A Proper Education: Chapter Nineteen

Sally would promise several more times, "You can start helping me tomorrow", but she never asked Credence to lift a finger in work.

The next morning when Credence offered to carry dishes or haul wood to the fire, Sally firmly denied her.

"Keep an eye on me for now," Sally told her, "you can start helping me tonight or tomorrow."

It became the Phrase of Sally, and she rarely strayed from it.

Over the next couple of days, Credence watched helplessly as Sally tended to everyone and everything. She noticed that Sally would often drink from a secret bottle she kept in her pockets. Whenever it was empty, which happened many times both day and night, Sally would meander behind the counter and refill it with mead. Credence guessed it was her favorite drink, and she attributed it to helping Sally keep a pleasant demeanor, as well as giving her some much-needed energy, for each long swig seemed to lighten the woman's steps.

Every night brought another crowd and another ridiculous display of lively euphoria.

And every morning it was Sally alone who cleaned up after it.

It was a rare occasion when she acquiesced to Credence's help, and only when the workload was impossible for one woman to complete alone. Even then, the chores given were minimal, like feeding the fire or running a rag over a few tables.

It dawned on Credence that it made Sally uneasy to accept assistance because she was accustomed to doing everything on her own. Credence would only be in her tavern for a few more days, and then Sally would be alone once more. It was probably easier for the woman to keep her routine as it was and allow Credence a few days of relaxation.

"I don't know what the school expects from your work detail," Sally once told her, "but your company is a wonderful reprieve from the tedious daytime hours. It's nice to talk to someone other than myself."

"But I could help you finish your work faster so you'd have time to rest."

"It's enough that you are here, Credence."

The lack of work bothered Credence, for she, like Sally, was not used to sitting idly. Whenever Sally was too busy to converse with, Credence used her time to plot her future. She would sit in her room, which had been swept and tidied and had become a sanctuary, and focus on which of two difficult choices to make:

Free the real Headmaster and save the school or use the remaining days of work detail to escape the towns.

If, of course, escape was even possible.

If, of course, the real Headmaster could be saved.

Credence had relinquished the notion of refusing kindness to others, a decision she concluded had been poorly made out of desperation instead of wisdom. She needed to survive, but she couldn't live with herself if she turned her back on those in need. She'd done so with Wonda. And she couldn't leave children in dire circumstances. She'd done so with Josiah.

I wish I could beg Sally to buy me at the Auction, Credence thought more than a few times. I wish I could make Mistress Cinder understand I'm not worth keeping.

In her room she was afforded privacy, and it was as dear to her as the woman who ran the tavern. She felt safe tucked away in the forgotten hall, and Sally hadn't come to the room since Credence's first night.

Because of that, when she could stand to think of impossible things no longer, Credence would practice magic.

Fire, as always, was eager to answer her call, though Credence never sensed that the element was responding out of allegiance to her, but simply out of a desire to be alive. Lilith told her that every witch could master one, possibly two, of the elements, but they would only know which after a time—and it would be a definitive feeling of certainty. When—if—an element gave itself completely to her, Credence would know it.

As quick as fire was to appear, it never felt like it enjoyed her company especially. It was a mischievous kitten, happy to be summoned only so it could do what it wanted, which was to burn.

Water was much the same, though it was far less attentive to Credence's call. She could never find the right way to summon it, but only stumbled upon getting its attention a handful of times, and it was quickly proven that water had very little interest in her pursuits.

Earth, the 'childlike idiot' as Lilith called it, was happy to create anything Credence asked, as long as she wanted rocks or flowers. If Credence urged it to grow something larger, a bush or sapling, earth would hesitate in a way that suggested it was afraid, and Credence decided not to pressure it further. There was a different energy with earth, something akin to a new friendship, and Credence wanted to take her time developing it. It did not go unnoticed by her that earth was very likely the element she could master, so she remained patient and encouraging of its affection. She adored earth, for it reminded her of Josiah, and she often communicated with it in the same manner she once did with her younger brother.

Air never responded, no matter how many times she called.

Credence even successfully cast a Circle of Protection in her room, using the coat Sally had given her on her first night as the item to be destroyed. She was overjoyed, and more than a little surprised, to find that she remembered the words, and that she hadn't needed to draw energy from the moon before beginning the spell.

But this was the only real spell she knew, and without Ma's book or Lilith's knowledge to guide her, Credence was quickly exhausted of ways to exercise her magic. She tried to replicate the one-use totem and blood orb that Lilith had taught her, but she could not remember the correct words, nor was she confident in creating something as hot as dragon's spit inside of Sally's tavern. She was beginning a rather gross collection of blood and hair beneath her bed and decided not to pursue that kind of spell after a few unsuccessful starts.

What other magic could she attempt?

She thought of trying to create something that might help Sally. Credence didn't want the woman to discover her power, but she thought there could be some way to secretly ease her labor through witchcraft. Sometimes Credence tried to create new spells, born entirely from her imagination, but they ultimately failed when she tried to cast them.

Magic, she discovered, really did require a teacher.

During her time with Sally, Credence was at last able to remove the bandages around her arm, though she did so with heavy caution. Some of her skin symbol was still intact, but a fair portion had been marred, and the shape of the symbol had been so distorted that it could no longer be recognized as the one Ma had placed there. Now, it was a bundle of raised skin and fractured drawing, and the pain was only there when Credence squeezed the spot tightly. The last thing Ma had given her, the gift that was never supposed to be lost, was gone.

In its place was a cruel reminder of Credence's treachery to her family.

She struggled with the hate she had so easily found for her parents. Given what he'd been revealed to be, Credence wondered how much of what the imposter Headmaster said about Pa was true—

He did have Pa's picture in his desk, so there must have been something about Pa that the towns despised.

Now, instead of a villain, Credence wondered if Pa was actually a hero.

She asked Sally only once about Darkwood Marc, wanting to hear about his reputation from a reliable source, though she did not reveal that the man was her father.

"Aye, I know the name," Sally replied. "Everyone knows about that monster."

Credence's heart fell to hear Sally talk of Pa in that manner. It appeared that everyone in the towns agreed Darkwood Marc was a terror, and his disappearance was not only welcomed, it was celebrated.

Credence made sure to keep her marred arm covered with her tunic sleeve, not wanting to invite any questions that may further lead her down a path of misery. As she saw it, she never again wanted to hear Pa's supposed nickname, and the less she sought the truth, the better it suited her memory of him.

They had only been in each other's company for a short time, but Credence had grown very fond of Sally. She never raised an eyebrow when Credence had a question, or even a remark voiced in less-than-gentle language. In fact, to hear Credence speak words that elsewhere would have gotten her in trouble, Sally laughed and cursed right back, and their vulgar talk only deepened their friendship. She was the most pleasant company Credence had found in a long while, and her ever-cheerful presence delighted everyone under her roof. Even the nightly tavern guests, as belligerent as they could sometimes be, remained friendly to Sally's attention, whether she was serving them a drink or shooing them from her door.

And Sally enjoyed the company of everyone else, too.

These people are her family now, Credence realized one night as she watched Sally chatting with customers.

It was a nightly routine where Credence watched the guests until she fell asleep. When some loud noise inevitably roused her awake, she would stand and stretch before seeking Sally to bid her goodnight. When she found the woman, Credence would hug her as a signal that she was leaving for bed, or, if Sally's arms were full, Credence would give her shoulder a quick squeeze and Sally would smile in recognition.

But it was in the quiet of the day where Sally shined most brightly. As clumsy and scatter-minded as the woman could be, she was all kindness and good humor, dancing through each day with careless freedom, like nothing in the world haunted her. That energy permeated into Credence, who began to feel at ease inside the tavern and saw it as a place of safety and comfort. Those intimate hours when no one came through the door were Credence's favorite, as she and Sally spent their time in joking spirits and tranquility. Sally always had some lovely story or bit of advice, and dispensed it with all the joy of one unburdening themselves. It upset Credence to think of how silent Sally's days would become once she was forced to disappear from her life.

There was some comfort in knowing that, at the very least, the woman's nights would always be loud and full of mirth.

Just the way Sally liked it.