The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey

In the museum lobby, the children passed an anxious-looking security guard on their way to the information desk, which was staffed by a dour woman with a recently stitched cut on her cheek and a cast on her left arm. (Reynie wondered if she and the man outside had been in an accident together.) The woman gave the children a brochure and asked them a question in Dutch. Sticky had prepared for this; he handed the woman a note that said they were American exchange students on a field trip. With a grunt, the woman took the first brochure back and gave them one written in English. The museum was free and open to the public, the brochure said. Its exhibits occupied the first three floors, and its library was on the top floor. The children followed a sign to the elevator.

Reynie’s heart gave a lurch when he entered the library. He loved it instantly, as he did all libraries, but more than this the room — with its dark wooden tables and creaking floorboards — reminded him of the old public library back home, where he and Miss Perumal had spent many an hour walking the aisles. Until now Reynie had tried hard not to think about Miss Perumal. She must be so worried about him . . .

Reynie felt Constance squeeze his hand. It was very quick — she let go almost at once — but it was a kind gesture, and one that reminded him that Constance noticed a great deal more than might be supposed. Especially with me, Reynie thought. He must remember to be careful what he said, and even what he allowed himself to think. Constance relied on him. He knew that now.

The museum library’s collection was entirely for reference — nothing could be checked out — and except for a few dictionaries and encyclopedias, all the books and other materials were stored in back rooms, to be retrieved by librarians upon request. The children approached the librarian’s desk and Sticky handed a note to the librarian, who had been watching them with interest. They were the only people in the library, and no doubt she rarely saw children here, especially on a school day and without a chaperone. A cheerful-looking young woman with lustrous blond hair and hazel eyes, the librarian read Sticky’s note with an expression of growing wonder.

“Did you write this yourself?” she asked Sticky in English. She looked extraordinarily impressed. “Your Dutch is excellent. But you do not speak it well? You would prefer to speak English?”

“Yes, please,” Sticky said.

“Good, then,” said the librarian with a friendly smile. “Most Dutch people speak English, you know.”

Sticky hastened to say that he certainly did know this and that he had written the note merely as a precaution — after all, recent surveys indicated that around fifteen percent of Dutch citizens did not speak English, and . . .

Constance rolled her eyes. “Recent surveys,” she muttered, loud enough for Sticky to hear.

Sticky fell abruptly silent. He shot Constance an angry look.

The librarian, however, smiled at him again. “My, but you are studious! This must explain why you are here in the library on such a beautiful afternoon. My name is Sophie, children. Now let me see,” she said, returning to the note. “You are requesting some papers, yes? Special holdings?”

“I explained more on the other side,” Sticky said.

Sophie flipped the paper over. Her eyebrows drew together into a frown. She looked up at the children, then at the door behind them, then back at the note. Her frown deepened. “I find this very troubling, children. I would like to know what is happening.”

Sticky looked nervously at Reynie, who said, “What do you mean? What would you like to know?”

Sophie regarded him with anxious eyes. “Why is there all this interest in these papers?”

“All this interest?”

Sophie studied him. “Could it be a coincidence?” She shook her head. “And yet you seem like nice children.”

“We are nice,” Kate insisted. “We don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s the big deal about the papers?”

“People are being hurt,” Sophie said gravely, “because of these papers you wish to see.”

The Duskwort Papers

Often the best way to avoid answering questions is to ask them yourself, and Reynie was quick to do just that. “We were hoping you could tell us more,” he said to Sophie. “What exactly has been happening?”

“But I thought you said you knew nothing,” said Sophie, looking confused.

“We heard there was trouble. We wanted to know what kind of trouble.”

“I am not sure that I wish to discuss it,” said Sophie, more guarded now. “It is very unpleasant for me.”

“Please,” said Kate. “Please help us.”

Sophie gave her a searching look. “Help you? I do not see how . . .” She sighed and ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. “Very well. It is nothing you cannot read in the news-paper. Many people wanted to see these materials last week. Some of them . . . men in suits, with little hard bags . . . What do you call them in English? Shortcases?”

“Briefcases,” Sticky suggested grimly.

“Yes. Briefcases. These men did something to the security guard. He is in the hospital now. Some of the museum staff tried to help him. They also are in the hospital now. Everyone is in the hospital except for three of us, who were hurt not as much. We are all afraid now, though. There is a new security guard, but he is afraid, too.”

“Did the men steal the papers?” Reynie asked, fearing her response.

“No, because they are fools,” Sophie said bitterly. “They demanded to see the papers, and when I did not answer fast enough — they were very frightening, you see — they hurt me so that I was not awake. What is the word? Unconscious? They made me unconscious, and when I opened my eyes they were still trying to find the papers. They did not understand how we organize the library, you see. They were angry and creating a bad mess. But there were sirens in the street. The police were coming, and the men decided they must leave. I shouted at them as they left: ‘It is a free and public library! All you had to do was ask!’”