The House in the Cerulean Sea(10)

“I can’t imagine why.”

Yes, definitely insulted. “What are they like? I’ve only seen them when they serve me lumpy potatoes.”

Ms. Bubblegum stopped abruptly and turned to look back at him over her shoulder. Linus thought she could probably spin her head all the way around if she put her mind to it. “Lumpy potatoes.”

“For the holiday luncheon?”

“I make those potatoes. From scratch.”

Linus blanched. “Well, I—it’s a matter of taste—I’m sure you—”

Ms. Bubblegum harrumphed and moved forward again.

Linus wasn’t off to a good start.

They reached another door on the other side of the rotunda. It was black with a gold nameplate fastened near the top. The plate was blank. Ms. Bubblegum reached up and tapped a fingernail against the door three times.

There was a beat, and then another, and then—

The door swung open slowly.

It was dark inside.

Pitch-black, even.

Ms. Bubblegum stepped to the side as she turned to face him. “After you.”

He peered into the darkness. “Hmm, well, perhaps we could reschedule. I’m very busy, as I’m sure you know. I have many reports to complete—”

“Enter, Mr. Baker,” a voice boomed through the open doorway.

Ms. Bubblegum smiled.

Linus reached up and wiped his brow. He almost dropped his briefcase. “I suppose I shall enter, then.”

“Looks like,” Ms. Bubblegum said.

And he did just that.

He should have been expecting the door to slam shut behind him, but he was still startled, nearly jumping out of his skin. He held his briefcase against his chest as if it could protect him. It was disorienting being in the dark, and he was sure this was a trap, and he would spend the rest of his days wandering around sightlessly. It would almost be as bad as getting sacked.

But then lights began to shine at his feet, illuminating a pathway before him. They were soft and yellow, like a brick road. He took a tentative step away from the door. When he didn’t trip over anything, he took another.

The lights led him much farther than he expected, before forming a circle at his feet. He stopped, unsure of where he was supposed to go. He hoped he wouldn’t need to flee anything terrible.

Another light, this one much brighter, flicked on overhead. Linus looked up, squinting against it. It looked like a spotlight, shining down on him.

“You may set down your briefcase,” a deep voice said from somewhere above him.

“That’s quite all right,” Linus said, clutching it tightly.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, more lights began to glow above him, shining up into the faces of four people that Linus recognized as Extremely Upper Management. They were seated far above Linus at the top of a large stone wall, peering down from their perches with varying expressions of interest.

There were three men and one woman, and though Linus had learned their names early on in his career at DICOMY, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember them presently. His mind had come to the decision that it was experiencing technical difficulties and was broadcasting nothing but fuzzy snow.

He looked at each of them, beginning left to right, nodding as he did so while trying to keep his expression neutral.

The woman’s hair was cut into a petite bob, and she wore a large brooch in the shape of a beetle, the carapace iridescent.

One of the men was balding, his jowls hanging off his face. He sniffled into a kerchief, clearing his throat of what sounded like quite a bit of phlegm.

The second man was rail thin. Linus thought he would disappear if he turned sideways. He wore spectacles far too large for his face, the lenses shaped like half-moons.

The last man was younger than the others, possibly around Linus’s age, though it was hard to tell. His hair was wavy, and he was intimidatingly handsome. Linus recognized him almost immediately as the one who always served the dried-out ham with a smile.

He was the one who spoke first. “Thank you for taking this meeting, Mr. Baker.”

Linus’s mouth felt dry. He licked his lips. “You’re … welcome?”

The woman leaned forward. “Your personnel file says you’ve been employed in the Department for seventeen years.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And in all that time, you’ve maintained your current position.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why is that?”

Because he had no prospects for anything else and no desire for Supervision. “I enjoy the work I do.”

“Do you?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m a caseworker,” he said, fingers slipping slightly on his briefcase. “I don’t know that there is a more important position.” His eyes widened. “Other than what you do, of course. I wouldn’t presume to think—”

The bespectacled man shuffled through papers in front of him. “I have here your last six reports, Mr. Baker. Do you want to know what I see?”

No, Linus didn’t. “Please.”

“I see someone who is very thorough. No nonsense. Clinical to a startling degree.”

Linus wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. It certainly didn’t sound like one. “A caseworker must maintain a degree of separation,” he recited dutifully.