The Mysterious Benedict Society (16 page)

“But they’re accurate,” argued Sticky, looking hopefully at Reynie, but Reynie only shook his head.

“If we’re just trying to be accurate, then how about ‘The Doomed to Fail Bunch’?” said Constance. “Honestly! We can’t even
name
ourselves.”

“Listen,” said Reynie, ignoring her. “What is it that drew us all together? Maybe we should start there.”

“Mr. Benedict,” said Kate and Sticky at the same time.

“All right, how about something with his name in it, to remind us of our mission?”

“‘Mr. Benedict’s Very Secret Team’?” said Sticky.

Everyone groaned.

Kate said, “How about ‘Mr. Benedict and the Great Kate Weath —’”

“Don’t even finish that,” said Reynie.

“The Mysterious Benedict Society,” Constance said, rising as she spoke. Then she left the room, apparently convinced that no more discussion was necessary.

And, as it turned out, she was right.

S
tonetown Harbor had always been a busy port: ships steaming in and weighing anchor at all hours, countless stevedores and sailors as busy as ants, and the docks piled high with cargo. All of this activity occurred in the shadow of Stonetown itself, a city that existed for the sake of its port, and which had grown so large and busy because of it. Near the harbor’s southern slope, however, lay a channel of treacherous shoals, studded here and there with great boulders that still bore the scars of ancient shipwrecks, and as a consequence this southern part of the harbor was always quite still. It was here, among these ship-scarred rocks, that Nomansan Island was found.

The island’s shore was jagged rock itself, with only the occasional spot of sand upon which a boat might land; yet the captain of any craft attempting to land there must be very brave or foolish, for the currents in the surrounding water were unpredictable, and the shallows famously difficult to navigate. The only practical approach to Nomansan Island was by the long, narrow bridge that ran from its bank to the mainland’s wooded shore a half mile away. The city had not developed along this part of the shore, but had grown northward along the inland river, leaving a few acres of woods untouched. (One day, no doubt, the woods would be noticed — like a nagging itch — and quickly chopped down, but for now they remained.) It was through these woods, and toward this bridge, that the members of the newly formed Mysterious Benedict Society were headed.

They were moving swiftly upon a seldom-used road, in a weary old station wagon driven by Rhonda Kazembe. As the car passed beneath the trees, Reynie noticed the first colors of autumn in their overhanging branches. The outer leaves were going red, yellow, and orange, while the inner ones still held the deep green of summer, so that the trees appeared candy-coated. A lovely sight, but Reynie was unable to enjoy it. His companions felt much the same. Within minutes they would be admitted to the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened, and they were apprehensive. The closer they came to the island, the more real the danger felt.

Rhonda was pointing through the trees toward the mainland shore. “Our telescopes will be hidden there in the brush,” she said. “We’ll be setting them up right after I drop you off, and from then on we’ll attend them at all times. If you stand anywhere on this side of the island, we should be able to see you through the telescopes as if you were two feet away. Whenever you have something to report, we’ll be ready for it. And if
we
have anything to tell
you
, we’ll send a message in return. It’s up to you to find the safest time to communicate. Most likely it will be after dark, when the others are asleep.

“Even then,” Rhonda added, “there’s always the slight chance our messages to you will be observed from the island. For this reason they must necessarily be cryptic —”

“What’s cryptic?” cried a shrill voice from the backseat.

“I’m sorry, Constance. By cryptic I mean vague or mysterious. We won’t ever use names, and will never give obvious directions except in case of emergency. In most cases we’ll rely on your ability to figure out what we mean. It’s more difficult this way, but we must take precautions for your safety. Even with precautions, your situation will be extremely dangerous.”

With the words “extremely dangerous” fresh in the children’s ears, the car rattled out of the woods into plain view of Nomansan Island. And there, on the island’s near side, was the Institute: an arrangement of massive gray buildings, a broad plaza, and a slender tower that resembled a lighthouse, all of which appeared to be built entirely of island stone. From this distance the Institute blended so thoroughly into Nomansan’s stony crags it seemed a part of the island itself. Behind it and on either side rose up steep hills, and beyond the hills could be seen the peaks of still more hills, and beyond those still more. A flagpole jutted from the side of the Institute’s tower, supporting a long red banner that rippled in the breeze. Printed upon the banner, in letters large enough to be read from the mainland, was the word
LIVE
— an acronym, obviously, for the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened.

“At least it doesn’t say
die,
” Kate mused.

“Oh, yes, very encouraging,” said Sticky, whose forehead had begun to sweat.

Reynie stared out the window at the approaching bridge. To cross it, they had to first check in at a guard house, and Reynie was nervous despite Mr. Benedict’s assurances. New students were admitted all the time, and Mr. Benedict had made every arrangement, had followed every proper procedure, but still…. It was normal to feel nervous, Mr. Benedict had said. All children get nervous on their first day at a new school, and all secret agents get nervous on the first day of a mission. Combine the two and your chances of nervousness are greatly increased.

At the bridge entrance two people stepped out of a guard house and waved the car to a stop.

“Steady now,” said Rhonda in an undertone. “Nothing to worry about yet.”

The guards were a young man and woman wearing sunglasses, smiles, and expensive suits, with well-polished shoes that gleamed in the morning sun. As the woman motioned for Rhonda to roll down the window, no one could help but notice the huge silver watches on her wrists. Reynie squeezed the armrest.

“May I help you?” asked the woman, peering in. A sweet, citrusy perfume drifted through the window. The woman was all smiles, the picture of friendliness. The other guard also smiled, but Reynie could tell he was studying them with great attention.

“These are your new students,” Rhonda said. “Three transferring from Binnud Academy and one from Stonetown Orphanage.”

“Wait here, please.” The woman stepped back into the guard house. The other guard stayed put. He cocked his head to hear something the woman was telling him, but he kept his eyes on the car.

“Steady,” Rhonda intoned again, just loud enough for the children to hear. But Reynie noticed that — ever so subtly — she had shifted the car into reverse. Just in case.

Reynie took a deep breath and held it. He hoped his friends remembered their stories. His own was easy enough, since it was the truth: Mr. Rutger, properly persuaded, had made a special exception in his case. The others, though, were from a special temporary school for orphans called Binnud Academy. That morning, as they’d said their good-byes over breakfast, Mr. Benedict had pointed out that if they said “Binnud Academy” aloud, it would remind them his thoughts were with them always.

“As are mine,” Number Two had said. Distracted by emotion, she was drying her eyes with a slice of bread. “My thoughts and all my prayers.”

All of the adults had seemed especially bleary, exhausted, and sad — except Milligan, who always looked that way — yet even so, there was a flicker of excitement, indeed of hope, in every eye.

“Go now, children,” Mr. Benedict had said, “go and show them what you’re made of.”

At this moment Reynie felt sure they were made of jitterbugs. His knees trembled, and he could barely keep his teeth from chattering. Sticky was scrubbing his glasses so hard they squeaked, and Constance had her eyes squeezed tightly shut, unconvincingly feigning sleep. Even Kate squirmed a little. The guard seemed to be taking an awfully long time.

When she finally came out, her smile hadn’t faded in the least. Reynie just had time to wonder whether this meant she did or did
not
have something to hide… and then she was at the car, saying, “Welcome, kids! You’re all clear and right on time. Please drive across to the island gate. I’ll radio for them to let you in.”

As Rhonda rolled the window up and put the gear in forward again, all four children released deep breaths. Then they passed over the long bridge toward their fate.

After their suitcases had been unloaded from the station wagon, and Rhonda had signed a form and bidden them farewell, the children were left to wait in a loading area by the bridge gate. Their escorts would collect them shortly, the gate guards said. In the meantime they were to step aside, please, as this was a busy area and not the sort of place for children to be underfoot. Workers in white uniforms were hauling crates from a nearby storage shed and loading them into a big truck. And they did indeed seem very busy, tirelessly loading and stacking until it made your back hurt just to watch them.

The children moved off to the side of the loading area, dragging their suitcases behind them. (Rhonda had packed changes of clothes for each of them, including outfits she had sewn overnight to fit Constance’s diminutive size.) They hadn’t much to do or look at to occupy themselves, even though they very much wanted to be occupied to take their minds off their nervousness. There was only the guard house, the storage shed, and the loading area — all of which were apparently off limits — and a stone wall that blocked their view of the harbor. After twiddling their thumbs a few minutes, the children stacked their suitcases and took turns standing on them to peek over the wall. (Constance required all four suitcases; the others managed with two.)

They were interested to discover some activity beneath the bridge — more workers in white uniforms, navigating a boat among the pilings. The workers carried oversized wrenches, cranks, and other tools, and were using them to make adjustments on some unseen apparatus beneath the water’s surface. Like the workers loading the crates into the truck, those in the boats seemed earnestly intent upon their work. They spoke but rarely, and then in quiet tones, as if they held some great reverence for the task set before them.

Must be the turbines, Reynie thought, climbing down from the suitcases. Sticky and Kate had come to the same conclusion, but Constance wondered aloud what in the world those people could possibly be doing down there. Were they trying to fix the
water
?

Reynie wasn’t sure whether or not Constance was joking. He had started to answer, regardless, when his voice was drowned out by the rumbling of an engine. The workers had finished loading the big truck. Two men in suits had climbed into the front, and as the gate opened for them, they waved cheerfully to the children and drove away over the bridge.

“Did you see that?” Constance cried. “They’re wearing those shock-watches! The bridge guards, too. Have you noticed?”

“Lower your voice,” Kate hissed. “Are you crazy? Of course we’ve noticed.”

Constance was indignant, but there was no time for a full-blown argument to develop, for just then the children’s escorts arrived.

The escorts were dressed identically in blue pants, snappy white tunics, and blue sashes, but they could never be mistaken for each other. One was a stocky, red-haired young man with icy blue eyes and a nose so skinny and sharp it resembled a knife. The other was a powerfully built young woman with a greasy brown ponytail and small, piggish eyes of an indeterminate color. They introduced themselves as Jackson and Jillson.

Reynie extended his hand. “My name’s —”

“There’ll be time for that,” Jillson said, turning away. “Let’s get moving. We’ll take you to your rooms first so you can dump your luggage.”

Surprised, Reynie lowered his hand. He knew it was Jillson who had been rude (she and Jackson hadn’t offered to help with their suitcases, either), but he still felt foolish.

“
She’s
a nice one, isn’t she?” Kate whispered.

The children were led up a long gravel path toward the Institute buildings. They crossed the broad stone plaza, then a modest rock garden, then waited as Constance shook the gravel from her shoes. At last they were taken into the student dormitory, where, since the girls’ room lay at one end of a long stone corridor and the boys’ at the other, they were forced to separate.

Reynie and Sticky’s room, aside from being very clean and tidy, was rather what they would have expected: bunk beds, two desks and chairs (but no bookshelves), a wardrobe, a radiator, a large television cabinet (well,
that
was unexpected), and a window overlooking the plaza. Reynie went to the window. Beyond the plaza lay the glittering channel, brilliant in the sunlight and choppy with white-capped waves, and beyond that the wooded shore, where Mr. Benedict’s telescopes were going to be hidden. The children could send their Morse code messages from this very window. Reynie’s stomach fluttered. His mind might understand he was a secret agent now, but his body still had a hard time believing it.

Jackson leaned against the doorjamb. “If you need anything, ask an Executive. You can always tell an Executive by the uniform — blue pants, white tunic, blue sash. The Executives run the show here. A lot of us are former students who did so well as Messengers that Mr. Curtain hired us on. Don’t get us confused with Messengers, though. Messengers wear tunics and a sash, too, but their pants are striped. They’re just students like yourselves, only they’re top of the class and have special privileges.
Secret
privileges, I might add. Anyway, you’ll learn all about this soon enough. Right now just get yourselves unpacked, watch some TV if you want.” He switched the television on for them. “You’ll have your orientation tour in an hour. Then you’ll meet Mr. Curtain.”