Chương 16: Baby Planning, Childish Charades

The grind began with being trapped in a crib while everyone else walked around with working legs. Ren considered this some universal joke he was not privy to. Rude and unfun. His body still carried fever weakness in the joints, a dull heaviness behind the eyes, and the general structural confidence of warm pudding. His mind, meanwhile, had a month to spend and no patience for spending the first day politely recovering. Then his baby body won the argument by refusing to sit up.

Ren lay under the blue charm and made the first plan smaller. If he could not crawl, he could observe. If he could not speak, he could choose sounds. If he could not move the village today, he could begin with the person close enough to notice when a baby looked at the wrong thing for too long. Like his precious older sister. Tessa was awake now. That alone changed the room. She sat cross-legged on her bed with a wooden horse in one hand and a crust of bread in the other, pretending not to watch him.

She had slept through the reset, the System panic, and Ren's brief career as a strangled kettle. Now she looked at him with the wary interest of a child who had woken up beside a strange puzzle. Ren stared back. She narrowed her eyes.

"You are doing it again." Good. She had noticed the noticing! Now she only need to notice the noticing harder. Ren looked at the wooden horse. Tessa lifted it.

"Horse." He looked at her. She waved the horse by its chipped head.

"Horse." Ren opened his mouth. The word he wanted was not horse. It was her name. Names mattered. A name was a hook. A baby reacting to objects could become a trick. A baby reacting to a person became harder to dismiss, especially when the person was Tessa and the person liked being important. He gathered the sound carefully.

"T…" His tongue rose too high, breath spilled wrong, and saliva immediately attempted sabotage. Tessa leaned forward.

"What?" Ren tried again, smaller.

"Te." Tessa froze. Ren held her gaze.

"Te." She pointed at herself with the bread crust.

"Tessa?" Ren slapped the blanket once. Her face changed faster than an adult's would have. Wonder came first, bright and open. Suspicion followed close behind it. Delight began gathering at the edges, which was dangerous because delight turned evidence into performance. Tessa lowered the horse.

"You said me. You said my name!" Ren slapped once again. She glanced toward the door, then back to him.

"Say it again!" Ren did not. Her brows pulled together. Good. Refusal mattered as much as answer. He needed her to be curious, not rewarded every time she demanded a miracle. Tessa tried again, slower and louder, as if volume could bully language into an infant.

"Tess-a." Ren watched her mouth. Useful. The shape gave him pieces: teeth, tongue, breath, the little lift at the end.

"Te," he said. Tessa's delight returned. Before it could become shouting, Ren turned his head toward the window. He let the memory touch his body without drowning him. The road in rain. Green shapes moving low. Tessa's hand around his wrist. Heat above. Smoke below. His fingers curled in the blanket. Tessa followed his gaze.

"Window?" she asked. Ren stayed still. She looked from the window to him, then toward the door.

"Door?" Ren slapped once. Her delight dimmed into thought. Better. Tessa knew games. Games rewarded every guess. This could not become that. She had to learn the difference between the two before she learned fear. She slid off the bed and padded closer.

"Door," she said, pointing. Ren slapped once. She pointed at the window.

"Door?" Ren stayed still. Her mouth opened. Then closed.

"You know wrong!" Ren slapped once. The sound was small, but Tessa heard it as if the room had answered. She sat down beside the crib with the wooden horse forgotten against her knee.

"Mama says babies do not know wrong from right like that!" Ren looked at her. Tessa looked back. Then she whispered, "Wrong baby." This time, the insult carried respect. The first lesson lasted until Elna came in with warm cloth and a cup of watered mash. Tessa immediately looked guilty. Elna stopped in the doorway.

"What have you done?"

"Nothing!" Elna's eyes moved to the horse on the floor, the bread crust in Tessa's hand, and Ren staring at the door like a tiny judge.

"Tessa."

"He said me!" Elna blinked.

"What?" Tessa pointed at herself.

"Me. He said Tessa. Sort of." Ren considered the tactical value of lying still and looking harmless. Expression had uses. He softened his face into maximum infant innocence. Elna came closer, suspicion held in check by hope.

"Did he?" Tessa nodded hard enough to threaten her braid.

"He said Te."

"That is very clever," Elna said. Her voice warmed too quickly. Ren recognized the danger. Clever baby belonged in the same category as first tooth, first roll, first accidental sound that adults turned into proof of genius. It made people smile. It did not make them change routes before goblins reached the road. Tessa noticed his stillness. Her own excitement faltered.

"He did it when I pointed at me," she said, quieter.

"And he slapped when I said door right." Elna looked at Ren. Ren looked at the door. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Elna followed his gaze. For one breath, the room opened. Then fever recovery closed around it. Elna set the cloth down and lifted Ren with both hands.

"Lessons later. He needs food first." Ren would have objected, but his stomach defected instantly. Tessa watched while Elna fed him. His sister's face had not gone back to simple delight. Ren always appreciated how smart she really was. After feeding came the enemy called maintenance. Elna wiped his face, changed cloth, checked his forehead, and tucked him back into the crib with the absolute confidence of someone who did not understand that global strategy had been interrupted by mash. Ren hated the delay.

Then he used it. He lay still with his eyes half-lidded and let his body settle. Resting was not Sleeping. But it kept him present longer, let him stretch resources before sleep became optimal. It also gave him a thin, usable pause before fatigue dragged him under. Below, Bren moved through the house with ordinary morning weight. Elna rinsed the cup. Tessa remained near the crib, too quiet for innocence. Ren listened. Tessa shifted. The wooden horse scraped softly across the floor.

Tessa resumed testing the rule while Ren rested. Correct names earned a slap. Wrong names earned stillness. The back and forth continued, and Ren was pleased his sister caught onto the pattern faster than before. It made his rest feel more earned. [Skill Level Increased: Resting Lv. 4 -> Lv. 5] By the time Ren opened his eyes fully, Tessa was already inventing wrong answers to see whether he was paying attention.

Soon after, Ren had learned that teaching Tessa required three kinds of patience he did not naturally possess. First, he had to reward correct links. Second, he had to refuse wrong ones without becoming dramatic. Third, he had to endure Tessa inventing nonsense to test whether he was paying attention at all. Which really tested all kinds of buttons. She held up the wooden horse.

"Tessa." Ren stayed still. She pointed at herself.

"Horse." Ren stayed still. She pointed at him.

"Angry potato." Ren slapped once by accident. Tessa collapsed sideways on the floor, laughing into both hands. Ren regretted language, strategy, and his own reflexes. Elna appeared at the door.

"What is so funny?" Tessa rolled onto her back.

"He agrees!"

"With what?" Ren stared at the ceiling. Tessa opened her mouth. Ren turned his head very slowly and looked at her. She seemed to understand that betraying the phrase angry potato to Elna would have consequences later, even if later was managed by someone with terrible reach.

"Nothing," Tessa pouted. Elna looked between them. Ren attempted innocence again. Elna sighed.

"You two are going to be trouble." Correct. That was very much the intention! Finally, an adult was catching up quickly.

The next useful change did not come from another lesson. It came because Tessa got bored. She had confirmed that Ren could answer. She had confirmed that he could refuse. She had confirmed that he knew her name, the door, the window, the cup, and half the room better than any baby had a right to know. Then, being Tessa, she decided knowledge was less interesting than making him do something with it. She dragged the blanket from the foot of her bed and dropped it beside the crib.

"Escape," she announced. Ren stared at her. Tessa put both hands on her hips.

"You keep looking at doors. Fine. Escape." … That was new. Better than naming objects. Better than drawings. Better than slaps wasted on proving the obvious. Ren slapped once. Tessa's face sharpened. She pushed a pillow to the floor, then another, building a lumpy ramp between the rug and the low stool near the crib. The construction was terrible, unsafe, and exactly the kind of structure a six-year-old would create if no adult was watching. Ren approved immediately. He could not climb it. That was also useful.

Tessa watched him try. He reached the first pillow, got one elbow onto it, lost leverage, and slid back until his cheek pressed into the rug. His body objected to ambition with its usual lack of patriotism. Tessa did not laugh. She crouched beside him and studied the failure.

"Too high." Yes. She removed the second pillow, shoved the first flatter, then wedged the blanket beneath it so the rise became uglier but lower. Ren tried again. This time he got his chest onto the pillow before his arms shook. He stopped before collapse. Tessa noticed that too.

"Rest first?" Ren slapped once. She sat back on her heels.

"You plan the crawling." Yes! Finally. He breathed until his arms steadied, then pushed again. The ramp carried him a handspan farther than the rug alone. Progress was being made! Tessa leaned forward, eyes bright in a way that did not feel like performance this time.

"You need roads." Ren froze. Tessa looked at the pillow, the blanket, the stool, and the door.

"Little roads." Ren slapped once so hard his palm stung. The month opened by an inch. They spent the afternoon building terrible roads. A folded blanket made crawling easier over the rough seam in the rug. A pillow wedge let Ren reach the stool leg. The stool beside the chair gave him a place to pull up. A ribbon tied to the chair rung let him tug something too far away to reach. A wooden horse shoved beneath the door made noise when the door moved. Tessa did not call it training.

She called it "making the room less stupid." Ren accepted the terminology. Then it turned out the room had been extremely stupid, far as Tessa figured. Each adjustment taught more than another object game. And Ren noticed how Tessa learned fastest when an answer changed the room. He could use that curiosity! She tested where the spoon should go, and Ren answered only when its placement could draw attention.

"Noise road," she said. Ren slapped once. Noise could pull eyes, wake adults, and make Bren look toward a door before a hand touched the latch. Naming things had become arranging consequences. [Skill Level Increased: Planning Lv. 5 -> Lv. 6] Ren held still through the message. Tessa squinted.

"You did the eye thing." Ren yawned in her face. Tessa recoiled.

"Rude." The yawn was real enough to save him. The work had spent him down to sparks. Elna came in soon after and stopped in the doorway. The room had been rearranged into a disaster with intent. Pillows crossed the rug. A blanket led from crib to stool. The wooden horse waited near the door. The spoon lay beside the table leg. Tessa sat in the middle of it all with the expression of someone prepared to defend art in court. Elna looked at Ren. Ren looked innocent. Elna looked at Tessa. Tessa said, "He was bored."

Elna closed her eyes for one patient breath.

"So you made him an obstacle course?" Tessa brightened.

"Yes!"

"That was not approval."

"He crawled better." Elna opened her eyes. That stopped the scolding before it reached full adult strength. She crossed the room, crouched, and studied the blanket ramp. Then she looked at Ren's hands, his knees, the pillow wedge, and the way he had stopped before his breathing went rough.

"You stopped him before he was past tired?" Tessa nodded quickly.

"He stops himself." Elna looked at Ren. Ren spread his fingers and breathed with exaggerated calm. This was shameless manipulation. It worked. Elna touched the blanket ramp.

"This one can stay for now. The stool moves farther from the crib. The horse does not go by the door where someone can step on it." Tessa opened her mouth. Elna pointed at her. Tessa closed it. Ren accepted the partial victory. An adult had inspected the room and left one of the roads in place. That was more valuable than praise. Elna fed him after that, because every breakthrough apparently had to pay tax to milk. Ren let it happen.

The body had earned repair, and wasting the rest of the day on pride would be silly even by his old world standards. Sleep took him before he finished ordering the day. [Skill Level Increased: Sleeping Lv. 6 -> Lv. 7] He woke before evening to the scrape of wood. For a moment, the sound became cellar timber in his head. Then it came again, smaller and thinner. Scrape. Tap. Ren turned. Tessa sat beside the chair with a ribbon in both hands, face pinched in concentration.

One end of the ribbon was tied around the chair rung. The other ran across the floor to the spoon. She pulled. The spoon slid, wobbled, and tapped the chair leg. Tessa looked at him.

"It moves when I'm not touching it." Ren stared. She pulled again. Scrape. Tap. The sound came from farther than his hand could reach. Tessa's face changed as she watched him understand. Her pride faded into something quieter.

"You can't reach things," she said. Ren slapped once.

"So I make them reach you." He slapped again. She looked down at the ribbon, then toward the door. The same thought reached both of them at once. Tessa stood, carried the spoon to the door, and stretched the ribbon back toward the crib until it ran crookedly across the rug. She pulled. The spoon scraped against the doorframe. Elna called from below, "Tessa?" Tessa and Ren both froze.

"What are you doing?" Tessa looked at him, then at the spoon.

"Making Ren a bell," she called. Silence followed. Elna came up a moment later and stopped in the doorway. The room was still half obstacle course, half crime scene. The blanket ramp remained near the crib. The stool sat too close to the chair. The ribbon crossed the rug, and the spoon waited by the door like evidence. Elna looked at Tessa. Tessa said, "For when he wants us." Elna looked at Ren. Ren grabbed the loose ribbon with both hands and pulled. The spoon tapped the doorframe. Elna's face softened first.

Then it sharpened.

"He did that?" Tessa nodded. Ren pulled again, harder this time. Tap. Bren's voice rose from below.

"What was that?" Tessa answered before Elna could.

"Ren has a bell!"

"A what?"

"A bell. Because he is spoiled! And has a great sister!" She was a great sister indeed! Ren slapped the blanket once. Elna looked down at him.

"You agree?" Ren slapped again. The laugh that escaped her was small, but it did not erase the look in her eyes. She crouched, shortened the ribbon, moved the spoon where no one would step on it, and retied the knot properly.

"There," she said.

"If he pulls, it makes a sound. It stays away from the stairs." Tessa glanced at Ren. Ren slapped once. Elna's attention caught on the answer. She tested the ribbon herself. Tap. Ren turned toward the sound. She pulled again. Tap. Ren turned again. The room went quiet in a better way. [Skill Level Increased: Analysis Lv. 4 -> Lv. 5] Ren ignored the message until Elna looked away. The ribbon stayed. By evening, it had become a household fact. Tessa called it his bell.

Bren called it ridiculous and then checked the knot. Elna pretended not to glance at Ren each time the spoon tapped and he turned toward it. Ren lay back, exhausted. Teaching Tessa things quickly and dealing with her childish curiosity was exhausting. But the new reach was nice.