The Mysterious Benedict Society

“Where creepy things don’t keep falling on our heads?” Reynie added with a shudder, brushing away a beetle that had tried to skitter under his shirt collar.

“Sunlight just ahead,” Milligan replied. And sure enough, presently he led them up another set of stairs into an empty cellar, then through the cellar doors onto a quiet street lined with elm trees and old houses. The children couldn’t see this right away — it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the brilliant sunlight.

And in that moment, Milligan disappeared.

They had followed him out through the cellar doors, they knew that for certain, but whereas Milligan had been tall and straight in his battered hat and scuffed jacket, the children were now accompanied by a stooped little man with a big belly, wearing dark glasses and a bright yellow cap.

“Who are you?” Kate cried, crouching into a defensive stance. “Where’s Milligan?”

“Right here,” the man said wearily, lowering his sunglasses to reveal a pair of sad, ocean-blue eyes. “I’m in disguise.”

The children regarded him closely. It was indeed Milligan. Somehow, without their noticing, he had stuffed his hat and jacket under his shirt to create the impression of a fat belly; had produced the cap and sunglasses (from where, they couldn’t guess); and hunched his shoulders and bent forward to appear shorter than he was. It was a remarkable transformation.

“Are you a magician?” Sticky asked.

“I’m nobody,” Milligan replied, and without further explanation, he pointed across the street to a three-story house with stone steps leading up to its front door. “Please go wait on those steps. Rhonda will be with you soon.”

“Rhonda Kazembe?” Reynie asked. “The green-haired girl?”

But even as he spoke, the cellar doors slammed shut, and Milligan was gone.

“Do you suppose we’re going to meet anybody normal today?” Kate asked.

“I’m beginning to doubt it,” Reynie said.

The children went across the street and through the gate of the house Milligan had pointed out. It was a very old house, with gray stone walls, high arched windows, and a roof with red shingles that glowed like embers in the afternoon sun. Roses grew along the iron fence, and near the house towered a gigantic elm tree, perhaps older than the building itself, its green leaves tinged with the first yellows of autumn. Shaded by the elm’s branches were an ivy-covered courtyard and the stone steps upon which they were to wait. The steps themselves were half- covered with ivy; they seemed an inviting place to rest. And indeed it was with some relief that the children, tired from the day’s challenges, sat upon them now in the cool shade of the elm.

“Sticky,” Reynie said when they had settled, “there’s something I wanted to ask you about your parents. Did they know that —?”

“We already talked about this, remember?” Sticky said, interrupting him. Turning to Kate, he explained, “That yellow lady gave Reynie and me the runaround when we told her we had some phone calls to make. Reynie was afraid his tutor would be worried, and it was the same with me and my parents. Turns out she called them, but she was very odd about it. Very odd indeed. Did that happen to you?”

This was not what Reynie had been going to ask about. He had wanted to ask if Sticky’s parents knew he’d spent “half the night” looking for the Monk Building. For some reason, Sticky was avoiding the subject.

“I didn’t have anybody to call,” said Kate with a shrug. “My mother died when I was a baby, and my father ran away and left me when I was two.”

Sticky’s face fell. “Oh. I’m . . . I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Kate said lightly. “I don’t even remember them.” She paused, reflecting. “Actually, I do have one memory of my father.”

“That’s one more than I have,” said Reynie. “What is it?”

“Well, down the road from our house was an old mill pond, and my father took me there to swim once. I was only two, but a good swimmer. The water was cold, the day was warm, and I thought it all felt wonderful. I laughed and splashed until I was exhausted. Then my father — I can’t picture his face, but I can still feel his strong arms lifting me out of the water — he carried me on his shoulders back to our house. I remember asking if we could swim there again, and he said, ‘Of course we can, Katie-Cat.’ I remember that very well. He called me ‘Katie-Cat.’”

“You never went back to the mill pond, did you?” asked Sticky, looking even more regretful now that he’d heard Kate’s story.

“No, the next thing I remember I was in an orphanage,” said Kate.

Reynie shook his head. “It’s strange, Kate. Your father sounds, well, he sounds —”

“Like a nice man?” finished Kate. “I know, I’ve often thought of that. I guess it shows that people aren’t always what they seem. Or else he just changed. I suppose I’ll never know.”

“It’s terrible,” Sticky whispered, almost as if to himself.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kate said cheerfully. “That was a long time ago. Anyway, I’ve had a fine life. The circus has been good to me.”

Reynie widened his eyes and glanced at Sticky, but Sticky seemed too disturbed to have noticed what Kate said. Reynie looked back at Kate. “Did you just say the circus has been good to you?”

“Oh, yes,” said Kate with a laugh. “When I was seven I ran away from the orphanage to join the circus. They brought me back, but I just ran away again, and I kept running away every time they brought me back. Eventually it was agreed that I could join the circus and save everybody a lot of trouble. So that’s what I’ve been doing the past few years. It’s been great fun, too, but I was ready for something different. When I read about these tests, I said adios to my circus pals, and here I came.”

“That’s quite a life,” Reynie said, more than a little amazed. “And has it — I mean, has circus life helped, then?