“Grateful,” Arthur said dully. “Of course. Forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Linus looked up to see him smile, though it seemed to tremble. “Anything you can do to assist us will be more than wonderful. You … you are a good man, Linus Baker. I am honored to have known you. We’ll have to make sure your last week here on the island is one you’ll never forget.” He started to turn, but then paused. “And I promise you, the thought of using you for anything has never crossed my mind. You’re too precious to put into words. I think … it’s like one of Theodore’s buttons. If you asked him why he cared about them so, he would tell you it’s because they exist at all.”
And then he was up the stairs and into the night.
Linus stood in the cellar, staring at the space Arthur had left behind. The air was still warm, and Linus swore he could hear the crackling of fire.
SIXTEEN
If Linus’s life were a drama, the last week of his stay on Marsyas would have been cold and rainy, the gray clouds shifting overhead to match his mood.
But it was sunny, of course. The sky and the sea were cerulean.
On Monday, Linus sat in on the children’s classes, listening as they discussed the Magna Carta in the morning and The Canterbury Tales in the afternoon. Sal was quite vexed the stories were unfinished, which led Arthur to bring up the The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Sal vowed to read it and come up with his own ending. Linus thought it would be marvelous and wondered if he would ever get to read it.
On Tuesday from the hours of five in the afternoon to seven, he sat with Talia in her garden. She was fretting slightly over what Helen would think when she visited next week. She worried that Helen wouldn’t like what she’d grown. “What if it’s not good enough?” Talia muttered in Gnomish, and the fact that Linus understood her barely crossed his mind.
“I think you’ll find that it’s more than adequate,” he replied.
She scowled at him. “More than adequate. Gee, Linus. Thank you for that. I feel so much better already.”
He patted her on the top of the head. “We do need to keep the ego in check. You have nothing to fear.”
She looked around her garden doubtfully. “Really?”
“Really. It’s the most beautiful garden I’ve ever seen.”
She blushed under her beard.
On Wednesday, he sat with Phee and Zoe in the woods. He’d forgone a tie, and his shirt was open at his throat. He was barefoot, the grass soft underneath his feet. Sunlight filtered through the trees, and Zoe was telling Phee that it wasn’t just about what she could grow, but about cultivating what was already there. “It’s not always about creation,” Zoe said quietly as flowers bloomed underneath her hands. “It’s about the love and care you put into the earth. It’s intent. It’ll know your intentions, and, if they’re good and pure, there is nothing you won’t be able to do.”
That afternoon, he was in Chauncey’s room, and Chauncey was saying, “Welcome to the Everland Hotel, sir! May I take your luggage?” and Linus replied, “Thank you, my good man, that would be wonderful.” He handed over an empty satchel. Chauncey hefted it over his shoulder, his bellhop cap sitting crooked on his head. After, he made sure to tip Chauncey handsomely. It was what one did after having received first-rate service, after all. The saltwater on the floor was warm.
It was late afternoon on Wednesday, and Linus was starting to panic, a feeling settling over his shoulders like a heavy cloak that this wasn’t right, that he was making a mistake.
He had put his luggage on his bed with the intention of beginning to pack. He was leaving the day after tomorrow, and he told himself he might as well get started. But he stood in his room staring down at his bag. His copy of the RULES AND REGULATIONS lay on the floor near the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked it up. He asked himself why it’d been so important in the first place.
He didn’t know how much longer he would have stood there if he hadn’t heard the tapping on the bedroom window.
He looked up.
Theodore was perched outside, wings folded at his sides, head cocked. He tapped his snout against the glass again.
Linus went to the window, sliding it open. “Hello, Theodore.”
Theodore chattered in response, greeting Linus as he hopped inside. His wings opened and he half jumped, half flew to the bed, landing near Calliope. His eyes narrowed at her, and he snapped his jaws. She stood slowly, arching her back as she stretched. And then she walked to Theodore and lifted her paw to smack him across the face before yawning and jumping down from the bed.
Theodore shook his head, a little dazed.
“You deserved that,” Linus chided him gently. “I’ve told you not to antagonize her.”
Theodore grumbled at him. Then, he chirped a question.
Linus blinked. “Come with you? Where?”
Theodore chirped again.
“A surprise? I don’t think I like surprises.”
Theodore wasn’t having any of it. He flew up to Linus’s shoulder, landing and nipping at Linus’s ear until he had no choice but to obey. “Cheeky little git,” Linus muttered. “You can’t just bite until people do what you— Ow! I’m going!”
The afternoon sun felt warm on Linus’s face as they left the guest house. He listened as Theodore babbled in his ear. As the seagulls called overhead. As the waves crashed against the cliffs below. The ache in his heart was sharp and bittersweet.
They entered the main house. It was quiet, which meant that either everyone was out doing their own thing, or Lucy was up to something terrible that would end in death.
Theodore jumped down from Linus’s shoulder, wings out as he landed on the ground. He stumbled over them as he hurried toward the couch, tumbling end over end. He landed on his back, blinking up at Linus.
Linus fought a smile. “You’ll grow into them yet. Quite a lot, I think.”
Theodore turned over and found his footing. He shook himself from his head to the tip of his tail. He looked back up at Linus, chirped again, and disappeared under the couch.
Linus stared after him, disbelieving what he’d just heard. He’d seen part of Theodore’s hoard—the one he kept in the turret—but this was more important.
Another chirp came out from underneath the couch.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.
Theodore said he was sure.
Linus slowly went to his hands and knees and crawled toward the couch. Obviously he wouldn’t be able to fit underneath, but if he lifted up the skirt, he’d be able to see just fine.
So that was what he did.
He lay flat on his stomach and peered underneath the couch into Theodore’s lair, cheek pressed against the floor.
Off to his right, there was a soft blanket that had been fashioned into a nest. A small pillow—the size of Linus’s hand—sat atop it. Spread out around it were Theodore’s treasures. There were coins and rocks shot with quartz (much like the ones in Lucy’s room) and a pretty red-and-white shell with a crack through the middle.
But that wasn’t all.
There was a piece of paper that Linus could make out a few words: Brittle and thin. I am held—
There was a dried flower that looked like the ones Linus had seen in the garden.