The Mysterious Benedict Society

crusts off her toast by turning it round and round and taking tiny, rapid bites.

“You never sleep?” Kate asked, after watching this curious procedure a moment.

Number Two swallowed. “Oh, yes, I do, but only a little.”

“Don’t we make a fine pair?” said Mr. Benedict, pouring himself a cup of tea. “I can’t stay awake, and Number Two can’t go to sleep.” He started to laugh, then cut himself short, apparently not wanting to risk it. “By the way, Rhonda, have you seen my map of the harbor? It appears to have escaped the study.”

“It drifted by me in the hallway,” Rhonda said. “I placed it by the bell under the Swiss book on electron-positron accelerators.”

“Thank you. Now, children, speaking of the bell, do you all remember where it is — on the second-floor landing? If you ever hear that bell ringing, I want you to gather on the landing immediately. It will only be rung in case of emergency, so don’t delay. Drop what you’re doing and go there at once. Understood?”

The children nodded uneasily. All this talk of danger and emergencies, without explanation, was beginning to wear on them.

“I’m sorry to put you ill at ease,” Mr. Benedict said. “And I haven’t much to say to comfort you. I can finally offer some answers to your questions, however. Who wishes to begin? Yes, Constance?”

To the great exasperation of the others, Constance demanded to know why they couldn’t have candy for breakfast.

Mr. Benedict smiled. “A fine question. The short answer is that there is no candy presently in the house. Beyond that, the explanation involves a consideration of candy’s excellent flavor but low nutritional value — that is to say, why it makes a wonderful treat but a poor meal — though I suspect you aren’t interested in explanations but simply wished to express your frustration. Is that correct?”

“Maybe,” Constance said with a shrug. But she seemed satisfied.

“Other questions?” said Mr. Benedict.

There were, of course, other questions, and all speaking at once, the children asked him to explain his “project” and why he needed children and what sort of danger they were in.

Mr. Benedict set down his teacup. “Very well. I shall explain everything, and you may listen as you eat your breakfast.” (When he began, however, Constance was the only child who continued to eat. The others were unable to concentrate on anything besides his explanation.)

“Several years ago,” Mr. Benedict said, “in the course of my research on the human brain, it came to my attention that messages were being delivered to people all across the world — delivered, I should say, quite without their knowledge. It is as if I secretly hid a letter in your pocket, and later you found and read it, not knowing where it came from. In this case, however, the messages were going directly into people’s minds, which absorbed them not only without knowing where the messages came from, but without realizing they had received or read anything at all.

“The messages appear to be in a kind of code,” Mr. Benedict continued. “They come across like poetic gibberish. But from early on I’ve had reason to believe they’re having a powerful effect — a most unfortunate effect — on those who receive them, which is to say almost everyone. In fact, I believe these messages are the source of the phenomenon commonly known as the Emergency — though, I admit, I don’t know to what end. And so I have devoted myself to discovering their ultimate purpose and who it is that sends them. Unfortunately, I’ve not entirely succeeded.”

“But you’ve learned a great deal!” protested Number Two.

“Certainly I have. I know, for instance, how the messages are being delivered —”

“And where they’re sent from!” Rhonda said impatiently.

“And what the Sender is capable of doing!” cried Number Two.

Obviously Rhonda and Number Two were worried the children might misjudge Mr. Benedict. Sensing this, he gave an appreciative smile. “Yes, my friends, it’s true. We do know some things. For instance, we know the Sender uses children to deliver the hidden messages.”

“Children?” Sticky said. “Why children?”

“And what exactly do the messages say?” Reynie asked.

“When you’re quite finished with your breakfasts, I’ll show you. In the meantime, let me tell you —”

“Please, can’t breakfast wait?” Kate interrupted. “Let us see right now!”

“Well, if you all feel this way . . . ,” said Mr. Benedict, noting their looks of impatience.

This time not even Constance resisted (perhaps because she was already full), and so the children were taken straightaway up to the third floor, down a long narrow hallway, and at last into a room packed with equipment. It was a terrific mess. On a table against the wall sat a television, a radio, and a computer, and upon every other available surface were scattered countless tools, wires, books and charts and notebooks, disconnected antennas, disassembled gadgets, and various other unrecognizable oddments. There was hardly anywhere to step as Mr. Benedict — closely attended by Rhonda and Number Two — led them over to the television.

“Listen carefully,” Mr. Benedict said, turning on the television.

Instantly Reynie felt his skin crawl. It was a familiar feeling, he realized, but he had never paid it much attention before. Meanwhile, a news program had appeared on the screen. A red-haired reporter with shiny gold earrings stood outside the White House, where a crowd of people had gathered, as usual, to wave signs and demand something be done about the Emergency.

“They’re calling for change,” said the reporter, her features gathered in an expression of thoughtful seriousness, “and their cries are not falling on deaf ears. The President has repeated his agreement that something must be done, and soon. Meanwhile, in the halls of Congress —”

Constance gave a loud yawn. “I don’t hear anything unusual.”