The House in the Cerulean Sea(32)

Linus understood who that was intended toward. He thought that was as close to an apology as he’d ever get from her.

“Sometimes,” Mr. Parnassus said, “our prejudices color our thoughts when we least expect them to. If we can recognize that, and learn from it, we can become better people. Lucy?”

Linus felt parched. He picked up his glass of water.

Lucy looked toward the ceiling, and in a monotone voice said, “I learned that I am the bringer of death and destroyer of worlds.”

Linus sprayed water on the table in front of him.

Everyone turned slowly to stare at him again.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. He took the napkin from his lap and wiped down his plate. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Almost like it was planned that way. Lucy? Should we try one more time?”

Lucy sighed. “I learned once again that I’m not just the sum of my parts.”

“Of course not. You’re more. Sal?”

Sal glanced at Linus, then turned his gaze downward. His lips moved, but Linus couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Neither could Mr. Parnassus, or so it seemed. “Louder, please. So we can hear you.”

Sal’s shoulders slumped. “I learned that I still get scared of people I don’t know.”

Mr. Parnassus reached out and squeezed his arm. “And that’s okay. Because even the bravest of us can still be afraid sometimes, so long as we don’t let our fear become all we know.”

Sal nodded but didn’t look back up.

Mr. Parnassus sat back in his chair, looking across the table at Linus. “As for me, I learned that gifts come in all shapes and sizes, and when we expect them the least. Mr. Baker? What is it you have learned today?”

Linus shifted in his seat. “Oh, I don’t think I should—I’m here to observe—it wouldn’t be proper for me to—”

“Please, Mr. Baker?” Chauncey said wetly, tentacle creeping along on the table, suckers sticking to the tablecloth and causing it to bunch up. “You just have to.”

“Yes, Mr. Baker,” Lucy said in that same dead voice. “You absolutely have to. I’d hate to think what would happen if you didn’t. Why, it might bring about a plague of locusts. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Linus felt the blood rush from his face.

“Children,” Mr. Parnassus said as Ms. Chapelwhite covered up a smile. “Let him speak. And Lucy, we talked about the locust plague. That’s only to be done under direct supervision. Mr. Baker?”

They looked at him expectantly.

It seemed as if he wasn’t going to get out of this. He said the first thing that came to his mind. “I … I learned that there are things in this world that defy the imagination.”

“Things?” Talia said, eyes narrowing. “And what would these things be?”

“The ocean,” Linus said quickly. “Yes, the ocean. I’ve never seen it before. And I’ve always wanted to. It’s … it’s vaster than I even realized.”

“Oh,” Talia said. “That’s … so boring. Can we eat now? I’m starving.”

“Yes,” Mr. Parnassus said, never looking away from Linus. “Of course. You’ve earned it.”



* * *



As strange as the situation Linus found himself in was, dinner went relatively smoothly for the first ten minutes. It was while he was picking at the salad on his plate (not responding to the call of the potatoes, no matter how loud it was), that it came to a screeching halt.

It started, of course, with Talia.

“Mr. Baker?” she asked innocently. “Wouldn’t you like something more than just the salad?”

“No,” he said. “Thank you. I’m quite fine.”

She hummed under her breath. “You sure? A man of your size can’t live on rabbit food alone.”

“Talia,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Leave Mr. Baker—”

“It’s because of my size,” Linus interjected, not wanting someone to speak for him again. He was in charge here, after all. And the sooner they knew that, the better.

“What’s wrong with your size?” Talia asked.

He flushed. “There’s too much of it.”

She frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with being round.”

He stabbed a tomato. “I’m not—”

“I’m round.”

“Well, yes. But you’re a gnome. You’re supposed to be round.”

She squinted at him. “So why can’t you be?”

“It’s not—it’s a matter of health—I can’t—”

“I want to be round,” Lucy announced. And then he was. One moment, he was the skinny little thing sitting in his booster seat, and the next, he began to blow up like a balloon, his chest stretching out, bones cracking obscenely. His eyes bulged from his head, and Linus was sure they were about to pop out onto the table. “Look!” he said through pinched lips. “I’m a gnome or Mr. Baker!”

“Why have you never seen the ocean?” Phee asked as Linus stared in horror at Lucy. “It’s always there. It never goes anywhere. It’s too big to move.”