“I take offense,” Arthur said. “Sir. And, as a reminder, the children have names. Hello, Lucy. Hello, Chauncey. Hello, Talia. Hello, Theodore. Hello, Sal. Hello, Phee.” In his head, he added, And to you, David; I haven’t forgotten. “They’re listening,” he explained as whispers swept through the audience. “It’s not every day that a child gets to hear their name spoken aloud on the radio. And I highly doubt they’re the only magical people listening, so yes, words matter, especially now.”
“We understand things are volatile in your community,” Haversford said, speaking for the first time, her voice deeper than Arthur expected. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It’s one of the purposes of this hearing, to hopefully cool the fires burning. But we are not the enemy, Mr. Parnassus. Surely you know that.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “Hoisted on my own petard. I’m afraid I must amend my earlier statement. Words matter, yes, but actions matter even more. Anyone can say anything they wish, but it’s the follow-through that’s important. Correct?”
“Of course,” Burton said with a sour expression.
He closed the trap. “Then surely you can see why I—and I am only speaking for myself here—might have a different definition of the word ‘enemy,’ given the actions of the government with regard to the magical community.”
Burton sputtered, Sallow appeared as his name suggested, Haversford sighed, and Rowder did absolutely nothing, sitting stock-still, back straight, gaze never leaving Arthur. The rain lashed against the dome above, an ever-present reminder of the dark sky overhead.
“Mr. Parnassus,” Haversford said, not unkindly, “you have every right to feel as you do. I won’t tell you I can understand what you went through, because that would be a falsehood built upon privilege.”
He nodded. “Thank you for recognizing that.”
“That being said, we’ll never get anywhere if we can’t even move beyond the introduction. If my colleagues will agree, perhaps we should save any speechifying until after we’ve heard from Mr. Parnassus. It would seem he is eager to speak, and isn’t that what we’re here for?”
“There is procedure to follow,” Burton retorted.
“There is,” Haversford agreed, “but we find ourselves in uncharted territory and procedure can only take us so far. I know I’d prefer to hear what we came to hear rather than talking over each other.” She looked to Sallow and Rowder. “In favor?”
“Aye,” Sallow said, voice cracking. “Yes. That would be beneficial.”
Rowder merely nodded, tapping her fingers impatiently against the folders in front of her.
Burton seemed irritated. “Fine. But I won’t let this devolve into baseless accusations being flung about willy-nilly.”
“I assure you,” Arthur said, “that any accusations I intend to make aren’t baseless. Instead, they are factual, given that I was present for all of them.”
Burton snorted derisively. “So you say. Very well, then. Mr. Parnassus, the floor is yours. Use your time wisely.”
Behind him, he heard Linus mutter, “I’ll show you wisely, you pretentious git.”
Arthur pretended to cough so he could cover his smile with his hand. “Thank you.” Though he knew all eyes were on him—not just here, but around the country and perhaps the world—he focused his attention on the man behind him, the four in front of him, and the group of children who no doubt surrounded the radio at home.
How long had he waited for this moment? Months since Linus arrived? Or did it go back further than that? He thought it did. Years and years, back to the boy who had written a letter in hopes of salvation—not just for himself, but the other children, too—only to be imprisoned for having the audacity to believe in freedom. Yes, this moment felt as if it had been a lifetime in the making, and though extraordinarily nervous, he refused to let Burton, Haversford, Sallow, or Rowder see it.
He began.
“When I was a child, I was abused at the hands of an employee of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. The abuse wasn’t just physical violence. It was also psychological, as the master made it his mission—as he often said—to put us in our places, a reminder that as magical beings, we were intrinsically lesser. The violation of our basic rights as people escalated unchecked until I—with the wisdom and boldness only found in youth—decided that something must change, that we—as people—should not be made to suffer. So I wrote everything down and attempted to mail it to the people I believed would help. The result of daring to ask for help from the very government whose representatives sit before me today? Imprisonment. Six months in a cellar with no windows and no lights. I was fed once a day and forced to use a bucket as a toilet. There was a metal bed with an old mattress that was riddled with mold. Cracks in the walls that I memorized by the light of my own flames because I had nothing else to occupy me. No books. No schoolwork. No visitors, and I wasn’t allowed to leave.
“For the first three days, I screamed. The week after, I burned. The week after that, I was beaten so thoroughly, I couldn’t breathe right for what felt like years. Like many who have suffered abuse, I was told it was my fault. That I deserved it. That I had it coming to me simply because I wouldn’t listen. He knew what was best, after all. He was an adult. A government employee. And I was just a child. I began to believe him.
“Time became slippery, elastic, and it stretched in ways I can’t even begin to describe with any clarity. For my own sanity, I kept track of the days with tick marks scratched into the walls. It was the only thing I had to keep me occupied, counting the days one by one. By the end, I was so delirious I’d convinced myself it’d been years rather than months.
“But I’m getting ahead of myself. I arrived at Marsyas Island when I was seven years old. I had nothing and no one.…”
All told, he spoke uninterrupted for two hours and forty-six minutes. Along with the rain, the only other sounds in the deathly quiet of Netherwicke aside from Arthur were audible gasps and the odd sniffle or three from the audience. By the end, Arthur’s voice was hoarse, throat burning, cooled only by a sip of water. He felt hollowed out, soft, and though the anger still burned, it was a negligible thing that sparked weakly.
Through his entire testimony, he kept his gaze forward and locked on the four before him. Burton gave nothing away, his default setting appearing to be a scowl. Sallow and Haversford took copious notes throughout the time Arthur spoke, the scratch of their pens a soothing metronome. For her part, Rowder did nothing aside from listen, ignoring the folders stacked before her. Though he didn’t expect it, he half hoped Larmina had been wrong about her, that she was nothing more than an elected official blinded by the idea of power.
“Thank you, Mr. Parnassus,” Haversford said after he’d finished. “That was … illuminating in ways I did not expect. I can’t imagine how difficult it was for you to come here and speak as honestly as you have, and you are to be commended. Before we continue, would you like to take a break to collect yourself?”
“No, thank you,” he said before clearing his throat. “I’m able to continue if you are.”
“So be it,” Burton said, sitting forward and riffling through the papers he had before him. “Mr. Parnassus, you testified against this former master, did you not?”
“I did.”
“He was censured, sacked, and found guilty, was he not?”
Arthur could see where Burton was heading, and more than willingly rose to the challenge. “Yes, but not in that order. He was found guilty, censured, and then sacked. From what I understand, he was on paid leave through DICOMY’s internal investigation and his sentencing, after which he was put on probation for three years. Only then was he no longer an employee of DICOMY, and therefore, not entitled to a further salary.”
“And your testimony was sealed given that you were a minor. Nothing has been released publicly.”
“That is correct, though I believe it had little to do with the fact that I was a minor, and more to do with DICOMY saving face.”
“Do you have proof of this?” Burton asked.
“Consider it a well-informed assumption.”
“So, no, then,” Burton said. “Mr. Parnassus, you reached a settlement with the government after an inquiry found negligence on the part of the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. How much was the settlement agreement for?”
“It sounds as if you already know.”
“Answer the question, Mr. Parnassus.”
Arthur smiled. “One million pounds.”
