The Mysterious Benedict Society (41 page)

In one pocket Reynie carried a note for Milligan that told him of their plan. In another pocket he carried a sketch of the island bridge, which Reynie had spent most of two class periods working on from memory. He was a fair artist and had felt modestly satisfied with the result until Kate glanced at it after class.

“Not good?” he’d asked, seeing her brow wrinkle.

“It’s okay,” Kate had said tentatively. “But the perspective’s a bit off. See, if you just follow the line here… and darken those shadows there….” In about two minutes she had produced a much better sketch than his own.

Reynie scowled. “I’ll take yours,” he said grumpily. “Wouldn’t want you to have gone to all that trouble for nothing.”

At the top of the sketch he’d printed the title,
Your Favorite View
. If he was caught, Reynie would say he’d gone to the shore for a better view of the bridge, so as to make the best possible drawing — the drawing, of course, being intended as a present for Mr. Curtain.

Hurrying along at the bottom of the incline, just out of reach of the lapping water, Reynie patted his pockets anxiously. Both pieces of paper were there. Good.
Now don’t step in the water,
he told himself.
Wet shoes might draw suspicion. And be sure the note doesn’t stick out when you leave it — cover it up completely with the rocks. And don’t leave any footprints. It’s a miracle footprints didn’t sink us
last
time. Only poor old S.Q. spared us that disaster.

Reynie found the culvert and marked off twenty paces from it. He looked around. Not a soul to be seen. There was no one on the bridge, the incline concealed him from the rear, and in front of him was nothing but water… and across it the mainland shore. It occurred to him that Mr. Benedict and his crew were probably watching him through a telescope right now. He stared toward the trees across the channel. No doubt they could see him. The question was whether he would ever again see
them
. Reynie gave a melancholy little wave — one part hello and one part goodbye — then bent and hid the note beneath two big rocks.

Be sure,
Reynie reminded himself. Had he stacked the rocks carefully? Had he made sure the note couldn’t be seen? Had he left any telltale footprints in the sand? Satisfied on all counts, he hurried back the way he’d come, anxious to put distance between himself and the note. As he left the shore and started up the incline, Reynie considered what to do with the sketch. He didn’t think he’d been spotted, but he should save it just in case. If someone confronted him about it later, he would have his excuse in his pocket.

Reynie patted his pocket, but the sketch wasn’t there! How could it not be there? Hadn’t he put it in his left pocket? He reached into his other pocket and felt the paper. He must have had it confused. Or had he? He took out the paper to be sure, then stared at it in disbelief. It was his note! He had left the
sketch
under the rocks!

Now things were getting dicey. Kate needed his help, and it was almost time for supper. But they absolutely had to contact Milligan.
You can do it,
Reynie told himself.
You’ll just have to run.

Reynie ran. Down the incline, watching his step on the rocks, careful not to get wet, careful not to leave prints. Soon he’d made his way back to the two stacked stones. He glanced quickly around — shore, bridge, water. All clear. Exchanging the note for the sketch (unfolding the note to be certain this time), he put the stones back, checked one last time for footprints, and ran off as fast as he could.

Two minutes later Reynie was alone on the plaza, breathing hard. He saw S.Q. Pedalian appear from behind the Institute Control Building, but there was no way S.Q. could have seen him, and there was no one else in view. Reynie wiped his brow. That was a lot of excitement over nothing. He waved to S.Q. and hurried on, not wanting to get caught up in a conversation. No time for that. The others were waiting.

As it happened, S.Q. was in a hurry, too. All day long he had been tormented by his mistake. How could he have been so foolish as to wipe out the spy’s footprints? Such a ridiculous blunder! And all day long he had thought maybe, just maybe, if he were to go back down there and take a closer look… S.Q. picked up his pace, feeling more eager with every step. He would skip supper and spend the entire hour searching. Wouldn’t it be something if he
did
find the spy’s footprint after all? Or some other clue? They had scoured the area pretty carefully before, but you never knew, did you? How wonderful it would be if he could redeem himself in Mr. Curtain’s eyes!

And so it was that with longer and longer strides, S.Q. Pedalian hurried across the plaza and down the incline, toward the shore, toward the culvert, toward the place where Reynie, in his anxious hurry, had stacked the two stones just a little less carefully than he’d done the first time — toward the place where one corner of the note stuck out, flickering in the harbor breeze like a tiny white flag of surrender.

When suppertime came and the cafeteria roiled once again with rowdy students, the members of the Mysterious Benedict Society suddenly developed an apparent dislike for anything salty or sweet. They loaded up their trays as usual, to avoid suspicion, but carefully avoided touching their forks to anything but green vegetables.

“You couldn’t have saved even
one
kind of pastry, Kate?” asked Constance, screwing up her face to swallow a Brussels sprout. She barely managed it, gulping it down with plain water rather than her usual orange-flavored soda. “These might as
well
be poisoned.”

“Better safe than sorry,” said Kate, through a mouthful of lima beans. “Anyway, I didn’t have time to pick and choose, you know.”

All around the cafeteria, children were stuffing themselves with their usual favorites — greasy foods, savories, and sweet treats — and guzzling chocolate milk and soft drinks. Reynie, meanwhile, speared a dry lettuce leaf with his fork and thought:
So far, so good.
Despite his bland supper, despite the nagging message broadcast in his head, and despite the uncertainty of his plan, he felt a stirring in his heart, a good feeling that might pass for hope. Kate had spread the powder, Reynie had delivered the note to Milligan, and neither of them had been caught. At least
some
parts of the plan were going as hoped.

It really was a good feeling. But it didn’t last long.

Jillson appeared in the cafeteria, a jubilant grin on her face, and came straight over to their table. Without asking, she crowded herself into a seat between Reynie and Kate — her wide shoulders forcing them to draw their arms close together over their trays, like praying mantises — and snatched a cream puff from Kate’s tray and said, “Hi, there, squirts!”

Kate frowned, but only out of principle. Privately she was delighted. “Help yourself,” she said coolly.

“Thank you, I will,” Jillson said, gulping the cream puff down. “Listen, I have good news and bad news, and I thought you kids would be particularly interested. You heard about S.Q.’s bungling the spy business, right?”

“It does ring a bell,” said Reynie, who didn’t like where this was going.

“Well, guess what?” Jillson said. “There’s been a new development. S.Q. went back down to the culvert just now, to take one last look around. And he
found
something.”

The children could only stare at her, stricken with dread. They were also confused. If S.Q. had found the note, then why weren’t they already in trouble? Was Jillson toying with them?

“Now, as I said, there’s good news and bad news,” Jillson went on.

Feeling as if they’d just been given very bad news indeed, Reynie had to stop himself from asking what the good news was.

“The bad news,” Jillson said, “is that what S.Q. found — a curious piece of paper — was destroyed before he could read it.”

“That’s… terrible!” the children cried, trying to cover their relief. It was too plain on all their faces, and they knew it.

Luckily, Jillson didn’t notice. She placed a hand on her belly and frowned. After a moment she belched, smiled with satisfaction, and continued, “Don’t worry, the good news makes up for it. The spy’s been caught!”

The children looked at one another.
Caught?

Jillson belched again and scowled. “Must have eaten too much pudding. Yes, caught like a rat in a trap. Turns out it was a man disguised as a Helper. Came out of nowhere, snatched the paper from S.Q., and tried to run away. But Jackson heard S.Q. shouting for help, and some Recruiters on the bridge had seen it happen, so in no time they had the spy surrounded. He tried to fight them off, but he was no match for
our
guys, I can tell you. He’s in a classroom right now, under heavy guard.”

Reynie felt as if he’d been kicked in the belly. They had lost Milligan. “Why… why are you telling
us
this, Jillson?”

“Well, I have to admit I was surprised. Martina had convinced me that
Kate
was the spy. She was disappointed to learn otherwise. But I thought you should know Kate’s off the hook. The Helper confessed to everything. He’s a lone operator, apparently. That means he works by himself.”

Kate looked quite sick. “Did he say who he was?”

“We don’t know his name, but he was on the island once before — years and years ago. When they took off the disguise, Mr. Curtain and some of the Recruiters recognized him at once. Oh, and get this: He
ate
that piece of paper! Chewed it up and swallowed it before anyone could read it. Said it was from his private journal and was none of our business. Very dangerous madman. Don’t worry, though, they’re taking him to the Waiting Room in just — oh! Here they come now!”

The children could barely bring themselves to look.

There was Milligan. His hands and ankles were cuffed, his feet dragged along in a defeated shuffle, and his ocean-blue eyes, sadder than ever, focused only on the ground before him. Though he kept his head bowed, the cuts and bruises on his face were easily seen. He was being marched across the cafeteria by a half-dozen Recruiters and Executives (including a very proud Martina Crowe) — none of whom showed any marks from a scuffle. Reynie wondered how this was possible. Jillson said he’d tried to fight, but if Milligan had really resisted, wouldn’t his captors look as if they’d caught a tiger by the tail? Had he only pretended to struggle? But why? Unless…

Suddenly Reynie understood. Because S.Q. had glimpsed the note, Milligan had
chosen
to be caught. He’d wanted a chance to confess, a chance to make up a story about that piece of paper. A
note
would have suggested someone else had written it — another spy on the island — but a page from a private
journal
pointed only to Milligan himself. Yes, he had wanted to convince Mr. Curtain he was working alone, had wanted to take suspicion off the children. He had sacrificed himself for them.

As Milligan passed through the cafeteria, the whole place erupted in applause for the Executives and Recruiters, then horrible boos and jeers for the captured spy. The miserable man was led past their table — right past the grateful and heartbroken children he’d saved — but never did he look up or reveal any awareness of them.

“Boy, doesn’t he look glum?” Jillson said.

Kate started to speak, but a catch in her voice made her words incomprehensible. She was thinking exactly what her friends were thinking. Milligan had said he would die before he let any harm come to them.

M
captured. Must face Whisperer tomorrow. Please advise
.

“Still no response,” Sticky reported from the window.

The others waited in depressed silence. Although the “stomach virus” had spread like wildfire (already the bathrooms and the Best of Health Center were crowded with students), the success of their scheme had done nothing to boost their spirits. Not even the sight of Jillson hurrying down a corridor with her hand over her mouth, clutching a paper bag in case she didn’t reach the bathroom in time — not even this managed to cheer them. Time was slipping away, and they’d been forced to abandon the hope that they’d nurtured in the backs of their minds: the hope that if things went terribly wrong, Milligan would be there to save them somehow.

After another interminable minute had passed, Kate said, “I’m sick of waiting. I say forget the plan and let’s try to rescue Milligan instead.”

Sticky was taken aback. “But he’s under heavy guard — we wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“We don’t stand a chance either way, do we?” said Kate.

“That isn’t like you, Kate,” said Reynie, surprised. “I think the broadcasts are getting to you.”

Kate frowned. “You’re… you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Wait, here comes a response,” Sticky said. “What in the world? Can that really be it?” He began signaling with the flashlight again.

“For crying out loud, what are you
doing
, George Washington?” demanded Constance. (Though the others wouldn’t have thought it possible, Constance grew steadily crankier as the Improvement drew closer.) “Did they send a message or not?”

“I’m asking them to repeat it.” But when the message was repeated, Sticky was left scratching his head. “It’s just an old saying:
Laughter is the best medicine
.”

“Are they joking?” Kate said.

“Maybe it’s their way of saying for us to cheer up, to have hope,” Sticky said.

Reynie didn’t think so. “That’s too lighthearted. They wouldn’t expect us to feel like that, not with Milligan taken prisoner. It’s a riddle of some kind — important advice. We just have to figure out what it means.”

“For once I’d like a straight answer,” Constance grumbled. “It’s ridiculous that they do it this way — it isn’t right!”

“They have to be careful, don’t they?” Sticky said. “If they gave us a straight answer and someone else saw it, we’d be in even worse shape.”

“How much worse shape could we possibly be in? I’m
tired
of being careful. And I’m tired of their dumb codes, and I’m tired of you all treating me like a stupid baby.”