“Lucy,” Arthur said again.
Lucy sighed. “It’s my turn to be in charge.” He pouted. “You said I can do this the way I want.”
“I did,” Arthur agreed. “But that doesn’t mean betrayal.”
“But I’m secretly a villain!”
“Maybe we could all be villains,” Chauncey warbled.
“You don’t know how to be bad,” Talia told him. “You’re too nice.”
“No! I can be bad! Watch!” His eyes pivoted wildly until they landed on Linus. “Mr. Baker! I won’t do your laundry next week! Ha ha ha!” Then, in a panicky voice, he whispered, “I’m just kidding. I will. Please let me. Don’t take that away.”
“I want to be a villain,” Phee said. “Especially since we’re facing a murderous sprite. In case you didn’t know, I’m also a sprite, and I should be murderous too.”
“I’ve always wanted to murder someone,” Talia said, stroking her beard. “Do you think I have time to go back and get my shovel?”
Theodore bared his teeth and hissed menacingly.
“Sal?” Lucy asked morosely. “You want to be a villain too?”
Sal peeked over Arthur’s shoulder. He hesitated, then nodded.
“Fine,” Lucy said, throwing up his hands. “We’ll all be bad.” He grinned at them. “And maybe I can still betray you all by being secretly good and—” He grimaced, face twisting as he stuck out his tongue. “No, that sounds terrible. Ugh. Ick. Blech.”
Linus had a very bad feeling about this.
* * *
Lucy led the way, shouting so loudly that birds squawked angrily as they took flight from their perches in trees. He asked Arthur if he could use his machete to hack through the thick vines that hung from the trees, something Linus found particularly alarming. He was relieved when Arthur declined, saying that children shouldn’t handle such things until they were older.
It didn’t appear to be necessary, however. Whenever they seemed to be stuck, unable to move forward due to the growth of the forest, Phee would step forward. Her wings glistened brightly, shaking as she raised her hands. The vines slithered up the trees as if alive, revealing the path ahead.
The children exclaimed in delight, as Phee looked on smugly. Linus got the idea that she’d made the path difficult to begin with so she could be called upon. Even Sal was smiling as the vines whipped up into the trees.
Linus learned rather quickly that even though he’d experienced more of the outdoors in the last week than he had in the past year, it did not mean he was in any kind of shape. Shortly, he was huffing and puffing, sweat dripping from his brow. He brought up the rear with Arthur, who seemed inclined to take a leisurely pace, something Linus was grateful for.
“Where are we going?” Linus asked after what he was sure had been hours, but in actuality had been less than one.
Arthur shrugged, looking as if he wasn’t winded in the slightest. “I haven’t the foggiest. Isn’t it delightful?”
“I think you and I have very different definitions of delightful. Is there any kind of structure to this outing?”
Arthur laughed. Linus was uncomfortable with how much he liked that sound. “Day in and day out, they have structure. Breakfast at eight on the dot, then classes. Lunch at noon. More classes. Individual pursuits in the afternoon. Dinner at half past seven. Bed by nine. I believe that a break in routine every now and then does wonders for the soul.”
“According to RULES AND REGULATIONS, children shouldn’t have—”
Arthur stepped easily over a large log, green moss growing up the side. He turned back and held out his hand. Linus hesitated before taking it. His movements were far less graceful, but Arthur kept him from falling on his face. Arthur dropped his hand as the children shouted a little ways ahead. “You live by that book, I think.”
Linus bristled. “I do not. And even if I did, there’s nothing wrong with that. It provides the order needed to create happy and healthy children.”
“Is that right?”
Linus thought he was being mocked, but it didn’t seem malicious. He doubted Arthur Parnassus had a cruel bone in his entire body. “It exists for a reason, Arthur. It’s a governance that guides the world of magical youth. Experts from various fields all weighed in—”
“Human experts.”
Linus stopped, hand against a tree as he caught his breath. “What?”
Arthur turned his face toward the canopy of the forest. A shaft of sunlight had pierced the leaves and limbs, and illuminated his face. He looked ethereal. “Human experts,” he repeated. “Not a single magical person had any say in the creation of that tome. Every word came from the hand and mind of a human.”
Linus balked. “Well … that’s … that certainly can’t be true. Surely there was someone in the magical community who provided input.”
Arthur lowered his head to look at Linus. “In what position? No magical being has ever been in a position of power. Not at DICOMY. Not in any role in the government. They aren’t allowed. They’re marginalized, no matter their age.”
“But … there are physicians who are magical. And … lawyers! Yes, lawyers. Why, I know a very pleasant lawyer who is a banshee. Very respectable.”
“And what sort of law does she practice?”
“She works with magical beings attempting to fight … their registration.…”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “I see. And the physicians?”
Linus felt his stomach tighten. “They treat only magical beings.” He shook his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. “There’s a reason for all things, Arthur. Our predecessors knew the only way to help assimilate magical persons into our culture was to have stringent guidelines set in place to assure a smooth transition.”
Arthur’s gaze hardened slightly. “And who said they needed to be assimilated at all? Was any choice given?”
“Well … no. I don’t suppose it was. But it’s for the greater good!”
“For whom? What happens when they grow up, Linus? It’s not as if things will change. They’ll still be registered. They’ll still be monitored. There will always be someone looking over their shoulder, watching every move they make. It doesn’t end because they leave this place. It’s always the same.”
Linus sighed. “I’m not trying to argue with you on this.”
Arthur nodded. “Of course not. Because if we were arguing, it would mean that we were both so set in our ways, we weren’t amenable to seeing it from another side. And I know I’m not that stubborn.”
“Precisely,” Linus said, relieved. Then, “Hey!”
But Arthur was already walking through the trees.
Linus took a deep breath, wiped his brow, and followed.
“It goes back to Kant,” Arthur said as Linus caught up with him.
“Of course it does,” Linus muttered. “Bloody ridiculous, if you ask me.”
Arthur chuckled. “Whether or not he was right is something else entirely, but it certainly brings about an interesting perspective on what is or isn’t moral.”