The House in the Cerulean Sea

Linus was getting flustered. “I never said I didn’t [care]. I merely do what is required of me. There’s a difference between forming attachments and being empathetic. These children…They have no one else. It’s the reason they’re in the orphanages to begin with. They shouldn’t have to lay their heads down at night with an empty stomach, or worry about being worked to the bone. Just because these orphans must be kept separate from normal children doesn’t mean they should be treated any differently. All children, no matter their…disposition or what they’re capable of, must be protected regardless of the cost.”

Jowls coughed wetly. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes.”

“And what became of the children in the orphanages you closed?”

Linus blinked. “That’s a matter for Supervision. I make my recommendation, and the Supervisor handles what comes next.”

“Why are you here?”

“To ensure the safety of the children,” he said as if it were second nature. “To see that they are being provided for. Cared for. And that they aren’t in danger, either from themselves or others.”

“And that goes for all children, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. It doesn’t matter where he came from. Or what he is. He is a child, and your job, as much as it is mine or Arthur’s, is to protect him. And all the others.”

“The world is a weird and wonderful place. Why must we try and explain it all away? For our personal satisfaction?”

“Because knowledge is power.”

Mr. Parnassus snorted. “Ah. Power. Spoken like a true representative of DICOMY. Why am I not surprised you have the rule book memorized? You should know there’s a chance that you’ll find Chauncey under your bed at one point or another.”

That startled Linus. “What? Why?”

“Because for the longest time, before he came here, he was called a monster, even by people who should have known better. He was told the stories of monsters hiding under beds whose calling in life was to frighten others. He thought that was who he was supposed to be. That it was his job to scare people, because it’d been ingrained in his…head that was all he was capable of.”

“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. […] “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.”

Arthur shook his head. “These children aren’t animals. You aren’t on a safari with binoculars, watching them from a distance. How are you supposed to evaluate the children if you don’t even take the time to know them? They’re people, Linus. Even if some of them look different.”

“So not cool, man,” J-Bone scolded the unconscious Marty. “Like, for real. Music is for everyone.”

“The little girl. She wasn’t scared of me. She was nice. She didn’t care what I looked like. That means she can make up her own mind. Maybe that woman will tell her I’m bad. And maybe she’ll believe it. Or maybe she won’t believe it at all. Arthur told me that in order to change the minds of many, you have to first start with the minds of a few. She’s just one person. But so is the lady.”

“Guilt is a powerful tool,” Arthur said. “For all I endured here, it would fall back on DICOMY if word ever got out. They thought they could use it as leverage. For my silence, they would allow me this house. To keep track of me, yes, but in the end, they saw the island as a solitary and desolate place where the only village nearby could easily be bought off. One where they could send who they considered to be the most…extreme. This was their grand experiment. They thought I was a pawn.”

“But you were playing them,” Linus whispered. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

Arthur smiled. “Oh yes. I took their huddled masses and gave them a home where they could breathe without fear of retaliation.”

“Of course they listen,” Linus said, exasperated. “They listen to every single thing you say. They look to you because you are their family. You are their—” He stopped, breathing heavily. He shouldn’t say it. It wasn’t right. None of this was. It wasn’t—“You are their father, Arthur. You said you love them more than life itself. You have to know they feel the same about you. Of course they do. How can they not? Look at you. Look at what you’ve made here. You are a fire, and they need to know how you burn. Not only because of who you are, but because of what they have made you into.”

“And don’t all children deserve to be protected? To be loved and nurtured so that they may grow and shape the world to make it a better place? In that way, they are no different than any other child in the village, or beyond. But they’re told they are, by people such as yourselves, and people who govern them and our world. People who put rules and restrictions in place to keep them separated and isolated. I don’t know what it will take to change that, if anything. But it won’t start at the top. It’ll start with us.”

“You have the right to assemble peacefully. You have the right to express your opinions. But the moment it crosses the line into violence, it becomes a matter of legality. Magical youth are protected by laws, as all children are. Any harm that comes to them will be met with the swiftest of consequences. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll do my best to make sure anyone who lays a hand on a child, magical or not, will wish they hadn’t.”

“Did he tell you?”

“No. I don’t think he’s allowed. But we know. We all know. Just like we know what you both did when you left the other day. He’s one of us. Just like you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have magic.”

“You do, Mr. Baker. Arthur told me that there can be magic in the ordinary.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

She shook her head. “Good. Because I don’t.”

“I can’t just stay here. There are rules to follow. Regulations that must be—”

To hell with your rules and regulations!”

He gaped at her. Then, he said the only thing he could, “Life, it—it doesn’t work that way.”

“Why doesn’t it?” she snapped. “Why can’t life work whatever way we want it to? What’s the point of living if you only do it how others want you to?”

“It’s the best we can do.”

She scoffed. “And this is your best? This?”

“Also, speaking of euphemisms, for the love of all that is holy, stop calling them orphanages. That implies something that has never been the case. These are homes. They have always been homes. And some of them haven’t been good, which is why I recommended they be closed. But not this one. Never this one. These children don’t need a home, because they already have one, whether you like it or not.”

Change, he reminded himself, started with the voices of the few. Perhaps it would amount to nothing, but he wouldn’t know unless he tried. At the very least, he could follow up with some of the children he’d met before and find out where they were now. And, if all went as he hoped, he wouldn’t let them be left behind or forgotten.

Which was why he began to smuggle out the reports. Every day, he would take a few more. He was a sweaty mess each time he put another in his briefcase, sure that at any moment, someone would shout his name, demanding to know what he was doing, especially when he started after the files belonging to other caseworkers.

But no one ever did.

But there had been greater grumblings when she’d announced her intention to position the village of Marsyas as a vacation spot for all, humans and magical beings alike. It wasn’t until she’d reminded the business owners that more people meant more money for the village that the grumblings began to lessen. Linus was grimly amused by how prejudice didn’t seem to be a match for profit, especially seeing as how the payments the village had been receiving for their silence regarding the island had been cut off. He took it as a victory when the village council had voted in favor, however hollow it could be.