The two arcanists at the door exchange identical puzzled glances.
The growing tension of the moment proves too much for the columnist to handle.
Marcus: Oh no ... Have I misspoken?
Marcus: Was I so immersed in my writing that I neglected this gentleman's summons.
Marcus: I don't recall how many times the door was knocked. Was it two? Three? Or five? No ... perhaps more than that, indeed.
Marcus: The sound of the door seems more muffled than usual. I should write Ms. Dennehy to see if she might buy me a doorbell, to send along with my fee.
Marcus: But to travel all this way is nowhere near convenient. I doubt anyone besides the post would deliver here ...
Her thoughts wander further and further, only to be brought back by a deliberate and expectant cough.
Investigator: Allow me to get straight to the point, Ms. Marcus.
Investigator: Our records show you've not left the Flannan Isles in some time.
Marcus: Y-Yes.
Investigator: To be candid, this choice of accommodation has caused a bit of an inconvenience for our registrations.
Investigator: Most arcanists, at the very least, will frequent a bare minimum of social events like the grand exhibitions or the festivals in Edinburgh ...
Investigator: Lady Nellie Melba's divine voice echoes in theaters from Europe to Australia, and if nothing else, the Highland Games attract thousands of spectators and participants every year.
Investigator: Somehow even the dreariest of my colleagues find time to celebrate these occasions, at least ... on occasion.
Investigator: I mean to say, the world is filled with all kinds of wonders. And forgive my directness, Ms. Marcus, but you ought to consider seeing more of it. And I hesitate to mention ...
Marcus: I …
The man's barrage of verbiage overwhelms the reclusive lady at the door.
Marcus: Perhaps this gentleman has caught some kind of mania, or ... have I really been isolated on this island too long and forgotten that people are all ... talkative like this?
Marcus: Steady on, Marcus, you can handle this.
Fists clenched, she quietly cheers herself on.
Marcus: The current situation calls to mind a page of advice from Introduction to Social Etiquette ...
Marcus: Rather than admitting their ignorance on a subject, a cultured person is wise to steer the conversation toward grounds more familiar to both parties.
Marcus: And for this gentleman, a most suitable topic would be ...
Marcus: Ah, I have it!
Lifting her head, she realizes she must seize the opportunity to pierce through the man's blather.
Marcus: Sir, I believe I heard a lot about your Foundation when I was in the orphanage.
Marcus: That you were collecting ... arcanists, particularly children.
Marcus: And that you did so by force.
Investigator: ...?
Marcus: Some children said people from the Foundation took away their friends ...
The investigator's face grows somber. Evidently, their conversation had not been going as prescribed by Introduction to Social Etiquette.
That much was clear, even to Marcus.
Investigator: That was a poor excuse for a joke, Ms. Marcus.
Investigator: We are indeed living in a wondrous era, where transgressing social norms have become greatly valued: Rationality, science, freedom ... and, with it, of course, a "progressive" sense of humor.
Investigator: I am sure you only meant to appeal to that ... transgressive humor, but those accusations are quite inappropriate, even as a joke ...
Investigator: Especially as you haven't officially joined the Foundation yet.
Marcus: Oh no, no ... I don't mean to offend you. It happened in my home country, in Romania. Perhaps, things are different here.
Regrettably, there is nothing close to applicable in this scenario from her reading of Introduction to Social Etiquette.
The heavier blow drops as Marcus at last picks up the man's intention in coming all this way.
Marcus: Wait a moment, sir ... Did you just mention something about ... joining the Foundation? Me?
Investigator: Naturally, is there a problem?
He adjusts his lapels in both hands, as if launching into a well-practiced speech.
Marcus: I-I ...
Investigator: Ms. Marcus, shall I take it your heart is beating so fast out of excitement?
Investigator: I understand how you feel; many new colleagues have experienced similar emotions. But please, don't worry, the Foundation has a full-fledged medical support system.
Marcus: Sir, would you stop for a moment ...
Her voice trembles as she speaks.
Marcus: I very much appreciate your coming here. I've come to fully understand the importance of the Foundation and its popularity among other people, and ... well, of course, I'm grateful for your invitation ...
Marcus: But as you can see, I currently have some unfinished tasks at hand, which are related to my ... dream.
Marcus turns her gaze back, staring at the small corner behind the doorway—her world of writing.
Investigator: Oh, a dream! Well, might I ask what is your dream, Ms. Marcus?
The investigator nods knowingly, as if Marcus's response is not at all unexpected.
Marcus: I-I dream of making people aware of the mysteries of the Flannan Isles, and about the world of arcanum, and …
Investigator: Aye, well, that is indeed a great aspiration.
He steps forward, gesturing toward the boundless sea.
Investigator: But, Ms. Marcus, don't confine yourself to just these islands! Look beyond the horizon. The world out there is full of mysteries waiting for us to explore and uncover.
Investigator: And that is precisely what the Foundation aims to do!
Investigator: Surely, you wouldn't withhold your contribution to the welfare of humanity and the progress of civilization?
Marcus: No ... Indeed, this closely aligns with my goals. It's only that ...
She pauses, swallowing the rest of her unfinished sentence.
The investigator comes to some sudden realization as he scrutinizes the girl in the doorway.
Investigator: Oh! Of course, of course—you're a renowned writer, with countless readers awaiting your next piece ...
Marcus hurriedly waves her hand in denial, a noticeable flush spreading from her ears to her cheeks.
Marcus: No ... In fact, I-I'm really just a greenhorn columnist.
Investigator: Allow me to make my pitch again. The Foundation possesses a great multitude of literary works from all over the world, be they about humans or arcanists.
Investigator: Upon joining the Foundation, you need only to fill out a book request form, pending approval from our supervisors and administration, and then you can read our catalog to your heart's content.
Investigator: Joining the Foundation would more than serve any writer.
Marcus: I …
Marcus: But ... there are still so many people curious about the events that occurred here ... Stories I've yet to write ...
Marcus: More importantly, James, Thomas, and Donald, my friends ... They're all counting on me to tell their stories about these islands.
Marcus: My work here is not finished ...
She gasps, as if dislodging a boulder from her chest.
Investigator: …
The man frowns, his disappointment evident beneath the polite exterior.
Investigator: As you wish, Madam, I will faithfully report your choice to my superiors—
Marcus: My choice ...?!
She panics, again.
Marcus: No-no-no, I mean, I haven't made any choices yet ...
Marcus: I only hope that you might give me some time to consider your proposal. I promise, it won't be long ...!
Whether moved by her nearly pleading tone, or swooping in on his pitch again, the investigator clears his throat.
Investigator: As you wish, but I would caution you that the Foundation's enrollment capacity is limited.
Investigator: Should you tarry too long in deciding, you may find yourself waiting outside our offices, wishing you'd taken up our offer sooner.
Investigator: When you've made your mind up, send this to Eilean Siar—no need to write a specific address, just "The Foundation" will do.
He hands Marcus a letter with a checkered pattern, then turns abruptly without looking back.
Left alone, the girl sways and collapses to the ground.
The blank form is clenched tightly in her hand, creased with worries.
Marcus: The Foundation is a renowned organization, one that possesses a significant number of arcanists like me. It might be a source of insights for my future work ...
Marcus: Not to mention the Foundation's colossal collection of books both on arcanum and human society!
Marcus: Still, I have to think about my readers. They'll be waiting for the latest stories from the Flannan Isles ...
Marcus: Not to forget that Ms. Dennehy holds great expectations concerning my work ...
Marcus: How could I disappoint them ...?
Marcus: Ah ... Won't anyone help me with this ... conundrum?
Her faint cry fails to travel far.
It fails even to drown out the sound of renewed knocking.
"Knock-knock-knock ..."
Marcus: ...?
Thomas: Ahoy, Ms. Marcus, you're finally awake!
Thomas: We thought we might find you sleeping outside again—for the thirteenth time!
Donald: And ... with your eyes still open.
Another voice adds to chorus of cooing over Marcus.
James: Ach, nothing unusual, is it, boys? Our wee Marcus has always been good at sticking her nose around looking for things she can umm, what d'ya call it again? Aye, "read"!
Marcus: Oh, hello, Mr. Thomas, Mr. Donald, and Mr. James.
Thomas: You break our poor ghostly hearts, Miss. Did you nae hear our footsteps rushing over to you?!
Marcus gives a quick glance at the three men's feet, which are nearly transparent, and hovering slightly off the ground.
Marcus: ... I'm sorry.
Thomas: Right. No time for beating 'round the bush, cuddies. Give the letter on over to the lass. I'll bet it's another admirer heaping praise on our Marcus!
Another letter is handed to Marcus. Bearing a pattern familiar to her.
Thomas: Dinnae worry, Ms. Marcus. We were good, just as we promised. We remember the tongue-lashing you gave us when that last postman took a tumble into the water from fright ...
Thomas: We were quiet as church mice round the postmen lately—Eh, Donald? He can attest to it, what with him always hiding at a distance like a right coward.
Donald: Dinnae call me a coward! But aye. I promise you, Thomas hasn't spooked 'em, nary a bad face nor wink this time. Still, the postman turned tail the second he tossed down the letter ...
Donald: And just what are they so afraid of, anyway?
James: This place, I'd reckon ... And that's why we need our wee Marcus and her History of the Flannan Isles to tell our story …
James: That's exactly what our wee Marcus is trying to do.
Marcus: …
James: What's wrong, Ms. Marcus? You seem ... a mite troubled.
James: Something odd about that envelope?
Marcus: It's ...
Marcus: It's ... a rejection for my fifteenth edition of History of the Flannan Isles.
