The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey

“Why don’t you just tell us what you do know?” Reynie asked gently. “What does Mr. Benedict say about . . . about your gifts?”

Constance gazed at her shoes, evidently considering how — or whether — to answer him, and after a few moments Kate seemed ready to prompt her. Reynie, sensing Constance’s emotional confusion, warned Kate with a subtle shake of his head. He was pretty sure Constance hadn’t noticed, yet no sooner had he done it than she looked at him with a grateful expression. It made Reynie very uneasy, as if she’d read his thoughts. Could that be what happened? More likely she was just developing a sense of intuition, like Mr. Benedict (and like Reynie himself, for that matter). But what if . . . ?

“Mr. Benedict hasn’t said much about it,” Constance said, “except that I can do patterns and stuff, which might explain everything or . . . or maybe not.”

“What do you mean by ‘patterns and stuff’?” asked Sticky, trying not to sound demanding this time.

“It’s like . . . like . . .” Constance spluttered her lips. “One thing I’m not good at is explaining things.”

“How did Mr. Benedict explain it to you?” said Reynie.

Constance thought about this. “Okay, he said it was like how when most people look at a familiar word, they don’t have to spell it out letter by letter. Even with long words like, um — what’s a really long word, Sticky?”

“Epidemiological,” Sticky suggested.

“Okay, it’s like when Sticky sees that word on paper. He already knows it, so he doesn’t have to figure it out letter by letter. Right, Sticky? You just recognize it by the pattern of its letters. I can do the same thing, only with more complicated stuff.”

“Like what?” asked Kate.

Constance seemed embarrassed. She began to pick at her fingernails, and in a barely audible voice she said, “Like weather, and, you know, stuff like that.”

Reynie raised his eyebrows. “Weather?”

Constance mumbled something about not feeling very well. This happened to be the truth (nor was she alone in this, for Sticky and Reynie were both holding their bellies now), but the others would not be put off, and so finally she explained, “I can predict it, apparently. I hadn’t realized I could until Mr. Benedict pointed it out. He started asking every morning if it was going to rain that day, and I would make what I thought was a dumb guess — only my guesses always turned out to be right.”

“How can that be?” Sticky asked.

Constance shrugged. “Mr. Benedict says people’s minds are noticing things all the time, even when we don’t realize it. Sights, smells, temperature changes — all sorts of stuff. We notice it without consciously thinking about it. He says we may not be paying attention, but our brains are recording and processing it all the same, and these . . . these observations, or whatever you want to call them, make up a pattern. So if you’re good with patterns, the way Mr. Benedict says I am, you can sometimes predict things.”

“Because you recognize the pattern,” Reynie said. “I get it.”

“But I don’t see how this explains what happened,” Sticky said. “What kind of pattern could predict the captain’s knocking on the door?”

“Maybe Constance’s mind came to recognize the sound of footsteps in the passageway,” Reynie suggested, “while to the rest of us that particular sound was still mixed in with the unfamiliar noises of the ship. A lot of the ship sounds must follow patterns, after all. It could be as simple as that.”

Sticky considered this. “Highly developed, unconscious pattern recognition,” he murmured. “Okay, I buy that.”

“But couldn’t it also be that she’s psychic?” Kate asked. “Did Mr. Benedict ever mention that possibility, Constance?”

Constance, who now felt very ill indeed, said irritably, “You know it’s possible, Kate. Now stop asking stupid questions.” She crossed her arms and closed her eyes, partly because she was so queasy and partly because she disliked being questioned — especially about this particular subject.

Psychic ability would be an awful lot to cope with, Reynie thought, especially for someone as young as Constance. The prospect seemed to trouble her extremely. But Reynie said nothing, for at the moment he was troubled extremely by the sensation that his stomach was filled with wobbling gelatin.

Kate was unwilling to let the matter drop, however. “I’ll stop asking questions when you start answering them, Constance. Has Mr. Benedict ever said anything about your being psychic, or hasn’t he?”

Constance moaned. “If I tell you, can we please stop talking about it?”

“It’s a deal,” said Kate.

The boys said nothing. They were both quite nauseated and were trying to hold very still. Unfortunately, with every minute that passed the cabin seemed to sway with greater energy, as if the room itself were a swinging hammock. The captain’s little chest was sliding back and forth, first bumping the door, then the wall opposite. Kate took out her rope and tied the chest to a bunk.

“Mr. Benedict said it might seem like I’m psychic even if I’m not,” said Constance, sagging over to lie on her side. “People’s expressions and their tone of voice and, you know, just everything about their behavior — it’s all made up of patterns, and my mind’s good at recognizing them. So sometimes I know things you might not expect. Like right now, for instance. I can tell you’re about to ask me for an example.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

“I have no idea,” said Constance. “Maybe it’s something in your eyes, maybe it’s just what you always do when I try to explain things. The point is that people have patterns, too. So there’s your stupid example.”

“Hey, that’s pretty fun!” said Kate, who hadn’t noticed that Constance didn’t think it fun in the least. “Of course, it doesn’t exactly rule out the possibility that you can read minds.”