by TJ Klune
“No! I can be bad! Watch!” His eyes pivoted wildly until they landed on Linus. “Mr. Baker! I won’t do your laundry next week! Ha ha ha!” Then, in a panicky voice, he whispered, “I’m just kidding. I will. Please let me. Don’t take that away.”
“I want to be a villain,” Phee said. “Especially since we’re facing a murderous sprite. In case you didn’t know, I’m also a sprite, and I should be murderous too.”
“I’ve always wanted to murder someone,” Talia said, stroking her beard. “Do you think I have time to go back and get my shovel?”
Theodore bared his teeth and hissed menacingly.
“Sal?” Lucy asked morosely. “You want to be a villain too?”
Sal peeked over Arthur’s shoulder. He hesitated, then nodded.
“Fine,” Lucy said, throwing up his hands. “We’ll all be bad.” He grinned at them. “And maybe I can still betray you all by being secretly good and—” He grimaced, face twisting as he stuck out his tongue. “No, that sounds terrible. Ugh. Ick. Blech.”
Linus had a very bad feeling about this.
* * *
Lucy led the way, shouting so loudly that birds squawked angrily as they took flight from their perches in trees. He asked Arthur if he could use his machete to hack through the thick vines that hung from the trees, something Linus found particularly alarming. He was relieved when Arthur declined, saying that children shouldn’t handle such things until they were older.
It didn’t appear to be necessary, however. Whenever they seemed to be stuck, unable to move forward due to the growth of the forest, Phee would step forward. Her wings glistened brightly, shaking as she raised her hands. The vines slithered up the trees as if alive, revealing the path ahead.
The children exclaimed in delight, as Phee looked on smugly. Linus got the idea that she’d made the path difficult to begin with so she could be called upon. Even Sal was smiling as the vines whipped up into the trees.
Linus learned rather quickly that even though he’d experienced more of the outdoors in the last week than he had in the past year, it did not mean he was in any kind of shape. Shortly, he was huffing and puffing, sweat dripping from his brow. He brought up the rear with Arthur, who seemed inclined to take a leisurely pace, something Linus was grateful for.
“Where are we going?” Linus asked after what he was sure had been hours, but in actuality had been less than one.
Arthur shrugged, looking as if he wasn’t winded in the slightest. “I haven’t the foggiest. Isn’t it delightful?”
“I think you and I have very different definitions of delightful. Is there any kind of structure to this outing?”
Arthur laughed. Linus was uncomfortable with how much he liked that sound. “Day in and day out, they have structure. Breakfast at eight on the dot, then classes. Lunch at noon. More classes. Individual pursuits in the afternoon. Dinner at half past seven. Bed by nine. I believe that a break in routine every now and then does wonders for the soul.”
“According to RULES AND REGULATIONS, children shouldn’t have—”
Arthur stepped easily over a large log, green moss growing up the side. He turned back and held out his hand. Linus hesitated before taking it. His movements were far less graceful, but Arthur kept him from falling on his face. Arthur dropped his hand as the children shouted a little ways ahead. “You live by that book, I think.”
Linus bristled. “I do not. And even if I did, there’s nothing wrong with that. It provides the order needed to create happy and healthy children.”
“Is that right?”
Linus thought he was being mocked, but it didn’t seem malicious. He doubted Arthur Parnassus had a cruel bone in his entire body. “It exists for a reason, Arthur. It’s a governance that guides the world of magical youth. Experts from various fields all weighed in—”
“Human experts.”
Linus stopped, hand against a tree as he caught his breath. “What?”
Arthur turned his face toward the canopy of the forest. A shaft of sunlight had pierced the leaves and limbs, and illuminated his face. He looked ethereal. “Human experts,” he repeated. “Not a single magical person had any say in the creation of that tome. Every word came from the hand and mind of a human.”
Linus balked. “Well … that’s … that certainly can’t be true. Surely there was someone in the magical community who provided input.”
Arthur lowered his head to look at Linus. “In what position? No magical being has ever been in a position of power. Not at DICOMY. Not in any role in the government. They aren’t allowed. They’re marginalized, no matter their age.”
“But … there are physicians who are magical. And … lawyers! Yes, lawyers. Why, I know a very pleasant lawyer who is a banshee. Very respectable.”
“And what sort of law does she practice?”
“She works with magical beings attempting to fight … their registration.…”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “I see. And the physicians?”
Linus felt his stomach tighten. “They treat only magical beings.” He shook his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. “There’s a reason for all things, Arthur. Our predecessors knew the only way to help assimilate magical persons into our culture was to have stringent guidelines set in place to assure a smooth transition.”
Arthur’s gaze hardened slightly. “And who said they needed to be assimilated at all? Was any choice given?”
“Well … no. I don’t suppose it was. But it’s for the greater good!”
“For whom? What happens when they grow up, Linus? It’s not as if things will change. They’ll still be registered. They’ll still be monitored. There will always be someone looking over their shoulder, watching every move they make. It doesn’t end because they leave this place. It’s always the same.”
Linus sighed. “I’m not trying to argue with you on this.”
Arthur nodded. “Of course not. Because if we were arguing, it would mean that we were both so set in our ways, we weren’t amenable to seeing it from another side. And I know I’m not that stubborn.”
“Precisely,” Linus said, relieved. Then, “Hey!”
But Arthur was already walking through the trees.
Linus took a deep breath, wiped his brow, and followed.
“It goes back to Kant,” Arthur said as Linus caught up with him.
“Of course it does,” Linus muttered. “Bloody ridiculous, if you ask me.”
Arthur chuckled. “Whether or not he was right is something else entirely, but it certainly brings about an interesting perspective on what is or isn’t moral.”
“The very definition of immorality is wickedness,” Linus said.
“It is,” Arthur agreed. “But who are we to decide what’s what?”
“Millions of years of biological evolution. We don’t stick our hand in fire because it would burn. We don’t murder because it’s wrong.”
Arthur laughed as if elated. “And yet people still do both. Once, in my youth, I knew a phoenix who loved the way the fire felt against his skin. People murder other people every day.”
“You can’t equate the two!”
“You already did,” Arthur said gently. “My point remains the same as it is in my sessions with Lucy. The world likes to see things in black and white, in moral and immoral. But there is gray in between. And just because a person is capable of wickedness, doesn’t mean they will act upon it. And then there is the notion of perceived immorality. I highly doubt Chauncey would even consider laying a tentacle on another person in violence, even if it meant protecting himself. And yet people see him and decide based upon his appearance that he is something monstrous.”
“That’s not fair,” Linus admitted. “Even if he does hide under my bed one morning out of every three.”
“Only because he’s still wrestling with what he was told he was supposed to be versus who he actually is.”
“But he has this place,” Linus said, ducking under a branch.
Arthur nodded.
“He does. But he won’t always. The island isn’t permanent, Linus. Even if you in your infinite wisdom decide to allow us to remain as we are, one day he will go out into the world on his own. And the best thing I can do is to prepare him for that.”
“But how can you prepare him if you never let him leave?”
Arthur whirled on Linus, a frown on his face. “He’s not a prisoner.”
Linus took a step back. “I never—that wasn’t what I—I know that. I apologize if it came across any other way.”
“I prepare them,” Arthur said. “But I do shelter them, somewhat. They … for all that they are, for all that they can do, they’re still fragile. They are lost, Linus. All of them. They have no one else but each other.”
“And you,” Linus said quietly.
“And me,” Arthur agreed. “And while I understand your point, I hope you can see mine. I know how the world works. I know the teeth that it has. It can bite you when you least expect it. Is it so bad to try and keep them from that as long as possible?”
Linus wasn’t sure, and he said as much. “But the longer they remain hidden, the harder it will be when the time comes. This place … this island. You said it yourself. It isn’t forever. There’s a whole wide world beyond the sea, and while it may not be a fair world, they have to know what else is out there. This can’t be everything.”
“I am aware,” Arthur said, looking off into the trees with an inscrutable expression. “But I like to pretend it is, sometimes. There are days it certainly feels like it could be.”
Linus didn’t like the way he sounded. It was almost … morose. “For what it’s worth, I never thought I’d be discussing moral philosophy while wearing tan shorts in the middle of the woods.”
Arthur burst out laughing. “I find you fascinating.”
Linus felt warm again. He told himself it was the exertion. He swallowed thickly. “You knew a phoenix, then?”
Arthur’s gaze was knowing, but he didn’t seem inclined to push. “I did. He was … inquisitive. Many things happened to him, but he still kept his head held high. I often think about the man he became.” Arthur smiled tightly, and Linus knew the conversation was over.
They continued through the woods.
* * *
They came to a beach on the far side of the island. It was small and made of white and brown rocks rather than sand. The waves rolled through them, and they clacked together enjoyably.
“Easy, men,” Lucy said, scanning the beach. “There’s something foul afoot.”
“We’re not all men,” Talia said with a scowl. “Girls can be explorers too. Like Gertrude Bell.”
“And Isabella Bird,” Phee said.
“And Mary Kingsley.”
“And Ida Laura Pfeiffer.”
“And Robyn—”
“Okay, okay,” Lucy grumbled. “I get it. Girls can do everything boys can. Jeez.” He looked back at Linus, the devilish smile on his face. “Do you like girls, Mr. Baker? Or boys? Or both?”
The children turned their heads slowly to stare at him.
“I like everyone,” Linus managed to say.
“Boring,” Talia muttered.
“I’m a boy!” Chauncey exclaimed. He frowned. “I think.”
“You are whoever you want to be,” Arthur told him, patting him between the eyes.
“Can we please get back to the task at hand?” Lucy pleaded. “You’re going to get us all viciously murdered if you keep talking.”
Sal looked around nervously, Theodore perched on his shoulder, tail wrapped around his neck loosely. “By who?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said, turning back to the beach. “But as I was saying, there is something foul afoot! I can smell it.”
All the children sniffed the air. Even Theodore craned his neck, nostrils flaring.
“The only thing that smells foul here is Mr. Baker,” Phee said. “Because he’s sweating a lot.”
“I’m not used to so much exertion,” Linus snapped.
“Yeah,” Talia said. “It’s not his fault he’s round. Right, Mr. Baker? Us round people need to stick together.”
That didn’t make Linus feel any better. But he said, “Exactly.”
Talia preened.
Lucy rolled his eyes. “It’s not something you can smell. Only I can. Because I’m the leader. It’s coming from over there.” He pointed toward a copse of trees just off the beach. It looked dark and foreboding.
“What is it, Lucy?” Chauncey asked. “Is it the cannibals?” He didn’t sound very enthused at the prospect.
“Probably,” Lucy said. “They could be cooking someone as we speak. So we should definitely go over there and check it out. I’ve always wanted to see what a person looked like while being cooked.”
“Or maybe we can stay here,” Talia said, reaching up and taking Linus’s hand. He stared down at her, but didn’t try and pull away. “That might be for the best.”
Lucy shook his head. “Explorers don’t back down. Especially the lady explorers.”
“He’s right,” Phee said grimly. “Even if there are cannibals.”
Theodore whined and stuck his head under his wing. Sal reached up and stroked his tail.
“Bravery is a virtue,” Arthur said. “In the face of adversity, it separates the strong from the weak.”
“Or the stupid from the smart,” Talia muttered, squeezing Linus’s hand. “Boys are dumb.”
Linus couldn’t help but agree, though he kept it to himself.
Lucy puffed out his chest. “I’m brave! And since I’m the leader, my brave order will be that Arthur goes first to make sure it’s safe while the rest of us wait right here.”
Everyone nodded.
Including Linus.
Arthur arched an eyebrow at him.
“He has a point,” Linus said. “Bravery is a virtue, and all that.”
Arthur’s lips twitched. “If I must.”
“You must,” Lucy told him. “And if there are cannibals, yell back at us when they start to eat you so we know to run away.”
“What if they eat my mouth first?”
Lucy squinted up at him. “Um. Try not to let that happen?”
Arthur squared his shoulders. He pulled out his machete and hopped up onto a large boulder, waves crashing around him. He made for a dashing figure, like a hero of old. He pointed the machete toward the copse of trees. “For the expedition!” he cried.
“For the expedition!” the children shouted in response.
Arthur winked at Linus, jumped down from the boulder, and ran for the trees. The shadows swallowed him whole … and then he was gone.
They waited.
Nothing happened.
They waited a little longer.
Still nothing.
“Uh-oh,” Talia whispered. “I think they probably started with his mouth.”
“Should we go back?” Chauncey warbled, eyes bouncing.
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. He looked up at Linus. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Linus was touched. “Thank you, Lucy—”
“If the cannibals start chasing after us, they’ll see you first. We’re little, and you’ve got all that meat on your bones, so it’ll give us time to get away. Your forthcoming sacrifice is appreciated.”
Linus sighed.
“What should we do?” Phee asked worriedly.
“I think we should go in after him,” Sal said.
They all looked at him.
He met Linus’s gaze for a moment before looking away. His mouth twisted down. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He would come for us.”
Theodore chirped, pressing his snout against Sal’s ear.
“He’s right,” Lucy said. “Arthur would come after us. I’m making a decision. We shall go after Arthur, and Mr. Baker will go first.”
“You know, for a leader, you seem to delegate more than actually lead,” Linus said dryly.
Lucy shrugged. “I’m six years old. Well, th
is body is. Mostly, I’m ancient, but that’s neither here nor there.”
Linus felt the ground sway beneath his feet slightly, but he managed to stave it off. “If you insist.”
“I do,” Lucy said, sounding relieved. “So much insisting.”
Talia let go of his hand and waddled behind Linus, beginning to push on the backs of his legs. “Go. Go, go, go! Arthur could be getting eaten right this second, and you’re just standing here!”
Linus sighed again. “I’m going.”
It was ridiculous, of course. There were no cannibals on the island. It was just a story Lucy had made up. It wasn’t even a very good story.
But that didn’t stop Linus from sweating profusely as he walked across the beach toward the trees. They were of a different sort than in the forest they’d walked through. They appeared far older and denser. And even though there were no cannibals, Linus could see why they would choose this copse if they did exist. It looked like the perfect place to consume human flesh.
The bravery of the children was unmatched. They followed him, but at a good fifteen paces behind him, all huddled together, eyes wide.
Linus absolutely did not feel fond at the sight of them.
He turned back toward the trees. “Hello, Arthur!” he called out. “Are you in there?”
There was no response.
Linus frowned. Surely this was a game that Arthur was taking too seriously.
He called out again.
Nothing.
“Uh-oh,” he heard Lucy say behind him. “He’s probably been quartered already.”
“What’s that mean?” Chauncey asked. “He’s getting paid? I like quarters.”
“It means getting chopped up,” Talia said. “Into pieces.”
“Ooh,” Chauncey said. “I don’t like that at all.”
This was stupid. There were no cannibals. Linus stepped up to the trees, took a deep breath, and crossed into the forest.
It was … cooler inside the tree line. Cooler than it should have been in the shadows. The humidity seemed to have faded away, and Linus actually shivered. There was a thin path ahead, winding its way through the trees. It didn’t look as if anything had been hacked (either vines or Arthur). Linus took that as a good sign.