The House in the Cerulean Sea(4)

Hence the soggy salad from the commissary.

Hung high above them were dreadfully cheery signs proclaiming: YOU ARE DOING GOOD WORK and ACCOUNT FOR EVERY MINUTE OF YOUR DAY BECAUSE A MINUTE LOST IS A MINUTE WASTED. Linus hated them so.

He put his hands flat on the desk to keep from digging his fingernails into his palms. Mr. Tremblay, who sat in Row L, Desk Six, smiled darkly at him. He was a much younger man who seemed to relish his work. “In for it now,” he muttered to Linus.

Ms. Jenkins reached his desk, her mouth a thin line. As was her wont, she appeared to have applied her makeup rather liberally in the dark without the benefit of a mirror. The heavy rouge on her cheeks was magenta, and her lipstick looked like blood. She wore a black pantsuit, the buttons of which were closed all the way up to just under her chin. She was as thin as a dream, made up of sharp bones covered in skin stretched too tightly.

Gunther, on the other hand, was as fresh-faced as Mr. Tremblay. Rumor had it, he was the son of Someone Important, most likely Extremely Upper Management. Though Linus didn’t talk much to his coworkers, he still heard their gossipy whispers. He’d learned early on in life that if he didn’t speak, people often forgot he was there or even existed. His mother had told him once when he was a child that he blended in with the paint on the wall, only memorable when one was reminded it was there at all.

“Mr. Baker,” Ms. Jenkins said again, practically snarling his name.

Gunther stood next to her, smiling down at him. It wasn’t a very nice smile. His teeth were perfectly white and square, and he had dimples in his chin. He was handsome in a chilling way. The smile should have been lovely, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The only times Linus could say he’d ever believe Gunther’s smile were when he’d perform surprise inspections, long pencil scratching against the clipboard, marking demerit after demerit.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Linus was going to get his first demerit, something he’d miraculously been able to avoid since the arrival of Gunther and his point system. He knew they were monitored constantly. There were large cameras hanging from the ceiling recording everything. If someone was caught doing something wrong, the large speaker boxes affixed to the walls would crackle to life, and there would be shouts of demerits for Row K, Desk Two or Row Z, Desk Thirteen.

Linus had never been caught mismanaging his time. He was far too smart for that. And too fearful.

Perhaps, however, not smart or fearful enough.

He was going to get a demerit.

Or maybe he was going to get five demerits, and then it would go into his personal file, a mark that would sully his seventeen years of service in the Department. Maybe they’d seen the dressing stain. There was a strict policy regarding professional attire. It was listed in great detail on pages 242–246 of the RULES AND REGULATIONS, the employee handbook for the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. Perhaps someone had seen the stain and reported him. That wouldn’t surprise Linus in the slightest. And hadn’t people been sacked for smaller things?

Linus knew they had.

“Ms. Jenkins,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s nice to see you today.” This was a lie. It was never nice to see Ms. Jenkins. “What can I do for you?”

Gunther’s smile widened. Possibly ten demerits, then. The dressing was orange, after all. He wouldn’t need a brown box. The only things that belonged to him were the clothes on his back and the mouse pad, a faded picture of a white sandy beach and the bluest ocean in the world. Across the top was the legend DON’T YOU WISH YOU WERE HERE?

Yes. Daily.

Ms. Jenkins didn’t seem inclined to respond to Linus’s greeting. “What have you done?” she demanded, eyebrows near her hairline, which should have been physically impossible.

Linus swallowed thickly. “Pardon me, but I don’t think I know what you’re referring to.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh. I’m … sorry?”

Gunther scratched something on his clipboard. He was probably giving Linus yet another demerit for the obvious sweat stains under his arms. He couldn’t do anything about those now.

Ms. Jenkins didn’t seem as if she accepted his apology. “You must have done something.” She was very insistent.

Perhaps he should come clean about the dressing stain. It would be like ripping off a bandage. Better to do it all at once rather than drag it out. “Yes. Well, you see, I’m trying to eat healthier. A diet, of sorts.”

Ms. Jenkins frowned. “A diet?”

Linus nodded jerkily. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Carrying a bit of extra weight, are you?” Gunther asked, sounding far too pleased at the idea.

Linus flushed. “I guess so.”

Gunther made a sympathetic noise. “I noticed. You poor dear. Better late than never, I suppose.” He tapped his own flat stomach with the edge of the clipboard.

Gunther was odious. Linus kept that thought to himself. “How wonderful.”

“You have yet to answer my question,” Ms. Jenkins snapped. “What is it you could have possibly done?”

Might as well get it over with. “A mistake. Clumsy me. I was trying eat the salad, but apparently kale has a mind of its own, and slipped from my—”

“I have no idea what you’re prattling on about,” Ms. Jenkins said, leaning forward and putting her hands on his desk. Her fingernails were painted black, and she tapped them against the wood. It sounded like the rattling of bones. “Stop talking.”