The Mysterious Benedict Society

“Here comes a response,” Sticky said from the window. “Glad . . . proud . . . now pay attention.”

“Sounds like he’s about to tell us something important,” Reynie said. He went over and peered out the window with Sticky. Sure enough, the light in the woods continued flashing its coded message:

With open eyes now you may find

A place you must exit to enter.

Where one —

“Where one what?” Sticky said, when the message broke off and didn’t resume. “Why did they stop?”

Reynie groaned. “It’s Mr. Curtain,” he said, pointing. “He’s going out onto the plaza.”

“Now?” Sticky hissed, watching the familiar figure rolling into view below. “In the middle of the message? He couldn’t have waited twenty more seconds?”

“At least we have a start,” Reynie said.

But a start was all they had, for even after a long discussion, the children were left stymied. The last, unfinished line gave no clue at all, and the first seemed pointless, as it hardly seemed necessary to tell them they needed to keep their eyes open. Which left only the middle line, and that one utterly baffled them. How on earth could you enter a place by exiting it?

“We’ll have to try again tomorrow,” Kate said finally, stifling a yawn. “I can’t think straight anymore tonight. At least you boys made Messenger. That’s an encouraging development.”

The others agreed, the meeting adjourned, and in a few minutes the girls had disappeared into the ceiling and the boys had gone to bed. Reynie had just begun to compose a mental letter to Miss Perumal when Sticky whispered into the darkness.

“Reynie, you awake?”

“Wide awake,” Reynie replied.

“I wanted to ask you . . . does this ‘encouraging development’ scare the wits out of you as much as it does me?”

Reynie laughed. “It may be the worst encouraging development I’ve ever experienced.”

In the bunk below, Sticky laughed, too. Their laughter relaxed them the tiniest bit — and that was all it took. In moments their exhaustion overcame them, and both boys fell asleep.

The Whisperer

When the knock sounded on his door, Reynie was in the midst of a terrible dream. He had written down his letters to Miss Perumal, and Jackson, having found the letters on the desk, was pounding them with his fist. Bang! Bang! Bang! “We’ve got you!” he cried with a wicked laugh. “Don’t worry, you won’t be punished! It’s the Waiting Room for you — what fun you’ll have there! And when you’ve disappeared beneath the stinking mud for good, we’ll get your beloved Miss Perumal, too!”

“No!”

“What do you mean, ‘No’?” said Jackson. “Isn’t this what you’ve been working for?”

This was an unexpected response, and Reynie, startled, opened his eyes. Jackson stood in the doorway, staring at Reynie with an expression of wild impatience.

“I’m sorry,” Reynie said, coming fully awake. “I was dreaming. What did you say?”

“I said hurry up and get your tunic on. I’m to take you to Mr. Curtain immediately. Today’s your big day! Special privileges, Reynard! Now wake up your skinny bald friend and hustle, will you? I want to get a muffin on the way.” Jackson stepped out of the room to wait.

When, after considerable shaking, Reynie had roused Sticky, the two of them threw on their Messenger uniforms.

“This is it,” Reynie whispered. “We have to be on our toes.”

Sticky nodded. “Good luck.”

They shook hands resolutely.

“It’s about time,” Jackson muttered when they came out. “Now follow me.” He set off in double-time for the cafeteria. It was just before dawn, with no one astir but a few silent Helpers mopping floors, sweeping walkways, or scaling ladders to scrub mildew from ceilings. In the cafeteria, too, the Helpers were already hard at work. Jackson helped himself to a freshly baked blueberry muffin and a glass of cold milk. “Better choke something down quick,” he said to the boys. “You don’t want to be in the Whisperer with an empty stomach. It’s very draining. You need all the energy you can get.”

At this, the first open mention of the Whisperer, goose bumps rose on the boys’ arms. Their stomachs flipped, too, but dutifully they reached for muffins and milk and, just as Jackson said, choked them down. Sticky, already losing his nerve, couldn’t help trying to stall. “What about classes?”

“What do you think all those classes are for, George? I don’t see how you’ve ever made Messenger if that’s how dimwitted you are. You’ll have plenty of time for classes after your session. The Whisperer is what’s important, boys. It’s the whole reason we’re here.”

After all the secrecy that had come before, it was very strange indeed — in fact it was thrilling — to be spoken to with such candor and trust. They really were Messengers at last! Reynie almost had to remind himself that his new position wasn’t an honor to be prized.

“All right, then, swallow and follow,” said Jackson, turning on his heel. The boys gulped their milk and hurried after him. Out on the plaza, in the gray light of dawn, Jackson ordered them to stand still. “If you ever become Executives,” he said, tying cloths over their eyes, “then you’ll be allowed to learn the route to the Whispering Gallery. Until then, it’s blindfolds and no talking. Understand? Now, then, round and round you go.” He grabbed their shoulders and spun them about until they were so dizzy they stumbled and bumped into each other. Jackson