by TJ Klune
“Zoe,” Linus said slowly. “I … suppose that’s all right.”
“And you’ll be Linus.”
“I don’t know why it matters so much,” he grumbled, but he didn’t tell her no.
* * *
She dropped him off in front of the post office, pointing a few blocks down to the storefront for the grocer’s. “Come down when you’re finished. I’ll try to make it quick. I want to get back to the island so we’re not late.”
“For what?” he asked, one hand on the door handle, a large, flat envelope in the other.
She grinned at him. “It’s the second Saturday of the month.”
“So?”
“We go on adventures with the children. It’s a tradition.”
Linus didn’t like the sound of that. “What sort of adventures?”
She looked him up and down. “I’ll need to get a few things for you. What you’re wearing simply won’t do, and I assume that’s all you brought. What’s your waist size?”
He balked. “I don’t know that it’s any of your business!”
She shoved him out of the car. “I have a good idea. Leave it to me. I’ll see you at the grocer’s!”
The tires screeched as she peeled off. People on the sidewalk stared at him as rubber smoke billowed. He coughed, waving his hand in front of his face. “How do you do?” he asked a couple walking arm in arm. They lifted their noses at him and hurried across the street.
He looked down at himself. He wore slacks and a dress shirt and a tie, his usual attire. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Ms. Chapelwhite—Zoe—had in mind. No matter. He would tell her as much when he met her later.
* * *
Much like the rest of the village, the interior of the post office was bright and sunny. It was painted in light pastels, lines of oversize shells along the walls. There was a bulletin board with a familiar flyer: SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING. REGISTRATION HELPS EVERYONE!
A man stood behind the counter, watching him warily. His eyes were small, and he had thick, gnarled hair sticking out of his ears. His skin was weathered and tan. “Help you?”
“I believe so,” Linus said, stepping up to the counter. “I need to mail this off to the Department in Charge of Magical Youth.” He handed over the envelope that held his first weekly report. It was extensive, probably more so than was necessary, but he hadn’t made many revisions to its twenty-seven handwritten pages.
“DICOMY, is it?” the man asked, staring down at the envelope with barely disguised interest that made Linus nervous. “Heard a representative was here. About damn time too, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” Linus said stiffly.
The man ignored him. He set the envelope on a scale before looking back at Linus. “I hope you’re going to do the right thing.”
Linus frowned. “And what would that be?”
“Close that place down. It’s a menace.”
“How so?” He was proud how even his voice was.
The man leaned forward as he dropped his voice. His breath smelled cloyingly of elderberry mints. “There’s rumors, you know.”
Linus struggled not to recoil. “No, I don’t. What rumors?”
“Dark things,” the man said. “Evil things. Those ain’t children. They’re monsters who do monstrous things. People go to that island and never return.”
“What people?”
The man shrugged. “You know. People. They go on out there and are never heard from again. That Parnassus too. A queer fellow, if there ever was one. Lord knows what he’s got them doing out there all by themselves.” He paused. Then, “I’ve even seen some of them.”
“The children?”
He snorted. “Yeah, if you can call them that.”
Linus cocked his head. “Sounds like you watched them closely.”
“Oh yeah,” the man said. “They don’t come here anymore, but when they did, you can bet I kept my eye on them.”
“Interesting,” Linus said. “I’m sure I can amend my report to let DICOMY know that a man of your age took an unhealthy interest in orphaned children. Would that do? Especially if they already pay you to keep quiet, which doesn’t seem something you’re capable of.”
The man took a step back, eyes widening. “That’s not what I—”
“I’m not here for your opinion, sir. I’m here to mail out that envelope. That’s all that’s required of you.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Three twenty-five.”
“I’ll need a receipt,” Linus said as he paid. “To be reimbursed. Money doesn’t grow on trees, after all.”
The man slammed the receipt on the counter. Linus signed it, took his copy, and had turned to leave when, “You’re Linus Baker?”
He glanced back. “Yes.”
“Have a message for you.”
“If it’s anything like the message you just relayed, I don’t need it.”
The man shook his head. “Foolish. It ain’t from me, though you would do well to listen so you aren’t the next to disappear. It’s all official. From DICOMY.”
He wasn’t expecting anything, at least so soon. He waited as the man dug around through a crate next to him before finding a small envelope and handing it over. It was from DICOMY, just as the man had said. Official seal and all.
He was about to tear into it when he felt the man’s eyes on him again.
A thought struck him. “Say, you wouldn’t know anything about raft building, would you?”
The man looked confused. “Raft building, Mr. Baker?”
Linus smiled tightly. “Forget I asked.” He turned and left the post office.
Once out on the street, he opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper.
He unfolded it.
It read:
DEPARTMENT IN CHARGE OF MAGICAL YOUTH MEMO FROM EXTREMELY UPPER MANGEMENT
* * *
Mr. Baker:
We are looking forward to your reports. As a reminder, we expect you to leave nothing out.
Nothing.
Sincerely,
CHARLES WERNER
EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT
Linus stared down at it for a long time.
* * *
He found Zoe in the grocer’s, right where she’d said she’d be. She had a full cart in front of her, and appeared to be arguing with the butcher over a large piece of meat. “All right?” he asked, coming to stand beside her.
“Fine,” Zoe muttered, glaring at the butcher. “Just dickering.”
“No dickering,” the butcher said in a thick accent that Linus couldn’t place. “No dickering. All price go up!”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “For everyone?”
“Yes!” the butcher insisted. “For everyone!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I take meat back, then.”
Zoe reached out and snatched it from the countertop. “No. It’s fine. But I’ll remember this, Marcel. Don’t you think I won’t.”
He flinched but didn’t say another word.
She dropped the meat in the cart and began to push it away. Linus followed.
“What’s all that about?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Get your report sent off?”
“I did.”
“And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what was in it.”
He gaped at her. “Of course not! That is a privileged communication meant for—”
She waved him off. “Might as well try.”
“—and furthermore, as outlined in RULES AND REGULATIONS, page 519, paragraph twelve, subparagraph—”
She sighed. “I have no one to blame but myself.”
He thought about telling Zoe (odd, that, calling her by her first name; most unusual) what the man at the post office had said, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because he felt it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. And besides, he told himself, the sun was shining. It was such a lovely day. There
was no need to put a damper on it with the words of a bigot.
* * *
There was a damper put on the day almost immediately after their return to the island.
Really. He should have expected it.
Merle hadn’t said much beyond muttering how they took longer than expected, but they ignored him. As they were ferried back to the island, Linus watched a seagull following them overhead, and he remembered his mouse pad at DICOMY, the picture of the beach asking if he wished he was here.
He was. He was here.
And that was dangerous thinking. Because this was not a holiday, a trip well deserved after all his hard work. He was still working, and regardless of where he was, he couldn’t forget that. He had already gone far beyond what he was used to—this Zoe and Arthur business certainly wasn’t professional—but it would only be for three weeks more. His house waited for him, as did his sunflowers. Calliope certainly wanted to go home, no matter how often she could be found lying out in the sunlight in the garden for hours without moving. And so what if she had meowed at him for the first time when he’d traced a finger between her ears, wondering if he was about to lose a hand? It meant nothing.
Linus had a life.
A life which, unfortunately, seemed to be bent on stretching the boundaries of his sanity.
He stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom of the guest house and stared at his reflection. “Oh dear.”
Zoe had shoved a bag into his hand, telling him she’d gotten him an outfit for the adventure that afternoon. She had ignored his protests as she’d hoisted every single grocery bag out of the back of the car as if they weighed nothing. She’d left him standing in the driveway.
He planned on leaving the bag unopened in the guest house.
If he pretended it wasn’t there, then he wouldn’t need to look inside.
To distract himself, he put away the clothes that had been cleaned and laid out on his bed. There was a note placed on top of them that read: Your weekly washing service is complete! Thank you for staying at Marsyas Island! Your bellhop, Chauncey. The fact that Chauncey seemed to have washed all his clothes, including his underthings, definitely wouldn’t do. Linus would have to speak to him about boundaries. No doubt he’d angle for a tip.
It was while he was straightening out his ties that he realized only three minutes had passed, and he was still thinking about the bag.
“Just a peek,” he muttered to himself.
He peeked.
“What in the world?” he asked no one in particular. “Surely not. This is most inappropriate. Why, I never. Who does she think she is? Sprites. Useless, the lot of them.”
He closed the bag and tossed it back on the floor in the corner.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Perhaps he could open his copy of RULES AND REGULATIONS to give himself a refresher. He obviously needed it. He was getting too … familiar with the people here. A caseworker needed to retain a degree of separation. It allowed them to be objective and not let their opinions be colored or swayed. It could be to the detriment of a child. He had to be professional.
He stood, meaning to do just that. Perhaps he could sit on the porch in the sun while he read. That sounded perfect.
He was surprised when instead of picking up the heavy tome, he lifted the bag from the floor again. He opened it, looking in. The contents hadn’t changed.
“Probably wouldn’t even fit,” he muttered to himself. “She can’t just eyeball me and figure out my size. She shouldn’t be eyeballing me anyway. It’s rude.”
And with that, of course, he felt the need to prove her wrong. That way, when he saw Zoe again (later, and certainly not after going on some kind of frivolous adventure), he could tell her that she should avoid a career as a personal shopper, seeing how bad she was at it.
Yes. He would do just that.
He put on the clothes.
They fit perfectly.
He sputtered as he stared at himself in the mirror.
It looked as if he were outfitted for a safari in the wilds of the Serengeti or exploring the jungles of Brazil. He wore tan shorts and a matching tan collared shirt. The buttons toward the top of the shirt had been removed (almost as if they’d been torn off), so it was open at his throat, revealing smooth, pale skin. In fact, he was showing more skin than he could remember, and his legs were as white as a specter. To make matters worse, there were brown socks that rose halfway up his calves, and sturdy boots that felt uncomfortable, as if they’d never been worn.
But the most terrible thing of all was the helmet-style hat that completed the outfit. It felt strange on his head.
So there he stood, staring at his reflection, wondering why instead of looking like an explorer from the adventure stories he’d read as a child (his mother had hated them, so they had to be hidden under his bed and read late at night with a flashlight under his comforter), he looked more like a brown egg with limbs.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I won’t. I really won’t. This is ridiculous. All of this is—”
There was a pounding at the front door.
He frowned as he looked away from the mirror.
The pounding came again.
He sighed. Just his luck.
He went to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
There, standing on the porch, were five children, all of whom were dressed in similar explorer outfits. Even Theodore wore a tan vest of sorts that had been tailored to leave room for his wings. He reared back and chirped at Linus loudly before spinning excitedly in a circle.
“Whoa,” Talia breathed, looking him up and down. “You are round. Like me!”
Phee bent over to inspect his kneecaps critically, wings fluttering behind her. “Why are you so pale? Do you not go outside? Ever? You’re almost as clear as Chauncey is.”
Chauncey’s eyes bounced on the end of his stalks. “Hello! I hope you found your clothes properly laundered. If you notice an item missing, it’s because I accidentally lost it and feel really sorry about it. Please still consider rating my service a ten.” He held out a tentacle.
Linus arched an eyebrow at him.
Chauncey sighed as he pulled his tentacle back. “Aw, man.”
Lucy grinned up at Linus over a fake mustache far too large for his face. He, too, wore an explorer outfit, though his was red and he had an eyepatch for reasons Linus didn’t want to know. “Hello, Mr. Baker. I am the leader of this expedition to find the treasure of the island sprite. I’m glad you’ve decided to join up! Most likely, you’ll die a horrible death at the hands and mouths of cannibals who will roast you alive on a spit and then lick the juices from your cracking skin. If you’re lucky, the necrotizing fasciitis will get to you first from a terrible bug bite, and your body will rot out from underneath you until you’re nothing but a pile of bones and bloody pus. It’s going to be wonderful.”
Linus gaped at him.
“Children,” another voice said. “Do give Mr. Baker some room, won’t you?”
Linus looked up to see Arthur standing in front of the guest house, with Sal peering nervously from behind him. Sal was similarly dressed as the other children, and he appeared to be trying to hide his bulk behind Arthur when he saw Linus looking at him. He was unsuccessful, of course, given his size and that Arthur was as thin as a whisper.
Linus felt his throat clog slightly at the sight of the dashing figure Arthur cut in his own ensemble. Instead of tan like the others, his pants and shirt were black, with a red sash across his chest. There was what appeared to be a machete in a scabbard at his waist. He had a mustache like Lucy’s, though it looked far less ridiculous on him. It wiggled slightly as Arthur smiled at him. Linus flushed and looked away. He was suddenly very warm. A warm, round egg with pale limbs.
He’d never cared much about his appearance before. He certainly didn’t need to start now. This was a visit like any other he’d done in the past.
Investigation, he reminded himself.
Not a visit.
He opened his mouth to decline whatever invitation had been offered (and not because he actually believed there would be cannibals, though with Lucy, he couldn’t be sure).
But before he could utter a single word, Lucy jumped from the porch and posed grandly, hands on his hips. “Let the adventure begin!” he bellowed. He began to march toward the thick trees, knees kicking up high with every step he took.
The other children followed. Theodore took flight, hovering above their heads. Sal glanced quickly at Linus and then ran after the others.
“Coming, Linus?” Arthur asked.
“Your mustache is ridiculous,” Linus muttered as he stepped off the porch and stalked after the children.
He pretended he didn’t hear the quiet laughter behind him.
* * *
“Okay,” Lucy said, stopping at the edge of the trees. He turned back toward the group, eyes wide. “As you all know, there is an evil sprite—”
“Hey!” Phee cried.
“Lucy, we don’t call people evil,” Arthur reminded him as Theodore settled on his shoulder. “It isn’t polite.”
Lucy rolled his eyes. “Fine. I take it back. There is a murderous sprite…” He paused, as if waiting for any objections. There were none. Even Phee seemed gleeful. Linus felt the point had been missed entirely, but thought it wise to keep his mouth shut. “A murderous sprite who has a treasure hidden deep in the woods that is ours for the taking. I cannot promise your survival. In fact, most likely even if you make it to the treasure, I will betray you and feed you to the alligators and laugh as they crunch your bones—”
“Lucy,” Arthur said again.
Lucy sighed. “It’s my turn to be in charge.” He pouted. “You said I can do this the way I want.”
“I did,” Arthur agreed. “But that doesn’t mean betrayal.”
“But I’m secretly a villain!”
“Maybe we could all be villains,” Chauncey warbled.
“You don’t know how to be bad,” Talia told him. “You’re too nice.”