The Mysterious Benedict Society

Constance wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Hey, when you boys get your lunch trays, bring me back some ice cream.”

“Whatever happened to asking?” Sticky said. “Whatever happened to please?”

Reynie looked at Constance, who by way of answering Sticky was poking her tongue out. She did have terrible manners, it was true: She spilled food with abandon, chewed with her mouth open as often as not, and held her utensils like shovels. But Reynie found her behavior more sad than irritating. He knew she must never have had anyone to teach her better manners. He had no idea what her life had been like before — Constance hated being asked questions and generally ignored them, or else responded by making rude sounds — but it was obvious she’d had little guidance.

Constance noticed Reynie looking at her. She bugged her eyes and opened her mouth to show him her chewed-up food. She didn’t like being looked at any more than she liked being asked questions.

Reynie and Sticky went up to the counter to order their lunches. The Helpers were stirring soups and tossing pizza dough and otherwise attending to a huge array of dishes, all of which smelled heavenly, and the boys’ mouths were watering like sprinkler systems. Reynie finally settled on lasagna and chocolate milk — and ice cream, since Sticky refused to do Constance’s bidding. Reynie just didn’t feel like dealing with a whining session.

The Helper who took his order nodded silently, averting her eyes, and set about preparing the tray. Reynie watched her uneasily. Only a few Helpers had ever spoken to him, and not one had made eye contact. Apparently Mr. Curtain had laid down strict rules about this. It was a strange requirement of the workers’ jobs, this constant show of deference, but the Helpers met it admirably. In fact they were so silent and shy of eye contact that Reynie tried not to greet them or even look at them much. To him this felt profoundly rude, but doing otherwise always seemed to make the Helpers uncomfortable.

Sticky must have been thinking about the same thing, because when they had rejoined the girls at the table, he said, “Can you imagine a worse job than being a Helper?”

“Aren’t they a sad lot?” said Kate. “No talking, no eye contact. No way I could work a job like that — I’d have to be sedated.”

“Hey, maybe they are being sedated,” Sticky suggested. “Maybe there’s something in their food!”

Kate shook her head. “I’ve seen them eating the same food they serve us, and we’re just fine, aren’t we?”

They all looked uncomfortably at Constance, who had finished gulping her ice cream and let her sticky chin drop to her chest. Her eyelids were fluttering, and her breathing had deepened into a snore.

“Well, but she was that way before we got here,” said Reynie.

It was a long and wearisome day. The afternoon classes went much the same as the morning ones: First Reynie would feel heartened by how well he and Sticky had done on the quiz, then dismayed by the hateful looks their successes brought them — from other students and Messengers in general, but especially from Martina. And if Kate and Constance were drawing no such unpleasant attention themselves, it was only because they were having a terrible time with the quizzes, which was even more discouraging.

When the last class was dismissed, the four of them went out onto the plaza and sat on a stone bench. (All but Kate, who bounced in place, burning off energy.) Most of the Institute students spent the hour before supper playing in the gym, or else watching television in their rooms, but the Mysterious Benedict Society had wanted a little time to themselves. As it turned out, they spent their whole time on the plaza undisturbed by Martina or anyone at all, and yet they spoke hardly a word. The reason was that they could not stop staring — with a curious mixture of fascination, fear, and uneasiness — at Mr. Curtain in his green-plaid suit, silvery glasses, and demonic wheelchair.

The plaza was a favorite spot of his. The children had seen him there the day before, too, and also at night. It was well known that Mr. Curtain often sat there for an hour or so in the afternoons, during which time no one ever disturbed him but Executives — and they came to him only with urgent matters. This afternoon was no different. Everyone who crossed the plaza gave Mr. Curtain a wide berth, and no one ever passed in front of him, as he seemed to delight in gazing off toward the bridge in the distance, and no one wished to disrupt his view.

Gazing aside, Mr. Curtain was hardly idle. He had a stack of newspapers with him and was going through them meticulously, occasionally marking things, and smiling mysteriously. From time to time he opened a large book, which he carried in his lap, and made a note inside it. Then he would gaze off into the distance again. Eventually Mr. Curtain spun around and shot across the plaza, disappearing inside the Institute Control Building and snapping the children out of their trance.

Having spent so much time staring, and since at supper they were unable to get a table to themselves, the children would have to wait until after lights out for any secret discussions, for the evenings were devoted to studytime. It was essential that Reynie and Sticky continue to do well on their quizzes — especially if Kate and Constance didn’t start doing well. And, at any rate, one of the few rules the Executives seemed willing to admit to was that students were not allowed in one another’s rooms. Private meetings among regular students were the sort of thing strictly frowned upon at the Institute, where all secrets were reserved for Messengers and Executives.

There was no prohibition regarding the dormitory corridors during studytime, however, and before the children holed up in their rooms to labor over their notes, they lingered a few minutes outside the door to Reynie and Sticky’s room. If they didn’t talk to each other now, it was only because they were eavesdropping. They had discovered that, at this time of day, there was a considerable amount of activity and conversation in the corridor, which always provided an opportunity to learn something. Here and there along the corridor, little clusters of students stood talking, reluctant to knuckle down and study yet, and a steady stream of children toting toothbrushes and toiletries passed in and out of the bathrooms.

This evening the most obvious eavesdroppees were Reynie and Sticky’s neighbors, a couple of thick-headed, thick-middled older boys who had made a point of never speaking to Reynie and Sticky. The boys stood in their doorway playing a game that involved kicking each other in the shins without crying out, and as they kicked and grimaced back and forth, they speculated endlessly about the Messengers’ secret privileges. This was a favorite conversation among non-Messengers, but never a productive one, and it was no different with these boys. It soon became clear neither had any idea what the privileges were, only that they were much to be coveted.

The boys’ talk quickly wore thin, and Reynie was just about to give up and go study when Jackson’s voice boomed down the corridor: “Corliss Danton! There you are!”

A few doors down, Corliss Danton jumped. (Everyone jumped, but Corliss jumped the highest.) He turned to look with strangely guilty eyes at Jackson, who came marching toward him through the little clusters of students, all