Ms. Bubblegum didn’t speak as she led him past the fountain toward the black door with the gold plate on it. She opened it and stepped aside.
He didn’t look at her as he walked through the door. It shut behind him. The lights lit up on the floor, showing him the way. He followed them until they spread into a circle. There was a podium in the center of the circle. On it sat his report. He swallowed thickly.
Lights burst to life above him.
And there, staring down from atop the stone wall, was Extremely Upper Management.
The woman. Jowls. The bespectacled man.
And Charles Werner.
“Mr. Baker,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you,” Linus said, shifting nervously.
“Your reports have been … well. They’ve been quite the topic of conversation.”
“Have they?”
Jowls coughed wetly. “That’s one way to put it.”
“You know how I feel about euphemisms,” the bespectacled man said with a frown.
“Mr. Baker,” the woman said. “Is what you see before you the final report?”
“Yes.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
She sat back in her chair. “Baffling. I find it to be lacking, compared to your other reports. Very lacking, indeed.”
“I believe I got straight to the point,” Linus countered. “Which is, after all, what you asked of me. I made my recommendation after a month of observation. Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“Careful, Mr. Baker,” Jowls said, squinting down at him. “I don’t like your tone.”
Linus bit back a retort, something even a couple of weeks ago he would never have had to do. “My apologies. I simply—I believe I’ve done what was required of me.”
Charles leaned forward. “Why don’t you read it for us? Perhaps hearing it spoken aloud will impress upon us any meaning lost in translation.”
Fine. He would play their games. He’d done it for years, ever the obedient employee. He opened the folder and looked down. “I solemnly swear the contents of this report are accurate and—”
“We know that, Mr. Baker,” the bespectacled man said rather impatiently. “All the reports start the same. It never changes for anyone. It’s the next part we’re most interested in.”
He looked up at them. “You know what it says.”
Charles grinned at him. “Read it, Mr. Baker.”
Linus did. “It is my recommendation that the Marsyas Orphanage remain open, and that the children therein continue under the tutelage of Arthur Parnassus.”
That was it. That was all he’d written.
He closed the folder.
“Hmm,” Charles said. “I didn’t get anything new from that. Anyone else have further insights?”
Jowls shook his head.
The bespectacled man sat back in his chair.
The woman folded her hands in front of her.
“I thought not,” Charles said. “Mr. Baker, perhaps you could expound. What is it that brought you to this conclusion?”
“My observation of the children and the way they interacted with each other and Arthur Parnassus.”
“Vague,” Jowls said. “I demand more.”
“Why?” Linus asked. “What is it you’re looking for?”
“We aren’t here to answer your questions, Mr. Baker,” the woman said sharply. “You are here to answer ours. Do not forget your—”
“My place?” Linus shook his head. “How can I, when I’m reminded of it constantly? I have done this job for seventeen years. I have never asked for more. I have never wished for more. I have done everything that has been asked of me without complaint. And here I stand before you, and you are demanding more from me. What more could I possibly have to give?”
“The truth,” the bespectacled man said. “The truth about what you—”
He slammed his hands on the podium. The sound was sharp and flat as it echoed through the room. “I have given you the truth. In each of my weekly reports, you’ve read nothing but the truth. With every assignment I’ve been sent on, I’ve only ever been honest, even if it hurt me to do so.”
“Objectivity,” Jowls said. “As written in the RULES AND REGULATIONS, a caseworker must be object—”
“I know that. And I have been. I remember them. All of them. All of their names. The hundreds of them that I’ve observed. And I’ve maintained my distance. I’ve put up that wall. Can you say the same? What are the names of the children on the island? Without looking down at whatever notes you have, what are their names?”
Jowls coughed. “This is ridiculous. Of course we know their names. There’s the Antichrist child—”
“Don’t call him that,” Linus growled. “That’s not who he is.”
Charles had a smug grin on his face. “It’s Lucy. A rather ridiculous nickname for what he is.”
“And?” Linus asked. “The other five?”
Silence.
“Talia,” Linus spat. “A gnome who loves to garden. She is fierce and funny and brave. She is prickly, but once you get past it, there is a loyalty underneath that will take your breath away. And after all that she has been through, after all that was taken from her, she still finds joy in the smallest of things.”
The woman said, “Mr. Baker, you should—”
“Phee! The forest sprite. She acts tough and distant, but all she ever wanted was a home. She was found in squalor because her kind had been sectioned off without aid. Did you know that? Did you even read her report? Because I did. Her mother starved to death in front of her. And Phee herself nearly died, and yet when men came to the camp to try and take her from her mother’s body, she managed to turn them into trees with the last of her strength. The forests on the island are thick because of her, and she would do anything to protect those she loves. She taught me about roots, and how they can be hidden away, waiting for the right moment to burst through the earth and change the landscape.”
Extremely Upper Management remained silent as Linus began to pace.
“Theodore! A wyvern, one of the few that remain. Did you know he can talk? Do any of you know that? Because I didn’t. I’d never been told. None of us had. But he can. Oh, he doesn’t speak in English, but he talks just the same. And if you listen long enough, if you give him the time, you will begin to understand him. He is not an animal. He is not a predator. He has complex thoughts and feelings and buttons. So many buttons!” Linus reached down to his coat pocket and felt the brass button inside, indented from sharp teeth.
“Chauncey! A … well, no one knows what he is, but it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter because he might be more human than any of us. He’s been told his whole life that he is a monster. That he is the thing that hides under beds. That he is a nightmare. That can’t be further from the truth. He is a curious little boy who has a dream. And my God, how simple it is. How breathtakingly lovely. He wants to be a bellhop. He wants to work at a hotel and greet people and carry their luggage. That is it. But would any of you allow it? Would any of you give him the opportunity?”