The House in the Cerulean Sea(13)

“I need to go back down to my desk, and—”

“Absolutely not, Mr. Baker. I have been instructed to tell you that you are to exit the premises without delay. Speak to no one. I don’t think that should be a problem for you, but it had to be said.”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” he said. “I’m not even sure if I’m here.”

“Yes,” Ms. Bubblegum said sympathetically. “Sounds like quite the existential crisis. Perhaps consider having it somewhere else.”

They were standing in front of the elevators. He hadn’t even known they were moving. The doors slid open in front of him. Ms. Bubblegum shoved him in, and reached in to hit the button for the first floor. She stepped out of the elevator. “Thank you for visiting the offices of Extremely Upper Management,” she said cheerfully. “Have a fantastical day.”

The doors slid shut before he could speak another word.



* * *



It was still raining. He barely even noticed.

One moment, he was standing in front of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, and the next, he was on the stone path that led to his porch.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten there, but that seemed to be the least of his worries.

He was startled out of his daze when Mrs. Klapper called over to him. “You’re home early, Mr. Baker. Did you get sacked? Or perhaps you received terrible medical news and need time to reconcile with your bleak future?” Smoke curled up around her bouffant from her pipe. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You’ll be missed terribly.”

“Not dying,” he managed to say.

“Oh. More’s the pity, I suppose. So that only leaves getting sacked. You poor dear. How will you go on? Especially in this economy. I suppose you’ll have to sell your house and find a dismal apartment somewhere in the city.” She shook her head. “You’ll probably end up murdered. Crime is on the rise, you know.”

“I didn’t get sacked!”

She snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

Linus sputtered.

She sat forward on her rocker. “You know, my grandson is looking for a personal secretary at his accounting firm. This could be your in, Mr. Baker. I do believe I’ve read stories that started exactly like that. Think about it. Your life is at its lowest this very moment, and you need to start fresh, which leads you to finding your true love. It practically writes itself!”

“Good day, Mrs. Klapper!” Linus cried as he stumbled up his steps.

“Think about it!” she shouted after him. “If all goes well, we could be family—”

He slammed the door shut behind him.

Calliope sat in her usual spot, tail twitching, seemingly unsurprised at his early return.

Linus slumped against the door. His legs gave out, and he slid to the carpet.

“You know,” he told her, “I don’t know if I had a very good day. No, I don’t think I had a good day at all.”

Calliope, as was her wont, only purred.

They stayed that way for a long time.





FOUR


The train car emptied as it went into the country. People getting on and off stared with open curiosity at the somewhat schlumpy man sitting in seat 6A, a large plastic crate on the empty seat next to him. Inside, a large cat glared balefully out at anyone who bent over to coo at it. One child nearly lost a finger when he tried to stick it in between the slats of the crate.

The man, one Linus Baker of 86 Hermes Way, barely noticed.

He hadn’t slept well the night before, tossing and turning in his bed before finally giving up and deciding his time was better spent pacing back and forth in the sitting room. His luggage, an old, scuffed bag with a broken wheel, sat near the door, mocking him. He’d packed it before attempting to sleep, sure he wouldn’t have time in the morning.

As it turned out, he had all the time in the world, seeing as how sleep remained elusive.

By the time he boarded the train at half past six, he was in a daze, the bags under his eyes pronounced, his mouth curled down. He stared straight ahead, one hand resting atop the crate where Calliope fumed. She’d never done well with travel, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He’d considered asking Mrs. Klapper to take care of her in his absence, but the squirrel debacle had most likely soured any chance of Calliope making it through the month unharmed.

He hoped none of the children were allergic.

Rain sluiced down the windows as the train chugged along through empty fields and forests with great, old trees. He’d been on the train for almost eight hours when he realized it was quiet.

Too quiet.

He looked up from the RULES AND REGULATIONS he’d brought from home.

He was the only one left in the train car.

He hadn’t noticed when the last person had left.

“Huh,” he said to himself. “Wouldn’t that just beat all if I missed my stop? I wonder how far the train goes. Maybe it goes on and on, never reaching the end.”

Calliope had no opinion of it one way or another.

He was about to start worrying that he had in fact missed his stop (Linus was nothing if not a consummate worrier), when an attendant in a snappy uniform slid open a door at the end of the car. He was humming to himself quietly, but it was cut off when he noticed Linus. “Hello,” he said amiably. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here! Must be going a long way on this fine Saturday.”