Linus struggled not to recoil. “No, I don’t. What rumors?”
“Dark things,” the man said. “Evil things. Those ain’t children. They’re monsters who do monstrous things. People go to that island and never return.”
“What people?”
The man shrugged. “You know. People. They go on out there and are never heard from again. That Parnassus too. A queer fellow, if there ever was one. Lord knows what he’s got them doing out there all by themselves.” He paused. Then, “I’ve even seen some of them.”
“The children?”
He snorted. “Yeah, if you can call them that.”
Linus cocked his head. “Sounds like you watched them closely.”
“Oh yeah,” the man said. “They don’t come here anymore, but when they did, you can bet I kept my eye on them.”
“Interesting,” Linus said. “I’m sure I can amend my report to let DICOMY know that a man of your age took an unhealthy interest in orphaned children. Would that do? Especially if they already pay you to keep quiet, which doesn’t seem something you’re capable of.”
The man took a step back, eyes widening. “That’s not what I—”
“I’m not here for your opinion, sir. I’m here to mail out that envelope. That’s all that’s required of you.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Three twenty-five.”
“I’ll need a receipt,” Linus said as he paid. “To be reimbursed. Money doesn’t grow on trees, after all.”
The man slammed the receipt on the counter. Linus signed it, took his copy, and had turned to leave when, “You’re Linus Baker?”
He glanced back. “Yes.”
“Have a message for you.”
“If it’s anything like the message you just relayed, I don’t need it.”
The man shook his head. “Foolish. It ain’t from me, though you would do well to listen so you aren’t the next to disappear. It’s all official. From DICOMY.”
He wasn’t expecting anything, at least so soon. He waited as the man dug around through a crate next to him before finding a small envelope and handing it over. It was from DICOMY, just as the man had said. Official seal and all.
He was about to tear into it when he felt the man’s eyes on him again.
A thought struck him. “Say, you wouldn’t know anything about raft building, would you?”
The man looked confused. “Raft building, Mr. Baker?”
Linus smiled tightly. “Forget I asked.” He turned and left the post office.
Once out on the street, he opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper.
He unfolded it.
It read:
DEPARTMENT IN CHARGE OF MAGICAL YOUTH MEMO FROM EXTREMELY UPPER MANGEMENT
* * *
Mr. Baker:
We are looking forward to your reports. As a reminder, we expect you to leave nothing out.
Nothing.
Sincerely,
CHARLES WERNER
EXTREMELY UPPER MANAGEMENT
Linus stared down at it for a long time.
* * *
He found Zoe in the grocer’s, right where she’d said she’d be. She had a full cart in front of her, and appeared to be arguing with the butcher over a large piece of meat. “All right?” he asked, coming to stand beside her.
“Fine,” Zoe muttered, glaring at the butcher. “Just dickering.”
“No dickering,” the butcher said in a thick accent that Linus couldn’t place. “No dickering. All price go up!”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “For everyone?”
“Yes!” the butcher insisted. “For everyone!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I take meat back, then.”
Zoe reached out and snatched it from the countertop. “No. It’s fine. But I’ll remember this, Marcel. Don’t you think I won’t.”
He flinched but didn’t say another word.
She dropped the meat in the cart and began to push it away. Linus followed.
“What’s all that about?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Get your report sent off?”
“I did.”
“And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what was in it.”
He gaped at her. “Of course not! That is a privileged communication meant for—”
She waved him off. “Might as well try.”
“—and furthermore, as outlined in RULES AND REGULATIONS, page 519, paragraph twelve, subparagraph—”
She sighed. “I have no one to blame but myself.”
He thought about telling Zoe (odd, that, calling her by her first name; most unusual) what the man at the post office had said, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because he felt it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. And besides, he told himself, the sun was shining. It was such a lovely day. There was no need to put a damper on it with the words of a bigot.
* * *
There was a damper put on the day almost immediately after their return to the island.
Really. He should have expected it.
Merle hadn’t said much beyond muttering how they took longer than expected, but they ignored him. As they were ferried back to the island, Linus watched a seagull following them overhead, and he remembered his mouse pad at DICOMY, the picture of the beach asking if he wished he was here.
He was. He was here.
And that was dangerous thinking. Because this was not a holiday, a trip well deserved after all his hard work. He was still working, and regardless of where he was, he couldn’t forget that. He had already gone far beyond what he was used to—this Zoe and Arthur business certainly wasn’t professional—but it would only be for three weeks more. His house waited for him, as did his sunflowers. Calliope certainly wanted to go home, no matter how often she could be found lying out in the sunlight in the garden for hours without moving. And so what if she had meowed at him for the first time when he’d traced a finger between her ears, wondering if he was about to lose a hand? It meant nothing.
Linus had a life.
A life which, unfortunately, seemed to be bent on stretching the boundaries of his sanity.
He stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom of the guest house and stared at his reflection. “Oh dear.”
Zoe had shoved a bag into his hand, telling him she’d gotten him an outfit for the adventure that afternoon. She had ignored his protests as she’d hoisted every single grocery bag out of the back of the car as if they weighed nothing. She’d left him standing in the driveway.
He planned on leaving the bag unopened in the guest house.
If he pretended it wasn’t there, then he wouldn’t need to look inside.
To distract himself, he put away the clothes that had been cleaned and laid out on his bed. There was a note placed on top of them that read: Your weekly washing service is complete! Thank you for staying at Marsyas Island! Your bellhop, Chauncey. The fact that Chauncey seemed to have washed all his clothes, including his underthings, definitely wouldn’t do. Linus would have to speak to him about boundaries. No doubt he’d angle for a tip.