The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart
Reynie saw a troubled look cross Kate’s face. Had it occurred to her, too? Mr. Curtain suspected another snoop on the island — that was why he’d changed the door codes, after all. So what if . . . ?
“We need to think about this,” Reynie whispered.
But Kate was already reaching for the keypad. “No time for thinking. He’s coming!”
“H-he?” Sticky repeated.
That was why Kate’s expression had changed. She’d heard something, and now Reynie and the others heard it, too — down in the main passage, growing louder by the second, an electric whine, a shifting of gears. . . .
It was Mr. Curtain.
They had no choice but to go through this door, even though Reynie had no answer to his last burning question: What if it was a trap?
Practice Makes Perfect
The door slid open. The children dashed through. They found themselves in a warm, bright room that smelled heavily of newsprint and ink. It seemed to be some kind of press office. Two tables stacked with printed material stretched across the middle of the room, and in the far corner an oversized printer was spitting out page after page. A television stood near the printer — its screen flashing but the volume turned down — and on top of it sat a glass of juice. The room appeared to be in the process of being disassembled: Two long tables had been folded up and leaned vertically against one wall; several empty wooden crates were stacked against the other. This was clearly a busy place, and only temporarily empty.
Mr. Curtain rolled into the room twenty seconds later carrying a tall stack of newspapers in his lap. Empty was how the room appeared to him, too. Humming a chipper tune, Mr. Curtain shot over to the printer and began sorting through the printouts.
Meanwhile, the entire membership of the Mysterious Benedict Society, crammed inside an empty crate like a bunch of discarded dolls, peered out through the spaces between the crate’s wooden slats. Reynie, because of the unfortunate angle of his neck and the weight of Constance upon it, was only able to see a bit of floor. Constance’s view of the ceiling was little better. Sticky, however, was in the perfect position to see the evidence of the unfortunate thing that had just happened; and by pinching Kate’s ankle to get her attention, then repeatedly blinking and rolling his eyes, he tried to explain it to her. His eyes, wide as saucers, seemed to Kate more anxious and panicky than usual. This was understandable, she thought, given their predicament. Although, wasn’t something missing? Something about his eyes? And was he trying to point something out to her? Kate swiveled her own eyes to see what Sticky was looking at.
There, in plain sight on the floor outside the crate, were his spectacles.
They must have come loose when Kate tossed him into the crate. She hadn’t seen them fall — she was too busy throwing Constance over her shoulder, tumbling in after the boys, and pulling the top of the crate over them. But she saw them now, all right. And if Mr. Curtain hadn’t been absorbed in his newspapers when he came in, he would have spotted them, too. But the moment he finished his task at the printer and turned around . . .
Kate could tell the spectacles were beyond her reach. She would need to consult her bucket. This proved a bit tricky, though — one arm she could not move at all; the other she had to thread around Constance’s neck while pressing her elbow into Sticky’s nose; and she had to bend her wrist backward at an unnatural angle that hurt like the dickens. A bit tricky, yes, but Kate managed it, and with a sharp tug (which brought tears to Sticky’s eyes), she had her horseshoe magnet.
The spectacles had wire rims. Kate just hoped it was the proper kind of wire.
Mr. Curtain had turned the volume up on the television. A news anchor was saying something about the Emergency. Mr. Curtain giggled — actually giggled — as if he were watching a comedy show. He sipped his juice and returned to his work, humming again.
From her awkward angle inside the crate, Kate could see Mr. Curtain’s wheels pointed toward the printer. Now was the time. She slipped her arm between two crate slats and stretched it out as far as she could. The magnet was still a few inches short of the spectacles. Gripping it as tightly as she could between two fingers, Kate stretched just a tiny bit further. The spectacles twitched. Then quivered. Then slid over to meet the magnet with a click.
Mr. Curtain’s humming stopped. “Hey? Who’s there?”
With a sharp squeak, the wheels whipped about to face the crate, into which Kate, a split second before, had drawn the spectacles. There was a long pause, a tap-tap-tapping of fingers on a hard surface, and finally a grunt. The wheels turned away.
A few minutes later Mr. Curtain had left the room.
The children piled out of the crate, stretching their stiff limbs and rubbing their bruises.
Reynie looked quickly about. “He took his juice, so maybe he’s not coming back. Constance, will you stand guard? You know the code — if you hear someone coming, run in and warn us.” He ushered her out the door before she could think to argue.
Sticky was already going through a stack of fresh printouts. “These are government press releases.”
“What’s a press release?” Kate asked, looking over his shoulder.
“A kind of report sent to the newspapers to be printed,” Sticky said. He scratched his head. “Strange, these are all dated from the future. One’s from next week, one’s from the week after, and so on for months — even years!”
“They’re planned press releases,” Reynie said, coming over to flip through the pile. “Articles Mr. Curtain intends to have printed in the newspapers. And they all have something to do with him. Look at the headline on this one from next week: ‘ESTEEMED SCIENTIST AND EDUCATOR APPOINTED TO IMPORTANT POST.’”
Sticky groaned and took off his spectacles. “Will you read it aloud, Reynie? I’m afraid I need to polish these.”
And so Reynie read aloud:
LEDROPTHA CURTAIN, the recently named Minister And Secretary of all The Earth’s Regions (M.A.S.T.E.R.), had this to say about his new role: “The governments of the world have established my position as that of an advisor and coordinator in this time of crisis. Being a private man, I accept the honor reluctantly, believing it my duty.”
“That’s preposterous!” Kate said. “There’s no such position!”
“Apparently there will be. It says here that the governments have finally reorganized themselves in response to the Emergency.”
Sticky spluttered. “But the Emergency is made up — it’s something Mr. Curtain created! I can’t believe every single —”
“That’s it!” Reynie cried, staring intently at the paper. He felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by alarm — as if he’d finally succeeded in translating hieroglyphics only to discover he’d translated a curse.
“What’s it, Reynie?” asked Kate.
“The Emergency is the first step,” Reynie said, thumping the paper. “Mr. Curtain thinks fear is the most important element in human personality, remember? It’s why the Whisperer has so much appeal to Messengers — it soothes their fears, and Mr. Curtain uses that to motivate them. So what if he created a fear, a fear everyone would hold in common, a fear the entire public would share?”
“The fear that everything is hopelessly out of control,” Kate said.
“Exactly! Then his next step would be to soothe that fear with just the right message. The Messengers all love the Whisperer with a passion, right? Well, Mr. Curtain intends to make it so that everyone in the world will feel the way Messengers do!”
“Everyone will love the Whisperer?” Sticky said.
“No,” Reynie said. “Everyone will love him.”
Reynie was putting it all together now. “So those journal entries — the places where he seemed to be talking to himself — ‘Trust Ledroptha Curtain’ and all that. They were rough drafts!”
“He’s working on his new message,” Sticky said, finally understanding.
Kate couldn’t help but laugh. “You mean ‘Ledroptha Curtain Stops the Hurtin’ was a
Reynie handed another press release to Kate. “Look at this one: ‘CURTAIN BEST MAN TO HANDLE BAFFLING AMNESIA EPIDEMIC.’”
“An amnesia epidemic?” Sticky said.
Kate had moved down the table to rifle through a stack of pamphlets, shaking her head in disgust. “And here’s how he intends to pull it off.” She handed each boy a pamphlet. Reluctantly Sticky put his glasses back on, and in grim silence they all read the pamphlet. It was an official advisory from something called the Public Health Administration:
Just what is Sudden Amnesia Disease (SAD)? SAD is an extremely contagious disease that causes total memory loss in those who contract it.
What’s being done about it? Although the origin and cure of this disease have yet to be found, they’re being investigated by a group of experts headed by none other than Ledroptha Curtain, the highly regarded scientist and our newly named Minister And Secretary of all The Earth’s Regions. SAD cases are admitted for free care at the Amnesia Sanctuary on Nomansan Island, a state-of-the-art facility where patients live comfortably, under strict quarantine, while the cure for their disease is sought.
Am I a SAD case? Are my neighbors? A common first symptom of SAD is the belief that one hears children’s voices in one’s head. The onset of this symptom is most sudden, and once it has begun, it persists without interruption until amnesia sets in.
Reynie flipped to the next page, which showed a picture of two smiling Recruiters. They had their hands on the shoulders of Jackson the Executive, who was trying his best to look miserable and happy at the same time. The photo caption read: “Already feeling better! A SAD case jokes around with our friendly doctors.”
Sticky had finished the pamphlet and hurried to the other table. “There are more over here, printed in dozens of languages!”
“I can’t believe it,” Kate said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
For Reynie it all made too much sense. The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. “This whole thing,” he said bleakly, “the Helpers, the Recruiters, the Messengers — the entire Institute — it’s all been one big experiment to make sure his plan can work. Mr. Curtain has been practicing. The Institute will become the Amnesia Sanctuary — he needs a place to put all the people who resist him!”
“People like us,” said Kate.
“People including us,” said Sticky.
Know Thine Enemy
I still say it makes no sense,” Kate said. “It can’t really happen, can it? He intends to brainsweep everyone who resists him? Doesn’t he have to put them in his Whisperer to do that? What about people in other countries?”
Sticky waved a handful of pamphlets. “He has Sanctuaries set up all over the world. The maps on the back show their locations.”
Kate humphed, then frowned curiously. She had just noticed the edge of a doorframe behind the folded tables leaning against the wall.
“It is hard to understand how he’ll manage it, though,” Reynie said. “Sticky, remember when he told us the Whisperer was going to be a ‘healing device’ that would bring peace to thousands of troubled minds?”
“Even millions,” Sticky said with a shiver. “I remember.”
Kate had squeezed behind the tables and found a numeric keypad by the covered-up doorway.
“But how would that be possible? So many people brainswept in so short a time? That’s a major operation — it would take ages to prepare for it.” Reynie felt an unexpected burst of optimism. “Maybe we’ve gotten lucky! Maybe we’re in time. If we can just figure out how —”
“Boys?” Kate poked her head out from behind the tables. “There’s a door back here. You need to see what’s on the other side.” She spoke in an oddly strangled voice, as if she’d just seen a dead body.
Sticky’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “I don’t want to. Reynie, you look and then tell me about it.”
But Reynie grabbed Sticky’s arm, and together they went to look through the door.
“Oh,” said Reynie.
“Oh, no,” said Sticky.
“Are those what I think they are?” Kate asked. “They look like old-timey hair dryers.”
“I’m afraid so,” Reynie said.
The machines stretched in long rows — row after row after row — across a vast underground warehouse. An elegantly lettered sign that hung from the ceiling read: WELCOME TO MEMORY TERMINAL. Along one wall were stacked hundreds of crates. Reynie bent to inspect the nearest one. It was filled with bundles of paper and marked with an address in China. The crate next to it bore the same address but was filled with machine parts — including, he noted, a red helmet and a blue one.
“It really is happening,” said Kate. “I can’t believe it.”
“So what’s in the crates?” said Constance.
They turned to find Constance standing in the doorway behind them.
“What happened to standing guard?” Sticky cried.
“You took too long!”
Sticky’s eyes bulged, but Reynie cut him off before they could start arguing. “She’s right. We have taken too long. We need to get out of here before it’s too late.”
And yet as they rushed out of the Memory Terminal and up the long secret passage, Reynie couldn’t stop thinking, “But we are too late! Much, much too late!”
The night was rainy, the plaza deserted. The light in the distant woods had stopped flashing, and Sticky turned from the window. “They want us to wait for a reply. I guess it’s a lot for them to think about.”
It was a lot for everyone to think about.
None of the children spoke. They only waited.
An interminable hour passed. Constance fell asleep sitting cross-legged, and Kate repeatedly asked Reynie to thumb-wrestle her to pass the time. Reynie declined. Even thumb-wrestling felt beyond his ability at the moment. Everything did. He was hoping against hope that Mr. Benedict would find some way to save them — to save everyone — without requiring anything more from him. Reynie didn’t think he was capable of more, not since the Whisperer. He was worried, deeply worried, that the Whisperer had revealed to him who he truly was.
At the window Sticky suddenly sat up straight. “Here’s a message!” He adjusted his spectacles and stared intently toward the mainland. “Know . . . thine . . . enemy.” After a minute Sticky climbed down. “That’s it. ‘Know thine enemy.’”
Kate looked hopefully at Reynie. “I don’t suppose you know what he means, do you? Just right off the bat?”
Reynie shook his head. “No idea.”
Kate sighed. “Then I suppose we’ll have to wake up Constance. It’s been so pleasant not to have anyone grumping and mumping for a few minutes.”
The children woke Constance (who claimed she hadn’t been sleeping) and put their heads together. What could it mean? Didn’t they already know Mr. Curtain was the enemy?
“Why do they say it like that, anyway?” Constance muttered. “It sounds stupid.”
“It’s an old saying,” said Reynie. “That’s how it’s usually said.”
“At least in the early translation,” Sticky said. “Originally it appears in a book by Sun Tzu called The Art of War. It comes at the end of the third chapter.”
The others stared at him.
“Well, it does,” Sticky said.
“I think we need more,” said Kate. “We’re in too big a hurry and have no idea what they’re talking about. Let’s ask for another hint.”
The others agreed — it couldn’t hurt to ask — so Sticky returned to the window and sent a follow-up question: Which enemy? But to this he received no reply. Sticky repeated the message and again got no reply. He was about to try a third time when Reynie stopped him.
“There has to be a reason they’re not replying,” Reynie said. “Are you sure the coast is clear?”
Sticky cringed. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He peered out the window. “The plaza’s empty . . . so’s the rock garden . . . the shor
“Let me look,” Kate said, climbing up beside him and sweeping her eyes from left to right. “Sticky’s right, it does seem clear.” She took out her spyglass and scanned the view again. “Nope, no one out there that — oh, no!”
Kate jerked away from the window, and Sticky, alarmed, leaped backward. He tumbled onto Reynie and Constance — who luckily had covered their heads, expecting whatever it was to come crashing into the room.
“Sorry!” Kate whispered sheepishly. “It’s all right. I thought he was staring right back at me. But he’s too far away for that, of course. The spyglass makes him seem closer.”
Frazzled, the others gathered themselves up.
Kate was looking out the window again. “He really is staring in this direction, though. Oh, it gives me the creeps. Surely he’s not looking at our window? I have to remember it’s dark in here. He can’t see me.”
“Who are you talking about, Kate?” Reynie asked nervously.
“A Recruiter. He’s standing down under the edge of the bridge.” She lowered the spyglass and squinted into the darkness. “No wonder Sticky didn’t see him. Without the spyglass he just looks like a shadow among the bridge pilings.”
“Maybe the message was a warning,” Constance said. “To let us know an enemy was out there watching.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Constance!” Sticky said impatiently. “If they’d seen him there, they wouldn’t have sent any message at all.”
“You don’t make any sense,” Constance snapped. “They shouldn’t have sent you at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t know who you think you are —”
“Easy, you two,” Reynie said. “A message broadcast just started, didn’t you notice? It’s making us cranky.”
It was true. Though the messages were unpleasant as ever — and came more frequently now that Mr. Curtain had some sessions recorded — the children were getting used to them. Sometimes they didn’t immediately recognize the reason for their bursts of fussiness.