The Mysterious Benedict Society (40 page)

Reynie and Sticky tried to appear unconcerned, but their minds were in turmoil. Kate had mentioned losing a few things in the water last night, but she’d said nothing about the marbles and slingshot.

“Mind if we have a look?” Martina asked, already reaching.

“Not at all,” replied Kate. Before Martina could actually touch anything, she dumped the bucket’s contents onto the table: a magnet, a Swiss army knife, a spool of twine, a kaleidoscope, and a rope (which was damp, but you couldn’t tell without touching it). No marbles. No slingshot.

“Oh,” said Martina, with a look of bitter disappointment.

“Okay, then,” said Jackson. “Just checking. We have other people to ask, so we’ll leave you to continue your fascinating conversation. Come on, Martina.” With some effort he drew the reluctant Martina away.

Kate winked. “I may not know when the Cenozoic Era was —”

Sticky was aghast. “Kate, we
live
in the Cenozoic Era. Sure, it began 65 million years ago, but —”

“What I was
going
to say,” Kate continued stubbornly, “is that I may not know when the Cenozoic Era was, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“What in the world are you people talking about?” asked Constance.

“She just means to say she’s not stupid,” said Reynie. “So you got rid of the marbles and the slingshot on purpose, Kate?”

“Of course. I figured he’d find that marble, so I
had
to dump the others. I sure hated to, though. I won most of them in a game with a lion tamer.”

“Poor Kate,” said Constance, “she’s lost her marbles.”

Everyone but Kate was chuckling about this one when Martina and Jackson, halfway across the cafeteria, suddenly seemed to change their minds and returned to their table. An intimidating look of cruel pleasure on Martina’s face dried up all their laughter and made them wait in silence for the explanation.

“Jackson forgot to mention something else,” Martina said. “He just so happened to spit out a piece of licorice last night in the same place he found that marble. But when he looked for it later, it was gone.”

Reynie felt Kate stiffen next to him. They were in trouble.

“Funny thing about licorice,” said Jackson. “It’s just the sort of thing to get stuck in the bottom of your shoe without your realizing it.”

“I get it, I get it,” said Kate, squirming in her seat. “So now you want to see the bottoms of my shoes.”

“If you’d be so kind,” Martina said with a wicked grin. She’d noticed Kate squirming and was delighted to think she’d frightened her.

“Well, sorry about the dripping, but Reynie just spilled juice all over them,” Kate said.

“Oh, yes, we saw that,” Jackson said. He let out an amused rattle of laughter that sounded like a sheep in pain.

While Jackson was bleating at her expense, Kate pressed something sticky, gritty, and cold into Reynie’s hand beneath the table. She hadn’t been squirming from nervousness — she’d been twisting her legs up to get at the licorice. As she lifted her sodden shoes now for the Executives to inspect, Reynie reached across under the table and pressed the hunk of licorice into Sticky’s hand. The further away from Kate the better, he thought. Sticky had the same idea, immediately passing the licorice on to Constance.

Constance, unfortunately, did not understand what it was.

In horror the boys watched her raise the slimy, dirty, half-chewed glob of candy above the tabletop to examine it. Reynie’s eyes swiveled to the Executives, who, having been disappointed in Kate’s shoes, were now asking her to show her empty hands, then checking for stickiness under the edge of the table. He looked back to Constance and saw the realization hit her, her eyes widening with alarm. And then, an instant before Martina glanced up to see it, Constance popped the licorice into her mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed it.

“Eww, that was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” Sticky said later, when the crisis had passed and the Executives were off harassing other children. Constance’s cheeks, normally a rosy red, had turned a faint shade of green.

“Disgusting, yes, but heroic,” Reynie said.

“We all have to make sacrifices,” Constance muttered miserably.

“What we need to make is a decision,” said Kate. “We need a plan, and quick. Does anybody have any ideas? I’m fresh out.”

Constance only groaned and put her head in her hands.

“I do have one thing to say,” said Reynie, then hesitated. He had intended to say that he couldn’t face the Whisperer again — that the mere thought of it turned his mind to jelly, so how much worse would it be if he actually
experienced
the Whisperer again? Wouldn’t he be certain to give up? This was what Reynie had meant to say. But now he found he couldn’t. He was too ashamed.

Constance groaned again without looking up. “Reynie, you’re the king of saying you have something to say, then not actually saying anything. Do you realize that?”

“Sorry,” Reynie said. “I… I forgot.”

He was not the only one at the table with troubled thoughts. Sticky felt the same way Reynie did, and Kate was still wishing she’d been able to sabotage those computers, to have solved the dilemma all on her own. (And having failed to do that, she was trying to pretend to herself that she hadn’t.) Constance, meanwhile, was trying not to contemplate what might happen to her when Mr. Curtain boosted the messages to full power. Thus all the children were trying
not
to think of things instead of
trying
to think of things, and
trying not
being generally less productive than
trying
, they weren’t coming up with ready answers.

In the midst of going round and round in his mind about not facing the Whisperer, however, Reynie did stumble against something which — if seen from a distance and not stared at directly — might resemble a plan. A hundred times he’d thought to himself, “I can’t face the Whisperer again.” But this time, for some reason, he had tacked on the word “alone.” And this was how he stumbled against the planlike thing.

“Okay, everyone. I think I
do
have a plan now. Didn’t Mr. Benedict tell us that we must rely upon one another in all things? That every single one of us is essential to the success of the team? We have to take into account that we need each other.”

“That’s the plan?” Constance said. “To give each other big hugs?”

Reynie ignored her. “I was thinking maybe if we faced Mr. Curtain and his Whisperer
together
, we could figure out what to do.”

“You mean all of us in the Whispering Gallery at the same time?” said Constance doubtfully. “With Mr. Curtain there? What could we possibly do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Reynie admitted. “But there’s Milligan, too, remember. If we contact him, we’ll have him to help us.”

“I say it’s worth a try,” said Kate. “We’re running out of time. How do we manage it? Should Constance and I sneak in while you two are having your sessions?”

Reynie considered. “The door is controlled by a button on Mr. Curtain’s chair, so you can’t sneak in. But Sticky and I could press the button to let you in.”

“There’s at least one problem with all this,” said Sticky. “We weren’t to have another turn in the Whisperer for at least a few days, remember? By then it will be too late!”

Kate tried to think. “What would be good… What would be good would be if Mr. Curtain won the Nobel Peace Prize!”

Sticky spewed a mist of chocolate milk. “Have you gone off your… oh, hi there, S.Q.! What brings you by our table?”

S.Q. Pedalian looked down upon them dejectedly. “Hello, kids. I suppose you heard how I bungled that spy business. Wiping out the footprints and all that.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Reynie said. “I doubt anybody could have done a better job.”

“It’s nice of you to say,” S.Q. said with a sigh. Then he took a deep breath just so he could sigh again. “But enough about pitiful me. I came over to ask about
you
, Constance. Are you feeling all right? You seem rather, well, green-colored.”

“I’m afraid we gave her a stomach virus,” Reynie interjected. “Sticky and I just got over it.”

S.Q. looked sympathetic. “Oh, yes, the other Messengers told me about that stomach bug. It’s a nasty one, eh? How
do
you feel, Constance?”

“Like I ate something revolting,” said Constance. “I guess that’s what I get for hanging around with Reynie and Sticky.”

“Now, now,” S.Q. observed, “nothing better for you than spending time with Messengers. Good influence and all that. I mean, stomach bug aside. Let’s just hope not too many other people get sick. It would be a shame if classes had to be canceled. There’s too much good stuff to review!”

They all heartily agreed with S.Q., thanked him for stopping by, and nodded as he droned endlessly on about the escaped spy and a good many other things, until finally his jaw was worn out, his mind was empty, and he went away.

“What we need,” said Kate, as if they’d never been interrupted, “is for you boys to get your turn sooner. Isn’t there any chance you could be called on tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not,” Reynie said. “Not unless every other Messenger suddenly fell ill.”

“Too bad we can’t
actually
give them belly aches,” said Constance.

Sticky’s ears perked up.

“Who says we can’t?” he said.

T
he children’s plan was bold, ill-formed, and likely to fail, and all of them knew it. They also knew they must act now or never. “Tomorrow, then,” Sticky said, hurriedly grinding a plant root between two rocks. When he was finished, Constance swept the powder into a small bag and handed him another root.

“Yes, tomorrow,” said Kate, standing guard on the hilltop, a few yards up the path. “And let’s hope it’s not too late.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be any sooner,” said Constance. “I don’t particularly look forward to tomorrow.” She contemplated a few pulpy grains of crushed root clinging to her fingertips and resisted — for the twentieth time — the temptation to see what they tasted like. Sticky had warned her that wild chuck-root (“or
Euphorbia upchucuanhae
, as it’s more widely known”) was a powerful emetic. Constance had never heard the word “emetic,” but for once she hadn’t required an explanation. It was clear from their plan — and from Sticky’s mischievous grin — that by tomorrow most of the students at the Institute would be barfing up their suppers.

Those suppers had yet to be eaten, however. It was the end of the school day, not yet suppertime, and the uneasy members of the Mysterious Benedict Society were the only children outside in the chill air. The other students were either in their rooms studying or watching television, but the moment class was dismissed Sticky had led his friends up here, just over the top of the hill beyond the gym. It was here, on the day they’d encountered Mr. Bloomburg, that Sticky had spotted the patch of wild chuck-root (along with various other plants whose Latin names he rattled off and the others promptly forgot).

“This should be enough,” Sticky said, grinding up the last bit of root. He dusted his hands vigorously. Then considering what would happen if he absentmindedly touched his lips — then absentmindedly
licked
his lips — Sticky dusted them again. And a few minutes later, when the children were gathered on the hilltop, he dusted them again. “I’m actually starting to feel guilty about this, can you believe it?”

“Maybe it means you still have a conscience,” Reynie said.

Kate snorted. “Or maybe it means you’re sympathizing too much with the enemy. Personally, I don’t feel the least bit guilty for sending a bunch of bullies on an emergency trip to the bathroom.”

Sticky wiped his hands on his pants. “Don’t let your feelings make you too ambitious on this one, Kate. If you overdo the dose, you might hurt somebody.”

“And it isn’t just Messengers getting the stuff,” Reynie reminded her. “That would be too suspicious. It has to be everybody.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Who needs parents when I have you two? Don’t worry, I won’t kill anyone. And I promise not to enjoy it the tiniest bit if Martina turns green.”

Guilty or not, they all smiled at the thought.

“So let me just review the plan,” Constance said. “The other Messengers will get sick and won’t be able to do their sessions with the Whisperer, so you boys will get your turn early. When you get called for your session, Kate and I will sneak away somehow and wait outside the door to the Whispering Gallery. Now, how exactly are we supposed to do that? What if we’re in class?”

“We haven’t worked that part out yet,” Reynie admitted.

“Right,” said Constance. “And then one of you will push the button that opens the door, even though the button is on Mr. Curtain’s
wheelchair
. How are you going to manage that?”

“We haven’t figured that part out yet, either,” mumbled Sticky.

“I see. And then, after all this has been magically accomplished, Kate and I will rush inside, and the four of us together will somehow defeat Mr. Curtain, ruin his Whisperer, and make our escape unharmed — even though we’re on an island, and the bridge is guarded by Recruiters. Any idea how this is going to happen?”

“No,” the boys said dejectedly. Kate shrugged.

“Okay,” Constance said. “I just wanted to be sure I understood the plan.”

“Anyway, you can’t count Milligan out,” Reynie said. “He’ll be there to help us.”

Constance threw her hands into the air. “How do you know? You haven’t even left the note for him yet!”

Reynie rubbed his temples. “I’m going right now, Constance. Okay?”

“Be quick, Reynie,” Kate said. “I’ll need all three of you to distract the Helpers while I doctor the food.”

“How are we supposed to do
that
?” Constance asked, launching into a tirade about how ill-prepared they were, how little time they had, and how this plan was giving her a worse headache than the hidden message broadcasts did. “So I ask you
again
,” she concluded, “exactly
how
are we supposed to distract the Helpers?”

“Just be yourself,” Kate said with a sigh.

Reynie left the others arguing on the hilltop and hurried down toward the shore. He had insisted he be the one to hide the note. Kate would have loved to sneak down to the culvert again, but this was not a clandestine operation. It had to be done in the daylight. Reynie did take a route that made it difficult for him to be seen from the Institute grounds, but if he
was
spotted, he’d invented a good explanation.