Linus Baker, for what it was worth, did care about the children he was tasked with observing. He didn’t think one could do what he did and lack empathy, though he couldn’t understand how someone like Ms. Jenkins had ever been a caseworker before being promoted to Supervision.
And so when faced with a perceived threat, and even though everything felt topsy-turvy, Linus did the only thing he could: He moved to protect the children.
Talia squawked angrily as he shoved her behind him toward Sal and Chauncey. “What are you doing?”
He ignored her, the ringing in his ears he’d heard since he’d arrived on the island now turning into a full-blown roar. He took a step toward the open door, and he swore on everything he had that the darkness settling outside had somehow gotten darker. He believed if he stepped out onto the porch, the stars above would be blotted out, and all that would remain would be eternal night.
“What’s going on?” Chauncey whispered behind him. “I have no idea,” Talia said irritably.
Sal barked nervously, a high-pitched yip. “Probably,” Talia said.
Linus took a step toward the door. He should have realized that accepting this assignment was going to be the last thing he’d do. He wondered if Lucy had already taken out Mr. Parnassus and whoever (or whatever) had been in the main house with them. He couldn’t be sure if there were other things that Extremely Upper Management hadn’t made
him aware of. If there was a clear path, perhaps he could get the children to the car. He’d need to get Calliope into her crate, but he’d rather have an angry cat to deal with than a devil. He didn’t know how he’d get them off the island, but—
He stepped onto the porch.
It was darker, perhaps darker than it’d ever been before. He could barely see the flowers just off the porch. Everything else was lost to the darkness. It was as if the night were a living thing and had consumed the world. Linus’s skin felt electrified.
“Hello,” a sweet voice said from beside him. Linus gasped and turned his head.
There, standing at the edge of the porch, was a child.
Lucy looked exactly as he had in the photograph. His black hair was windswept, and his eyes were red and ringed with blue. He looked so small, but the smile on his face was twisted into a sneer, and his fingers were twitching at his sides, as if he were barely restraining himself from reaching out and tearing Linus limb from limb.
“It’s nice to see you,” Lucy singsonged before giggling. “I knew you’d come, Mr. Baker. Though, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you hadn’t.” The smile widened until it seemed like his face would split in half. Flames began to rise behind him, though they didn’t seem to burn the house, and Linus couldn’t feel the heat that should have been pouring off of them. “I’m going to enjoy this far more than you could ever—”
“That’s enough, Lucy.”
And just like that, everything switched off.
Lucy groaned, and the red disappeared from his eyes. The fire subsided. The blackness winked out, and the remains of the sunset appeared on the horizon. The stars were bright, and Linus could see the main house across the way.
“I was just having some fun,” Lucy muttered, scuffing his shoe against the porch. “I’m hellfire. I am the darkest parts of—”
“You still need to have a bath after supper,” the voice said, and Linus felt his heart skip a beat. “Perhaps we could save the hellfire and the darkest parts for tomorrow.”
Lucy shrugged. “Okay.” And then he ran past Linus into the house, shouting for Talia and Chauncey. “Did you see what I did? He was so scared!”
Linus looked off the porch.
There, standing in the grass, was a man.
He was unlike anyone Linus had ever seen before. He was spindly. His light hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles. It was starting to gray around his temple. His dark eyes were bright and glittering in the near-dark. His aquiline nose had a bump in the center, as if it’d been broken once long ago and never set right. He was smiling, hands clasped in front of him. His fingers were long and elegant as he twiddled his thumbs. He wore a green peacoat, the collar pulled up around his neck against the sea breeze. His slacks appeared too short for his long legs, the hems coming up above his ankles, revealing red socks. He wore black-and-white wing tip shoes.
“Hello, Mr. Baker,” Arthur Parnassus said, sounding amused. “Welcome to Marsyas Island.” His voice was lighter than Linus expected, almost as if there were musical notes behind each word. “I do hope your trip was most pleasant. The ocean can sometimes be rough in the crossing. Merle is … Merle. He’s from the village, after all.”
Linus was flabbergasted. He remembered the blurry photograph from the file. In it, Mr. Parnassus had been standing against a blue background, and he hadn’t been smiling. But there had been a jovial arch to his eyebrow, and Linus had stared at it for longer than was probably proper.
He looked younger in person, far younger than his forty-five years suggested. He was as fresh-faced as the young people who came into DICOMY with their shiny degrees and ideas about how things should be done rather than how they actually were. They quickly learned to fall in line. Idealism had no place in government work.
Linus shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It wouldn’t do for someone in his position to sit here gawking at the master of an orphanage. Linus Baker was nothing if not a consummate professional, and he had a job to do.
“Do you often greet your guests with threats of death and destruction, Mr. Parnassus?” he asked sternly, trying to regain control of the situation.
Mr. Parnassus chuckled. “Not usually, though it should be said we don’t have many guests. Please, call me Arthur.”
Linus was tense, listening to the babble of voices behind him. He felt uncomfortable having someone like Lucy behind him, out of sight. “I think Mr. Parnassus will suffice. I will be Mr. Baker during the course of this visit. From you and the children.”
Mr. Parnassus nodded with barely concealed delight. Linus couldn’t be sure what, exactly, about this situation necessitated such a response. He wondered if he was being mocked somehow and felt a wave of anger roll over him. He managed to push it down before it could contort his expression.
“Mr. Baker it is, then. My apologies for not welcoming you in person upon your arrival.” He glanced at the house over Linus’s shoulder before looking back at him. “I was otherwise detained with Lucy, though I suspect he attempted to conceal your presence from me.”
Linus was gobsmacked. “He can … do that?”
Mr. Parnassus shrugged. “He can do many things, Mr. Baker. But I expect you’ll find that out for yourself. It is the reason you’re here, isn’t it? Phee informed us of your arrival, and Lucy decided he’d welcome you in his own special way.”
“Special,” Linus said faintly. “That’s what you call it.”
He took a step toward the porch. “This is an unusual place, filled with things I don’t believe you’ve witnessed before. It would be best if you put your preconceived notions behind you, Mr. Baker. Your visit will be much more enjoyable if you do.”
Linus bristled. “I’m not here for enjoyment, Mr. Parnassus. This is not a vacation. I’m here as ordered by the Department in Charge of Magical Youth to determine if Marsyas Orphanage should remain as is, or if other actions should be taken. You would do well to remember that. The fact that the children were running amok with no supervision isn’t the best start.”
Mr. Parnassus barely seemed affected. “Running amok, you say? Fascinating. And I’m aware of what it is you’re here for. I just don’t know if you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He zigged when Linus expected him to zag. “You gave Theodore a button.”
Linus blinked. “Pardon?”
Mr. Parnassus was at the bottom of the steps. Linus had barely seen him move. “A button,” he repeated slowly. “Brass. You gave it to Theodore.”
“Yes, well, it was the first thing I found in my pocket.” “Where did it come from?”
“What do you mean?”
“The button, Mr. Baker,” he said. “Where did the button come from?” Linus took a step back. “I don’t … I don’t quite know what you mean.”
Mr. Parnassus nodded. “It’s the little things. Little treasures we find without knowing their origin. And they come when we least expect them. It’s beautiful, when you think about it. He loves it dearly. That was very kind of you.”
“I was all but ordered to give it to him!”
“Were you? How about that.” He was on the porch in front of Linus. He was taller, much taller than he had appeared on the grass in front of the house. Linus had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze. He had a freckle that nearly formed a heart below his left eye. A lock of hair had fallen on his forehead.
Linus flinched a little when Mr. Parnassus extended a hand. Linus stared at it for a moment, then remembered himself. He took the offered hand in his own. The skin was cool and dry, and as the fingers wrapped around his own, Linus felt a little curl of warmth in the back of his mind. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Regardless of the reason you’re here.”
Linus pulled his hand away, palm tingling. “All I ask is that you let me perform my duties without interference.”
“Because of the children.”
“Yes,” Linus said. “Because of the children. They are the most important thing, after all.”
Mr. Parnassus studied him, looking for what, Linus didn’t know. Then, “Good. I’m pleased we’re off to such a wonderful start. That bodes well for what will certainly be an illuminating month.”
“I wouldn’t call it wonderful—”
“Children!” Mr. Parnassus called. He bent over deftly, sweeping Sal’s discarded clothing in his hand. “Come now, would you?”
There was a stampede of feet behind Linus, some heavy, some sounding as if they were squelching. Linus was jostled as they ran by him.
Sal was first, still a tiny Pomeranian. He yipped nervously, giving Linus a wide berth before jumping up on Mr. Parnassus, tail wagging. “Hello, Sal,” Mr. Parnassus said, looking down. Then, remarkably, he barked, a high-pitched yip. Sal responded in kind with a series of barks before taking off toward the house. “You brought a cat?”
Linus gaped at him. “You can speak…”
“To Sal?” Mr. Parnassus asked. “Of course I can. He’s one of mine. It’s important to— Talia. Thank you for showing our guest around the grounds. That was very kind of you. And Chauncey. I doubt there has been a better bellhop in all the world.”
“Really?” Chauncey warbled, eyes swaying on his stalks. “The entire world?” He puffed out his chest. Or, rather, he appeared to puff out his chest. Linus couldn’t be sure he had a chest at all. “Did you hear that, Talia? The entire world.”
Talia snorted. “I heard. You’ll have your own hotel before you know it.” She glanced up at Linus as she stroked her beard. “You’re welcome for not braining you with the shovel when I had the chance.” She winced slightly when Mr. Parnassus spoke in a low, guttural sound, almost as if he were choking.
It took a moment for Linus to realize he was speaking Gnomish.
Talia heaved a great, dramatic sigh. “Sorry, Mr. Baker. I promise I won’t brain you with my shovel. Today.”
And with that, she and Chauncey went down the stairs and headed toward the main house.
Linus felt a cold chill race down his spine when he heard the floor creak behind him. Lucy appeared beside them, smiling maniacally up at Linus. He didn’t appear to blink.
“Yes?” Linus asked in a croak. “Erm, can I help you?”
“No,” Lucy said, smile widening. “You can’t. Nobody can. I am the father of snakes. The void in the—”
“That’s enough of that,” Mr. Parnassus said lightly. “Lucy, it’s your turn to help Ms. Chapelwhite in the kitchen. You’re already late. Hop to it.”
Lucy sighed as he deflated. “Aw, seriously?”
“Seriously,” Mr. Parnassus said, reaching down and patting him on the shoulder. “Get a move on. You know she doesn’t like it when you shirk your responsibilities.”
Lucy grumbled under his breath as he hopped down the stairs. He glanced back over his shoulder at Linus when he reached the bottom. Linus felt his knees wobble.
“He’s bluffing,” Mr. Parnassus said. “He actually loves working in the kitchen. I think he’s just putting on a show for you. Quite the little entertainer, he is.”
“I think I need to sit down,” Linus said, feeling numb.
“Of course,” Mr. Parnassus said easily. “You’ve had a long day.” He glanced at his wrist, pulling back the sleeve of his coat to reveal a large watch. “Dinner is at half past seven, so you have a bit to get settled. Ms. Chapelwhite has prepared a feast in your honor as a welcome to Marsyas. I’m told there will be pie for dessert. I do love pie so.” He took Linus’s hand in his own again, squeezing gently. Linus looked up at him. “I know why you’re here,” he said quietly. “And I know the power you wield. All I ask is that you keep an open mind, Mr. Baker. Can you do that for me?”
Linus pulled his hand away, feeling off-kilter. “I will do what I must.”
Mr. Parnassus nodded. He looked as if he were going to say something else, but instead shook his head. He turned and stepped off the porch, following his charges into the dark.
He didn’t look back.
 |
Linus barely remembered walking down the hall toward his bedroom. He felt as if he were caught in a strange dream, one he didn’t know how to escape from. The sensation persisted as he passed the tiny bathroom, only to see his toiletries had been placed on a shelf underneath the mirror.
“What?” he asked no one in particular.
The bedroom at the end of the hall was small, but functional. There was a desk facing the window that opened out to the cliff overlooking the sea. A chair was pressed against it. Near what appeared to be a closet door was a small bureau. A bed with an oversize quilt sat against the opposite wall. Calliope was on the pillow, tail curled around her. She opened a single eye as he entered, tracking his movement.
He opened his mouth and was about to speak to her when the words stuck in his throat.
His suitcase sat on the bed, opened and empty. He rushed toward it. “Where are my things?”
Calliope yawned and tucked her face in her paws, breathing deeply.
The files for the children and Mr. Parnassus were still secure in a side pocket, the zipper closed. They didn’t appear to have been trifled with. But his clothes were gone, and so was—
He looked around wildly.
There, on the floor, near the desk, sat Calliope’s bowls. One had been filled with water, the other with her kibble, the bag of which was placed to the side of the desk. On top of the desk was his copy of RULES AND REGULATIONS.
He went to the closet and threw open the doors.
His shirts and ties and slacks were hung carefully from the hangers. Next to them was the one coat he’d brought, though he hadn’t been sure he’d need it.
His spare loafers were sitting on the floor.
Leaving the door open, he went to the bureau. Inside, stacked neatly, were his socks and undergarments.
The next drawer down held his pajamas and the only nonwork clothes he’d brought, pants and a polo shirt.
He backed away from the bureau slowly until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sat down roughly, staring at the drawers and the open closet.
“I think,” he said to Calliope, “that I’m in over my head.” She didn’t have an opinion one way or another.
Shaking his head, he reached for his suitcase, pulling the files out and onto his lap.
“Foolish,” he muttered. “Next time, know what you’re walking into.” He took a deep breath before opening the file on top.
“Oh,” he said rather breathlessly when he read about a wyvern named Theodore.
“What?” he choked out when he opened the file for a fourteen-year-old boy called Sal.
He didn’t manage to say anything at all for Talia, though a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.
He was right about Phee. A forest sprite, and a powerful one at that.
He recoiled sharply at what he saw for a boy called Chauncey. He was ten years old, and next the word Mother, it read UNKNOWN. The same for his father. And his species. It appeared no one seemed to know, exactly, what Chauncey actually was. And now that Linus had seen him in person, he wasn’t sure either.
Extremely Upper Management was right.
The children weren’t like anything he’d ever seen before.
|
He gave very real consideration to ignoring the dinner invitation and pulling the heavy quilt up and over his head, blocking out the strange world he’d found himself in. Maybe if he slept, things would make more sense upon waking.
But then his stomach grumbled, and Linus realized he was hungry. Ravenous, even.
He poked his not inconsiderable stomach. “Must you?” It gurgled again.
He sighed.
Which is why he found himself standing at the front door to the main house, steeling his nerves. “It’s no different than any other assignment,” he muttered to himself. “You’ve been in this situation before. On with it, old boy. You’ve got this.”
He reached up and banged the metal knocker against the door three times.
And waited.
A minute later, he knocked again. Still no response.
He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped back, looking at the side of the house. There were lights on through the windows, but it didn’t appear anyone was coming to the door.
He shook his head as he stepped again to the door. After a moment of indecision, he reached for the knob. It turned easily under his hand, and he pushed.
The door opened.
Inside was a foyer that led to a wide set of stairs to the second floor. The banisters were wooden and smooth. A large chandelier hung above the foyer, the crystals glittering in the light. He stuck his head through the doorway, listening.
He heard.… music? It was faint, but still. He couldn’t make out the song, but it felt familiar somehow.
“Hello?” he called. No one answered.
He stepped into the house, closing the door behind him.
To his right was a living room, a large overstuffed couch set in front of a dark fireplace. There was a painting above the fireplace, a whimsical portrait of swirling eddies. He thought he saw the ruffled skirt of the couch shift, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the low light.
Ahead were the stairs.
To his left was a formal dining room, though it didn’t appear to be in use. The smaller chandelier above the table was dark, and the table was covered with books, old by the looks of them.
“Hello?” he tried again. No one responded.
He did the only thing he could.
He followed the sound of the music.
The closer he got, the more the notes filled in, trumpets low and sharp, a sweet masculine voice singing that somewhere beyond the sea, she’s there watching for me.
Linus had this record. He loved it so.
As Bobby Darin sang about watching ships from golden sands, Linus moved through the dream, fingers tracing along the books on the table. He barely glanced down at the titles, entranced by the telltale scratch of a record spinning.
He came to two swinging doors, portholes in their center. He stood on his tiptoes, peering through them.
The kitchen was bright and airy. It was bigger than any kitchen he’d ever seen before. He was sure the entire guest house could fit inside, with room to spare. Lights hung from the ceiling surrounded by glass globes like fishbowls. He could see a gigantic refrigerator next to an industrial-sized oven. The granite counters were sparkling clean, and—
His jaw dropped.
Ms. Chapelwhite was moving through the kitchen, feet barely touching the floor. Her wings glittered behind her, much brighter than Phee’s had been. They fluttered with every step she took.
But it was the other person in the kitchen that caught Linus’s eye the most.
Lucy was standing on a stepstool in front of the counter. He had a plastic knife in his hand and was chopping a tomato, dropping the pieces into a large pink bowl to his left.
And he was bouncing along with Bobby Darin. As the orchestra swelled mid-song, drums beating, trumpets blaring, he shook his entire body in time with the music. Bobby came back in, saying he knew without a doubt, his heart would lead him there.
And Lucy was rocking his head back, bellowing the words as he danced.
Ms. Chapelwhite was singing along with him, twirling in the kitchen as she moved in and out of sight.
It was a feeling of unreality that washed over Linus then, a discordant wave that felt like it was sucking him down. He couldn’t catch his breath.
“What are you doing?” a voice whispered.
Linus let out a strangled yelp and turned to find Phee and Talia standing behind him. Phee had cleaned herself up, her red hair like fire, her freckles more pronounced. Her wings were folded against her back.
Talia had changed into a different outfit, though it was remarkably similar to the one she’d been wearing before, sans cap. Her long, white hair hung down on her shoulders, the same luxuriant color as her beard.
They both stared up at him suspiciously. Linus didn’t know what to say. “I’m…” “Spying?” Phee suggested.
He stiffened. “Absolutely not—”
“We don’t like spies here,” Talia said ominously. “The last spy who tried to infiltrate our house was never heard from again.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Because we cooked him and ate him for supper.” “You did no such thing,” Mr. Parnassus said, appearing out of nowhere.
Linus was beginning to understand it was something he did. At some point, he’d removed his coat. He now wore a thick sweater, the ends of which fell over the backs of his hands. “Because we’ve never been so lucky as to have a spy. A spy suggests someone capable of infiltration without displaying their intent. Anyone that has come here has made their intentions perfectly clear. Isn’t that right, Mr. Baker?”
“Yes,” he said. “Quite.”
Mr. Parnassus smiled. “And besides, we don’t harm our guests.
Certainly not to the point of murder. That would be rude.” That didn’t make Linus feel any better.
“Beyond the Sea” gave way to Bobby singing about wanting a girl to call his own so he wouldn’t have to dream alone.
“Shall we?” Mr. Parnassus asked. Linus nodded.
They all stared at him.
It took him a moment to realize he was blocking the door. He stepped aside. Phee and Talia pushed through to the kitchen. Mr. Parnassus called over his shoulder, “Theodore! Supper!”
Linus heard a loud scuffling coming from the living room. He looked beyond Mr. Parnassus in time to see Theodore burst out from underneath the couch, tripping over his wings. He growled as he flipped end over end, tail smacking against the floor. He lay on his back for a moment, breathing heavily.
“Slow and steady, Theodore,” Mr. Parnassus said kindly. “We’d never start without you.”
Theodore sighed (possibly—Linus couldn’t be sure) and righted himself. He chirped as he gingerly stood on his back legs, folding his wings behind him with great care, first the right, and then the left. He took a tentative step forward, claws sliding on the wood floor before he found a grip.
“He prefers to fly everywhere,” Mr. Parnassus whispered to Linus. “But whenever it’s time to eat, I ask him to walk.”
“Why?”
“Because he must get used to his feet on the ground. He can’t spend all his time on wings. He’ll tire, especially being so young. If he ever finds himself in danger, he needs to learn to use his legs as well as his wings.”
Linus was startled. “Danger, why would he—”
“How many wyverns are left in the world, Mr. Baker?”
That shut Linus up quickly. The answer, though he couldn’t be exact, was not many.
Mr. Parnassus nodded. “Precisely.”
Theodore took his exaggerated steps toward them, head cocked to the side. When he stood at their feet, he looked up at Mr. Parnassus, chirped, and spread his wings.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Parnassus said, leaning down to run a finger along his snout. “Very impressive. I’m proud of you, Theodore.”
He folded his wings again, then looked up at Linus before leaning down and biting gently on the tip of one of his loafers.
Mr. Parnassus looked at him expectantly. Linus wasn’t sure what for.
“He’s saying thank you for the button.”
Linus would prefer not being gnawed on to show gratitude, but it was already too late for that. “Oh. Well. You’re … welcome?”
Theodore chirped again and went through the door that Mr. Parnassus held open for him.
“Shall we?” he asked Linus.
Linus nodded and walked through the door into the kitchen.
|
There was another table set at the other end of the kitchen. This one looked more used than the one in the formal dining room. There was a slightly worn tablecloth spread out, weighted down by place settings. Three plates and sets of silverware were on one side. There were four place settings on the other side, though one didn’t have a spoon or a fork. And there were settings at either end of the table. Candles were lit and flickering.
In the center, there was food stacked high. He saw scalloped potatoes and bread and some sort of meat he couldn’t recognize. There were leafy greens; the tomatoes that Lucy had been chopping looked like red beetles in the candlelight.
A feast, he’d been told, in his honor. Linus wondered if it were poisoned.
Most of the children were already sitting at the table. Chauncey sat in the middle, with Phee and Talia on either side of him. Across from them were Theodore (climbing on the chair in front of the plate with no forks or spoons) and Ms. Chapelwhite. Next to her was an empty chair, and then Sal. He glanced back at Linus, found he was being watched, and then turned around quickly, lowering his head, picking at the tablecloth.
Mr. Parnassus sat at one end of the table.
That left the other end as the only open seat, seeing as how Linus was most likely not going to sit next to Sal. The poor boy probably wouldn’t eat a single bite if that were the case.
No one spoke as he approached. He pulled out the chair, the legs of which scraped against the floor. He winced, cleared his throat, and sat. He wished Bobby were still singing to distract from the awkwardness, but he couldn’t see a record player anywhere.
He unfolded his cloth napkin next to his plate and spread it over his lap. Everyone stared at him.
He fidgeted in his chair.
Lucy was suddenly there beside him, causing Linus to jump in his seat. “Oh dear,” he said.
“Mr. Baker,” Lucy said sweetly. “Can I get you something to drink? Juice, perhaps? Tea?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “The blood of a baby born in a cemetery under a full moon?”
“Lucy,” Mr. Parnassus warned.
Lucy stared at Linus. “Whatever you want, I can give you,” he whispered.
Linus coughed weakly. “Water. Water is fine.”
“One water coming right up!” He reached up, grabbing an empty glass set next to Linus’s plate. He took it to the sink, climbing up onto his stool. He stuck his tongue out in concentration (through the gap where his two front teeth used to be) as he turned on the tap. Once the glass was full, he held it with both hands as he climbed down from his stool. He spilled nary a drop as he handed it over to Linus.
“There,” he said. “You’re welcome! And I’m not even thinking about banishing your soul to eternal damnation or anything!”
“Thank you,” Linus managed to say. “That’s very kind of you.”
Lucy laughed, a sound Linus was sure would haunt him for the rest of his life, before he went to the remaining empty chair. Sal pulled it out for him. On the chair sat a booster seat. Lucy climbed up into it, and Sal pushed the chair back toward the table, keeping his gaze downcast.
Mr. Parnassus smiled at the children. “Wonderful. As you are all aware, even though someone decided to hide his arrival from me, we have a guest.”
Lucy sank down in his booster seat just a little.
“Mr. Baker is here to make sure you’re all healthy and happy,” Mr. Parnassus continued. “I ask that you treat him as you would me or Ms. Chapelwhite. Which means with respect. If I find out that any of you have done anything … untoward, there will be a loss of privileges. Are we clear?”
The children nodded, including Theodore.
“Good,” Mr. Parnassus said, smiling quietly. “Now, before we eat, one thing you learned today. Phee?”
“I learned how to make the foliage thicker,” Phee said. “It took a lot of concentrating, but I did it.”
“Wonderful. I knew you could do it. Chauncey?”
His eyeballs knocked together. “I can unpack suitcases all by myself!
And I got a tip!”
“How impressive. I doubt a suitcase has ever been unpacked as well as you did. Talia, if you please.”
Talia stroked her beard. “If I stand really still, strange men think I’m a statue.”
Linus choked on his tongue.
“Illuminating,” Mr. Parnassus said, a twinkle in his eye. “Theodore?” He chirped and growled, head resting on the tabletop.
Everyone laughed.
Except for Linus, that is, because he wasn’t sure what had happened. “He learned that buttons are the best things in the world,” Ms.
Chapelwhite said to Linus, glancing fondly down at Theodore. “And I learned that I still judge people by their appearance, though I should know better.”
Linus understood who that was intended toward. He thought that was as close to an apology as he’d ever get from her.
“Sometimes,” Mr. Parnassus said, “our prejudices color our thoughts when we least expect them to. If we can recognize that, and learn from it, we can become better people. Lucy?”
Linus felt parched. He picked up his glass of water.
Lucy looked toward the ceiling, and in a monotone voice said, “I learned that I am the bringer of death and destroyer of worlds.”
Linus sprayed water on the table in front of him. Everyone turned slowly to stare at him again.
“Apologies,” he said quickly. He took the napkin from his lap and wiped down his plate. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Almost like it was planned that way.
Lucy? Should we try one more time?”
Lucy sighed. “I learned once again that I’m not just the sum of my parts.”
“Of course not. You’re more. Sal?”
Sal glanced at Linus, then turned his gaze downward. His lips moved, but Linus couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Neither could Mr. Parnassus, or so it seemed. “Louder, please. So we can hear you.”
Sal’s shoulders slumped. “I learned that I still get scared of people I don’t know.”
Mr. Parnassus reached out and squeezed his arm. “And that’s okay. Because even the bravest of us can still be afraid sometimes, so long as we don’t let our fear become all we know.”
Sal nodded but didn’t look back up.
Mr. Parnassus sat back in his chair, looking across the table at Linus. “As for me, I learned that gifts come in all shapes and sizes, and when we expect them the least. Mr. Baker? What is it you have learned today?”
Linus shifted in his seat. “Oh, I don’t think I should—I’m here to observe—it wouldn’t be proper for me to—”
“Please, Mr. Baker?” Chauncey said wetly, tentacle creeping along on the table, suckers sticking to the tablecloth and causing it to bunch up. “You just have to.”
“Yes, Mr. Baker,” Lucy said in that same dead voice. “You absolutely have to. I’d hate to think what would happen if you didn’t. Why, it might bring about a plague of locusts. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Linus felt the blood rush from his face.
“Children,” Mr. Parnassus said as Ms. Chapelwhite covered up a smile. “Let him speak. And Lucy, we talked about the locust plague. That’s only to be done under direct supervision. Mr. Baker?”
They looked at him expectantly.
It seemed as if he wasn’t going to get out of this. He said the first thing that came to his mind. “I … I learned that there are things in this world that defy the imagination.”
“Things?” Talia said, eyes narrowing. “And what would these things
be?”
“The ocean,” Linus said quickly. “Yes, the ocean. I’ve never seen it before. And I’ve always wanted to. It’s … it’s vaster than I even realized.”
“Oh,” Talia said. “That’s … so boring. Can we eat now? I’m starving.” “Yes,” Mr. Parnassus said, never looking away from Linus. “Of course.
You’ve earned it.”
|
As strange as the situation Linus found himself in was, dinner went relatively smoothly for the first ten minutes. It was while he was picking at the salad on his plate (not responding to the call of the potatoes, no matter how loud it was), that it came to a screeching halt.
It started, of course, with Talia.
“Mr. Baker?” she asked innocently. “Wouldn’t you like something more than just the salad?”
“No,” he said. “Thank you. I’m quite fine.”
She hummed under her breath. “You sure? A man of your size can’t live on rabbit food alone.”
“Talia,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Leave Mr. Baker—”
“It’s because of my size,” Linus interjected, not wanting someone to speak for him again. He was in charge here, after all. And the sooner they knew that, the better.
“What’s wrong with your size?” Talia asked. He flushed. “There’s too much of it.”
She frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being round.” He stabbed a tomato. “I’m not—”
“I’m round.”
“Well, yes. But you’re a gnome. You’re supposed to be round.” She squinted at him. “So why can’t you be?”
“It’s not—it’s a matter of health—I can’t—”
“I want to be round,” Lucy announced. And then he was. One moment, he was the skinny little thing sitting in his booster seat, and the next, he began to blow up like a balloon, his chest stretching out, bones cracking obscenely. His eyes bulged from his head, and Linus was sure they were
about to pop out onto the table. “Look!” he said through pinched lips. “I’m a gnome or Mr. Baker!”
“Why have you never seen the ocean?” Phee asked as Linus stared in horror at Lucy. “It’s always there. It never goes anywhere. It’s too big to move.”
Lucy deflated, bones rearranging themselves until he was nothing but a six-year-old boy again. “It is,” he agreed, as if he hadn’t just blown up to three times his size. “I tried.”
“That was a weird day,” Chauncey said, sliding a potato through his mouth with a tentacle. Linus watched as it slid down inside of him, perfectly clear though tinged green. It began to break down into tiny particles. “So many fish died. And then you brought them back to life. Most of them.”
“I’ve just … I’ve never had time,” Linus said, feeling dizzy. “I—too many responsibilities. I have an important job and—”
Theodore attacked the meat Ms. Chapelwhite had set on his plate, growling low in his throat.
“Arthur says that we should always make time for the things we like,” Talia said. “If we don’t, we might forget how to be happy. Are you not happy, Mr. Baker?”
“I’m perfectly happy.”
“You’re not happy being round,” Phee said. “So you can’t be perfectly
happy.”
“I’m not round—”
“What is your job, Mr. Baker?” Chauncey asked, eyes bouncing on his stalks. “Is it in the city?”
Linus wasn’t hungry anymore. “I—yes. It’s in the city.”
Chauncey sighed dreamily. “I love the city. All those hotels that need bellhops. It sounds like paradise.”
“You’ve never been to the city,” Lucy reminded him.
“So? I can love something even if I’ve only seen pictures of it. Mr.
Baker loves the ocean, and he only saw it for the first time today!” “If he loves it so much, why doesn’t he marry it?” Phee asked.
Theodore chirped through a mouthful of meat. The children laughed.
Even Sal cracked a smile.
Before Linus could ask, Ms. Chapelwhite said, “Theodore hopes you and the ocean are very happy together.”
“I’m not going to marry the ocean—”
“Ohhh,” Talia said, eyes wide, mustache twitching. “Because you’re already married, right?”
“You’re married?” Phee demanded. “Who is your wife? Is she still in your suitcase? Why would you put her there? Is she a contortionist?”
“Is your wife your cat?” Lucy asked. “I like cats, but they don’t like me.” His eyes started to glow red. “They worry I’ll eat them. To be fair, I’ve never had one before, so I don’t know if they’re delicious or not. Is your wife delicious, Mr. Baker?”
“We don’t eat pets, Lucy,” Mr. Parnassus said, wiping his mouth daintily.
The red faded from Lucy’s eyes immediately. “Right. Because pets are friends. And since Mr. Baker’s cat is his wife, that’s like his best friend.”
“Exactly,” Mr. Parnassus said, sounding amused. “No,” Linus said. “Not exactly. Why, I never—”
“I like being round,” Talia announced. “It means there’s more of me to love.”
“I love you, Talia,” Chauncey said, laying one of his eyes on her shoulder. That same eye turned slowly to look at Linus. “Can you tell me more about the city? Is it bright at night? Because of all the lights?”
Linus could barely keep up. “I—I suppose it is, but I don’t like being out at night.”
“Because of the things in the dark that could rip your bones from your flesh?” Lucy asked through a mouthful of bread.
“No,” Linus said, feeling queasy. “Because I would rather be home than anywhere else at all.” That was truer now than it’d ever been before.
“Home is where you feel like yourself,” Ms. Chapelwhite said, and Linus could only agree. “It’s the same for us, isn’t it, children? Home is where we get to be who we are.”
“My garden is here,” Talia said.
“The best garden,” Mr. Parnassus said. “And my trees,” Phee added.
“The most wonderful trees,” Mr. Parnassus agreed.
Theodore chirped, and Ms. Chapelwhite stroked one of his wings. “Your button, yes. It is here too.”
“What a lovely gift,” Mr. Parnassus said, smiling at the wyvern.
“And where else can I practice being a bellhop but at home?” Chauncey asked. “You have to practice something before being good at it.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Mr. Parnassus said.
“And this is the only place in the world where I don’t have to worry about priests trying to stick a cross on my face to cast my soul back to the pits of hell,” Lucy announced. He laughed as he shoved more bread in his mouth.
“Pesky priests, to be sure,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Are you going to take our home away from us?” The table fell quiet.
Linus blinked. He looked around for the source of the voice and was surprised to find it came from Sal. Sal, who was looking down at the table, hands curled into fists. His mouth was set into a thin line, and his shoulders were shaking.
Mr. Parnassus reached out and laid his hand on one of Sal’s fists. A long finger tapped the inside of Sal’s wrist. He said, “That isn’t Mr. Baker’s intention. I don’t think he ever wishes for something like that to happen. Not to anyone.”
Linus thought to disagree, but he didn’t think it would do any good. Especially in the light of an obviously traumatized child. And while Mr. Parnassus wasn’t wrong exactly, he didn’t like when someone else spoke for him.
Mr. Parnassus continued. “His job is to make sure I’m doing my job correctly. And what is my job?”
“To keep us safe,” the children intoned. Even Sal.
“Precisely,” Mr. Parnassus said. “And I like to think I’m good at it.” “Because you’ve had practice?” Chauncey asked.
Mr. Parnassus smiled at him. “Yes. Because I’ve had practice. And if I have my say, you will never be separated.”
That was a challenge, and Linus didn’t care for it one bit. “I don’t think it’s right to—”
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Ms. Chapelwhite asked. The children began to cheer.
