The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey

“I know,” Constance murmured.

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is what if there isn’t anything at the hotel?” Constance cried. “And what if we can’t find out anything at the museum? Then it’s all over! We’ll be at the end of the road, and we won’t have saved them!”

Reynie felt like kicking himself. He should have been more careful choosing his words. Constance had been worried enough as it was.

“Listen to me, Constance,” said Kate in a commanding tone. Constance fell silent at once and listened with grave attention — as did the two boys. It wasn’t like Kate to speak so seriously.

“Look at Reynie,” said Kate.

Constance looked at Reynie, who wasn’t sure why he was being looked at but did his best to appear confident and resolute.

“Look at Sticky,” said Kate.

Constance did, and under her searching gaze Sticky felt a tremendous urge to polish his spectacles. He resisted, instead giving her a small, sober nod.

“Now look at me,” said Kate.

Constance did — and was almost startled by what she saw. Kate seemed to have doubled in size. She had drawn back her broad shoulders and set her jaw, and something in her stance called to mind the contained ferocity of a lioness. But it was the fierceness in Kate’s bright blue eyes that had the most striking effect. The sort of look that made you thankful she wasn’t your enemy.

“It’s not going to be over,” Kate said firmly, “until we say so.”

When the train pulled into the station, a well-dressed man carrying a briefcase stood in the shadows, waiting. He watched the passengers deboard, keeping an eye out for a blonde girl with a bucket. No such girl appeared. The man’s face darkened, and he stepped out of the shadows and boarded the train. Passing methodically through the cars, he checked every seat, every compartment, until he reached the last one. The train was empty. Turning on his well-polished heel, the man strode quickly back to the front, where he found the conductor telling jokes to one of the porters. The conductor saw the look in the man’s eye and stopped talking, his smile frozen upon his face. A minute later the man exited the train with the information he needed.

The children had gotten off in Naansemegen.

At that very moment, the children in question were sailing down the streets of Naansemegen on bicycles. They had been looking for the bus stop outside the station when Sticky noticed a sign advertising bicycles for rent. There had been no need for debate, nor even any hesitation. The sun was shining; they had enough money; they rented the bicycles.

Constance rode in a metal basket on the front of Sticky’s bike, her legs dangling over the basket edge. The metal pinched her and she felt considerably squashed, but she wasn’t complaining. She’d never ridden on a bicycle before and was experiencing, for the very first time, that rare and wonderful sensation of soaring that can occur — especially on a cool, sunny day, and especially when no pedaling is required. For Constance the ride was like coasting down one long, gentle hill, with the breeze fluttering in her ears. She even rather liked her helmet, a sparkly red dome that made her look like a lollipop.

It was impossible not to smile.

Reynie, Sticky, and Kate were smiling, too. They couldn’t help themselves. As their bicycles picked up speed, the worries and fears that had burdened them for days seemed to lift away, rising like vapor into the blue sky. However brief their ride might prove to be, it was a reprieve, an escape from their serious concerns, and it was perfectly glorious.

There was a great deal of bicycle traffic in Naansemegen — more so even than automobile traffic — and so whenever possible the children cut through parks, alleys, and side streets. Kate, naturally, was in the lead, and from time to time she would whip her bike around to face the others, beaming at them as she rode backward, then whip it forward again and speed ahead.

“That’s why I’m riding with you,” Constance said to Sticky, who had already guessed as much. If he were Constance, he wouldn’t have wanted to ride with Kate, either. But it wasn’t lost on Sticky that Constance had insisted on riding with him specifically. He’d taken her demand as a gesture of friendship, a sort of peace offering, and so despite the extra effort it required of him, he had agreed without complaint.

Riding behind them, Reynie could hear Sticky and Constance talking, and he felt encouraged. The last thing those two needed was friction between them — more friction than usual, at any rate. Not when the hardest part of their journey still lay ahead. For Reynie had a strong suspicion that things were about to get extremely difficult indeed, not to mention more dangerous. Jackson and Jillson obviously had been posted at the castle to look out for something, which suggested still more sentries would be posted along the trail of clues.

Reynie frowned. Just like that, the old dread had settled back down upon him. Not ten seconds ago he’d been enjoying the bike ride and feeling pleased to see Sticky and Constance getting along. Now he was thinking about the Ten Men again. The reprieve had been very brief indeed.

“Left!” called Sticky.

Ahead of them, Kate turned left. They had used the borrowed map to determine their route and were relying on Sticky’s memory to account for detours. And now that path led them over a canal bridge, out of Naansemegen and into Thernbaakagen. There was no obvious distinction between the two places — Naansemegen being little more than an extension of the larger town — but as the children passed down yet another street of tall, narrow houses, they found that their moods had changed even if the landscape had not.

In Naansemegen they had been going somewhere that might prove dangerous. In Thernbaakagen, they had arrived.

The science museum in Thernbaakagen was an old, narrow, elegant brick building, four stories high, and set off the street by a little stone courtyard. On a bench in the courtyard a bald man sat smoking a pipe and reading a newspaper. A white bandage covered the crown of the man’s head — it looked as if he were wearing a doll’s cap — and a badge on the breast of his tweed jacket indicated he was a museum employee. When the children pushed their bicycles through the gate, he looked over his paper at them, raised his eyebrows skeptically — no doubt he thought they should be in school — and returned to his reading.