The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey

“Of course we are,” said Reynie. “We have to save him.”

“I was hoping he would save us,” said Constance.

Kate said nothing. Her grief had rapidly transformed into something else, and she was clenching and unclenching her fists, boiling with anger at the Ten Men for what they’d done to Milligan. She despised McCracken in particular, but all of the Ten Men had played a part. In her fury, Kate wanted revenge more than anything, and for a moment it blinded her to all else.

“Kate!” said Reynie, shaking her shoulder. He’d been calling her name again and again. “What’s the matter? We have to move him! If we can get into the trees, they might not even see us! We’re almost there, Kate!”

Kate looked up and saw the boys staring at her wonderingly. She leaped to her feet — but it was already too late. She saw it on Constance’s face. The tiny girl was staring out into the mist with a look of deepest dread. And the next moment they all heard what she had sensed.

The rumbling.

In horror the children saw the Salamander appear at the far northern edge of the plain, a black shadow moving through the mist like a shark through water. Whipping out her spyglass, Kate found McCracken at the helm — with his own spyglass fixed on her. Beside him stood Mr. Curtain, gesturing angrily, and behind stood Martina, Garrotte, and Sharpe, all awake now and surely seething with vengeful wrath. In the spyglass they seemed close enough for Kate to reach out and hit, and she wanted badly to do just that — they weren’t the only ones seething with vengeful wrath. But even in her anger Kate was sensible enough to realize this encounter was ill-timed. She and the others were doomed. She only hoped she could get a lick at McCracken before he overpowered her.

“How long do we have?” Reynie asked her. “We can’t beat them to the bay, can we?”

“At that speed? With us dragging the sledge? We’ll be lucky to make it ten yards into the trees. At least they’ll have to go to the trouble of getting out. That’s some comfort.”

The others found this no comfort at all, however, and Reynie glanced despondently at the sledge — the prized burden that ensured they’d never make it to the bay. He found himself staring into the eyes of Mr. Benedict, who was sitting up straight and yawning.

“I must have . . . ah, I see,” said Mr. Benedict, running a hand through his hair. He looked at Reynie in chagrin. “I chose a terrible time to sleep, I’m afraid.” He appeared to grasp their predicament at once, for before Reynie could even think of what to say, Mr. Benedict had lifted Milligan from the ground and, with a rallying cry to the children, set off into the forest with the injured man in his arms. The others exclaimed and hurried after him, Kate slinging Constance up onto her back almost as an afterthought.

“Be careful!” she cried. “He’s badly hurt, Mr. Benedict!”

“So I can see, my dear, but I have no doubt he’ll recover,” Mr. Benedict puffed as they ran through the trees. “Your father is the most resilient man I’ve ever known. He’ll be fine.”

Reynie wished he shared Mr. Benedict’s confidence. At the moment it seemed unlikely that any of them would be fine. Already the Salamander had reached the forest edge and veered off to go around — it was too big to pass through the trees — but not before Reynie heard a telltale pause in its rumbling that indicated a Ten Man or two had been dropped off to follow them. The Salamander would skirt the forest and meet them at the shore, whereas any retreat through the woods was now out of the question. Their escape had become, just as Reynie had predicted, an all or nothing situation.

A few desperate moments more and the haggard, gasping group emerged from the trees and stumbled onto the rocky shore of the bay. There was the beached seaplane, still covered by Milligan’s tarpaulin. There, in the far distance, was the Salamander, rumbling around the edge of the forest and turning toward them. And there, in the choppy waters of the bay itself, was . . . nothing.

Sticky took one look at the empty water and fell to his knees.

Mr. Benedict stared out at the mist-shrouded bay with a perplexed look. “I take it something is amiss.”

Reynie, stricken, covered his face with his hands. “I did what I thought . . . I mean, I hoped . . . oh, I can’t believe I hoped —”

Mr. Benedict made a gentle shushing sound. “Whatever you chose, Reynie, I’m sure it was the right thing. Now you must brace yourselves, my friends, for —”

“Hold that thought,” said Kate, pointing at the bay.

They looked, and so awesome was the sight that for a moment all thought of danger fled their minds. Seen through the mist, the dark hills at the mouth of the bay appeared to be moving, as if they were the legs of the ancient Colossus. But this was a trick of the eye. In fact a gargantuan shape had loomed up behind them, was even now rushing between them, and now — to the thrill of the stranded, desperate watchers on the shore — the enormous, magnificent body of the Shortcut hove fully into view, splitting the waters of the bay.

As the ship appeared, its horn blasted with such shocking volume that most of the onlookers covered their ears. The onlookers included those in the Salamander, who had hardly needed the horn to call their attention to the Shortcut’s arrival. Every single one of them was gaping in awe, and even the unflappable McCracken had swerved wildly away from the water before looking back in disbelief. And well he might have disbelieved. So disproportionate was the great ship to the bay, so vastly out of place, it might have been a whale in a bathtub.

“This way!” Mr. Benedict shouted.

Though less than a second had passed since its appearance, the Shortcut was already bearing down upon the shore. The children ran after Mr. Benedict, toward the side of the bay opposite the Salamander. Never once did they tear their eyes from the ship, which was churning up gigantic waves — not only of water but also of mud, for the Shortcut’s keel was furrowing the bottom of the bay like a farmer’s plow.

Captain Noland, just as Reynie had asked him to, was grounding his precious ship to save his friends.

Moments later the Shortcut had come to rest, and the island bay and its shore resembled the scene of some unimaginable disaster. Pieces of the destroyed seaplane were strewn everywhere on either side of the ship, whose bow jutted well into the forest, having crushed any number of trees in its path. On