“And still do,” said Mr. Curtain, standing on the seat of his wheelchair to reach the duskwort more easily. (The wheelchair, in response to an unseen signal, eerily circled the stalagmite as if it had a mind of its own.) “But as you’ve now witnessed, I’m perfectly capable of making you reveal the things I desire to know. I see no advantage in ‘working together,’ as you put it.”
“The advantage,” Mr. Benedict began, “would lie in —”
“I do not care to hear any more of your opinions,” interrupted Mr. Curtain, peeling away a strip of slimy moss. “Foolish opinions distract me, and I have no time for distraction.”
“You do seem rather in a hurry,” Mr. Benedict observed.
“What did I just tell you about your opinions?” Mr. Curtain snapped. “Once again you betray your simplicity, Benedict. How do you think I have avoided capture if not from choosing never to tarry, never to linger? Take the present case: Even if I did not receive word from your Miss Kazembe, I fully intended to leave this island today.”
“And abandon the duskwort?” Mr. Benedict asked, sounding mildly surprised.
“Again, Benedict. Simplicity of thinking. I intended to leave S.Q., of course, to continue searching for it while I investigated the matter elsewhere. One way or another I would have found the duskwort, I assure you.”
At this, S.Q. paused in his work. From his stunned expression it was clear he’d had no inkling of this plan to leave him alone on a deserted island.
“As usual, however,” Mr. Curtain went on, “I have achieved my goals in the most efficient manner possible. Still, it never serves to stay in one place for long. Therefore I proceed, as always, with due haste.”
“If you’re in such a hurry,” Kate put in, “why don’t you force us to help you gather the duskwort?”
Mr. Curtain uttered his screechy laugh. “I have quite enough help, thank you, Miss Wetherall! And I should have quite enough duskwort even if I were compelled to leave most of it behind. No, I believe it’s better if you remain locked up.”
“I can’t see why you don’t just dump us off the mountain,” Kate said. “Now that you have your stupid plant, we’re not much use to you.” (Her friends squirmed uncomfortably at these words, even though they knew Kate was trying to create an opportunity for escape.)
But Mr. Curtain, who also knew what she was up to — subtlety had never been Kate’s strong suit — only screeched again and said, “On the contrary, you may be useful indeed! I’ve been giving the matter some thought, you see, and the fact is that once I have a proper distillation of the duskwort, it should be simple enough to keep you asleep — helplessly, quietly asleep — except on such occasions as I deem appropriate. Say, whenever I require more information. Benedict has already proven himself quite weak where you children are concerned.”
“Well, I suppose that isn’t the dumbest idea you’ve had,” said Kate, just to show pluck, for Mr. Curtain’s suggestion had made her feel sick with dread. “There are rather a lot of us to keep hidden, though. Do you have some kind of shrinking machine, too?”
“Properly stacked, Miss Wetherall, I should think you would all fit nicely in a single locked closet.” Mr. Curtain pursed his lips, pretending to consider. “But you’re right, it may prove too much of an inconvenience. I’ll need to reflect upon it. What do you say, Benedict? Would you prefer to be gotten rid of entirely, or to sleep your life away in a closet?”
“I
Mr. Benedict’s implacable calm seemed to ruffle Mr. Curtain, whose smirk faded, replaced by an icy stare. “Then it’s lucky you will not be the one who chooses. Now do be quiet, all of you. I’ve had enough of your distractions. I hate to interrupt my work again, but I assure you — and this is a promise — the next person who utters a word will receive my full attention.”
There was no doubting Mr. Curtain’s sincerity on this point — or what he meant by “full attention” — and the remaining hours of the night were spent in awful silence, under threat of those shiny silver gloves, with no sounds at all save for those of Mr. Curtain and S.Q. working away.
Reynie’s mind was also working away — and furiously, at that — but to no good effect. He had tried countless times to think of a means of escape. Tried and failed. And meanwhile he was imagining all sorts of things he would prefer not to imagine, such as the terrible reunion of Mr. Curtain and his Whisperer, and what would happen to Rhonda, Miss Perumal, and all the others whose nosy questions Mr. Curtain would never tolerate. Nor, unfortunately, did Reynie’s imagination stop there. Instead it wandered bleakly on, out of Mr. Benedict’s house and into Stonetown, where Reynie saw a crew of Ten Men stalking the slumbering streets, every last resident having been sent to sleep by a “proper distillation” of Mr. Curtain’s duskwort. Try as he might, Reynie could not avert his mind’s eye, and so he saw with frightful clarity the ease with which Mr. Curtain’s men carried away all those who dared oppose their master. There would be no struggles, not even a cry of complaint. Just a city waking up in the morning with one less opponent of Mr. Curtain.
Mr. Curtain would have what he’d always wanted. He would be in absolute control. All that was required was that he change his name to Nicholas Benedict. Most people would never guess what was happening.
The children would be out of the way by then, of course. That much was certain. The question was what Mr. Curtain was going to do with them. Reynie couldn’t think of any possibilities that didn’t make him sweat.
His only hope — however slim — was that Milligan might save them, and as night drew nearer to morning, Reynie clung to it with increasing desperation. When Mr. Curtain mused aloud that it was taking his Ten Men much too long to track down the escaped Number Two (“the woman,” he called her), and sent S.Q. out of the cave with a radio to contact them, Reynie tensed in expectation. Perhaps Milligan was waiting outside and would ambush him! But S.Q. returned with the report that the radio waves were silent. This news caused Mr. Curtain to furrow his brow suspiciously, and it gave Reynie some reason to nurse his fragile hope a bit longer . . .
But that hope fell apart completely just before dawn, when McCracken came limping into the cave.
Kate let out a gasp, then burst into tears, for the Ten Man’s appearance could mean only one thing. The other children looked at one another in despair, and Mr. Benedict, his own eyes brimming as he heard Kate’s devastated sobs, reached out to comfort her — then slumped sideways against the stalagmite, asleep.
McCracken observed all this with amusement as he limped over to await Mr. Curtain, who at the sound of his approach had retreated — in perfect, creepy silence — to the other chamber. S.Q. had likewise disappeared, but the Ten Man stared shrewdly at a nearby stalagmite as he called out, “Code Seven, Mr. Curtain! No need for an ambush!” In a patronizing tone he added, “S.Q., I’ll remind you that Code Seven means ‘all clear.’ Your boot tips are
