The Mysterious Benedict Society (39 page)

“Oh, I do!”

“Then the answer is no, we should not be asking permission. Do you see?”

Relieved, S.Q. nodded.

“And so, Martina,” Mr. Curtain concluded, “you may now anticipate the Improvement with pleasure. As I said, by the day after tomorrow we —” Mr. Curtain’s attention shifted to the drain cover in his office floor. “How odd. I thought I heard something in the drain.”

“Maybe it’s a mouse,” S.Q. ventured.

“What’s that drain for, anyway?” asked Martina.

“Would you like to tell her, S.Q.?” said Mr. Curtain, still peering toward the saucer-sized grate. “I suspect that’s something you
do
remember, grisly details being the most memorable.”

“Oh, yes, sir!” replied S.Q., eager to prove his knowledge. He cleared his throat importantly. “You see, Martina, back in the early days, when the Institute was being built and a colony of workers lived on the island, this room was used as the butchery. There was always a lot of blood, of course, gallons of it, and the butchers would wash it down that drain. The drain connects to a culvert, which carried everything off to the harbor. They say sharks used to gather in the waters there, drawn by the scent of blood, and workers would fling mice out for them to snap up….”

Here S.Q.’s face brightened. He’d suddenly remembered something
else
, and it was rare that he remembered two different things in so short a time. “You know what, Mr. Curtain? Jackson heard a mouse, too, not half an hour ago. We’re having a real problem with them lately.”

“The real problem,” said Mr. Curtain, “is that we hear these mice but never see them.”

Rolling to his desk, he took up a pot of hot water S.Q. had brought him for his tea. “It may be that our mice have grown better at hiding. However, it occurs to me that although the drainpipe is mouse-sized, the culvert is human-sized, and would provide a perfect hiding place for some bold eavesdropper who managed to find its entrance.” Even as he spoke, he shot across the room and dumped the steaming contents of the pot down the drain.

He waited, listening carefully, but not a sound reached him save the gurgling of the hot water as it drained away. “Hmm. Perhaps it was a mouse, after all, or the echo of harbor traffic. Pipes do have strange acoustic effects.” For a moment he stared at the empty pot in his hand, somewhat lost in thought, then said, “I do want my tea, however. S.Q., run over to the cafeteria and bring me another pot of water. And some pastries, too. Here, I’d better write it down for you.”

The note Mr. Curtain handed to S.Q. had nothing to do with tea or pastries. It read:
Go at once to the culvert opening on the south shore. Bring Jackson along. If you find no one, scour the sand near the opening for footprints. Hurry!

S.Q. read the note, read it again, glanced up to express his puzzlement, and saw Mr. Curtain lay a finger to his lips. Understanding dawned on him then, and tripping in his great haste, he left the room.

Kate’s ear had been to the pipe when she heard the splash — she’d barely had time to jerk her head back before the hot water gushed out. Even then, a little splashed onto her neck, and it was all Kate could do to hold in a gasp. Then she heard Mr. Curtain send S.Q. away, and suspecting a trap, she beat a quick retreat down the culvert to the shore.

As she emerged into the night air, Kate spotted two figures (S.Q. and Jackson, though in the dark she couldn’t tell this) burst out from behind the Institute Control Building and race across the plaza for the shore. In moments they would be upon her. There was nowhere to go but the water. Kate plunged in and dove deep. It was shockingly cold — too cold for sharks, she hoped, for what S.Q. had said just before Mr. Curtain dumped the water was much on her mind. That butchery business was long ago; surely by now the sharks would be out of the habit of congregating here. She hoped. Anyway, she could hardly return to shore, so in the water she must stay.

Fortunately Kate was an excellent swimmer. Heading out into the channel, she stayed underwater as long as she could, emerged briefly to gulp air, and dove under again. When at last she surfaced and looked back, she’d put a good distance between herself and the shore, and saw to her relief that she wasn’t being pursued. Perhaps she hadn’t even been seen. Good. She would just need to swim down the coastline and find a safe, inconspicuous place to sneak aground.

Kate turned, looked at the water ahead, and gasped.

She’d seen what she expected to be the last thing she ever saw. A shape, triangular and black, slicing toward her through the dark water. Fear coursed through her body like an electric shock. She braced herself for the brutal, daggerlike teeth, and in that split second of waiting, managed to wonder if it would be the shark’s bite that killed her, or if instead she would be snatched away, deep down, to drown in a bloody darkness.

In the next moment, she saw that the shark fin was only a rock.

The fear drained away, but the aftereffects of panic remained, sharpening Kate’s senses. With her heart thudding like bass drums in her ears, she looked around. Jagged rocks pierced the water surface all about her. Amid the murk of night and the sloshing of a thousand tiny waves, most of them appeared to be moving. More than a few resembled shark fins. Perhaps a few even were.

“Good grief,” she said, for she had no choice but to swim right through them. She’d have to be careful not to cut herself to ribbons on their sharp edges. And she’d have to hope none of them were actually sharks.

B
y the time she crept into Reynie and Sticky’s room half an hour later, Kate was in a better mood. Which is to say, she was disappointed with her mission, miserably cold, soaked to the bone, and in a good deal of physical pain. But at least she hadn’t been eaten by a shark. At the sound of squishing shoes and a strange, rapid little clicking sound, the boys awoke to see Kate giving their radiator a bear hug, her teeth chattering furiously, her clothes dripping water.

“Kate!” they cried in barely contained whispers. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“W-w-w-ell,” she stammered, unable for the moment to continue.

Reynie threw his blanket over her shoulders, and when at last she grew warmer, Kate told them everything. (She omitted, however, the part about the imagined shark. No sense getting into all that.)

“Luckily I had my bucket secured with my belt,” she said, “or I’d have lost it for sure. Even so, I did lose a few things, and my penlight is waterlogged. And my fingers were too numb to grip anything, so I couldn’t climb into the ceiling. I had to sneak down the corridor. Can’t believe I didn’t bump into Jillson or somebody.”

“I can’t believe you managed to eavesdrop through that drainpipe,” Sticky said. “How did you even think of it?”

“A lucky guess,” Kate said. “Reynie mentioned that drain in the floor when he first told us about Mr. Curtain’s office. Then last night Milligan pointed out the culvert to us. Drains and culverts — I put two and two together and hoped for the best.”

Reynie had been rummaging for an extra towel. He handed it to Kate. “So there’s absolutely no way we can get into that computer room?”

Kate shook her head reluctantly. She hated to admit it.

“All right,” he said. “Nice job, Kate.”

“Nice job? But I didn’t accomplish a thing!”

“Are you kidding? Now that we know we can’t reach the computer room, we won’t waste time trying. And we don’t have any time to waste — by the day after tomorrow we’ll have no chance at all. We know that now, too, thanks to you. It’s all crucial information.”

Kate shrugged dismissively, but secretly she was pleased. She opened and closed her hands. The feeling seemed to be returning to her fingers.

Reynie was concentrating. There was no message broadcast at the moment; the storm system in his mind had moved out. “And what was that he said, Kate? About his Whisperer being a sensitive machine?”

“Sensitive and delicately balanced,” said Sticky. “And it requires his strict mental guidance for its proper function.”

“I
think
that’s what he said,” Kate admitted. “I tried hard to remember it just as he said it, but I don’t have quite the memory you do.”

“All right, we’d better report all this to Mr. Benedict right away,” Sticky said, scrambling up onto the television. Instantly he groaned. “Jackson’s out on the plaza with S.Q. — he’s yelling at S.Q. about something.”

“Sticky and I will wait them out,” Reynie said. “Kate, you should change into dry clothes and go on to bed. No point all three of us staying —” Just then another broadcast began. They all grimaced. Reynie felt the storm system move into his mind again.

“Good grief, I hope this one doesn’t keep me awake,” said Kate with a sigh. “I’ll go lay these clothes on my radiator and
try
to sleep, anyway. We only have a day or so to save the world. We’ll need all the rest we can get!”

Sleep she did: Kate was so tired from her night’s exertions that she slept through the wake-up announcement and was late getting ready for breakfast. Constance was no help, either. When Kate had returned in the middle of the night, she’d awakened Constance to fill her in, and afterward Constance was even sleepier than usual. So both girls were snoozing soundly when Jillson banged on their door. Kate dreamed she was back in the circus, being fired from a cannon.

“Up!” Jillson shouted, rapping again with such force that the girls’ window rattled in its frame. “Helpers stop serving breakfast in fifteen minutes, girls!”

Waking with a start, Kate leaped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and snatched her shoes from the radiator. They hadn’t dried much, unfortunately. Then she shook Constance awake — or at least into a groggy stupor. “Come on, Connie girl! We’ve got to get moving!”

Constance smacked her lips, blinked a few times, and said, “Don’t call me Con —”

“Right, right. Sorry.”

After a lot of hustling and cajoling, Kate got Constance moving, then quick-stepped it to the cafeteria with the smaller girl riding piggyback. She spotted the boys at their usual table and squished over to them. For some reason, Reynie’s eyes widened at Kate’s approach, and no sooner had she sat down beside him than he said loudly, “There you are! Let me pour you some juice, Kate!” With unusual awkwardness he grabbed a juice pitcher, lost his grip, and ended up sloshing an entire quart of juice all over Kate’s feet. At a nearby table, a group of Messengers burst out laughing.

“Good grief, Reynie!” Kate said. “I can pour my own juice, all right?”

In an undertone Reynie said quickly, “Listen, Kate. Rumors have been flying all morning. They know someone was in the culvert and swam away to escape — your soggy shoes are a dead giveaway. Everybody saw me spill that juice, so now you have a reason other than harbor water.”

“Yikes,” Kate said. “Thanks, buddy. And wipe that grin off your face, Constance. You don’t always have to enjoy it so much, you know.”

As the girls wolfed down their breakfasts, Reynie and Sticky filled them in: After Kate left their room, they’d finally had the opportunity to send Mr. Benedict a report, but to their enormous disappointment, Mr. Benedict hadn’t been able to reply. Jackson and S.Q. had returned to the plaza, this time with Mr. Curtain, who like Jackson was clearly furious with S.Q. about something and kept shaking his finger in S.Q.’s face.

“We wondered why S.Q. was in so much trouble,” Sticky said, “and this morning we found out. Everybody’s heard about it: Jackson and S.Q. failed to catch the spy, but they did find footprints in the sand at the culvert entrance, footprints leading down into the water.”

“What?” said Kate, freezing with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to her mouth. “Oh, no! I meant to wipe away the prints, but then I didn’t have time.” She reddened, ashamed, and set down her fork. “I’m sorry, everybody. They’ll match my shoes to the prints, you know they will. And then it’s… Why are you both shaking your heads?”

“Because you have nothing to worry about,” said Reynie.

Sticky broke into a grin. “S.Q. took care of the problem for us. Those big feet of his came in very handy for once. He found the footprints, all right, and followed them down to the shore, but in the process his own footprints destroyed yours! Destroyed them completely! That’s why Mr. Curtain is furious.”

“Ha!” Kate said, profoundly relieved. “Here’s to good old S.Q.!”

“We’re still in a tight spot,” Reynie said. “Mr. Curtain will be watching everybody very… and, oh, don’t you find these danishes splendid, Sticky? They go down wonderfully well with cold milk, especially the raspberry ones.”

Sticky wasn’t puzzled by the change of subject. He, too, had seen Jackson and Martina approaching the table. He was responding earnestly that he preferred the cinnamon rolls when Jackson drew up and said with a sneer, “George, forgive me for interrupting your
very
interesting conversation about breakfast foods, but Martina and I are making an inspection. No doubt you’ve all heard about the spy.”

“We have,” Reynie said, “and we can hardly believe it. Why on earth would a spy be at the Institute?”

Jackson knuckled Reynie painfully on the head. “If you would use your brain, Muldoon, you might figure a few things out. The spy obviously hopes to steal some of Mr. Curtain’s secret technology, then sell it to someone who might use it for wicked purposes.”

“That would be terrible,” Kate said.

Reynie was rubbing his head. “Anyway, yes, we’ve heard about the spy.”

“And yet one thing you probably have
not
heard about is this.” Jackson reached into his pocket and drew out a marble. Kate’s marble.

“The spy is a marble?” Reynie asked.

“Ha ha, young man. Ha ha. No, this marble happens to have been found somewhere last night, somewhere — let me put it this way — somewhere it should not have
been
.”

“That seems a reasonable way to put it,” Reynie said.

Martina leaned forward, peering into Kate’s bucket. “So Jackson and I are looking for the marble’s owner. I don’t want to point any fingers,” she said silkily, “but it seemed to me Kate’s bucket might be a good place to look. She has so many odds and ends in there, you know.”