The Mysterious Benedict Society

The Helpers, a man and a woman, glanced at Reynie with fearful suspicion. To ease their worries he smiled good-naturedly and gave a little wave — then immediately regretted it. The Helpers, feeling compelled to reciprocate, stopped walking and set down their buckets so they could wave back.

“Nice buckets,” Kate said.

“Thank you, miss. They do the job,” said one of the Helpers, a short rotund man who looked rather like a bullfrog and sounded even more like one.

At the sound of his voice, Reynie started. He knew this man! He took a step closer and peered at the man’s face. The Helper took a step backward and averted his eyes.

“Mr. Bloomburg?” Reynie said. “I almost didn’t recognize you!”

Greatly discomfited, the Helper turned to his partner, a wisp of a woman who seemed to be trying to hide behind her hair. “Is he speaking to you?”

“Have you gone mad?” the woman hissed, first rolling her eyes at her partner, then flashing a miserable, conciliatory smile at the children. She made an effort to speak calmly: “He said Mister. Didn’t you, young man? Anyway, my name’s not Bloomburg.”

“Well, neither is mine,” said the man, and, looking at the ground near Reynie’s feet, he said, “Please don’t take offense, but my name is Harry Harrison.”

“You aren’t Mr. Bloomburg?”

“I don’t mean to be contrary,” said Harry Harrison (the other Helper signaled her vigorous agreement), “and I hope you won’t be displeased. But no.”

The other children were staring at Reynie, who seemed dreadfully confused. “But . . . but . . . how long have you worked here?”

The Helper glanced at his partner. “A long time, wouldn’t you say, Mary?”

“I know I’ve been here a long time,” the woman said, looking at the ground, “and you’ve been here for most of that, so yes.”

“I hope that’s okay,” said Harry.

“But how long, exactly?” Reynie pressed.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he did indeed seem very sorry. “I don’t believe I remember the exact date. Do you, Mary?”

“The exact date, no. But certainly a long time.”

Reynie put his hands on his head. “You’ve never visited Stonetown Orphanage?”

“You seem agitated,” said Mary in a worried tone. “I’m sorry if we’ve upset you. Aren’t we sorry, Harry?”

“Very sorry indeed,” said Harry, miserably. “We didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You haven’t upset me,” said Reynie, sounding very upset. “But are you not troubled that you can’t remember exactly when you came here?”

At this, both Helpers shook their heads and said, “Everything is just as it should be.”

The children’s eyes widened, but the Helpers seemed unaware of the oddity of their response. They were only waiting to be dismissed, hoping the children would not abuse them or get them into trouble.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Reynie said at last. He seemed finally to be recovering. He even managed to chuckle and say, “I’m sorry, I’m really a dunce. You just look so much like him . . . this person I used to know. Obviously I’ve made a mistake. Nice talking to you, though.”

The Helpers were relieved. “Oh, indeed . . . very nice . . . a great pleasure . . . ,” they said, taking up their buckets and hurrying down the other side of the hill.

“Okay, what was that all about?” asked Kate when they were out of earshot.

Reynie’s brows were knitted with concentration. “That was Mr. Bloomburg, no doubt about it. His face, his shape, that froggy voice — there’s no question it was him. And yet he pretended not to know me — pretended not to be himself. Now why would he do that?”

“Maybe he’s a secret agent,” Constance said. “You know, like Milligan was. And you were blowing his cover.”

“Mr. Bloomburg?” Reynie said. “I doubt it.”

“He did kind of remind me of Milligan, though,” Sticky said. “Did anyone else notice how sad he seemed? How sad they both seemed? In their eyes, I mean. I’d never gotten a good look at a Helper’s eyes before — they’re always looking away. But with these two I could plainly see it.”

“That’s true,” Kate reflected. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so sad as Milligan, but these two came awfully close. Reynie, do you think — Reynie, what’s wrong?”

The color had drained from Reynie’s face. He stood staring off into the distance, at nothing in particular, and indeed he looked as if nothingness were exactly what he wished to see.

“Are you okay?” Sticky said.

Reynie didn’t answer. He had finally come to understand something that would have seemed obvious had it not seemed impossible: Milligan, the missing agents, Mr. Bloomburg — they had all had their memories stolen.

Once this had occurred to him, a great many puzzle pieces suddenly fit together. When Milligan was captured, he’d thought Mr. Curtain discovered his amnesia, when in fact Mr. Curtain had caused it. That was why Mr. Curtain got so angry when Milligan said his memory was fine. Mr. Curtain had wanted to steal his memory, or wipe it away — or whatever it was that might be done to memories — and then retrain him as a Helper. Just like the other agents. Mr. Curtain had transformed all those