The Mysterious Benedict Society

“Recruiters were driving that truck, remember?” Reynie said. “So it must have had something valuable in it — something Mr. Curtain wanted to protect. Why else would he need such security?”

“Oh, yeah, I was just going to think of that,” Kate said with a laugh. “You’re too hard on yourself, Reynie.”

“But if I’d thought of it sooner,” Reynie argued, “Mr. Benedict might have been able to investigate! For all we know, the rest of the shipments have been sent out by now. We may never know what was in those crates.”

“Maybe not,” said Kate, “but we can still report it, and we can keep an eye out ourselves. Right?”

“True,” Reynie admitted. He still felt like a dolt, but he preferred not to dwell on the feeling. “Sticky, how many more entries do you have to read?”

“Two,” Sticky said. The next one was this:

Success! As of this morning, the messages are transmitting directly. To my great satisfaction, the Whisperer is now capable of

“That’s it?” Kate asked.

“Sorry,” Sticky said. “His hand was covering the rest.”

“The Whisperer,” Constance said. “So that’s what he calls his dumb machine.”

Reynie said nothing. He was wondering what new thing the Whisperer was capable of now. He knew one thing for sure: If Mr. Curtain was happy about it, then it spelled bad news.

Sticky was preparing to read the last journal entry. “This is where he seems to go completely bonkers. I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

It’s Curtain for You! Trust Ledroptha Curtain. Curtain makes things better. Feel certain about Curtain. No, Feel certain with Curtain. Curtain Has Control.

“Bizarre!” said Kate.

“Is he talking to himself?” asked Constance.

“Sounds like he’s trying to convince somebody of something,” Reynie said. “But who would that be?”

“It just supports my personal opinion that he’s a wacko,” Kate said with a shrug. “But wacko or not, he’s awfully careful about keeping his secrets — which is why this has been so extremely, marvelously, wonderfully satisfying!”

Unable to sit still any longer, Kate leaped to her feet, pumped her arms in the air, and in a barely restrained whisper said, “Can you believe we actually spied in Mr. Curtain’s journal and got away with it? The Sender himself! I say three cheers for us! Three cheers for the Mysterious Benedict Society!”

Reynie and Sticky whispered three cheers, but Constance rolled her eyes and said cheering was for babies.

“I see you’re back to being yourself,” Kate said with a chuckle. “But I’m not going to let it bother me.” Constance scowled and started to reply, but Kate went right on talking. “We’re on a roll, everyone. We’re really getting somewhere! I say we report all this to Mr. B, then tomorrow we take a peek at the loading area with my spyglass. Let’s try to figure out what’s in those crates!”

The others agreed; they sent their report, and two hours later Reynie was drifting away to sleep, having finished an upbeat mental letter to Miss Perumal and feeling hopeful for the first time in ages. Maybe, he thought, Mr. Benedict really could do something to stop Mr. Curtain. And then maybe he could help Mr. Bloomsburg and Milligan and everyone else get their memories back. It was possible, wasn’t it?

Reynie breathed deeply, stretched out, and let sleep overcome him. As dark as things seemed, at least they didn’t seem entirely hopeless. The children were finally making some progress. Who knew what would happen tomorrow?

Of course, Reynie could not know what would happen, and this was fortunate. For if he had known, he would never have slept so easily.

Caught in the Act

The very next day Sticky was caught cheating. In a display of triumphant fury, Jillson marched to the rear of the room, snatched Sticky’s hand — with which he’d been tugging his ear lobe — and demanded, “What’s this?”

Terrified, Sticky mumbled, “My . . . my hand.”

“Yes, but what were you doing with your hand?”

“Scratching my ear?”

“I’m not as stupid as I look, you know!” Jillson roared, then hesitated, realizing what she’d said, before scowling and saying, “That’s it, Washington, you’re going to the Waiting Room! Stand up!”

Jillson glanced at Reynie and Kate, and at Constance in the back, obviously suspecting one of them as a cheating partner. But the fidgety bald boy was the only one she felt confident about. “Stand up,” she repeated, yanking Sticky to his feet as if he weighed no more than a bird. “The rest of you sit tight. I’ll send another Executive to monitor your quiz — which, thanks to this cheater, you’ll all have to start over from the beginning.”

Boos and jeers erupted as Sticky was dragged from the room, casting one last frightened glance back at Reynie before disappearing. With an awful, helpless feeling, Reynie watched him go. He looked back at Kate, who shook her head grimly. Sticky was in deep trouble. They were all in deep trouble.

“Too bad, so sad,” said Martina.

“What exactly is the Waiting Room?” asked Eustace Crust, one of the special recruits.

“Ask Corliss Danton,” said Martina smugly. “Tell them, Corliss.”

Corliss, who at the mention of the Waiting Room had buried his face in his hands, was silently wiping tears from his eyes. “It’s . . . just a place you go when you’re waiting to meet with Mr. Curtain. An . . . unpleasant place.”