The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey

too. All of a sudden, Mr. Benedict’s directions seemed hopelessly difficult. Kate took out the paper to read them again:

Castle of Sticky’s namesake

Against westernmost wall

Not visible

Need tool

Olive trees nearby

No cork or pine for two meters

“Well, that’s not very helpful,” Kate said. “There are olive trees ‘nearby’ the whole wall, and hardly a pine tree in sight. Which ones are the cork trees, Sticky? I haven’t the faintest.”

Sticky pointed. “There, that’s a cork tree. And there and there. Only those few that I can see.”

“That makes for an odd clue, then,” said Reynie. “Why mention ‘olive trees nearby’ and ‘no cork or pine for two meters’ when that can be said of almost the entire wall? It doesn’t narrow down the location a bit. Let me see that, will you, Kate?”

As Reynie studied the letter with furrowed brow, Kate shrugged and said, “Maybe we should just start walking along the wall and see what we find. If Captain Noland’s right, it’ll be easy to spot where something’s just been buried.” She looked around again at all the people. “The hard part will be digging without getting noticed. If we had time to wait we could sneak back in at night. Maybe that’s what Mr. Benedict thought we’d do. Otherwise I can’t see how he expected us to pull this off without getting in trouble.”

“Neither can I,” said Reynie, still studying the letter. “Which is why I’m wondering —”

“Get back, everyone!” Constance said. She grabbed Kate’s ponytail and jerked on it as if pulling on the reins of a runaway horse. “Back! Back around the corner! It’s Jackson! He’s here!”

“What are you talking about?” Kate snapped, trying to pry Constance’s fingers from her hair. “That hurts, Con —”

“Do what she says, Kate!” said Reynie, grabbing her arm. “Step back!”

Puzzled and irritated, Kate stepped back around the corner of the castle. She set Constance on the ground — none too gently — and said, “This had better be good.”

Constance ignored her, instead looking up at Reynie with searching eyes. “Why do you think he’s here, Reynie? Do you think he knew we were coming? What should we do?”

Reynie put his hands on her shoulders. “Just stay calm and tell me what happened. Did you see Jackson? Or did you, you know —”

“I just suddenly knew. I could just tell.”

“Are you two talking about Jackson the Executive?” Sticky asked.

“The one and only,” said Reynie. He peered around the corner of the castle, studying all the people on the wall, near the cannons, on the grassy lawn . . . And then there he was, a swaggering young man stepping out of the shade of an olive tree. Jackson. Their old tormentor, one of Mr. Curtain’s trusted Executives. He’d seemed unfamiliar at first — he wasn’t wearing the tunic and sash he’d always worn at the Institute — but it was him, all right. That sharp, knife-like nose, the strutting walk, the stocky build and bright red hair. Reynie could feel his heartbeat picking up speed. “She’s right. I see him.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Sticky said in a miserable tone. “Here?”

Constance seemed shaken up. “I probably just saw him and didn’t realize it, right?”

“I’m sure that’s what happened, Constance,” said Reynie, trying to sound calm. “And lucky for us it did. He would have spotted us for sure. He’s patrolling the wall.”

“Patrolling it?” Kate said.

“That’s what it looks like,” said Reynie, peeking around the corner again. “He’s just pacing back and forth, like he’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” Constance said.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Sticky said, taking out his polishing cloth. “And here I’d thought this part, at least, was going to be easy.”

Kate’s face darkened. “Reynie, if Jackson’s here . . .”

“Then Jillson’s probably here, too. I know.”

If Jackson was dangerous alone, he was doubly dangerous with Jillson, his constant companion. The children had never determined if the two Executives were brother and sister, boyfriend and girlfriend, or simply partners in crime. They didn’t even know them by any names other than Jackson and Jillson — which could have been first names, last names, or nicknames. But none of this mattered. What mattered was that Jackson stood between them and their mission, and that Jillson, no doubt, was lurking nearby.

“Constance,” Reynie said, “do you have a feeling about Jillson?”

“Oh, yes, I hate her,” Constance said. “Don’t you?”

“I meant a feeling about whether or not she’s here.”

“Oh. No. No, I would have told you if I had, wouldn’t I? But that doesn’t mean she isn’t here. Maybe she’s just on the other side of the castle.”

“Or maybe something terrible happened to her,” Kate suggested hopefully. “She always tied her ponytail with wire, remember? Maybe she got struck by lightning!”