The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey

Follow the Wind

If the children had given Milligan a headache before, what he was experiencing now was something like the flu combined with a toothache, with lockjaw and mumps thrown in for good measure. In other words, Milligan was suffering. Not only had the children disobeyed him, they made no bones about continuing to do so as they deemed necessary.

Milligan was at a loss. He hadn’t a great deal of experience as a father, much less as a guardian to children not his own, and he found himself sorely lacking now in the pertinent skills. To be fair, not many parents would know what to do. Not in this situation. Not with these children.

After they told him what they’d learned from Risker (who had wasted no time heading home for a hot meal and dry clothes), Milligan said he would make arrangements for their safe return to Stonetown. He would go on to the island himself, he said. But then the children had argued. And argued.

And argued.

And the trouble was, he thought they had a point. As a team, they were probably better qualified than Milligan to solve whatever riddles and clues Mr. Benedict had left behind — and who knew how many more there might be? — especially since Mr. Benedict would have created them with the children particularly in mind.

“If you don’t bring us along,” Kate was saying, “we’ll just find a way to follow you there. The best thing from a father’s standpoint would be to keep us close, so you can protect us.”

Milligan closed his eyes and began knocking his head against the wall of the boathouse.

“It isn’t like we want to encounter another Ten Man,” Reynie hastened to remind him. “Much less Mr. Curtain. I’d be very happy never to see that man again. We just want to make sure you can rescue Mr. Benedict and Number Two before it’s too late.”

“Which is tomorrow,” Sticky pointed out. “Tomorrow is too late.”

“Please, Milligan,” said Constance, who so rarely said “please” that Milligan felt disoriented to hear it coming from her mouth. “Please, you have to let us come. We’re their best chance!”

“But how can I trust you now?” Milligan said, exasperated. “How do I know you’ll do exactly what I say? It’s the only way I can keep you safe. And that’s my top priority here — keeping you safe. Not just Kate, but all of you.”

“We’ll make a solemn promise,” Reynie said. “If you let us come, we’ll promise to obey you completely.” He looked at the others. “Right? We really will.”

“So long as you promise not to exclude us,” Kate said to Milligan. “If there’s no direct danger and we can help you, you have to let us. If you promise to do that, I’ll promise to obey you.”

“No matter what?” Milligan said doubtfully.

“No matter what,” the children said together.

Milligan studied their faces. “What if I tell you to stop whatever you’re doing, drop to the ground, and pretend to be pigs?”

“Then we root around for grubs,” Reynie said.

“We grunt and smell bad,” said Constance.

“Do you mean feral pigs or domesticated pigs?” Sticky asked. “Because, you know, their behavior patterns are considerably . . .” He trailed off. Milligan was staring hard at him. Sticky cleared his throat. “Not that I would ask that question then. I’d be too busy snuffling and oinking.”

Milligan continued to stare hard, and not just at Sticky. He looked down the line of children, gazing into the eyes of every single one, until he felt certain they really were committed to obeying him. “Make the promise.”

“We promise,” the children said together.

Milligan took off his hat and rubbed his head. He felt somehow that it was the wrong thing to agree, but he also suspected he’d feel the same way if he didn’t agree. And just as Kate had said, at least this way he could keep an eye on them.

“Fine. I promise, too,” Milligan said, putting his hat back on. “So let’s waste no more time. I need to make a few calls and find transportation. Sit tight, everyone, and I’ll be back soon with our ride.”

Their “ride” turned out to be a bright silver seaplane. The children, who had expected a boat, stood outside the boathouse and gaped as the plane came puttering across the harbor with Milligan at the controls, the sun glinting off its wings so that they had to shield their eyes. (Constance had been right; the downpour never occurred and the clouds had blown over.) Milligan turned the plane at the last moment so that its tail end swung round, its propeller faced the harbor, and its left pontoon gently nudged the dock. He threw open the door and shouted for them to jump in.

“A plane?” Kate said as she scrambled aboard, her eyes sparkling with delight. “You got us a plane?”

“Did you expect horses?” Milligan said. “It’s an island, you know.”

The others clambered aboard and strapped themselves in. Milligan checked the instrument panel, made sure the children were secure, then steered the seaplane out into the harbor, where a crew of fishermen waved from their boat as the plane roared past. Reynie saw them through the window, but he couldn’t wave back; his hands were squeezing the armrests of his seat and he couldn’t seem to loosen them. He’d never flown in an airplane before. Nor had Sticky, who was polishing his spectacles with slippery, sweaty fingers, or Constance, whose eyes were tightly shut. Only Kate managed to wave at the fishermen (and she did so with both hands, trying to make up for her rude friends). The plane accelerated until finally, with a stomach-dropping lurch, it lifted off the water and into the air. They were up and away.

Constance didn’t open her eyes again, for no sooner were they airborne than the plane’s vibration put her to sleep. But the others stayed awake pressing Milligan for details: How in the world had he gotten a plane so quickly? What were the calls he’d needed to make? Was one of them to Rhonda? Who else? And why did he go off by himself to make those calls, anyway? Shouldn’t the children know more about it? And wouldn’t . . . ?