and gawk at her. "I didn't like it," she continued carefully. "I didn't like what they did to the black stripes."

To Wonda, a child just like us.

"You actually feel sorry for them?" Gregory shook his head. "I'll never understand woodfolk, I surely won't."

"I'm going to be bought by Mistress Cinder," Credence offered, hoping this might ingratiate her to everyone else.

"Did she promise that herself?" Gregory asked skeptically.

"She told the Headmaster to train me."

"Well then," Gregory said before taking a long slurp of stew, "better stick to your lessons and keep your questions to yourself."

Credence frowned. No one was any help. Perhaps they were just as much in the dark as she was. Perhaps they didn't know anything about life after the Auction. That must be it, she concluded. They must not have any answers for her, but were too proud to say so.

One of her classmates, a girl with red hair, nudged Credence gently.

"What's life like in the woods?"

Recognizing the chance to make a friend, Credence smiled.

"It's quiet. And peaceful. I miss it very much."

"But there's monsters."

"Monsters aren't real," Gregory snarked.

"You get used to them," Credence said, ignoring the rude boy, "and they're easy to avoid if you know the rules."

Her response launched a hundred questions from the table. Gregory continued to glare, a look of deep envy in his eyes, but Credence paid him little mind as she told many stories about her life before the school. It brought back so many wonderful memories, and Credence was overjoyed to talk about her family, but after a time she began to regret speaking.

She was in the middle of recounting a particularly nasty storm that brought a horde of drunken sprites when she paused with a frown.

"What is it, Credence?" asked one of her classmates.

"I just...I just remembered my family."

Talking about them made her realize they were truly gone. She would never see any of them again, and all those happy memories would only live within her, and she would never have the chance to make new ones.

Everything and everyone was behind her.

Credence finished her story but went silent after, and no amount of pleading could get her to speak again for the rest of dinner.

From then on, no one urged her to share her experiences in the woods, and Credence would later mourn that she had lost her opportunity to make friends.

After dinner came a communal bath, where Credence found she had forgotten most of her shame over disrobing in front of others.

"What's that?" a girl asked while eyeing her skin symbol.

"It's nothing," Credence answered quickly.

"That's a house marking," the girl said with wonder in her tone. "Why are you at school if you're already a walker?"

"I'm not," Credence said through gritted teeth.

"But you have a keeper's mark."

"My keeper is dead. I'm going to have a new one."

The girl nodded and returned to bathing. It dawned on Credence that none of the other children had skin symbols. With the red stripes, her unique symbol made her different. Now, the fact that she had a skin symbol set her apart. The others probably hated her for it, just as they appeared to dislike her for everything else.

Being from the woods. Missing a finger. Disliking the Auction.

No matter where she went in the towns, she was an outsider.

From their bath the children moved into their respective sleeping quarters, where they had free time to do as they wished. None of Credence's classmates shared her room, so she was alone until Tildy flew to her side and grabbed her hand, remaining close like a dutiful hound.

"Why you didn't sit with me at dinner?" Tildy asked with a pout.

"I wanted to talk to the others."

"You sit with me at dinner," Tildy said firmly.

Credence had no intention of doing so, but she was too tired to argue so she ignored the child and looked for Adam, hoping the older boy would answer some of the more pressing questions on her mind.

"Is every day the same?" she asked when she found him, and Adam, who looked a little irritated to be spending his free time talking about school, gave a curt nod.

"We all have the same schedule, with some exceptions."

"What are the exceptions?"

"It's to do with age. The young ones like Tildy get free time outside. They need it, though, because they can't be expected to sit still for very long. The ones in the middle, like you, have to learn all the basics. But the older students...our lessons are different."

"Different how?"

"There's...more expected of you. You learn the real stuff."

"What is the real stuff?"

Adam shook his head. "I won't tell you until you're ready. And you'll only be ready when you're older."

"Everyone keeps telling me nothing," Credence grumbled. "Why is it so bad that I want to know things?"

"Because you only think you want to know, but you aren't ready, I promise."

Adam ran his fingers through his hair, as exasperated as Credence was.

"Look," he said finally, "just accept your place and you'll be happy. Keep asking questions and you're likely to cause suspicion. Suspicion only leads to punishment."

***

Credence went to bed uneased.

Tildy had demanded to be tucked in and given a goodnight kiss, but the act only saddened Credence as it made her think of Ma.

Killed by the very fiend Credence had almost agreed to marry.

Killed by the fiend Ma had promised Credence to.

Where was he now, the Collector? Was Credence protected from him as long as she was in the towns?

Was the safety of school really preferable to the freedom she had in the woods?

At least the school had food and a warm bed, though the other children found her abnormal and she was forced to endure tedium all day long. Credence wasn't sure if her patience would last for such nonsense.

The Headmaster seemed kind enough, but there was something unsettling about the way everyone feared his punishments. There were too many secrets here. Her parents had withheld their secrets, and look what that had wrought.

Ma continued to penetrate Credence's thoughts, and she thought back to the night with Lilith, when Ma appeared in the moon.

How long ago had Ma died?

A flood of emotion washed over her, and she pulled the rough blanket against her face to muffle the sobs that poured from her throat.

I am alone. I have nowhere to go.

Credence thought it repeatedly as she cried.

I am truly lost.

At least in the woods she was free. The Collector might chase her, but Credence had outrun him before.

Because the Queen was protecting me.

Credence was older now, and more adept at handling the dangers in the woods.

Maybe I don't need the Queen anymore.

She could protect herself, she was certain.

It was this conviction that took her out of bed.

It was this conviction that told her it was time to escape.

She pushed the blanket from her body and swung her feet to the floor. She paused after she stood, waiting for a hint that someone had spied her, and when she was certain all eyes were closed and dreaming she made her way through the nightcast room towards the door.

Just as Credence touched the doorknob, a pair of hands grabbed her, one clasping over her mouth and the other squeezing around her arm.

"It's bedtime, Credence," Adam's voice whispered in her ear.

His grip tightened as her body gave an involuntary jump.

Beneath his hand, Credence yelped.

"Hush," the boy commanded, "if you wake the Headmaster I'll have to tell him how I found you. What comes after will not be pleasant."

Adam's touch relaxed.

"Can I trust you to be quiet if I take my hand away?"

Credence nodded and Adam removed his hand from her mouth.

"Why are you awake?" Credence whispered.

"Night rounds. It's my duty to make sure everyone is safe."

"I'm not safe in the towns, you must believe me."

"Safer here than the woods."

"You don't understand. I have to leave, please."

"I do understand. Most of us have a moment of doubt, but it passes." He paused. "Go back to bed and I won't tell anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because you're new."

Credence nodded though she knew Adam could not see her and turned to begin the trek back to her bed.

"I'll help you find your way," Adam said.

He led her through the dark with such ease that Credence wondered if the boy had the gift of night-sight.

"Here we are," he said and tapped his hand against her empty mattress.

"Thank you," Credence replied, though she did not mean it.

"I know this room by heart."

"No, thank you for not telling the Headmaster."

A short silence followed and Credence thought Adam had moved on until his whisper sliced through the quiet.

"Don't ever try to leave, Credence. You won't even make it to the courtyard. And then you'll never see the Auction. You'll never set one foot outside of the school again."