Anders waved a dismissive hand and headed for the cart. “I’m sure he can find his way out, if he’s meant to.”
This wasn’t a whim; this was calculated. He’d told Penny earlier thathedidn’t intend on dying today, but he hadn’t mentioned either of us. Insisted that Penny was a weakness thatneeded to be burned away. He’d all but told us his plans, and I hadn't even realized it.
I bolted toward front of the mission.
And I prayed I was fast enough.
12
Penny
Ishouldered through the door to the mission with my hands in my trouser pockets and my head hung low. I didn’t mind missions as a whole; they did good work in local communities and, obviously, I had benefitted from their care. But they had a certain smell that triggered unhappy memories, and I would just as soon have left them to their business and let them leave me to mine.
Kit was right that I wasn’t the one doing the robbing, but the weight of guilt plagued me as I wandered into the building, almost hoping to find it empty. That would be a stroke of good luck, and I was due some after the past two days.
The place was spacious and serene. The ceiling soared to the underside of the thatched roof in the central room, and to my left was an open door. A peek through it identified it as the infirmary ward, stretched the entire length of the building, lined with white sheeted beds and bathed in sunshine.
Back in the main room, wood floorboards seemed to point toward the far wall, where another door was tucked beside a few stacks of chairs. Since I didn’t see anyone in the infirmary—nursesorpatients—I headed to the gnarled wooden door and knocked.
Scuffling sounds from inside preceded a woman’s voice calling out, “Be right there!”
The door swung inward to reveal the local Symbiarch in a plain gown with her frizzy brown hair in a bun. Her smile crinkled her blue eyes as she fixed them on me.
“Good morning, young man. Is there something I can help you with?”
I’d made no plans. Hadn’t considered for even a moment what I would say to keep this woman occupied while Kit and Anders stole away with all of Wendwood’s communal supplies. But Kit needed me to distract her, and I needed him to be safe, so I snaked my tongue across my chapped lips, then spouted off the first thing I could think of.
“I’m visiting from out of town and thought I might stop in for… a tour?”
I sounded uncertain and so did the Symbiarch as she repeated, “A tour? Of the town?”
“No!” I blurted and shook my head. “Inside. A tour inside this building. Just here.” I swallowed and turned to glance back at the large room behind me. “It’s… lovely.”
When I faced the Symbiarch again, I found her still smiling kindly. “What’s your name, son?”
“Penwell,” I replied before wondering if I should have lied. If she pressed for my surname, I would come up with something other than Oliver. But, rather than question me further, she extended her hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Penwell,” she said. “I’m Sybil, and I would love to give you a tour.”
She laid a hand on my shoulder and spun me so we could walk in stride. The open space was just that: vacant and abysmally uninteresting. There was nothing to look at besidesthe walls, ceiling, and floors, and a podium positioned toward the front center presumably for the speaker at public town meetings.
I blinked and nodded and tried to listen as Sybil told me about the town’s founding, when the mission was built, and the Symbiarch who had tended it before her. Tried to care about anything she said. Tried not to let my attention drift to the small sliver of the bank of bay of windows I could see through the open door to the infirmary, beneath which Kit and Anders were working.
I wasn’t sure if I just wasn’t very convincing or if my lack of response beyond the occasional grunt clued her in, but Sybil stopped and turned to face me.
“What brings you to Wendwood?” she asked.
My heart rate picked up to racing. “What?”
The crow’s feet around Sybil’s pale eyes deepened as her gaze sharpened. “You said you were visiting. What for?”
“Sightseeing.” I blurted the first thing to come to mind, then patted the satchel slung against my hip. “I like to draw. New towns have new things. Sometimes they inspire me.”
Sybil’s skeptical expression eased. She had a pleasant smile that would have soothed me if I wasn’t so wracked with shame. “What a wonderful pastime,” she said. “Paneus blesses the act of creation, you know. And the hearts of creators.”
I nodded. My mother said something similar when I was young, excusing my wandering mind and the constant need to buy more paper and pencils. She permitted that part of me, encouraged it even—most of the time. Sometimes, I even thought she was proud.
Sybil broke into motion, headed toward the infirmary. I had myriad reasons for wanting to avoid that space. I was already tired of lying, so it was fortunate for this one I could be honest.
