A Prayer for the Crown-Shy (Monk and Robot #2 )(7)

They rested their head against the rocks behind them and looked up through the gap in the canopy overhead. Evergreen branches bordered the blue, their needled tips waving like a thousand gentle fingers. It was a funny sort of contrast—the tiny needles and the mighty trunks—and watching them play in the light breeze made Dex forget about everything else.

Other folks approached, and this was fine and expected, for it wasn’t as though the springs were meant for one person alone. Dex nodded at them in greeting, and they nodded back amicably. But as the strangers entered the pool, a comfortable distance away, an unexpected twinge of self-consciousness arose in Dex. It wasn’t about the people, who looked friendly as anybody, and it wasn’t their nakedness, for Dex knew nothing different when in places such as these. Dex turned the feeling over a few times, trying to understand the shape of it.

This was not the first time they’d been in Stump, or sat in this spring. But every time before, they’d eaten the village’s food and enjoyed the waters after a day spent doing tea service. They gave something before they took. This time around, what had they brought? Mosscap, ostensibly, but Mosscap was not Dex’s to give. Dex had guided Mosscap there, and would continue to do so until the point at which all roads converged upon the City, but they hadn’t yet thought out what they themself would be doing when they weren’t on the road. Was it enough to be there for Mosscap and focus solely on that? This seemed a reasonable approach, as Dex rarely knew what was going to come out of the robot’s mouth even when there weren’t other people added to the equation. Being ready for anything seemed a wise course of action.

But would people understand that? Dex couldn’t help but wonder if they’d disappoint if they didn’t make tea. There was nothing preventing them from setting up their table. They could lay out the blankets, heat up the kettle, assemble the traveling shrine. Everything they needed was in their wagon and, presumably, in their head. But it was the latter that was the problem. The moment they tried to think about tea, they forgot how to think at all. Their head felt packed with cotton, and they couldn’t make their thoughts move.

They remembered a time when making tea fascinated them. They remembered entire days spent in the wagon, grinding and sniffing, dabbing pinches of spice on their tongue. Hours flew by in a blink, an effortless flow of puzzling and purpose. They forgot to eat, sometimes, only realizing their mistake when their brain abruptly crashed from hunger. They’d fall asleep mulling over recipes for new blends, and wake up in a rush to get back to work. And they remembered, too, the results of those efforts: carefully choosing the perfect brew for the stranger who approached their table, and feeling the warm, wordless exchange coursing in the space between. Such service had made Dex feel electrified, peaceful, close to their god and to their people and the world they all shared.

Nothing was preventing Dex from doing that again. They knew how. It wasn’t that they didn’t care or didn’t want to. They wanted. They still loved performing tea service—or at least, they loved what it had been. But as they tried to connect to what had once been so captivating, they felt nothing but yawning absence. A void where they’d once been filled.

Dex reached up and held on to the bear pendant hanging around their neck. They’d spent too much time around tired folks to not recognize the same condition in themself. They were running up against a wall, and it didn’t matter whether they understood where the wall had come from, or what it was made of. The only way to get through it was to stop trying, for a while. So, they would not make tea in Stump. They would not make tea anywhere unless they really, truly felt like it. They would focus on Mosscap and let the remainder wait. That was all right, they reminded themself, even though part of them still felt as though they hadn’t earned the hot soak or the good food.

Welcome comfort, they reminded themself, rubbing the little pectin-printed bear with their thumb. Without it, you cannot stay strong.

They rested the back of their head against the mossy stone and dozed off in the healing water, listening to the branches above whisper their ageless song.



* * *



By the time Dex came back to the market square, hours later, Mosscap looked so comfortable in its surroundings that someone might’ve believed the robot had lived there its whole life. People were still gawking, but the crowd had largely dispersed, moving on to get about their daily business. Only a small group accompanied Mosscap on and around the bench where it sat as Dex approached.

“Sibling Dex, look!” Mosscap cried with unbridled glee. “They gave me a map!”

“That’s great,” Dex said, then paused. “Why?”

“I inquired as to our approximate location in relationship to other settlements, and Mx. Sage here fetched me a map, and they said I could have it!” Mosscap turned to the person who, presumably, was Mx. Sage. “It’s my very first belonging, and I just can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s really no problem,” laughed the map-giver. Dex assumed they’d been thanked plenty already.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Mosscap said, folding the map with extreme care, “I’d like to have a private conversation with my friend.”

The group nodded and waved amicably as Mosscap pulled Dex off to the side.

“What’s up?” Dex asked, leading them out of earshot.