The Mysterious Benedict Society

All of this had been spoken softly, without the least trace of excitement or drama in Milligan’s voice. But the children, listening, could hardly contain themselves, and when he’d finished, they burst forth with questions: How had he come here? What was he doing on Nomansan Island in the first place? It was Nomansan Island, wasn’t it? And those men in suits . . .

“Yes, it was the same men, the ones you saw in the maze. They weren’t sure where they know me from, but I certainly remember them. And yes, it was Nomansan Island — it was the Institute — that I escaped from. Why I was there I can’t say, but Mr. Benedict is convinced I was a secret agent, an employee of a government agency long since dismantled. I have no way of telling.”

“Maybe Mr. Benedict can find out,” Reynie said.

“It was that hope that led me to him,” Milligan admitted. “I’d spent months seeking information about my past, but no one believed my story, and no one had any answers. Finally I learned about a man worth meeting — not a government agent himself, but a brilliant man of mysterious purposes who always seemed to know more about everything than anyone else did. This, of course, was Mr. Benedict. But though he’s helped me make sense of what’s happened, and has earned my loyalty, the entire business is so extraordinarily secretive and complicated that I’ve long been convinced I will never learn anything about my past.”

“How awful,” said Reynie.

“Yes, it’s too bad,” said Sticky, though not quite convincingly, for at the moment he rather wished he couldn’t remember his own past, given the grief it brought him.

“Hey, does your amnesia have something to do with your silly disguises?” Constance asked.

Milligan clamped his straw hat more tightly on his head. “My ‘silly’ disguises are useful for other reasons, but yes, Constance, it would be unfortunate if some enemy from my past recognized me, but I couldn’t recognize him. It’s better never to be recognized at all.”

“So there’s really no hope your memory will return?” Kate asked.

“Oh, I suppose there’s some slight hope. Mr. Benedict has tried hypnosis and other treatments on me, all without luck. Still, he says it’s possible some significant event, or the appearance of an important object or person from my past, or some other unknown thing, might break down the door and let my memories out. I’m afraid, however, that I’m not much given to hope anymore.”

“If not for hope, what keeps you going?” asked Reynie, who had an ugly suspicion that there might come a time, and not so far away, when things would seem hopeless to him, too.

“Duty,” said Milligan. “Nothing else, only a sense of duty. I know the Sender is out to do harm. I feel obliged to stop him. Or at the very least, to try.”

“And do you think we can?” Reynie asked. “Do you think he can be stopped?”

In response Milligan only went back to his oil can. He did not look at the children again.

The Thing to Come

When the children had studied Morse code until dots and dashes swam in their heads even with their eyes closed, Rhonda called them inside. It was early evening now, the light in the dining room window was a soft amber color, and all through the house the wooden floors, curiously enough, groaned and creaked like a ship at sea.

“That happens sometimes after a morning rain,” said Rhonda as the children took seats at the table. “Don’t worry, it’s a sound old house — we won’t sink.” She set several pages of notes before each of them. “Now that you understand your mission and have a good start on your Morse code, Mr. Benedict would like for you to understand better what we’re up against.”

The children’s ears perked up. There was more? Reynie began to flip through his papers, some of which bore faint smears of peanut butter.

“Number Two has summarized everything in these notes,” Rhonda said. “If you read quickly, you should be able to finish before supper. Mr. Benedict will come by in a little while to answer any questions.”

“He wants us to read all of this?” Constance said, as if she couldn’t believe Mr. Benedict’s nerve.

Rhonda only smiled and went out.

The children — all except Constance, who was too busy humphing — set to their notes. Sticky read so quickly that he seemed hardly to have started before he’d finished. He sat quietly, deep in thought, waiting for the others. Ten minutes later, Reynie had finished, too, and Kate, noting this, set aside her last few pages and asked the boys to fill her in.

What the children learned from the notes was this: The Institute on Nomansan Island generated all its own electricity using the power of the tides — an endless source of energy. The Institute’s tidal turbines were considered the best in the entire world; they were also capable of producing enough energy to power a hundred Institutes, let alone one.

These turbines had been invented by a man named Ledroptha Curtain, who, as a young scientist, had published impressive papers on a wide variety of topics — everything from tidal energy to mapping the brain — until abruptly the papers stopped. No one heard from him for many years. Then one day he reappeared and founded the Institute, apparently having turned his genius to matters of education.

There was no doubt: Ledroptha Curtain was the Sender. And yet about certain things there was quite a lot of doubt indeed. For instance, the hidden messages being sent from the Institute were broadcast only a few times each day, and on a very weak signal. But the tidal turbines should be able to produce an enormous amount of energy, much more than necessary to power the Institute — and certainly enough to transmit the Sender’s messages on a high-powered signal rather than a weak one. Why, then, had Curtain made his turbines so extravagant if he didn’t intend to use that extra power? And why did he send out his messages intermittently when he could be broadcasting around the clock?

“He’s been saving it up,” Reynie said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s what Mr. Benedict was trying to explain this morning. There’s something bad approaching. Some new thing —”

“The thing to come,” said Mr. Benedict, who had appeared in the doorway. With a nod of approval he joined them at the table, accompanied by Number Two. “It sounds as if you’ve finished the notes. I know they’re complicated — do you have questions about them?”