The Mysterious Benedict Society (44 page)

“You lost your lead!” Jackson called. “You might as well wait for us there.”

“Just wanted to give you a fighting chance!” Kate called back. With the ladder in place and Constance (fuming with disapproval) on her back, she began to climb. She was really sweating under her load now. The wearier she grew, the heavier Constance seemed. In a final determined burst, she scaled the last few rungs just as Jackson reached the ladder. She scrambled forward onto the high, sloping ground above the wall.

A few paces ahead, just above the rock wall, ran the brook Kate had spotted their first day on the island. It streamed along a shallow gully for some distance before finally spilling over the wall and running downhill. Kate stumbled quickly toward it. By the time she’d dumped Constance — rather unceremoniously — next to the brook, Jackson and Jillson were both on the ladder, and Martina was preparing to climb.

“What good is your bucket doing you now?” Jackson jeered.

“I’m glad you asked!” Kate said, bending over the brook to scoop the bucket full of water. Instantly it was as heavy as a bowling ball. Returning to look down into Jackson’s icy blue eyes — he was only a few rungs from the top — she gave him a friendly wink.

And dropped the bucket.

Surprised though he was, Jackson resisted the urge to let go and catch the bucket. It didn’t matter. The bucket caught him. It landed squarely on top of his head and sent him tumbling backward down the ladder, in the process knocking Jillson down as well. They landed in a wet, moaning heap at Martina’s feet.

“Instant ton of bricks,” Kate said with satisfaction. “Just add water.”

There wasn’t time to reflect upon the pleasing scene. Martina had been quick-witted enough to grab the ladder before Kate could haul it out of reach, and was waiting only for her dazed companions to climb to their feet again. Slinging Constance over her shoulder, Kate splashed across the brook (too tired now to leap it) and made her way up the last, steep stretch of ground to the tower wall.

“Ugh!” Constance cried. “Get your shoulder out of my belly, you big —”

“Listen,” Kate said, setting her down and hastily forming a lasso with her rope. “I need to concentrate, so keep quiet, will you? We have to reach that window as quick as we can.” As she spoke, she swung her lasso round and round, eyeing the flagpole that jutted out from the tower wall high above them, the Institute’s red flag rippling gently beneath it.

Careful,
Kate warned herself.
Don’t let the lasso get fouled up with that flag.
It was essential she didn’t miss — there’d be no time for a second attempt.

Kate concentrated, took aim, said a prayer, and…

“You don’t really think you can lasso that
flagpole
, do you?” Constance blurted just as Kate flung the lasso upward.

The outburst nearly broke Kate’s concentration, but her throw was true enough — with a perfectly timed twitch of the rope, she adjusted its path. The lasso dropped neatly over the end of the flagpole. Kate heaved a sigh of relief. “You call that quiet?” she asked, tightening the loop with a tug.

“It could have been louder,” Constance replied.

“Thanks ever so much,” said Kate, already tying the rope around the smaller girl’s waist. “Now don’t argue. I’m doing this so I can haul you up after me. I can climb faster this way.”

Constance, of course, began to argue, but Kate had already completed the knot and begun scrambling up the rope. She didn’t waste time looking back. She knew that at this very moment Martina was leaping the brook. She knew she had only a matter of seconds. And when at last she’d reached the flagpole, balanced atop it, and looked down to see Martina charging toward Constance far below, she knew that those seconds were not in her favor. As tired as she was, as fast as Martina was moving, she wouldn’t have time to pull Constance out of reach.

It took only one of those seconds for Kate to think:
It has to be all four of us, but Constance can’t handle them.
You
can handle them, though. It will be rough, but you can handle them.

(Part of Kate believed this — a very important part, for Kate’s sense of invincibility was the main thing that had sustained her all her young life alone. But another part did
not
believe this — and it, too, was an important part, for unless you know about this part it is impossible to understand how brave a thing Kate was about to do.)

With a fluid motion Kate slipped the lasso from the end of the flagpole. She gripped the rope tightly. Oh well, she thought. I sure hope the little grouch is worth it.

And with that, she leaped backward into empty air.

The rope fell across the flagpole like a cable over a pulley, and as Kate dropped downward, so Constance — much lighter by far — shot up out of the grasp of the astonished Martina Crowe. The tiny girl clung madly to the rope, her eyes bulging, but Kate could do little to calm her. As they brushed past each other, one going up and the other down, both to uncertain fates, Kate offered her breeziest smile and said, “Hang tight, Connie girl! And be sure to untie yourself when you get up there.”

Then she descended into the waiting arms of three powerful Executives, all of them grinning with vengeful excitement.

M
r. Curtain! Mr.
Curtain
, sir!” buzzed S.Q.’s voice through the intercom.

For Reynie, the interruption could not have come at a better moment. For what seemed an eternity now, he had watched Sticky alternately frown with effort and smile with relief, his tea-colored skin going almost as pale as honey, and perspiration trickling down his cheeks like tears. But the frowns had at last faded away, replaced entirely by the pleasant, contented smiles. Sticky had made a great effort, but in the end he couldn’t help it — he had stopped resisting.

Mr. Curtain, however, did
not
welcome the interruption. After a night with too few sessions, he’d finally got a Messenger into his Whisperer again, only to struggle unexpectedly. The machine had gone balky as an old donkey, losing Mr. Curtain’s train of thought and sometimes misunderstanding him altogether. Usually the mental effect for him was of speaking into a telephone and hearing his own voice in the receiver. But
this
session had been like hearing himself through a staticky radio. It was the boy, it must be, and Mr. Curtain had just begun to suspect that George was an unfit Messenger after all — that in fact he might be untrustworthy — when the session improved. The boy’s mind grew more receptive, the Whisperer’s wrinkled messages straightened, and Mr. Curtain had at last settled into some real, productive work. He was just finishing the session when the interruption came.

“Mr. Curtain! Please, sir, it’s an emergency!”

“Rats and dogs!” Mr. Curtain said furiously, thrusting off his red helmet. Behind him, the cuffs and blue helmet freed Sticky, who rose, wobbling, in a state of weak confusion. Reynie leaped forward to support him.

“What is it, S.Q.?” Mr. Curtain said, pressing the intercom button on his wheelchair. “It had better be important.”

“It is, sir. Two students are trying to break into the tower!”

Reynie closed his eyes; his heart sank. The Executives knew what the girls were up to, and S.Q. was already outside the door. It was over, then. After all this, after Sticky had been so brave, had tried so hard…

“Two students?” Mr. Curtain was saying. “By students you mean children, do you not?”

“Um, yes, sir,” came S.Q.’s uncertain reply.

“Do you mean to tell me you can’t prevent two children from breaking in?”

“Um, well, sir, we’re sure to comprehend… I mean apprehend… I mean we’re sure to catch them soon. I just thought I should alert you —”

“Thank you, S.Q.,” said Mr. Curtain, who did not sound at all thankful. “Consider me alerted. And by the way, unless you are presented with an
actual
emergency, I want no further interruptions, understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Curtain,” came S.Q.’s reply. “Sorry, Mr. Curtain.”

With a disgusted shake of his head Mr. Curtain exclaimed, “Children! Am I supposed to fear unarmed children? No doubt they’re in cahoots with my prisoner. Unlikely agents, but no matter — they’ll soon join him.” He grew silent, staring intently at Sticky as if considering how best to cut him up and cook him. “George, I’m afraid I was not terribly pleased with your performance. No. In fact I was rather
dis
pleased. Reynard will take over for you now. We will see about you later.”

There could be no doubt what Mr. Curtain meant by “we will see about you,” but Sticky was too exhausted at the moment to be afraid. He only shook his head. He had done all he could.

Mr. Curtain gestured impatiently toward the cushions, and Reynie helped Sticky over to them. Sticky collapsed. Reynie turned to meet Mr. Curtain’s gaze, and saw in those silvery lenses the reflection of his own uncertain, frightened face.

“The time has come, Reynard,” said Mr. Curtain. “Unsatisfactory though your friend’s session has been, we are nonetheless close — very, very close.” Mr. Curtain coughed and wiped his pale, moist brow. As if to himself he mumbled, “I’m afraid I must pause for refreshment, though. But only for a moment. It can’t hurt to savor the occasion, at any rate. A cup of juice, then. Do you hear me, Reynard? I shall have a cup of juice. After that, only a few minutes more… and then! And
then
! The Improvement will begin! Can you believe? I can scarcely believe it myself!” Mr. Curtain’s face, though pale and drawn, quite gleamed with exultation. His dream was on the cusp of becoming reality.

Reynie glanced at the Whisper. Then his glance hardened into a focused gaze. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Didn’t the Whisperer look inviting? Comforting? It almost seemed to be speaking to him — whispering to him all the way over here.
Was
it whispering to him? Whispering the unthinkable thing… ?

Don’t struggle for nothing, Reynard. You can still join Mr. Curtain, be important, be a
part
of something.

But… but Mr. Benedict,
Reynie thought.
He… he needs me to…

Mr. Benedict! Is he the one who tricked you into joining him, who encouraged you to cheat on quizzes, who offered you ‘special opportunities’? Or was that Mr. Curtain, who said cheating doesn’t bother him, who rounded up poor unfortunates only to give them a better life, who has offered you a chance to be an Executive? How different are the two men? Not very, Reynard. The only difference is that one can offer you only suffering now, while the other offers you a way to belong — a way to relieve the loneliness.

Shaken, Reynie thought,
But… Miss… Miss Perumal.

You can
help
her! You can warn her, tell her to keep quiet about the voices in her head. You’ll have Mr. Curtain’s ear — you can vouch for Miss Perumal. You can protect her!

Reynie clasped his hands to his head.
But would she
want
me to do that? At such a cost? No, she wouldn’t. And yet… and yet… it’s impossible! There’s no way out!

Mr. Curtain had finished his juice and was watching Reynard watch the Whisperer. “You’ve missed it, I see,” purred Mr. Curtain. “Well, miss it no longer. Take your seat, Reynard. Take your rightful place.”

Reynie’s mind was so foggy. Had Mr. Curtain said “your rightful place”? Or was that his own mind? And who had been talking to him before that? Wasn’t it the Whisperer? No, he realized. Unfortunately not. It wasn’t the Whisperer at all. It was Reynie himself.

“Reynard!” Mr. Curtain prompted.

Reynie made his way toward the Whisperer. The session would go quickly — a few minutes, Mr. Curtain had said — and then it would be over. And then… he swallowed hard. What would happen to Constance? Would something dreadful happen to her when Mr. Curtain boosted the power? And what would become of the others?

He looked back at Sticky, slumped on a cushion in a posture of weary defeat. Despite his terror, in the face of the Whisperer’s irresistible power, Sticky had resisted with all his might. He would never have done that if not for Reynie’s urging, and now it had put him into disfavor with Mr. Curtain. Was Reynie really going to
help
Mr. Curtain? It would be a betrayal of their friendship! And Kate — to think of what they’d been through together, and the risks she’d taken….

“Ledroptha Curtain!”

The cuffs clasped Reynie’s wrists. The helmet lowered. Reynie closed his eyes, only to see the faces of his friends. He remembered the final question of Mr. Benedict’s first test: Are you brave? Now, at least, Reynie knew the answer. He wasn’t brave. He had only hoped he was.

Good,
said the Whisperer.
What is your name?

“Just get it over with quickly,” Reynie told himself.

Welcome, Reynard Muldoon
.

“Welcome,” Reynie repeated. Yes. Welcome was such a — such a
welcoming
word. It made you feel a part of something. It made you feel… not alone. No, he was not alone at all. And yet…

Reynard Muldoon, what do you fear most?

In his mind’s eye Reynie still saw the faces of his friends. Sticky, Kate, Constance — all watching him with concern. They’d been through so much together! Was he really going to betray them?

“You could never be more alone than if you betrayed your friends,” Reynie said to himself.

Instantly the Whisperer’s voice said,
Don’t worry. You will never betray your friends. You are brave enough
.

Reynie was so startled he almost laughed aloud. The Whisperer was too perceptive for its own good! At the most important moment of all, it had given him just the encouragement he needed — the encouragement to help him fight it!

Let us begin
, said the Whisperer.

Reynie was flooded with a terrific sense of well-being.
Real
well-being — not an illusion at all. He would not betray his friends. He knew that now. He had confronted his worst fear, and now it was gone. No need for the Whisperer to deny it — there was nothing left to deny!

Let us begin
, the Whisperer repeated.