Sporemageddon

Interlude Four

A Mother Who Doesn't Know Best

Tessa tried to be a good mother and a good wife. She was fortunate in both cases, in some ways. She knew plenty of women at the factory who talked of ungrateful children, women constantly exhausted from having to take care of their children who didn’t behave or who acted out.

It was hard to raise a child, let alone more than one, when you weren’t there to raise them in the first place.

Back in her mother’s day, and in her grandmother’s, the husband would work and the wife would stay home to raise their child. But times had moved on. She wasn’t sure if it was for the better or not, but it was what it was.

Her husband, her dear Roger, was still the lovable goof that he’d always been, at least below the surface. Sure, he drank a little more than he should, maybe, but he never took it out on her, and his love for their child was as true and pure as any she’d seen.

Her daughter…

Tessa was conflicted about her Little Mushroom.

The child was unnamed. That was… it was taboo. Not unheard of, but not ideal either. Tessa herself had been named by a cleric of Seb. Her child wouldn’t have that honour. Not unless she named herself.

It was a disturbing thought.

But that wasn’t all that disturbed her.

Tessa returned from a hard day at the factory. Her fingers were sore, as was her lower back. She walked into her home to find her husband missing and her child sitting at their lone table. There was a pile of coins before her, and a few small cloth sacks. Her daughter was bent over a notebook, with a bowlful of tiny seared mushrooms next to her that she was obviously snacking on.

“Hi Mom,” she said without looking up.

She wasn’t even six, and she was filling in a ledger with careful notations. Numbers in columns. Tessa had been taught her numbers, how to read and write. When she was younger and City Nineteen was a little more prosperous, it was normal for anyone young to go to a few classes to learn a thing or two.

She hadn’t taught her child how to work numbers at all, not beyond counting to three digits. “How are things going?” Tessa asked.

Her Little Mushroom grinned, eyes lighting up as she glanced up to Tessa. “Great! I think my loss margins are actually going to be smaller than expected, but only for this season. I had a bit of a windfall today, but I don’t think I’ll be trying what I did for a little while. Otherwise… well, we might have to consider expanding soon enough. Hiring a person or two to pick up the slack. You could help, if you wanted!”

“That’s… that’s nice,” Tessa said.

She wished she could chalk it all up to an overactive imagination. But the stories all added up, and the piles of coin on the table spoke for themselves.

It gnawed at her. Something was wrong with her child, deeply wrong. Maybe not something dark—her Little Mushroom wouldn’t hurt a fly, she knew—but… she was too smart. She knew too much. Tessa had sat down with her to explain a few things already, things she didn’t think she’d need to do for a while yet, but her daughter knew already.

Was this what genius looked like?

Was her daughter a bright mind before or after she was touched by Feronie?

Tessa didn’t know.

She started preparing their evening meal, using ingredients that three months ago they couldn’t have afforded.

Roger was talking of moving, of finding a place in Mistbank or The Stairs, where they’d be in a safer space with more rooms to their home and proper plumbing and maybe jobs at one of the nicer factories.

Tessa wondered when the dream would fall apart.

***

Bit of weird timing to post the interlude first thing in the morning.