The train car emptied as it went into the country. People getting on and off stared with open curiosity at the somewhat schlumpy man sitting in seat 6A, a large plastic crate on the empty seat next to him. Inside, a large cat glared balefully out at anyone who bent over to coo at it. One child nearly lost a finger when he tried to stick it in between the slats of the crate.
The man, one Linus Baker of 86 Hermes Way, barely noticed.
He hadn’t slept well the night before, tossing and turning in his bed before finally giving up and deciding his time was better spent pacing back and forth in the sitting room. His luggage, an old, scuffed bag with a broken wheel, sat near the door, mocking him. He’d packed it before attempting to sleep, sure he wouldn’t have time in the morning.
As it turned out, he had all the time in the world, seeing as how sleep remained elusive.
By the time he boarded the train at half past six, he was in a daze, the bags under his eyes pronounced, his mouth curled down. He stared straight ahead, one hand resting atop the crate where Calliope fumed. She’d never done well with travel, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He’d considered asking Mrs. Klapper to take care of her in his absence, but the squirrel debacle had most likely soured any chance of Calliope making it through the month unharmed.
He hoped none of the children were allergic.
Rain sluiced down the windows as the train chugged along through empty fields and forests with great, old trees. He’d been on the train for almost eight hours when he realized it was quiet.
Too quiet.
He looked up from the RULES AND REGULATIONS he’d brought from home.
He was the only one left in the train car.
He hadn’t noticed when the last person had left.
“Huh,” he said to himself. “Wouldn’t that just beat all if I missed my stop? I wonder how far the train goes. Maybe it goes on and on, never reaching the end.”
Calliope had no opinion of it one way or another.
He was about to start worrying that he had in fact missed his stop (Linus was nothing if not a consummate worrier), when an attendant in a snappy uniform slid open a door at the end of the car. He was humming to himself quietly, but it was cut off when he noticed Linus. “Hello,” he said amiably. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here! Must be going a long way on this fine Saturday.”
“I have my ticket,” Linus said. “If you need to see it.” “If you please. Where are you headed?”
For a moment, Linus couldn’t think. He reached into his coat for his ticket, the large tome in his lap almost falling to the floor. The ticket was slightly crumpled, and he attempted to smooth it out before handing it over. The attendant smiled at him before looking down at the ticket. He whistled lowly. “Marsyas. End of the line.” He punched it with his clicker. “Well, good news, then. Two more stops and you’re there. In fact, if you— Ah yes, look.” He gestured toward the window.
Linus turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.
It was as if the rain clouds had reached as far as they could. The gray darkness gave way to a bright and wonderful blue like Linus had never seen before. The rain stopped as they passed out of the storm and into the sun. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the warmth through the glass against his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt sunlight. He opened his eyes again, and that’s when he saw it, in the distance.
There was green. Bright and beautiful greens of waving grass, and what appeared to be flowers in pinks and purples and golds. They disappeared into white sand. And beyond the white was cerulean.
He barely noticed when the RULES AND REGULATIONS fell to the floor of the train with a loud thump.
Don’t you wish you were here?
“Is that the ocean?” Linus whispered.
“It is,” the attendant said. “Quite the sight, isn’t it? Though, you act like you’ve never— Say, have you never seen the ocean before?”
Linus shook his head minutely. “Only in pictures. It’s so much bigger than I thought it’d be.”
The attendant laughed. “And that’s only a small portion of it. I reckon you’ll see a bit more when you depart the train. There’s an island near the village. Takes a ferry to get to it, if you’re so inclined. Most aren’t.”
“I am,” Linus said, still staring at the glimpses of the sea.
“And who do we have here?” the attendant asked, bending over Linus toward the crate.
Calliope hissed.
The attendant stood quickly. “I think I’ll leave her be.” “Probably for the best.”
“Two more stops, sir,” the attendant said, heading for the door at the opposite end of the train car. “Enjoy your visit!”
Linus barely heard him leave.
“It’s really there,” he said quietly. “It’s really, really there. I never thought—” He sighed. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”
 |
It wasn’t bad.
It was worse.
But Linus didn’t know that right away. The moment he stepped off the train, crate in one hand, luggage in the other, he smelled salt in the air and heard the call of sea birds overhead. A breeze ruffled his hair, and he turned his face toward the sun. He let himself breathe for a moment, basking in the warmth. It wasn’t until the bell on the train rang out and it started chugging away that he looked around.
He stood on a raised platform. There were metal benches in front of him under an overhang. The overhang was painted in blue-and-white stripes.
Along the edges of the platform and stretching as far as he could see was beach grass growing atop dunes of sand. He heard what sounded like waves crashing in the distance. He’d never seen anything looking so bright. It was as if this place had never seen a rain cloud.
The train disappeared around a corner, and Linus Baker realized he was completely alone. There was a small cobbled road that disappeared between the dunes, but Linus couldn’t see where it led to. He hoped he wouldn’t have to walk along it, not while carrying his luggage and an angry cat.
“What should we do?” he wondered aloud.
No one responded, which was probably for the best. If someone had
responded, he probably would have—
A loud ringing noise startled him from this thoughts. He jerked his head.
There, hanging on the side of the train platform, was a bright orange phone.
“Should I answer it?” he asked Calliope, tilting his head toward the front of the crate.
Calliope turned around completely, presenting him with her rump. He figured that was the best he was going to get.
He left his luggage where it was and walked toward the phone. He set the crate down in the shade. He stared at the ringing phone for a moment before steeling himself and picking it up.
“Hello?”
“Ah, finally,” a voice said in response. “You’re late.” “I am?”
“Yes. I’ve called four times in the last hour. Since I couldn’t be sure you’d actually arrive, I didn’t want to make the trip off the island until I was sure you’d be there.”
“You’re calling for Linus Baker, correct?”
She snorted. “Who else would I be calling for?” He felt relieved. “I’m Linus Baker.”
“Bully for you.”
Linus frowned. “Pardon?”
“I’ll be there in an hour, Mr. Baker.” He heard a whispering in the background. “I’m told you have an envelope you need to open now that you’ve arrived. It would be best if you did so. Things will make more sense if you do.”
“How did you know about—”
“Toodle-oo, Mr. Baker. I’ll see you shortly.” The line cut off, and he was left with a dial tone.
He stared at the handset before hanging it back where it belonged. He stared at it for a moment more before shaking his head.
“Now, then,” he said to Calliope as he sat on the bench with a huff. He pulled his suitcase toward him. “Let’s see what all the secrecy is about, shall we?”
Calliope ignored him.
He unzipped his bag enough for him to reach inside for the envelope he’d placed on top. It was thick, nearly bursting at the seams. The seal on the back was made of bloodred wax, the word DICOMY stamped into it. He broke the seal, the wax crumbling onto his lap and bouncing to the ground.
He pulled out the bundle of papers, held together by a leather strap. On the top was a letter addressed to him, typed neatly and cleanly.
DEPARTMENT IN CHARGE OF MAGICAL YOUTH OFFICES OF EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT
Mr. Baker,
You have been chosen for the most important of assignments. As a reminder, this is CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR. Any parties disseminating information to those who do not meet the required classification level will receive punishment beginning at immediate termination and up to incarceration for ten years.
Enclosed, you will find seven files.
Six belong to the children at the Marsyas Island Orphanage. The seventh belongs to Master Arthur Parnassus.
Under no circumstances should you share any of the contents of these files with the residents of the Marsyas Island Orphanage. They are for your eyes only.
This orphanage is different than all the others you’ve been to, Mr. Baker. It is important that you do your best to protect yourself. You will be staying at the guest house on the island, and we suggest locking all the doors and windows at night to avoid any … disturbances.
“Oh dear,” Linus breathed.
Your work on Marsyas is important. Your reports will provide us with the necessary information to see if this orphanage can remain open, or if it needs to be shut permanently. Arthur Parnassus has been entrusted with a great responsibility, but it remains to be seen if that trust is still warranted. Eyes and ears open, Mr. Baker. Always. We expect the searing honesty you’re known for. If anything appears out of order, you must bring it to our attention. There is nothing more important than ensuring things are on the up-and-up.
And also make sure the children are safe, of course. From each other, and themselves.
One, in particular. His file is the first you’ll see.
We look forward to your extraordinarily thorough reports.
Sincerely,
 |
CHARLES WERNER EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT
“What on earth have I gotten myself into now?” Linus whispered as another breeze ruffled the letter in his hand.
He read through the letter a second time, trying to read between the lines, but he was left with more questions than answers.
He folded the letter and put it in his breast pocket before looking at the files in his hand. “No time like the present, I suppose,” he told Calliope. “Let’s see how big of a secret this actually is. I’m sure this is all blown out of proportion. The higher your expectations, the greater the disappointment.”
He flipped open the first file.
Attached to the top was a photograph of a young boy of perhaps six or seven years of age. He was smiling rather devilishly. He was missing his two front teeth, his hair was a mess, sticking up all over the place, and his eyes were—
Well. They looked as if they were suffering from red-eye effect, the flash happening too quickly for the pupils to react. There was a ring of blue around the red. It was certainly chilling, but Linus had seen it many times before. Just a trick of the light. That’s all it was.
Underneath the photograph, in blocky letters, was a name.
LUCY.
“A boy named Lucy,” Linus said. “That’s certainly a first. I wonder why they chose … the name … Lucy…”
The last word came out choked.
There, written in clear English, was exactly the reason why. The file read:
NAME: LUCIFER (NICKNAME LUCY)
AGE: SIX YEARS, SIX MONTHS, SIX DAYS (AT TIME OF THIS REPORT)
HAIR: BLACK
EYE COLOR: BLUE/RED
MOTHER: UNKNOWN (BELIEVED DECEASED)
FATHER: THE DEVIL
SPECIES OF MAGICAL YOUTH: ANTICHRIST
Linus Baker fainted dead away.
|
“G’way,” he muttered when he felt a tapping against his cheek. “S’not time for your breakfast, Calliope.”
“That’s good to know,” a voice that obviously did not belong to Calliope said. “Seeing as how it’s afternoon. Unless they breakfast late in the city. I wouldn’t know. I tend to avoid such places. Too much noise for my taste.”
Linus opened his eyes, blinking slowly.
A woman peered down at him, silhouetted by the sun. Linus sat up quickly. “Where am I!”
The woman took a step back, a look of cool amusement on her face. “Marsyas Train Station, of course. An odd place for a nap, but I suppose it’s as good a place as any.”
Linus pushed himself off the floor of the platform. He felt gritty and out of sorts. There was an ache in his head, and he seemed to have accumulated quite a collection of sand on his backside. He brushed himself off as he looked around wildly. Calliope sat in her crate, tail twitching as she watched him warily. His luggage sat near her.
And there, on the bench he’d been sitting on, was a pile of folders.
“Is this all you’ve got?” the woman asked, and Linus turned his attention back to her. He was immediately concerned when he couldn’t quite get a grasp on her age. Her hair sat like a white fluffy cloud atop her head. Bright flowers had been woven in. Her skin was dark and lovely, but it was her eyes that confused Linus the most. They were the eyes of someone far older than the rest of her appearance suggested. It must have been a trick of the bright sunlight, but they looked almost violet. He couldn’t place why he thought her familiar.
She wore a thin wispy shirt that hung loosely on her frame. Her trousers were tan and ended mid-calf. Her feet were bare.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Ms. Chapelwhite, of course,” she said, as if he should have known. “Caretaker of Marsyas Island.”
“Caretaker,” he repeated.
“Is that all the luggage you’ve brought?” she asked again. “Yes, but—”
“To each his own,” she said. He stood dumbfounded as she pushed by him, lifting his suitcase as if it were filled with nothing but feathers. He’d broken out in a sweat lugging it onto the train, but she seemed to have no such issue. “Gather your papers and your gigantic cat, Mr. Baker. I don’t like to dillydally, and you’re already later than I expected. I do have responsibilities, you know.”
“Now see here,” he began, but she ignored him, moving toward the stairs at the edge of the platform. She descended the stairs gracefully, as if she were walking on air. It was only then that he noticed a small car idling on the road. The roof appeared to have been sheared off, leaving the seats exposed. A convertible, though he’d never actually seen one in person.
He gave very real thought to grabbing Calliope and fleeing down the train tracks.
Instead, he gathered his files and lifted the crate, following after the strange woman.
She’d already placed his luggage in the trunk by the time he reached the car. She glanced at him, then down at the crate. “Don’t suppose you’d be fine with putting that thing in the back?”
“Absolutely not,” he said, moderately offended. “That’s just cruel.” “Right,” she muttered. “Fine. You’ll have to carry it on your lap, then.
Or we can fasten it to the hood, if you think that’d work better.” He was scandalized. “She would be so angry.”
Ms. Chapelwhite shrugged. “I’m sure she’d get over it.” “I’m not tying her to the hood of the car!”
“Your choice. Get in, Mr. Baker. We’ll need to hurry. I told Merle we wouldn’t be long.”
Linus’s head was spinning. “Merle?”
“The ferryman,” she said, opening the door and climbing into the car. “He’ll take us to the island.”
“I haven’t decided if I even want to go to the island.” She squinted up at him. “Then why are you here?” He sputtered. “It was—I was told—this isn’t—”
She reached to the dash of the car toward a pair of oversize white sunglasses. “Either get in or don’t, Mr. Baker. Frankly, I would prefer if you didn’t. The Department in Charge of Magical Youth is a farce, and you seem to be nothing but a clueless lackey. I’d have no problem leaving you here. I’m sure the train will be back at some point. It always is.”
That rankled him more than he expected. “What I do is most certainly
not a farce!”
The car turned over with a rumbling cough before the engine smoothed out. Black smoke curled from the tailpipe.
“That,” Ms. Chapelwhite said, “remains to be seen. In or out, Mr.
Baker.”
He got in.
|
Ms. Chapelwhite seemed to get far too much enjoyment from the way Linus screamed when they took a corner at a high rate of speed. She handled the car deftly, but Linus was convinced he’d entered the vehicle of a madwoman.
The wind whipped through their hair, and Linus thought she’d lose the ornamental flowers, but they snapped and swayed and stayed put. He held
the folders flat against the top of the crate, not wanting to lose them over the back of the car.
They drove on a narrow road through dunes that rose and fell. When the mountains of sand were at their lowest, he caught glimpses of the ocean, now much closer than it’d been from the train. Linus tried not to be distracted by the sight of it, but failed miserably. Even though he was sure he was about to die, it was still a wonder to behold.
It wasn’t until he was slammed against the door after yet another corner that he found his voice again. “Would you slow down?”
And wonder of all wonders, she did as he asked. “Just having some fun.”
“At my expense!”
She glanced over at him, hair bouncing around her head. “You’re wound up awfully tight.”
He bristled. “Wanting to live is not being wound up.” “Your tie is crooked.”
“It is? Thank you. I hate it when I look disheveled—that’s not funny.” He saw a flash of teeth through her smile. “Maybe there’s hope for you,
after all. Not much, but a little.” She looked at him again, for longer than Linus felt was safe. “You don’t look like I expected.”
He didn’t know what to do with that. He’d never really been seen
before. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “That you look unexpected.”
“Do you often speak without saying anything at all?”
“Quite often. But not this time, Mr. Baker.” She took another corner at a much lower speed. “I thought you would be younger. Your type usually is.”
“My type?”
“Caseworkers. Been doing it long?” He frowned. “Long enough.”
“And do you enjoy your work, Mr. Baker?” “I’m good at it.”
“That’s not what I asked.” “It’s the same thing.”
She shook her head. “Why were you sleeping on the platform? Couldn’t you have done that on the train?”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was—” It hit him, then, what he’d forgotten since he’d been rudely awoken. “Oh my.”
“What?’
“Oh my.” He couldn’t catch his breath.
Ms. Chapelwhite looked alarmed. “Are you having a heart attack?”
He didn’t know. He’d never had one before, and he couldn’t be sure what they felt like. But given that he was forty years old with extra pounds and high blood pressure, that certainly seemed like a possibility.
“Damn,” he heard her mutter as she jerked the car to the side of the road, slamming the brakes.
Linus struggled to breathe, putting his forehead on the top of the crate. His vision had narrowed to pinholes, and there was a roaring in his ears. He was sure he was about to pass out again (or possibly die from a heart attack), when he felt a cool hand press against the back of his neck. He managed to suck in a deep breath as his heart rate slowed.
“There,” he heard Ms. Chapelwhite say. “That’s better. Another breath, Mr. Baker. That’s it.”
“The file,” he managed to say. “I read the file.”
She squeezed the back of his neck once before letting go. “About Lucy?”
“Yes. I didn’t expect it.”
“No, I don’t suppose you did.” “Is it…”
“True?”
He nodded, face still pressed against the crate. She didn’t respond.
He lifted his head, looking over at her.
She was staring straight ahead, hands in her lap. “Yes,” she finally said. “It’s true.”
“How on earth is this possible?”
She shook her head. “It’s not—he’s not what you think. None of them are.”
That startled him. “I didn’t even look at the other files.” A terrible thought struck him. “Are the others worse?”
She ripped off her sunglasses, looking at him sharply. “It can’t be any worse because there’s nothing wrong with any of them. They’re children.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” she snapped. “I know you have a job to do, Mr. Baker. And I know you probably do it well. Too well, if you ask me. You would have to in order for DICOMY to send you here. We’re not exactly orthodox.”
“I should say not. You have the Antichrist on the island.”
“Lucy isn’t—” She shook her head, obviously frustrated. “Why are you here?”
“To ensure the safety of the children,” he said as if it were second nature. “To see that they are being provided for. Cared for. And that they aren’t in danger, either from themselves or others.”
“And that goes for all children, correct?” “Yes, but—”
“No buts. It doesn’t matter where he came from. Or what he is. He is a child, and your job, as much as it is mine or Arthur’s, is to protect him. And all the others.”
He gaped at her.
She slid her sunglasses back on. “Close your mouth, Mr. Baker. You don’t want to swallow a bug.”
She gunned the engine again and pulled back onto the road.
|
“Seven files,” he said a few minutes later after coming out of his daze. “What?”
“Seven files. I was given seven files. Six children. The master of the orphanage. That’s seven.”
“Rudimentary counting a priority at DICOMY, is it?”
He ignored the barb. “There isn’t one for you.” He saw a sign in the distance, approaching on the right at the top of the next hill.
“Of course not. I’m not employed by DICOMY. I told you. I’m a caretaker.”
“Of the house?”
“That. And also the island. Runs in the family. Has for generations.”
Linus Baker had been in his job for a long time. And yes, he was good at it. He could think analytically, could notice the little cues that others could not. It was why, he thought, he’d been chosen for this assignment.
That being said, he should have recognized it the moment he opened his eyes on the platform. Fainting after receiving the shock of his life shouldn’t have been an excuse.
The violet in her eyes should have given it away. It hadn’t been a trick of the light.
“You’re a sprite,” he said. “An island sprite.”
He’d surprised her. She tried to cover it up, and had he not known what to look for, he would’ve missed it. “What makes you think that?” she asked, voice even.
“You’re a caretaker.” “That means nothing.” “Your eyes.”
“Unusual, sure, but certainly not unique.” “You carried my luggage—”
“Oh, I apologize. Had I known I was destroying your toxic masculinity, I wouldn’t have—”
“You’re barefoot.”
This caused her to pause. “I live near the ocean,” she said slowly. “Maybe I’m always barefoot.”
He shook his head. “The sun is high in the sky. The road must be extremely hot. And yet, you walked along it as if it were nothing. Sprites don’t like shoes. Too confining. And nothing hurts their feet. Not even heated asphalt.”
She sighed. “You’re smarter than you look. That can’t possibly be good.”
“Are you registered?” he demanded. “Does DICOMY know that you’re
—”
She bared her teeth. “I was never in the system, Mr. Baker. My line is
far older than the rules of men. Just because you have decided that all
magical beings need to be tagged in the wild for tracking doesn’t give you the right to question me or my legal status.”
He blanched. “That’s— You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.” “Was that an apology?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Don’t ask about my status again.”
“It’s just— I’ve never met an island sprite before. A water sprite, yes. And even a cave one once. It’s how I was able to recognize you. I didn’t know you existed.”
She snorted. “I’m sure there’s much you don’t know about existing, Mr.
Baker. Look. There. We’re almost to the ferry.”
He followed where she was pointing. Up ahead, the sign he’d seen in the distance was approaching as they crested the hill. Above the picture of a palm tree and the waves of the ocean was the legend: VILLAGE OF MARSYAS.
“I’ve never heard of this place before,” he admitted as they drove past. “The village. Is it nice?”
“Depends on your definition of nice. To you, probably. To me, no.”
They reached the top of the hill. Below them, along the edges of the ocean, was a cluster of brightly colored buildings nestled amongst tall trees that had been bent over time with the winds. He could see houses spread out into the forest, all in pastels and thatched roofs. It looked like he always dreamed a place near the ocean would. It caused his heart to ache.
“We won’t stop, so don’t ask,” she warned him. “They don’t like it when we do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not everyone is as progressive as you, Mr. Baker,” she said, and he knew he was being mocked. “The people of Marsyas don’t appreciate our kind.”
That surprised him. “Sprites?”
She laughed again, but the bitterness was heavy. “All magical beings, Mr. Baker.”
It didn’t take long to see what she meant. As soon as they pulled onto the main thoroughfare, heading through the village, people on the streets and in the shops turned toward the sound of the car. Linus had been on the
receiving end of many looks of disapproval in his life, but never ones filled with so much hostility. People in board shorts and bikinis and rubber flip- flops turned to glare at them openly as they drove through. He tried waving at a few of them, but it didn’t do any good. He even saw a man inside what looked to be a seafood shanty reach up and lock the door as they drove by.
“Well, I never,” Linus said with a sniff.
“You get used to it,” Ms. Chapelwhite said. “Surprisingly.” “Why are they like this?”
“I don’t pretend to know the minds of men,” she said, hands tightening on the steering wheel as a woman on the sidewalk appeared to shield her chubby, squawking children away from the car. “They fear what they don’t understand. And that fear turns to hate for reasons I’m sure even they can’t begin to comprehend. And since they don’t understand the children, since they fear them, they hate them. This can’t be the first time you’ve heard of this. It happens everywhere.”
“I don’t hate anything,” Linus said. “You lie.”
He shook his head. “No. Hate is a waste of time. I’m far too busy to hate anything. I prefer it that way.”
She glanced at him, her expression hidden behind her sunglasses. She opened her mouth—to say what, he didn’t know—but appeared to change her mind. Instead, she said, “We’re here. Stay in the car.”
She parked at the edge of a pier. She got out before Linus could say another word. There was a man standing next to a small ferry, tapping his foot impatiently. Behind him, Linus thought he could see the faint outline of an island. “It’s getting late,” the man snapped at Ms. Chapelwhite as she approached, voice drifting over to Linus. “You know I can’t be at the island after dark.”
“It’s fine, Merle. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“That’s not as comforting as you seem to think it is.” He spat over the edge of the pier into the water before looking over her shoulder at Linus. “That’s him, then?”
She glanced back at him. “That’s him.” “Thought he’d be younger.”
“That’s what I said.”
“All right. Let’s get on with it. And you tell Parnassus my rates have doubled.”
She sighed. “I’ll let him know.”
Merle nodded, and with one last withering look at Linus he turned and jumped deftly onto the ferry. Ms. Chapelwhite turned back toward the car.
“I think we might have gotten into something bigger than we were led to believe,” Linus whispered to Calliope.
She purred in response.
“All right?” he asked as the sprite climbed back inside the car. He wasn’t sure it was; Merle seemed to be a troublesome fellow.
“All right,” she muttered. The car turned over again, and she pulled forward as Merle lowered the gate onto the ferry. There was a moment when Linus’s stomach dropped as the gate creaked and groaned under their weight, but it was over before he could react.
She put the car in park and pressed a button. Linus startled as the sounds of gears rumbled from the rear of the car. He looked back in time to see a vinyl roof rising up and over them. It locked into place with a terrible finality. She shut the car off before turning toward him. “Look, Mr. Baker. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
“You mean you’re not always such a joy to be around? Could have fooled me.”
She glared at him. “I’m a sprite, which means I’m very protective of what’s mine.”
“The island,” Linus said.
She nodded. “And all its inhabitants.”
He hesitated. Then, “Are you and this Mr. Parnassus…” She arched an eyebrow.
He flushed as he coughed and looked away. “Never mind.”
She laughed at him, though not unkindly. “No. Trust me when I say that would never happen.”
“Oh. Well. Good to know.”
“I know you have a job to do,” she continued. “And you’re finding out it’s like nothing you’ve ever done before, but all I ask is that you give them
a chance. They’re more than what’s in their files.”
“Are you telling me how to do my job?” he asked stiffly. “I’m asking for an ounce of compassion.”
“I know compassion, Ms. Chapelwhite. It’s why I do what I do.” “You really believe that, don’t you?”
He looked at her sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shook her head. “You don’t have a file on me because I’m not supposed to exist. Arthur—Mr. Parnassus—sent me as an act of good faith. To show you how serious he is. He knows the kind of person you can be. He hopes you can be that person here.”
Linus felt a trickle of dread at the base of his spine. “How does he know a single thing about me? He can’t know who was assigned. I didn’t even know until yesterday.”
She shrugged. “He has his ways. You should use the time you have left before arriving at the island to review the remaining files. It’s best if you know what you’re walking into before you do. It’ll be safer, I think.”
“For who?”
There was no answer.
He turned to find the driver’s seat empty, as if she’d never been there at
all.
“Bugger,” he muttered.
|
He considered doing what she asked. Forewarned was forearmed and all that, but he couldn’t bring himself to peruse the files after what he’d discovered in Lucy’s, fearing that it would only get exponentially worse. Extremely Upper Management certainly hadn’t made things any easier, given their dire warnings about how the inhabitants of the island were unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Ms. Chapelwhite had only seemed to confirm that. He wondered briefly if he’d said too much to her, or if she’d managed to peek inside the files while he’d been lying on the platform. Both seemed likely, and he reminded himself to be on his guard from here on in.
Not trusting himself to maintain consciousness, he sat with the files on his lap, fingers twitching, the urge to know what he was walking into shrinking in the face of the desire to keep his sanity firmly in place. He thought of all manner of things, from terrible monsters with wickedly sharp teeth to fire and brimstone. They were children, he told himself, but even children could bite if provoked. And if they happened to be worse than what he was imagining, he would rather not know about it beforehand in case he found himself unable to leave the ferry.
But still …
He shuffled through the files, looking for one in particular. He inhaled sharply when he saw Lucy’s and skipped by it as quickly as possible until he found the one he wanted.
The master of the house. Arthur Parnassus.
The file was thin, consisting of a blurry photograph of a spindly man against a blue background and a single sheet of paper. He certainly seemed … normal, but appearances could be deceiving.
The file (as much as it could be called that for something so sparse) didn’t tell him much more, as certain parts were redacted and the rest were bits and pieces without rhyme or reason. Aside from learning his age (forty- five) and the fact that his tenure at Marsyas appeared to be without any significant issue, there wasn’t much more Linus could glean from it. He didn’t know whether he was disappointed or relieved.
The sun was beginning to set by the time a bell rang, signaling the arrival at the island. He was lost in thought when the ferry shuddered underneath him, and he looked out the back window to see the ferry gate lowering against a small dock.
A shadow stretched over the windshield as he turned around. “This is where you get off!” a voice shouted at him.
He peered up through the windshield.
Merle stood above him, hands on his hips. “Off,” he repeated. “But—”
“Get off my damn boat!”
“What an ass,” Linus muttered. The key was still in the ignition, and Linus figured he should at least be thankful for that. He opened the passenger door and almost fell out. He was able to save himself and Calliope at the last second, though she wasn’t appreciative of his acrobatics. He set her on the seat and shut the door against her hissing. He tipped a jaunty salute up to Merle as he rounded the back of the car.
Merle didn’t respond.
“Certainly off to an auspicious start,” Linus said under his breath. The driver’s door creaked as he shut it behind him. It’d been a while since he’d driven. He’d never actually owned a car of his own. It was too much of a hassle in the city. He’d rented one once, years ago, planning on spending a weekend driving out to the country, but he’d been called into work at the last minute and ended up returning the car only an hour after he’d taken it out.
He pushed the seat back before turning the key. The car rumbled to life around him.
“Okay, then,” Linus said to Calliope, hands sweating against the steering wheel. “Let’s see what we see, shall we?”
