The Prisoner's Dilemma (15 page)

“Which led him straight back here to Stonetown, right?” said Kate. “Because she came to take your tests.”

Mr. Benedict tapped his nose. “And we all met her the day after that. Presumably she stopped reading newspapers once she left the library and so never heard about the fire. I saw no reason to mention it.” He held up his hand, anticipating Sticky’s response. “Put your mind at rest, Sticky. I would have told her soon regardless. There’s more to the story, you see, and had Constance not been in such a volatile state of mind, perhaps she would have stayed to hear the details.”

Sticky perked up. “What details?”

“Not all the books were lost,” said Rhonda. “A few were salvaged by a librarian who had managed to hide from the Recruiters in a storage room.”

“Constance’s storage room!” Kate exclaimed.

“Most likely,” said Rhonda. “When this librarian smelled smoke she began loading boxes of books onto a cart, and as soon as she knew the Recruiters were gone she fled the building—taking the cart with her. It was from her that we learned all these details.”

“We made sure none of this was reported to the newspapers,” Number Two said. “Otherwise the Recruiters would have returned to finish their job. We helped the librarian go into hiding, and we took the books for safekeeping.”

“You mean the books are
here
?” cried Kate.

“In your
house
?” cried Sticky.

“In the attic,” said Number Two. “Four boxes of them.”

“They must be awfully overdue,” Kate said.

Mr. Benedict, his eyes still melancholy, laughed nonetheless. “We intended to return them when the library was rebuilt, but construction has been delayed due to lack of funds. At any rate, if Constance’s papers are not among these books, we can assume they were destroyed in the fire. In either case I shall know the best way to proceed. Constance has nothing to worry about. In fact she should be encouraged.”

“Wouldn’t you like to go tell her that, Mr. Benedict?” asked Rhonda. “You’re clearly worried about her.”

“I had better not,” said Mr. Benedict, with a wave to acknowledge Rhonda’s concern. “I suspect she has locked herself into her room, in which case she won’t let me in for some time, and at the moment I haven’t any to spare. It’s also possible that Reynie is with her—I assume that’s where he’s run off to—which would be for the best. She’s unlikely to listen to me right now, but she may respond to him.”

“Speaking of which,” Kate said, for just then Reynie stepped back into the chamber.

“She wouldn’t open the door,” Reynie said, after confirming that Constance had indeed locked herself into her room. “I’m not even sure she could hear me knocking. She was sobbing pretty loudly and throwing things around.”

Mr. Benedict received this news with a somber nod. But then he drew himself up and said briskly, “Well, we must remind ourselves that she is going to be fine. The disorienting effects of her session will soon fade, and there is nothing but good news for her ahead. I will let your friends tell you what I mean by this, Reynie, for now”—he was checking his pocket watch—”yes, even now Mr. Pressius is on his way back here, and I must be calm and focused when I deal with him.”

“Calm and focused” was what Reynie, Sticky, and Kate agreed they must be, too. After a quick discussion about the best way to handle things, the three of them hurried back to the girls’ room only to discover that Constance was no longer there.

“She knew we’d come,” Reynie surmised, looking around. “I guess she really wants to be alone.”

Constance had thrown an impressive tantrum—the floor was such a mess there was hardly room to step—and Kate, clicking her tongue, right away set about straightening up. “Maybe we should give her a little time and then go look for her,” she said as she returned pillows to beds and clothes to hangers. “What do you boys think?”

The boys readily agreed. Though no one wished to admit it aloud, the truth was they were all relieved, for in her current state Constance would have been close to unbearable. Half-guilty and half-glad, the three of them settled onto the rug, which Kate had tidied with typical frenzied speed.

“I think I’ve figured something out,” said Reynie. “Something about S.Q. and Mr. Curtain.”

Sticky and Kate listened intently as Reynie reminded them what Constance had said in the chamber. Neither of them had noticed the look in Mr. Benedict’s eye or given any thought to his interest in Constance’s comment about S.Q. Pedalian. Kate (who disliked waiting) had been wondering how long the session would last, and Sticky had been secretly wishing he were somewhere else, for just being in the same room with the Whisperer made his head sweat.

“Suddenly it all made sense to me,” Reynie said now, his voice an excited whisper. “Jackson and Jillson said S.Q. got extra sessions in the Whisperer, right? They thought he was getting rewarded for his loyalty, but
I
think Mr. Curtain was burying some of his memories!”

“So
that’s
what made him seem so dimwitted?” Kate said.

“Well, my guess is he wasn’t the sharpest file in the drawer to begin with,” Reynie said, “but I’ll bet a lot of his confusion came from losing memories all the time. If
we
kept losing memories, I imagine we’d be mixed-up, too.”

“But why would Mr. Curtain go to so much trouble?” Sticky wondered. “What was it he wanted S.Q. to forget? To
keep
forgetting?”

“Think about the riddle Mr. Benedict gave us,” said Reynie.

Sticky looked puzzled. “Mr. Curtain wanted S.Q. to forget ‘love’”

“Um… no,” Reynie said. “But love is the reason Mr. Curtain went to so much trouble.”

“Okay, you just lost me,” said Kate. “First of all, I still have a hard time believing Mr. Curtain loves anything but control. But if he does love S.Q., why would he do something so awful to him?”

“To keep his loyalty,” Reynie replied. “Can you think of anyone else as dedicated to him? The Ten Men follow Mr. Curtain for money, the Executives did it mostly for power, but S.Q. seems genuinely to admire him. He does whatever Mr. Curtain wants, sticks with him despite miserable treatment—he’s as loyal as anyone could possibly be. And why? We’ve seen it ourselves. He thinks Mr. Curtain is trying to do
good.
”

“I never could understand how he managed to believe that,” Sticky said, “despite all evidence to the contrary. But I suppose if Mr. Curtain kept removing his memories of that evidence…”

“Exactly,” said Reynie, “and I think there’s even more to it than that. The Whisperer can also suppress your greatest fears, right?”

“Right,” said Sticky. “So?”

“So S.Q. was an orphan when he got to the Institute,” Reynie said, “and Mr. Curtain was the closest thing to a father that he had.” He shrugged. “S.Q.
wanted
to believe good things about him.”

“You mean S.Q.’s greatest fear—”

“Is the truth,” said Reynie. “The truth about Mr. Curtain.”

For a while the three of them, in growing excitement, discussed the implications of this new idea. Without the Whisperer at his disposal, Mr. Curtain had been unable to continue S.Q.’s sessions. Wasn’t it likely, then, that S.Q. would find it harder and harder to avoid the truth? Hadn’t they already seen some evidence of that during their last encounter with him? True, Mr. Benedict had been compelled to trick S.Q. in order to save the children, and this was surely a setback—but wouldn’t S.Q. eventually see that he was wasting his admiration on the wrong twin? That it was Mr. Benedict who was good and Mr. Curtain who cared about no one but himself? And when that moment arrived, might not S.Q. Pedalian prove to be the chink in Mr. Curtain’s armor?

“No wonder Mr. Benedict took such an interest in what Jackson and Jillson said,” Sticky reflected, “even though Mr. Gaines and his crowd didn’t think much of it.”

“I wonder if Mr. Curtain knows,” Kate mused. She was staring off at nothing in particular, absently retying her ponytail as her right foot jiggled with pent-up energy. Or perhaps it was her left foot—her legs were so twisted up it was difficult to tell.

“Knows what?” Reynie asked.

“Hmm?” Kate saw the boys looking at her expectantly. “Oh, I was just wondering if Mr. Curtain realizes he cares so much about S.Q.’s opinion. Or if he gives himself some excuse for going to all that trouble, when it would have been so much easier to just brainsweep S.Q. and get rid of him. Mr. Curtain wouldn’t like to think himself weak, you know.”

“Good question,” Reynie said.

“Well, I wouldn’t like to say I sympathize with him,” Kate said, “but for a long time I refused to believe I needed anyone myself—and
I’m
not an egomaniac madman like Mr. Curtain. I’m sure he’s capable of—”

As if to affirm just exactly what Mr. Curtain was capable of, at that moment the angry, shouting voice of Mr. Pressius came in through the window. They jumped up and ran to look out.

Mr. Pressius stood at the closed gate, gesticulating wildly, his face inches away from Mr. Benedict’s own. On the sidewalk around him, and even spilling into the street, were at least a dozen police officers, as well as a handful of government agents in suits and sunglasses. Mr. Benedict stood calmly in the courtyard, his hands resting atop the iron gate. Behind him stood Milligan and Ms. Plugg, observing the exchange with close attention.

“What do you mean I need more signatures?” Mr. Pressius roared. “Whose signatures could I possibly need? I have a
court order
! Right here!” He shook a piece of paper in Mr. Benedict’s face.

A government agent stepped forward and spoke in Mr. Pressius’s ear.

“But that’s preposterous!” Mr. Pressius cried, turning on the agent. “My daughter is being held captive by this very man before you! And you mean to say I need an entire committee’s
permission
to go in and get her? Or else I need
his
? This
criminal
? That’s outrageous! You told me—” The agent quickly spoke into his ear again, and Mr. Pressius, furiously rattling the gate, shouted, “But why didn’t you say anything about this when I
asked
you? What kind of bureaucratic nonsense is this, with you fools and your top-secret—”

Suddenly Milligan’s voice rang out. He spoke quite clearly and calmly even though he had to shout to be heard over Mr. Pressius’s ranting. “Mr. Shields,” he bellowed to the agent standing beside Mr. Pressius, “you know your orders. Any person who disregards protocol and jeopardizes the project by publicly revealing—”

Even before Milligan had finishing speaking, Mr. Shields had clapped one hand over Mr. Pressius’s mouth and another firmly on his shoulder. The astonished Mr. Pressius’s eyes grew huge, and he was too flummoxed to resist as the agent wheeled him about and marched him toward a car at the curb. A few uncertain police officers made as if to intervene, but another agent, flashing her badge, indicated that they were free to let the disagreeable man be taken away. The officers relaxed and smiled, obviously relieved. They had a brief, hushed conversation with the agents there on the sidewalk, then a quick word with Ms. Plugg at the gate (Mr. Benedict and Milligan had already gone inside), and then everyone shook hands all around. A minute later the sidewalk was empty.

Reynie, Sticky, and Kate, who had witnessed the entire scene, were fairly breathless from cheering and laughing and talking at once.

“Mr. Benedict
knew
he couldn’t take her! He knew it all along!”

“But Mr. Pressius had no idea! Did you see his face?”

“He sure isn’t used to being contradicted, is he? That would have taken a lot longer if he hadn’t blown his top.”

“I’ll bet that’s what Mr. Benedict was counting on!”

And then all together when the last police officer had ambled away: “Let’s go tell Constance!”

They felt sure Constance would be cheered by the story of Mr. Pressius’s defeat—perhaps she’d even seen it herself—but first they’d have to find her. After a quick search of the third floor they hurried down to the dining room, where Mrs. Washington and Miss Perumal were at the window discussing the incident.

“—a relief,” Mrs. Washington was saying to Miss Perumal. “He’d brought so many with him, after all, and at first I thought they would bash in the front door and storm the house!”