by TJ Klune
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 wo
man. 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.
NINE
On the first Friday Linus Baker spent on the island, he received an invitation. It wasn’t one he expected, and upon hearing it, he wasn’t sure it was one he wanted to accept. He could think of six or seven or quite possibly one hundred things he’d rather do. He had to remind himself he was on Marsyas for a reason, and it was important he see all sides of the orphanage.
The invitation had come from a knock on the door of the guest house where Linus was attempting to finish his first report from his time on Marsyas. The ferry would come tomorrow to take him to the mainland so he could send it via post back to DICOMY. He’d been deep into his writing, careful to only allow one admonition per page regarding Extremely Upper Management’s lack of transparency before sending him to the island. He’d made it a game of sorts, trying to make his responses to their transgressions as subtle as possible. He’d been thankful for the interruption of a knock at the door when the last line he’d written read … and furthermore, the very idea that Extremely Upper Management would employ obfuscation and outright deception with their caseworkers is most uncivilized.
It was probably for the best if he rethought that last sentence.
He was pleasantly surprised to find Mr. Parnassus standing on the porch of the guest house, looking windswept and warm in the afternoon sunlight, something that Linus was finding himself not only getting used to seeing, but rather looking forward to. He told himself it was because Mr. Parnassus was a cheery fellow, and if this were the real world, perhaps they
could have been friends, something that Linus was in short supply of. That was all it was.
It didn’t matter that Mr. Parnassus didn’t appear to own a pair of slacks that actually fit his long legs, given that they were always too short. Today he wore blue socks with clouds on them. Linus refused to be charmed.
He mostly succeeded.
Still, when Mr. Parnassus extended his invitation, Linus felt his throat close, and his tongue become as dry as burnt toast. “Pardon?” he managed to ask.
Mr. Parnassus smiled knowingly. “I said it might be a good idea if you were to sit in on my one-on-one with Lucy, just so you may get the full experience of Marsyas. I expect Extremely Upper Management anticipates your observations of such, don’t you think?”
Linus did. In fact, he was beginning to think that perhaps Extremely Upper Management cared more about Lucy than any other person on the island. Oh, it wasn’t spelled out as such in the files he’d been given, but Linus had been doing this line of work for a long time and was more perceptive than most gave him credit for.
That didn’t mean he’d jump at such an invitation.
He had only made partial headway on his first few days on the island. Sal was still petrified of him, and Phee was dismissive, but Talia only threatened to bury him in her garden once or twice per day, and Chauncey seemed happy about anything and everything (especially when he got to deliver fresh towels or bedsheets to Linus, always managing to cough politely enough to ensure a tip). Theodore, of course, thought the sun rose and set because of Linus, something that shouldn’t have tugged at his heartstrings as much as it did. It was only a button (four now, in fact; Linus had decided one of his dress shirts was ready for retirement, and he would snip a new button each morning), and that they were plastic and not brass didn’t seem to matter to Theodore.
Lucy, on the other hand, was still an enigma. A terrifying enigma, to be sure, given that he was the Antichrist, but an enigma nonetheless. Just the day before, Linus had found himself in the library of the main house, an old room on the first floor filled with books from floor to ceiling. He’d been perusing the shelves when he’d caught movement in the shadows out of the corner of his eye. He’d whirled around, but there was nothing there.
