The Mysterious Benedict Society

book.

Reynie marveled at this. He was a fast reader himself — faster than most adults — but compared to Sticky he must seem positively sluggish. Such an incredible gift, and yet here the boy lay, a runaway sleeping in a stranger’s house. What had he run from? Standing there in the lamplit room, reflecting upon Sticky’s life as he slept, Reynie experienced a curious mixture of admiration, affection, and sympathy — curious because although he’d known the boy for only a day, it seemed as if they’d been friends for ages. And Kate, too, he reflected. He was already quite fond of her. And Constance . . . well, with Constance he would have to wait and see.

Anyway, Reynie thought, if nothing else comes of this, at least you’re making friends. That’s more than you had yesterday. He eased Sticky’s slippers from his feet and his glasses from his nose, setting them, along with the plant book, upon a bedside stand. Then he drew a cover over his friend, turned off the lamp, and crept from the room.

Down the dark, quiet hall — the girls must have been asleep, too — and down a flight of creaky stairs, Reynie made his way back to Mr. Benedict’s study. He knocked softly on the door, and from within a voice called, “Please come in, Reynie.”

Reynie entered to find Mr. Benedict alone in the room, seated on the floor with his back against the desk, surrounded by books, papers, and a variety of colored pens. He gestured toward a chair and said, “Have a seat, will you, while I clear some of this away?” He began sorting things into piles. “Awkward business, working on the floor, but that is my compromise with Rhonda and Number Two. They’ve grown overprotective, I’m afraid, and can hardly stand to leave me alone for a minute. Thus I promise them to remain seated as much as possible — and on the floor, when possible — and in turn they allow me some occasional privacy.”

Mr. Benedict finished tidying his things and sat in a chair across from Reynie. “I’ve been expecting you. I imagine you wish to call Miss Perumal and apprise her of your situation.”

Reynie nodded.

“You’re very good to think of it. Number Two told me how you resisted her attempts to befuddle you on the same matter earlier today. I assume you realize her deceptions were another aspect of the testing?”

Again Reynie nodded. He hadn’t known it at the time, but looking back on the encounter later he had suspected as much.

“You behaved admirably,” Mr. Benedict said. “Polite but steadfast, and with appropriate consideration. Now, I’m afraid you can’t make your telephone call this time, either, but it has nothing to do with being tested. As it happens, Miss Perumal phoned while you were being shown to your room. Her mother, it seems, has had an unfortunate reaction to her new medicine, and Miss Perumal found it necessary to take her to the hospital. She begs you not to worry, it’s only a mild reaction and the doctors assure her that her mother will be spry as a robin come morning. But she wanted you to know how proud she is of you — proud but not surprised, she said — and sends you her best regards.

“And now,” he continued, removing his spectacles and looking frankly at Reynie with his bright green eyes (they were made greener still by his green plaid suit), “I will anticipate your other questions. First, I’ve made all the necessary arrangements with Mr. Rutger at the orphanage: We have considerable skills and resources here and can do many things you might not expect. And second, on a more solemn note: No, you won’t be able to contact Miss Perumal again. I’m afraid the urgency of our mission, and its necessary secrecy, forbids it. It is for Miss Perumal’s protection as well as your own. But if all goes well — which is, of course, our most desperate hope — you will see her again. Indeed, if our mission is to succeed, it must do so very quickly, and so with luck your reunion will be sooner rather than later.”

Reynie nodded again, though not quite as bravely as before, and glanced away to hide the tears in his eyes. He had thought this might be the case, but it still saddened him to think he might not ever again share a cup of tea with Miss Perumal or attempt to tell her, in his limited Tamil, about his adventures. He was sad at the thought of what lay ahead, yes, and more than a little afraid.

“I am sorry, Reynie,” said Mr. Benedict with a quaver in his voice.

Reynie didn’t look at him just yet. He kept his eyes averted until he had composed himself, which he did with a few deep breaths and a quick swipe at his tearful eyes. When he felt sufficiently recovered, he turned back to Mr. Benedict — who was sound asleep in his chair.

Before Reynie could rise and tiptoe from the room, however, Mr. Benedict’s eyes popped open, and he laid a hand on Reynie’s arm to stop him. “Forgive me,” he said, clearing his throat and running his fingers through his unkempt hair. “Please stay just a moment longer. I wanted to ask you something. I wasn’t asleep long, was I? I trust I haven’t kept you up?”

“No, sir, only a minute or two.”

“Ah, good. Usually it is only a minute or two, but occasionally it’s longer. Now then, for my question.”

“Yes, sir?”

“It regards the chess problem from the first test. You, Reynie, happen to be the only child ever to answer the question correctly, and I should like to hear your explanation for it. The board clearly shows that only the black pawn is out of its starting position, while all the other pieces and pawns rest on their original squares. Yet according to the rules of chess, the white player always moves first. Why, then, did you say the position was possible?”

“Because the white knight may have changed its mind.”

“The white knight?”

“Oh, yes sir. The pawns can only move forward, never backward, so none of the white pawns could have moved yet. And the bigger pieces are trapped behind the pawns — because only knights can jump over things — so they couldn’t have moved yet, either. But a white knight might have opened the game by jumping out in front. Then, after the black pawn was moved, the knight returned to its original square. So it looks like the white player never moved at all.”

“Bravo, Reynie. You’re quite correct. Now tell me, would you consider this a good move?”

“I’m no great chess player, but I would say not. By starting over, white loses the advantage of going first.”

“Why, then, do you think the white player might have done it?”