The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey

Cannonball whispered. “Top brass. Head honchos.” He puffed out his chest and made a ridiculous face. “Bullfrogs, if you ask me. Captain Noland’s had to make room to accommodate them, so I imagine he’ll be pleased to hear there’s only the four of you.” Cannonball stood abruptly. “Now let’s go!”

The ship’s main deck was every bit as bustling as the docks had been. Dozens of men and women in uniforms hurried in every direction to complete unknown tasks. Cannonball bade the children stay exactly where they were, then dashed away across the deck. He soon returned with a man in a white uniform. “Here’s the captain!”

“Phil Noland,” the captain said, shaking their hands. Everything about Captain Noland was trim. He had a trim gray beard and well-trimmed gray hair, a trim physique, even trim movements that were not robotic or stiff, exactly, but gave the impression of great efficiency. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Nicholas Benedict is an old friend of mine, and I’ve heard a good deal about you all. Now what’s this about Milligan and Rhonda? They really aren’t here?”

Captain Noland seemed agitated, but Reynie sensed it was for reasons unrelated to the children. Given what Cannonball had said about the captain’s unexpected guests, Reynie suspected he was simply under a lot of pressure.

“There was a change of plans,” Reynie said, “but we can explain all that later, when you’re not so busy.”

“I am a bit harried,” said Captain Noland. “And I must apologize. My intention was that you would dine with me this evening. Unfortunately, I’m called upon” — here his expression shifted to one of barely concealed resentment — “that is, compelled to make other arrangements. I’m embarrassed by this, children, and ask your forgiveness. If you don’t mind, we’ll take a late refreshment together after I’ve fulfilled my other obligations.”

The children readily agreed, and Captain Noland hurried away, leaving Cannonball to show them to their quarters below.

“I’m afraid it’s just one cabin,” he said, leading them down a ladder. “The bullfrogs insisted upon having rooms to themselves, so the four of you are squeezed together. Captain’s pretty upset. You were to be his guests of honor. But what the company wants, you know, the company gets.”

In the narrow passage at the bottom of the ladder a crew member pulled Cannonball aside and spoke in his ear. “Right, right,” said Cannonball as the man disappeared up the ladder. To the children he whispered, “Reminding me to keep my voice down. Good advice, of course, if you like your job. Which I do. Down this way, now!”

They went along more passages and down another ladder, and at last came to their cabin, a cramped space with a single porthole set too high in the wall for any of the children but Kate to look through — and even Kate had to stand on tiptoe. Their bunks were attached to opposite walls (or bulkheads, as Cannonball called them), with a top and bottom bunk on either side. The cabin reminded Reynie of the laundry closet in Mr. Benedict’s house; there was hardly room for everyone to stand. To spare one another elbow-knocks and squashed toes they each climbed into a bunk as Cannonball closed the cabin door to finish his speech. Or at least to continue it, for apparently Cannonball never finished talking — he only shifted topics.

“When we’re properly underway I can give you a tour of the ship,” he said, “but we’ll have to make it snappy. We’re shorthanded now, thanks to the bullfrogs.”

“Why shorthanded?” asked Reynie.

“Excellent question!” said Cannonball, flashing him a bright smile. “The chief bullfrog is a big jewelry merchant, and he’s transporting a huge lot of diamonds to Europe. No problem with this, of course — the Shortcut’s an exceptionally secure ship — but at the last minute this bullfrog insists on extra security guards. The Captain points out there’s no room for so many bodies, says the crew needs space, too, you know. And what does the bullfrog say? Reduce the crew! Says the Captain should be good enough to make the ship run with a smaller crew, anyway! So the Captain has no choice, and now the rest of us will be working double duty to make sure the trip goes well.”

“That’s hardly fair,” said Kate.

“You don’t know the half of it! But now’s no time to go on about injustice. I’m off to the security hold to make sure everything’s in order. Feel free to go back up on deck if you like. Just keep out of the crew’s way. And when you see bullfrogs, be polite! If they want us to toss you overboard, you know, we’ll have to do it!”

Cannonball laughed and winked, then snatched his cap back from Sticky’s head and dashed from the room.

“It’s too bad,” Sticky said, rubbing his scalp. “That cap was keeping my head warm. I’m still not used to the drafts I get with my hair gone.”

Kate tossed her pillowcase to him. “Here, you can wrap that around your head.”

“You’re joking, right?” Sticky said. “I’d look ridiculous!”

“No more than you did with that cap on,” said Kate matter-of-factly.

Sticky bit his tongue. He knew Kate was only trying to be helpful. After all, a girl who always carried a bucket was clearly more interested in function than style. “Thank you anyway,” he said, tossing the pillowcase back. “Now why don’t we go up on deck for the launch?”

Everyone got up except Constance, who had fallen asleep. When they tried to wake her she covered her head with her pillow.

“Just like old times,” Kate said.

“She’s had a pretty rough day,” said Reynie.

And so they left Constance to her nap and went topside again, where the afternoon sun cast long shadows before them and the harbor breeze whipped in their ears. Far across the deck they saw a group of well-dressed men and women — the ship company owners, presumably — leaning against the dockside rail, attended by Captain Noland. In his brisk, efficient way, the captain was gesturing and pointing, explaining the activity swirling about them as the crew readied for launch.

The children decided to steer clear of all this. Keeping to the opposite rail, they heard but did not see the brass band playing somewhere on the dock below, then the distant tinkle of a bottle being broken against the side of the ship, followed by a burst of applause. (“It’s an old tradition,” Sticky told the other two, who already knew this.) Soon they felt the rumble of engines far below them, and the Shortcut moved away from the docks and began to nose out of the harbor.