“We … were?” Linus asked. “I mean, of course we were. That’s exactly right. Language can be used for good, but it can also cause suffering.”
“To marginalized communities,” Sal said, voice clear. He did not turn back to look at the inspector again, but she was looking at him with narrowed eyes. Arthur thought that had been Sal’s point: to remove her attention from David. “So, my question is this: If certain language knowingly causes harm, why would a politician use said language in any part of their governance? Does it have a purpose, or is it that they just don’t care?”
“Isn’t it grand?” Arthur whispered to Miss Marblemaw. “Children having ideas, talking them through, questioning everything.”
“We have different definitions of the word ‘grand,’” she retorted, continuing to mark up the page on her clipboard.
“Excellent question,” Linus said with an approving nod. “Before I provide my own input, does anyone have an insight they want to share?”
“Because they know exactly what they’re doing,” Phee said. “They know that fear is a powerful motivator, and that many people will believe whatever they’re told.”
“And why is that?” Linus asked.
Theodore reared back on his own desk, wings spread wide as he chirped excitedly.
“Wonderful, Theodore,” Linus said. “You got it in one. The idea of caring can be a bit of a minefield. When Sal asked if they—meaning those in power—don’t care, is that truly what you think? Because I don’t think that’s correct.”
“Interesting,” Miss Marblemaw murmured. “It appears as if your Mr. Baker isn’t as brainwashed as you might have hoped.”
“Or,” Arthur said, “you could let him finish.”
“Speaking hypothetically—and only about the book we’re discussing—I believe they do care, but not in any way that benefits the groups affected. They care about themselves. About control. About manipulation in media, in polling, in the spreading of fear until subservience is not only a relief, but a welcome one at that.”
Arthur turned his head slowly to look at Miss Marblemaw, whose face was darkening with barely contained anger. “Do you like to read, madam?”
The skin under her right eye twitched. “There will be discussions on what is and what is not proper for children to learn in their studies. By the end of the week, I’ll expect the lesson plans for each child, in addition to a list of all the books you allow them to read. It seems to me that list needs to be culled.” She tapped her pen against the clipboard. “For the children’s protection, of course.”
“But that is enough for today,” Linus said. “As you can see, we have a new guest. She is here on loan from the Department in Charge of Magical Youth to make sure you—”
“I can handle my own introductions, thank you very much.”
Linus’s expression soured momentarily before he nodded. “Of course. The floor is yours.”
Miss Marblemaw moved swiftly toward the front of the classroom, the bottom of her coat billowing around her, mere inches from the floor. Instead of asking Linus to move, she crowded against him until he stepped to the side. With that, she turned to look at the children and cleared her throat. “Good morning. I am Miss Marblemaw. You may refer to me by name, or ‘ma’am.’ Not ‘hey.’ Not ‘you there.’ If this concept proves too difficult for any of you to grasp, we will make time for lessons on how to politely address an elder.”
Lucy’s hand shot up once more, and though Arthur wanted to intervene—already—he decided to see what would play out, how the inspector would react to interacting with the children directly for the first time.
Miss Marblemaw took it in stride. “Yes? You have a question?”
“Would you like tea?” Lucy asked sweetly. “We have fresh honey to go with it.”
“Good,” she said with a nod. “Gentility to government officials is not only proper, it can also be rewarding. Because of your generosity, you shall receive one official courtesy point. Receive fifty points, and you’ll be honored with a certificate from DICOMY signed by your favorite politicians.”
“Oh, wow,” Lucy said, tumbling out of his desk. “My favorite politicians? But there are so many!”
Miss Marblemaw nodded solemnly as Lucy went to a small table set up on the other side of the room with tea and a tray of biscuits. “That’s wonderful to hear. Though many think we should put celebrities on pedestals, I’m of the mind that it’s the hard-working people of the government who should be on posters hanging in children’s rooms and having their autographs clamored over.”
“That’s so interesting!” Lucy said as he poured the tea carefully. “Gosh, you have really opened my eyes. Thank you for coming here with your face and your words. Sugar? Milk? Or will just the honey be all right?”
“Honey is fine,” Miss Marblemaw said. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I am an inspector sent by the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. I take my job very seriously, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” She grimaced, and it took Arthur a moment to realize she was attempting to smile and failing spectacularly. “I want you to think of me like your fun auntie who is here in an official capacity to determine if this house meets all official requirements, or if other options should be considered.”
“Your tea, ma’am,” Lucy said, holding out the cup toward her with a little bow.
She took it from him with a nod. Sipping from it daintily, she smacked her lips and said, “Quite a bit of honey in that. Next time, about half as much.”
“Thank you for the feedback,” Lucy said seriously. “I will take that into consideration going forward.” Then, he turned to Talia, tapping his chin. “Hey, didn’t you tell me about how honey is made? You should share that with Miss Marblemaw so she can see how much we’ve learned.”
Talia smiled and nodded. Waiting until Miss Marblemaw took a long sip, she said, “You think? Not everyone appreciates learning that honey is bee vomit.”
Arthur knew Lucy was expecting Miss Marblemaw to spit out the tea in what would most likely be a spectacular explosion. Instead, she swallowed and said, “My grandfather raised honeybees. I am well aware of what I’m consuming, thank you very much.”
Lucy frowned up at her, taking a step back. “Uh, that’s … huh.”
She cocked her head at him. “You must have been hoping for a different reaction, then. I see.” Pulling out a black handkerchief from the right sleeve of her coat, she dabbed it against her lips. Once done, it disappeared back up her sleeve. She looked down at the tea in the cup, swishing it around a little. When she lifted her head, she was smiling, a real, bright thing that sent a chill down Arthur’s spine. “It seems as if we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, and for that, you have my deepest regrets. It probably doesn’t help that you’ve had your poor little heads filled with all sorts of nonsense that I can’t even begin to imagine. Rest assured, that stops now. From this point forward, I’ll show you that your government cares not only for you, but for all magical beings far and wide. We have your best interests in mind and want nothing more than for you to succeed and lead semi-normal lives.”
“Well,” Phee said. “When you put it that way.”
“I’m so pleased you agree!” Miss Marblemaw said, a study in obliviousness. “After all, if a mess has been made, it must be cleaned up before it gets worse. Speaking of.” She glanced at Sal and held out her teacup toward him. “You there. I’m finished with this. Take it away.”
“My name is Sal,” he said flatly. “And in this house, we don’t tell people to clean up after others, at least not without asking politely.”
“He’s quite right,” Linus said. “As an inspector, shouldn’t you lead by example?”
Arthur could almost see the smoke curling from her ears as she scribbled something else on her clipboard. “Delegation teaches responsibility.”
“So does self-ownership,” Sal said.
“It does,” Arthur said, moving to the front of the room, Miss Marblemaw glaring daggers at him. “And Sal is correct, not only about taking responsibility for our actions, but also in that he has a name. Interestingly enough, all of the children do. Perhaps an introduction would be beneficial.”
