The Mysterious Benedict Society

“A devilish trick,” said Mr. Benedict, “and a necessary one. You see, only a child’s thoughts can be slipped into the mind so secretly. For some reason, they go unnoticed.”

“No surprise there,” Constance humphed. “I’ve never met a grown-up who believed me capable of thought.”

“She’s absolutely right,” put in Number Two with a sharp edge in her voice. “People pay no attention to what children say, much less to what they think!”

Rhonda patted Number Two’s shoulder. “Number Two is a bit testy about this. She was often ignored as a child.”

“That doesn’t change the truth!” Number Two snarled.

“Easy now,” said Rhonda. “Only teasing.”

“Sorry. Blood sugar’s low,” said Number Two, hastily unwrapping a granola bar.

“At any rate,” Mr. Benedict continued, “I believe the Sender uses children as a sort of filter. After passing through the minds of children, the messages become virtually undetectable. Where adult thoughts would lumber into the mind like an elephant, children’s creep in on cat feet and find a shadowy place to hide.”

“Nobody notices them at all?” Sticky asked.

“Oh, some may be vaguely aware of mental activity,” Mr. Benedict said, “but if so, they attribute the uneasy sensation to something else. They think, perhaps, they’ve had an original idea, or have drunk too much coffee.”

“I don’t recall ever having felt that way,” said Constance. “Like something’s happening but I don’t know what.”

The others shook their heads, indicating they hadn’t either.

“That is because you love the truth,” said Mr. Benedict. “You see —”

Number Two interrupted him. “Mr. Benedict, before you go on, won’t you take a seat? Makes me so nervous, you standing there like that. Too many hard things about. Just look at this chair, and the desk, and the television cabinet, and all these tools —” Turning this way and that, Number Two was pointing at almost everything she saw.

“Fine, fine, Number Two, we’ll all sit,” said Mr. Benedict, settling into a cross-legged position on the floor. He gestured for the others to join him. Shoving aside books, papers, and odd pieces of machinery, the children made room to sit. Number Two took a deep breath to calm herself.

“You see,” Mr. Benedict began again, “although most people care about the truth, they can nonetheless — under certain circumstances, and given proper persuasion — be diverted from it. Some, however, possess an unusually powerful love of truth, and you children are among the few. Your minds have been resisting the hidden messages.”

“Is that why your test asked whether we liked television and radio?” asked Reynie.

Mr. Benedict tapped his nose. “Exactly. Of course, it’s possible you enjoy watching an occasional TV show, or listening to the radio every now and then, but in general you find you don’t like it. This is because your minds, so unwilling to be deceived, are avoiding exposure to the messages.”

“I don’t see what’s dangerous about all this,” Constance said with a sour expression. “So people are receiving some kids’ thoughts and don’t realize it. That hardly seems reason to panic.”

“We haven’t yet come to the panic part,” replied Mr. Benedict gravely.

“Oh,” said Constance.

“Great,” said Sticky.

“Something is approaching,” Mr. Benedict said. “Something dreadful. These messages are connected to it, but they are only the beginning. What’s coming is worse, far worse — a looming darkness, like storm clouds sweeping in to cover the sky.”

“Wh-what,” Sticky stammered, “wh-what is it?”

Mr. Benedict scratched his rumpled head. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

The children blinked. Was he joking? He didn’t know?

“Ah, I sense your confusion,” said Mr. Benedict. “I should have said I don’t exactly know.”

Rhonda spoke up. “We have good reason to believe in this coming threat, children. It’s just that —”

“But if you have good reason,” Constance interrupted, “why are you just sitting around? Call the government! Alert the authorities!”

“An excellent point, Constance,” said Mr. Benedict (who, it seemed to Reynie, was surprisingly tolerant of the girl’s rudeness). “In fact I was once a trusted advisor to certain high officials, many of whom presided over government agencies. But things have changed. Not only have those agencies been dismantled — and a number of good men and women gone missing — but officials formerly attentive to my remarks have grown skeptical of them. They have come to look upon me as a friendly kook, and some even regard me with suspicion. Everything I do now, I do in secret.”

“Did you just say ‘good men and women gone missing’?” asked Reynie, hoping he had misunderstood.

“Vanished,” said Mr. Benedict grimly. “Years ago, when it first came to my attention that some operatives had disappeared, I naturally inquired about them. But my questions, no matter to whom I put them — and I put them to many people — were met with an astonishing lack of regard. It was perfectly silly, I was told, to be asking such questions. Somehow it was believed that these missing agents chose to go away — were given plum assignments in sunny climates, perhaps, or else had gone into early retirement — although there was no evidence of any such thing. No one seemed to care where the agents had gone. But everyone knew, so I was told again and again, everyone knew the agents hadn’t gone missing. No, no, the very idea was preposterous.”