Chương 3: Sister Surveillance Services

Tessa watched him from behind the blanket chest. Ren knew because the chest had a brass latch, and the latch showed a narrow slice of her face whenever she leaned too far left. Three scratches had come at the shutter in the night, followed by a pause and two more. Ren had stayed awake long after the house settled again, listening through the dark with his throat still sore from failed speech practice.

Crying would bring Elna, and he could not explain why the difference mattered, so he lay in the crib and counted every branch-tap, every wind-shift, every creak of the barred door below until exhaustion finally dragged him under. By morning, the house had treated the sound like weather. Elna opened the shutters after sunrise, found only wet leaves stuck to the sill, and muttered about loose branches. Bren walked the yard with a hatchet and came back saying the alder wind had been bad.

Tessa said nothing, which made her the only sensible person present and therefore deeply suspicious. Now Bren was outside stacking split wood by the back wall. Elna had taken laundry to the line. Ren had been placed on the bedroom rug with three approved objects: the wool rabbit, a carved ring, and Tessa's wooden horse, which she had surrendered with the air of a prisoner exchange. Ren ignored all three. He wanted the window! And his baby body refused to let him see. Ren rolled onto his belly.

The effort compressed his stomach and forced a damp grunt out of him. His arms planted wide. His knees dragged under him by fractions. The world smelled of rug dust, milk, sun-warmed wood, and the faint herb smoke Mara had left in the rafters. Crawling had not yet become proper movement. It was a negotiation conducted between ambition and body. And the body was winning the exchange so far!

Ren pushed his left hand forward, dragged his right knee after it, and collapsed before the rest of his body understood the plan. His chin hit the rug, too softly to hurt and firmly enough to remind him that dignity had no mechanical function. The latch on the blanket chest flashed. Tessa was watching. That was dangerous, but it also gave him the first possible audience who might learn a pattern without needing adult proof. Ren lifted his head and fixed on the window.

Then he turned toward the narrow flash of Tessa's reflection before returning his gaze to the shutters. Signal one: look. Tessa's reflection narrowed. She copied him. Her eyes flicked to the window, then back to him, then to the window with exaggerated slowness. Her mouth pinched, holding in laughter. She was mocking him, which was insulting and, unfortunately, evidence that she could copy him. Ren stared at her. Tessa made his serious face back at him. Wide eyes. Tiny frown.

Chin lifted like a judge with pudding on his bib. … Did he look like that? Gosh, that felt so– Baby. Right, he was a baby. A fact he was still struggling to accept. And there was Tessa, the first person to notice him had decided he was neither a trapped adult mind nor a tactical asset. He was just a creepy little weirdo. Which made him a perfectly interesting thing worth observing all the time to a child's mind! … Could have been worse. At least his sister's curiosity was respectable!

Ren planted his palms and pushed up. His right arm shook, his left elbow locked, and his belly rose into a heroic mountain of cloth and weakness. He tried to point toward the window. For one shining instant, his index finger extended. Then his balance tipped. Arm, shoulder, cheek, and the rest of his body followed the laws of weight with upsetting enthusiasm. He rolled sideways and ended on his back, staring at the ceiling. Ominous pointing had ended in full-body surrender. From behind the chest came a small snort.

Tessa emerged, unable to keep the grin off her face.

"You are soooo wrong!" Ren turned his head. She crawled closer on hands and knees, which was suddenly a source of envy because she could do it well.

"You look like Papa when the goat ate his good boot." Ren tried to say danger.

"Da." A bubble formed. Tessa sat back on her heels.

"Da means Papa. Or door. Or you are mad at soup. You use it for every important baby complaint!" No. That was the problem. Language had risen to Level 6 and still left him fighting broth, furniture, and interpretation. Words needed mouths, and his baby mouth refused to cooperate! Even the System couldn't help when repetition was required. … Oh well. Tessa was watching. Tessa copied him to mock him. The thought settled slowly. Mockery made her repeat the pattern. Ren looked at the window. Then at Tessa.

Then at the window. Tessa copied him again, grander this time. Window. Baby. Window. Don't look at the baby, look at the window!

"Window," she said. Yes! Progress arrived without fanfare, a warm click behind his eyes. [Skill Level Increased: Expression Lv. 4 → Lv. 5] Tessa did not see the message. Her smile softened into curiosity, then sharpened again because she was six and mercy had limits.

"You want window?" Ren slapped the rug once.

"Ba." Tessa copied the slap.

"Ba." Not ba. Yes? Agreement? Attention? Ren slapped again. Tessa slapped once, then giggled.

"Baby spell." If mockery was the available language engine, mockery would do! In his old life, the ridiculous version of a warning often traveled farther than the accurate one. Apparently communication had entered its lowest and most effective form. …Just wonderful. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. He repeated the sequence. Window. Tessa. Window. Slap! Tessa repeated it with theatrical gravity.

"Window. Tessa. Window. Ba." Good. Ren held the pattern in memory and tried to add meaning. Window meant outside. Outside meant scratches, road, alder bend, split-hoof. He lacked signs for nearly all of that, so he started smaller. Window. He looked at the window and slapped. Tessa looked at the window and slapped.

"Window." Yes. He looked at the wooden horse. No slap. Tessa frowned.

"Horse?" Ren stayed still. She poked the horse.

"Horse." Still. Then he looked at the window and slapped.

"Window." Good. [Skill Unlocked: Interpretation] Ren froze. The skill differed from Observation. And suddenly Tessa's lifted eyebrows, the timing of her copied stare, and the reflection in the latch became so obvious. It differed from Listening, which caught pitch and pause, and Language, which gave shape to the word window. Interpretation joined those pieces into intent.

Tessa's mockery had amusement on top, unease beneath it, and a stubborn need to see whether the wrong baby would repeat the same wrong pattern twice. He could use that. [Skill Level Increased: Interpretation Lv. 1 → Lv. 2] Elna came in with a basket of folded clothes. Tessa sprang backward, too guilty for innocence.

"What are you teaching him?"

"Nothing!" Elna looked at Ren lying on the rug, one hand still extended toward the window, drool shining on his chin.

"That seems likely." Tessa stood.

"He was being strange."

"He is a baby."

"Nuh uh! He is strange at being a baby!" Ren agreed with this assessment, but supporting Tessa would require language, and language remained a locked door with a wet handle. Elna picked him up, checked his face, then his hands.

"You're warm from pushing. My busy boy." Busy. Elna saw red cheeks and flailing effort, not a secret language forming on the rug. Adults needed more than strange behavior. Tessa did not. She followed Elna downstairs to the main room and sat near Ren with the wooden horse in her lap, pretending not to supervise. The room smelled of stew, damp wool, and floor rushes warmed by the hearth. Ren lay on a blanket with one arm free, already tired from being carried, changed, and briefly rescued from his own sleeve.

The campaign began because Tessa liked being right. Ren looked at the cup near Elna's chair and slapped the rug. Tessa copied him, laughed, and said, "Cup." He looked at the wooden horse and stayed still.

"Horse?" No slap. She narrowed her eyes.

"Not horse?" Ren slapped once. Tessa gasped.

"I knew it!" She did not know it. She had stumbled into a binary response system and acted like she had invented birds. … Which was still very smart for a kid. Ren very much approved. For the rest of the afternoon, Ren worked within the brutal limits of baby diplomacy. Window plus slap meant window. Cup plus slap meant cup. Horse plus slap meant horse. No slap meant wrong target. He had to keep the rules clean.

Slap could not mean yes, look, stop, and I hate this rabbit unless he wanted Tessa to become the world's smallest mistranslation engine. Elna passed through with an armful of linen, found both of them staring at household objects like conspirators, and wisely decided not to ask.

"Are you teaching him?" she said. Tessa sat straighter.

"He is teaching me." Elna smiled.

"Of course he is." Ren slapped once. Tessa pointed at him.

"See?" Elna laughed and kept walking. The laugh was telling. Elna did not see danger. She saw a sick baby recovering and an older sister turning his wiggles into a game. That gave the game cover. …It also gave Tessa permission to pester the strange baby more.

By the second day, Tessa had stopped testing familiar objects and started looking for where the rules changed. She pointed at herself.

"Tessa." Ren froze. Object rules were simple. People were worse. If slap meant yes to Tessa, then what did Ren mean? What did Elna mean? What meant no? What did a person mean? Tessa tapped her chest again.

"Tessa." Ren slapped twice before he could stop himself. The sound landed heavier than one slap. Tessa blinked.

"Two?" Accident! …But he could work with that too! Ren was a very optimistic baby! …Was that making Tessa's point stronger? A weird baby being weirdly optimistic? [Skill Level Increased: Interpretation Lv. 2 -> Lv. 3] …Did the System just agree? Nah, couldn't be! It was Tessa who was wrong! He nodded to himself. Yes. Admitting otherwise would be losing. He watched her eyes move. She looked at the cup, the horse, the window, then back at herself.

"One for things," she whispered.

"Two for people?" Ren stared at her. She really was far too clever. And too useful to ignore. He slapped twice. Tessa sat very still. Outside, Bren's axe struck wood. Inside, a six-year-old girl stared at a baby who had learned the difference between object and person through rug percussion. Then she grinned too widely.

"You are wrong!" Again with that word. [Skill Level Increased: Expression Lv. 5 -> Lv. 6] Wrong, perhaps, but progressing wrong! …That came out wrong. Darn it. By the third day, Tessa had turned the game into performance. She called it "Ren says," which was both theft and slander. When Elna passed through, Tessa pointed at a cup, waited for Ren's slap, and declared, "He says cup." Elna laughed the first time. The second time, she said, "Do not make him your toy."

"He likes it." Ren slapped once. Elna stared. Tessa's mouth opened. Ren realized too late that he had endorsed being a toy. Elna smiled with terrible fondness.

"See?" The loss was total. The only consolation was that effort had become easier. Crawling, rolling, reaching, slapping, recovering, and waking to do it again made his body steadier in small ways. His arms shook less after the first attempts. He stayed awake longer before the edges of the room blurred. Crying still exhausted him, but no longer ruined the whole hour afterward. [Vitality +1] Apparently surviving repeated physical defeat, public misinterpretation, and household affection improved durability.

Athletics rose from pursuit of baby madness. Tessa crawled backward across the bedroom rug, holding the wooden horse.

"Come get it, wrong Ren." Ren hated the phrase. He loved the target. He planted his left hand, dragged his right knee, and pushed. His belly scraped the rug. His toes caught and slipped. Breath came hot through his nose. Tessa moved the horse farther. Villainy! He dragged himself three body lengths before his arms buckled. [Skill Level Increased: Athletics Lv. 4 -> Lv. 5] He dropped his forehead onto the rug and accepted victory in the form of lint. Tessa placed the horse beside his hand.

"Hehe! You are creepy, but you try hard." Praise in this household sure was something else!

On the fourth day, the game stopped being only funny. Tessa sat beside him in the main room while Elna stirred stew. Bren was outside cutting hazel. The light had gone gold, and the hearth made the floor warm under Ren's knees. Tessa pointed at the cup.

"Cup." Slap. She pointed at the window.

"Window." Slap. She pointed at herself.

"Tessa." Two slaps. Then she pointed at him.

"Ren." Ren slapped twice. Tessa's smile faded. She pointed at Elna's back.

"Mama." Two slaps. She pointed toward the yard, where Bren's axe struck wood.

"Papa." Two slaps. Her fingers lowered slowly.

"You know us." Ren held still. The room did not change. Elna kept stirring. Bren's axe fell outside. Steam rose from the pot. Nothing dramatic happened, which made the moment worse. Tessa leaned closer.

"You are not guessing." Ren wanted to look at the rabbit. He did not. Tessa searched his face with a child's fierce, unfair focus. Then she pointed at the cup again.

"Papa." No slap.

"Cup." Slap. She swallowed. [Skill Level Increased: Language Lv. 6 -> Lv. 7] The word had not come from his mouth. Still, the meaning had crossed from her to him and back again. Language, apparently, did not care whether the tool was tongue, hand, or rug beaten into submission. Tessa whispered, "You really do understand!" Ren slapped once. Her eyes shone with fear, pride, and the awful thrill of being right. Elna turned from the stove.

"What are you two doing?" Tessa jumped.

"Playing Ren says!" Elna looked between them. Ren put his fist in his mouth, and drool gathered at once. Elna shook her head with tired affection.

"Then do not teach him nonsense."

"I'm not," Tessa said. For once, she sounded serious enough that Elna paused. Ren slapped once. Tessa looked down at him. This time, she did not laugh.