The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart
Mr. Curtain laughed a terrifying, screech-owl laugh, and said, “Oh, no, I’m afraid not, George. But I thank you for reminding me how pathetic children are. Quick to follow, quicker still to flee. Yes, quite pitiful, and annoying as gnats, but certainly not a threat. To think you hoped . . . what did you hope for, anyway? To defeat me? But you’re only children!”
Mr. Curtain erupted into laughter again, a long fit of convulsive screeching. Calming himself with some effort, he said, “Well, no matter. I needn’t dirty my hands clutching your grubby little collars. I’ll summon my Executives to bear you off.”
Mr. Curtain turned to walk back to his chair. He paused, however, at the sight of Reynie Muldoon’s penetrating stare. The boy’s eyes shifted rapidly back and forth, as if calculating something with great concentration. Before Mr. Curtain could ask what the devil he was doing, Reynie said aloud, as if to himself, “Okay, so it isn’t laughter.”
“What are you blathering about, Reynard?” Mr. Curtain demanded.
Reynie hardly seemed to hear him. “With Mr. Benedict, it’s usually laughter that does it. But if it’s not laughter with you, then what? It must be something, otherwise you wouldn’t strap yourself so carefully in. You’re so afraid of losing control — but how, exactly?”
Mr. Curtain’s eyebrows shot up. His entire head quivered like a struck bell. “I have no idea — what the devil are you — snakes and — I haven’t time for your childish —,” he sputtered.
“Yes, you’re definitely afraid of something,” Reynie said more forcefully, his eyes lighting up. “The chair, the straps, the reflective glasses — they’re all there to keep your secret safe from the children. But why are you so afraid of children? Maybe that’s why you keep saying we’re so harmless. You’re trying to convince yourself. In fact you’re scared to death of us! You’re like a tiger afraid of mice! Why else would you stand there shaking in your boots?”
“It’s not from fear, you insignificant speck of dust!” roared Mr. Curtain, his face livid with rage. “How dare you! I’ll crush you all like the gnats you are!” And with that, he sprang forward . . . only to drop in a green-plaid heap at the children’s feet, where he promptly began to snore.
Reynie’s breath escaped in a whoosh of relief. Then he nodded. “Laughter usually puts Mr. Benedict to sleep. With Mr. Curtain, it’s anger. Quick, Sticky, let’s tie him up with our sashes.”
Sticky released Constance’s hand, which in his fright he had unconsciously seized, and loosened his sash. “So that’s the reason for the chair and the glasses. When he gets really mad, he goes to sleep, but he doesn’t want anyone to know!”
“All those times he seemed so furious and then suddenly got quiet,” Reynie said, knotting his sash around Mr. Curtain’s ankles, “I always thought he was getting ready to kill me, but really he was just asleep!”
“Um, fellows?” said Constance. “He’s awake.”
The boys jumped back. Sure enough, Mr. Curtain’s eyes were open and looking wildly about. When they fell upon Reynie’s face, they narrowed with hatred. “Oh, that’s right,” he said, yawning. “I was on my way over to kill you. But what’s this? Sashes? Surely you don’t think mere ribbons could restrain me?”
Reynie’s face fell. “I sort of hoped they would.”
“Then you are even more foolish than I perceived you to be,” said Mr. Curtain, and spreading his arms and legs with one powerful thrust, he ripped the sashes in two.
“If we’re so foolish,” Constance shouted before he could rise, “then what does that say about you? You made the boys Messengers even though they always intended to betray you, and we’ve tricked you again and again. We even know about your narcolepsy, though you tried so hard to hide it. If we’re foolish, then you’re the greatest fool of all, since we’re obviously much smarter than you!”
For a moment Mr. Curtain trembled violently, unable even to form words in his fury. Then his eyes closed and he sank back upon the floor.
“That was fun,” Constance said.
“That was close,” Sticky said. “But now what? There’s nothing else to tie him up with.”
“How about this rope?” cried a familiar voice, and to their surprise Kate Wetherall suddenly leaped in through the open window.
She was a welcome sight, but a terrible one. Her cheeks were scratched and bleeding, her lips were swollen, her clothes were torn, her hair stuck out in all directions, and on top of this she was streaked with mud. Yet she seemed cheerful as ever they’d seen her, her bruised, black eyes shining with happiness and her bloody lips spread in a terrific grin. As she knelt to bind Mr. Curtain’s hands and feet, Kate eagerly told them what had happened.
“Your father!” Sticky cried. “I can’t believe it! So that’s why Milligan disappeared all those years ago — he was captured on a mission!”
“But why has he disappeared now?” Constance demanded. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
“He said he was going for help. I didn’t take time to ask for details — I thought you’d need me.”
Reynie nudged the slumbering Mr. Curtain with his toe. “It’s good you came when you did. Otherwise he’d have throttled us when he woke up.”
“So now what?” Constance asked.
Reynie was already moving toward the Whisperer. “I’ve been thinking about what Mr. Curtain said. That the Whisperer is a sensitive — how did he say it, exactly, Sticky?”
“A sensitive, delicately balanced machine that requires his strict mental guidance for its proper function.”
“Exactly, and we also know that its computers are modeled on Mr. Curtain’s brain. Well, if it’s so sensitive and delicate, and if it’s like a brain, we ought to be able to confuse it. Maybe we can trick it into shutting itself down!”
“That’s your plan?” Constance asked doubtfully.
“Any machine can be turned off,” Reynie said, “if only you know how. So let’s figure out how.” He pulled Mr. Curtain’s red helmet down onto his head. Instantly he heard the Whisperer asking his name.
“Ledroptha Curtain!” he barked, just as he had heard Mr. Curtain do.
You are not Ledroptha Curtain, came the reply.
Reynie took a deep breath. He had to trick the Whisperer, had to think just as Mr. Curtain would. Concentrating with all his might, he tried to imagine what a genius he was, and how pleasant life would be once he was known as MASTER Curtain, and what a nuisance children were.
“I am Ledroptha Curtain!” he declared again.
There was a pause. Could the Whisperer be hesitating? Was it uncertain? I must control it, Reynie thought, which definitely reminded him of Mr. Curtain. Focusing on these words, he redoubled his concentration. Control it, he thought. Control it, control it, control it. The pause stretched out. In his mind he thought he could hear a clicking sound, like the tumblers of a lock. This really might work!
Then the Whisperer said, No, you are not Ledroptha Curtain.
An awful chuckle sounded from across the room. Reynie ducked out of the red helmet. Mr. Curtain had opened his eyes. His face showed evident mirth. “Surely you didn’t think you could fool my Whisperer. How typically juvenile. I’m afraid my Whisperer is foolproof, Reynard. Or perhaps I should say childproof — they amount to the same thing.”
At that moment S.Q. Pedalian’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Curtain? I hope this qualifies as an actual emergency, sir. I don’t want to disturb you. But I just received a report that some Executives have been knocked out with tranquilizer darts, and Kate Wetherall was seen climbing through your window. There’s a ladder by the brook, but it’s too short. Shall we send for a taller one and follow her in?”
Mr. Curtain smugly lifted an eyebrow. “Reynard, be a good lad and tell S.Q. you wish to surrender. This will be the most efficient course. You are soon to be captured, regardless.”
“We’re not done yet,” Reynie said determinedly, climbing into the Whisperer’s seat.
S.Q.’s voice came over the intercom ag
“Poor Reynard,” Mr. Curtain said. “The Whisperer won’t activate the blue helmet unless I am wearing the red one. So you see, your idea may have been good — for a child — but ultimately fruitless.”
“He’s trying to trick us!” Kate warned. “He wants us to put him into the Whisperer!”
Reynie had sat beneath the blue helmet, just in case it might work. But about this, at least, Mr. Curtain had told the truth — the helmet wouldn’t come down. He stood and poked his head up into it. Nothing happened.
“This is really very amusing,” Mr. Curtain said.
Reynie turned to his friends. “I have to try it.”
“Splendid!” Mr. Curtain cried.
Sticky grabbed Reynie’s arm. “If you’re sitting in the Whisperer, he can brainsweep you. That’s how he does it. You won’t stand a chance!”
“Maybe not,” Reynie said somberly, “but if we don’t stop him now, he’ll never be stopped. I’ll do my best to resist. If he brainsweeps me, one of you has to take my place. He’s already tired — maybe we can wear him out.”
“How very touching,” Mr. Curtain said. “Willing to be brainswept are you, Reynard? I applaud your sacrifice. That is, I would if my hands were not so crudely bound.”
The others looked uncertainly at Reynie, who smiled as bravely as he could and said, “What choice do we have?”
Sticky and Kate agreed. It was the only thing to do.
With the three of them working quickly together — Constance had retreated into the corner looking more frightened, stubborn, and miserable than ever — they lifted Mr. Curtain (who only smiled, offering no resistance), strapped him into his wheelchair, and rolled him into position beneath the red helmet. Then shaking hands and wishing each other luck, they fitted the helmet over his head.
“Ledroptha Curtain!” he roared in delight.
Reynie’s vision seemed to flicker. Did he have something in his eyes? He blinked and looked again.
Mr. Curtain was smiling triumphantly at him. “Obviously, Reynard, you were unaware of the extent of my improvements. You needn’t be seated in my lovely Whisperer to experience its most powerful effect. In this room you are all quite within range.”
In horror Reynie’s mind flashed back to an entry from Mr. Curtain’s journal, the one that began, “As of this morning, the messages are transmitting directly. To my great satisfaction, the Whisperer is now capable of . . .” They hadn’t seen the last part, but now — too late — Reynie realized how it must have ended. If Mr. Curtain could broadcast messages directly into people’s minds, he could brainsweep them in the same way! He had only to focus on them!
Again Reynie’s vision seemed to flicker, this time for a little longer. Everything simply disappeared, as if the lights had gone out. It came again — a wave of complete blankness. Mr. Curtain was doing it to the others, too: Sticky stood blinking and clutching his head, utterly stunned, and Kate was turning round and round, as if seeking her invisible attacker.
“What . . . what’s happening?” she cried. “What do we do?”
“He’s trying to brainsweep you!” Reynie shouted. “Fight it! Think of everything you love and hold on to it!”
You have to fight, Reynie commanded himself. Think of Miss Perumal. And your favorite books. And Mr. Benedict. And your friends . . . You have to . . . hold on. . . .
“As you can see,” Mr. Curtain was saying, “my machine is capable of much more than whispering. It is capable of shouting! And I’m afraid the final effect is — how to put it? Quite deafening.”
It was like shouting, Reynie thought, an overwhelming shouted silence, above which you could hear nothing else. Nothing else. . . . His eyelids were drooping now. Reynie pinched himself, but he hardly seemed to feel it. He slipped to his knees. It was impossible to fight. Impossible to resist. What could they do? Reynie couldn’t think straight at all. There was nothing they could do . . . nothing they could do . . . nothing they could . . . nothing they . . . nothing they . . . nothing . . . nothing . . .
“What’s this?” Mr. Curtain exclaimed. He cackled with pleasure. “Well, well, well!”
Reynie forced his eyes open. Mr. Curtain was beaming as if he’d been given a marvelous, unexpected present. Sticky had dropped to his hands and knees. Kate was leaning against a wall, trying to hold herself up. And Constance . . . Where was Constance?
The sound of metal cuffs snapping into place drew Reynie’s gaze back to the Whisperer, in which — was it possible? — Constance had just taken a seat.
Now Sticky and Kate were staring, too, their mouths hanging open.
Constance Contraire?
Already the blue helmet had lowered onto the tiny girl’s head. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth set tight and grim. She looked as cranky and unhappy as they had ever seen her. “Reynie Muldoon!” she shouted, and Mr. Curtain’s delighted grin shifted into a frown.
The waves of blankness began to subside.
“Why . . . ,” Kate said, shaking her head to clear it. “Why did she yell your name?”
“The Whisperer asks for your name,” Reynie said. “Constance is resisting it.”
“Sticky Washington!” Constance shouted, and Mr. Curtain quivered with irritation.
“That’s the first time she ever used my nickname,” Sticky said. He sat up on his knees. “But why has the brainsweeping stopped?”
“Mr. Curtain must be focusing all the power on her,” Reynie said in a wondering tone.
“But why would he need to do that?”
Reynie leaped to his feet, having realized the answer.
“The Great Kate Weather Machine!” Constance shouted, and behind her Mr. Curtain said, “Bah!”
“Because she’s resisting!” Reynie cried. “And no one can resist like Constance!”
For a moment Constance and Mr. Curtain both trembled violently, as if caught in an earthquake. Perspiration poured down the face of man and girl alike. And then, in a voice so loud it hurt everyone’s ears, Constance exclaimed: “I . . . don’t . . . CARE!”
This was followed by a crazed string of negatives: “No! I won’t! I will not! You can’t make me! Uh-uh! Never! No!”
Mr. Curtain hissed. “Bend, you obstinate child!”
“NEVER!” Constance shrieked. And indeed it seemed she never would. Mr. Curtain’s face had gone quite purple, and drops of perspiration fell from the tip of his lumpy nose like water from a leaky faucet. It was a fierce battle. The children’s admiration soared. This was Constance’s great gift — the gift of stubborn independence — and she was bringing it to bear with all her might.
For all her valiant resistance, though, the child was, after all, only a child. As the minutes passed, Constance’s voice grew more cracked and strained, her cheeks redder and redder, her strength closer to failing. She could not hold out forever. Indeed, she seemed ready at any moment to fly apart like a broken doll.
“Can’t we do something?” Sticky cried. “It’s killing her!”
Yet what could they do but stare helplessly at the poor girl? If they could remove her somehow, one of the others could take her place. But Constance was shackled into place. The children watched in growing despair as the brave child grew weaker and weaker, her voice softer and softer, until at last her cries of defiance were scarcely more than mumbles.
And now Mr. Curtain’s voice came to them. It, too, was weak, as if the struggle had taken as great a toll on the man as it had the child. But it was smug, nonetheless: “As I told you, and as you now see for yourselves, children, my creation is foolproof.” He smacked his lips and forced a feeble smile. “A few moments more and I believe you can say goodbye to little Miss Con —”
A loud booming sound interrupted him. The children jumped. Had the Executives come to break down the door? But no, the booming sound didn’t come from the door. It came from behind the
“Snakes and dogs!” growled Mr. Curtain. “Who is that? And how did he get back there?”
“Milligan!” Kate shouted as they all put their ears to the wall. “Where are you?”
“In a passage behind a hidden door, but the door opens from the inside. Is there a lever or switch of some kind?”
“The wheelchair!” cried Reynie, dashing to Mr. Curtain’s chair to study its buttons. “I should have known you’d keep a secret exit. When it comes down to it, you’re not even half as brave as a child.”
Reynie was hoping his words would infuriate Mr. Curtain into sleep, but Mr. Curtain had prepared himself and was not so easily goaded. “You’re right. I give up,” he said slyly. “If you promise not to hurt me, I’ll tell you which button to push. It’s the middle one there on the right arm.”
“Sure it is,” said Reynie, who recognized the button. Pushing it would admit the Executives. He studied the other ones. “Let’s see, this one’s for the intercom — I saw you push that one, too — and these levers are obviously for the wheels and brakes, so that leaves . . . this one!” He held his finger above an inconspicuous silver button.
“You’re right,” Mr. Curtain said with a dramatic sigh. “That’s the one.”
Reynie grinned. “You want me to think you’re trying to trick me. But you can’t trick me that way, either.”
Mr. Curtain scowled, Reynie pressed the button, and an electronic keypad popped into view on the wall above Kate’s head.
“Well done, my miserable young spies,” said Mr. Curtain haughtily. “You’ve found the keypad. What a pity you don’t know the code.”
“Try 3507,” Reynie said.
Kate reached up to enter the code. “Oh, no! There aren’t any numbers! It’s all letters!”
Mr. Curtain smiled an oily, self-satisfied smile. “You must have got that number from one of my Executives. I admit I’m impressed. However, I’m afraid not even my Executives know the code to my secret exit.”