The Perilous Journey (36 page)

Reynie was doing his best to look crestfallen — crestfallen but defiant. “Well, he did! We paid him half the money Mr. Benedict left us and agreed to give him the rest when we got back to the boat! But if we
don’t
get back, he’s going to —”

“Where is this money?” McCracken interrupted.

“Nowhere you can get to it,” Reynie said.

“And where would that be?” said McCracken. From his briefcase he took out an elegant, leather-clad cigar box, gave it a shake, and set it on the ground between Reynie’s feet. A strange, sharp clicking sound came from inside the box, followed by a barely audible squeal. McCracken nudged it with the toe of his well-polished shoe. “Shall I open that? Or do you want to tell me where the money is?”

Reynie stared at the cigar box. He began to perspire. “It’s… it’s on the boat. Hidden in my bag.”

McCracken clucked sympathetically. “Then Risker’s gone, my dear. He took your money and left. That’s the sort of fellow he is, you see. Oh, we’ll check to be sure, but I think you can be confident he’s forgotten you. How did you even know about Risker, hmm? How did you know about this island? Tell me quick, and I might put away my box without opening it.”

With the other children listening in bafflement — they had no idea what Reynie was up to — Reynie told McCracken the truth. He said they had sneaked away from their families to find Mr. Benedict and Number Two. He explained about the clues Mr. Benedict had left for them as part of a surprise trip, about how they’d hoped to follow the clues until they found their friends, at which point they’d intended to contact Rhonda Kazembe. He told McCracken about everything — everything except Milligan and the final clue — and because what Reynie said was true, it was a perfectly convincing account.

McCracken seemed impressed. “You made that trip all by your little lonesomes? My, what big boys and girls you are!” He picked up the cigar box and held it very close to Reynie’s perspiring face. “Sure you don’t want just a peek?” He chuckled and gave the box a shake; the clicking sound inside grew louder. “No? Don’t want to meet Pandora?” He shrugged and put the box back into his briefcase.

Garotte spoke up. “What do you think, fellows? Will Risker make things inconvenient for us?”

“I rather doubt it,” said Crawlings. “If he’s stolen the chickadees’ money, he isn’t likely to contact the authorities.”

“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Martina, irritated to have been left out of the discussion. “We still need to report this to Mr. Curtain. Give me your radio, Crawlings.”

Crawlings raised his single eyebrow. “Oh dear, I never said we shouldn’t report it, did I? But I’m afraid my radio’s of no use.” He pretended to look apologetic. “There’s no reception in the cave, remember?”

Martina cursed under her breath. With a haughty toss of her hair she said, “I’ll need to take the Salamander, then. Garrotte, you drive me. The rest of you wait here. We won’t be gone long.”

“Why not bring the children?” asked McCracken.

“Because I said so,” Martina growled.

She offered no explanation beyond this, but Reynie felt pretty sure he knew what she was thinking. Here in the shelter they were under Martina’s direct control. That would change once they were brought to Mr. Curtain, and Martina was in no hurry for that to happen. No doubt she had some nasty punishment in mind for them — perhaps one inflicted by the Ten Men, who must obey her — and didn’t wish to lose her opportunity. She probably hated to wait even a minute, but she wouldn’t dare put off her report to Mr. Curtain.

“Before I go,” Martina said, jerking her thumb toward Kate, “we need to take her bucket away and search her pockets. She’s a tricky one. Here, McCracken, you hold her while I search her.”

It was shrewd of Martina to have McCracken hold Kate, who might otherwise have relieved her of several teeth. As it was, Kate was left unable to speak or even breathe as Martina searched her — very thoroughly and none too gently — from head to foot. When McCracken released her, Kate fell to her knees, clutching her midsection and gasping for breath.

“That’s just for starters,” Martina said with a satisfied smile. “Wait till I get back — then things will
really
get fun. Let’s go, Garrotte. McCracken, you keep a close eye on them, you hear me? I don’t want any chance of their getting away.”

“They won’t be getting away.”

“Just do as I say,” said Martina. She grinned at Kate, who was struggling to her feet, and held up the bucket so Kate could see her leave with it. Then she went out, followed by Garrotte, and McCracken barred the door behind them.

“Why bar the door?” asked Crawlings. “We’ll just have to open it again when her highness returns.”

McCracken grunted. “You’re a fine fellow, Crawlings, but you have yet to learn proper caution.”

“I’m cautious enough, aren’t I?” Crawlings said. “Oh sure, I’ve had a bad scrape or two, but I’m cautious, McCracken. I’ll wager I’m as cautious as you!”

“And yet I’m in possession of both my eyebrows, and you’re not.”

Sharpe snickered. “He has you there, Crawlings!”

“At any rate,” said McCracken, “there’s something about all this that doesn’t quite fit, and when I figure out what it is, I want to be ready.”

“Shall we do an inventory?” asked Crawlings.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” said McCracken. “At the very least it will pass the time until her ladyship returns.”

As if in response to some unseen signal, the Ten Men knelt in unison and set their briefcases before them. They were in the middle of the room, where the light from the lantern was strongest, and the children — also in unison — flinched at the sound of the dreadful briefcases being unbuckled.

Outside, the Salamander rumbled out of the village. Then all was quiet except for the Ten Men going through their briefcases. It was clearly a serious business, yet the men surveyed the contents of their briefcases with expressions of happy expectation, even jollity, as if they were selecting chocolates from a holiday tray. The children watched in horror as they laid out tidy rows of sharpened pencils; an assortment of ink pens in various colors; staple removers (which resembled nothing so much as metallic piranhas); sleek-looking calculators; stacks of brilliant white business cards; elegant letter openers tucked into monogrammed leather sheaths — and, of course, the dreaded laser pointers.

Crawlings held up his pointer. “What do you think?” he said, wriggling his eyebrow and jerking his chin toward the children. “Shall I take just the very tip of one of their noses? I’m thinking of a collection.”

McCracken frowned. “You’d waste your only shot on the tip of a nose? This is what I mean about proper caution, Crawlings.”

“Oh, don’t be so serious,” said Crawlings. “I was only sporting for the kittens’ sake.” He grinned at the children. Evidently he very much enjoyed frightening them. “At any rate, you know I prefer to use this.” He lifted up what appeared to be an ordinary clipboard.

McCracken nodded approvingly. “That’s because you’re so good with it.”

“It’s true,” Sharpe said, patting Crawlings on the back. “I’ve never seen anyone so smart with a clip —”

“You’re nothing but a bunch of monsters!” Sticky blurted, finding his voice at last, and the other children stared at him in shock. “Why aren’t you disgusted with yourselves? I mean, look at you! You like
hurting
people! You like frightening
children
!”

He fell abruptly silent, every bit as shocked by his outburst as the others had been and regretting it extremely. What kind of fool wanted to make a Ten Man angry? He hadn’t even realized he was going to speak. With his breath coming in ragged gulps and his emotions still awhirl, Sticky braced himself for the response.

But the Ten Men only looked over at him with expressions of mild interest, and McCracken chuckled and said, “We don’t like frightening children in
particular,
sweetie. It isn’t our fault you’re still a child, is it? Now, why don’t you leave the grownups to their discussion? You wouldn’t want to distract us, would you? We might grow annoyed.”

Sharpe fanned himself with his clipboard. “You know, McCracken, I get so
warm
when I’m annoyed. It makes me want to loosen my tie.”

“Very warm indeed,” Crawlings murmured, pretending to mop his bald head with his handkerchief. “I may have to take
my
tie off, too.”

McCracken eyed the handkerchief. “Again, Crawlings. Proper caution.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t be such a mother duck, McCracken. I’m not going to blow my
nose
with it.”

McCracken and Sharpe laughed at this, and Crawlings carefully folded the handkerchief and returned it to his pocket. The Ten Men resumed their dark discussion.

Sticky was shaking so violently his handcuffs jingled. He longed to polish his spectacles, but with his wrists cuffed to Constance and Reynie it was too difficult to manage.

“It’s okay,” Reynie whispered. “It’s going to be okay.”

Sticky looked at him. “H-how?”

Reynie had no idea. He looked down the line at Constance and Kate. Constance, evidently impressed by Sticky’s outburst, was staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. She seemed to be holding up fairly well. Kate, on the other hand, was still clutching her midsection, and it occurred to Reynie that McCracken might really have injured her. He was about to ask if she was all right when Kate suddenly cocked her head to the side, and Constance stiffened. They had heard something. Kate squeezed the smaller girl’s hand — as if to warn her not to speak — and turned to face the wall.

McCracken glanced up. “What’s the matter, honey? You don’t like watching us get our things together?”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Kate said.

“Ah! Mixed up your insides a bit, did I? Happens sometimes. Well, that’s a good girl, then. You do your business against the wall where we won’t have to step in it.” He went back to his briefcase materials.

There was enough slack in the chain for Reynie and the others to huddle close to Kate and pretend to comfort her. In fact they were looking at what Kate had just detected and pointed out. A tiny drill bit was boring through the masonry between two stones in the wall. The bit made only the faintest scratching sound as it poked through the masonry, no more than an insect might have made, and this scratching was what the girls had heard. After a moment the bit withdrew, leaving a worm-sized hole, and in its place appeared a tightly rolled scrap of paper. Kate removed the paper. It was a note from Milligan:

Stay where you are until I appear. Then run straight for the door. Do not hesitate even for a moment.

Kate passed the note to Constance, who read it and passed it to the boys.

“Everything all right?” Crawlings called over to them. “Lost your cookies yet, dear heart?”

“Not yet,” Kate called back in a strangled voice.

“Leave her alone!” Sticky shouted, forgetting himself again. He clapped his hands over his mouth, accidentally yanking Reynie and Constance’s hands up as well.

“Easy, Sticky,” Reynie cautioned, though he couldn’t help noticing that Constance seemed to benefit from Sticky’s impudence. Each time he lashed out at the Ten Men, she looked less frightened and more like her usual defiant self.

Sharpe snickered and muttered something to the other Ten Men about “that bald one spoiling for a handkerchief.” The others murmured their assent.

The Ten Men had begun putting their things back into the briefcases and were talking in low voices now, which to Reynie seemed far more sinister than when they’d been speaking up for the children’s benefit. He felt his own stomach turning as badly as Kate’s appeared to be. Milligan was coming for them, but how were they supposed to run for the door? They were chained up!

Constance looked at him and whispered, “But how are we going to… you know, how do we
do
it?”

“Hold on,” Kate muttered. She began to cough, then to gag, and then to spit. Over by the lantern the Ten Men smirked and snorted. Kate thrust her head forward a few times like a pecking chicken, made one last, repulsive retching sound, and fell silent. For a moment she stood with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily through her nose. Then she looked over at her friends, winked, and gave them a huge grin.

Clenched between her teeth was a key.

Kate had switched one of her old farm keys for the handcuff key. That was why Reynie had seen her slip her hand down inside her bucket — she’d been seeking, by touch, a key that might pass for the one McCracken had given Martina. Anticipating a search, Kate had swallowed the handcuff key and dropped the farm key when McCracken grabbed her. Reynie understood all this at once, but Constance and Sticky only stared, confused. Hadn’t they seen McCracken take that key away?

“We’ll explain later,” Reynie whispered. He was afraid the sound of the handcuffs opening would catch the Ten Men’s attention, so he told Kate to go back to retching, which she did promptly and with great gusto. As she made one horrible noise after another, with her friends gathered around as if to comfort her, Kate unlocked all their handcuffs and adjusted them to fit much larger wrists. The children would appear to be cuffed but could easily slip loose when the time came.

But when would it come? That was the most pressing question now, for they needed to be ready when it did.

The Ten Men were standing up, their briefcases repacked and buckled closed, and were shaking hands all around as if they’d just concluded an agreeable meeting. Milligan still had not appeared. McCracken stuck a pencil behind his ear and walked over to the children. “Guess what?” he said in a tone of cheerful excitement. He knelt in front of Constance, who shrank away, avoiding his gaze. “You’re a lucky ducky, little one! You get to help McCracken!”

“Help you?” Constance asked.

“Oh, yes! You see, I’ve been going over things in my mind, and I’m still not satisfied with the way your story all fits together. I think you’re hiding something from old McCracken, you naughty things, and I’m going to find out what it is!”

“If you don’t like my story,” Reynie said, “then why aren’t you talking to me?”