He blinked his eyes open slowly the next morning.
Warm sunlight filtered in through the window. He smelled salt in the air. It felt like a lovely dream.
But then reality burst through, and he remembered where he was. And what he’d seen.
“Oh dear,” he muttered roughly as he sat up in the bed, rubbing a hand over his face.
Calliope lay curled at the edge of the bed near his feet, tail swishing back and forth, eyes closed.
He yawned as he pulled the comforter back, putting his feet on the floor. He stretched, popping his back. Regardless of the situation he’d found himself in, he had to admit he hadn’t had such a good night’s sleep since he could remember. Between that, the morning sunlight, and the distant crash of the waves, he could almost pretend that this was nothing but a well- earned holiday, and that he was—
Something cold and wet wrapped around his ankle.
Linus screamed as he jerked his legs up. In his fear, he miscalculated his own strength, and his legs went up and over his head as he somersaulted backward and off the other side of the bed. He landed on the floor on his back with a jarring crash, breath leaving his lungs in a spectacular fashion.
He turned his head toward the underside of the bed.
“Hello,” Chauncey said, eyes dancing on the end of their stalks. “I’m not actually trying to scare you. It’s almost time for breakfast. We’re having eggs!”
Linus looked back up toward the ceiling and waited for his heartbeat to slow.
Department in Charge of Magical Youth Case Report #1 Marsyas Orphanage Linus Baker, Caseworker BY78941
I solemnly swear the contents of this report are accurate and true. I understand per DICOMY guidelines that any discoverable falsehoods will result in censure and could lead to termination.
This report, and the ones to follow, will contain the observations I’ve made throughout each week of my investigation.
Marsyas Island and the orphanage herein are not what I expected.
It should be noted that the files given to me for this assignment are woefully inadequate, leaving out pertinent facts that I believe could have prepared me for what this investigation will entail. Either parts of the files were missing or they have been redacted. If it’s the former, then this is a serious breach of conduct. If it’s the latter, my temporary classification level should have negated that. I would recommend a review of protocols for all classified level four assignments in the future, to make sure no other caseworker walks into a situation without the required knowledge.
My apologies if this comes across as demanding. I merely believe more should have been provided.
The Marsyas Orphanage isn’t what I thought it would be. The house itself is foreboding, though it appears to be well-maintained. It is large, and the interior is cluttered, although in a way that makes it feel like a lived-in home rather than the sanctuary of a hoarder. Aside, of course, from the actual hoard that belongs to the wyvern Theodore, but I have yet to see what that consists of, exactly.
The children each have their own rooms. In these first few days, I have seen the interiors of those belonging to the gnome Talia (the walls are adorned with more flowers than appear to be in the
entirety of the garden), the sprite Phee (I do believe her bed is actually a tree growing through the floorboards, though for the life of me, I can’t figure how that’s possible), the … Chauncey (there is standing saltwater on the floor that I’m assured gets swabbed out once a week), and Theodore (he has built a nest in the attic that I was only allowed to see once I gave him another button; since I didn’t have a spare, I had to snip one from one of my dress shirts. I assume I will be compensated for this).
I have not seen the room belonging to Sal yet. He doesn’t trust me, and actually appears to be terrified of me, though through no fault of his own. He rarely says a word in my presence, but given his history, I can understand why. A history, I might add, I was not privy to as his file mostly discusses the abilities of his shift (leaving, of course, the most important part out). While this is certainly fascinating, I would suggest that it’s not enough. I’m told this is his twelfth orphanage. This information would have allowed me a better understanding upon my arrival.
I haven’t seen Lucy’s room. I haven’t asked. He has offered many times; once, he cornered me and whispered that I wouldn’t believe my eyes, but I don’t think I’m ready to see it yet. I will make sure to view it before I leave. If it is the last thing I do, my last will and testament has been filed with Human Resources. If enough of my remains exist, please see that they are cremated.
It should be noted that in addition to the children, there is an island sprite called Zoe Chapelwhite. The fact that I was not made aware of her presence until arrival is most unusual. Sprites, as I’m sure you’re aware, are highly territorial. I came to an island that is ostensibly hers without an invitation directly from her. It would have been well within her rights to deny me entrance, or worse. This suggests that either DICOMY wasn’t aware of her, or didn’t feel the need to make me aware of her existence.
Which brings me to Mr. Parnassus; his file consisted of a single page that told me nothing of the master of Marsyas Orphanage. This certainly will not do. I know that I can always ask him to tell me
about himself, but I would prefer to read about him instead of engaging in conversation. I am here to observe and report. The fact that I must become a conversationalist in addition to my current duties is vexing.
There is something about him—Mr. Parnassus—that I can’t quite put my finger on. He certainly seems capable. The children appear to be happy, possibly even thriving. Mr. Parnassus has the uncanny ability to know where the children are at all times and what they’re doing, even if they’re out of sight. He’s unlike anyone else I’ve met before.
Perhaps speaking to him won’t be such a difficult task after all. And I will need to. Because regardless of how happy the children seem to be, the house appears to be on the verge of chaos. Upon my arrival, the children were roaming the grounds of the island. I’m told they are allowed to foster their own pursuits for a time each day, but it seems … unwise to allow these specific children to be unsupervised for any significant amount of time. It’s well documented that magical youth are not in complete control of whatever powers they possess, some less than others.
That being said, I understand the need for secrecy here, given who these children are. I must admit that it might be a bit overblown. Regardless of their backgrounds, they are just children, after all.
How problematic could they possibly be with the guidelines set forth in RULES AND REGULATIONS?
 |
“Fire and ash!” Lucy bellowed as he paced back and forth. “Death and destruction! I, the harbinger of calamity, will bring pestilence and plague to the people of this world. The blood of the innocents will sustain me, and you will all fall to your knees in benediction as I am your god.”
He bowed.
The children and Mr. Parnassus clapped politely. Theodore chirped and spun in a circle.
Linus gaped.
“That was a lovely story, Lucy,” Mr. Parnassus said. “I especially liked your use of metaphors. Keep in mind that pestilence and plague are technically the same thing, so it did get a little repetitious at the end, but other than that, quite impressive. Well done.”
They were in the parlor of the main house, which had been converted into a classroom. There were six small desks lined up in front of a larger one. An old green chalkboard was set near the window, looking as if it’d recently been scrubbed clean. Thick pieces of chalk were set in a box near the floor. There was a map of the Earth on one wall, and a projector sitting on a metal stand in a corner. The walls were lined with books, much like Mr. Parnassus’s office was. There were encyclopedias and novels and nonfiction books about Greek gods and goddesses and the scientific names of flora and fauna and Linus thought he’d seen one with gold lettering on the spine that said The History of Gnomes: Cultural Relevance and Their Place in Society. It appeared to be at least a thousand pages long, and Linus was itching to get his hands on it.
Lucy took a seat at his desk, looking rather pleased with himself. He’d been the second to last to perform in what Mr. Parnassus indicated was a block in the curriculum known as Expressing Yourself. The children were invited to the front of the class in order to tell a story of their own creation, either true or made up. Talia had told a rather pointed tale of an intruder who came to an island and was never heard from again. Theodore (according to Mr. Parnassus) had spun a jaunty limerick that caused everyone (except for Linus) to laugh until they had tears in their eyes. Phee spoke of a specific tree in the woods that she was growing and her hopes for its roots. Chauncey regaled them with the history of bellhops (something, Linus gathered, that was an ongoing series).
And then there was Lucy.
Lucy who had stood atop Mr. Parnassus’s desk and basically threatened the entire planet with annihilation, his little fists above his head, eyes blazing.
Expressing Yourself was, according to Mr. Parnassus, an idea that would give the children confidence. Linus knew all too well the horrors of
having to speak in front of an audience. Twice a week, the children were required to speak in front of the others about whatever topic they fancied. In addition to giving them an opportunity to practice public speaking, Mr. Parnassus said he believed it to be a creative outlet. “The minds of children are wondrous things,” he said to Linus as they followed the others toward the parlor. “Some of the things they come up with seem to defy the imagination.”
Linus understood that wholeheartedly. He absolutely believed that Lucy was capable of everything he’d shouted.
Linus sat in a chair at the back of the parlor. He’d been offered a seat much closer, but he’d shaken his head, saying it was best if he sat out of the way to observe. He had his notepad and pencil ready, set atop his copy of RULES AND REGULATIONS (something he’d thought to leave in his room, but decided against; one should always be prepared should the rules need to be reviewed) when the first child had stood in front, but it’d been quickly forgotten. He reminded himself that he needed to take copious notes so his reports weren’t lacking, especially since there was nothing in the RULES AND REGULATIONS about children expressing themselves in such a manner.
And since Lucy was finished, that meant five children had expressed themselves.
Which left—
“Sal?” Mr. Parnassus said. “If you please.”
Sal slumped lower in his chair as if he were trying to make himself smaller. It was almost comical, given his size. He glanced back at Linus quickly before jerking his head forward again when he saw he was being watched. He muttered something that Linus couldn’t make out.
Mr. Parnassus stood in front of his desk. He reached down and tapped a finger on Sal’s shoulder. He said, “The things we fear the most are often the things we should fear the least. It’s irrational, but it’s what makes us human. And if we’re able to conquer those fears, then there is nothing we’re not capable of.”
Theodore chirped from the top of his desk, wings fluttering. “Theodore’s right,” Phee said, chin in her hands. “You can do it, Sal.”
Chauncey’s eyes bounced. “Yeah! You got this!”
“You’re made of strong stuff on the inside,” Talia said. “And it’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
Lucy tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “My insides are rotted and festering like an infected wound leaking pus.”
“See?” Mr. Parnassus said to Sal. “Everyone here believes in you. All it takes is you believing in yourself.”
Sal glanced back at Linus again, who tried to give what he hoped was an encouraging smile. It must not have gone over very well, as Sal grimaced, but either he had found the courage or resigned himself that he wasn’t getting out of it, because he opened the lid to his desk and pulled out a piece of paper. He stood slowly. He was stiff as he walked to the front of the class. Mr. Parnassus sat on the edge of his desk. His slacks were still too short and revealed socks that were a brightly offensive shade of orange.
Sal stood in front of the class, staring at the paper gripped tightly in his hands. The paper shook slightly. Linus sat statue-still, sure that any movement from him would send Sal running.
Sal’s lips started moving, his murmur barely audible.
“A little louder,” Mr. Parnassus said softly. “Everyone wants to hear you. Project, Sal. Your voice is a weapon. Never forget that.”
The fingers tightened around the page in his hands. Linus thought it would rip.
Sal cleared his throat and began again.
He said, “I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”
He hurried back to his seat. Everyone cheered.
Linus stared.
“Wonderful,” Mr. Parnassus said approvingly. “Thank you for that, Sal. I particularly liked the scratches as a history. It spoke to me, because we all have that history, I think, though none are quite the same as the others as you so deftly pointed out. Well done.”
Linus could have sworn he saw Sal smile, but it was gone before he could be sure.
Mr. Parnassus clapped his hands. “Well, then. Shall we move on? Since it’s Tuesday, that means we will begin the morning with maths.”
Everyone groaned. Theodore thunked his head repeatedly against the surface of his desk.
“And yet, we’ll still proceed,” Mr. Parnassus said, sounding amused. “Phee? Would you hand out the primers? Today, we’re going to return to the wild and wonderful world of algebra. Advanced for some, and an opportunity to refresh for others. How lucky are we?”
Even Linus groaned at that.
|
Linus left the guest house after lunch, preparing to return to the parlor for what was promising to be an exciting discussion on the Magna Carta when Ms. Chapelwhite appeared out of nowhere, startling him to the point where he almost stumbled back against the porch.
“Why would you do that?” he gasped, clutching at his chest, sure that his poor heart was about to explode. “My blood pressure is high as it is! Are you trying to kill me?”
“If I wanted to kill you, I know many other ways to go about it,” she said easily. “You need to come with me.”
“I shall do no such thing. I have children to observe, and a report that I’ve barely begun. And besides, the RULES AND REGULATIONS state that a caseworker mustn’t let himself be distracted when on assignment and—”
“It’s important.”
He eyed her warily. “Why?”
Her wings fluttered behind her. Even though it was impossible, she appeared to grow until she towered above him. “I am the sprite of Marsyas.
This is my island. You are here because I have allowed you to be. You would do well to remember that, Mr. Baker.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he said hastily. “What I meant to say was, I will definitely come with you wherever you ask me to go.” He swallowed thickly. “Within reason.”
She snorted as she took a step back. “Your bravery knows no bounds.” He bristled. “Now see here, just because—”
“Do you have other shoes?”
He looked down at his loafers. “Yes? But they’re pretty much the same.
Why?”
She shrugged. “We’ll be walking through the forest.”
“Oh. Well. Perhaps we could postpone that for another day—”
But she had already turned and started walking away from him. He gave very serious consideration to ignoring her and going back to the relative safety of the main house, but then he remembered that she could banish him if she wanted to.
And part of him—albeit a small part—was curious about what she wanted to show him. It’d been a long time since he’d been curious about anything at all.
Besides, it was a perfectly lovely day. Perhaps it would do him some good to be outside in all this sunshine.
|
Ten minutes later, he wished for death.
If Talia had come to him with her shovel, he didn’t think he’d have stopped her.
If Lucy had stood above him, eyes blazing, fire burning, he would have welcomed him with open arms.
Anything to keep from hiking in the woods.
“I’m thinking,” he gasped, sweat pouring off his brow, “that a bit of a break is in order. How does that sound? Lovely, I believe.”
Ms. Chapelwhite glanced back at him, a frown on her face. She didn’t look winded in the slightest. “It’s not much farther.”
“Oh,” Linus managed to say. “Great. Great! That’s … great.” He tripped over a tree root, but managed to keep himself upright by the grace of God. “And I hope that measurements of distance and time are the same for sprites as they are for humans, meaning not much farther is exactly as it sounds.”
“You don’t get out much, do you?”
He wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I get out as much as is required of someone of my position.”
“Into nature, I mean.”
“Oh. Then, no. I prefer the comfort and dare I say safety of my home. I would rather sit in my chair and listen to my music, thank you very much.”
She held back a large tree limb for him. “You’ve always wanted to see the ocean.”
“Dreams are merely that—dreams. They’re meant to be flights of fancy.
They’re not necessarily supposed to come true.”
“And yet, here you are by the sea, far from your chair and home.” She stopped and turned her face toward the sky. “There’s music everywhere, Mr. Baker. You just have to learn to listen for it.”
He followed her gaze. Above them, trees swayed, the wind rustling through the leaves. Branches creaked. Birds called. He thought he heard the chatter of squirrels. And underneath it all, the song of the ocean, waves against the shore, the scent of salt heavy in the air.
“It’s nice,” he admitted. “Not the hiking part. I could do without that, if I’m being honest. Rather uncomfortable for someone like me.”
“You’re wearing a tie in the middle of the woods.”
“I hadn’t planned on being in the middle of the woods,” he snapped. “In fact, I’m supposed to be in the house taking notes.”
She began to move again through the trees, her feet barely touching the ground. “For your investigation.”
“Yes, for my investigation. And if I find you’re hindering me in any way
—”
“Does Mr. Parnassus get to read your reports before you send them?” Linus narrowed his eyes as he stepped over a log overgrown with moss.
Ahead, he could see flashes of white sand and the ocean. “Absolutely not. That would be improper. I would never—”
“Good,” she said.
That caused him to blink. “It is?” “Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked back at him. “Because you’ll want to include this in your report, and I don’t want him to know about it.” And with that, she stepped out onto the beach.
He stared after her for a moment before following.
|
Walking on the beach in loafers was not something Linus enjoyed. He gave brief thought to removing them and his socks and letting his toes dig into the sand, but it fell away when he saw what was waiting for them on the beach.
It was hastily built, the raft. It consisted of four planks of wood tied together with thick, yellow twine. There was a small mast, upon which fluttered what appeared to be a flag.
“What is it?” Linus asked, taking a step toward it, feet sinking into the wet sand. “Is there someone else on the island? That’s not big enough for a man or woman. Is it a child?”
Ms. Chapelwhite shook her head grimly. “No. It was sent here from the village. Someone launched it from their boat. I’m sure they intended it to reach the docks like the last one, but the tide brought it here.”
“Like the last one?” Linus asked, perplexed. “How many have there been?”
“This is the third.”
“Why on earth would anyone— Oh. Oh dear.”
Ms. Chapelwhite had unfurled the parchment attached to the mast. In blocky lettering were the words: LEAVE. WE DON’T WANT YOUR KIND HERE.
“I haven’t told Mr. Parnassus about them,” she said quietly. “But it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t somehow know already. He’s … observant.”
“And this is directed toward whom? The children? Mr. Parnassus?
You?”
“All of us, I think, though I’ve been here far longer than the others.” She let the flag drop back against the mast. “And they would know better if it was just me.”
His brow furrowed at that chilling sentiment. “Why would anyone do such a thing? They’re just children. Yes, they are … different than most, but that shouldn’t matter.”
“It shouldn’t,” she agreed, taking a step back, wiping her hands as if they were dirty from touching the parchment. “But it does. I told you about the village, Mr. Baker. And you asked me why they are the way they are.”
“And you danced around answering my question, if I recall.”
Her mouth was a thin line. Her wings were sparkling in the sunlight. “You’re not a stupid man. That much is clear. They are the way they are because we’re different. Even you asked me if I was registered only minutes after we met.”
“This is abuse,” Linus said stiffly, trying to ignore the pointed jab. “Plain and simple. Maybe the people of the village don’t know exactly who inhabits this island, and that’s probably for the best. But regardless of that fact, no one deserves to be made to feel lesser than they are.” He frowned. “Especially if the government pays them for their silence. That has to be a breach of some sort of contract.”
“It’s not only this village, Mr. Baker. Just because you don’t experience prejudice in your everyday doesn’t stop it from existing for the rest of us.”
SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING, the sign on the bus had read. And everywhere, really, wasn’t it? More and more lately. On buses. In newspapers. Billboards. Radio ads. Why, he’d even seen the words printed on a grocery bag of all places.
“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t suppose it does.”
She looked at him, the flowers in her hair appearing as if they were in bloom. He thought they actually were. “And yet these children are separated from their peers.”
“For the safety of others, of course—” “Or for their own safety.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
She shook her head. “No. And I think you know that.”
He didn’t know what to say in response, so he said nothing at all.
Ms. Chapelwhite sighed. “I wanted you to see it for yourself. So you knew more than what was in those files of yours. The children don’t know, and it’s best to keep it that way.”
“Do you know who sent it?” “No.”
“And Mr. Parnassus?” She shrugged.
He glanced around, suddenly nervous. “Do you think they’re in danger? Could someone come to the island and attempt to cause harm?” The very thought caused his stomach to clench. It wouldn’t do. Violence against any child was wrong, no matter what they were capable of. He’d seen a master of an orphanage strike a boy in the face once, just because the boy had managed to change a piece of fruit to ice. That orphanage had been shut down almost immediately, and the master charged.
He’d gotten away with a slap on the wrist.
Linus didn’t know what had happened to the boy.
The smile that grew on Ms. Chapelwhite’s face held no humor. In fact, Linus thought, it looked almost feral. “They wouldn’t dare,” she said, showing far too many teeth. “The moment they stepped onto my island with the intention of hurting someone in that house, it would be the last thing they’d do.”
He believed her. He thought hard for a moment, and then said, “Perhaps we should send a message in response.”
She cocked her head at him. “Wouldn’t that be against your rules and regulations?”
He couldn’t meet her knowing gaze. “I don’t believe there’s a subparagraph for a situation like this.”
“What do you have in mind?” “You’re an island sprite.”
“Your observational skills are astounding.”
He snorted. “Which means you control the currents around your island, correct? And the wind.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about magical creatures, Mr. Baker.”
“I’m very good at what I do,” he said primly. He pulled his pencil from his pocket. “Hold the parchment out for me, would you?”
She hesitated briefly before doing just that.
It took him a few minutes. He had to go over each letter multiple times to make his words clear. By the time he finished, Ms. Chapelwhite’s smile had softened, and it was perhaps the most sincere expression he’d seen since he’d met her.
“I didn’t think you capable of such a thing, Mr. Baker,” she said, sounding gleeful.
“I didn’t either,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “It’s best if we don’t mention this again.”
He helped her push the raft back into the water, though he thought she was just humoring him. She most likely didn’t need his assistance. By the time the raft set sail again, parchment flapping, his loafers were wet, his socks soaked, and he was breathing heavily.
But he felt lighter somehow. Like he wasn’t paint blending into the wall. He felt real.
He felt present.
Almost like he could be seen.
The wind picked up, and the raft sailed away, back toward the mainland in the distance.
He didn’t know if anyone would actually find it, if it would actually make it across the channel.
And even if they did find it, they’d probably ignore it. That almost didn’t matter.
LEAVE. WE DON’T WANT YOUR KIND HERE, one side of the parchment said.
NO, THANK YOU, the other side said.
They stood on the beach in the sand with water lapping at their feet for a long time.
