The Mysterious Benedict Society (35 page)

“Let’s move on,” Reynie said quickly. He and Kate took Sticky by the arms just as his knees appeared ready to buckle. He leaned on them gratefully as they hurried on.

A dozen paces more and the children had come to another passage that branched off to the left. This one led to a simple metal door.

Regaining his composure, Sticky quit leaning on Kate and Reynie and set his shoulders. Whatever the door concealed, he wanted to confront it bravely — or at least more bravely than he’d handled the Waiting Room. And so, while Kate and Constance looked questioningly at Reynie (who seemed hesitant to be the one to open it), Sticky took the opportunity to press forward and give the door a sharp kick. This produced a sound very much like that of a hammer coming down upon a finger — a sort of dull
donk
— and Sticky fell to the floor, clutching his foot.

Reynie pointed to a numeric keypad beside the door. “It’s not like the outside doors,” he whispered. “It’s locked.”

Sticky winced and put his shoes back on. So much for regaining composure.

“What’s that?” Kate said, pointing to a piece of paper stuck to the wall above the door. “It looks like a note. Here, Constance, let me lift you up.” In a moment Constance had the note. Printed in distinctive, awkward handwriting, it read:
LOSE
the new code? Turn
OVER
for new code!

At the bottom of the paper an arrow pointed down.

The children sucked in their breath. Could it be as simple as this? Could they be so lucky? Eagerly Reynie flipped the paper over. On the back was another note, this one in different handwriting:
Attention all Executives: You can
not
leave notes like this. S.Q., this had better be gone by tonight. Stop trying to be clever. — Jackson

“I knew it was too good to be true,” said Constance.

“I don’t get it,” Sticky said. “Why would S.Q. say ‘turn over for code’ if he wasn’t going to write the code on the back?”

“It’s S.Q., remember,” said Kate. “Maybe he forgot to write it. My question is why Jackson didn’t just take the note down himself.”

“And miss a chance to scold S.Q. in front of the other Executives?” Constance said.

“Good point,” Kate said.

Reynie was studying the note. “There’s something…” The others looked at him expectantly. He rubbed his chin. “Well… why did Jackson tell him not to try to be clever?”

“Because Jackson knows it’s pointless for S.Q. to try?” said Constance.

“But he
did
try — that’s what Jackson’s saying. So the question is, what did S.Q. do that he thought was so clever? Surely it wasn’t just leaving the note so high up. It was hard to reach, maybe, but not hard to spot.”

Kate read the note again. “Okay, why does he capitalize
LOSE
and OVER? It’s not just for emphasis, is it?”

“I think it’s to call attention to them,” Reynie said. “There’s something special about them….” He trailed off, considering.

“Well… both words have four letters,” Sticky offered, hoping somehow this was a helpful thing to point out.

“Maybe the code’s in invisible ink,” Constance suggested.

“With invisible ink he could have just written the code on the front,” Reynie said. “What would be the point in turning the note over?”

“You think everything S.Q. does has a point?” Sticky said.

Suddenly Reynie stifled a laugh. “Wait a minute! I have it! Turning the note over
is
the point! S.Q., you devil!”

“Um, Reynie?” said Kate. “We did turn it over, remember? There’s nothing there.”

“We turned to the back of the paper,” Reynie said. “S.Q. didn’t mean that. He meant to turn the note
upside down
.”

“I still don’t get it,” Sticky said.

“Think of it this way. What if the note read: ‘
Is
LOSE
the new code?’ The answer is ‘Yes, but you have to turn it OVER!’” Reynie turned the note upside down and pointed to the word
LOSE
. The letters were now numbers: 3507.

“Hey, that
is
clever,” said Sticky. “For S.Q., I mean.”

“We’re just lucky he’s not clever enough to remember the code without leaving notes,” Reynie said.

The note was returned to its proper place, and the children prepared themselves. Now that they’d had a moment’s pause, their minds had filled up with questions: What would they find behind this door? What if it was terrifying? Or what if it was exactly what Mr. Benedict needed? Or what if — this had suddenly occurred to Reynie — what if S.Q.’s note had been left
on purpose
, to trick sneaking children like themselves?

Reynie saw a troubled look cross Kate’s face. Had it occurred to her, too? Mr. Curtain suspected another snoop on the island — that was why he’d changed the door codes, after all. So what if… ?

“We need to think about this,” Reynie whispered.

But Kate was already reaching for the keypad. “No time for thinking. He’s coming!”

“H-he?” Sticky repeated.

That
was why Kate’s expression had changed. She’d heard something, and now Reynie and the others heard it, too — down in the main passage, growing louder by the second, an electric whine, a shifting of gears….

It was Mr. Curtain.

They had no choice but to go through this door, even though Reynie had no answer to his last burning question: What if it was a trap?

T
he door slid open. The children dashed through. They found themselves in a warm, bright room that smelled heavily of newsprint and ink. It seemed to be some kind of press office. Two tables stacked with printed material stretched across the middle of the room, and in the far corner an oversized printer was spitting out page after page. A television stood near the printer — its screen flashing but the volume turned down — and on top of it sat a glass of juice. The room appeared to be in the process of being disassembled: Two long tables had been folded up and leaned vertically against one wall; several empty wooden crates were stacked against the other. This was clearly a busy place, and only temporarily empty.

Mr. Curtain rolled into the room twenty seconds later carrying a tall stack of newspapers in his lap.
Empty
was how the room appeared to him, too. Humming a chipper tune, Mr. Curtain shot over to the printer and began sorting through the printouts.

Meanwhile, the entire membership of the Mysterious Benedict Society, crammed inside an empty crate like a bunch of discarded dolls, peered out through the spaces between the crate’s wooden slats. Reynie, because of the unfortunate angle of his neck and the weight of Constance upon it, was only able to see a bit of floor. Constance’s view of the ceiling was little better. Sticky, however, was in the perfect position to see the evidence of the unfortunate thing that had just happened; and by pinching Kate’s ankle to get her attention, then repeatedly blinking and rolling his eyes, he tried to explain it to her. His eyes, wide as saucers, seemed to Kate more anxious and panicky than usual. This was understandable, she thought, given their predicament. Although, wasn’t something missing? Something about his eyes? And was he trying to point something out to her? Kate swiveled her own eyes to see what Sticky was looking at.

There, in plain sight on the floor outside the crate, were his spectacles.

They must have come loose when Kate tossed him into the crate. She hadn’t seen them fall — she was too busy throwing Constance over her shoulder, tumbling in after the boys, and pulling the top of the crate over them. But she saw them now, all right. And if Mr. Curtain hadn’t been absorbed in his newspapers when he came in,
he
would have spotted them, too. But the moment he finished his task at the printer and turned around…

Kate could tell the spectacles were beyond her reach. She would need to consult her bucket. This proved a bit tricky, though — one arm she could not move at all; the other she had to thread around Constance’s neck while pressing her elbow into Sticky’s nose; and she had to bend her wrist backward at an unnatural angle that hurt like the dickens. A bit tricky, yes, but Kate managed it, and with a sharp tug (which brought tears to Sticky’s eyes), she had her horseshoe magnet.

The spectacles had wire rims. Kate just hoped it was the proper kind of wire.

Mr. Curtain had turned the volume up on the television. A news anchor was saying something about the Emergency. Mr. Curtain giggled — actually giggled — as if he were watching a comedy show. He sipped his juice and returned to his work, humming again.

From her awkward angle inside the crate, Kate could see Mr. Curtain’s wheels pointed toward the printer. Now was the time. She slipped her arm between two crate slats and stretched it out as far as she could. The magnet was still a few inches short of the spectacles. Gripping it as tightly as she could between two fingers, Kate stretched just a tiny bit further. The spectacles twitched. Then quivered. Then slid over to meet the magnet with a click.

Mr. Curtain’s humming stopped. “Hey? Who’s there?”

With a sharp squeak, the wheels whipped about to face the crate, into which Kate, a split second before, had drawn the spectacles. There was a long pause, a tap-tap-tapping of fingers on a hard surface, and finally a grunt. The wheels turned away.

A few minutes later Mr. Curtain had left the room.

The children piled out of the crate, stretching their stiff limbs and rubbing their bruises.

Reynie looked quickly about. “He took his juice, so maybe he’s not coming back. Constance, will you stand guard? You know the code — if you hear someone coming, run in and warn us.” He ushered her out the door before she could think to argue.

Sticky was already going through a stack of fresh printouts. “These are government press releases.”

“What’s a press release?” Kate asked, looking over his shoulder.

“A kind of report sent to the newspapers to be printed,” Sticky said. He scratched his head. “Strange, these are all dated from the
future
. One’s from next week, one’s from the week after, and so on for months — even years!”

“They’re
planned
press releases,” Reynie said, coming over to flip through the pile. “Articles Mr. Curtain intends to have printed in the newspapers. And they all have something to do with
him
. Look at the headline on this one from next week: ‘
ESTEEMED
SCIENTIST
AND
EDUCATOR
APPOINTED
TO
IMPORTANT
POST
.’”

Sticky groaned and took off his spectacles. “Will you read it aloud, Reynie? I’m afraid I need to polish these.”

And so Reynie read aloud:

LEDROPTHA
CURTAIN
, the recently named Minister And Secretary of all The Earth’s Regions (M.A.S.T.E.R.), had this to say about his new role: “The governments of the world have established my position as that of an advisor and coordinator in this time of crisis. Being a private man, I accept the honor reluctantly, believing it my duty.”

“That’s preposterous!” Kate said. “There’s no such position!”

“Apparently there will be. It says here that the governments have finally reorganized themselves in response to the Emergency.”

Sticky spluttered. “But the Emergency is made up — it’s something Mr. Curtain created! I can’t believe every single —”

“That’s it!” Reynie cried, staring intently at the paper. He felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by alarm — as if he’d finally succeeded in translating hieroglyphics only to discover he’d translated a curse.

“What’s it, Reynie?” asked Kate.

“The Emergency is the first step,” Reynie said, thumping the paper. “Mr. Curtain thinks fear is the most important element in human personality, remember? It’s why the Whisperer has so much appeal to Messengers — it soothes their fears, and Mr. Curtain uses that to motivate them. So what if he
created
a fear, a fear everyone would hold in common, a fear the entire public would share?”

“The fear that everything is hopelessly out of control,” Kate said.

“Exactly! Then his next step would be to
soothe
that fear with just the right message. The Messengers all love the Whisperer with a passion, right? Well, Mr. Curtain intends to make it so that everyone in the world will feel the way Messengers do!”

“Everyone will love the Whisperer?” Sticky said.

“No,” Reynie said. “Everyone will love
him
.”

Reynie was putting it all together now. “So those journal entries — the places where he seemed to be talking to himself — ‘Trust Ledroptha Curtain’ and all that. They were rough drafts!”

“He’s working on his new message,” Sticky said, finally understanding.

Kate couldn’t help but laugh. “You mean ‘Ledroptha Curtain Stops the Hurtin’ was an idea for a hidden message? That’s so lame!”

Reynie handed another press release to Kate. “Look at this one: ‘
CURTAIN
BEST
MAN
TO
HANDLE
BAFFLING
AMNESIA
EPIDEMIC
.’”

“An
amnesia
epidemic?” Sticky said.

Kate had moved down the table to rifle through a stack of pamphlets, shaking her head in disgust. “And here’s how he intends to pull it off.” She handed each boy a pamphlet. Reluctantly Sticky put his glasses back on, and in grim silence they all read the pamphlet. It was an official advisory from something called the Public Health Administration:

Just what
is
Sudden Amnesia Disease (
SAD
)?
SAD
is an extremely contagious disease that causes total memory loss in those who contract it.

What’s being done about it?
Although the origin and cure of this disease have yet to be found, they’re being investigated by a group of experts headed by none other than Ledroptha Curtain, the highly regarded scientist and our newly named Minister And Secretary of all The Earth’s Regions.
SAD
cases are admitted for free care at the Amnesia Sanctuary on Nomansan Island, a state-of-the-art facility where patients live comfortably, under strict quarantine, while the cure for their disease is sought.