The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey

“Not again,” Reynie mumbled, still dazed.

“Oh yes,” said Mr. Curtain. “Again.”

The children were handcuffed to one another in order of their capture. Kate was cuffed to one of the metal loops in the stalagmite — Mr. Curtain had been sure to deal with her first — and Reynie was cuffed to Kate. Next came Sticky, who despite having seen what those silver gloves had done to his friends had charged at Mr. Curtain in an attempt to save Constance.

“Run, Constance!” he’d yelled. “Run and don’t look back!”

Moments later Sticky was on the ground, shocked senseless, and when he came around again he was handcuffed to Reynie. Together they watched bleakly as Constance was brought back from the cavern entrance, where S.Q. Pedalian had been waiting. She was sniffling and crying and had gone perfectly limp, and S.Q. was compelled to carry her.

“There, there, Constance,” S.Q. was saying in a genuinely concerned tone. “Don’t be upset. This is all just a misunderstanding. I mean you’ve just misunderstood. I mean you’ve been naughty. Do you understand?”

“That’s enough, S.Q.,” said Mr. Curtain, removing his silver gloves and slipping them inside his suit coat. “Just cuff her to Mr. Washington there and say no more.”

It was odd for the children to see the former Executive in regular clothes — gone were the spiffy tunic and sash — but in all other respects he seemed the same. He was tall and gangly, his feet were enormous, and he appeared to be acting against his kindhearted instincts out of some dim-witted loyalty to Mr. Curtain. With the mechanical, efficient movements of one who has performed the same task countless times, S.Q. cuffed Constance’s wrist tightly to Sticky’s. Constance winced as the metal pinched her skin, and S.Q. winced in sympathetic response. But he remembered Mr. Curtain’s order and said no more.

Mr. Curtain regarded the captive children as if contemplating a magnificent piece of art. His cheerful expression had an unsettling effect, for it made him seem more like Mr. Benedict than himself. “Thank you all so much for coming,” he said. “I really could not have asked for a better gift.”

“It was the least we could do,” said Kate. She was quite scared, but she’d rather die than show her fear to the loathsome man who had just shocked the daylights out of her. He had also taken away her Army knife, and with it her hopes of prying out the metal loop.

Mr. Curtain clapped his hands. “Such bravado! Of course, I expected no less from you children. And, as I hope you now realize, I did expect you. Many of my former Executives hold government posts, you see, some of them quite close to Benedict. When you children went off on your own, I was informed at once. My informants were baffled by your disappearance, but your intentions were no great mystery to me. The only question was whether you would succeed in finding your beloved Benedict. Oh, how I hoped you would!”

“Where is Mr. Benedict?” Reynie demanded. “Or are you such a coward that —?”

“Reynard! For shame!” Mr. Curtain waggled his finger disapprovingly. “Do you really think I’m unprepared for your tactics this time? Last time, you’ll recall, you betrayed me, which is the only reason you caught me off guard. This time I know you for the conniving and deceitful little wretch that you are. You won’t fool me into getting angry, Reynard. I won’t be disturbed into falling asleep. Au contraire!”

“What?” said Constance, who with some effort had stopped crying. She glared at Mr. Curtain. “What do you want?”

“What do you mean, what do I want?” asked Mr. Curtain, who seemed confused by her question.

Constance scowled. “You said, ‘Oh, Contraire!’ So what? What is it?”

Mr. Curtain burst into his too-familiar laughter, which sounded like nothing so much as a wounded screech owl. “It’s just as S.Q. said, Miss Contraire! You misunderstand!” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “Never mind, my dear. The point is, I am perfectly undisturbed, and I shall remain so. Oh yes, I shall remain in control of my faculties, which means that you shall remain in my power.” He tapped his fingertips together. “However, I do grow fatigued. I believe I shall fetch a chair.”

With a mysterious, expectant smile, Mr. Curtain put his hands behind him and stood at attention, as if waiting for something. Before the children had time to wonder what it was, they witnessed one of the most disturbing things they had ever seen.

Mr. Curtain’s wheelchair appeared without sound. It shot out of the other chamber like a rocket, speeding around the stalagmites toward its owner, but its wheels made absolutely no sound on the cave floor, and its motor and gears were quiet — even, somehow, more than quiet. The effect was like watching a silent film, except that this was real life. The only noise the children heard was the jingle of their handcuffs (for they were all shuddering). The wheelchair was some kind of rolling nightmare, and strapped into its seat was the real Mr. Benedict. His hands were cuffed to the armrests, his head lolled forward on his neck, and his spectacles were in danger of falling from his nose. He appeared to be fast asleep.

“As you see, I’ve designed an excellent remote control,” said Mr. Curtain, showing them a tiny control box he’d been hiding behind his back. “S.Q., put him with the others. Be careful, now — I’m convinced he sometimes only pretends to be asleep.”

S.Q. removed Mr. Benedict from the wheelchair, propped him gently against the stalagmite, and handcuffed one of his wrists to the other metal loop. As S.Q. worked, Mr. Curtain was taking his accustomed place in the wheelchair, which appeared to be his old one — a complicated machine with multiple knobs, buttons, and pedals — but which obviously had undergone certain alarming modifications.

“I imagine he worked himself into a sleeping fit trying to warn you,” Mr. Curtain said in an amused tone. “He’s been in a sorry state of distress ever since Martina reported you were on the island, and his distress only increased when S.Q. spotted you coming up the mountain and I arranged to take advantage of your foolishness. Oh, he protested at the top of his lungs! Or I should say he appeared to. I had activated my new device by then, so his annoying cries went unheard.”

“Noise cancellation?” murmured Sticky in surprise. “But no one’s ever achieved it on such a scale . . .” He fell silent, not having meant to speak in the first place.

Mr. Curtain had overheard him, though, and he raised his eyebrows. “I see you’ve kept up with your reading, George! Yes, I’ve installed a brand new device — one of my own invention and thus vastly superior to anything else of its kind — that nullifies all sound in its immediate vicinity. I’m well-versed in the manipulation of invisible