The Mysterious Benedict Society

After they’d safely rounded the corner, Kate said, “Can you believe it? That’s two narrow escapes now! First Sticky got off the hook for cheating, and now you’re off the hook for spying, Reynie!”

“Yeah,” said Reynie, his face flushed with guilt. “It’s . . . it’s great news.”

“And now Martina’s on the hook,” Constance said. “This might actually be a good day.”

By supper the rumors were flying. Martina Crowe had not been in any of her classes. Some said she was enjoying a long session of her special privileges — whatever those were. Others argued that the secret privileges never lasted this long. More likely, someone said, she’d been sent to the Waiting Room — a student had seen Jackson and Jillson escorting her across the plaza. Martina Crowe? Going to the Waiting Room? Who had seen that? For this no one had an answer, so maybe it was just a rumor.

Reynie had begun to feel rather ill. It was starting to seem everything he did got someone hurt. First he’d suggested they cheat, which landed Sticky in the Waiting Room. Then he’d spied through the gym window, for which some poor, average-looking kid was paying the price. Now there was this plan he’d put into effect — the plan to get Martina bumped from the Messenger list. It had seemed clever at the time, but was he sure about that? For all his caution and wits, he was turning out to be a dangerous person to be close to. He looked at his untouched meal with distaste. He shoved it away and put his face in his hands.

“Reynie?” Kate said. “What’s the matter?”

“It was my plan,” Reynie mumbled.

“Hey, if anybody deserves the Waiting Room, it’s Martina.”

“If anyone deserves it . . . ,” mumbled Sticky, who felt every bit as bad as Reynie. He knew how terrible the Waiting Room was — at the very mention of it he had broken into a cold sweat — and he had been the one to condemn Martina with a lie. It didn’t matter how cruel she was. No one deserved the Waiting Room, not even Martina.

To make matters worse, at that very moment a hidden message broadcast began.

“It’s that boy Harold Rockwell,” Constance grumbled to herself. “Shut up, Harold.”

Reynie gave Constance a bleak look. It had occurred to him to wonder what would happen to her when Mr. Curtain boosted the signal power all the way. If Constance could hear voices now, what would it be like for her then? What would it do to her? Had she thought to wonder about this herself? For her sake, Reynie hoped not. If he were in her shoes he’d be terrified.

This day had gone from good to bad to worse. And from there to worse than worse.

“Watch your toes, everyone,” Kate murmured.

S.Q. Pedalian was squeezing between two nearby tables, where students were wincing and crying out as he passed. Reynie tucked his feet safely out of reach. S.Q. came up and looked appraisingly at them. “Why the long faces, kids? Everything all right?”

The children tried to appear cheerful so he would leave them alone, but for once S.Q. judged correctly. “You can’t fool me. I know downtrodden faces when I see them. I’m surprised at you! Here Stick — I mean, here young George has got off clean and easy, you’re doing great on your quizzes, and yet the whole lot of you sits around like the cat got your pudding. Er, the pudding . . . no, got your tail. . . .”

No one felt like helping him, and after a moment S.Q. gave up. He adopted a shrewd expression, which, on S.Q., looked rather as if he had severe indigestion. “Now don’t tell me you’re fretting about not making the Messenger list yet! Is that it? Listen here,” he said confidentially, leaning in close to them, “I’ll tell you a secret, because you’re good eggs. You’re closer than you think!”

Reynie nodded glumly. “Is it because Martina’s not a Messenger anymore?”

S.Q. cocked his head. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Everybody knows,” said Kate.

This surprised both S.Q. and Reynie, who said together, “They do? How?”

Kate pointed across the cafeteria, where Martina had just come in, escorted by Jillson and Jackson. She wore her tunic and sash as always, but not the typical striped pants of a Messenger. No, her pants were solid blue, and as the other Messengers cheered and clapped, her face shone simultaneously with malevolence and triumph.

Martina had been made an Executive.

Half a Riddle

That evening, at precisely 10:01, S.Q. Pedalian knocked on the boys’ door. He knocked first with his feet, by accident, and then with his knuckles. Getting no response, he opened the door and peered in. In the dim room he saw the boys lying on their bunks in their pajamas. Something caught his eye, however, and he looked upward. Only shadows on the ceiling.

“S.Q.? Is that you?” Reynie asked in a sleepy voice.

“Sorry, boys,” S.Q. said, snapping on the light. “I didn’t think you’d be asleep so early — it’s only just now lights-out. Mr. Curtain wants to see you. Hop up now, both of you, and get dressed. You know, I could have sworn I saw one of your ceiling tiles move.”

“Probably just a shadow,” Reynie suggested, fumbling with his trousers and shoes.

“Or a mouse,” said Sticky in a cracked voice. His mouth had gone very dry.

S.Q. scratched his head. “A mouse, hm? That’s probably it. A lot of students have complained about mice in their ceiling lately. I suppose we’ll have to put out some traps.” As Reynie made a mental note to tell Kate to look out for mousetraps, S.Q. ushered them from their room.

Both boys were in a state of high alarm. Obviously Martina had convinced Mr. Curtain she hadn’t cheated, for how else would she have been made an Executive? Thus Mr. Curtain must know that Sticky lied, and no doubt Reynie had been implicated as his accomplice. Which was as it should be, Reynie thought miserably. It was his plan that got Sticky into this mess — twice.