The House in the Cerulean Sea

by TJ Klune

  In the center, there was food stacked high. He saw scalloped potatoes and bread and some sort of meat he couldn’t recognize. There were leafy greens; the tomatoes that Lucy had been chopping looked like red beetles in the candlelight.

  A feast, he’d been told, in his honor.

  Linus wondered if it were poisoned.

  Most of the children were already sitting at the table. Chauncey sat in the middle, with Phee and Talia on either side of him. Across from them were Theodore (climbing on the chair in front of the plate with no forks or spoons) and Ms. Chapelwhite. Next to her was an empty chair, and then Sal. He glanced back at Linus, found he was being watched, and then turned around quickly, lowering his head, picking at the tablecloth.

  Mr. Parnassus sat at one end of the table.

  That left the other end as the only open seat, seeing as how Linus was most likely not going to sit next to Sal. The poor boy probably wouldn’t eat a single bite if that were the case.

  No one spoke as he approached. He pulled out the chair, the legs of which scraped against the floor. He winced, cleared his throat, and sat. He wished Bobby were still singing to distract from the awkwardness, but he couldn’t see a record player anywhere.

  He unfolded his cloth napkin next to his plate and spread it over his lap.

  Everyone stared at him.

  He fidgeted in his chair.

  Lucy was suddenly there beside him, causing Linus to jump in his seat. “Oh dear,” he said.

  “Mr. Baker,” Lucy said sweetly. “Can I get you something to drink? Juice, perhaps? Tea?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “The blood of a baby born in a cemetery under a full moon?”

  “Lucy,” Mr. Parnassus warned.

  Lucy stared at Linus. “Whatever you want, I can give you,” he whispered.

  Linus coughed weakly. “Water. Water is fine.”

  “One water coming right up!” He reached up, grabbing an empty glass set next to Linus’s plate. He took it to the sink, climbing up onto his stool. He stuck his tongue out in concentration (through the gap where his two front teeth used to be) as he turned on the tap. Once the glass was full, he held it with both hands as he climbed down from his stool. He spilled nary a drop as he handed it over to Linus.

  “There,” he said. “You’re welcome! And I’m not even thinking about banishing your soul to eternal damnation or anything!”

  “Thank you,” Linus managed to say. “That’s very kind of you.”

  Lucy laughed, a sound Linus was sure would haunt him for the rest of his life, before he went to the remaining empty chair. Sal pulled it out for him. On the chair sat a booster seat. Lucy climbed up into it, and Sal pushed the chair back toward the table, keeping his gaze downcast.

  Mr. Parnassus smiled at the children. “Wonderful. As you are all aware, even though someone decided to hide his arrival from me, we have a guest.”

  Lucy sank down in his booster seat just a little.

  “Mr. Baker is here to make sure you’re all healthy and happy,” Mr. Parnassus continued. “I ask that you treat him as you would me or Ms. Chapelwhite. Which means with respect. If I find out that any of you have done anything … untoward, there will be a loss of privileges. Are we clear?”

  The children nodded, including Theodore.

  “Good,” Mr. Parnassus said, smiling quietly. “Now, before we eat, one thing you learned today. Phee?”

  “I learned how to make the foliage thicker,” Phee said. “It took a lot of concentrating, but I did it.”

  “Wonderful. I knew you could do it. Chauncey?”

  His eyeballs knocked together. “I can unpack suitcases all by myself! And I got a tip!”

  “How impressive. I doubt a suitcase has ever been unpacked as well as you did. Talia, if you please.”

  Talia stroked her beard. “If I stand really still, strange men think I’m a statue.”

  Linus choked on his tongue.

  “Illuminating,” Mr. Parnassus said, a twinkle in his eye. “Theodore?”

  He chirped and growled, head resting on the tabletop.

  Everyone laughed.

  Except for Linus, that is, because he wasn’t sure what had happened.

  “He learned that buttons are the best things in the world,” Ms. Chapelwhite said to Linus, glancing fondly down at Theodore. “And I learned that I still judge people by their appearance, though I should know better.”

  Linus understood who that was intended toward. He thought that was as close to an apology as he’d ever get from her.

  “Sometimes,” Mr. Parnassus said, “our prejudices color our thoughts when we least expect them to. If we can recognize that, and learn from it, we can become better people. Lucy?”

  Linus felt parched. He picked up his glass of water.

  Lucy looked toward the ceiling, and in a monotone voice said, “I learned that I am the bringer of death and destroyer of worlds.”

  Linus sprayed water on the table in front of him.

  Everyone turned slowly to stare at him again.

  “Apologies,” he said quickly. He took the napkin from his lap and wiped down his plate. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Almost like it was planned that way. Lucy? Should we try one more time?”

  Lucy sighed. “I learned once again that I’m not just the sum of my parts.”

  “Of course not. You’re more. Sal?”

  Sal glanced at Linus, then turned his gaze downward. His lips moved, but Linus couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Neither could Mr. Parnassus, or so it seemed. “Louder, please. So we can hear you.”

  Sal’s shoulders slumped. “I learned that I still get scared of people I don’t know.”

  Mr. Parnassus reached out and squeezed his arm. “And that’s okay. Because even the bravest of us can still be afraid sometimes, so long as we don’t let our fear become all we know.”

  Sal nodded but didn’t look back up.

  Mr. Parnassus sat back in his chair, looking across the table at Linus. “As for me, I learned that gifts come in all shapes and sizes, and when we expect them the least. Mr. Baker? What is it you have learned today?”

  Linus shifted in his seat. “Oh, I don’t think I should—I’m here to observe—it wouldn’t be proper for me to—”

  “Please, Mr. Baker?” Chauncey said wetly, tentacle creeping along on the table, suckers sticking to the tablecloth and causing it to bunch up. “You just have to.”

  “Yes, Mr. Baker,” Lucy said in that same dead voice. “You absolutely have to. I’d hate to think what would happen if you didn’t. Why, it might bring about a plague of locusts. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Linus felt the blood rush from his face.

  “Children,” Mr. Parnassus said as Ms. Chapelwhite covered up a smile. “Let him speak. And Lucy, we talked about the locust plague. That’s only to be done under direct supervision. Mr. Baker?”

  They looked at him expectantly.

  It seemed as if he wasn’t going to get out of this. He said the first thing that came to his mind. “I … I learned that there are things in this world that defy the imagination.”

  “Things?” Talia said, eyes narrowing. “And what would these things be?”

  “The ocean,” Linus said quickly. “Yes, the ocean. I’ve never seen it before. And I’ve always wanted to. It’s … it’s vaster than I even realized.”

  “Oh,” Talia said. “That’s … so boring. Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Parnassus said, never looking away from Linus. “Of course. You’ve earned it.”

  * * *

  As strange as the situation Linus found himself in was, dinner went relatively smoothly for the first ten minutes. It was while he was picking at the salad on his plate (not responding to the call of the potatoes, no matter how loud it was), that it came to a screeching halt.

  It started, of course, with Talia.

  “Mr. Baker?” she asked
innocently. “Wouldn’t you like something more than just the salad?”

  “No,” he said. “Thank you. I’m quite fine.”

  She hummed under her breath. “You sure? A man of your size can’t live on rabbit food alone.”

  “Talia,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Leave Mr. Baker—”

  “It’s because of my size,” Linus interjected, not wanting someone to speak for him again. He was in charge here, after all. And the sooner they knew that, the better.

  “What’s wrong with your size?” Talia asked.

  He flushed. “There’s too much of it.”

  She frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being round.”

  He stabbed a tomato. “I’m not—”

  “I’m round.”

  “Well, yes. But you’re a gnome. You’re supposed to be round.”

  She squinted at him. “So why can’t you be?”

  “It’s not—it’s a matter of health—I can’t—”

  “I want to be round,” Lucy announced. And then he was. One moment, he was the skinny little thing sitting in his booster seat, and the next, he began to blow up like a balloon, his chest stretching out, bones cracking obscenely. His eyes bulged from his head, and Linus was sure they were about to pop out onto the table. “Look!” he said through pinched lips. “I’m a gnome or Mr. Baker!”

  “Why have you never seen the ocean?” Phee asked as Linus stared in horror at Lucy. “It’s always there. It never goes anywhere. It’s too big to move.”

  Lucy deflated, bones rearranging themselves until he was nothing but a six-year-old boy again. “It is,” he agreed, as if he hadn’t just blown up to three times his size. “I tried.”

  “That was a weird day,” Chauncey said, sliding a potato through his mouth with a tentacle. Linus watched as it slid down inside of him, perfectly clear though tinged green. It began to break down into tiny particles. “So many fish died. And then you brought them back to life. Most of them.”

  “I’ve just … I’ve never had time,” Linus said, feeling dizzy. “I—too many responsibilities. I have an important job and—”

  Theodore attacked the meat Ms. Chapelwhite had set on his plate, growling low in his throat.

  “Arthur says that we should always make time for the things we like,” Talia said. “If we don’t, we might forget how to be happy. Are you not happy, Mr. Baker?”

  “I’m perfectly happy.”

  “You’re not happy being round,” Phee said. “So you can’t be perfectly happy.”

  “I’m not round—”

  “What is your job, Mr. Baker?” Chauncey asked, eyes bouncing on his stalks. “Is it in the city?”

  Linus wasn’t hungry anymore. “I—yes. It’s in the city.”

  Chauncey sighed dreamily. “I love the city. All those hotels that need bellhops. It sounds like paradise.”

  “You’ve never been to the city,” Lucy reminded him.

  “So? I can love something even if I’ve only seen pictures of it. Mr. Baker loves the ocean, and he only saw it for the first time today!”

  “If he loves it so much, why doesn’t he marry it?” Phee asked.

  Theodore chirped through a mouthful of meat. The children laughed. Even Sal cracked a smile.

  Before Linus could ask, Ms. Chapelwhite said, “Theodore hopes you and the ocean are very happy together.”

  “I’m not going to marry the ocean—”

  “Ohhh,” Talia said, eyes wide, mustache twitching. “Because you’re already married, right?”

  “You’re married?” Phee demanded. “Who is your wife? Is she still in your suitcase? Why would you put her there? Is she a contortionist?”

  “Is your wife your cat?” Lucy asked. “I like cats, but they don’t like me.” His eyes started to glow red. “They worry I’ll eat them. To be fair, I’ve never had one before, so I don’t know if they’re delicious or not. Is your wife delicious, Mr. Baker?”

  “We don’t eat pets, Lucy,” Mr. Parnassus said, wiping his mouth daintily.

  The red faded from Lucy’s eyes immediately. “Right. Because pets are friends. And since Mr. Baker’s cat is his wife, that’s like his best friend.”

  “Exactly,” Mr. Parnassus said, sounding amused.

  “No,” Linus said. “Not exactly. Why, I never—”

  “I like being round,” Talia announced. “It means there’s more of me to love.”

  “I love you, Talia,” Chauncey said, laying one of his eyes on her shoulder. That same eye turned slowly to look at Linus. “Can you tell me more about the city? Is it bright at night? Because of all the lights?”

  Linus could barely keep up. “I—I suppose it is, but I don’t like being out at night.”

  “Because of the things in the dark that could rip your bones from your flesh?” Lucy asked through a mouthful of bread.

  “No,” Linus said, feeling queasy. “Because I would rather be home than anywhere else at all.” That was truer now than it’d ever been before.

  “Home is where you feel like yourself,” Ms. Chapelwhite said, and Linus could only agree. “It’s the same for us, isn’t it, children? Home is where we get to be who we are.”

  “My garden is here,” Talia said.

  “The best garden,” Mr. Parnassus said.

  “And my trees,” Phee added.

  “The most wonderful trees,” Mr. Parnassus agreed.

  Theodore chirped, and Ms. Chapelwhite stroked one of his wings. “Your button, yes. It is here too.”

  “What a lovely gift,” Mr. Parnassus said, smiling at the wyvern.

  “And where else can I practice being a bellhop but at home?” Chauncey asked. “You have to practice something before being good at it.”

  “Practice makes perfect,” Mr. Parnassus said.

  “And this is the only place in the world where I don’t have to worry about priests trying to stick a cross on my face to cast my soul back to the pits of hell,” Lucy announced. He laughed as he shoved more bread in his mouth.

  “Pesky priests, to be sure,” Mr. Parnassus said.

  “Are you going to take our home away from us?”

  The table fell quiet.

  Linus blinked. He looked around for the source of the voice and was surprised to find it came from Sal. Sal, who was looking down at the table, hands curled into fists. His mouth was set into a thin line, and his shoulders were shaking.

  Mr. Parnassus reached out and laid his hand on one of Sal’s fists. A long finger tapped the inside of Sal’s wrist. He said, “That isn’t Mr. Baker’s intention. I don’t think he ever wishes for something like that to happen. Not to anyone.”

  Linus thought to disagree, but he didn’t think it would do any good. Especially in the light of an obviously traumatized child. And while Mr. Parnassus wasn’t wrong exactly, he didn’t like when someone else spoke for him.

  Mr. Parnassus continued. “His job is to make sure I’m doing my job correctly. And what is my job?”

  “To keep us safe,” the children intoned. Even Sal.

  “Precisely,” Mr. Parnassus said. “And I like to think I’m good at it.”

  “Because you’ve had practice?” Chauncey asked.

  Mr. Parnassus smiled at him. “Yes. Because I’ve had practice. And if I have my say, you will never be separated.”

  That was a challenge, and Linus didn’t care for it one bit. “I don’t think it’s right to—”

  “Who’s ready for dessert?” Ms. Chapelwhite asked.

  The children began to cheer.

  SEVEN

  Mr. Parnassus led Linus down a long hallway at the top of the stairs. “The children’s rooms,” he said, nodding at the doors on either side of the hall. There were signs hung from each of them with the names of the children: Chauncey and Sal on the right. Phee and Talia on the left. He pointed toward a hatch in the ceiling. The outline of a wyvern had been drawn on it. “Theodore’s nest is up in the turret. He has a small hoard up there, but his favorite place is under the cou
ch.”

  “I’ll want to inspect them,” Linus said, making a mental note of the layout.

  “I figured you would. We can arrange for that tomorrow, seeing as how the children will be getting ready for bed shortly. Either Ms. Chapelwhite can show you while the children are in their studies, or we can do it before, and then you can join us in the classroom.”

  “What about Ms. Chapelwhite?” Linus asked, staring at the etchings of trees into the wood of Phee’s door as they passed it by.

  “She was here long before we ever were,” Mr. Parnassus said. “The island is hers. We’re merely borrowing it. She lives deep in the woods on the other side of the island.”

  Linus had so many questions. This island. This house. This man. But another was more prominent, given the number of doors he’d counted. Near the end of the hall, four remained. One was marked as a bathroom for the girls. The other was for the boys. A third door had ARTHUR’S OFFICE written in a legend on it. “And Lucy? Where does he stay?”

  Mr. Parnassus stopped in front of the office and nodded toward the remaining door. “In my room.”

  Linus’s eyes narrowed. “You share a room with a small boy—”

  “Nothing untoward, I assure you.” He didn’t sound offended by the implication. “There was a large walk-in closet that I had converted into a room for Lucy when he came to stay with us. It … it’s better for him if I’m near. He used to have such terrible nightmares. He still does, sometimes, though they aren’t as vicious as they used to be. I like to think his time here has helped. He doesn’t like being far away from me, if he can help it, though I am trying to teach him independence. He’s … a work in progress.”

  Mr. Parnassus opened the office door. It was smaller than Linus expected, and crammed full, almost uncomfortably so. There was a desk set in the middle, surrounded by stacks of books, many of which leaned precariously. There was a single window that looked out over the ocean. It appeared endless in the night. In the distance, Linus saw the flashing wink of a lonely lighthouse.

  Mr. Parnassus shut the door behind them, nodding for Linus to take a seat. He did so, taking out a small notebook that he always carried in his pocket, filled with notes he kept on each of his cases. He’d been lax in his duties here so far, kept off-kilter by the very idea of this place, but that would do no longer. He’d always prided himself on the copious notes he took, and if he was to give weekly reports as Extremely Upper Management requested, he would make sure they were the best he’d ever written.