Everyone watched the door with anxious eyes. For a long, expectant pause, they heard nothing except a sort of distant whine, but the whine grew louder by the moment, giving way to a tremendous grind and screech — as of a car changing gears and spinning its tires — and into the room shot a man in a motorized wheelchair, moving so quickly and with such apparent recklessness that every child in the room scooted backward in fear of being struck. Mr. Curtain had perfect control of his chair, however, and as he raced down the rows he expertly dodged the children’s feet and the sharp corners of their desks, smiling as he went.
The wheelchair was unlike any they’d ever seen: It had four evenly spaced wheels, like a cart, with button controls on the armrests and pedal controls beneath each foot. Mr. Curtain was snugged into the padded chair with a seat belt across his chest and lap, and the chair rolled so quickly that his thick white hair flew back from his head. He wore large round glasses with silver reflective lenses, so that his eyes couldn’t be seen; his cheeks and chin were reddened by a recent shave; and his nose was large and lumpy, like a vegetable.
His entrance would have been a shocking sight for any child, but it was far worse for those of the Mysterious Benedict Society. That nose (so much like a vegetable) and that hair (so thick and white) would have been enough to give them a start, but that suit he wore — that
Reynie’s mind was racing, searching for an explanation. Had Mr. Benedict been kidnapped? Was he being forced somehow to pretend he was Mr. Curtain? But why? And how could he have done it so quickly? They’d seen Mr. Benedict just that morning. Perhaps Mr. Benedict had a split personality, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? That seemed unlikely, too. But
Even as Reynie thought this, the man introduced as Mr. Curtain brought his chair to a screeching stop, whirled it about, and shot forward to sit right beside him. He positioned his chair so perfectly that his face was mere inches from Reynie’s — so close that Reynie could see his own alarmed and searching face reflected in those shiny silver lenses; so close that he smelled the man’s pungent breath. And then Mr. Benedict — that is, Mr. Curtain — leaned closer still. Any closer and that lumpy nose would poke Reynie in the eye. “What is it, young man? Why are you looking at me that way?”
Reynie thought fast. Either Mr. Benedict — Mr. Curtain — somehow didn’t recognize him, or else he was pretending not to. “It’s . . . your nose! It looks like a pink cucumber!”
His friends stared at Reynie in amazement, but several children burst into giggles. Mr. Curtain frowned, his fists clenched, his face darkened — and yet for a long time he did not speak. His fury seemed to be building up to an explosion. Reynie waited in mounting dread. But then the color drained from Mr. Curtain’s face, his frown changed into a satisfied expression . . . and he even smiled.
“You children,” he said. “I always forget. Children are capable of such open rudeness. That’s all right, young man, I won’t hold it against you. We need students who aren’t afraid to speak the truth. What is your name?”
“Reynard Muldoon, sir. But everyone calls me Reynie.”
“Welcome, Reynard,” said Mr. Curtain, and with this he turned and rocketed to the front of the room, where he spun once more to face the students, throwing his arms wide. “Welcome, Reynard Muldoon, and welcome, all of you! Welcome to the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened!”
There was a burst of applause, and Reynie and his friends again glanced at one another — more secretly this time — with looks of unhappy bewilderment.
Meanwhile Mr. Curtain had begun his welcoming speech: “At other academies,” he declared, “children are only taught how to survive. Reading skills, mathematics, art and music lessons — such a waste of a student’s time! Here at the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened,” Mr. Curtain boomed, writing the name out on a chalkboard and circling all the capital letters, “we show our students how to L.I.V.E.!”
There followed another great round of applause, but Reynie was still thinking,
As Jillson had explained, the children were free to leave their lights and televisions on “all night long,” if they chose, provided their rooms were dark by ten o’clock. When that hour struck, Reynie was peering through a crack in the open door. Sure enough — just as Kate had predicted — an Executive was on patrol. This one, a gangly teenager with gigantic feet, had just turned off the corridor light, and in the relative darkness was checking to see if any light escaped from beneath the students’ doors. Reynie switched off their own light and quietly closed the door.
“Who’s out there?” Sticky asked.
“S.Q. Pedalian. Remember him? Kate joked that ‘S.Q.’ must be short for ‘Sasquatch.’”
A knock sounded on their door. When Reynie opened it, S.Q. Pedalian stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. His good-natured face, high above them, was just visible in the moonlight coming in through their window. “You fellows need to keep it down,” he said, though not unkindly. “You’re new, so I thought perhaps you wouldn’t understand the rules, or lack of them. And sure enough, when I put my ear to your door and listened, I could hear a sort of murmur, which means you were talking, and that won’t do. You’re free to talk, of course, but only if you don’t make any sound.”
“Okay,” the boys mouthed soundlessly.
“Okay, just so you know. Have a good night now,” he said, pulling the door closed and crying out in pain. The door opened quickly, S.Q. withdrew the tip of his foot, and the door closed again.
“That must happen to him a lot,” Reynie whispered.
From above them came the rustling sound of a ceiling panel being slid aside, and in the glow of a flashlight beam they saw Constance’s dusty, cobweb-covered, exasperated face. Sticky fetched a chair, and soon Constance and Kate had come down to join them. Kate turned off her flashlight just as a cloud passed over the moon outside. Instantly the room was shrouded in gloom.
“What can it possibly mean?” Kate whispered.
“It’s a nasty trick,” Constance said.
