He closed his eyes and breathed.
ELEVEN
Department in Charge of Magical Youth
Case Report #2 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.
My second week at the Marsyas Orphanage has brought new insights into its inhabitants. Where once there seemed to be chaos, I now see a strange yet definitive order. It has nothing to do with hastily brought changes at my arrival (of which I assume there were a few; such things usually occur before a caseworker walks through the door), but more so with me growing accustomed to how things are run.
Ms. Chapelwhite, though she isn’t on any kind of DICOMY payroll, cares for these children as if they were her own. Given that she’s a sprite, it’s a little surprising, as her kind are known for their solitary existences and being extraordinarily protective of the lands that they tend to. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever met a sprite who wasn’t fiercely protective of their privacy. And while Ms. Chapelwhite isn’t exactly forthcoming, she does work in tandem with the master of the house to ensure the children are well provided for. She is often found in the kitchen preparing meals, and even takes to handling study groups for the lessons Mr. Parnassus has taught. She is well-versed on a variety of subjects, and her tutelage enhances what the children have learned. It appears to be free of any sort of propaganda, though that might be for my benefit.
I’ve now seen Lucy’s room, and sat in on one of his sessions with Mr. Parnassus. If you take away what is known about the boy—who he is supposed to be—you are left with an inquisitive youth who tends to say things for shock value rather than with any sincerity. He is intelligent, almost frighteningly so, and well-spoken. If DICOMY weren’t sure he was the Antichrist—a word that’s not to be uttered at the Marsyas Orphanage—I would think he was nothing more than a boy capable of conjuring images meant to scare. However, I expect this is what he wants me to think. I would do well to keep my guard up. Just because he appears as a child doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of great calamity.
His room is small, converted from a walk-in closet in Mr. Parnassus’s own room. He was somewhat shy in showing me where he resides, but his love for music allowed me to form a connection with him. I believe—under proper guidance—that he will be capable of becoming a productive member of society. So long, that is, as he doesn’t give in to his true nature. It does beg the question of nature versus nurture, if there is inherent evil in the world that can be overcome by a normalized upbringing. Can he be rehabilitated? Assimilated? That remains to be seen.
I haven’t seen Sal’s room, though I think I am slowly gaining his trust. I have to be careful with him. He reminds me of a skittish foal. That being said, I have heard him speak more in the last day than I have in the entirety of my stay on the island thus far. Granted, he wasn’t speaking to me but around me, but I don’t know that it matters. He’s like a sunflower, I think. He needs to be coaxed with proper care to show his true colors.
Theodore—the wyvern—has a hoard that I haven’t seen yet, though it has to be filled with at least a dozen of my buttons. I may not ever see it, but as of yet, it doesn’t cause me any great concern. They’re only buttons, after all. I plan on keeping a sharp eye out in case there are hints at anything more nefarious.
The biggest issue I see to date is what appears to be isolation. The children don’t leave the island, large as it is. There is a reason for it, and one I am bothered by. It would have been helpful to know before my arrival that the villagers are paid by the government for their silence. Little details like this are important, and the fact that I was unaware makes me look unprofessional. It does raise the question, too, of the source of these payments. Do they come from the funding that’s earmarked for this specific orphanage? I would expect an auditor would take issue if that’s the case.
The village nearby seems to be somewhat hostile to the inhabitants of the orphanage. I believe DICOMY isn’t doing itself any favors with its campaigns in conjunction with the Department in Charge of Registration. There are signs of SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING in every corner of the village, and it’s reminiscent of those in the city, though they seem more cluttered here. If the children don’t feel welcome in the real world, how can we ever hope to integrate them into society?
I’m thinking of a day trip, perhaps. To test the waters. I’ll need to bring it up to Mr. Parnassus, of course. I think it would do the children good, and hopefully allow the villagers to see their fears are unfounded. If Arthur says no, I suppose I’ll have to abide by it.
Such a strange fellow Arthur is. He cares for the children. That much is clear. While he doesn’t follow RULES AND REGULATIONS to the letter (possibly not at all), I think there is merit to what he does. The children all care about each other immensely, and I believe that is in no small part due to Arthur.
Still, he is an enigma. For all that I’ve learned about this place, I feel as if I know him the least. I will need to rectify that, I think.
For the children, of course.
Talia showed me more of her garden today. Gnomes are quite proficient in horticulture, but she seems to outshine even the very best and …
* * *
It was a Tuesday in Linus’s second week at on Marsyas when Calliope decided she needed to be chased, after committing theft.
It certainly wasn’t something Linus wanted to do; it was after lunch and he was sitting on the porch in the sun, dozing quite peacefully. He still had a few moments before he needed to return to the main house to sit in on the children’s studies, and he was using that time wisely.
And then there was the idea of chasing a cat at all. Linus, for all that he was capable of, didn’t like to chase anything. Chasing implied running, and Linus had decided long ago that running wasn’t something he liked very much. He never understood those who woke up even before the sun had risen, donned their fancy expensive sneakers, and went running on purpose. It was most unusual.
But then Calliope burst out of the guest house, hackles raised and eyes wide, as felines sometimes did for mysterious reasons. She looked at him wildly, tail up in a rigid line, claws digging into the floorboards.
And she had one of his ties in her mouth.
Linus frowned. “What are you—”
Calliope bolted off the porch toward the garden.
Linus almost toppled over as he stood from his chair, managing to stay upright by the grace of God. He watched as Calliope ran, the black tie trailing behind her. “Hey!” he shouted. “Damn cat, what are you doing? Stop this instant!”
She didn’t stop. She disappeared behind a hedge.
For a moment, Linus thought about letting her go. It was just a tie, after all. He actually hadn’t worn a tie this week. It was much too warm, and Phee had asked why he always wore one. When he told her it was proper for someone in his position to wear a tie, she’d stared at him before walking away, shaking her head.
But it absolutely wasn’t because of Phee that he’d forgone his tie on Sunday for the first time. And then when Monday had come around again, he’d decided it certainly wasn’t necessary, at least for the time being. Once he returned to the city, he’d have to wear one, of course, but now?