The next morning, he was early to the office by nearly two hours. No one else had yet arrived, most likely still tucked away safely in their beds without a care in the world.
He went to his desk, sat down, and turned on his computer. The familiar green light did nothing to comfort him.
He tried to get as much work done as he could, constantly aware of the clock above ticking by each and every second.
The room began to fill at a quarter till eight. Ms. Jenkins arrived at precisely eight o’clock, heels clicking on the floor. Linus slunk down in his seat, but he could feel her eyes on him.
He tried to work. He really did. The green words were a blur on the screen in front of him. Even the RULES AND REGULATIONS couldn’t calm him down.
At exactly eight forty-five, he stood from his chair. The people in the desks around him turned and stared.
He ignored them, swallowing thickly as he picked up his briefcase and walked down the rows.
“Sorry,” he muttered with every desk he bumped into. “Apologies. So sorry. Is it just me or are the desks getting closer together? Sorry. So sorry.”
Ms. Jenkins stood in the doorway to her office as he left the room, Gunther beside her, scratching his long pencil on the clipboard.
 |
The offices of Extremely Upper Management were located on the fifth floor of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. He’d heard rumors about the fifth floor, most of them downright alarming. He’d never been there himself, but he assumed that at least some of the rumors had to be true.
He was alone in the elevator as he pressed a button he never expected
to.
The bright gold five.
The elevator started to rise. The pit of Linus’s stomach seemed to stay
in the basement. It was the longest elevator ride of Linus’s life, lasting at least two minutes. It didn’t help that it stopped on the first floor, opened, and began to fill with people. They asked for two and three and four, but nobody ever asked for five.
A handful got off on the second floor. Even more at the third. And it was at the fourth that the remaining exited. They glanced back at him curiously. He tried to smile but was sure it came off as more of a grimace.
He was alone when the elevator began to rise again.
By the time the doors opened on the fifth floor, he was sweating.
It certainly didn’t help that the elevator opened to a long, cold hallway, the floor made of stone tile, the gold sconces on the wall casting low light. At one end of the hall was the bank of elevators where he stood. At the other end was a shuttered pane of glass next to a pair of large wooden doors. Above them was a metal sign:
EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT BY APPOINTMENT ONLY
“Okay, old boy,” he whispered. “You can do this.”
His feet didn’t get the message. They remained firmly stuck to the floor.
The elevator doors began to shut. He let them. The elevator didn’t move.
At that moment, Linus gave very real thought to going back to the first floor, exiting the DICOMY building, and perhaps walking until he could walk no longer, just to see where he ended up.
That sounded good.
Instead, he pressed the five again.
The doors opened.
He coughed. It echoed down the hallway.
“No time for cowardice,” he scolded himself quietly. “Chin up. For all you know, maybe it’s a promotion. A big promotion. One with higher pay and you’ll finally be able to go on that vacation you’ve always dreamed about. The sand on the beach. The blue of the ocean. Don’t you wish you were there?”
He did. He wished it greatly.
Linus began to walk down the hallway slowly. Rain lashed against the windows to his left. The lights in the sconces to his right flickered slightly. His loafers squeaked on the floor. He pulled at his tie.
By the time he reached the opposite end of the hallway, four minutes had passed. According to his watch, it was five till nine.
He tried the doors. They were locked.
The window at the side of the doors had a metal grate pulled down on the inside. There was a metal plate next to it, with a small button on the side.
He debated briefly before pressing the button. A loud buzzer sounded on the other side of the metal grate. He waited.
He could see his reflection in the window. The person staring back at him looked wide-eyed and shocked. He hastily smoothed down his hair from where it had started sticking up on the side as it always did. It didn’t do much. He straightened his tie, squared his shoulders, sucked in his belly.
The metal grate slid up.
On the other side was a bored-looking young woman snapping gum behind her bright red lips. She blew a pink bubble, and it popped before she sucked it back into her mouth. She cocked her head, blond curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Help you?” she asked.
He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. I have an appointment at nine.”
“With whom?”
That was an interesting question, one that he didn’t have an answer to. “I … don’t quite know.”
Ms. Bubblegum stared at him. “You have an appointment, but you don’t know with whom?”
That sounded about right. “Yes?” “Name?”
“Linus Baker.”
“Cute,” she said, tapping perfectly manicured fingernails against the keyboard. “Linus Baker. Linus Baker. Linus—” Her eyes widened. “Oh. I see. Hold one moment, please.”
She slammed the metal grate down again. Linus blinked, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He waited.
A minute passed. And then another. And then another. And then—
The metal grate slid back up. Ms. Bubblegum looked far more interested in him now. She leaned forward until her face was almost pressed against the glass separating them. Her breath caused the window to fog up slightly. “They’re waiting for you.”
Linus took a step back. “Who is?”
“All of them,” she said as she looked him up and down. “All of Extremely Upper Management.”
“Oh,” Linus said weakly. “How delightful. And we’re sure it’s me they want?”
“You are Linus Baker, aren’t you?”
He hoped so, because he didn’t know how to be anyone else. “I am.”
Another buzzer sounded, and he heard a click from the doors next to him. They swung open on silent hinges. “Then yes, Mr. Baker,” she told him, cheek bulging slightly from her gum. “It’s you they want. And I would hurry, if I were you. Extremely Upper Management doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Right,” he said. “How do I look?” He sucked in his stomach a little farther.
“Like you have no idea what you’re doing,” she said before she slammed down the metal grate again.
Linus glanced back longingly at the elevators at the other end of the hall.
Don’t you wish you were here? they asked him. He did. Very much so.
He stepped away from the window toward the open doors.
Inside was a circular room with a rotunda overhead made of glass. There was a fountain in the center of the room, a stone statue of a man in a cloak, water spilling in a continuous stream from his outstretched hands. He was looking toward the ceiling with cold, gray eyes. Around him, clutching at his legs, were little stone children, water splashing on the tops of their heads.
A door opened to Linus’s right. Ms. Bubblegum stepped out from her booth. She smoothed down her dress, snapping her gum loudly. “You’re shorter than you look through glass,” she told him.
Linus didn’t know how to respond to that, so he said nothing at all.
She sighed. “Follow me, please.” She moved like a bird, her steps tiny and quick. She was halfway across the room before she looked back at him. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“Right,” Linus said, nearly tripping over his own feet as he hurried to catch up with her. “Apologies. I’ve … I’ve never been here before.”
“Obviously.”
He thought he was being insulted, but he couldn’t figure out how. “Are they … all of them?”
“Odd, isn’t it?” She blew another bubble, which popped daintily. “And for you, of all people. I didn’t know you existed until this moment.”
“I get that a lot.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
Yes, definitely insulted. “What are they like? I’ve only seen them when they serve me lumpy potatoes.”
Ms. Bubblegum stopped abruptly and turned to look back at him over her shoulder. Linus thought she could probably spin her head all the way around if she put her mind to it. “Lumpy potatoes.”
“For the holiday luncheon?”
“I make those potatoes. From scratch.”
Linus blanched. “Well, I—it’s a matter of taste—I’m sure you—” Ms. Bubblegum harrumphed and moved forward again.
Linus wasn’t off to a good start.
They reached another door on the other side of the rotunda. It was black with a gold nameplate fastened near the top. The plate was blank. Ms. Bubblegum reached up and tapped a fingernail against the door three times.
There was a beat, and then another, and then— The door swung open slowly.
It was dark inside.
Pitch-black, even.
Ms. Bubblegum stepped to the side as she turned to face him. “After you.”
He peered into the darkness. “Hmm, well, perhaps we could reschedule.
I’m very busy, as I’m sure you know. I have many reports to complete—” “Enter, Mr. Baker,” a voice boomed through the open doorway.
Ms. Bubblegum smiled.
Linus reached up and wiped his brow. He almost dropped his briefcase. “I suppose I shall enter, then.”
“Looks like,” Ms. Bubblegum said. And he did just that.
He should have been expecting the door to slam shut behind him, but he was still startled, nearly jumping out of his skin. He held his briefcase against his chest as if it could protect him. It was disorienting being in the dark, and he was sure this was a trap, and he would spend the rest of his days wandering around sightlessly. It would almost be as bad as getting sacked.
But then lights began to shine at his feet, illuminating a pathway before him. They were soft and yellow, like a brick road. He took a tentative step away from the door. When he didn’t trip over anything, he took another.
The lights led him much farther than he expected, before forming a circle at his feet. He stopped, unsure of where he was supposed to go. He hoped he wouldn’t need to flee anything terrible.
Another light, this one much brighter, flicked on overhead. Linus looked up, squinting against it. It looked like a spotlight, shining down on
him.
“You may set down your briefcase,” a deep voice said from somewhere above him.
“That’s quite all right,” Linus said, clutching it tightly.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, more lights began to glow above him, shining up into the faces of four people that Linus recognized as Extremely Upper Management. They were seated far above Linus at the top of a large stone wall, peering down from their perches with varying expressions of interest.
There were three men and one woman, and though Linus had learned their names early on in his career at DICOMY, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember them presently. His mind had come to the decision that it was experiencing technical difficulties and was broadcasting nothing but fuzzy snow.
He looked at each of them, beginning left to right, nodding as he did so while trying to keep his expression neutral.
The woman’s hair was cut into a petite bob, and she wore a large brooch in the shape of a beetle, the carapace iridescent.
One of the men was balding, his jowls hanging off his face. He sniffled into a kerchief, clearing his throat of what sounded like quite a bit of phlegm.
The second man was rail thin. Linus thought he would disappear if he turned sideways. He wore spectacles far too large for his face, the lenses shaped like half-moons.
The last man was younger than the others, possibly around Linus’s age, though it was hard to tell. His hair was wavy, and he was intimidatingly handsome. Linus recognized him almost immediately as the one who always served the dried-out ham with a smile.
He was the one who spoke first. “Thank you for taking this meeting, Mr. Baker.”
Linus’s mouth felt dry. He licked his lips. “You’re … welcome?”
The woman leaned forward. “Your personnel file says you’ve been employed in the Department for seventeen years.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And in all that time, you’ve maintained your current position.” “Yes, ma’am.”
“Why is that?”
Because he had no prospects for anything else and no desire for Supervision. “I enjoy the work I do.”
“Do you?” she asked, cocking her head. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m a caseworker,” he said, fingers slipping slightly on his briefcase. “I don’t know that there is a more important position.” His eyes widened. “Other than what you do, of course. I wouldn’t presume to think—”
The bespectacled man shuffled through papers in front of him. “I have here your last six reports, Mr. Baker. Do you want to know what I see?”
No, Linus didn’t. “Please.”
“I see someone who is very thorough. No nonsense. Clinical to a startling degree.”
Linus wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. It certainly didn’t sound like one. “A caseworker must maintain a degree of separation,” he recited dutifully.
Jowls sniffled. “Is that so? Where is that from? It sounds familiar.”
“It’s from RULES AND REGULATIONS,” Handsome said. “And I should hope you recognize it. You wrote most of it.”
Jowls blew his nose into his kerchief. “Indeed. I knew that.”
“Why is it important to maintain a degree of separation?” the woman asked, still staring down at him.
“Because it wouldn’t do to get attached to the children I work with,” Linus said. “I’m there to make sure the orphanages I inspect are kept in tip- top shape, and nothing more. Their welfare is important, but as a whole. Individual interaction is frowned upon. It could color my perception.”
“But you do interview the children,” Handsome said.
“Yes,” Linus agreed. “I do. But one can be professional while dealing with magical youth.”
“Have you ever recommended the closing of an orphanage in your seventeen years, Mr. Baker?” the bespectacled man asked.
They had to already know the answer. “Yes. Five times.” “Why?”
“The environments weren’t safe.” “So, you do care.”
Linus was getting flustered. “I never said I didn’t. I merely do what is required of me. There’s a difference between forming attachments and being empathetic. These children … They have no one else. It’s the reason they’re in the orphanages to begin with. They shouldn’t have to lay their heads down at night with an empty stomach, or worry about being worked to the bone. Just because these orphans must be kept separate from normal children doesn’t mean they should be treated any differently. All children, no matter their … disposition or what they’re capable of, must be protected regardless of the cost.”
Jowls coughed wetly. “Do you really think so?” “Yes.”
“And what became of the children in the orphanages you closed?”
Linus blinked. “That’s a matter for Supervision. I make my recommendation, and the Supervisor handles what comes next. Most likely they’re placed in the schools that DICOMY runs.”
Handsome sat back in his chair. He looked at the others around him. “He’s perfect.”
“I agree,” Jowls said. “There’s really no other choice for something so … sensitive.”
The bespectacled man stared down at Linus. “Do you understand discretion, Mr. Baker?”
Linus felt insulted. “I work with classified youth on a daily basis,” he retorted, more sharply than he intended. “I’m a vault. Nothing gets out.”
“And it appears nothing gets in,” the woman said. “He’ll do.”
“Forgive me, but might I ask what exactly you’re talking about? I’ll do for what?”
Handsome rubbed a hand over his face. “What is said next doesn’t leave this room, Mr. Baker. Do you understand? This is classified level four.”
Linus took in a stuttering breath. Classified level four was the highest classification. He’d known it existed in theory, but was unaware that it was
actually in use. He’d only had a classified level three case once before, and it been most troubling. There’d been a girl in an orphanage who had turned out to be a banshee, a herald of death. DICOMY had been summoned once she started telling all of the other children they were going to die. The problem turned out to be, of course, that she’d been right. The master of the orphanage had decided to use the children as part of a pagan sacrifice. Linus had barely escaped with the children and his life. He’d been given a two-day vacation after that one, the most time off he’d had in years.
“Why me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Because there’s really no one else we can trust,” the woman said simply.
That should have filled Linus with a sense of pride. Instead, he felt nothing but dread curling in his stomach.
“Think of this as more of a checkup,” the bespectacled man said. “We haven’t received word of any wrongdoing, but the orphanage you’ll be going to is … It’s special, Mr. Baker. The orphanage is nontraditional, and the six children who live there are different than anything else you’ve seen before, some more than others. They’re … problematic.”
“Problematic? What’s that supposed to—”
“Your job will be to make sure everything is on the up-and-up,” Handsome said, a small smile on his face. “It’s important, you see. The master of this specific orphanage, one Arthur Parnassus, is certainly qualified, but we have … concerns. The six children are of the more extreme variety, and we must make sure that Mr. Parnassus continues to be capable of managing them. One would be a handful, but six of them?”
Linus wracked his brain. He was sure he’d heard of all of the masters in the region, but—“I’ve never heard of Mr. Parnassus.”
“No, I don’t suppose you have,” the woman said. “But that’s why it’s classified level four. If you had, it would mean we had a leak. We don’t do well with leaks, Mr. Baker. Is that understood? Leaks need to be plugged. Swiftly.”
“Yes, yes,” he said hastily. “Of course. I would never—”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Jowls said. “It’s part of the reason why you were chosen. One month, Mr. Baker. You will spend one month on the
island where the orphanage is located. We will expect weekly reports. Anything that raises alarms must be reported immediately.”
Linus felt his eyes bulge. “A month? I can’t leave for a month. I have duties!”
“Your current caseload will be reassigned,” the bespectacled man said. “In fact, it’s already being done.” He flipped to another paper. “And it says here you are quite alone. No spouse. No children. No one to miss you if you had to leave for any extended length of time.”
That stung more than it should have. He was aware of such things, of course, but to have them so blatantly laid bare caused his heart to stutter. But still—“I have a cat!”
Handsome snorted. “Cats are solitary creatures, Mr. Baker. I’m sure it won’t even know you’re gone.”
“Your reports will be directed to Extremely Upper Management,” the woman said. “They will be overseen by Mr. Werner, though we will all be involved.” She nodded toward Handsome. “And we expect them to be as thorough as the ones you’ve done in the past. In fact, we insist upon it. More so, if you deem necessary.”
“Ms. Jenkins—”
“Will be informed of your special assignment,” Handsome—Mr. Werner—assured him. “Though the details will be kept at a minimum. Think of this as a promotion, Mr. Baker. One that I believe is a long time in coming.”
“Don’t I have a say in this?”
“Think of this as a mandatory promotion,” Mr. Werner corrected. “We expect big things from you. And who knows where this could lead for you if it all goes well? Please don’t let us down. Now, feel free to take the rest of the day to get your affairs in order. Your train leaves tomorrow, bright and early. Do you have any questions?”
Dozens. He had dozens of questions. “Yes! What about—”
“Excellent,” Mr. Werner said, clapping his hands. “I knew we could count on you, Mr. Baker. We look forward to hearing from you about the state of affairs on the island. It should be interesting, to say the least. Now,
all this blathering on has left my throat parched. I do think it’s time for tea. Our secretary will show you out. It was lovely to meet you.”
Extremely Upper Management stood as one, bowed down at him, and then all the lights went out.
Linus squeaked. Before he could begin to fumble in the dark, a light switched back on at the top of the wall. He blinked up at it. Mr. Werner stared down at him, a curious expression on his face. The others were already gone.
“Something else?” Linus asked nervously. Mr. Werner said, “Beware, Mr. Baker.” That was certainly ominous. “Beware?”
Mr. Werner nodded. “You must prepare yourself. I cannot stress enough how important this assignment is. Leave no detail out, no matter how small or inconsequential it may seem.”
Linus bristled. It was one thing to question his readiness, but it was something else entirely to question the thoroughness of his reports. “I always—”
“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in what you find,” Mr. Werner said, ignoring Linus’s spluttering indignation. “It goes beyond mere inquisitiveness.” He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t like being disappointed, Mr. Baker. Please don’t disappoint me.”
“Why this place?” he asked rather helplessly. “What brought this orphanage to your attention and requires the oversight of a caseworker? Has the master done something to—”
“It’s rather what he hasn’t done,” Mr. Werner said. “His monthly reports are … lacking, especially in the face of who his charges are. We need to know more, Mr. Baker. Order only works if there is complete transparency. If we can’t have that, then we run the risk of chaos. Is there anything else?”
“What? Yes. I’ve—”
“Good,” Mr. Werner said. “I wish you luck. I think you’ll need it.” And with that, the light went out yet again.
“Oh dear,” Linus said.
The golden lights on the floor lit up once more. “Are you quite finished?” a voice said near his ear.
He absolutely did not scream, no matter the evidence to the contrary. Ms. Bubblegum stood behind him, gum snapping. “This way, Mr.
Baker.” She spun around, dress flaring at her knees, and marched toward the exit.
Linus followed her quickly, only glancing over his shoulder once into the darkness.
|
She waited for him just outside the chambers, tapping her foot with impatience. Linus was quite out of breath by the time he passed through the open door. He couldn’t be sure what had just happened was anything more than a fever dream. He certainly felt feverish. It was possible Ms. Bubblegum was a hallucination conjured up by a previously undiagnosed illness.
A very pushy hallucination, to be sure, as she thrust a thick folder into his hands, causing him to fumble and almost drop his briefcase. “Train ticket is inside,” she said. “In addition, you’ll find a sealed envelope with the files you’ll be needing. I don’t know what it’s about, and I don’t care. I’m paid not to snoop, if you can believe that. You’re not to open the envelope until you’ve stepped off the train at your final destination.”
“I think I need to sit down,” Linus said weakly.
She squinted at him. “Of course you can sit down. Just make sure you do it far away from here. Your train leaves at seven tomorrow morning. Don’t be late. Extremely Upper Management will be most displeased if you’re late.”
“I need to go back down to my desk, and—”
“Absolutely not, Mr. Baker. I have been instructed to tell you that you are to exit the premises without delay. Speak to no one. I don’t think that should be a problem for you, but it had to be said.”
“I have no idea what’s going on,” he said. “I’m not even sure if I’m
here.”
“Yes,” Ms. Bubblegum said sympathetically. “Sounds like quite the existential crisis. Perhaps consider having it somewhere else.”
They were standing in front of the elevators. He hadn’t even known they were moving. The doors slid open in front of him. Ms. Bubblegum shoved him in, and reached in to hit the button for the first floor. She stepped out of the elevator. “Thank you for visiting the offices of Extremely Upper Management,” she said cheerfully. “Have a fantastical day.”
The doors slid shut before he could speak another word.
|
It was still raining. He barely even noticed.
One moment, he was standing in front of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, and the next, he was on the stone path that led to his porch.
He didn’t know how he’d gotten there, but that seemed to be the least of his worries.
He was startled out of his daze when Mrs. Klapper called over to him. “You’re home early, Mr. Baker. Did you get sacked? Or perhaps you received terrible medical news and need time to reconcile with your bleak future?” Smoke curled up around her bouffant from her pipe. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You’ll be missed terribly.”
“Not dying,” he managed to say.
“Oh. More’s the pity, I suppose. So that only leaves getting sacked. You poor dear. How will you go on? Especially in this economy. I suppose you’ll have to sell your house and find a dismal apartment somewhere in the city.” She shook her head. “You’ll probably end up murdered. Crime is on the rise, you know.”
“I didn’t get sacked!”
She snorted. “I don’t believe you.” Linus sputtered.
She sat forward on her rocker. “You know, my grandson is looking for a personal secretary at his accounting firm. This could be your in, Mr. Baker. I do believe I’ve read stories that started exactly like that. Think about it. Your life is at its lowest this very moment, and you need to start fresh, which leads you to finding your true love. It practically writes itself!”
“Good day, Mrs. Klapper!” Linus cried as he stumbled up his steps.
“Think about it!” she shouted after him. “If all goes well, we could be
family—”
He slammed the door shut behind him.
Calliope sat in her usual spot, tail twitching, seemingly unsurprised at his early return.
Linus slumped against the door. His legs gave out, and he slid to the carpet.
“You know,” he told her, “I don’t know if I had a very good day. No, I don’t think I had a good day at all.”
Calliope, as was her wont, only purred. They stayed that way for a long time.
