by TJ Klune
“I don’t know about all that,” Linus said stiffly. “I only did what I thought was right. I can only imagine what he’s gone through, and you as well, as the master of this house. Especially with wards so unique.”
“Yes,” Arthur said. There was something in his voice that Linus couldn’t quite place. “As master of this house, of course. It’s why I—how did you put it shortly after your arrival?—don’t let them leave.”
“I could have worded that better,” Linus admitted. “Especially knowing what I do now.”
“No, I don’t think you could have. It struck to the heart of the matter quite cleanly. I prefer bluntness to obfuscation. Things get lost in translation. Which is why when I tell you that I believe you helped Sal, I mean every word. I didn’t ask him why he moved the desk. I only asked if he’d had help. He told me he had. And that it was you. It wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks after that.”
“It was merely a suggestion,” Linus said, uncomfortable with the praise. “I told him that while it was okay to want to feel small, he shouldn’t forget that he can be big when he wants to. I hope it wasn’t too out of line.”
“I don’t think it was. I think it was the right words at the right time. As I said before, he’s healing. And with that healing comes trust, though it needs to be well-earned. I think you’re on your way.”
“Then I would feel honored.”
“Would you? That doesn’t sound like it’s proper. I’m sure the RULES AND REGULATIONS would—”
Linus scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”
Arthur smiled. “You do? I like that very much. Thank you.”
“For?”
He shrugged. “Whatever it is you’re doing.”
“That’s … vague. For all you know, I could be writing in my reports that this place isn’t suitable, and neither are you.”
“Is that what you’re writing?”
Linus hesitated. “No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have concerns, or that my mind is made up.”
“Of course not.”
“But it does bring me to a certain point. If you still prefer my bluntness.”
Arthur folded his hands on his lap. “I cherish it, in fact.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“No. I don’t. But you do, and I don’t think you’d say it without having thought through it. Let’s have it.”
Linus glanced at the record as it switched over to Buddy Holly, singing about why you and I by and by will know true love ways. The fact that it was yet another love song barely crossed Linus’s mind; he was focused more on the fact that all these different singers were on the same record. He’d never heard of such a collection before.
“I think we should take the children on an outing off the island.”
Buddy Holly sang in the silence.
Then, “We?”
Linus shrugged awkwardly. “You and Zoe and the children. I could come as well, to keep an eye on things. I think it would do them good. Just so they aren’t so…” He glanced at his report. “Isolated.”
“And where would we take them?”
Linus decided to play along, even though Arthur would know the village better than he. “I saw an ice cream parlor when I was in town last week. Perhaps a treat is in order. Or there was the movie theater, though I don’t know if Sal would like it with how sensitive his hearing is. Being this close to the sea, I’m sure the village is a tourist destination. But given that it’s off-season, there won’t be as many people around. Maybe we could take them to a museum, if one exists there. Give them a bit of culture.”
Arthur stared at him.
Linus didn’t like it. “What?”
“Culture,” he repeated.
“Just an idea.” He was feeling defensive again. He liked museums. He tried to go to the history museum near his house at least a few times a year on the weekends. He always found something new in everything so old.
For the first time since he’d known him, Arthur looked uncertain. “I don’t want anything to happen to them.”
“I don’t either,” Linus said. “And if you’ll allow it, I’ll be there too. I can be quite protective when I need to be.” He patted his stomach. “There’s a lot of me to try and take down.”
Arthur’s gaze trailed down Linus’s front, watching his fingers. Linus dropped his hand back to his lap.
Arthur looked back up at him. “I know about the raft.”
Linus blinked. “You … do? How? Zoe said—”
“It’s neither here nor there. Your message in response was appreciated. More than you could probably know. I will speak with the children. Perhaps the Saturday after next. It’ll be the last full Saturday you’re here. There won’t be time, after. You’ll be gone.”
No. There wouldn’t be. Time never stopped, though it often felt elastic. “I suppose I will.”
Arthur stood. “Thank you.”
Linus stood too. “You keep saying that, and I don’t know if it’s deserved.”
Now the tips of their shoes did touch. Their knees bumped together. And yet, Linus didn’t take a step back. Neither did Arthur.
“I know you don’t believe you do,” Arthur said quietly. “But I don’t say things I don’t mean. Life is too short for it. Do you like to dance?”
Linus exhaled heavily as he looked up at Arthur. The Moonglows began to sing about the ten commandments of love.
“I don’t … know. I think I might have two left feet, honestly.”
“I highly doubt that.” Arthur nodded. He reached up as if he were going to touch the side of Linus’s face, but curled his hand into a fist and stepped back. He smiled tightly. “Good night, Linus.”
Then he was gone as if he’d never been there at all. Linus barely heard the door shut behind him.
He stood in the empty house as the record spun slowly, singing songs of love and longing.
Just as he was about to turn and shut it off, there was a bright flash of orange light through the window.
He rushed forward, peering out into the dark.
He could see the outline of the trees. Of the main house. Of the garden.
But nothing else.
He decided he was tired. That his eyes were playing tricks on him.
As he switched off the record player and began to turn in for the night, it never crossed his mind he’d forgotten to ask about the cellar door.
* * *
He was still distracted two days later as Zoe drove them to the village. Merle hadn’t been very talkative today, which Linus was grateful for. He didn’t think he could deal with the ferryman’s snide remarks.
But that also allowed Linus to become lost in his own thoughts. What he was thinking about, exactly, he couldn’t be sure; his mind felt like it was swirling, caught up in a water spout rising from the surface of the sea.
“You’re quiet.”
He jumped slightly, turning to look at Zoe. The flowers in her hair were uniformly gold. She wore a white sundress, though she was still barefoot. “Pardon me. I’m … thinking.”
She snorted. “About?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
He glared at her. “It’s not for you to believe or not believe. It’s simply the way it is.”
She hummed under her breath. “Men are stupid creatures.”
“Hey!”
“They are. I don’t know why. Stubborn, obstinate, and stupid. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so frustrating.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Now that I believe. Unfortunately.”
“Just drive, Zoe,” he muttered as the gate lowered in front of them. Merle sullenly waved them off. He didn’t even shout at them to hurry back.
* * *
The man in the post office was still as churlish as he’d been the week previous. He grunted when Linus handed over the report sealed within
the envelope. Linus paid the fee and asked if there was any correspondence for him.
“There is,” the man muttered. “Been here for a couple of days. If you weren’t all the way on that island, perhaps you could have gotten it sooner.”
“Maybe if you delivered to the island as I’m sure you deliver everywhere else, we wouldn’t be having this discussion,” Linus snapped.
The man mumbled under his breath, but handed over a thin envelope addressed to Linus.
Linus didn’t even bother thanking him, suddenly feeling daringly vindictive. Why, he didn’t even say goodbye as he left the post office. It was positively scandalous.
“That’ll show him,” he said to himself as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. He almost turned around and went back inside to apologize, but somehow managed to stop himself. Instead, he tore open the envelope carefully, pulling out the single sheet of paper.
DEPARTMENT IN CHARGE OF MAGICAL YOUTH MEMO FROM EXTREMELY UPPER MANGEMENT
* * *
Mr. Baker:
Thank you for your initial report. It was most illuminating about the workings of the Marsyas Orphanage. As always, you were very thorough about the subjects you’re investigating.
We would caution you, however, against editorializing. While we can certainly appreciate your frustration in what you perceive to be a lack of information, we would remind you that we are not dealing with ordinary children here. And that someone in your position shouldn’t necessarily be questioning the decisions made by Extremely Upper Management.
In addition, we do have some concerns regarding Zoe Chapelwhite. While we were aware of her presence on the island (tut-tut, Mr. Baker), we didn’t know she was so intertwined in the lives of the children. Is she involved with Mr. Parnassus romantically? Does she spend alone time with the children? While the child sprite Phee could certainly learn from an elder of her kind, we would urge caution if Ms. Chapelwhite is doing anything other than that. She is not registered. While she appears to be currently outside of our reach, the orphanage is not, and even a single misstep could prove to be disastrous. If there is anything untoward occurring in the house, it must be documented. For the safety of the children, of course.
Also, a request: Your report included many details on the children of the house. However, when it came to Mr. Parnassus, we found it to be quite lacking. If your secondary report doesn’t include more details on the master of the house, we ask that your third report provide more information while remaining completely objective. Be vigilant, Mr. Baker. Arthur Parnassus has a long history with Marsyas, and he’ll know the island backward and forward. Do keep on your toes. Even the most charming of individuals have secrets.
We look forward to your further reports.
Sincerely,
CHARLES WERNER
EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT
Linus stared down at the letter in the autumn sun for a long time.
So long, in fact, that he was startled later by a horn honking. He looked up to see Zoe parked in front of him, squinting through the windshield. There were groceries already in sacks in the back seat. She had done her shopping and returned, and Linus hadn’t moved from the front of the post office.
“Everything all right?” she asked as he approached the car.
“Fine,” he said. Before he opened the door, he folded the memo and put it back inside the envelope. “Everything is fine.” He climbed inside her car. It was so fine, in fact, that he couldn’t look at her. Instead, he stared straight ahead.
“Doesn’t seem like it is.”
“Nothing to worry about,” he said, over-bright. “Let’s go home, shall we?”
“Home,” she agreed quietly. She pulled away from the curb, and they left the village behind.
Suddenly, he said, “Arthur.”
“What about him?”
“He’s … different.”
He felt Zoe glance at him, but he stared resolutely ahead. “Is he?”
“I think so. And I think you know it.”
“He isn’t like anyone else,” she agreed.
“Have you known him long?”
“Long enough.”
“Sprites,” he muttered. Then, “He knew about the raft.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Of course he did.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t suppose I do.”
He waited for her to elaborate.
She didn’t.
Linus clutched the envelope in his hands. “What’s on the agenda today?” he asked, trying to dispel the thick tension in the car. “Another adventure like last Saturday? I suppose I could be convinced to put on the costume again. While it wasn’t my favorite, I didn’t mind it as much as I expected.”
“No,” Zoe said, hair bouncing in the wind. “This is the third Saturday of the month.”
“Which means?”
Zoe grinned at him, though her smile wasn’t as bright as it normally was. “Which means a picnic in the garden.”
Linus blinked. “Oh, that doesn’t sound so—”
“It’s Chauncey’s turn to choose the menu. He prefers raw fish. Has some new experimental recipes he’s going to try.”
Linus sighed. “Of course he is.” But he found himself fighting a smile, and once they were back on the ferry heading toward the island, even Merle couldn’t lower his spirits. The letter from Extremely Upper Management was the furthest thing from his mind. He hoped there would be no blowfish. He heard they were poisonous.
THIRTEEN
Department in Charge of Magical Youth
Case Report #3 Marsyas Orphanage
Linus Baker, Caseworker BY78941
* * *
I solemnly swear the contents of this report are accurate and true. I understand per DICOMY guidelines that any discoverable falsehoods will result in censure and could lead to termination.
This report will cover my observations of my third week on the island.
In thinking about the contents of my previous report, I addressed a specific issue with Mr. Parnassus: that of the perceived isolation of the children of Marsyas. I understand his hesitance; as I indicated in report #2, there is a strange aura of prejudice over the village. And while it does appear to be more concentrated than, say, in the city, I assume it’s just because of the proximity of the village to the island.
I try to put myself in the shoes of the villagers; they live near an old house on an island inhabited by magical youth. But since the children are kept away, it allows rumors to run rampant. While some of the children are certainly atypical, that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be allowed to enter the village whenever they wish.
Mr. Parnassus seems to be reluctant, though he did promise to think about it. I find it fascinating, the bond he’s created with the children. They care for him greatly, and I believe they see him as a father figure. Never having been a master of an orphanage myself, I cannot attest to the strength one must have in order to run such a household. While it’s certainly unusual, I think it works for them.
However, it could also potentially work against them. Since they will need to leave the island one day, they can’t always depend upon Mr. Parnassus. In my previous dealings with other masters in different orphanages, I have seen everything from bland indifference to outright cruelty. While I can respect the RULES AND REGULATIONS, I think it should be said they are guidelines rather than actual law. And even then, the guidelines were written decades ago, and have never been updated. How are we supposed to enforce something that hasn’t been changed with the times?
I was asked to add more detail about Mr. Parnassus. Here is what I learned:
Phee is a forest sprite, under the occasional tutelage of Zoe Chapelwhite. And I believe because of this, it has enabled her to have more control, possibly greater than any other child sprite I’ve ever encountered, few though they may be. And while it does take her time, she is able to grow t
rees and flowers unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I believe that Ms. Chapelwhite has helped her in this regard.
Theodore is a wyvern, yes, and when we typically think of one such as him, while considering he is rare, we (yes, we) tend to think them nothing but animals. I can assure Extremely Upper Management that isn’t the case. Theodore is capable of complex thought and feelings, just as any human. He is intelligent and resourceful. Yesterday, after I’d recovered from a bout of food poisoning brought upon by ingesting raw fish, he came alone to the guest house where I reside and asked if he could show me part of his hoard. Notice my use of the word ask. Because he does have language, though it might not be what we’re used to hearing. And even in my short time here, I’ve been able to pick up on the cadences of his chirps.
Talia is a rather grumpy child, but I have attributed that to her being a gnome. At least initially, given that’s what I was taught about her species. I find our perception is colored by what we’re taught. Even as children, we’re told the world is a certain way, and these are the rules. This is the way things are, and one of those things is that gnomes are bad-tempered and will brain you upside the head with a shovel as much as look at you. And while this might describe Talia on a surface level, one could argue that would be the case with most preteen girls. It’s not a species trait. It’s hormones. One only needs to spend the time with her to dive beneath the surface of those waves of bravado to see that she is fiercely protective of those she cares about. Gnomes, as we know, live in what’s referred to as a donsy. At least they did when their numbers were greater. Talia has made her donsy here.
Chauncey is here simply because of what he is. And given that we don’t know what that is exactly, DICOMY needed a place to put him. I believe—and this is not editorializing as much as it is based upon experience—he is considered classified level four simply because of the way he looks. He was told repeatedly he was a monster—by children, by masters, by people in positions who should have known better. The more you beat down on a dog, the more it cowers when a hand is raised. And yet, even though Chauncey had been beaten verbally before Marsyas (I don’t think physically, though words can deliver just as much of a lashing), he is a bright and loving child. He dreams. Is that understood, I wonder? He dreams of a future that he may never have. And while his dreams may seem small, they are still his and his alone.