The island’s shore was jagged rock itself, with only the occasional spot of sand upon which a boat might land; yet the captain of any craft attempting to land there must be very brave or foolish, for the currents in the surrounding water were unpredictable, and the shallows famously difficult to navigate. The only practical approach to Nomansan Island was by the long, narrow bridge that ran from its bank to the mainland’s wooded shore a half mile away. The city had not developed along this part of the shore, but had grown northward along the inland river, leaving a few acres of woods untouched. (One day, no doubt, the woods would be noticed — like a nagging itch — and quickly chopped down, but for now they remained.) It was through these woods, and toward this bridge, that the members of the newly formed Mysterious Benedict Society were headed.
They were moving swiftly upon a seldom-used road, in a weary old station wagon driven by Rhonda Kazembe. As the car passed beneath the trees, Reynie noticed the first colors of autumn in their overhanging branches. The outer leaves were going red, yellow, and orange, while the inner ones still held the deep green of summer, so that the trees appeared candy-coated. A lovely sight, but Reynie was unable to enjoy it. His companions felt much the same. Within minutes they would be admitted to the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened, and they were apprehensive. The closer they came to the island, the more real the danger felt.
Rhonda was pointing through the trees toward the mainland shore. “Our telescopes will be hidden there in the brush,” she said. “We’ll be setting them up right after I drop you off, and from then on we’ll attend them at all times. If you stand anywhere on this side of the island, we should be able to see you through the telescopes as if you were two feet away. Whenever you have something to report, we’ll be ready for it. And if
“Even then,” Rhonda added, “there’s always the slight chance our messages to you will be observed from the island. For this reason they must necessarily be cryptic —”
“What’s cryptic?” cried a shrill voice from the backseat.
“I’m sorry, Constance. By cryptic I mean vague or mysterious. We won’t ever use names, and will never give obvious directions except in case of emergency. In most cases we’ll rely on your ability to figure out what we mean. It’s more difficult this way, but we must take precautions for your safety. Even with precautions, your situation will be extremely dangerous.”
With the words “extremely dangerous” fresh in the children’s ears, the car rattled out of the woods into plain view of Nomansan Island. And there, on the island’s near side, was the Institute: an arrangement of massive gray buildings, a broad plaza, and a slender tower that resembled a lighthouse, all of which appeared to be built entirely of island stone. From this distance the Institute blended so thoroughly into Nomansan’s stony crags it seemed a part of the island itself. Behind it and on either side rose up steep hills, and beyond the hills could be seen the peaks of still more hills, and beyond those still more. A flagpole jutted from the side of the Institute’s tower, supporting a long red banner that rippled in the breeze. Printed upon the banner, in letters large enough to be read from the mainland, was the word LIVE — an acronym, obviously, for the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened.
“At least it doesn’t say
“Oh, yes, very encouraging,” said Sticky, whose forehead had begun to sweat.
Reynie stared out the window at the approaching bridge. To cross it, they had to first check in at a guard house, and Reynie was nervous despite Mr. Benedict’s assurances. New students were admitted all the time, and Mr. Benedict had made every arrangement, had followed every proper procedure, but still. . . . It was normal to feel nervous, Mr. Benedict had said. All children get nervous on their first day at a new school, and all secret agents get nervous on the first day of a mission. Combine the two and your chances of nervousness are greatly increased.
At the bridge entrance two people stepped out of a guard house and waved the car to a stop.
“Steady now,” said Rhonda in an undertone. “Nothing to worry about yet.”
The guards were a young man and woman wearing sunglasses, smiles, and expensive suits, with well-polished shoes that gleamed in the morning sun. As the woman motioned for Rhonda to roll down the window, no one could help but notice the huge silver watches on her wrists. Reynie squeezed the armrest.
“May I help you?” asked the woman, peering in. A sweet, citrusy perfume drifted through the window. The woman was all smiles, the picture of friendliness. The other guard also smiled, but Reynie could tell he was studying them with great attention.
“These are your new students,” Rhonda said. “Three transferring from Binnud Academy and one from Stonetown Orphanage.”
“Wait here, please.” The woman stepped back into the guard house. The other guard stayed put. He cocked his head to hear something the woman was telling him, but he kept his eyes on the car.
“Steady,” Rhonda intoned again, just loud enough for the children to hear. But Reynie noticed that — ever so subtly — she had shifted the car into reverse. Just in case.
Reynie took a deep breath and held it. He hoped his friends remembered their stories. His own was easy enough, since it was the truth: Mr. Rutger, properly persuaded, had made a special exception in his case. The others, though, were from a special temporary school for orphans called Binnud Academy. That morning, as they’d said their good-byes over breakfast, Mr. Benedict had pointed out that if they said “Binnud Academy” aloud, it would remind them his thoughts were with them always.
“As are mine,” Number Two had said. Distracted by emotion, she was drying her eyes with a slice of bread. “My thoughts and all my prayers.”
All of the adults had seemed especially bleary, exhausted, and sad — except Milligan, who always looked that way — yet even so, there was a flicker of excitement, indeed of hope, in every eye.
“Go now, children,” Mr. Benedict had said, “go and show them what you’re made of.”
At this moment Reynie felt sure they were made of jitterbugs. His knees trembled, and he could barely keep his teeth from chattering. Sticky was scrubbing his glasses so hard they squeaked, and Constance had her eyes squeezed tightly shut, unconvincingly feigning sleep. Even Kate squirmed a little. The guard seemed to be taking an awfully long time.
When she finally came out, her smile hadn’t faded in the least. Reynie just had time to wonder whether this meant she did or did
