There was a knock at the door to the guest house later that night. Linus frowned and glanced up from his report to look at the clock. It was almost ten, and he was about to call it a night. He was nearly finished, but his eyes were crossing, and the last yawn had been jaw-cracking. He’d decided to finish tomorrow, before having to mail off the report the day after.
He stood from his chair. Calliope barely acknowledged him from her perch in the windowsill. She blinked slowly before curling her face back under her paws.
Linus scrubbed a hand over his tired face as he went to the door. He was thankful he hadn’t yet put on his pajamas. He didn’t think it was proper to greet a late-night guest in sleep clothes, unless said guest was staying the night.
He opened the door to find Arthur standing on the porch, peacoat pulled tightly around him. The nights were growing cooler, the wind off the sea carrying a bite to it. Arthur’s hair was ruffled on his head, and Linus wondered what it felt like.
“Good evening,” Arthur said quietly.
Linus nodded. “Arthur. Is something wrong?” “Quite the opposite.”
“Oh? What is it—”
“Do you mind?” Arthur asked, nodding toward the house. “I’ve brought you something.”
Linus squinted. “You have? I didn’t ask for anything.” “I know. You wouldn’t.”
Before Linus could even begin to ask what that meant, Arthur bent over and picked up a wooden box that lay at his feet on the porch. Linus took a step back, and Arthur entered the guest house.
Linus closed the door behind him as Arthur went into the living room. He glanced down at the report sitting in the chair, but didn’t appear to try and read what was written upon it. “Working late?”
“I am,” Linus said slowly. “Finishing up, in fact. I hope you didn’t come here to ask me what I’ve written. You know I can’t tell you. The reports will be made available to you upon completion of the investigation as outlined in—”
“I didn’t come here to ask about your reports.”
That threw Linus off-kilter. “You didn’t? Then why are you here?”
“As I’ve said, I brought you something. A gift. Here. Let me show you.” He set the box he carried down on the little table next to Linus’s chair. He lifted the lid with his graceful fingers.
Linus was intrigued. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been given a gift. Back at the office, birthday cards were passed around each year for the caseworkers, each signing their name with an inauthentic Best Wishes! for whoever’s birthday it was. The cards were cheap and impersonal, but Linus supposed it was the thought that counted. And aside from the holiday luncheon that Extremely Upper Management put on— which was no gift at all—Linus hadn’t received anything from anyone in a long time. His mother had long since passed, and even then, she’d only given him socks or a wool hat or trousers that she told him he would have to grow into because they were dear, and money didn’t grow on trees, honestly, Linus.
“What is it?” he asked, more eager than he would have expected. He coughed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need anything from you.”
Arthur arched an eyebrow. “It’s not about need, Linus. That’s not what gift giving is for. It’s about the joy that someone is thinking of you.”
Linus felt his skin warm. “You were … thinking about me?” “Constantly. Though I can’t claim credit for this. No, this was Lucy’s
idea.”
“Oh my,” Linus breathed. “I don’t know if I want a dead animal or some such thing.”
Arthur chuckled as he looked down at the opened box. “That’s good. If you should have wanted a dead animal, I am certainly going about this the wrong way. I’m thrilled to say that this isn’t something that used to be alive, though it can sound like it is.”
Linus wasn’t sure if he wanted to see what was in the box, exactly. Arthur was blocking it with his thin frame, and while Linus couldn’t smell anything off-putting, or hear anything squeaking such as an overgrown rat with beady eyes, he was still hesitant. “Well, then. What is it?”
“Why don’t you come over here and see?”
Linus took a deep breath and walked slowly toward Arthur. He cursed that the man was so tall. He would have to stand right next to him in order to be able to see what was inside.
He chided himself. He doubted Arthur would allow Lucy to do anything untoward. At dinner, Lucy had been grinning at Linus the whole time, and though it had the same devilish tinge to it, Linus didn’t think it was nefarious. Granted, Lucy was literally the son of the Devil and had probably perfected innocence long ago.
He hoped it wouldn’t explode. He didn’t like explosions, especially if he had to stand so close to one.
But it wasn’t a bomb. It wasn’t a rat, or a dead, rotting carcass.
It was a vintage portable record player. Across the inside of the lid of the box was the word ZENITH, the Z in the shape of a lightning bolt.
Linus gasped. “Look at this! It’s wonderful. Why, I don’t think I’ve seen such a thing in a very long time, and even then, it was only through store windows! The Victrola I have at home is much too large. And I know the sound isn’t as grand from these little portables, but I’ve always wondered what it would be like to take music with you wherever you went. Like perhaps on a picnic or something.” He was babbling, and he didn’t know why. He closed his mouth with an audible snap of his teeth.
Arthur smiled. “Lucy hoped you would react as such. He wanted to be here to give it to you himself, but decided it would be best coming from me.”
Linus shook his head. “It’s thoughtful. Please tell him thank you for— No. I can do it myself tomorrow. First thing. At breakfast!” Then another thought struck him. “Oh, but I don’t have any records to play. I didn’t even think to bring any from home. And even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have run the risk. They’re flimsy, and I wouldn’t like to see them break.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “Lucy thought of that too.” He pressed his thumb against a latch on the underside of the lid, and a little compartment opened. Inside was a blank white sleeve with a black record inside.
“What a marvel,” Linus said, itching to reach out and touch the box. “Where did this come from? It looks brand new.”
“I assure you it’s not. Quite old, actually. I’m sure you saw the many boxes in the attic when you went to see Theodore’s nest.”
He had. They were stacked off in the corners in the shadows. He’d wondered at them, but figured they were just evidence of a life of an old house. Material possessions tended to grow unabated when you least expected it. “I did.”
Arthur nodded. “It sat in a box near the back for the longest time. We haven’t had need for it, seeing as how we already have three record players in the house in use. Lucy, as he’s wont to do, discovered it while snooping. It was dusty and in need of a polish, but he was careful. Sal helped.” He looked down at it. “To be honest, we probably should have tested it before I brought it over. I’m not even sure if this old thing works.”
“And the record?”
Arthur shrugged. “Lucy wouldn’t let me see what it was. Said it was a surprise, but that he thought you would like it.”
That set Linus a little on edge, but less so than it would have when he first arrived on the island. “Well, I suppose we should find out if he’s right.”
Arthur took a step back. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“Of course.” He took Arthur’s place and took the sleeve from the compartment. He slid the record out carefully. It too was blank, with no picture in the center frame. He set the sleeve aside as he placed the record on the platter, the small stacking spindle sticking up in the middle. He flipped the switch on the side of the player and was delighted when the
record began to spin, crackling quietly. “I think we’re in business,” he murmured.
“It would appear so,” Arthur replied.
He lowered the needle. The speakers crackled a little louder. And then
—
A man began to sing, saying darling, you send me, I know you send me. “Sam Cooke,” Linus whispered. He dropped his hand back to his side.
“Oh. Oh. That’s wonderful.”
He looked up to find Arthur staring at him just as Sam sang about how he thought it was infatuation, but that it had lasted so long.
Linus took a step back. Arthur smiled. “Can we sit?”
Linus nodded, suddenly unsure of himself, which wasn’t anything new. The room felt stuffy, and he was light-headed. He was probably just tired. It’d been a long day.
He picked his report off the chair before sitting down. He set it on the table next to the record player as Sam continued on woo-wooing. Arthur sat in the remaining chair. Their feet were so close, Linus noticed, that if he extended his leg a little, the toes of their shoes would touch.
“I heard the strangest thing tonight,” Arthur said.
Linus looked up at him, hoping Arthur couldn’t read his thoughts on his face. “What would that be?”
“I was telling the children good night. I start in order, you know. From one end of the hall to the other. Lucy is always last, given that his room is in mine. But Sal is second to last. And before I knocked on his door, I heard some new, happy sounds that I did not expect.”
Linus fidgeted in his seat. “I’m sure it’s normal. He is a teenage boy, after all. They like to … explore. So long as you remind him that—”
“Oh my, no,” Arthur said, fighting a smile. “No, it wasn’t that.”
Linus’s eyes bulged. “Oh dear. That’s not—I didn’t mean—good heavens, what on earth is wrong with me?”
Arthur covered an obvious laugh with a cough. “I’m pleased to hear you’re so open-minded.”
Linus was sure he was terribly red. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“I can’t either, to be honest. Who knew Linus Baker could be so … you.”
“Yes, well, I would appreciate if it never left this house. Not to Zoe. And especially not to the children. Sal, of course, is old enough to understand such things, but I think it would destroy Chauncey’s innocence.” He frowned. “Not that I’m sure how he could ever do—does he even—oh no. No, no, no.”
Arthur snorted. “Lucy is younger than Chauncey. Don’t you think we should worry about his innocence too?”
Linus rolled his eyes. “We both know that isn’t a problem for him.” “Too right. But, as I’m sure you’re now aware, I wasn’t speaking
about … that.” The last word came out delightfully low, as if it curled around his tongue and teeth before exiting between his lips. Linus was instantly sweating. “I was talking about the clack of typewriter keys.”
Linus blinked. “Oh. That … makes sense, now that I think about it.”
“I bet it does. It was surprising, but not because it existed at all, but because it was much louder than usual. Most nights, it’s faintly muffled because he’s writing in his closet, the door shut.”
Linus understood now. “I didn’t—if I overstepped, I apologize.”
Arthur held up a hand as he shook his head. “Not at all. It was … more than I could have hoped for. I like to think it means he’s healing. And you played a part in that.”
Linus looked down at his hands. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true. He merely needed—”
“He needed to hear it spoken aloud,” Arthur said. “And I can imagine it coming from no better person.”
Linus jerked his head up. “That’s certainly not true. It should have come from you.” He winced. “That wasn’t an admonishment. I meant that it wasn’t my place to suggest such things.”
Arthur cocked his head. “And why not?”
“Because I’m not—I shouldn’t interact. At least not on such a personal level.”
“It’s against your RULES AND REGULATIONS.”
Linus nodded as Sam Cooke gave way to The Penguins, singing about their Earth Angel. It caused his heart to stumble in his chest. “It is.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
“It’s what’s required of someone in my position. Because it allows me to remain impartial. Unbiased.”
Arthur shook his head. “These children aren’t animals. You aren’t on a safari with binoculars, watching them from a distance. How are you supposed to evaluate the children if you don’t even take the time to know them? They’re people, Linus. Even if some of them look different.”
Linus bristled. “I never suggested such a thing.”
Arthur sighed. “That—I apologize. That was … an oversimplification. I’ve dealt with prejudice for a long time. I have to remind myself that not everyone thinks that way. My point is you did something remarkable for a boy who came to us only used to derision. He listened to you, Linus. He learned from you, and it was a lesson he needed to be taught. I don’t think he could have asked for a better teacher in that regard.”
“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.
