The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart
“Maybe we can guess it,” Sticky ventured.
Mr. Curtain shook his head as if he pitied them. “Do you not see the pointlessness of your efforts? Even if you managed to escape the island, you would have accomplished nothing. Moreover, you can be assured my Recruiters would come for you. You would be captured by nightfall, and by morning you would be calling me your master. You will be under my complete control!”
“Thank you!” Reynie burst out, his face brightening.
Mr. Curtain was startled. “Thank me?”
“You’ve given me an idea! Aren’t you always saying that control is the key?”
Mr. Curtain snorted with contempt, but from the look of fury in the man’s eyes, Reynie felt he’d struck the right note. “Kate, try the word ‘control.’”
Kate poked the keys deliberately, calling out the letters as she typed: “C-O-N-T-R-O-L.”
Nothing happened.
Over the intercom came S.Q.’s voice: “Mr. Curtain, sir! We’ve found a ladder and should have it outside your window in two minutes!”
Mr. Curtain chuckled. “Reynard, you pathetic fellow, did you honestly think you were smarter than I? Did you truly believe you could guess my code? ‘Control,’ indeed. Oh, bravo. Bravo, bravo. Three cheers for Reynard Muldoon!”
“I thought we’d try English first,” Reynie said thoughtfully. “But since you’re so proud of your home country, I think we’ll also try Dutch.”
Mr. Curtain’s jaw dropped. Then, trying to cover his consternation, he said, “As if you could possibly know —”
Reynie interrupted him. “Sticky, how do you spell ‘control’ in Dutch?”
“Same as in English,” Sticky replied. “Only with an E on the end.”
“Here’s hoping,” Kate said, reaching up to tap the E key.
“Snakes and dogs!” howled Mr. Curtain, before falling into a peaceful sleep.
As the hidden door slid open and Kate was swept up into Milligan’s good arm, Reynie and Sticky rushed over to help Constance. The cuffs and helmet had not retracted. Constance’s eyelids were fluttering, and still she murmured, so quietly it was difficult to hear her, “No . . . no . . . no . . .”
“We have to get her out!” Sticky said.
“Don’t worry, we will,” said a woman’s voice.
The boys turned to discover Rhonda Kazembe and Number Two standing right behind them. And then, before they could express their amazement, into the room strode Mr. Benedict himself.
“Mr. Benedict!” Reynie cried. “We were trying to confuse it — that is, Constance was, but —”
Mr. Benedict nodded. “You’ve done wondrously well. Wondrously well. Now how is dear Constance?”
“Awful,” said Sticky. “Just look at her.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Benedict, kneeling beside Constance, “this machine has come close to breaking her will. The brave child, she’s very nearly used it up all at once.”
“Very nearly?”
“Oh, she’ll quite recover.” In a much louder voice Mr. Benedict said, “Constance Contraire! You’ve done it, child! The Whisperer is deeply, profoundly confused — you can stop fighting now!”
The little girl stopped mumbling, smacked her lips, and opened her eyes. “What took you so long?”
“Do you see?” Mr. Benedict said with a fond smile, tousling her hair. “She’ll be fine. Constance, dear, please climb down from the chair now. We must hurry.”
“But she can’t climb down,” Reynie said, indicating the cuffs.
“What do you know about it?” Constance replied grumpily, sliding her tiny wrists free of the metal bands and slipping her head out of the helmet.
The boys gaped.
“You mean you could have gotten out any time you wanted?” Sticky asked.
“It would take some pretty small cuffs to hold me tight,” she replied.
Despite her bravado, however, Constance was so weak she toppled forward when she tried to stand. Mr. Benedict caught her, held her by the shoulders, and looked her squarely in the eyes. “I am so proud of you, Constance. You’ve been very brave indeed. Thank you for your great efforts.”
Constance beamed with pleasure.
There was no time for anything: not to express their shock at Constance’s having chosen to remain in the Whisperer despite the agonizing struggle, not to seek explanations for the arrival of Mr. Benedict and his agents, not even to tell Mr. Benedict what had happened. Fortunately, he and his agents seemed to know exactly what to do. Already Milligan had lifted the slumbering Mr. Curtain out of his chair and laid him — more gently than anyone thought he deserved — onto the floor. Already Rhonda was ushering the children toward the secret exit. And already Mr. Benedict (allowing himself only a moment to stare into the sleeping face of his brother, who had chosen such a dreadful path) — already he was taking Mr. Curtain’s place in the wheelchair and reaching for the red helmet.
“Mr. Benedict, there’s no time!” said Sticky. “They’ll come through that window any moment!”
“There’s time, Sticky, but not for everything. Thanks to you children, this machine is disoriented, and I must strike while the iron’s hot. Hurry now, all of you. Make your escape as quickly as you can.”
The others were dumbfounded, including Number Two, who had shadowed Mr. Benedict to the wheelchair and seemed at a loss what to do. “You mean you’re staying behind? But they’ll catch you! They’ll kill you!”
“Why else am I here if not to do this now?” he told her soothingly. “Milligan, please take my brother with you. We must separate him from his machine. If I fail to disable it, you must do everything in your power to keep him away from it.”
“You know I will,” Milligan said, shaking his hand. With his uninjured arm, he scooped up Mr. Curtain, still bound by Kate’s rope, and threw him over his shoulder.
“Now, don’t worry about me, children,” Mr. Benedict said. “Above all else, you must make your escape. Go at once! Milligan, allow no one to linger. Not even you, dear Number Two. Hurry now! Go!”
Escapes and Returns
Down, down the winding passage they went, through darkness and spider webs and dripping water, until at last they emerged into a cold wind, brilliant sunlight, and the sound of waves breaking on rocks. They were on the far side of the island, the side opposite the bridge. In the distance a flat-bottomed motorboat lay beached on a strip of sand scarcely wide enough to accommodate it. Together the little group scrambled through scrub brush and gravel down to the boat. Milligan dumped Mr. Curtain onto the sand, then began helping Rhonda and Number Two usher the children into the boat. Kate had just climbed over the gunwale, with Rhonda and Number Two scrambling in after her, when Sticky pointed and cried, “He’s getting away!”
Milligan whirled. Kate’s rope lay in a tangle on the sand, and Mr. Curtain was running with surprising swiftness back the way they’d come. Already he was almost to the secret passage. In an instant Milligan had pulled out his tranquilizer gun and fired — but it was too late; Mr. Curtain had gone too far. The dart whizzed behind him just as he disappeared into the secret passage.
It was a terrible misfortune, and for a moment Milligan seemed his old grim self. With a severe expression he turned back to the children. “No time to chase him. My duty is to see you to safety, and for that we must leave at once.” Laying a hand on Kate’s shoulder as he prepared to shove off, he murmured gently, “Remind me, though, to teach you a better knot.”
“What if Mr. Curtain stops Mr. Benedict before he can disable the Whisperer?” Sticky asked.
“We’ll go into hiding,” Rhonda said gravely. “Those are Mr. Benedict’s instructions.”
Milligan launched the boat and steered them out into the channel, where the children eyed the rocks that jutted up here and there on all sides.
“Um, Milligan, aren’t these waters supposed to be dangerous to navigate?” asked Reynie as the boat whizzed past a sharp rock, missing it by inches.
“Oh, yes, fearso
The strange sight of Milligan’s smile eased their fears of drowning, but it also chafed Constance, who blurted, “How can you possibly smile knowing Mr. Benedict is back there? He’s sure to have been captured already, and now Mr. Curtain will see to it that he’s killed!”
“Don’t fret, child,” Milligan said, squinting against the spray as he steered their boat between two boulders. The mainland was rapidly approaching. “I intend to return for him the moment I’ve ferried you to safety. I would never abandon Mr. Benedict.”
“But you won’t stand a chance! You’re injured, and they’ll be ready for you! Mr. Curtain will —”
The distraught girl was interrupted by the boat’s rushing up onto sandy shore. Before she could continue, Number Two had carried her off to the waiting station wagon. The others quickly followed, and soon Rhonda Kazembe was cranking the ignition and pulling the car onto the road. Milligan sat near an open window with his tranquilizer gun at the ready. “Just drop me near the bridge guardhouse,” he directed Rhonda, “then take the children away.”
“But Milligan,” asked Sticky, “how will you escape? For that matter, how did you ever escape in the first place? I remember that Waiting Room — there was no way out!”
“No way but down,” Milligan replied. “I eventually realized that where there’s mud, there’s water, so an underground stream must run somewhere below the room.”
“But . . . but how?”
“No great matter,” Milligan said. “I had only to hold my breath a few minutes to dig down through the mud into the stream, drag myself upstream, then dig through more mud and, oh, about a foot of clay. After that it was only a question of tearing out a few stones, prying apart a few boards, chiseling out some mortar, bending the bars of a metal grate enough to squeeze through (that’s how I broke my arm), then incapacitating the guards and using their keys to unlock my shackles. Really, it’s quite simple once you know the trick.”
The children blinked.
“More remarkable,” Milligan went on, in a voice so happy he almost sang, “more remarkable by far was what happened while I was doing it. Down there in the mud, holding my breath and digging away, I realized that the feeling I had — that I must get back to you children, that I must reach you no matter what the cost — was exactly the same feeling I’d had when I first awoke out of blackness years ago with the name ‘Milligan’ ringing in my mind. Thinking of this, I realized for the first time that it was a child’s voice that had been saying my name. And just as this realization struck me, so too did the cold waters of the underground stream, and into my mind flashed an image of a mill pond, a lovely place perfect for swimming. I could picture a girl swimming in that pond — so young it was hard to believe she could swim at all, much less splash and dive about like an otter — and in my mind’s eye I drew her near to me, heard her laughing, and, as I took her hand to lead her home, heard her ask me, ‘Daddy, may we come to the mill again?’ To which I replied, ‘Of course, Katie-Cat. Of course we’ll come to the mill again.’
“Mill again — Milligan. Do you see? It wasn’t my name at all. It was my last, unkept promise to my daughter. I had only to realize this, and all of my other memories came flooding back. The best moment of my life,” he finished, with an affectionate look at Kate beside him.
Kate was trying to fight back tears and failing miserably. The station wagon was approaching the island bridge now. She’d been so thrilled to get her father back. Was she really expected to give him up again to another dangerous mission? Not just dangerous — hopeless. No, she wouldn’t have it, and with a ferocity that surprised even her she declared, “You can’t go, Milligan! I won’t let you! How can you possibly leave me again?”
Milligan flinched as if he’d been stung, his own eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “Oh, Katie, it’s the last thing I want to do, but how can I possibly leave Mr. Benedict? Without him we’d never have been reunited!”
“Then I’m going with you!”
“No, no, that would never do!”
“It will have to do!” Kate retorted fiercely as Number Two stopped the car near the guardhouse.
“Hush, both of you!” cried Reynie, surprising everyone. He was pointing at the bridge, upon which now Mr. Curtain could be seen in his wheelchair racing toward them. An entire troop of Recruiters ran alongside him, shaking their cuffs, their shock-watches glinting in the sunlight. The rocketing wheelchair zigzagged recklessly, forcing the Recruiters to jump this way and that to avoid being knocked aside, and the two Recruiters in the guardhouse (who must have radioed the island the moment they spotted the station wagon) had come out to stare first at Mr. Curtain, then at the car, uncertain what was expected of them.
“Kate, I love you, but you must leave with the others!” Milligan commanded. He reached for the door handle. “Rhonda, see that she does. I’ll lure them off by heading back for the boat. Perhaps I can cut behind them. Number Two, drive like a fiend and never look back!”
“No!” Reynie shouted, just as forcefully, and Milligan checked himself with a start. “Stay put, Milligan! Number Two, don’t drive away. Just trust me. Please trust me. We have to wait and see!”
It was a tense moment. And a curious one, too — for every person in the car, adult and child alike, realized just then that they trusted this eleven-year-old boy quite without reservation. If Reynie Muldoon asked them to do something, if he promised them something, they would do what he asked and believe every word.
Number Two looked at Milligan, who looked back at her.
He nodded. She nodded. They waited.
At the near end of the bridge Mr. Curtain came to a sudden screeching stop in his wheelchair — so sudden that he almost flew out of it, despite the straps — pointed at the station wagon, and cried, “It’s a trick! Those are decoys! The others must still be on the island!”
The Recruiters were scratching their heads. “But, sir,” one of them protested mildly, “they look just like the ones we’re after!”
“Fool!” Mr. Curtain shouted in his most terrible voice. “Do you really believe they would escape the island only to come right back to the bridge? These people are meant to distract us. Back to the island at once! That’s an order!”
The Recruiters flinched and spun on their heels.
“You, too!” he snarled at the Recruiters in the guardhouse. “Forget the decoys! We need all hands on the island!”
The Recruiters saluted uncertainly and left their posts, hurrying to catch up with the others. For a moment Mr. Curtain watched them go. Then, quickly unstrapping himself, he rose from the chair and trotted toward the station wagon.
“What’s he doing?” Rhonda said.
Milligan lifted his tranquilizer gun and drew a bead on the man, now only a few yards away.
“Don’t shoot!” Reynie warned. “Don’t you see? It’s Mr. Benedict!”
Milligan lowered the gun, amazed. Mr. Benedict’s performance had been most convincing. In all their years together, he had never seen him look so angry or speak so unkindly.
“Thank you, Reynie, for saving me from that dart,” said Mr. Benedict with a wink and a clipped version of his dolphin laugh. He paused with his hand on the door handle, having noticed that Mr. Curtain wasn’t in the car. His eyebrows rose. “But if my brother escaped, then how did you know who I was? How could you be sure?”
“To be honest,” Reynie replied, “I knew it the moment I saw how badly you drove that wheelchair!”
“Hmm, yes. It’s one thing to snarl and bark orders, quite another to steer that wicked contraption. However, I do think I would have got the hang of it with just a bit of practice.”
“We’re very glad you’re safe, sir,” said Number Two from behind the steering wheel. “But may we please leave now and save the congratulations for
“By all means, Number Two,” said Mr. Benedict, climbing into the car. “Let us fly!”
For Every Exit, an Entrance
Every night the moon made its slow passage over Stonetown, and every night Reynie Muldoon gazed up through the window of the drafty old house, remembering the moonlit meetings of the Mysterious Benedict Society. There was much to remember about that time, and much to tell, but the moon in its nightly travels would dwindle, disappear, and fatten again before their stories were entirely told. There was too much to do, too little time for storytelling.
Mr. Curtain had escaped the island, along with several Recruiters and a few of his most trusted Executives. So reported the government officials Mr. Benedict had persuaded to raid the Institute. These officials had never believed him before, but their former skepticism had crumbled under the weight of new developments. For one thing, Milligan’s memory had returned, and with it a number of top-secret government passwords. For another, Kate, unbeknownst to anyone, had swiped a pamphlet from Mr. Curtain’s press room, not to mention Mr. Curtain’s journal, which she’d nabbed on her way out of the Whispering Gallery. But most important of all, the Whisperer was no longer broadcasting Mr. Curtain’s messages. Their mind-muddying effects were daily diminishing, the Emergency was fading, and minds long closed to truth were opening again, like flowers craving sunlight.
These days a steady stream of agents and officers flowed through Mr. Benedict’s doors, gathering details and scribbling furiously in notebooks (and often getting lost in his maze). They wanted to catch Mr. Curtain, though for this Mr. Benedict held out little hope. Mr. Curtain, he said, was too smart to be outfoxed by adults. Only children could have accomplished it.
Still, there remained the important problem of all those who had been robbed of memories: the “recruited” children; the secret agents who’d been retrained as Helpers; Mr. Bloomburg, of course; and a good many of the Executives, who not so long ago had been hapless orphans in search of purpose and a home. It would be Milligan’s task to lead the search for all the unfortunates who had ever set foot upon Nomansan Island; it would be Mr. Benedict’s to restore their memories. Already Mr. Benedict was hard at work modifying his twin’s invention with the aim of reversing its brainsweeping function — instead of covering up old memories, it would coax them into the open again — and when pressed, Mr. Benedict admitted he thought it rather likely he would succeed. To those who knew him, this meant there was no doubt he would.