The Mysterious Benedict Society

line.”

“It sounds like there are no rules here at all,” Sticky said.

“That’s true, George,” said Jillson. “Virtually none, in fact. You can wear whatever you want, just so long as you have on trousers, shoes, and a shirt. You can bathe as often as you like or not at all, provided you’re clean every day in class. You can eat whatever and whenever you want, so long as it’s during meal hours in the cafeteria. You’re allowed to keep the lights on in your rooms as late as you wish until ten o’clock each night. And you can go wherever you want around the Institute, so long as you keep to the paths and the yellow-tiled corridors.”

“Actually,” Reynie observed, “those all sound like rules.”

Jackson rolled his icy blue eyes. “This is your first day, so I don’t expect you to know much, Reynard. But this is one of the rules of life you’ll learn at the Institute: Many things that sound like rules aren’t actually rules, and it always sounds as if there are more rules than there really are.”

“That sounds like two rules I’ll learn,” Reynie said.

“My point exactly. Now come along, everybody. We need to hurry — you’re to join the other new arrivals for Mr. Curtain’s welcome speech. Constance, stop dawdling. You, too, George, hustle it up.”

“Would you mind calling me Sticky?” the boy asked, hustling it up.

“Is Sticky your real name?” asked Jackson.

“It’s what everybody calls me,” Sticky replied.

“But is it official? Is there an official document somewhere that declares ‘Sticky’ to be your official name?”

“Um, no, but —”

“Well, if it isn’t official, then it can’t be real, now can it?”

Sticky just stared.

“Good boy, George,” said Jackson, leading them back toward the classrooms.

Beware the Gemini

The children were shown into an ordinary classroom, where sunlight streamed through the windows, the desks sat empty, and an Executive waited to speak with Jackson and Jillson. As the children chose their seats, the Executives held a private discussion. Then Jillson and the other Executive hurried out.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Jackson told the children. “The other group’s finishing their tour, and apparently our Recruiters have brought in some unexpected new arrivals. They’re being admitted right now, so we’ll start a few minutes late. Okay?” He stepped out of the room; then he stepped back in. “Okay?”

“Okay,” the children replied.

Jackson shook his head scornfully and withdrew.

“He’s a sweetheart,” Kate said.

“I don’t know how you can joke,” said Sticky. “My stomach’s all in knots.”

Reynie’s stomach felt much the same. “Did you hear what Jillson said about mine shafts?”

“You bet I did,” Kate said. “It makes no sense. Why set traps and then warn us about them?”

“They don’t want us to leave the paths,” Reynie speculated. “And if we do, they want to know it — they want to catch us at it.”

Kate’s blue eyes shone with excitement. “If that’s true, there might be traps everywhere.”

“You two aren’t helping my stomach,” Sticky said.

Soon the door swung open and a dozen other new arrivals entered, escorted by several Executives and a pair of men wearing fine suits and two watches apiece. There followed a flurry of introductions, desk-choosing, and general mayhem, during which the Executives watched the children very intently, as if they didn’t quite trust them not to bolt from the room or start a brawl. Reynie was painfully aware of their eyes upon him — he already felt conspicuous. But new kids always felt conspicuous, he reminded himself. And so he smiled and nodded, trying hard to seem as happy and eager as the other newcomers.

His fellow members of the Mysterious Benedict Society were making the same attempt, some with less success than others. Kate smiled charmingly. Sticky managed a grimace that resembled a smile, though it also resembled the expression you might wear in a sandstorm. Constance nodded a few times in a friendly way — until the nodding grew sleepy and her eyelids drooped. Reynie nudged her. Constance jerked her head upright and blinked in surprise, as if she didn’t quite know where she was.

As it happened, this was exactly how a couple of the other newcomers looked — a hefty, bell-shaped girl and a wiry boy sitting near the front. Both wore dazed expressions and ill-fitting clothes (hers were too small, his too large), and both had wet hair from recent baths. Except for Constance, they were the only children who didn’t seem happy and excited. Perhaps they were just sleepy, though you would have thought fresh baths and the dread of a new school would have gotten them wide awake.

Reynie saw one of the men in suits glance at the dazed-looking children — giving them a little wink and a friendly smile — and suddenly it hit him. Recruiters, Jackson had said. That must be what the Institute scouts were called. Which probably meant that the “unexpected new arrivals” Jackson had mentioned were . . . Could it be? Could these kids really have been kidnapped? And they just sat there looking sleepy? That seemed unlikely, Reynie thought. He must be missing something. And yet . . .

Reynie’s attention was drawn away. The commotion was dying down. Jillson had taken her place at the front, apparently waiting for a cue from Jackson, who stood in the doorway. Jackson nodded, and Jillson raised her hands for silence. A hush fell over the room. Then, in a booming voice, Jillson announced, “And now, everyone, it is our great pleasure to introduce to you the esteemed founder, president, and principal of our beloved Institute: Mr. Ledroptha Curtain!”