Text copyright © 2007 by Trenton LeeStewart

All rights reserved. Except as permittedunder the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no

part of this publication may bereproduced, distributed, or transmitted inany form or by any means, or stored in adatabase or retrieval system, without theprior written permission of the publisher.

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group USA237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017Visit our Web site at www.lb-kids.com

First eBook Edition: April 2008

The characters and events portrayed in

this book are fictitious. Any similarity toreal persons, living or dead, is

coincidental and not intended by theauthor.

ISBN: 978-0-316-03211-7

Contents

Pencils, Erasers, and Disqualification

Buckets and Spectacles

Squares and Arrows

The Trouble with Children Or, Why TheyAre Necessary

The Sender and the Messages

The Men in the Maze

Codes and Histories

The Thing to Come

The Naming of the Crew

Nomansan Island

Traps and Nonsense

Beware the Gemini

Lessons Learned

People and Places to Be Avoided

Logical Conclusions and Miscalculations

Poison Apples, Poison Worms

A Surprising Suggestion

Tests and Invitations

Everything As It Should Be

Of Families Lost and Found

Tactical Cactupi

Caught in the Act

The Waiting Room

Punishments and Promotions

Half a Riddle

The Whisperer

Open Sesame

Practice Makes Perfect

Know Thine Enemy

A Chess Lesson

The Mouse in the Culvert

Sacrifices, Narrow Escapes, andSomething Like a Plan

Bad News and Bad News

Sticky’s Discovery

The Great Kate Weather Machine

Stands and Falls

The Best Medicine

Escapes and Returns

For Every Exit, an Entrance

Acknowledgments

For Elliot— T.L.S.

Pencils, Erasers, andDisqualification

In a city called Stonetown, near a portcalled Stonetown Harbor, a boy namedReynie Muldoon was preparing to take animportant test. It was the second test of theday — the first had been in an officeacross town. After that one he was told tocome here, to the Monk Building on ThirdStreet, and to bring nothing but a singlepencil and a single rubber eraser, and toarrive no later than one o’clock. If hehappened to be late, or bring two pencils,or forget his eraser, or in any other way

deviate from the instructions, he would notbe allowed to take the test, and that wouldbe that. Reynie, who very much wanted totake it, was careful to follow theinstructions. Curiously enough, these werethe only ones given. He was not told howto get to the Monk Building, for example,and had found it necessary to askdirections to the nearest bus stop, acquirea schedule from a dishonest bus driverwho tried to trick him into paying for it,and walk several blocks to catch the ThirdStreet bus. Not that any of this wasdifficult for Reynie Muldoon. Although hewas only eleven years old, he was quiteused to figuring things out for himself.

From somewhere across the city, achurch bell struck the half hour. Twelve-thirty. He still had a while to wait. When

he’d checked the doors of the MonkBuilding at noon, they were locked. SoReynie had bought a sandwich at a delistand and sat down on this park bench toeat. A tall building in Stonetown’s busiestdistrict must surely have many officesinside, he thought. Locked doors at noonseemed a little peculiar. But then, whathadn’t been peculiar about this wholeaffair?

To begin with, there was theadvertisement. A few days before, Reyniehad been reading the newspaper overbreakfast at the Stonetown Orphanage,sharing sections with his tutor, MissPerumal. (As Reynie had alreadycompleted all the textbooks on his own,even those for high school students, theorphanage director had assigned him a

special tutor while the other children wentto class. Miss Perumal didn’t quite knowwhat to do with Reynie, either, but shewas intelligent and kind, and in their timetogether they had grown fond of sharingthe morning newspaper over breakfast andtea.)

The newspaper that morning had beenfilled with the usual headlines, several ofthem devoted to what was commonlycalled the Emergency: Things had gottendesperately out of control, the headlinesreported; the school systems, the budget,the pollution, the crime, the weather . . .why, everything, in fact, was a completemess, and citizens everywhere wereclamoring for a major — no, a dramatic— improvement in government. “Thingsmust change NOW!” was the slogan

plastered on billboards all over the city (itwas a very old slogan), and althoughReynie rarely watched television, he knewthe Emergency was the main subject of thenews programs every day, as it had beenfor years. Naturally, when Reynie andMiss Perumal first met, they had discussedthe Emergency at great length. Findingthemselves quite in agreement aboutpolitics, however, they soon found suchconversation boring and decided to dropthe subject. In general, then, they talkedabout the other news stories, those thatvaried day to day, and afterward theyamused themselves by reading theadvertisements. Such was the case on thatparticular morning when Reynie’s life hadso suddenly taken a turn.

“Do you care for more honey with your

tea?” Miss Perumal had asked —speaking in Tamil, a language she wasteaching him — but before Reynie couldanswer that of course he wanted morehoney, the advertisement caught MissPerumal’s eye, and she exclaimed,“Reynie! Look at this! Would you beinterested?”

Miss Perumal sat across the table fromhim, but Reynie, who had no troublereading upside down, quickly scanned theadvertisement’s bold-printed words:“ARE YOU A GIFTED CHILDLOOKING FOR SPECIALOPPORTUNITIES?” How odd, hethought. The question was addresseddirectly to children, not to their parents.Reynie had never known his parents, whodied when he was an infant, and it pleased

him to read a notice that seemed to takethis possibility into account. But still, howodd. How many children read thenewspaper, after all? Reynie did, but hehad always been alone in this, had alwaysbeen considered an oddball. If not forMiss Perumal he might even have given itup by now, to avoid some of the teasing.

“I suppose I might be interested,” hesaid to Miss Perumal, “if you think Iwould qualify.”

Miss Perumal gave him a wry look.“Don’t you play games with me, ReynieMuldoon. If you aren’t the most talentedchild I’ve ever known, then I’ve neverknown a child at all.”

There were to be several sessions ofthe test administered over the weekend;they made plans for Reynie to attend the

very first session. Unfortunately, onSaturday Miss Perumal’s mother fell illand Miss Perumal couldn’t take him. Thiswas a real disappointment to Reynie, andnot just because of the delay. He alwayslooked forward to Miss Perumal’scompany — her laughter, her wryexpressions, the stories she told (often inTamil) of her childhood in India, even theoccasional sighs she made when shedidn’t think he was aware. They weregentle and lilting, these sighs, and despitetheir melancholy Reynie loved to hearthem. Miss Perumal sighed when she wasfeeling sad for him, he knew — sad to seehim teased by the other children, sad thepoor boy had lost his parents — andReynie wished he hadn’t worried her, buthe did like knowing she cared. She was

the only one who did (not countingSeymore, the orphanage cat, with whomReynie spent the day in the reading room— and he only wanted to be petted). Quiteapart from his eagerness to take thespecial test, Reynie simply missed MissPerumal.

He was hopeful, then, when Mr. Rutger,the orphanage director, informed him latethat evening that Miss Perumal’s motherwas considerably improved. Reynie wasin the reading room again, the only placein the orphanage where he could beassured of solitude (no one else everventured into it) and freedom frompersecution. At dinner, an older boynamed Vic Morgeroff had tormentedReynie for using the word “enjoyable” todescribe the book he was reading. Vic

thought it too fancy a word to be proper,and soon had gotten the entire tablelaughing and saying “enjoyable” inmocking tones until Reynie had finallyexcused himself without dessert andretreated here.

“Yes, she’s much better, much better,”said Mr. Rutger, through a mouthful ofcheesecake. He was a thin man with a thinface, and his cheeks positively bulged ashe chewed. “Miss Perumal just telephonedwith the news. She asked for you, but asyou were not to be found in the dininghall, and I was in the middle of dinner, Itook the message for you.”

“Thank you,” said Reynie with amixture of relief and disappointment.Cheesecake was his favorite dessert. “I’mglad to hear it.”

“Indeed, nothing like health. Absolutelynothing like it. Best thing for anyone,” saidMr. Rutger, but here he paused in hischewing, with an unpleasant worriedexpression upon his face, as if he thoughtperhaps there had been an insect in hisfood. Finally he swallowed, brushed thecrumbs from his waistcoat, and said, “Butsee here, Reynie, Miss Perumal mentioneda test of some sort. ‘Specialopportunities,’ she said. What is this allabout? This isn’t about attending anadvanced school, is it?”

They had been through this before.Reynie had repeatedly asked permissionto apply elsewhere, but Mr. Rutger hadinsisted Reynie would fare better here,with a tutor, than at an advanced school.“Here you are comfortable,” Mr. Rutger

had told him more than once. And morethan once Reynie had thought, Here I’malone. But in the end Mr. Rutger had hisway, and Miss Perumal was hired. It hadproved a blessing — Reynie would nevercomplain about Miss Perumal. Still, hehad often wondered what life might havebeen like at a school where the otherstudents didn’t find him so odd.

“I don’t know, sir,” Reynie said, hishopefulness slipping into dejection. Hewished Miss Perumal hadn’t mentionedthe test, though of course she must havefelt obliged to. “We just wanted to seewhat it was about.”

Mr. Rutger considered this. “Well, noharm in seeing what things are about, Isuppose. I should like to know what it’sabout myself. In fact, why don’t you

prepare a report for me when you return?Say, ten pages? No hurry, you can turn itin tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow evening?” said Reynie.“Does that mean I’m taking the test?”

“I thought I told you,” said Mr. Rutgerwith a frown. “Miss Perumal will comefor you first thing in the morning.” He tookout an embroidered handkerchief andblew his nose with great ferocity. “Andnow, Reynie, I believe I’ll leave you toyour reading. This dusty room is ahardship on my sinuses. Be a good manand run a feather duster over the shelvesbefore you leave, will you?”

After hearing this news, Reynie couldhardly return to his reading. He flailedabout with the feather duster and wentstraight to bed, as if doing so would

hasten the morning’s arrival. Instead itlengthened his night, for he was far tooeager and anxious to sleep. Specialopportunities, he kept thinking, over andover again. He would have been thrilledto get a crack at plain old regularopportunities, much less special ones.

Just before dawn he rose quietly, gotready with the lights off so as not todisturb his roommates (they often snarledat him for reading in bed at night, evenwhen he used a tiny pen light under thecovers), and hurried down to the kitchen.Miss Perumal was already waiting for him— she had been too excited to sleep, aswell, and had arrived early. The kettlewas just beginning to whistle on the stove,and Miss Perumal, with her back to him,was setting out cups and saucers.

“Good morning, Miss Perumal,” he saidfroggily. He cleared his throat. “I wasglad to hear your mother’s doing better.”

“Thank you, Reynie. Would you —”Miss Perumal turned then, took one look athim, and said, “You’ll not make a goodimpression dressed like that, I’m afraid.One mustn’t wear striped pants with acheckered shirt, Reynie. In fact, I believethose must belong to a roommate —they’re at least a size too big. Also, itappears that one of your socks is blue andthe other purple.”

Reynie looked down at his outfit insurprise. Usually he was the leastnoticeable of boys: He was of averagesize, of an average pale complexion, hisbrown hair was of average length, and hewore average clothes. This morning,

though, he would stand out in a crowd —unless it happened to be a crowd ofclowns. He grinned at Miss Perumal andsaid, “I dressed this way for luck.”

“Luckily you won’t need luck,” saidMiss Perumal, taking the kettle from thestove. “Now please go change, and thistime turn on your light — never mind howyour roommates grumble — so that youmay have better luck choosing yourclothes.”

When Reynie returned Miss Perumaltold him that she had a long errand to run.Her mother had been prescribed newmedicine and a special diet, and MissPerumal must go shopping for her. So itwas agreed that she would take him to thetest and pick him up when it was over.After a light breakfast (neither of them

wanted more than toast), yet well beforeanyone else in the orphanage had risen,Miss Perumal drove him across the sleepycity to an office building near StonetownBay. A line of children already stood atthe door, all of them accompanied by theirparents, all fidgeting nervously.

When Miss Perumal moved to get out ofthe car, Reynie said, “I thought you weredropping me off.”

“You don’t think I would just leave youhere without investigating first, do you?”replied Miss Perumal. “The notice didn’teven list a telephone number forquestions. It’s a bit out of the ordinary,don’t you think?”

So Reynie took his place at the end ofthe line while Miss Perumal went insidethe building to speak with someone. It was

a long line, and Reynie wondered howmany special opportunities wereavailable. Perhaps only a very few —perhaps they would all be given outbefore he even reached the door. He wasgrowing anxious at this idea when afriendly man ahead of him turned and said,“Don’t worry, son, you haven’t long towait. All the children are to go insidetogether in a few minutes. They made theannouncement just before you arrived.”

Reynie thanked him gratefully, noticingas he did so that a number of parents werecasting grumpy looks at the man,apparently disliking the notion of beingfriendly to competitors. The man,embarrassed, turned away from Reynieand said nothing else.

“Very well,” said Miss Perumal when

she returned, “everything is set. You maycall me on their telephone when you’vefinished the test. Here is the number. If I’mnot back by then, simply call a taxi andMr. Rutger will pay the fare. You can tellme all about it this afternoon.”

“Thanks so much for everything, MissPerumal,” said Reynie, earnestly takingher hand.

“Oh, Reynie, you silly child, don’t lookso grateful,” said Miss Perumal. ToReynie’s surprise, there were tears on hercheeks. “It’s nothing at all. Now give yourpoor tutor a hug. I imagine my serviceswon’t be needed after this.”

“I haven’t passed it yet, Miss Perumal!”“Oh, stop being silly,” she said, and

after squeezing him tightly, Miss Perumaldabbed her eyes with a handkerchief,

walked determinedly to her car, and droveaway just as the children were usheredinto the building.

It was a curious test. The first sectionwas rather what Reynie would haveexpected — one or two questionsregarding octagons and hexagons, anotherdevoted to bushels of this and kilogramsof that, and another that requiredcalculating how much time must passbefore two speeding trains collided. (Thislast question Reynie answered with athoughtful frown, noting in the margin thatsince the two trains were approachingeach other on an empty stretch of track, itwas likely the engineers would recognizethe impending disaster and apply theirbrakes, thus avoiding the collisionaltogether.) Reynie raced through these

questions and many like them, then cameto the second section, whose first questionwas: “Do you like to watch television?”

This certainly was not the sort ofquestion Reynie had expected. It was onlya question of preference. Anyway, ofcourse he liked to watch television —everybody liked to watch television. Ashe started to mark down the answer,however, Reynie hesitated. Well, did hereally? The more he thought about it, themore he realized that he didn’t, in fact,like to watch television at all. I really aman oddball, he thought, with a feeling ofdisappointment. Nonetheless, he answeredthe question truthfully: NO.

The next question read: “Do you like tolisten to the radio?” And again, Reynierealized that he did not, although he was

sure everyone else did. With a growingsense of isolation, he answered thequestion: NO.

The third question, thankfully, was lessemotional. It read: “What is wrong withthis statement?” How funny, Reyniethought, and marking down his answer hefelt somewhat cheered. “It isn’t astatement at all,” he wrote. “It’s aquestion.”

The next page showed a picture of achessboard, upon which all the pieces andpawns rested in their starting positions,except for a black pawn, which hadadvanced two spaces. The question read:“According to the rules of chess, is thisposition possible?” Reynie studied theboard a moment, scratched his head, andwrote down his answer: YES.

After a few more pages of questions, allof which Reynie felt confident he hadanswered correctly, he arrived at thetest’s final question: “Are you brave?”Just reading the words quickenedReynie’s heart. Was he brave? Braveryhad never been required of him, so howcould he tell? Miss Perumal would say hewas: She would point out how cheerful hetried to be despite feeling lonely, howpatiently he withstood the teasing of otherchildren, and how he was always eagerfor a challenge. But these things onlyshowed that he was good-natured, polite,and very often bored. Did they reallyshow that he was brave? He didn’t thinkso. Finally he gave up trying to decide andsimply wrote, “I hope so.”

He laid down his pencil and looked

around. Most of the other children werealso finishing the test. At the front of theroom, munching rather loudly on an apple,the test administrator was keeping a closeeye on them to ensure they didn’t cheat.She was a thin woman in a mustard-yellow suit, with a yellowish complexion,short-cropped, rusty-red hair, and a stiffposture. She reminded Reynie of a giantwalking pencil.

“Pencils!” the woman suddenly calledout, as if she’d read his thoughts.

The children jumped in their seats.“Please lay down your pencils now,”

the pencil woman said. “The test is over.”“But I’m not finished!” one child cried.

“That’s not fair!”“I want more time!” cried another.The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I’m

sorry you haven’t finished, children, butthe test is over. Please pass your papers tothe front of the room, and remain seatedwhile the tests are graded. Don’t worry, itwon’t take long.”

As the papers were passed forward,Reynie heard the boy behind him snickerand say to his neighbor, “If they couldn’tfinish that test, they shouldn’t even havecome. Like that chess question — whocould have missed it?”

The neighbor, sounding every bit assmug, replied, “They were trying to trickus. Pawns can only move one space at atime, so of course the position wasn’tpossible. I’ll bet some stupid kids didn’tknow that.”

“Ha! You’re just lucky you didn’t missit yourself! Pawns can move two spaces

— on their very first move, they can. Butwhether it moved one space or two isbeside the point. Don’t you know thatwhite always moves first? The blackpawn couldn’t have moved yet at all! It’sso simple. This test was for babies.”

“Are you calling me a baby?” growledthe other.

“You boys there!” snapped the pencilwoman. “Stop talking!”

Reynie was suddenly anxious. Could hepossibly have answered that questionwrong? And what about the otherquestions? Except for the odd ones abouttelevision and bravery, they had seemedeasy, but perhaps he was such a strangebird that he had misunderstood everything.He shook his head and tried not to care. Ifhe wanted to prove himself brave, after

all, he had better just stop worrying. If hemust return to his old routine at theorphanage, at least he had Miss Perumal.What did it matter if he was different fromother children? Everyone got teased fromtime to time — he was no different in thatrespect.

Reynie told himself this, but his anxiousfeeling didn’t fade.

After all the tests had been turned in,the pencil woman stepped out of the room,leaving the children to bite their nails andwatch the clock. Only a few minutespassed, however, before she returned andannounced, “I shall now read the names ofchildren admitted into the second phase ofthe test.”

The children began to murmur. Asecond phase? The advertisement hadn’t

mentioned a second phase.The woman continued, “If your name is

called, you are to report to the MonkBuilding on Third Street no later than oneo’clock, where you will join childrenfrom other sessions who also passed thetest.” She went on to lay out the rulesabout pencils, erasers, anddisqualification. Then she popped ahandful of peanuts into her mouth andchewed ferociously, as if she werestarving.

Reynie raised his hand.“Mm-yes?” the woman said,

swallowing.“Excuse me, you say to bring only one

pencil, but what if the pencil lead breaks?Will there be a pencil sharpener?”

Again the boy behind Reynie snickered,

this time muttering: “What makes him sosure he’ll be taking that test? She hasn’teven called the names yet!”

It was true — he should have waiteduntil she’d called the names. He must haveseemed very arrogant. Cheeks burning,Reynie ducked his head.

The pencil woman answered, “Yes, if asharpener should become necessary, onewill be provided. Children are not tobring their own, understood?” There wasa general nodding of heads, after whichthe woman clapped the peanut grit fromher hands, took out a sheet of paper, andcontinued, “Very well, if there are noother questions, I shall read the list.”

The room became very quiet.“Reynard Muldoon!” the woman called.

Reynie’s heart leaped.

There was a grumble of discontent fromthe seat behind him, but as soon as itpassed, the room again grew quiet, and thechildren waited with bated breath for theother names to be called. The womanglanced up from the sheet.

“That is all,” she said matter-of-factly,folding the paper and tucking it away.“The rest of you are dismissed.”

The room erupted in outcries of angerand dismay. “Dismissed?” said the boybehind Reynie. “Dismissed?”

As the children filed out the door —some weeping bitterly, some stunned,some whining in complaint — Reynieapproached the woman. For some reason,she was hurrying around the roomchecking the window locks. “Excuse me.Miss? May I please use your telephone?

My tutor said —”“I’m sorry, Reynard,” the woman

interrupted, tugging unsuccessfully on aclosed window. “I’m afraid there isn’t atelephone.”

“But Miss Perumal —”“Reynard,” the woman said with a

smile, “I’m sure you can make do withoutone, can’t you? Now, if you’ll excuse me,I must sneak out the back door. Thesewindows appear to have been paintedshut.”

“Sneak out? But why?”“I’ve learned from experience. Any

moment now, some of these children’sparents will come storming in to demandexplanations. Unfortunately, I have none togive them. Therefore, off I go. I’ll see youthis afternoon. Don’t be late!”

And with that, away she went.

It had been a strange business indeed, andReynie had a suspicion it was to growstranger still. When the distant church bellstruck the quarter hour, Reynie finishedhis sandwich and rose from the parkbench. If the doors to the Monk Buildingweren’t open by now, he would try to findanother way in. At this point, it wouldhardly surprise him to discover he mustenter the building through a basementwindow.

As he mounted the steps to the MonkBuilding’s broad front plaza, Reynie sawtwo girls well ahead of him, walkingtogether toward the front doors. Other

test-takers, he guessed. One girl, whoseemed to have green hair — thoughperhaps this was a trick of the light; thesun shone blindingly bright today — wascarelessly flinging her pencil up into theair and catching it again. Not the best idea,Reynie thought. And sure enough, even ashe thought it, the girl missed the pencil andwatched it fall through a grate at her feet.

For a moment the other girl hesitated, asif she might try to help. Then she checkedher watch. In only a few minutes it wouldbe one o’clock. “Sorry about your pencil— it’s a shame,” she said, but already hersympathetic expression was fading.Clearly it had occurred to her that with thegreen-haired girl unable to take the test,there would be less competition. With aspreading smile, she hurried across the

plaza and through the front doors of theMonk Building, which had finally beenunlocked.

The metal grate covered a storm drainthat ran beneath the plaza, and theunfortunate girl was staring through it,down into darkness, when Reynie reachedher. Her appearance was striking —indeed, even startling. She had coal-blackskin; hair so long she could have tied itaround her waist (and yes, it truly wasgreen); and an extraordinarily puffy whitedress that gave you the impression shewas standing in a cloud.

“That’s rotten luck,” Reynie said. “Todrop your pencil here, of all places.”

The girl looked up at him with hopefuleyes. “You don’t happen to have an extraone, do you?”

“I’m sorry. I was told to bring —”“I know, I know,” she interrupted.

“Only one pencil. Well, that was my onlypencil, and a fat lot of good it will do medown in that drain.” She stared wistfullythrough the grate a moment, then looked upat Reynie as if surprised to see him stillstanding there. “What are you waiting for?The test starts any minute.”

“I’m not going to leave you herewithout a pencil,” Reynie said. “I wassurprised your friend did.”

“Friend? Oh, that other girl. She’s notmy friend — we just met at the bottom ofthe steps. I didn’t even know her name.For that matter, I don’t know yours,either.”

“Reynard Muldoon. You can call meReynie.”

“Okay, Reynie, nice to meet you. I’mRhonda Kazembe. So now that we’refriends and all that, how do you intend toget my pencil back? We’d better hurry,you know. One minute late and we’redisqualified.”

Reynie took out his own pencil, a newyellow #2 that he’d sharpened to a finepoint that morning. “Actually,” he said,“we’ll just share this one.” He snappedthe pencil in two and handed her thesharpened end. “I’ll sharpen my half andwe’ll both be set. Do you have youreraser?”

Rhonda Kazembe was staring at herhalf of the pencil with a mixture ofgratitude and surprise. “That would neverhave occurred to me,” she said, “breakingit like that. Now, what did you say? Oh,

yes, I have my eraser.”“Then let’s get going, we only have a

minute,” Reynie urged.Rhonda held back. “Hold on, Reynie. I

haven’t properly thanked you.”“You’re welcome,” he said impatiently.

“Now let’s go!”Still she resisted. “No, I really want to

thank you. If it weren’t for you, I couldn’thave taken this test, and do you want toknow something?” Glancing around to besure they were alone, Rhonda whispered,“I have the answers. I’m going to make aperfect score!”

“What? How?”“No time to explain. But if you sit right

behind me, you can look over myshoulder. I’ll hold up my test a bit to makeit easier.”

Reynie was stunned. How in the worldcould this girl have gotten her hands on theanswers? And now she was offering tohelp him cheat! He was briefly tempted —he wanted desperately to learn about thosespecial opportunities. But when heimagined returning to tell Miss Perumal ofhis success, hiding the fact that he’dcheated, he knew he could never do it.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’d rathernot.”

Rhonda Kazembe looked amazed, andReynie once again felt the weight ofloneliness upon him. If it was unpleasantto feel so different from the other childrenat Stonetown Orphanage, how much worsewas it to be seen as an oddball by a green-haired girl wearing her own personal fogbank?

“Okay, suit yourself,” Rhonda said asthe two of them started for the front doors.“I hope you know what you’re in for.”

Reynie was in too much of a hurry torespond. He had no idea what he was infor, of course, but he certainly wanted tofind out.

Inside the Monk Building, conspicuouslyposted signs led them down a series ofcorridors, past a room where a handful ofparents waited anxiously, and at last into aroom crowded with children in desks.Except for the unusual silence, the roomwas just like any schoolroom, with achalkboard at the front and a teacher’sdesk upon which rested a pencil

sharpener, a ruler, and a sign that said: NOTALKING. IF YOU ARE CAUGHT TALKING IT WILL BEASSUMED YOU ARE CHEATING. Only two seatsremained empty, one behind the other. Toguarantee he wouldn’t be tempted to cheat,Reynie chose the one in front. A clock onthe wall struck one just as RhondaKazembe dropped into the desk behindhim.

“That was close,” she said.“There will be no talking!” boomed the

pencil woman, who entered just then,slamming the door behind her. She strodebriskly to the front of the room, carrying atall stack of papers and a jar of pickles.“If any child is caught cheating, then he orshe will be executed —”

The children gasped.“I’m sorry, did I say executed? I meant

to say escorted. Any child caught cheatingwill be escorted from the building atonce. Now then, are you all relaxed? It’simportant to be relaxed when taking suchan extremely difficult test as this,especially considering how long it is andhow very little time you’ll have tocomplete it.”

In the back of the room someonegroaned in distress.

“You there!” shouted the pencil woman,pointing her finger. Every head in theroom swiveled to see who had groaned. Itwas the same girl who had abandonedRhonda Kazembe on the plaza. Under thesavage stare of the pencil woman, thegirl’s face went pasty pale, like theunderbelly of a dead fish. “I said notalking,” the woman barked. “Do you wish

to leave now?”“But I only groaned!” the girl protested.The pencil woman frowned. “Do you

mean to suggest that saying, ‘But I onlygroaned!’ doesn’t count as talking?”

The girl, frightened and perplexed,could hardly muster a shake of the head.

“Very well, let this be a warning to you.To all of you. From this moment on therewill be no talking, period. Now then, arethere any questions?”

Reynie raised his hand.“Reynard Muldoon, you have a

question?”Reynie held up his broken pencil and

made a pencil-sharpening motion with theother hand.

“Very well, you may use the pencilsharpener on my desk.”

Reynie hustled forward, sharpened hispencil — he felt all eyes upon him as heground away, checked the tip, and groundaway again — and hurried back to hisseat. As he did so, he noticed RhondaKazembe slipping a tiny piece of paperfrom the sleeve of her cloud-dress: the listof test answers. She was taking quite arisk, Reynie thought, but he had no chanceto reflect on it further, as the pencilwoman now launched into the rest of herspeech.

“You shall have one hour to completethis test,” she barked, “and you mustfollow these directions exactly. First,write your name at the top of the test.Second, read all the questions andanswers carefully. Third, choose thecorrect answers by circling the

appropriate letter. Fifth, bring thecompleted test to me. Sixth, return to yourseat and wait until all the tests have beengraded, at which time I will announce thenames of those who pass.”

The children were shifting uneasily intheir seats. What had happened to thefourth step? The pencil woman hadskipped from third to fifth. The childrenlooked at one another, not daring to speak.What if the fourth step was important?Reynie was waiting, hoping someone elsewould raise a hand for a change. When noone did, he timidly raised his own.

“Yes, Reynard?”He pointed to his mouth.“Yes, you may speak. What is your

question?”“Excuse me, but what about the fourth

step?”“There is no fourth step,” she replied.

“Any other questions?”Utterly baffled now, the children held

their tongues.“To pass this test,” the pencil woman

went on, “you must correctly answerevery question, by which I mean everyquestion. If you skip even one question, oranswer one incorrectly, you will fail thetest.”

“No problem,” whispered RhondaKazembe from behind Reynie.

The pencil woman’s eyes darted totheir side of the room. She stared hard atReynie, whose mouth went dry. Why onearth didn’t Rhonda keep her mouthclosed? Was she trying to get them thrownout?

“You may begin the test as soon as youreceive it,” said the pencil woman, turningaway at last, and Reynie resisted the urgeto sigh with relief — even a sigh mightdisqualify him. Besides, what relief he feltdidn’t last long: The pencil woman hadbegun handing out the tests.

The first child to receive one was atough-looking boy in a baseball cap whoeagerly grabbed it, looked at the firstquestion, and burst into tears. The girlbehind him looked at her test, rubbed hereyes as if they weren’t working properly,then looked again. Her head wobbled onher neck.

“If you begin to feel faint,” said thepencil woman, moving on to the nextchild, “place your head between yourknees and take deep breaths. If you think

you may vomit, please come to the front ofthe room, where a trash can will beprovided.”

Down the row she went, distributing thetests. The crying boy had begun flippingthrough the test now — there appeared tobe several pages — and with each newpage his sobs grew louder and moredesperate. When he reached the end, hebegan to wail.

“I’m afraid loud weeping isn’tpermitted,” said the pencil woman.“Please leave the room.”

The boy, greatly relieved, leaped fromhis desk and raced to the door, followedat once by two other children who hadn’treceived the test yet but were terrifiednow to see it. The pencil woman closedthe door.

“If any others flee the room in panic ordismay,” she said sternly, “pleaseremember to close the door behind you.Your sobs may disturb the other test-takers.”

She continued handing out the test.Child after child received it withtrembling fingers, and child after child,upon looking at the questions, turned pale,or red, or a subtle shade of green. By thetime the pencil woman dropped the pagesupon his desk, dread was making Reynie’sstomach flop like a fish. And for goodreason — the questions were impossible.The very first one read:

The territories of the NaxcivanAutonomous Republic and the

Nagorno-Karabakh region aredisputed by what two countries?

A. Bhutan, which under the 1865Treaty of Sinchulu ceded border landto Britain; and Britain, which inexchange for that land providedBhutan an annual subsidy, and underwhose influence Bhutan’s monarchywas established in 1907.B. Azerbaijan, whose territory in1828 was divided between Russiaand Persia by the Treaty ofTurkmenchay; and Armenia, a nationfounded after the destruction of theSeleucid Empire some two thousandyears ago, likewise incorporated intoRussia by the aforementioned treaty.

C. Vanuatu, which having beenadministered (until its independence)by an Anglo-French Condominium,retains both French and English asofficial languages (in addition toBislama, or Bichelama); andPortugal, whose explorer PedroFernandez de Quiros became in 1606the first European to discover theislands Vanuatu comprises.

Although there were two more answersto choose from, Reynie didn’t read them.If every question was like this one, he hadabsolutely no hope of passing. A quickglance at the next few questions didnothing to encourage him. If anything, theygot worse. And this was only the first

page! All around him children wereshivering, sighing, grinding their teeth.Reynie felt like joining them. So much forthose special opportunities. Back to theorphanage he would go, where no one —not even good Miss Perumal — knewwhat to do with him. It had been a niceidea, but apparently he did not have whatit took.

Even so, he wasn’t ready to leave. Hehad yet to follow the directions, andbecause he was determined not to quituntil he had at least tried, he proceeded tofollow them now. Dutifully he wrote hisname atop the first page — that was thefirst step. Well, you’ve accomplished thatmuch, he thought. The second step was toread all the questions and answerscarefully. Reynie took a deep breath.

There were forty questions in all. Justreading them would take him most of thehour. It didn’t help that the pencil womannow sat eating pickles — they wereespecially crisp ones, too — as shewatched the children struggle.

The second question wanted to knowwhere the common vetch originated and towhat family it belonged. Reynie had noidea what a common vetch was, and thepossible answers offered no helpful clue— it might be an antelope, a bird, arodent, or a vine. Reynie went on to thethird question, which had to do withsubatomic particles called fermions andan Indian physicist named SatyendranathBose. The fourth question asked whichchurch was built by the emperor Justinianto demonstrate his superiority to the late

Theodoric’s Ostrogothic successors. Onand on the questions went. To his credit,Reynie recognized the names of a fewplaces, a few mathematic principles, andone or two important historical figures,but it wouldn’t do him any good. Hewould be lucky to answer a singlequestion correctly, much less all of them.

When he was exactly halfway throughthe test (he was on question twenty,regarding the difference between parataxisand hypotaxis), Reynie heard RhondaKazembe rise from the desk behind him.Was she already finished? Well, ofcourse! She had all the answers. Reyniegrimaced in irritation, and as Rhondastepped forward to turn in her test, theother children gasped in amazement. Butthe pencil woman seemed not the least bit

suspicious. If anything, she was absorbedin Rhonda’s bizarre appearance andhardly glanced at the test as she took it.

Reynie had a sudden insight: Rhondawas calling attention to herself onpurpose. It was a trick. No one wouldsuspect her of cheating, because who inher right mind would make such aspectacle of herself if she intended tocheat? The green hair (it must be a wig),the poofy dress, the whispering — theywere all meant to distract. Most peoplewould assume that if a child intended tocheat, then surely she would call as littleattention to herself as possible, would beas quiet as a mouse and as plain aswallpaper. Reynie had to hand it toRhonda: She might not be smart enough topass the test, but she was clever enough to

get away with cheating on it. He felt apang of jealousy. Now Rhonda wouldmove on to experience those specialopportunities, while Reynie would mopehis way back to the orphanage, defeated.

As Rhonda passed by him on the way toher desk, she winked and let fall a tinyslip of paper. It drifted down like afeather and settled lightly upon Reynie’sdesk. The test answers. Reynie peekedover at the pencil woman, but she hadn’tnoticed — she was busy grading Rhonda’stest now, making check mark after checkmark and nodding her head. So theanswers were indeed the right ones. Andhere they sat on his desk.

If he’d felt tempted before, when he’dhad no idea how hard the test would be,that temptation was nothing compared to

now. No matter that he’d resisted, nomatter that he’d chosen this seat preciselyto avoid this situation, here he was,staring at a slip of paper that contained thekey to his hopes. All he had to do was turnit over and look at the answers. The otherchildren were too busy sniffling and bitingtheir fingernails to notice, and if hehurried, he might even copy the answersdown before the pencil woman looked upagain. She had finished grading Rhonda’spaper and was concentrating on the nearlyempty jar of pickles, trying to fish out thelast one. Reynie stared a long moment atthe paper, sorely tempted.

Then he reached out and flicked it fromhis desk and onto the floor.

What good would those opportunitiesdo him if he wasn’t qualified to be given

them? And where was the pleasure incheating? If he couldn’t pass fairly, hedidn’t want to pass. He thought this — andmostly believed it — and felt his spiritsboosted by the decision. But even so, afew seconds passed before he could tearhis eyes from the paper on the floor. Allright, he told himself, returning to the test.Get a move on, Reynie, and don’t lookback. There’s no time to waste.

Indeed there wasn’t, as a glance at thewall clock confirmed. Less than half anhour remained, and Reynie had more thanhalf the test yet to read. He finishedreading about parataxis and hypotaxis(they either had something to do withwriting or else with futuristictransportation, but he couldn’t decidewhich), and moved on to question twenty-

one, which read: “After the fall of theRussian Empire, when a failed attempt tocreate a Transcaucasian Republic withGeorgia and Armenia led to the creationof the country Azerbaijan (which currentlydisputes with Armenia the territories ofthe Naxcivan Autonomous Republic andthe Nagorno-Karabakh region), from whatkey powers did Azerbaijan . . .”

Reynie stopped. Something about thequestion seemed awfully familiar — sofamiliar that he felt pressed to think aboutit. Hadn’t he seen those names before?

Flipping back to the beginning of thetest, Reynie read the very first questionagain: “The territories of the NaxcivanAutonomous Republic and the Nagorno-Karabakh region are disputed by what twocountries?” He blinked, hardly believing

his eyes. Armenia and Azerbaijan. Theanswer to question one lay hidden inquestion twenty-one. This wasn’t a test ofknowledge at all — it was a puzzle!

Reynie looked at question twenty-two,which began: “Despite having originatedin Europe, the vine known as the commonvetch (a member of the pea family), iswidely . . .” There it was! The answer toquestion two! With mounting excitement,Reynie read the next one, and sure enough,although the question itself made nomention of subatomic particles or Indianphysicists, there was a long discussion ofthem in answer D. Not only were all theanswers buried in the test, he realized,they were listed in order. Number one’sanswer was found in number twenty-one(and vice versa), number two’s answer

was found in number twenty-two, and soon, all the way up to number forty, whichcleared up the mystery of parataxis andhypotaxis raised in question twenty.

Reynie was so delighted he nearlyleaped from his desk and cheered. Still, hecouldn’t spare even a moment tocongratulate himself — time was runningshort. Eagerly he set to the task of findingthe correct answers. This took a goodwhile, as it was necessary to flip back andforth between pages and read a great dealof text, and in the end it took Reyniealmost exactly one hour to finish the test.He had only just circled the last answer,placed his test on the pencil woman’sdesk, and looked around at the otherchildren (some were furiously circlingnumbers at random, hoping to get lucky;

and some were not to be seen at all,having crept out of the room in bleakdespair), when the pencil woman shouted:“Pencils! Time’s up, children. Lay downyour pencils, please.”

After a certain amount of blubberingand wiping away tears, the childrenstacked their tests on top of Reynie’s andreturned to their seats. In exhaustedsilence they waited as the pencil womanflipped through the tests. This took but aminute — she had only to look at the firstquestion, after all. When she came toReynie’s at the bottom of the stack, she ranthrough the pages, making checkmarks andnodding.

“Nice work,” Rhonda whispered frombehind him. “You managed it on yourown.” She seemed genuinely pleased that

he hadn’t cheated, despite havingencouraged him to do just that. Shecertainly was a strange one.

“I shall read now the names of thosewho passed the test,” announced thepencil woman. “If your name is called youwill advance to the third stage of testing,so please remain seated and await furtherinstructions. Those whose names are notcalled are free to go.”

Reynie’s ears perked up. There was athird stage?

The pencil woman cleared her throat,but this time she didn’t bother looking atthe paper in front of her. “ReynardMuldoon!” she called out.

On her way out of the room, she added,“That is all.”

Buckets and Spectacles

Reynie, alone in the room now, wastrying to make sense of what hadhappened. Why hadn’t Rhonda Kazembe’sname been called? Was it because shecheated? Did she have the wrong answers,after all? And where did she get thoseanswers in the first place? It was all verymysterious, and not the least intriguingwas Rhonda’s behavior when she wasdismissed along with the others: “Well,best of luck, kid,” she’d chirped, playfullymussing his hair and scudding from theroom in her cloud-dress, apparently not

the slightest bit confused or disappointedthat she hadn’t passed.

Reynie’s musings were interrupted bythe pencil woman poking her head inthrough the doorway: “We’ve finallygotten rid of the other children, Reynard.Had to give them consolation doughnutsand hugs and whatnot. Only a few moreminutes now to wait.” She was alreadywithdrawing again when Reynie calledafter her.

“Excuse me! Miss, uh — Miss? I’msorry, you never told us your name.”

“That’s fine, Reynard,” she said,stepping into the room. “You’ve nothing tobe sorry for.” Reynie waited for her togive her name. Instead she simply wipeddoughnut crumbs from her lips and said,“You had a question?”

“Oh, yes. May I please telephone MissPerumal, my tutor? No one has any ideawhere I am. I’m afraid she’ll be worried.”

“Very good of you, Reynard, but don’tworry. We’ve already called MissPerumal, so all is taken care of.” Thepencil woman began once again to retreat.

“Miss? Excuse me, Miss?”She stopped. “Yes, what is it now,

Reynard?”“Forgive me for asking this, Miss. I

wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, but . .. well, you wouldn’t happen to be lying tome, would you?”

“Lying to you?”“I’m sorry to ask it. But, you know, you

did tell Miss Perumal this morning that Icould use your phone, and then later youtold me there was no phone. So you see

why I’m concerned. It’s just that I don’twant Miss Perumal to worry.”

The pencil woman seemed unperturbed.“That’s a perfectly reasonable question,Reynard. A perfectly reasonablequestion.” She gave him an approving nodand made as if to leave.

“Miss, but you didn’t answer myquestion!”

The woman scratched her head, andReynie began to suspect that she waseither a little daft or a little deaf. After amoment, however, she said, “I supposeyou want the truth?”

“Yes, please!”“The truth is I haven’t called Miss

Perumal, but I will do so immediately. Infact, I was about to call her when youasked me if I had called her yet. Does this

satisfy you?”Reynie hardly knew what to say. He

didn’t wish to offend the woman, but hecould hardly trust her now, and it wasmore important to know that MissPerumal’s mind was at ease. “I’m sorry,Miss, but may I please just call hermyself? I’ll only take a minute.”

The pencil woman smiled. When shespoke this time her voice was quite gentle,and she looked Reynie in the eyes. “Youare very good to be so concerned aboutMiss Perumal. What would you say if Itold you that I have in fact called heralready? No, don’t answer that. Youwon’t believe me. How about this? I’llrelay her message to you: ‘Do you seenow that you didn’t need luck? I’m gladyou wore matching socks.’ That is what

she told me to tell you. Are yousatisfied?”

Before Reynie could make up his mindhow to answer, she slipped out of theroom, leaving him to puzzle over hermystifying behavior. The message fromMiss Perumal was obviously real, so whyhadn’t she told him in the first place?

As he pondered this, he heard footstepsin the hall, followed by a timid knock atthe half-open door. A young boy’s faceappeared in the doorway. “Hello,” the boysaid, adjusting his spectacles, “is thiswhere I’m supposed to wait?” He spokeso softly that Reynie had to strain to hearhim.

“I have no idea. It’s where I’msupposed to wait, though, so maybe it is.You’re welcome to join me, if you like.

I’m Reynie Muldoon.”“Oh,” the boy said uncertainly. “My

name is Sticky Washington. I’m justwondering if this is the right place. Theyellow lady told me to come down thehall and sit with someone namedReynard.”

“That’s me,” Reynie said. “People callme Reynie for short.” He put out his hand,and after a moment’s hesitation StickyWashington came and shook it.

Sticky was a notably skinny boy (whichReynie suspected was how he got hisnickname — he was thin as a stick) withlight brown skin the very color of the teathat Miss Perumal made each morning. Hehad big, nervous eyes like a horse’s, and,for some odd reason, a perfectly smoothbald head. His tiny wire-rimmed

spectacles gave him the distinguished lookof a scholar. A fidgety scholar, though: Heseemed quite shy, or at the very leastanxious. Well, why shouldn’t he beanxious, if he’d been through what Reyniehad been through today?

“Are you here for the third test?”Reynie asked.

Sticky nodded. “I’ve been waiting allday. I had to be here at nine o’clock thismorning, and the test was over at ten.Since then I’ve just been sitting around inan empty room. Lucky I had a pear withme or I might have starved. I think all theother children got doughnuts. Why didn’twe get doughnuts?”

“I wondered the same thing. Were youthe only one who passed, then?”

“The first test, no. A little girl passed it,

too, but I haven’t seen her since yesterday.Maybe they told her to come at a differenttime — they’ve had tests here all day.Was there an extremely small girl in yourgroup, about half our size?”

Reynie shook his head. He would haveremembered anyone so tiny.

“Maybe she’s coming later. Anyway, asfor the second test, yes: I was the only onewho passed. Which surprised me because—” Sticky stopped himself with a glanceat the doorway. He opened his mouth tocontinue, thought better of it, and at lastpretended to notice something on theceiling, as if he hadn’t been about to sayanything at all. Obviously he had a secret.Reynie had a sudden suspicion what itwas.

“Because there was a girl who

cheated?”Sticky’s eyes widened. “How did you

know?”“The same thing happened to me. I think

it’s a trick of some kind. Tell me, this girldidn’t happen to drop her pencil on theway into the building, did she? Out on theplaza?”

“Yes! I couldn’t believe anybodywould take such a chance. We were onlyallowed to bring one pencil, you know.”

“What did you do?”“I tried to help her. A few other kids

said they were sorry but they didn’t wantto be late, and one boy even laughed. I feltawfully sorry for her, so I had her holdonto my feet and lower me down throughthe grate. She was strong as a bear andhad no trouble doing it, and I’m so skinny

I fit right through the bars. It wasterrifying, though, I don’t mind admittingit, hanging upside down, scrabblingaround in the dark. I think something evennibbled at my finger, but maybe I imaginedit. I can get a little mixed up when I’mscared.”

“You were lucky to find her pencil,”Reynie observed. “It was pitch-blackdown in that drain.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t find it. But you knowwhat she did? She hauled me back upthrough the grate and said, ‘Oh well, nevermind. I have an extra one.’ And she pulledanother pencil right out of her sleeve! Canyou believe it? Why she would let me godown into that awful drain when she hadan extra pencil, I can’t imagine. Then, totop it off, she offered me the answers to

the test, to repay me for trying to help her.Apparently they didn’t do her any good,though. I’m glad I refused.”

“Me, too,” Reynie said. “I thinkrefusing was part of the test. If we’dcheated, they would have known it, and Idoubt either one of us would be here.”

From his shirt pocket Sticky took out athin piece of cotton cloth and polished hisspectacles with it. “If you’re right, it’s alittle creepy that they’re tricking us likethat.” He put the glasses back on andblinked his big, nervous eyes. “But Ishouldn’t complain. They were very niceto let me continue to the third stage eventhough I missed a few questions. Verygenerous of them —”

“Wait a minute,” Reynie said. “Howcould you possibly have missed any? Did

you circle the wrong letters by accident?”Sticky seemed embarrassed. He

shuffled his feet as he spoke. “Oh, well, Isuppose the questions were easy for you,but for me they were rather difficult. Timeran out before I could answer the lastthree, so I had to just circle some answersand hope I’d get lucky. I didn’t, of course.But as I said, they were very forgiving.”

Reynie couldn’t believe what he washearing. “You mean you knew the answersto those questions?”

Sticky grew more dejected withReynie’s every question. Tears brimmedin his eyes as he said, “Well, yes, Isuppose I do look rather stupid, don’t I? Ilook like a person who doesn’t know anyanswers. I understand that.”

Reynie interrupted him. “No, no! I

didn’t mean that! I meant that I’msurprised anybody knew the answers. Oneor two, maybe, but certainly not all ofthem.”

Sticky brightened, smiling shyly andstraightening his back. “Oh! Well, yes, Isuppose I do know a lot of things. That’swhy people started calling me Sticky,because everything I read sticks in myhead.”

“It’s perfectly amazing,” Reynie said.“You must read more than anybody I’veever met. But listen, once you figured outthe test was a puzzle, why didn’t you justsolve it that way? It would have savedtime — you could have finished it.”

“A puzzle?”“You didn’t notice that the answers

were all right there in the test?”

“ I did notice that a lot of informationwas repeated,” Sticky reflected, “but Ididn’t really pay attention to it. I wasconcentrating too hard on getting theanswers right. That question on colloidalsuspensions really had me sweating, I cantell you, and as I said, when I’m anxious Ican get mixed up.” After a pause, hesighed and added, “I tend to get anxious alot.”

Reynie laughed. “Well, you didn’tknow it was a puzzle, and I didn’t knowany of the answers, but we’re both herenow. We’d make a good team.”

“You think so?” said Sticky. Hegrinned. “Yes, I suppose we would.”

The boys waited there for some time,discussing the curiosities of the day.Sticky was more relaxed now, and soon

the two of them grew comfortabletogether, joking and laughing like oldfriends. Sticky couldn’t stop gigglingabout Rhonda Kazembe’s crazy getup, andReynie smiled until his face hurt whenSticky told him more about hanging upsidedown in the storm drain. (“My shoesstarted to slip off in her hands,” Stickyrecounted, “and for a second I thought shewas going to take them and leave medown there under the grate. I panicked andstarted wriggling like crazy — I think itwas all she could do to pull me back upwithout dropping me!”)

Then Reynie told Sticky about thepencil woman’s sneakiness regarding thephone call to Miss Perumal.

Instead of laughing, as Reynie hadexpected, Sticky slipped back into his

nervous behavior. He began polishing hisspectacles again, even though he’d justdone it minutes before. “Oh, yes,” he said.“Yes, I tried to call my parents, too. Samething happened. But in the end it was fine.She called them. Nothing to worry about.”

Reynie nodded politely. He sawperfectly well that Sticky was trying tohide something. Maybe he hadn’t thoughtof calling his parents and felt guilty aboutit now? But Reynie decided not to presshim on the matter — Sticky seemeduncomfortable enough as it was.

“So where do you live?” he asked, tochange the subject.

This only made Sticky polish all theharder. Perhaps he simply dislikedpersonal questions. “Well,” he began. Hecleared his throat. “Well —”

Just then the door flew wide open, anda girl raced into the room carrying abucket. She was extremely quick: Onemoment she was bursting through the door,golden-blond hair flying out behind herlike a horse’s mane, and the next she wasstanding right beside them. Sticky leapedback in alarm.

“What’s the matter?” he cried.“What’s the matter with you?” the girl

replied calmly.“Well . . . what were you running

from?”“From? I wasn’t running from anything.

I was running to this room. Old YellowSuit told me to come down here and waitwith you two, so here I am. My name’sKate Wetherall.”

Sticky was breathing hard and casting

glances at the door, as if a lion might fly innext, so it fell to Reynie to introduce them.“I’m Reynie Muldoon and this is StickyWashington,” he said, shaking her handand immediately regretting it — her gripwas so strong it was like getting hisfingers caught in a drawer. (Sticky noticedReynie’s pained expression and quicklythrust his own hands into his pockets.)Rubbing his tender knuckles, Reynie wenton, “I think the question is why you wererunning instead of walking.”

“Why not? It’s faster. Now I’m herewith you boys instead of trudging alongthe empty hallway, and it’s much better,isn’t it? You seem like nice fellows. Sowhy do they call you Sticky?” She touchedSticky’s arm. “You don’t feel sticky.”

“It’s a long story,” Sticky said,

regaining his composure.“Let’s have it, then,” Kate said.So Sticky told her about his name, and

then Kate revealed that she had alwayswanted a nickname herself. “I’ve tried toget people to call me The Great KateWeather Machine,” she said, “but nobodyever goes along with it. I don’t supposeyou boys would call me that, would you?”

“It does seem a bit awkward for anickname,” Reynie said mildly. “It takes along time to say.”

“I suppose it does,” Kate admitted, “butnot if you speak very quickly.”

“Let us think about it,” said Sticky.Kate nodded, agreeing. She seemed

pleasant enough. She had very bright,watery blue eyes, a fair complexion, androsy cheeks, and was unusually tall and

broad-shouldered for a twelve-year-old.(She announced her age right away, forchildren consider their ages every bit asimportant as their names. In return shelearned that the boys were eleven.) Butwhat Reynie was most curious about washer bucket. It was a good, solid metalbucket, painted fire-engine red. As theywere talking, Kate unfastened her belt,slipped it through the bucket handle, andfastened the belt again so that the buckethung at her hip. From the way she did this,it was obvious she’d done it a thousandtimes. Reynie was fascinated. Finally heasked her what it was for.

She gave him a quizzical look. “Whatkind of person doesn’t know what abucket’s for? It’s for carrying things,silly.”

“Yes, I know that,” Reynie said, “butwhy do you have one with you? Mostpeople don’t carry buckets around for noparticular reason.”

“That’s true,” Kate reflected. “I’veoften noticed that, but I can’t understandwhy. I can’t imagine not having a bucket.How else am I to tote my things?”

“What things?” asked Sticky, who, likeReynie, was trying to sneak a peek at thebucket’s contents.

“I’ll show you,” Kate said, and beganremoving things from the bucket. Firstcame a Swiss Army knife, a flashlight, apen light, and a bottle of extra-strengthglue, which Kate examined to be sure itslid was tightly closed. Then she produceda bag of marbles, a slingshot, a spool ofclear fishing twine, one pencil and one

eraser, a kaleidoscope, and a horseshoemagnet, which she yanked with someeffort from the metal bucket. “I’ve beenthrough dozens of these,” she said, holdingthe magnet up for them to admire. “This isthe strongest I’ve found.” Finally sheshowed them a length of slender nylonrope coiled around the bottom and sidesof the bucket.

“That’s a lot of stuff to carry,” Stickyremarked.

“It’s all useful,” Kate said, putting herthings away again. “Take this morning, forexample. Some crazy-looking girldropped her pencil down a storm drainout on the plaza —”

Reynie and Sticky looked at each other.“— and if I didn’t have my bucket with

me,” Kate continued, “she’d have been up

a creek without a paddle.” A thoughtfulexpression came over her face. “Hmm, apaddle would be great to have. But no, Isuppose it would be too big to haularound. Still, it would come in handysometimes —”

“Did you help Rhonda get her pencilback?” Reynie asked.

“Of course I did. I just . . . now wait aminute. How did you know her name?”

“Finish your story,” Reynie said.“We’ll tell you later.”

So Kate told them how she had pried upthe edge of the metal grate with ascrewdriver on her Swiss Army knife.After dragging the grate aside, she tied herrope to a nearby bench and loweredherself into the drain, using her flashlightto find the pencil in the darkness.

“It had rolled down into a crack,” sheexplained, “about ten and a half inchesdeep, so I put a drop of glue on the end ofsome fishing twine — that’s why it pays tohave a pen light, too, you know, so youcan hold it in your mouth and point it whenyou need both hands for something likeputting glue on twine. Anyway, I poked thetwine down into the crack until it reachedthe pencil. Gave the glue a few seconds todry, then pulled it right out. I couldn’thave done any of that without my bucket,now could I?”

“Weren’t you afraid?” Sticky asked.He’d been terrified himself and didn’twant to be the only one.

“Of what? Getting wet? It was perfectlydry down there. We haven’t had rain fordays.”

Something about Kate’s story hadcaught Reynie’s attention. “How did youknow that crack was ten and a half inchesdeep?” he said. “I don’t see a tapemeasure in your bucket.”

“Oh, I can always tell distances andweights and that sort of thing,” said Katewith a shrug. She glanced around. “Forexample, just by looking at it I can tell thisroom is twenty-two feet long and sixteenfeet wide.”

Sticky, irritated that Kate hadn’t beenfrightened in the dark drain, was inclinedto be skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”“Let’s measure,” said Reynie, fetching

the ruler from the pencil woman’s desk.The room was twenty-two feet long and

sixteen feet wide.

Impressed, Reynie whistled, and Stickysaid, “Not bad.”

“Okay, back to your story,” Reyniesaid. “Did Rhonda offer to help you cheaton the test?”

Kate’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.“You sure seem to know a lot about it.Were you spying on me somehow? If youwere, then I guess you know I called her aloon.”

“We weren’t spying, but that’s what Ifigured,” Reynie said. “So I take it yousolved the puzzle? Unless, of course, youknew all the answers.”

Kate snorted. “Who in the world couldpossibly know the answers to a test likethat?”

“Sticky did,” said Reynie.It was Kate’s turn to be impressed.

“Not bad,” she said, and Sticky ducked hishead shyly. “Now what’s this about apuzzle?”

Once again Reynie and Sticky looked ateach other.

“But if you didn’t know about that,”said Sticky, “how did you pass?”

“ I didn’t pass. Nobody in my sessiondid. To tell you the truth, I think the onlyreason they let me stick around wasbecause I helped Old Yellow Suit out of atight spot.”

Of course the boys wanted to hear whathad happened, and Kate was happy tooblige them.

“After the test was over,” she said,“Old Yellow Suit took us down the hall togive everybody doughnuts and tell theparents that she was sorry but that they had

to go now, thanks for coming, that sort ofthing. Some of the parents were furious.One started shouting how this was somekind of trick, and another demanded toknow what these tests were all about, andOld Yellow Suit started glancing towardthe exit. I could tell she was nervous, but afew people stood between her and thedoor, and she was trapped.

“I felt sorry for her, you know, becauseI figured she was only doing her job,whatever it is, and at least she’d given mesomething interesting to do today, so Idecided to help her out. While the grown-ups were all yelling, and the other kidswere making themselves sick ondoughnuts, I whipped out my Army knifescrewdriver and took off the doorknob.Then I pointed and yelled, ‘There’s the

man behind all this! That’s him in thecorner!’ And everybody turned andpushed against one another to see —except Old Yellow Suit, of course, whomade a beeline for the exit. As soon as shewas out, I turned off the light and closedthe door, and the two of us ran off downthe hall. We had a good head start,because it was dark in the room now, andthey kept reaching for the doorknob andnot finding it. Finally someone turned onthe light, and I suppose they all cameflying out like angry hornets, but by thenwe were hiding in a closet.

“After we heard the last person leave,Old Yellow Suit smiled at me and said, ‘Ibelieve you should stay for the next stageof testing.’ And so here I am.”

“Amazing!” Reynie said.

“I can’t believe it!” cried Sticky.“You’re a hero!”

“Oh good grief,” Kate said, frowningwith embarrassment. “It was no big deal.Anybody could have done it. Now, I’vetold you my story, so you have to tell meyours. How did you know about RhondaKazembe? And what’s all this about thetest being a puzzle?”

Before they could answer her, thepencil woman poked her head into theroom and said, “It’s time for the third test,children. Please report immediately toRoom 7-B.” Then she disappeared again.

“Where in the world is Room 7-B?”Sticky said, exasperated. “She never tellsus where anything is. It took me half thenight to find the Monk Building.”

“I’m sure we can find it easily enough,”

Reynie said, but privately he was thinkingabout Sticky’s words — “half the night.”What was Sticky doing in the city alone atnight? Where were his parents?

“You’d better fill me in quick,” Katesaid. “You know Old Yellow Suit isn’tparticularly patient.”

“You’re right,” Reynie said. “We’ll tellyou on the way.”

And with that, the three new friendswent in search of Room 7-B.

Squares and Arrows

The room was on the seventh floor, asReynie had suspected. The door had nosign on it, but after roaming the emptyhallways and looking at all the other doorsigns (there was a 7-A, a 7-C, a 7-D, anda 7-E), they returned to the unmarkeddoor, upon which Kate knocked boldly.After a pause, she knocked again, stillmore loudly. This happened several timesbefore they got a response — which, as ithappened, came not from beyond the door,but from directly behind them.

“That’s enough with the knocking,” said

a deep voice, quite close.The children whirled around in

surprise.Before them stood a tall man in a

weatherbeaten hat, a weatherbeatenjacket, weatherbeaten trousers, andweatherbeaten boots. His ruddy cheekswere dark with whisker stubble, while hishair (what little peeked from beneath hishat) was yellow as flax. If not for thealertness in his ocean-blue eyes, he wouldresemble, more than anything, a scarecrowthat had come down from its stake. On topof all this, the man’s expression wasprofoundly sad. All the children noticedthis at once. Reynie was so struck by itthat instead of saying hello, he asked,“Are you all right, sir?”

“I’m afraid not,” the man said. “But

that’s neither here nor there. Are youready to begin the next test?”

“But we haven’t even met yet!” Katesaid, sticking out her hand. “My name’sKate Wetherall, though my friends call me—” She glanced at the boys, who lookedat her doubtfully. “Well, my friends callme Kate.”

The man shook Kate’s hand, somewhatreluctantly. Even his handshake seemedsad — he hardly squeezed at all. The boysintroduced themselves and the man sadlyshook their hands, too. “There,” he said.“We’ve met. Now —”

“But you haven’t given us your name,”Kate insisted.

The man sighed, considering this. “Callme Milligan,” he said at last.

“Is that your first name or your last

name?”“Just Milligan. And no more questions.

We have to proceed. Now, which of youis George?”

Kate scowled. She was getting veryimpatient with this man. “Weren’t youlistening? Our names are Sticky, Reynie,and Kate!”

Sticky cleared his throat. “Uh, well,actually, my name is George. Sticky’s mynickname.”

“Your name is George Washington?”Kate said. “Like the president? The fatherof our country?”

“It isn’t that unusual,” Sticky saiddefensively. “You don’t have to tease meabout it.”

“Take it easy, pal,” said Kate. “I wasn’tteasing you.” Clearly Sticky was a bit

touchy about his name.“Sticky or George, whichever it is,”

said Milligan. “You’re to go first. Stepthrough that door now and shut it behindyou.”

Sticky’s eyes grew wide. “I have to goin alone?”

“It’s all right. It’s only a test. The otherswill be with you soon.”

“Good luck, Sticky,” Reynie said,clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m sureyou’ll do fine!”

“Go, Sticky!” said Kate.Sticky removed his spectacles, polished

them, and replaced them. After amoment’s consideration, he removed themand began polishing again. There seemedto be a speck on the lens he couldn’tremove.

“Quit stalling,” Milligan said.“Nothing’s going to harm you in thatroom.”

At last Sticky nodded, settled hisglasses on his nose, tucked away hispolishing cloth, and passed through thedoor. Milligan closed it behind him andwent away without a word.

“How do you like that?” Kate said. “Hedidn’t even tell us what to do, or how longit would take, or anything.”

“Big surprise,” said Reynie.Soon Milligan came back and

announced that it was Reynie’s turn. Hegave no hint about what had happened toSticky.

“See you on the other side,” said Kate.“Wherever that is.”

Reynie took a deep breath and went in,

the door closing behind him. He foundhimself in an empty room. On the oppositewall, above another closed door, hung alarge sign that read: CROSS THE ROOM WITHOUTSETTING FOOT ON A BLUE OR BLACK SQUARE.

Reynie looked down. On the cementfloor just inside the door, where he nowstood, was a large red circle. On the otherside of the room, by the opposite door,was another red circle. Between thesecircles the floor resembled a giantcheckerboard, with alternating rectanglesof blue, black, and yellow. Reynie studiedthe pattern. There was far more blue andblack than yellow. So much more, in fact,that he soon realized it would beimpossible to cross the room withoutstepping on blue or black. The yellowparts were so widely scattered that he

doubted even a kangaroo could hop fromone to the other. He looked at the signagain, and after a moment’s consideration,he laughed and shook his head. Then hestrode confidently across the room, intothe other red circle, and out the far door.

Sticky and Milligan stood waiting forhim beyond the door. They had beenwatching him secretly through tiny holes inthe wall. Sticky looked confused andstarted to ask Reynie something, butMilligan shushed him. “You boys canwatch, but you must be quiet,” he said. Hewent away to tell Kate it was her turn.

Moments later they saw Kate stepboldly into Room 7-B. After reading thesign, she studied the floor, consideringwhether she might manage to leap fromyellow to yellow. At last she shook her

head, rejecting the idea. Next she lookedfrom one door to the other, gauging thedistance. Then, taking the length of ropefrom her bucket, she fashioned a loop atthe end, and with one expert throwlassoed the doorknob at the far side of theroom. Fastening the other end to thedoorknob behind her, she pulled the ropetight, knotted it securely, and climbed up.“Now, if I only had that paddle,” she saidaloud to herself as she walked along therope, “I could hold it out in front of me forbalance.”

Indeed, a paddle might have helped, forhalfway across the room she nearly fell(the boys caught their breath), but afterwobbling back and forth and wheeling herarms around, she recovered. After a fewmore careful steps, she hopped down into

the other red circle.“Wow!” Sticky whispered. “She did

it!”But before Kate could join the boys,

Milligan appeared and took her back tothe starting point to try again, this timewithout her rope, which he informed herwould be returned upon completion of thetest.

“That’s hardly fair,” Sticky whispered.“Nobody told her she couldn’t use arope.”

Kate, meanwhile, was removing all theitems from her bucket and stuffing theminto her pockets. When she’d finished, herpockets bulging ridiculously, sheunscrewed the handle from her bucket andtucked it through her belt. Then she wasready. Kicking the bucket onto its side,

she hopped onto it and began rolling itforward with her feet, like a circus bearbalancing on a ball. Rolling first this way,and then that, she zigzagged across theroom to the other red circle.

Reynie and Sticky looked at each otherin awe. Who was this girl?

Yet once again, as Kate reattached thebucket handle and emptied her pockets,Milligan entered the room. He returnedher to the starting circle, this time takingaway her bucket and tools, which shehanded over with evident reluctance. Sherecovered quickly, however. BeforeMilligan had even closed the door behindhim, Kate shrugged and cracked herknuckles, flattened her palms against thecement, and lifted her feet into the airabove her. And this was how she crossed

the room, walking on her hands, not oncesetting foot upon the floor.

“Never mind,” said Milligan when sheopened the door. He handed her bucketback. “You pass.”

“What I don’t understand,” Sticky wassaying to Reynie as they followedMilligan down a dark stairway, “is howyou passed that test. I’m glad, of course,but I don’t see how you did it. I crossedon my hands and knees so my feet didn’ttouch any blue or black squares, and Katedid her acrobat tricks, but you just walkedright across the room. You were steppingon dark squares left and right!”

They had reached the bottom of the

stairs now. Milligan ushered the childreninto a damp, dimly lit undergroundpassage, where centipedes twisted awayat their approach and other slitherycreatures they heard but didn’t seeretreated into the shadows. By this gloomyroute, he was leading them to what he hadcalled their “final testing place,” whichstruck Reynie as having a particularlyominous sound.

“Just walked right across?” said Kate.“Reynie, how did you get away withthat?”

“It was another trick. Those weren’tsquares on the floor — they wererectangles. Their sides weren’t all thesame length.”

“Gosh, that’s true,” Kate reflected.Sticky slapped his forehead. “I got my

pants dirty for nothing? I crawled acrossthe floor like a baby for nothing? I’m sostupid! I can’t believe they’re letting mego on.”

“You’re hardly stupid,” Reynie said.“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Just where is here, anyway?” Kateasked. “Hey, Milligan, where are we?”

Without looking back or slowing down,Milligan said, “Right now we’re passingunder Fifth Street.”

“I don’t suppose we could walk aboveground, could we?” Sticky asked. “Wherethere’s sunlight and the path isn’t wet?Where it doesn’t smell like spoiled fish?”

“Where creepy things don’t keep fallingon our heads?” Reynie added with ashudder, brushing away a beetle that hadtried to skitter under his shirt collar.

“Sunlight just ahead,” Milligan replied.And sure enough, presently he led them upanother set of stairs into an empty cellar,then through the cellar doors onto a quietstreet lined with elm trees and old houses.The children couldn’t see this right away— it took a moment for their eyes to adjustto the brilliant sunlight.

And in that moment, Milligandisappeared.

They had followed him out through thecellar doors, they knew that for certain,but whereas Milligan had been tall andstraight in his battered hat and scuffedjacket, the children were nowaccompanied by a stooped little man witha big belly, wearing dark glasses and abright yellow cap.

“Who are you?” Kate cried, crouching

into a defensive stance. “Where’sMilligan?”

“Right here,” the man said wearily,lowering his sunglasses to reveal a pair ofsad, ocean-blue eyes. “I’m in disguise.”

The children regarded him closely. Itwas indeed Milligan. Somehow, withouttheir noticing, he had stuffed his hat andjacket under his shirt to create theimpression of a fat belly; had producedthe cap and sunglasses (from where, theycouldn’t guess); and hunched his shouldersand bent forward to appear shorter than hewas. It was a remarkable transformation.

“Are you a magician?” Sticky asked.“I’m nobody,” Milligan replied, and

without further explanation, he pointedacross the street to a three-story housewith stone steps leading up to its front

door. “Please go wait on those steps.Rhonda will be with you soon.”

“Rhonda Kazembe?” Reynie asked.“The green-haired girl?”

But even as he spoke, the cellar doorsslammed shut, and Milligan was gone.

“Do you suppose we’re going to meetanybody normal today?” Kate asked.

“I’m beginning to doubt it,” Reyniesaid.

The children went across the street andthrough the gate of the house Milligan hadpointed out. It was a very old house, withgray stone walls, high arched windows,and a roof with red shingles that glowedlike embers in the afternoon sun. Rosesgrew along the iron fence, and near thehouse towered a gigantic elm tree,perhaps older than the building itself, its

green leaves tinged with the first yellowsof autumn. Shaded by the elm’s brancheswere an ivy-covered courtyard and thestone steps upon which they were to wait.The steps themselves were half-coveredwith ivy; they seemed an inviting place torest. And indeed it was with some reliefthat the children, tired from the day’schallenges, sat upon them now in the coolshade of the elm.

“Sticky,” Reynie said when they hadsettled, “there’s something I wanted to askyou about your parents. Did they know that—?”

“We already talked about this,remember?” Sticky said, interrupting him.Turning to Kate, he explained, “Thatyellow lady gave Reynie and me therunaround when we told her we had some

phone calls to make. Reynie was afraidhis tutor would be worried, and it was thesame with me and my parents. Turns outshe called them, but she was very oddabout it. Very odd indeed. Did that happento you?”

This was not what Reynie had beengoing to ask about. He had wanted to askif Sticky’s parents knew he’d spent “halfthe night” looking for the Monk Building.For some reason, Sticky was avoiding thesubject.

“I didn’t have anybody to call,” saidKate with a shrug. “My mother died whenI was a baby, and my father ran away andleft me when I was two.”

Sticky’s face fell. “Oh. I’m . . . I’m sosorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Kate said lightly. “I

don’t even remember them.” She paused,reflecting. “Actually, I do have onememory of my father.”

“That’s one more than I have,” saidReynie. “What is it?”

“Well, down the road from our housewas an old mill pond, and my father tookme there to swim once. I was only two,but a good swimmer. The water was cold,the day was warm, and I thought it all feltwonderful. I laughed and splashed until Iwas exhausted. Then my father — I can’tpicture his face, but I can still feel hisstrong arms lifting me out of the water —he carried me on his shoulders back to ourhouse. I remember asking if we couldswim there again, and he said, ‘Of coursewe can, Katie-Cat.’ I remember that verywell. He called me ‘Katie-Cat.’”

“You never went back to the mill pond,did you?” asked Sticky, looking evenmore regretful now that he’d heard Kate’sstory.

“No, the next thing I remember I was inan orphanage,” said Kate.

Reynie shook his head. “It’s strange,Kate. Your father sounds, well, he sounds—”

“Like a nice man?” finished Kate. “Iknow, I’ve often thought of that. I guess itshows that people aren’t always what theyseem. Or else he just changed. I supposeI’ll never know.”

“It’s terrible,” Sticky whispered,almost as if to himself.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kate said cheerfully.“That was a long time ago. Anyway, I’vehad a fine life. The circus has been good

to me.”Reynie widened his eyes and glanced at

Sticky, but Sticky seemed too disturbed tohave noticed what Kate said. Reynielooked back at Kate. “Did you just say thecircus has been good to you?”

“Oh, yes,” said Kate with a laugh.“When I was seven I ran away from theorphanage to join the circus. They broughtme back, but I just ran away again, and Ikept running away every time they broughtme back. Eventually it was agreed that Icould join the circus and save everybodya lot of trouble. So that’s what I’ve beendoing the past few years. It’s been greatfun, too, but I was ready for somethingdifferent. When I read about these tests, Isaid adios to my circus pals, and here Icame.”

“That’s quite a life,” Reynie said, morethan a little amazed. “And has it — Imean, has circus life helped, then? Youhaven’t ever missed your parents?” Hewas always curious about how otherorphans felt. His own parents were neverknown to him, and so he didn’t miss themin particular, but on rainy days, or dayswhen other children taunted him, or nightswhen he awoke from a bad dream andcould use a hug and perhaps a story to lullhim back to sleep — at times like these hedidn’t miss his parents, exactly, but he didwish for them.

Kate, apparently, felt otherwise.“What’s to miss?” she said breezily. “LikeI said, I don’t even remember my mother,and who wants a father who’ll run awayand leave his baby daughter all by

herself? I’d much rather spend my timewith elephants and clowns.” She frowned.“Sticky, what’s wrong with you?”

Throughout their conversation, Sticky’sexpression had grown more and moredejected, his big eyes sadder and sadder,so that at last his face had taken on theexact gloomy look of that miserable manMilligan.

Reynie put his hand on Sticky’sshoulder. “Hey, are you all right?”

“Oh . . . yes,” Sticky said,unconvincingly, “I was just, you know,feeling sorry for Kate. It must be terribleto think you weren’t wanted.”

Kate laughed (a bit stiffly, it seemed toReynie) and said, “Weren’t you listening,chum? I told you, I’m having a ball!” Shewent on to regale them with stories about

circus life — hanging from trapezes,leaping through flaming hoops, getting shotfrom cannons — until gradually Stickycheered up, and the matter of parents wasdropped.

They had been waiting on the steps forperhaps an hour, and were beginning togrumble about how hungry they were,when the front door opened, and RhondaKazembe appeared. At least, they thoughtit was Rhonda Kazembe. She did have thesame features and coal-black skin, and shewas the same height as Rhonda, but gonewere the puffy white dress and long greenhair. Instead, her hair hung in lovely darkbraids all about her face, and she wore asmart blue jumper and sandals. When shesaw them on the steps, she laughed withpleasure.

“Hi, kids! Remember me?”“Rhonda? Is it really you?” Sticky

asked.“I hope so,” she replied. “Otherwise

someone’s played a very clever trick onme.”

When Rhonda sat down with them andReynie had a closer look at her, herealized something that he’d missedbefore. “You’re not even a child!” heexclaimed. “You’re a grown-up!”

“Well,” said Rhonda, “a very small,very young grown-up, yes.”

“ I knew you were hiding somethingwith that funny get-up, but I thought it hadto do with the cheating.”

“No,” said Rhonda, laughing again. “Itwas just to call attention away from myage, and to distract you in general.”

“I have an idea,” said Kate, whosestomach was growling loudly. “Why don’tyou give us some food and tell us whatthis is all about?”

“Soon, Kate, very soon. There remainsone more test, but after that, whether youpass or fail, I promise you all a goodsupper. Fair enough?”

“It’s a deal,” Kate said.“Then let’s begin. When I tell you to,

each of you must go through this frontdoor. At the very back of the house is astaircase. You’re to reach the staircase asquickly as possible, hurry up the stairs,and ring the bronze bell that hangs at thetop. Speed is important, so don’t dawdle.Any questions?”

“Will this test be any harder than thelast one?” Kate asked, with a show of

bravado.“Some find it quite difficult,” said

Rhonda. “But you should all be able to doit with your eyes closed.”

“Will it be scary?” Sticky asked, almostin a whisper.

“Maybe, but it isn’t really dangerous,”Rhonda said, which did nothing forSticky’s confidence.

“Who goes first?” Reynie asked.“That’s an easy one,” Rhonda

answered. “You.”

It had been a day full of challenges, all ofwhich Reynie had met successfully, andwhen he stepped through the front door hewas brimming with confidence. By this

point he knew there would be some kindof trick involved; and knowing this, he feltsure he’d be ready for it.

He found himself in a brightly lit roomwith pitch black walls. The front door,which Rhonda had just closed behind him,had no knob on the inside and waslikewise painted black, so that it blendedinto the wall. The room was rathercramped, perhaps six feet wide and sixlong (Kate would know for sure, hethought), and was entirely empty. Notcounting the nearly invisible front doorbehind him, it had three exits: to the left,to the right, and immediately before him.These doorways had no doors in them,and the rooms beyond were unlit, so thatReynie couldn’t see into them.

Are we expected to walk into dark

rooms? he wondered. This is going tomake Sticky extremely unhappy. But hewas only thinking of Sticky to take hismind off himself, for the prospect ofgroping about in the darkness intimidatedhim more than he cared to admit.

“Well,” he said aloud, to bolster hiscourage, “there’s no time to waste, so heregoes.” He plunged through the doorwayahead of him (this ought to be the mostdirect path to the rear of the house) and, asif by magic, seemed to walk into the veryroom he had just left. It was cramped,brightly lit, painted black, and he couldsee a dark doorway in each wall.

“What in the world?” he said, turning tolook behind him, then in confusion turninground again. At once he realized hismistake. If he hadn’t turned around, he

might have kept his bearings, but now he’dlost them. He was in a maze of identicalrooms. Everything looked exactly thesame in every direction.

His confidence was quickly drainingaway.

“Now, think,” he told himself. “Whenyou enter a room, its light must turn onautomatically, and when you leave, it goesoff. But there are light switches by eachdoor. Perhaps if you throw a switch, thelight stays on. It might be as simple asthat.”

With a quick inspection of the nearestdoorway, however, this hope vanished.What Reynie had supposed were lightswitches were only decorative woodenpanels. He was about to turn away and tryto retrace his steps when it occurred to

him the panels themselves might beimportant. He took a closer look at one.About the size of a playing card, the panelhad four arrows etched into it, pointing indifferent directions and painted differentcolors. A blue arrow pointed to the right,a green one to the left, a wiggly-shapedyellow one straight ahead, and a purpleone down.

Of course, Reynie thought, feelingfoolish. The arrows weren’t fordecoration — they were meant to showthe way. But which was he to believe?After going round to every panel he wasno better off. Four doorways with fourarrows each meant sixteen arrows tochoose from, and there was no apparentpattern. Reynie racked his brain: Shouldhe follow the green ones? Green arrows

on a traffic signal mean “Go.” But perhapsthat was too obvious. Perhaps the redarrows were the ones to follow —perhaps that was the trick. Yet that hardlyseemed fair. What if he’d been color-blind and couldn’t even tell thedifference?

No sooner had this occurred to him thanhe knew the secret.

Running his finger over the carvedarrows in the panel before him, Reyniesmiled. The only one you could know bytouch would be the wiggly shaped one.What was it that Rhonda had said to Kate?“You should all be able to do it with youreyes closed.” It had seemed she wasoffering encouragement. Actually she wasoffering them a clue: Even in the dark,even with his eyes closed, Reynie could

feel the panels with his fingers and findthe wiggly shaped arrow.

Just to be certain, he hurried around theroom, checking the panels. Sure enough,though the other arrows followed noparticular pattern, the wiggly arrows alldirected him toward the same door — theone whose wiggly arrow pointed straightahead. Reynie took a deep breath, hopedfor the best, and charged through. The nextroom looked exactly the same, but thistime the wiggly arrows indicated the dooron his right. He took it.

By the time he’d gone through ten roomsin this way, Reynie had no idea where inthe house he was. He might have been atthe front door again and would not haveknown it. Or he might be in the verymiddle of the maze. And with the walls

painted black as they were, if all the lightswent out he would be in utter darkness.Suddenly he wondered if they intended toturn the lights out on him as part of thetest. The thought started an uncomfortableflutter in his belly. But just as he began toworry, he entered a room and stumbledsmack into a staircase. With a shout oftriumph he raced up the stairs onto anarrow landing, found the bronze bellRhonda had told them about, and rang it.

There was a sound of quick footstepscoming down stairs. Then a door unlockedand out came the pencil woman with astopwatch in hand. She examined it andsaid, “Six minutes fourteen seconds.”

“Is that good?” Reynie asked.Without answering, she said, “Please

close your eyes and stand still.”

Something about this made Reynieuneasy. Had he done so badly? Was thismeant to test his courage? He did as hewas told, closing his eyes and bracinghimself as best he could.

“Why are you flinching?” the pencilwoman asked.

“I don’t know. I thought maybe youwere going to slap me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I could slap youperfectly well with your eyes open. I’monly going to blindfold you.”

Having done so, she led Reynie downthe stairs again. With her hand on hisshoulder, the pencil woman guided himback through the maze into the first room,where she removed the blindfold. Startingthe stopwatch, she said, “Please go ringthe bell again.”

This time it was easy. Reynie trottedthrough the rooms, glancing at the panelsfor guidance, and in a few short minuteshad rung the bell again. The pencil womancame up behind him, reading herstopwatch. “Three minutes even,” shesaid. She led him up more stairs into asitting room and pointed him toward asofa.

“Does this mean I pass?”“We ask you to complete the maze a

second time to see if you’ve actuallysolved it. We need to make sure youdidn’t just come upon the staircase byluck. If you’ve discovered the secret, youshould be much faster the second timearound. Which you were. Therefore youseem to have solved the maze. Thereforeyou pass. Therefore —” Interrupting

herself, she took a cracker from her pocketand ate it very quickly, as if she hadn’teaten in days and couldn’t wait anothermoment.

Reynie cocked his head curiously. “Butwhy did you have me go through againwhen you could have just asked me? Icould have told you the secret, you know.”

“You’d be surprised how few childrenhave pointed that out,” said the pencilwoman as she moved toward the door.

“You mean you wondered whether I’dnotice that?”

The pencil woman winked. “And nowwe know, don’t we?”

She hurried from the room, leavingReynie alone on the sofa. He was gettingused to her abrupt entrances and exits.Still, it was strange to find himself in an

unknown house, sitting on this sofa byhimself. He looked around the room. Thewalls were lined with books, many ofthem in languages he didn’t recognize. Inone corner stood an old piano; in another,a marvelous green globe. Reynie went tolook at the globe. If the others took as longas he did to finish the maze, it would besome time before he had company. Hemight as well entertain himself.

But hardly had he given the globe asingle spin — he hadn’t even locatedStonetown Harbor on it yet — when heheard the bell clanging outside on thestairway landing. It rang and rang, veryloudly and with no sign of stopping, andfrom this he gathered it was Kate at thebell. Sure enough, within a few momentsthe ringing had ceased and the pencil

woman had led Kate into the sitting roomto join him. Kate was grinning ear to ear.The pencil woman had a hand to herforehead, as if perhaps all the bell ringinghad given her a headache.

“She doesn’t have to go through asecond time?” Reynie asked, surprised.

“No point,” said the pencil woman, andleft them there alone.

“What do you mean, a second time?”Kate asked.

“I had to finish it twice to prove I’dsolved it. But you got through so fast, Isuppose it would be hard to do it anyfaster.”

“Not as long as I have my bucket withme,” Kate agreed.

After turning this over in his mind a fewtimes, Reynie gave up and said, “Okay,

what did your bucket have to do withgetting through the maze?”

“Well, of course I saw right away that Iwas in a maze, and I knew that I had to getto the opposite side of the house. So Ilooked around for a heating vent —”

“A heating vent?”“Sure. And there in the floor of the very

first room I saw one, so I got out my army-knife screwdriver and removed the grateand squeezed down into the heating duct.It was a tight fit, I’ll tell you — had to tiemy bucket to my foot and pull it alongbehind me. Those old ducts run all overthe house, but the central duct runs moreor less in a straight line to the back, sowith my flashlight in one hand and myarmy knife in the other, I just followed itall the way there, pried up the vent, and

popped out by the staircase. I sort of hadto bend the grate on that last one. I thinkmaybe Old Yellow Suit’s mad about that.”

“I bet she’ll forgive you.”“Don’t you think? It’s not like it’ll be

hard to fix. Only a little one-by-one grate.Hey, this is an impressive globe.”

For a while the two of them entertainedthemselves finding places on the globe,but eventually they’d had enough of it, andSticky Washington had yet to appear. Katewent over to the piano and tried to play it.The keys made no sound. Together theylifted the lid and looked inside. The pianostrings had been removed, and in theirplace were more books.

“These people certainly have a lot ofreading to do,” Kate observed. “Oh well,no great loss. I only know ‘Chopsticks,’

anyway.”Almost twenty minutes had passed, and

still no sign of Sticky. Kate began to sortthrough the items in her bucket, makingsure each was in its proper place. She hadfound an arrangement that kept her thingssecure and within easy reach, and she wasvery particular about it. She was the sortof person who liked to be constantly busy,Reynie realized. She hadn’t much use foridleness. Which reminded him ofsomething he wanted to ask her. “Youknow, Kate, something’s been nagging me.You told us you carry all these thingsaround in your bucket because they’reuseful, right?”

“Absolutely,” Kate replied.“Then why the kaleidoscope? It’s

interesting to look through, maybe, but

how is it useful?”Kate stopped double-checking the

things in her bucket and gave Reynie asearching look. At last she nodded. “Youknow, I think I can trust you, I can alreadytell. All right, here’s the secret.” She tookout the kaleidoscope and popped off itscolorful prismatic lens. Only then didReynie see that the prismatic lens hadbeen concealing a different lens beneath.

“The kaleidoscope is a spyglass indisguise,” Kate explained. “It’s a goodspyglass and I wouldn’t want anyone tosteal it. The kaleidoscope, on the otherhand, is rather a bad kaleidoscope. I don’tthink it would tempt anyone.”

The very idea of disguising a goodspyglass as a bad kaleidoscope madeReynie laugh with pleasure. “It’s terrific!”

he cried.Kate wasn’t sure what Reynie was

laughing about, but she was eminentlyagreeable, and before long she waslaughing with him. When Reynie had takena good look at the spyglass, Kate tucked itaway again and flopped onto the sofa. “Doyou think Sticky’s ever going to finish?I’m having a fine time and all, but I’mabout to drop dead from hunger.”

In answer to her question, the bell rang— only once, and almost imperceptibly,as if Sticky had just tapped it with hisfingernails. Through the closed door theyheard the pencil woman speaking in herbrusque way, then an embarrassed murmurthat must have been Sticky’s response.After a moment all was silent again. Againthey waited.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Reynie said.“It’s easy once you’ve figured out thesecret. It only took me three minutes thesecond time through.”

Three minutes soon passed, however.Then four, then five. Not until almostfifteen minutes had gone by did the bellring again, just as softly as before. Amoment later the door opened, and Stickyentered the room with the pencil womanbehind him. He gave a great smile whenhe saw Reynie and Kate, not so muchbecause he’d finished the test but becausehe was relieved to have company again.

“Congratulations,” said the pencilwoman. “You all pass.”

The children cheered and clapped eachother on the backs, and when they weredone cheering and clapping, they realized

that the pencil woman had left them yetagain.

“She’s awfully fond of leaving, isn’tshe?” asked Kate. “I never saw anybodywho left so much. I suppose she expects usto wait again?”

“Maybe Rhonda’s coming for us,”Reynie said.

“I hope so. Otherwise I’m going to haveto eat some of these books. Sticky, whaton earth took you so long? Didn’t youknow how hungry I was?”

Sticky seemed about to cry. He wasreaching for his spectacles when he sawKate was only teasing him. Then hesmiled and shrugged. “I had to go throughtwice.”

“So did Reynie. But he said there’ssome kind of secret that gets you through

faster. So why did it take you so long thesecond time?”

“It was a little faster,” Sticky protested.“Now what’s this secret you’re talkingabout?”

“The secret to getting through themaze,” Reynie said. “You know, thearrows.”

“Arrows? You mean the ones on thosepanels?”

Reynie gave Kate a look of amazement,but Kate replied, “Don’t look at me. Idon’t know anything about arrows,remember? I took a shortcut.”

“That’s true,” he said. “Sticky, if youdidn’t use the arrows, how did you getthrough?”

Sticky shuffled his feet and said, “I justkept trying one door after the other, until

finally I found the staircase. It was sheerluck.”

“And you found it more quickly thesecond time? That’s the really lucky part,I guess.”

“Oh, no, that part was easy,” Stickysaid. “I just remembered how I got throughthe first time: First I took a right, then aleft, then straight ahead, then right, thenright again, then left, then left again, thenright, then straight ahead, and so on, until Icame to the staircase. I didn’t have towaste time scratching my head over thosepanels, or worrying they were going toturn the lights off, or any of that stuff. I justhurried through exactly as I did before.”

“Exactly as you —,” Kate began, thenjust shook her head. “That’s incredible.”

Reynie laughed. “You did it the hard

way, Sticky!”“What’s the easy way?”“Follow the wiggly arrows.”“Oh,” Sticky said thoughtfully. “That

would have been useful to know.”

The Trouble with Children Or,Why They Are Necessary

Their supper was served in a cozy diningroom with crowded bookshelves on everywall and a window overlooking thecourtyard. Redbirds twittered in the elmtree outside the open window, a gentlebreeze drifted into the room, and ingeneral the children were in much betterspirits, having passed the tests and at lasthaving gotten some food in their bellies.Rhonda Kazembe had already broughtthem bowls of tomato soup and grilledcheese sandwiches, which they’d eagerly

devoured; now she set out a great platterof fruit, and as the children reachedhappily for bananas and grapes and pears,she sat down and joined them.

“It’s all part of the test, you know.Being hungry and irritable. It’s importantto see how you behave when otherchildren are getting doughnuts and you’regetting nothing, and how well your mindworks despite being tired and thirsty. Youall did brilliantly, I must say. Justbrilliantly.”

Sticky, who still felt sensitive about hisperformance in the maze, said, “I wouldn’tsay I did brilliantly. I didn’t figure out thesolution or find a shortcut, I just stumbledaround like a twit.”

“You mustn’t belittle yourself,” Rhondasaid. “I daresay very few people could

have done what you did the second timethrough, retracing your steps so exactly.You made over a hundred turns!”

“I doubt I could have done it,” Reynieremarked.

“ I know I couldn’t have,” said Katethrough a mouthful of grapes.

Sticky ducked his head.“Besides, you aren’t the only child ever

to have trouble with the maze,” saidRhonda. “When I first went through it, Igot terribly lost.”

“You got lost in the maze?” Sticky said.The others’ ears perked up.

“Oh, yes, several years ago, when Itook these same tests. I thought I was veryclever, because I knew right away that Iwas in a maze of identical rooms. I’veoften been able to sense such things.

‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘if every roomhas three exits, and I always take the exitto the right, then I’ll make my way aroundthe house to the back in no time.’ Ofcourse, Mr. Benedict had thought of that.”

“Who’s Mr. Benedict?” Reynie asked.“Mr. Benedict is the reason we’re all

here. You’ll meet him after supper.”“What happened to you in the maze?”

Kate asked.“Well now, if you do what I did,”

Rhonda went on, “after about six roomsyou come upon a dead end, and yourclever little plan flies out the window. Iwas so frustrated, I didn’t bother trying tosolve the panels. Instead I just tried tofollow the green arrows for a while —green so often means ‘go’ — and whenthat didn’t work I tried the red ones. When

the solution finally occurred to me, morethan an hour had gone by.”

“But you still passed?” Sticky asked,heartened to learn of someone else havingdifficulty with the maze.

“Of course she passed,” said the pencilwoman, entering the dining room.“Rhonda was the most gifted child ever totake the tests. She did so well oneverything else, she would have passed nomatter what happened in the maze.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rhonda said. “If youaren’t the most gifted person ever to havetaken Mr. Benedict’s tests, I’m the queenof England.”

At this, the pencil woman’s cheeksturned as red as her hair.

As he had already admitted, Stickyoften got mixed up when he was excited,

and in this frenzy of mysteries andrevelations, he could hardly think straight.“What’s that you said about being thequeen of England?” he asked Rhonda.“Was it a riddle?”

Rhonda laughed. “That was only a joke,Sticky. I’m hardly a queen, you know, andI’m not from England. I was born in acountry called Zambia and brought here toStonetown when I was a child.”

“Zambia? So did you speak Bembi,then, or one of the other Bantu languages?”

“Why, Bembi,” Rhonda answered,taken aback. “And how on earth did youknow that? Do you speak it?”

“Oh, no, I’m sure I couldn’t. I can readmost languages, but I have troublespeaking anything but English. Can’t getmy tongue to do what it’s supposed to.”

Rhonda smiled. “I can hardly speak itmyself, these days — it’s been so long.”She gave him a significant look. “I rarelymeet anyone who knows what thelanguages of Zambia are, much less whocan read them.”

“Sticky knows a good number ofthings,” said Reynie.

“I wish he knew when we’re supposedto meet this Mr. Benedict,” Kate said.“It’s been an awfully long day, and I’dlike to learn what this is all about.”

“As for that,” said the pencil woman,“the reason I came in was to tell you thatMr. Benedict is ready to see you. He’swaiting in his study.”

“What about the other one?” askedRhonda Kazembe.

“Apparently there’s been some delay.

Mr. Benedict said he will meet with thesechildren now, and she can join them whenshe arrives.”

The children wanted to know who thisother girl was, but there was no time forquestions, for Rhonda and the pencilwoman ushered them out of the room anddown a long hallway into the study of Mr.Benedict.

Like every other room in the old house,Mr. Benedict’s study was crammed withbooks. Books on shelves that rose to thehigh ceiling, books in stacks on the floor,books holding up a potted violet indesperate need of water. On four chairsarranged before an oak desk rested still

more books — which Rhonda and thepencil woman removed so the childrencould sit — and on the desk itself, piled inprecarious, leaning towers, were evenmore. The children took their seats andlooked about the study. Except for thebooks, the furniture, and the violet, itappeared to be empty.

“I thought you said he was waiting forus,” Kate said.

“And indeed I have been,” said a voice,and out from behind the desk where he’dbeen sitting, hidden by the piles of books,appeared a bespectacled, green-eyed manin a green plaid suit. His thick white hairwas shaggy and mussed, his nose wasrather large and lumpy like a vegetable,and although it was clear he had recentlyshaved, he appeared to have done so

without benefit of a mirror, for here andthere upon his neck and chin were nicksfrom a razor, and occasional whitewhiskers that he’d missed altogether. Thiswas Mr. Benedict.

With a friendly smile, Mr. Benedictstepped round to introduce himself to thechildren, shaking hands and calling eachby name. As he did so, Rhonda Kazembeand the pencil woman followed him,standing on either side as he moved fromchild to child. When he stepped back tolean against his desk, the two womenagain followed him and stood closely oneither side, watching him with alertexpressions, as if worried what he mightdo. It was very curious, and more than alittle unsettling.

“First, children, I wish to congratulate

you,” said Mr. Benedict. “You have alldone exceedingly well today. There ismuch to explain, of course, but I’m afraidthe explanations must wait a bit longer,until we are joined by another.” He tookout a pocket watch, checked the time, andsighed. To the pencil woman he said,“Number Two, any word from Milliganabout our missing young friend?”

“Not yet,” said the pencil woman. “Buthe said it should be soon.”

“Would you please go meet them? Iwant to be sure she’s had a bite to eat.”

The pencil woman gave him a doubtfullook.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Rhondais right here.”

With an uncertain nod, the pencilwoman took her leave.

“Did you just call her Number Two?”asked Kate.

“She prefers we use her code name,”explained Rhonda. “She’s shy about herreal name. For no good reason, if you askme. It’s a perfectly fine name.”

“For good reasons or not, we all havethings we’re shy about,” said Mr.Benedict with a significant look at Sticky,who immediately took to polishing hisglasses.

Kate and Reynie glanced at each otherwonderingly.

“I know you have questions,” Mr.Benedict said. “And I may be able to offersome answers now, though some mustcome later. What’s on your mind?”

“I’d like to know who we’re waitingfor,” said Kate.

“That I can answer. Her name isConstance Contraire, a test-taker likeyourselves. I must say she’s given us allquite a turn. A most amusing child.Rhonda, how many pencils did you sayshe brought with her this morning?”

“Thirty-seven,” said Rhonda, with ashake of her head. “We tell her to bringone, and she brings thirty-seven.”

“How do you know that?” Sticky asked.Rhonda shrugged. “She told me so

herself. Remember the storm drain?Constance stopped to help me, but insteadof trying to get my pencil back, she simplyopened her raincoat. She had pockets andpockets full of pencils. ‘Thirty-seven,’ shesaid. ‘Just help yourself.’”

“Wasn’t that cheating?” Kate asked.“Why wasn’t she disqualified?”

“It was certainly taking a risk,” saidMr. Benedict. “However, she refused thetest answers Rhonda offered her, and thepoint of the test wasn’t to see if you wouldbring only one pencil, you know. Thepencil itself is inconsequential.”

Reynie was curious about somethingelse. “Why was she wearing a raincoat? Itwas sunny outside today.”

“You’re an attentive listener,” said Mr.Benedict. “That should serve you well —will serve us all well, I daresay. As forthe raincoat, I believe she wore it toconceal the pencils.”

“But why bring all those pencils?” Katesaid, exasperated. “It’s ridiculous!”

“If that amuses you, Kate,” said Mr.Benedict, “you might also enjoy some ofher test answers. Let me see, I believe I

have them right here.” He disappearedbehind the desk, again followed closelyby Rhonda, who stood watchfully as heshuffled among some papers. The childrencould see just the top of his rumpled headas he searched.

“Ah, here it is,” he said, stepping backaround the desk. As before, Rhondapositioned herself close to his side. Hescanned the pages. “Oh, here’s a cleverone. Do you remember this question fromthe first test? It reads, ‘What is wrongwith this statement?’ And do you knowwhat Constance wrote in reply? Shewrote, ‘What is wrong with you?’” Atthis, Mr. Benedict burst into laughter — asqueaky, rapid, stuttering expulsion thatsounded rather like a dolphin.

The children’s faces wrinkled in

confusion.“Here’s another,” said Mr. Benedict.

“Remember this one? It shows a picture ofa chessboard with only a black pawn outof its original position, and it reads,‘According to the rules of chess, is thisposition possible?’ Constance writes inresponse, ‘Rules and schools are tools forfools — I don’t give two mules forrules!’”

Again Mr. Benedict laughed his dolphinlaugh. This time he couldn’t stop, butlaughed louder and louder, until tearsentered his eyes. And then withoutwarning, his eyes closed, his chin droppedto his chest, and he fell asleep.

Rhonda leaped forward to catch hisglasses, which had slipped from his nose.Fortunately Mr. Benedict had been leaning

against the desk — when he fell asleep, heonly slumped forward a bit and didn’t fallto the floor. Even so, Rhonda took himcarefully about the waist and said, “Quick,one of you bring me a chair.”

Kate jumped to her feet and slid herchair over. Rhonda lowered Mr. Benedictinto it and eased his head into acomfortable position. His breathingdeepened into a gentle snore, as if he’dbeen asleep for hours.

Recovering from his surprise, Reynierealized why Rhonda and Number Twostuck so close to Mr. Benedict when hewalked around. If he often fell asleep likethis, he must risk some nasty falls.

“Is he all right?” Sticky whispered.“Oh, yes, he’s fine,” Rhonda said.

“He’ll be awake any moment. He seldom

sleeps longer than a minute or two.”And indeed, even as she spoke, Mr.

Benedict’s eyelids fluttered open, and herose abruptly from the chair and said,“Ah.” Taking out his pocket watch, hesquinted to read it, then touched the bridgeof his nose as if searching for something.“I’m afraid I can’t read without myglasses.”

“Here,” said Rhonda, handing them tohim.

“Thank you.” With his glasses on, Mr.Benedict checked the watch and gave anod of satisfaction. “Only a few moments,then, that’s good. I would hate to have leftyou waiting long.” He gave a ferociousyawn and ran his fingers sleepily throughhis hair, as people often do when they firstawake, which likely accounted for its

disheveled state.“This is another thing I need to explain

to you,” said Mr. Benedict. “I have acondition known as narcolepsy. Are youfamiliar with it?”

“Sure, it’s a disorder characterized bysudden and uncontrollable attacks of deepsleep,” said Sticky, then ducked his headshyly. “At least, that’s what the dictionarysays.”

“The dictionary is correct. Although thecondition takes different forms withdifferent people, in my case an attack isusually triggered by strong emotion. Forthis reason I wear green plaid suits — Idiscovered years ago that green plaid hasa soothing effect on me — and always tryto remain calm. However, every now andthen I must allow myself a hearty laugh,

don’t you agree? What is life withoutlaughter?”

The children, uneasy, nodded politely.“Now then, where did I leave off? Oh,

yes, Constance. I take it you didn’t findher answers as amusing as I do. I’m notsure, however — perhaps you laughedwhile I was sleeping?” He glanced atthem hopefully, but was met with blankfaces. “I see. Well, perhaps you’ll findthis amusing: Instead of answering thequestions on the second test, shecomposed a long poem about the absurdityof the test and its rules, particularly aboutthe missing fourth step — whichapparently reminded her of doughnutholes, because these were the topic of asecond poem. She is very irritated, itseems, that every doughnut contains a

hole. She feels she is being robbed. Iremember a particularly felicitous rhymebetween ‘flaky bereft’ and ‘bakery theft.’Let’s see, where was it? I have it righthere. . . .” He began flipping through thetest pages.

“Excuse me,” Sticky said. “Sir? How isit this girl passed the tests if she didn’tanswer any of the questions? I mean, if shedidn’t even try?”

“There are tests,” said Mr. Benedict,“and then there are tests.”

“I beg your pardon?”“It will all come clear presently,

Sticky. Ah, here they are at last.”The door was opening, and into the

room now came Number Two, lookingvexed, followed by Milligan, lookinggloomy. And with them was Constance

Contraire, looking very, very small.

It took a moment for the children to realizethat Constance had arrived with the others.From Milligan’s sad face, their eyes hadto travel quite a distance downwardbefore lighting upon the girl’s. She wasvery little indeed, and very pudgy, too,which made her almost exactly the sizeand shape of a fire hydrant (a resemblancestrengthened by her red raincoat and rosyred cheeks). Reynie’s first impulse was tofeel sorry for her — it must be difficult tobe so much smaller than other children —but then Constance gave him a cross look,as if she positively disliked him, andReynie’s sympathy diminished.

Helping the girl into a chair (it wasn’t aparticularly large chair, but she stillneeded help getting up into it), NumberTwo said, “Rather than finish the maze,Constance chose a quiet corner and satdown to have a picnic. It took Milligansome time to find her.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Constance said.“Nor were you asked to,” replied Mr.

Benedict. “I’m pleased to hear you’ve hadsupper. Did you enjoy your picnic, then?Have quite enough to eat?”

“Quite,” said Constance.“Very well. Thank you, Milligan.”With a nod, the unhappy man pulled his

hat down over his eyes and withdrewfrom the study. Number Two, meanwhile,took up her position next to Mr. Benedict,who, after introducing Constance to the

other children (she gave them all suchcrabby looks that no one offered to shakeher hand), at last began to explain.

“My young friends,” he said, his facegrowing solemn, “let me cut to the chase. Iwish I could tell you that, having passedthese tests, you are now to enter into apleasant period of education. On thecontrary, what I have to tell you ise x t r e m e l y unpleasant, extremelyunpleasant indeed.”

The children frowned in puzzlement.Was he joking? He certainly seemedserious. Perhaps this, too, was a test — away of gauging their commitment.

“For years now,” Mr. Benedict wenton, “I have conducted these tests in hopesof forming a team of children to help meon an urgent project. You may be aware

that some years ago Rhonda took the tests,as did Number Two. In fact a great manychildren have taken these tests, and yet Ihave been unable to form a team. Why isthis? For one thing, very few childrenpass. For another, those who have passedhave not done so at the same time, andthis, you see, is crucial. I do not simplyneed a team; I need a team of children.Yet children do not remain children forlong, and herein has lain the difficulty.Rhonda was a child only a few years ago,and Number Two a few years before that,but as you see they are now quite grownup. They have stayed on with me asassistants — and indeed their prodigiousgifts have helped me tremendously — butlike myself, they cannot form a part of theteam.”

So far, Mr. Benedict had said nothingthat struck Reynie as particularlyunpleasant. If anything, he had begun tofeel even more proud of himself, and ofhis new friends, for having donesomething unusual. It was obvious that Mr.Benedict believed they had what it took toform this special team. But already hesensed that Mr. Benedict did not speaklightly — if he promised somethingunpleasant, Reynie was sure thatsomething unpleasant would come. Next tohim Sticky was squirming uncomfortably,apparently thinking the same thing. AndKate had just glanced in Reynie’sdirection, seen the uncertainty in his eye,and nodded her silent agreement: The badnews was coming.

“I see you are wondering where the

unpleasantness comes in,” said Mr.Benedict, “as well you might. Let me tellyou, then: The project is dangerous. It is amission — one that may put your lives atrisk.”

The children all straightened in theirchairs.

“I want to make some things perfectlyclear,” said Mr. Benedict. “It is not mywish to put you in harm’s way. Quite theopposite: I despise the notion. Childrenshould spend their time learning andplaying in absolute safety — that is myfirm belief. Now then, assuming that I amtelling the truth, can you guess why Iwould nonetheless involve you insomething dangerous?”

“Why should we assume that you’retelling the truth?” challenged Constance.

“For the sake of discussion,” said Mr.Benedict, “let us assume that I am.”

“If you’re telling the truth,” saidReynie, “then the only reason you wouldput us in danger is that you believe we’llfall into greater danger if you don’t.”

Mr. Benedict tapped his lumpy noseand pointed at Reynie. “Precisely. And Ido believe this. I am certain, in fact, thatyou — and a great many other people —are in danger even as we speak, and thatthis danger shall only increase.”

Sticky coughed and mumbled somethingabout needing to use the bathroom.

Mr. Benedict smiled kindly down athim and said, “Sticky, never fear, youaren’t compelled to join the team. I hopeto explain a bit more about it, and thenyou’ll be given the choice to stay or go.

Fair enough?” After a moment’shesitation, Sticky nodded, and then Mr.Benedict added, “Now, do you truly needto use the bathroom, or can you wait a fewminutes longer?”

Sticky truly did, but he said, “I canwait.”

“Very well. Now, in the interest offurther explanation, I’ll ask you all anotherquestion. What is it the four of you have incommon? Can you tell me?”

“We all passed your boring tests,” saidConstance.

“We’re all gifted,” said Kate.“We’re all children,” said Sticky.Mr. Benedict nodded at each response,

then looked at Reynie, who said, “We’reall alone.”

Mr. Benedict raised his eyebrows.

“What makes you think that?”“For one thing,” said Reynie, “the

newspaper advertisement wasn’taddressed to parents but to children,which makes me think you were lookingfor kids who might be alone. And then atthat first test there were a lot of parents,but later in the Monk Building I saw onlya handful of them waiting — and I know atleast a few kids showed up all bythemselves. And now here we are. I’m anorphan, and Kate’s mother died when shewas a baby and then her father left her,and I’m only guessing about Constance,but as for Sticky, well — I’m sorry,Sticky, but I think you’ve been hidingsomething. I think somehow you’re alone,too.”

“Before you say anything,” said Mr.

Benedict to Sticky, who was staring atReynie with a shocked expression, “let metell you this. I have always had a strictpolicy against taking on runaways. In lightof the circumstances, however, I’mwilling to make an exception. When it’stime for you to decide about staying orleaving, please keep in mind it won’t benecessary to make up stories. And if youdecide to leave, Rhonda and Number Twowill offer you assistance. I have nointention of letting you go out into the cityagain with no money, food, or shelter.”

By this point Sticky had turned hisshocked expression toward Mr. Benedict.He opened his mouth to speak,reconsidered, and finally stared down athis shoes.

Kate leaned over and put her hand on

his shoulder. “A runaway, eh?” shewhispered. “You’ve got more gumptionthan I realized, pal.”

“All of you have answered correctly,”said Mr. Benedict. “You’re all giftedchildren who passed my ‘boring’ tests —in one way or another — and you’ve allshown yourselves to be unusuallyresourceful. For example, I happen toknow that Constance has been livingsecretly in a public library in a city northof Stonetown, and that she managed tocatch a bus, and then a subway, and finallya taxi to come here. And I know that Katestole aboard a boxcar in Chicago, whileSticky stowed away on a river barge.You’ve all shown ingenuity in one form oranother — and yes, in one form oranother, you’re all alone.”

Again he paused, gazing at the childrennow with what appeared to be a mixtureof great pride and great sympathy. Indeed,tears had welled up in his eyes, and thesincerity in his expression made Reynie— who was used to ignoring hisloneliness — grow almost heartsick. Hefelt a keen desire to see Miss Perumalagain. Had it only been this morning thatshe’d surprised him by crying when theyparted? It already seemed so long ago.

“Oh dear,” cried Rhonda just then, forMr. Benedict, awash in strong emotion,had gone to sleep. With a sudden loudsnore he toppled forward into the attentivearms of Rhonda and Number Two, whoeased him to the floor.

“What’s with him?” Constance asked.“He has narcolepsy,” said Kate.

“He steals a lot?”“That’s kleptomania,” Sticky said. “Mr.

Benedict sleeps a lot.”“Well, I don’t like it,” Constance said

crossly.“I assure you, Constance,” said Number

Two, looking vexed, “Mr. Benedictdoesn’t like it, either. None of us does. Itsimply can’t be helped.”

Before any more could be said, Mr.Benedict opened his eyes, blinked a fewtimes, and ran his fingers through histousled white hair. Rhonda said gently,“Only a minute, Mr. Benedict. You wereonly out for a minute.”

“Is that so? Very good, then, very good.Thank you, my friends, thank you asalways.” He patted Rhonda and NumberTwo on the arms, and they helped him to

his feet.“Usually happens when I’m laughing,”

he explained to the children, “but thesedays it’s often something else. Now then,what was I —? Oh, yes. All alone. Let metell you why that part matters. For onething, children without guardians happento be in a peculiar kind of danger thatother children are not — this I shallexplain later, to those of you who join myteam. For another, it would be simplyimpossible for me to put at risk any childw h o wasn’t alone. No matter howimportant the cause, parents aredisinclined to send their children intodanger, as well they should be. As it sohappens, however, I now find myself inthe presence of the best possible team ofchildren I could ever hope for — indeed,

have long hoped for — and with not aminute to lose. In other words, you are ourlast possible hope. You are our onlyhope.”

The Sender and the Messages

In the end, every child agreed to join theteam, though the decision was moredifficult for some than others. Kate tookout a stick of gum and said, “I’m in,”without even pausing to consider. Reynie,less fearless than Kate, had to give thematter some thought. If he didn’t join theteam, what would he do? Return to theorphanage? Seeing Miss Perumal againwould be nice, but he would be in thesame pickle as before: out of place amongthe other children, purposeless and lonely.Moreover, if Mr. Benedict was to be

trusted (and for some reason Reynie didtrust him) then feeling purposeless andlonely were the least of his problems.Something terrible was happening, andMr. Benedict needed them to stop it. Astrange sense of duty, not to mention apowerful curiosity, compelled him to join.

Constance was more skeptical. It wasbecoming clear that this was her naturalapproach to things. “So if I stick around,and you tell me this big secret, what’s tostop me from going out and tellingeveryone?”

“Nothing will stop you,” said Mr.Benedict. “You’re free to leave at anytime. However, if I hadn’t determined Icould trust you, you would never havebeen invited into this room. And for thatmatter, even if you were to tell, no one

would believe you, for you are only achild. Is that not why you came to takethese tests in the first place?”

Constance’s face screwed up as if shemight burst into tears — or, more likely,throw a screaming fit.

“I don’t mean to attack you, child,” Mr.Benedict said gently. “Let us strike abargain. If you join the team, this shall beour understanding: You will follow myinstructions, but only because you haveagreed to do so, not because I told you to.No one is making you do anything. It is allof your own free will.”

“Fine,” said Constance at last. “Nowwhere do we sleep?”

“I know you’re tired, but first we mustwait for Sticky to make up his mind.”

Sticky had been shrinking in his chair.

He had drawn his feet up beneath him,crossed his arms over his knees, andburied his face behind them. At Mr.Benedict’s words, he looked up with anexpression of something like panic, thenquickly hid his face again. His voicemuffled, his words mumbled, Sticky said,“May I make the decision tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not, my friend. There’s notime to waste. I hate to press you, but youmust decide tonight.”

“Do you think the team is good enoughwithout me?” came the muffled voice.

“Frankly, no. I think the team needs youto succeed.”

“Then how can I say no?”Mr. Benedict spoke gently. “Sticky, it’s

quite reasonable for you to be afraid. It’sa terrible thing for a child to be asked to

join a dangerous mission. You have everyreason to say no, and I will not blame youin the least.”

“Come on, Sticky,” said Kate, “it’ll befun!”

Sticky peeked out from behind hisknees, first at Kate, who gave him a smileand a wink, then at Reynie, who said, “I’mwith Mr. Benedict. I don’t blame you ifyou don’t join us. But I’d feel a whole lotbetter if you did.”

“You would?”Reynie nodded.Sticky hid his face again. For a long

time the room was silent, full ofexpectation. Although Constance yawnedand scratched at an insect bite on herankle, no one else moved or spoke aword. There was only the hushed sound of

their breathing, and, from somewhere inthe room, the ticking of a clock, whichmust have been hidden by books.

Finally Sticky looked up. “I’ll do it.Now may I please use the bathroom?”

Much as the children longed for moreanswers, it had grown late, their eyeswere heavy, and Mr. Benedict deemedthey should rest tonight and leave furtherexplanations for morning. In short orderthey were given toothbrushes, pajamas,and warm slippers — it was drafty in theold house at night — and shown to theirrooms. The bedroom Reynie shared withSticky was small but comfortable, with aworn rug on the wooden floor, bunk beds

against the wall, and, of course, morebookshelves. When Reynie returned frombrushing his teeth, he found Sticky alreadyasleep on the lower bunk, the lamp stilllit, spectacles still on his nose, andslippers still on his feet. On his chest,rising and falling with the deep, regularbreaths of a solid sleeper, lay a thick bookabout tropical plant life that he’d takenfrom a shelf. It was open to the verymiddle. In only a few minutes, Sticky hadread half the book.

Reynie marveled at this. He was a fastreader himself — faster than most adults— but compared to Sticky he must seempositively sluggish. Such an incrediblegift, and yet here the boy lay, a runawaysleeping in a stranger’s house. What hadhe run from? Standing there in the lamplit

room, reflecting upon Sticky’s life as heslept, Reynie experienced a curiousmixture of admiration, affection, andsympathy — curious because althoughhe’d known the boy for only a day, itseemed as if they’d been friends for ages.And Kate, too, he reflected. He wasalready quite fond of her. And Constance .. . well, with Constance he would have towait and see.

Anyway, Reynie thought, if nothing elsecomes of this, at least you’re makingfriends. That’s more than you hadyesterday. He eased Sticky’s slippersfrom his feet and his glasses from hisnose, setting them, along with the plantbook, upon a bedside stand. Then he drewa cover over his friend, turned off thelamp, and crept from the room.

Down the dark, quiet hall — the girlsmust have been asleep, too — and down aflight of creaky stairs, Reynie made hisway back to Mr. Benedict’s study. Heknocked softly on the door, and fromwithin a voice called, “Please come in,Reynie.”

Reynie entered to find Mr. Benedictalone in the room, seated on the floor withhis back against the desk, surrounded bybooks, papers, and a variety of coloredpens. He gestured toward a chair and said,“Have a seat, will you, while I clear someof this away?” He began sorting thingsinto piles. “Awkward business, workingon the floor, but that is my compromisewith Rhonda and Number Two. They’vegrown overprotective, I’m afraid, and canhardly stand to leave me alone for a

minute. Thus I promise them to remainseated as much as possible — and on thefloor, when possible — and in turn theyallow me some occasional privacy.”

Mr. Benedict finished tidying his thingsand sat in a chair across from Reynie.“I’ve been expecting you. I imagine youwish to call Miss Perumal and apprise herof your situation.”

Reynie nodded.“You’re very good to think of it.

Number Two told me how you resistedher attempts to befuddle you on the samematter earlier today. I assume you realizeher deceptions were another aspect of thetesting?”

Again Reynie nodded. He hadn’t knownit at the time, but looking back on theencounter later he had suspected as much.

“You behaved admirably,” Mr.Benedict said. “Polite but steadfast, andwith appropriate consideration. Now, I’mafraid you can’t make your telephone callthis time, either, but it has nothing to dowith being tested. As it happens, MissPerumal phoned while you were beingshown to your room. Her mother, it seems,has had an unfortunate reaction to her newmedicine, and Miss Perumal found itnecessary to take her to the hospital. Shebegs you not to worry, it’s only a mildreaction and the doctors assure her thather mother will be spry as a robin comemorning. But she wanted you to know howproud she is of you — proud but notsurprised, she said — and sends you herbest regards.

“And now,” he continued, removing his

spectacles and looking frankly at Reyniewith his bright green eyes (they weremade greener still by his green plaid suit),“I will anticipate your other questions.First, I’ve made all the necessaryarrangements with Mr. Rutger at theorphanage: We have considerable skillsand resources here and can do many thingsyou might not expect. And second, on amore solemn note: No, you won’t be ableto contact Miss Perumal again. I’m afraidthe urgency of our mission, and itsnecessary secrecy, forbids it. It is forMiss Perumal’s protection as well as yourown. But if all goes well — which is, ofcourse, our most desperate hope — youwill see her again. Indeed, if our missionis to succeed, it must do so very quickly,and so with luck your reunion will be

sooner rather than later.”Reynie nodded again, though not quite

as bravely as before, and glanced away tohide the tears in his eyes. He had thoughtthis might be the case, but it still saddenedhim to think he might not ever again sharea cup of tea with Miss Perumal or attemptto tell her, in his limited Tamil, about hisadventures. He was sad at the thought ofwhat lay ahead, yes, and more than a littleafraid.

“I am sorry, Reynie,” said Mr. Benedictwith a quaver in his voice.

Reynie didn’t look at him just yet. Hekept his eyes averted until he hadcomposed himself, which he did with afew deep breaths and a quick swipe at histearful eyes. When he felt sufficientlyrecovered, he turned back to Mr. Benedict

— who was sound asleep in his chair.Before Reynie could rise and tiptoe

from the room, however, Mr. Benedict’seyes popped open, and he laid a hand onReynie’s arm to stop him. “Forgive me,”he said, clearing his throat and running hisfingers through his unkempt hair. “Pleasestay just a moment longer. I wanted to askyou something. I wasn’t asleep long, wasI? I trust I haven’t kept you up?”

“No, sir, only a minute or two.”“Ah, good. Usually it is only a minute

or two, but occasionally it’s longer. Nowthen, for my question.”

“Yes, sir?”“It regards the chess problem from the

first test. You, Reynie, happen to be theonly child ever to answer the questioncorrectly, and I should like to hear your

explanation for it. The board clearlyshows that only the black pawn is out ofits starting position, while all the otherpieces and pawns rest on their originalsquares. Yet according to the rules ofchess, the white player always movesfirst. Why, then, did you say the positionwas possible?”

“Because the white knight may havechanged its mind.”

“The white knight?”“Oh, yes sir. The pawns can only move

forward, never backward, so none of thewhite pawns could have moved yet. Andthe bigger pieces are trapped behind thepawns — because only knights can jumpover things — so they couldn’t havemoved yet, either. But a white knight mighthave opened the game by jumping out in

front. Then, after the black pawn wasmoved, the knight returned to its originalsquare. So it looks like the white playernever moved at all.”

“Bravo, Reynie. You’re quite correct.Now tell me, would you consider this agood move?”

“I’m no great chess player, but I wouldsay not. By starting over, white loses theadvantage of going first.”

“Why, then, do you think the whiteplayer might have done it?”

Reynie considered. He imaginedhimself moving out his knight only to bringit right back to where it had started. Whywould he ever do such a thing? At last hesaid, “Perhaps because he doubtedhimself.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Benedict. “Perhaps

he did. Thank you, Reynie, you’ve beenvery kind and very patient, and I’m sureyou’re ready for a night’s sleep. I’ll seeyou at breakfast, bright and early.”

Reynie rose and went to the door, butthere he hesitated. He looked back. Mr.Benedict had replaced his spectacles andlowered himself onto the floor again, wasagain leaning against the desk, and hadtaken up a book. His eyebrows roseexpectantly when he noticed the boylingering.

“Yes, Reynie?”“Mr. Benedict, sir, have you read all

the books in this house?”Mr. Benedict smiled, glancing fondly

about at the many books in his studybefore looking at Reynie again. “My dearboy,” he said, “what do you think?”

Bright and early, Mr. Benedict had said,and indeed it was early, but it was farfrom bright. As the children rose and wentdown to the dining room (not knowingwhere else to meet), rain was slashingagainst the windows, wind groaned in thechimneys, and odd drafts sent papersflying from desktops and skittering acrossfloors. The blackened sky outside seemedto creep gloomily into the house, dimmingthe lamps and lengthening their shadows;and along with the howling chimneys washeard the growling of thunder, low andmenacing and close at hand, as if a tigerprowled the dark rooms beyond theirwalls. From time to time the lampsflickered with the thunder, and once —just as the children were taking seats at thetable — they went out entirely. The room

was dark only for a few moments, yetwhen the lamps came back to life,Milligan stood before the children with apitcher of juice, having appeared out ofnowhere.

Constance shrieked. The other childrenjumped.

Milligan sighed.Filling their juice glasses, he said,

“Rhonda’s coming with toast and eggs.Number Two’s stopping a leak in herbedroom wall, but she’ll fetch Mr.Benedict when she’s done.”

“Milligan, may I have some milk,please?” Kate asked cheerily. She’d beenawake longer than anyone, had alreadybathed and dressed in the fresh clothesRhonda had given her, and — apparentlyunaffected by the storm — was in a much

better mood than the others.Without doubt she was in a better mood

than Milligan, who nodded glumly andsaid, “Anything else?”

“You wouldn’t have any tea, wouldyou, Milligan?” asked Reynie. “Andperhaps a little honey?”

“And candy?” asked Constance.“No candy for breakfast,” Milligan

said, leaving the room.Rhonda appeared with a tray of wheat

toast, eggs, and fruit. “Good morning,everyone,” she said. “Quite a bit ofweather we’re having, isn’t it? On a daylike this, you have to set something onevery stray sheet of paper if you don’twant a draft carrying it off. A map ofStonetown Harbor passed me in the halljust now, and on the stairs I found a

grocery list I misplaced two weeks ago!”“Leaks in the walls and drafts in every

room,” Constance grumbled. “You shouldhave these things fixed.”

“Leaks and drafts aren’t priorities, I’mafraid,” Rhonda said. “Our project —which is now your project, too — hasrequired every spare moment, and all ourresources have gone toward the research,the investigation, and the tests. Constance,will you pass the juice pitcher, please?”

“No,” the girl replied, crossing herarms.

“Perhaps you’ll be less cranky afteryou’ve eaten,” Rhonda said, getting thepitcher herself. At this, Constance’spudgy, rosy cheeks grew redder still, sothat her wispy blond hair seemed almostwhite in contrast, and her pale blue eyes

shone bright as stars. Rhonda noticed thisand said, “Constance, I had no idea howlovely your eyes were until just now.They’re spectacular!”

This compliment, somehow upsetting toConstance, kept her quiet for some time.

Milligan returned with the milk, a pot oftea, and a jar of honey. Mumblingsomething to Rhonda about being on duty,he left without another word.

“What does he mean by that?” Stickysaid. “‘On duty’?”

“Milligan is our — well, for lack of abetter word — our bodyguard. He hasother tasks, but his first duty is to makesure we’re safe. Of course, until now, wehaven’t been in direct danger, but now thatyou’re here . . . I’m sorry, I don’t mean toalarm you. The important thing is that he’s

here to protect you.”“Protect us from what?” Reynie asked.“I’ll let Mr. Benedict explain all that to

you when he comes down. The main ruleis this: You must never leave the housewithout Milligan’s company. Inside thehouse, you’re quite safe; we have defenseshere. The maze, for example, wasn’t just atest — it’s the only entrance. And thisreminds me: All the arrows in the mazepoint to the stairway, which isn’t helpful ifyou’re trying to leave the house. That’sanother reason you should never gowithout Milligan. We have a special wayof opening the front door — you’llremember it has no inside knob — andMilligan knows the maze like the back ofhis hand.”

“I’ve always thought that was a funny

expression,” Kate said. “Because howwell do people really know the backs oftheir hands? Honestly, can anyone heretell me exactly what the back of your handlooks like?”

They were all contemplating the backsof their hands when Mr. Benedict came in,followed very closely and attentively byNumber Two, who no longer wore heryellow suit but had changed into acomfortable pair of yellow coveralls, sothat she still looked every bit the pencil.She stuck close to Mr. Benedict until hehad greeted everyone and taken his chair,after which she swooped upon the platterof toast and eggs, accidentally jostlingRhonda in the process.

“Pardon me,” she said, embarrassed.“Not at all,” said Rhonda. To the

children she said, “Number Two isalways hungry because she never sleeps.A person needs a great deal of energy tostay awake all the time, and thus a greatdeal of food.”

“It also makes me somewhat nervousand irritable, I’m afraid,” said NumberTwo. She proceeded to eat the crusts offher toast by turning it round and round andtaking tiny, rapid bites.

“You never sleep?” Kate asked, afterwatching this curious procedure amoment.

Number Two swallowed. “Oh, yes, Ido, but only a little.”

“Don’t we make a fine pair?” said Mr.Benedict, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Ican’t stay awake, and Number Two can’tgo to sleep.” He started to laugh, then cut

himself short, apparently not wanting torisk it. “By the way, Rhonda, have youseen my map of the harbor? It appears tohave escaped the study.”

“It drifted by me in the hallway,”Rhonda said. “I placed it by the bell underthe Swiss book on electron-positronaccelerators.”

“Thank you. Now, children, speaking ofthe bell, do you all remember where it is— on the second-floor landing? If youever hear that bell ringing, I want you togather on the landing immediately. It willonly be rung in case of emergency, sodon’t delay. Drop what you’re doing andgo there at once. Understood?”

The children nodded uneasily. All thistalk of danger and emergencies, withoutexplanation, was beginning to wear on

them.“I’m sorry to put you ill at ease,” Mr.

Benedict said. “And I haven’t much to sayto comfort you. I can finally offer someanswers to your questions, however. Whowishes to begin? Yes, Constance?”

To the great exasperation of the others,Constance demanded to know why theycouldn’t have candy for breakfast.

Mr. Benedict smiled. “A fine question.The short answer is that there is no candypresently in the house. Beyond that, theexplanation involves a consideration ofcandy’s excellent flavor but lownutritional value — that is to say, why itmakes a wonderful treat but a poor meal— though I suspect you aren’t interested inexplanations but simply wished to expressyour frustration. Is that correct?”

“Maybe,” Constance said with a shrug.But she seemed satisfied.

“Other questions?” said Mr. Benedict.There were, of course, other questions,

and all speaking at once, the childrenasked him to explain his “project” andwhy he needed children and what sort ofdanger they were in.

Mr. Benedict set down his teacup.“Very well. I shall explain everything, andyou may listen as you eat your breakfast.”(When he began, however, Constance wasthe only child who continued to eat. Theothers were unable to concentrate onanything besides his explanation.)

“Several years ago,” Mr. Benedict said,“in the course of my research on thehuman brain, it came to my attention thatmessages were being delivered to people

all across the world — delivered, Ishould say, quite without their knowledge.It is as if I secretly hid a letter in yourpocket, and later you found and read it, notknowing where it came from. In this case,however, the messages were goingdirectly into people’s minds, whichabsorbed them not only without knowingwhere the messages came from, butwithout realizing they had received orread anything at all.

“The messages appear to be in a kind ofcode,” Mr. Benedict continued. “Theycome across like poetic gibberish. Butfrom early on I’ve had reason to believethey’re having a powerful effect — a mostunfortunate effect — on those whoreceive them, which is to say almosteveryone. In fact, I believe these messages

are the source of the phenomenoncommonly known as the Emergency —though, I admit, I don’t know to what end.And so I have devoted myself todiscovering their ultimate purpose andwho it is that sends them. Unfortunately,I’ve not entirely succeeded.”

“But you’ve learned a great deal!”protested Number Two.

“Certainly I have. I know, for instance,how the messages are being delivered —”

“And where they’re sent from!” Rhondasaid impatiently.

“And what the Sender is capable ofdoing!” cried Number Two.

Obviously Rhonda and Number Twowere worried the children might misjudgeMr. Benedict. Sensing this, he gave anappreciative smile. “Yes, my friends, it’s

true. We do know some things. Forinstance, we know the Sender useschildren to deliver the hidden messages.”

“Children?” Sticky said. “Whychildren?”

“And what exactly do the messagessay?” Reynie asked.

“When you’re quite finished with yourbreakfasts, I’ll show you. In the meantime,let me tell you —”

“Please, can’t breakfast wait?” Kateinterrupted. “Let us see right now!”

“Well, if you all feel this way . . . ,”said Mr. Benedict, noting their looks ofimpatience.

This time not even Constance resisted(perhaps because she was already full),and so the children were takenstraightaway up to the third floor, down a

long narrow hallway, and at last into aroom packed with equipment. It was aterrific mess. On a table against the wallsat a television, a radio, and a computer,and upon every other available surfacewere scattered countless tools, wires,books and charts and notebooks,disconnected antennas, disassembledgadgets, and various other unrecognizableoddments. There was hardly anywhere tostep as Mr. Benedict — closely attendedby Rhonda and Number Two — led themover to the television.

“Listen carefully,” Mr. Benedict said,turning on the television.

Instantly Reynie felt his skin crawl. Itwas a familiar feeling, he realized, but hehad never paid it much attention before.Meanwhile, a news program had appeared

on the screen. A red-haired reporter withshiny gold earrings stood outside theWhite House, where a crowd of peoplehad gathered, as usual, to wave signs anddemand something be done about theEmergency.

“They’re calling for change,” said thereporter, her features gathered in anexpression of thoughtful seriousness, “andtheir cries are not falling on deaf ears. ThePresident has repeated his agreement thatsomething must be done, and soon.Meanwhile, in the halls of Congress —”

Constance gave a loud yawn. “I don’thear anything unusual.”

The other children looked at Mr.Benedict. It was rude of Constance to sayit that way, but she was right.

Mr. Benedict nodded. “Now pay

attention, please. Number Two, engage theReceiver.”

Number Two sat at the computer andwith quick, agile fingers, typed a string ofcommands. The television screenflickered; its picture grew distorted. Thechildren could still make out the waveryimage of the news reporter gesturingtoward the crowd behind her, but hervoice faded away, replaced by that of achild.

“What in the world?” Kate said.“Just listen,” said Number Two.The unseen child — it sounded like a

girl about Kate’s age — spoke in aplodding, whispery monotone, her voicehalf-drowned in static. At first only a fewrandom words were clear enough to beunderstood: “Market . . . too free to be . .

. obfuscate . . .” Number Two typed morecommands into the computer; theinterference lessened considerably, andthe child’s words came clearly now,slipping through the faint static in a slowdrone:

“THE MISSING AREN’TMISSING, THEY’RE ONLYDEPARTED.

ALL MINDS KEEP ALLTHOUGHTS — SO LIKE GOLD —CLOSELY GUARDED. . . .”

Again the words were overcome by static.Number Two muttered under her breath.Her fingers flew across the keyboard, andthe child’s slow, whispery voice returned:

“GROW THE LAWN AND MOWTHE LAWN.

ALWAYS LEAVE THE TV ON.

BRUSH YOUR TEETH AND KILLTHE GERMS.

POISON APPLES, POISONWORMS.”

It went on like this. The child’s voicenever faltered, never ceased, butdelivered the curious phrases in an eerie,chantlike progression. The news reporter,meanwhile, had vanished from thedistorted picture, replaced by a cheerful-looking weather forecaster, but itcontinued to be the child’s voice they

heard. Mr. Benedict signaled NumberTwo, whose fingers flew over thecomputer keyboard. The child’s voicefaded. The weather forecaster waspromising clear skies by afternoon.

Mr. Benedict switched off thetelevision. On the blank television screenthe children could suddenly see theirreflections. Every one of them wasfrowning. When they realized this, theirfaces all adopted looks of surprise, then ofintense curiosity.

“What does ‘obfuscate’ mean?” askedConstance.

Sticky, as if someone had pulled astring in his back, promptly answered,“To make so confused or opaque as to bedifficult to perceive, or to otherwiserender indistinct.”

Constance looked frightened.“It means to make things muddled,”

Reynie said.“Thank you for the dictionary

definition, Sticky,” said Mr. Benedict,“and thank you, Reynie, for thetranslation.” He crossed his arms andregarded the children. “This child’s voiceis currently being transmitted on everytelevision, radio, and cell phone in theworld. Which means, of course, it is beingabsorbed by millions of minds. And yet,although in an important part of everymind this child’s messages are beingheard, understood, and taken seriously, inanother part — the part that is aware ofitself — the messages remain undetected.But this Receiver I’ve invented is capableof detecting and translating them, much as

Reynie translated Sticky’s definition amoment ago.”

“But how could people who speakdifferent languages understand that kid?”Kate asked. “What about people inSpain?”

“The messages transmit in everylanguage. I’ve tuned the Receiver toEnglish only because that’s what we allspeak.”

“This is too creepy,” Sticky said,glancing nervously behind him. “It’s like .. . like . . .”

“Like having a strange person whisperin your ear while you sleep?” Mr.Benedict suggested.

“Okay, that just made it creepier,”Sticky said.

Reynie was shaking his head

wonderingly. “How is this happening, Mr.Benedict? These messages — whateverthey are — how are they being sent?”

“To put it simply,” Mr. Benedict began,“they depend for their mobility uponexternal agents —”

“Mr. Benedict, that’s hardly putting itsimply,” interrupted Rhonda with asignificant look at Constance, whose facehad darkened with frustration.

“Forgive me. You’re quite right. Simplyput, the messages ride piggyback onsignals. Television, radio, cell phones —all these things make use of invisiblesignals, and the Sender has found a way totake advantage. The messages aren’tpicky; they will ride on any kind of signal.The Sender has discovered how to controlthe adhesive property of thoughts.”

“The what?” asked the children alltogether.

“The adhesive property of thoughts.That is, the way thoughts are drawn tosignals and then stick to them — much aslittle pieces of metal may be drawn to amagnet. They’re attracted to all kinds ofsignals, even other thoughts.”

“So the messages are just thoughts?”Kate said.

“Indeed,” Mr. Benedict replied.“Although I wouldn’t say ‘just.’ Thoughtscarry a great deal of freight.”

“But why does the Sender use childrento send them?” Reynie asked.

“A devilish trick,” said Mr. Benedict,“and a necessary one. You see, only achild’s thoughts can be slipped into themind so secretly. For some reason, they go

unnoticed.”“No surprise there,” Constance

humphed. “I’ve never met a grown-upwho believed me capable of thought.”

“She’s absolutely right,” put in NumberTwo with a sharp edge in her voice.“People pay no attention to what childrensay, much less to what they think!”

Rhonda patted Number Two’s shoulder.“Number Two is a bit testy about this. Shewas often ignored as a child.”

“That doesn’t change the truth!”Number Two snarled.

“Easy now,” said Rhonda. “Onlyteasing.”

“Sorry. Blood sugar’s low,” saidNumber Two, hastily unwrapping agranola bar.

“At any rate,” Mr. Benedict continued,

“I believe the Sender uses children as asort of filter. After passing through theminds of children, the messages becomevirtually undetectable. Where adultthoughts would lumber into the mind likean elephant, children’s creep in on cat feetand find a shadowy place to hide.”

“Nobody notices them at all?” Stickyasked.

“Oh, some may be vaguely aware ofmental activity,” Mr. Benedict said, “butif so, they attribute the uneasy sensation tosomething else. They think, perhaps,they’ve had an original idea, or havedrunk too much coffee.”

“I don’t recall ever having felt thatway,” said Constance. “Like something’shappening but I don’t know what.”

The others shook their heads, indicating

they hadn’t either.“That is because you love the truth,”

said Mr. Benedict. “You see —”Number Two interrupted him. “Mr.

Benedict, before you go on, won’t youtake a seat? Makes me so nervous, youstanding there like that. Too many hardthings about. Just look at this chair, andthe desk, and the television cabinet, andall these tools —” Turning this way andthat, Number Two was pointing at almosteverything she saw.

“Fine, fine, Number Two, we’ll all sit,”said Mr. Benedict, settling into a cross-legged position on the floor. He gesturedfor the others to join him. Shoving asidebooks, papers, and odd pieces ofmachinery, the children made room to sit.Number Two took a deep breath to calm

herself.“You see,” Mr. Benedict began again,

“although most people care about the truth,they can nonetheless — under certaincircumstances, and given properpersuasion — be diverted from it. Some,however, possess an unusually powerfullove of truth, and you children are amongthe few. Your minds have been resistingthe hidden messages.”

“Is that why your test asked whether weliked television and radio?” asked Reynie.

Mr. Benedict tapped his nose. “Exactly.Of course, it’s possible you enjoywatching an occasional TV show, orlistening to the radio every now and then,but in general you find you don’t like it.This is because your minds, so unwillingto be deceived, are avoiding exposure to

the messages.”“I don’t see what’s dangerous about all

this,” Constance said with a sourexpression. “So people are receivingsome kids’ thoughts and don’t realize it.That hardly seems reason to panic.”

“We haven’t yet come to the panicpart,” replied Mr. Benedict gravely.

“Oh,” said Constance.“Great,” said Sticky.“Something is approaching,” Mr.

Benedict said. “Something dreadful.These messages are connected to it, butthey are only the beginning. What’scoming is worse, far worse — a loomingdarkness, like storm clouds sweeping in tocover the sky.”

“Wh-what,” Sticky stammered, “wh-what is it?”

Mr. Benedict scratched his rumpledhead. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

The children blinked. Was he joking?He didn’t know?

“Ah, I sense your confusion,” said Mr.Benedict. “I should have said I don’texactly know.”

Rhonda spoke up. “We have goodreason to believe in this coming threat,children. It’s just that —”

“But if you have good reason,”Constance interrupted, “why are you justsitting around? Call the government! Alertthe authorities!”

“An excellent point, Constance,” saidMr. Benedict (who, it seemed to Reynie,was surprisingly tolerant of the girl’srudeness). “In fact I was once a trustedadvisor to certain high officials, many of

whom presided over governmentagencies. But things have changed. Notonly have those agencies been dismantled— and a number of good men and womengone missing — but officials formerlyattentive to my remarks have grownskeptical of them. They have come to lookupon me as a friendly kook, and someeven regard me with suspicion. EverythingI do now, I do in secret.”

“Did you just say ‘good men andwomen gone missing’?” asked Reynie,hoping he had misunderstood.

“Vanished,” said Mr. Benedict grimly.“Years ago, when it first came to myattention that some operatives haddisappeared, I naturally inquired aboutthem. But my questions, no matter towhom I put them — and I put them to many

people — were met with an astonishinglack of regard. It was perfectly silly, I wastold, to be asking such questions.Somehow it was believed that thesemissing agents chose to go away — weregiven plum assignments in sunny climates,perhaps, or else had gone into earlyretirement — although there was noevidence of any such thing. No oneseemed to care where the agents had gone.But everyone knew, so I was told againand again, everyone knew the agentshadn’t gone missing. No, no, the very ideawas preposterous.”

The children were dumbstruck.Government agents had disappeared andnobody cared? Nobody even believed it?

Reynie found his voice first. “So that’show you know these strange messages are

having an effect on people.”Mr. Benedict nodded. “Quite right,

Reynie. At least, it’s one example.”“Wait a minute,” Kate said. “How do

you know the messages have anything todo with that?”

“Because of that phrase we heard on theReceiver,” said Reynie. “‘The missingaren’t missing, they’re only departed.’Don’t you think there’s a connection?”

“Hey, you’re right!” said Kate, who hadalready forgotten that phrase.

Constance seemed exasperated. “Okay,so the authorities are being snookered bythese hidden messages. But how couldthey resist the facts? Show them yourReceiver gizmo, Mr. Benedict. They’llhave to believe you.”

“I’m afraid they won’t,” said Mr.

Benedict. “The Receiver would beconsidered insufficient evidence. For allthey know, the messages might be my owninvention, generated by the Receiveritself. I am no longer considered atrustworthy source of information.”

Reynie was puzzled. “But Mr.Benedict, if you explained how it worked— scientifically, I mean — how couldthey not believe you? Surely you candemonstrate the principles involved!”

Mr. Benedict hesitated. “A reasonablesuggestion, Reynie. A very . . . Now letme see. How to put it? I can’t exactly . . .Well . . .”

Number Two interrupted him. “WhatMr. Benedict is too embarrassed to say,children, is that even if he did explain it,no one would believe him because no one

w o u l d understand him. That’s thedownside to being a genius — justbecause you understand something doesn’tmean anyone else will. Mr. Benedict istoo modest. He can never bring himself tosay it.”

“He’s tried to explain it to any numberof people,” Rhonda put in. “But not onlyare they skeptical to begin with, NumberTwo and I — and a few of the otherassistants — are the only people whohave understood him.”

Mr. Benedict’s cheeks and foreheadhad gone pink with embarrassment. Hecoughed. “As usual, my friends, youoverstate my accomplishment.Nevertheless, the essence of what you sayis true. Among the authorities these days itis difficult to find a sympathetic listener.”

“In other words, compared to you,they’re all dummies,” Kate said with alaugh.

“That is perhaps not the most politeway to put it, Kate,” said Mr. Benedict.

Unlike Kate, the others were in nomood to laugh. Hidden messages beingbroadcast to the world, good men andwomen gone missing, the authoritiesbeyond convincing — and the childrenwere somehow going to be involved in allthis? The prospect had caused a deep,indefinable dread to settle upon them likea cold mist.

Constance’s reaction, by now apredictable one, was to express irritation.“Fine, I get it. A lot of people havevanished without a trace, and someone’ssending out secret messages, and nobody

will believe you about it. But we aren’treally in danger, are we?” (Though hertone was scoffing and irritable, it wasevident from her eyes — which dartedback and forth — that Constance wasgrowing afraid.) “You said we were all indanger . . . but that was just anexaggeration, wasn’t it?”

“I am sorry to say it, Constance,” Mr.Benedict said somberly, “but I did notexaggerate in the least. You are all indanger even as we speak.”

And indeed, even as they spoke, thebell on the landing began a furiousclanging.

The Men in the Maze

A great deal happened in a very shorttime: Mr. Benedict fell asleep, havingbeen startled by the emergency bell, andtoppled sideways into the ready arms ofNumber Two. The children hadn’t eventime to trade looks of alarm before thebell stopped ringing, the lights went out,and Constance screamed. And then, aftermuch jostling and elbow-bumping andfumbling in the dark, Kate found herflashlight and switched it on, andConstance was gone.

“Where’d she go?” Reynie cried.

“Maybe she went down to the landinglike we’re supposed to,” said Sticky.

“Somehow I doubt it,” said Kate.“Okay, all of you,” said Rhonda

urgently as Number Two tried to shakeMr. Benedict awake, “hurry down to thelanding at once. Milligan will meet youthere, and he can find Constance ifnecessary. Number Two and I will joinyou as soon as Mr. Benedict wakes up.Now run!”

The children stumbled from the room— Kate leading the way with herflashlight — and out into the dark hallway.With the thunder rumbling and windmoaning and rain beating on the roof, itwould be quite impossible to hearsomeone sneaking up on them, and thechildren, aware of this, clung to one

another in the darkness as they found theirway to the stairs. Trembling at each freshburst of thunder, they made their waydown to the landing. Kate’s flashlightbeam passed over the bell, hanging silentand still, then fell upon a very sad face.

“Where’s Constance?” Milligan said.“What did I tell you?” Kate said to the

boys.“We were hoping she’d be here,” said

Reynie.Milligan looked grim, even more so

than usual. “She may have slipped past mein the dark. This complicates things. Notime to take you to a safe place — if she’sin the maze we might lose her any second.But I can’t leave you here alone. You’llhave to come down with me.”

“Into the maze?” Sticky asked. “In the

dark?”“There’s no help for it. Now grab onto

my jacket, Sticky, and you others grabonto him. Whatever you do, stay with me.And Kate, turn off your flashlight. It willonly help them find you.”

“Them?”“Yes,” Milligan said. “They’ve come

for you. Now don’t speak.”None of the children spoke (though two

of them gulped), and down into the mazethey went. The lights were out here too —they no longer came on when you entereda room. It was perfectly black, and in thisperfect blackness they moved, stalkingfrom room to room, until Milligansuddenly froze. The children caught theirbreath. At first Reynie saw nothing. Then,looking behind him, he glimpsed two

flashlight beams passing through one ofthe other rooms. He squeezed Sticky’sarm. Sticky squeezed back even harder.

From the direction of the flashlightscame a sudden cry of pain — it wasConstance’s voice — followed by athudding sound, as of someone falling tothe floor. A man’s voice hissed, “I haveher!”

“Come,” Milligan whispered, hurryingtoward the lights. The children followed,holding fast to one another. It wasawkward walking so quickly together inthe dark, and though Kate moved with thegrace of a cat, the boys stumbled trying tokeep up. Perhaps they slowed Milligan’sprogress too much, for when they enteredthe room a few moments later, theflashlights were gone. The room lay black

and still. It seemed quite empty except fora sharp, spicy fragrance that lingered inthe air.

“I smell your cologne,” Milligan said,speaking into the darkness.

“I hope you like it,” said a man’s voice.The flashlights snapped on behind them,casting their shadows onto the wall.“Now, please turn around. Turn aroundvery slowly. Let’s all stay nice and calm.”

Milligan started to turn, but the terrifiedchildren, realizing they’d been tricked andnot wanting to believe it, clutched at oneanother and did not move.

“That’s a little too slow,” said thevoice. “Come on now. Let’s have a lookat you. Don’t worry, we won’t shine thelights in your eyes. I know that’suncomfortable.”

Milligan pressed the children’sshoulders and slowly turned them towardthe voice. The man had spoken the truth —the flashlights were pointed downward —and in the glow cast by their beamsReynie could just make out who carriedthem. He didn’t know what he hadexpected to see, but it wasn’t this: twohandsome men, one of them impressivelytall, staring back at him with pleasant,welcoming expressions. The men woretailored suits and large, expensive-lookingsilver watches, and over their suits theywore fine long raincoats that drippedwater onto the floor. Both smiled in anunexpectedly friendly way. In fact, theirbright smiles — along with their elegantappearance — were for an instant sosurprising and disarming that Reynie

almost relaxed. Almost. But then his eyesfell on a lumpy canvas bag in the shadowsbehind them. Out of the bag poked one ofConstance’s tiny feet.

“Did you really think we couldn’t hearyou coming?” asked the tall man. Hespoke cheerfully, as if he and the childrenwere sharing a joke. “Why, you’re a herdof buffalo! Now raise your hands aboveyour heads, please.”

Reynie was frightened, but he couldn’tsee why they should obey. The menseemed to carry no weapons. But Milligandid as the man said — obviously he knewsomething Reynie didn’t — and so withhearts galloping, Reynie and Kate let go ofeach other and raised their hands, too.Sticky, however, had grown confused inhis fright and would not let go of

Milligan’s jacket.“Please tell the bald boy to raise his

hands,” insisted the tall man.“It’s all right, Sticky,” said Milligan.

“Do as he says, child. Come now, let go.”At last Sticky managed to release his

grip. The moment he did so — and to thegreat surprise of everyone present —Milligan leaped toward an open doorwayand vanished from the room. He hadmoved so quickly, and so unexpectedly,that no one had a moment to react beforehe was gone. The men looked at eachother and burst out laughing.

Reynie felt his mouth go dry. Sticky letout a whimper.

“Some protector!” laughed the shorterman. “I must say, he did a fine jobprotecting himself. I’ve never seen anyone

move so fast.”The tall man chuckled. “Did he seem

familiar to you at all?”“Now that you mention it, he did,” said

the other, scratching his head. “Though Ican’t place how. Anyway, let’s get thisover with.”

“What are you going to do with us?”Kate demanded. Though her legstrembled, her voice was defiant.

The tall man tucked his flashlight underhis arm and held out both hands, palmsforward, in what was meant to be acomforting gesture. “Now just stay calm,”he soothed. Meanwhile the shorter manwas doing exactly the same thing —tucking away his flashlight and holding outhis hands. It was then that Reynie noticedthat the men’s huge silver watches were

identical, and that for some reason theyeach wore two — one watch on eachwrist.

“If you children stay nice and still,”said the tall man, flashing a sympatheticsmile, “I promise this won’t hurt a bit.”

“Oh, come on, let’s tell the truth foronce,” said the other. “Just for kicks.”

The tall man rolled his eyes. “All right,the truth is that this will hurt. A lot. But ifyou hold still,” he said, shaking his armsto clear the watches from his suit cuffs, “Ipromise it won’t hurt long.”

Reynie felt Kate and Sticky stiffenbeside him. They didn’t know what wascoming, but they knew it was going to beawful. The men started laughing again.Reynie heard an electrical hum. . . .

Abruptly, the laughter ceased. It was

interrupted by two odd whistling sounds— swit, swit — upon which the tall manclosed his eyes, dropped his flashlightwith a clatter, and sank to the floor. Theother did exactly the same, slumpingunconscious on top of his partner. Theflashlights, rolling free, sent their brightbeams willy-nilly about the room.

One of the beams settled on thedoorway behind the fallen men, whereMilligan now stood holding a tranquilizergun. He stepped over to pluck two tinyfeathered darts from the men’s shoulders,saying as he did so, “Remember, children.For every exit, there is also an entrance.”

The dining room seemed an altogether

different place now. The rain had let up,the drafts were gone, and bright sunlightstreamed through the window. Yet themood in the room was dark. On the tablethe children’s breakfast lay just as theyhad left it — only an hour had passedsince Reynie asked Milligan for tea andhoney — but the teapot and honey jarmight well have been props in a play, sounreal and insignificant did they seemnow.

Everyone sat at the table exceptConstance, who was sitting on the floor.The men in the maze had given Constancequite a shock (an actual shock, deliveredby way of wires that flicked like snakes’tongues from their watches, she’d said),and she remained somewhat addled. Herwispy blond hair stuck out in all

directions like a small child’s drawing ofa sun, and her eyes seemed to roam aboutindependently of each other. Momentsbefore, she had walked in a circle aroundher chair — attempting without success tosit in it — then dropped to her bottom onthe floor, where she said she believed shewould sit for the time being.

Mr. Benedict was watching her withconcern. “Are you sure she’s all right,Rhonda? You examined her carefully?”

Rhonda nodded. “She’ll feel bettersoon.”

“Okay, who were those men?” Kateblurted out.

“Professional kidnappers,” Mr.Benedict said. “Crafty fellows who workfor the Sender. You’ll recall he useschildren to send his messages.”

“So he captures them?” Kate said.“He has subtler methods, too. But some

children, yes, he captures. His scouts havean uncanny nose for vulnerable children.Don’t worry, they’ve been deposited farfrom here and will be unconscious forquite some time, thanks to Milligan.”

Number Two clucked her tongue. “Ifonly Constance hadn’t gone into the maze.Constance, why on earth did you decide togo down there, anyway?”

“I didn’t decide to,” Constancesnapped. “I was trying to go down to thelanding like Mr. Benedict told us to” —the boys looked at Kate, whoacknowledged with a shrug that she’dbeen wrong — “but I tiptoed down oneflight of steps too many. Then I heardsomeone behind me, so I went deeper into

the maze to get away. But they found me,”she said with a shiver. “They definitelyfound me.”

Number Two patted her shoulder.“Don’t worry, Connie, you’re safe now.”

“Don’t call me Connie,” she saidcrossly. She rose unsteadily from the floorand made another attempt at the chair.This time she managed to climb into it.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,Constance,” said Mr. Benedict.

“But won’t those men come back?”Reynie asked.

“It’s possible,” Mr. Benedict said.“Which is why we must work quickly. Asit is, I’m hoping we can avoid detectionlong enough to launch our investigation.”

“And if we can’t?” said Constance, asif she rather expected failure.

“If we can’t, child, all is lost!” Mr.Benedict cried. Instantly he lookedregretful. In a softer tone he said, “I’msorry to raise my voice. Failure in thisinstance is an upsetting prospect. Now,please, let me explain. These menintended to take you to a school called theLearning Institute for the VeryEnlightened.”

“I’ve heard of that place,” Reynie said.“Some kids from the orphanage wanted togo there, but Mr. Rutger said it wasagainst policy and wouldn’t allow it.”

“Doubtless it was, at least against hispolicy. Aside from being the orphanagedirector, Mr. Rutger is headmaster of youracademy, is he not? I believe he gets paidper student.”

“Even those with special tutors?” asked

Reynie.Mr. Benedict gave him a significant

look.Reynie was indignant. “So that’s why

he wouldn’t send me to an advancedschool! He wanted me on the academy’srolls — just out of greed!”

“It’s possible he thought it was in yourbest interest,” Mr. Benedict said. “Greedoften helps people think of reasons theymight not discover on their own. At anyrate, it was in your best interest not to go.The Institute will admit any child, but it isparticularly fond of orphans andrunaways. In fact, as you can see, suchchildren are sometimes taken to theInstitute whether they wish to go or not.”

“The hidden messages are coming fromthe Institute, aren’t they?” Reynie said.

“I believe the school was created forthat very purpose,” said Mr. Benedict.“Every so often the Sender must have newchildren, and the Institute receives asteady stream.”

“I can’t believe the Sender gets awaywith it,” Sticky said.

“He’s very cunning, Sticky. TheInstitute is a highly secretive, well-guarded facility — not the usual thing fora school, you know — yet it enjoys awonderful reputation. The hiddenmessages have convinced everyone of theInstitute’s great virtue.”

“There’s an often-repeated phrase inthe hidden messages,” Rhonda explained.“Dare not defy the Institute. Obviouslyit’s a kind of defense mechanism.”

“Thus the Institute has completely

escaped regulation,” Mr. Benedict said.“It operates according to its own rules,without any interference.”

“That’s outrageous!” Kate exclaimed.“I can’t believe no one goes looking forthose kids!”

“I’m afraid runaways and orphansvanish even more easily than governmentagents do,” said Mr. Benedict. “Lest youforget, ‘The missing aren’t missing,they’re only departed.’”

The children looked at one another,appalled.

“I’m glad Milligan was here to protectus,” Sticky said with a shudder. “TheInstitute is the last place I’d want to be.”

At this, Mr. Benedict looked somewhatuncomfortable. He cleared his throat.“Yes, well, the scouts won’t carry you to

the Institute against your will, it’s true. Butto the Institute you must certainly go. Youare to be my secret agents.”

Codes and Histories

It took Kate Wetherall about threeseconds to embrace her new role as asecret agent. While the other childrengaped, blinked, and pinched themselves tobe sure they weren’t dreaming (actually,Constance pinched Sticky, who yelpedand pinched her back) — in short, whilethe other children were adjusting to thenews, Kate was peppering Mr. Benedictwith questions: What was their mission tobe? Would they need code names? Was itpossible to use a somewhat longish codename?

Mr. Benedict waited until they’d allcalmed down. Then he explained theirmission: how they were to be admitted tothe Institute the following day, how hewould draw up all the necessary papers,and how (much to Kate’s disappointment)they would not be required to use codenames. They must be themselves, Mr.Benedict said. They would have secretsenough to keep.

“What are we to do, exactly?” Stickyasked.

“Exactly what they want you to do,”said Mr. Benedict. “Learn. You must beexcellent students. One of the few thingswe know about the Institute is that certainprivileges are granted only to top students.No doubt it is these children the Senderuses to send his hidden messages.”

“So you’re hoping we’ll gain somesecret knowledge,” Reynie said.

“Indeed. How the Sender’s messagesaccomplish such profound effects, whatthe particulars of his plan are — anythingyou uncover may help us find a way todefeat him.”

“So that’s it?” Sticky said. “You justwant us to be students?”

“Much more than that,” Mr. Benedictsaid. “For not only must you learn whatthey teach, you must also try to learn whatthey do not teach. Every odd detail, everysuspicious aspect of the Institute — anyunusual elements at all, you must report tome. You never know what curious tidbitmight hold the key to the Sender’s entireplan. Anything you notice may be of use.”

Kate was rubbing her hands together.

“So you want us to sneak around, maybebreak into some offices, and —”

Mr. Benedict shook his head.“Absolutely not.”

Kate stopped rubbing her hands. “No?”“You must find out all you can,” said

Mr. Benedict sternly, “and you must reportit to me, but you must take no unnecessaryrisks. Your mission is dangerous enoughas it is.”

Kate looked crestfallen. The otherchildren looked relieved.

“Now then,” Mr. Benedict went on,“we must communicate often — and insecret. For this we’ll use Morse code.”

“Morse code!” Reynie cried, amazed.“Nobody uses Morse code anymore,”

said Kate.“Precisely why it is useful to us,” said

Mr. Benedict. “As you may know, theInstitute is located on Nomansan Island,which lies in Stonetown Harbor a halfmile out. From a hidden position on themainland shore, we shall constantly watchthe island. Every day and every night, atevery moment, your signals will bewatched for. It will be up to you to choosethe safest time. We’ll be ready for it.”

“But we leave tomorrow, and we don’te v e n know Morse code!” Constancecomplained.

“Actually, I do,” said Sticky. “I canteach you, if you like.”

Constance stuck her tongue out at him.“You’re all quick learners,” said Mr.

Benedict. “I have no worries about that.And Constance,” he said, raising aneyebrow, “I advise you to take Sticky up

on his offer. For this is an important pointI wished to discuss: You are a team now.Whether you always agree isinconsequential, but you must take care ofone another, must rely upon one another inall things. I don’t exaggerate when I saythat every one of you is essential to thesuccess of the team, and indeed, to the fateof us all. You must remember that.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine,George Washington, you can teach me thatstinky Morse code.”

“Call me Sticky, please. Just plainSticky is fine. You don’t even have to usemy last name.”

“When do we begin, GeorgeWashington?”

Sticky scowled. “Don’t call me that!”Kate leaned over to Reynie and

whispered, “I think we may have moretrouble than Mr. Benedict expects.”

It was suggested the children study Morsecode in the dining room, but the afternoonwas so beautiful, and the shady courtyardso inviting, they begged to pack lunchesand study outside. Mr. Benedict agreed onthe condition that no one venture beyondthe gate, and that Milligan accompanythem. So out they went into the courtyard,where Sticky and Constance now sat on astone bench under the elm tree, while Kateand Reynie sprawled on the ivy-coveredearth nearby. Milligan, disguised as agray-haired gardener in a straw hat,puttered gloomily about the iron fence,

tending to the rose bushes.“It’s a simple code,” Sticky was

explaining. “It uses dots and dashes —short signals and long signals — to standfor letters and numbers. The letter A, forexample, is made with one short signaland one long signal, or a dot and a dash.Here, I’ll show you.” Borrowing Kate’sflashlight (Kate had her bucket with her asalways), Sticky turned it on and off againvery quickly. “That was the short signal— the dot,” he said. Then he turned it onfor a full second. “And that’s the longsignal — the dash. Together they make anA, and the other letters are much the same.B is a dash and three dots, C is dash, dot,dash, dot, and so on. It’s all written outright here,” he said, pointing to the chartsMr. Benedict had given them.

“Let’s practice,” Sticky said.“Constance, you use the flashlight and thechart to spell out a message, and we’llfigure out what you’re saying.”

Constance’s hands were so small thatshe needed both of them to hold theflashlight, so Sticky held the chart up forher. Squinting at the paper inconcentration, she flashed the light oncevery quickly, followed this with twolonger flashes, then paused.

“Dot, dash, dash,” Sticky said.Kate referred to her chart and said,

“That’s a W, isn’t it?”Constance nodded and flashed the light

again: four quick signals.“Four dots,” said Reynie. “That’s an

H.”Again Constance nodded, and in this

way they proceeded through the rest of hermessage. As Mr. Benedict had remarked,they were all quick learners, but even so ittook them some minutes, for everyone butSticky had to keep checking the charts.Finally, though, Constance flashed thecode for her last letter (dash, dot — an N),then looked expectantly at Sticky, whoimmediately began to fidget. The messagehad been: Why did you run?

“Hey, that’s a good question,” Katesaid. “Why did you run away, Sticky?”

“It would take too long to answer incode,” Sticky said. “Let’s just practicewith a different message, somethingshort.”

“Skip the code and tell us,” Kateinsisted. “If we’re going to be a team, weshould get to know each other better, don’t

you think, Reynie?”“She’s right,” Reynie said. “It’s best

that we all know.”“I suppose so,” Sticky said miserably.

“But it isn’t a very pleasant story to tell.”Nor was it a pleasant story to hear, and

as Sticky told it, the children’s faces grewlong, so that they resembled miniatureversions of Milligan (who had, in hissilent way, drawn close to listen). Itturned out that Sticky had once been quitecontent with his life — the agreeable childof agreeable parents — but the situationchanged once his gifts became known.

This happened one April day when hismother (whose knees were arthritic, andwhose wheelchair needed extra oiling indamp weather) wondered aloud, in a rarefit of irritation, why it had to rain so much.

As Sticky helped his mother into her chair,he launched into a detailed explanation ofweather systems and local geography.He’d always been a shy, silent child —this was the first time he’d given any hintof his considerable knowledge. Hismother checked him for a fever.

That evening she told his father, whoasked Sticky to repeat what he’d saidbefore. Sticky did, word for word. Hisfather had to sit down. Then he rose again,went into the den, and returned carryingseveral volumes of an outdatedencyclopedia. Questioning Sticky together,the Washingtons discovered that their son,who was only seven at the time, carriedmore information inside his head than acollege professor, perhaps twoprofessors, with an engineer thrown in to

boot. Astonished and proud, they couldhardly have been more excited if they’dfound buried treasure.

And in a way they had, for right awaythey began entering him in quizcompetitions, which Sticky won easily.He took home substantial prizes: a newencyclopedia to replace the outdated one,a new writing desk, a cash prize, asavings bond. The more Sticky won, themore excited his parents grew. Theyencouraged him to study constantly, toread through their meals together, to stayup late reading, to stop wasting time withhis friends. The pressure to win began todistract him. His parents grew angry whenhe missed questions — which he began todo more and more, as he tended to getmixed up when nervous — and scolded

him for not caring about them. If Stickycared, they said, he would try harder towin, since only by winning would he bringwealth and happiness to the family.

This came as a surprise to Sticky, whoknew they’d never been wealthy buthadn’t realized they were unhappy. Andfor him it was different — the more hewon, the unhappier he became. But thoughhe sometimes missed questions whoseanswers he knew, he still won the contestseasily, gaining admission to biggercontests with bigger prizes, until at last hisparents were perfectly dazzled by theprospect of fortune, and Sticky wasperfectly exhausted. Despite complainingand even begging, however, he couldn’tpersuade them to let him stop. If hewanted to be rich and famous, they said,

he must keep winning. When he repliedthat he didn’t care to be rich and famous,they didn’t believe him and said he wasonly being lazy.

Finally Sticky decided to make a pointby pretending to run away. He left a note,then hid for several days in a cellar closethis parents thought was boarded up, butwhich Sticky had found a way to enter.From there he was able to venture forth tosneak food, use the bathroom, and do alittle spying on his parents. At first he waspleased by what he saw: TheWashingtons, extremely distressed, hadraised an outcry about their lost son,seeking help from all quarters. But thensomething unfortunate happened. A richman, himself a former quiz champion,heard of the case and gave a large sum of

money to the Washingtons to aid theirsearch. Word of his generosity quickly gotaround, which inspired otherphilanthropists — unwilling to be outdone— to send even more money; and beforelong people everywhere were sendinggifts to the Washingtons, who weregrowing rich. To his great astonishmentand mortification, Sticky saw his parentsbegin trying less and less to find him,instead devoting their time and energytoward the proper disposal of theirnewfound riches. At last, one day, whenhe managed to overhear his father sayingsomething about being “better off now” —better off with him gone, Sticky realized— he could no longer bear their betrayal.He ran away for good.

“I’d been on my own for weeks,” he

concluded, removing his glasses to wipeaway a tear, “when I saw Mr. Benedict’sadvertisement in the paper. That’s mystory. You all know the rest. Now can weget on with the practice?”

After a short, unhappy silence, theothers agreed, and Constance took up theflashlight. Her message went more quicklythis time; it was a single word: sorry. Theothers were taken aback. Even Milligan,who had retreated to his roses and seemednot to be paying attention, raised hiseyebrows.

“That’s okay,” Sticky said.“Aren’t we a depressing bunch?” said

Kate. “If we continue like this, we’ll haveto start calling it remorse code.”

“What’s remorse?” asked Constance.“Feeling sad about something you did,”

said Reynie.“Oh, do you feel sad, George

Washington?” asked Constance.Sticky twitched with irritation. “She

was talking about you. And please don’tcall me that.”

“I didn’t call you ‘that.’ I called youGeorge Washington. Ask the others. Theyheard me. I definitely did not call you‘that,’ George Washington.”

Kate sighed and muttered, “So much forremorse.”

“And what about Milligan?” Constancesaid. “Why is he so sad?”

All eyes went to their bodyguard, whohad left off tending the roses and wasoiling the gate hinges. He looked as if hecould use an oiling himself — he movedquite creakily, and with a pronounced

stoop, so that he truly seemed as old as heappeared in his disguise. He cast not aglance in their direction. Either he hadn’theard the question or else was pretendinghe hadn’t. But Constance wouldn’t let thispass.

“Milligan! Come tell us why you’re sodreadfully glum!”

“Good grief,” said Sticky, “do you haveto drag out everybody’s sad tales? Whydon’t you leave him in peace?”

She wouldn’t listen, however, and aftera few more stubborn requests, Milligan atlast set down his oil can and shuffled overto them. “All right,” he said in a resignedtone. “I’ll tell you.”

The children all sat up straight.“Several years ago,” Milligan began, “I

awoke, blindfolded, in a hard metal chair.

My hands and feet were cuffed together, ametal restraint held my head in place, andas I came awake, a man’s voice said,‘This nut is a hard one to crack.’ Indeed Ifelt I had been cracked — I had aferocious headache, I was hungry andexhausted, and for some reason my fingersand toes were stinging. Worse: When Itried to recall where I was, and how I hadcome there, I found I couldn’t.”

“Amnesia?” Reynie said.Milligan nodded. “Apparently I’d

received a serious blow to the head. Icould recall nothing at all — not my past,not my purpose, not even my name. To thisday I have no memory of who I am.”

“Then why did you say your name wasMilligan?” Constance asked, almostaccusingly, as if he’d lied to them.

“When I regained consciousness, it wasthe first name that flew into my mind.Perhaps it was in fact my name, but itdidn’t feel like my name, if you understandme. It seemed to apply to me somehow,and to be important, and so perhaps it ismy name, but I’m afraid I’ll never know.”

“What happened next?” asked Kate.“Well, next I heard the same voice say,

‘Let’s rouse him again. I grow weary ofthis one.’ Then, shaking my arm, he said,in a very different, gentle tone, ‘Wake up,my friend, wake up,’ unaware I’d beenawake long enough to have heard himdiscussing me like a cut of meat.

“Pretending to come awake, I said,‘What? Have I been asleep? Where am I?’To which he replied, ‘You’re safe; that’sthe important thing. We’ve rescued you

from certain death and are here to helpyou. Now, is it true you remembernothing?’

“I didn’t, of course, as I’ve told you.And apparently I had told the man this too.But as he now seemed to expect thatanswer and seemed intent on takingadvantage of it somehow, I said, ‘On thecontrary. I remember everythingperfectly.’

“The man cried, ‘What? You’re lying!’“‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry you find it

so distressing.’“Then the voice grew cunning and said,

‘If you remember so clearly, tell me whyyou are here.’

“‘I believe I’ll leave the telling to you,’I replied.

“‘The sneak! You’re lying to us, you

dirty —’ the man shouted, and then,strangely, all was silent, as if someonehad clapped a hand over his mouth.

“After a while I said, ‘Dirty what?Please tell me — the suspense is killingme.’

“The voice returned, much calmer now.‘It won’t be suspense that does it,’ hesaid. ‘If you don’t crack tomorrow, we’lltoss you into the harbor.’

“‘Well, I’m sure I would infinitelyprefer that fate to the smell of yourbreath,’ I replied, upon which he struckme hard across the face and ordered metaken from the room.

“As it happened, that blow did me agood turn, for it loosened the blindfold. Ihad only just left the room when theblindfold began to slip, and though my

captors didn’t realize it, I could soon seefairly well. Two men in suits wereleading me along a stone passage. Theymoved slowly to accommodate my pace,which was hampered by my chain-cuffedankles. As we walked, I studied my hands,still cuffed in front of me, and becameaware that one was clutching something.Wonderingly I opened my fist, noticing asI did so that my fingernails had been bittenbeyond the quick, so that my fingertipswere raw. (This explained why they stung,and judging from the pain in my toes, mytoenails had been bitten off as well.) In myhand I discovered a tiny device, ratherlike a twisted hairpin. To my greatsurprise I realized it had been fashionedfrom my fingernails and toenails. All this Imust have done myself, but I had no

memory of it.“Imagine then how amazed I was to

discover that I knew what the little devicewas for. I slipped it into the lock of myhandcuffs (my fingers seemed to knowwhat they were doing, though I did not),and just as we came to a stairway, I heardthe lock spring — I’d picked it in less thana minute. Before they knew I was free, Ihad knelt down and cuffed the men’sankles together. Then I hopped out ofreach, and my captors, trying to pursue,fell on their faces. Before they couldregain their feet, I had picked the locks onthe ankle cuffs, snapped them onto themen’s wrists, and bounded down thestairs.

“After that, my getaway was fairlysimple. I broke out into the darkness of a

rainy night. I was pursued, of course, but Imade my way through a hilly terrain until Icame to a cliff overlooking the harbor.The water looked shallow and lay about ahundred feet below me, but as I had noother choice, I dove straightaway. Therefollowed some troublesome business ofswimming to the mainland while pursuersin boats tried to capture me with nets andhooks, that sort of thing. But I proved agood swimmer, and the rocks in thechannel are terrible for boats. In the end Iescaped.”

All of this had been spoken softly,without the least trace of excitement ordrama in Milligan’s voice. But thechildren, listening, could hardly containthemselves, and when he’d finished, theyburst forth with questions: How had he

come here? What was he doing onNomansan Island in the first place? It wasNomansan Island, wasn’t it? And thosemen in suits . . .

“Yes, it was the same men, the ones yousaw in the maze. They weren’t sure wherethey know me from, but I certainlyremember them. And yes, it wasNomansan Island — it was the Institute —that I escaped from. Why I was there Ican’t say, but Mr. Benedict is convinced Iwas a secret agent, an employee of agovernment agency long since dismantled.I have no way of telling.”

“Maybe Mr. Benedict can find out,”Reynie said.

“It was that hope that led me to him,”Milligan admitted. “I’d spent monthsseeking information about my past, but no

one believed my story, and no one had anyanswers. Finally I learned about a manworth meeting — not a government agenthimself, but a brilliant man of mysteriouspurposes who always seemed to knowmore about everything than anyone elsedid. This, of course, was Mr. Benedict.But though he’s helped me make sense ofwhat’s happened, and has earned myloyalty, the entire business is soextraordinarily secretive and complicatedthat I’ve long been convinced I will neverlearn anything about my past.”

“How awful,” said Reynie.“Yes, it’s too bad,” said Sticky, though

not quite convincingly, for at the momenthe rather wished he couldn’t remember hisown past, given the grief it brought him.

“Hey, does your amnesia have

something to do with your sillydisguises?” Constance asked.

Milligan clamped his straw hat moretightly on his head. “My ‘silly’ disguisesare useful for other reasons, but yes,Constance, it would be unfortunate if someenemy from my past recognized me, but Icouldn’t recognize him. It’s better never tobe recognized at all.”

“So there’s really no hope your memorywill return?” Kate asked.

“Oh, I suppose there’s some slighthope. Mr. Benedict has tried hypnosis andother treatments on me, all without luck.Still, he says it’s possible somesignificant event, or the appearance of animportant object or person from my past,or some other unknown thing, might breakdown the door and let my memories out.

I’m afraid, however, that I’m not muchgiven to hope anymore.”

“If not for hope, what keeps yougoing?” asked Reynie, who had an uglysuspicion that there might come a time,and not so far away, when things wouldseem hopeless to him, too.

“Duty,” said Milligan. “Nothing else,only a sense of duty. I know the Sender isout to do harm. I feel obliged to stop him.Or at the very least, to try.”

“And do you think we can?” Reynieasked. “Do you think he can be stopped?”

In response Milligan only went back tohis oil can. He did not look at the childrenagain.

The Thing to Come

When the children had studied Morsecode until dots and dashes swam in theirheads even with their eyes closed, Rhondacalled them inside. It was early eveningnow, the light in the dining room windowwas a soft amber color, and all through thehouse the wooden floors, curiouslyenough, groaned and creaked like a ship atsea.

“That happens sometimes after amorning rain,” said Rhonda as thechildren took seats at the table. “Don’tworry, it’s a sound old house — we won’t

sink.” She set several pages of notesbefore each of them. “Now that youunderstand your mission and have a goodstart on your Morse code, Mr. Benedictwould like for you to understand betterwhat we’re up against.”

The children’s ears perked up. Therewas more? Reynie began to flip throughhis papers, some of which bore faintsmears of peanut butter.

“Number Two has summarizedeverything in these notes,” Rhonda said.“If you read quickly, you should be able tofinish before supper. Mr. Benedict willcome by in a little while to answer anyquestions.”

“He wants us to read all of this?”Constance said, as if she couldn’t believeMr. Benedict’s nerve.

Rhonda only smiled and went out.The children — all except Constance,

who was too busy humphing — set to theirnotes. Sticky read so quickly that heseemed hardly to have started before he’dfinished. He sat quietly, deep in thought,waiting for the others. Ten minutes later,Reynie had finished, too, and Kate, notingthis, set aside her last few pages andasked the boys to fill her in.

What the children learned from thenotes was this: The Institute on NomansanIsland generated all its own electricityusing the power of the tides — an endlesssource of energy. The Institute’s tidalturbines were considered the best in theentire world; they were also capable ofproducing enough energy to power ahundred Institutes, let alone one.

These turbines had been invented by aman named Ledroptha Curtain, who, as ayoung scientist, had published impressivepapers on a wide variety of topics —everything from tidal energy to mappingthe brain — until abruptly the papersstopped. No one heard from him for manyyears. Then one day he reappeared andfounded the Institute, apparently havingturned his genius to matters of education.

There was no doubt: Ledroptha Curtainwas the Sender. And yet about certainthings there was quite a lot of doubtindeed. For instance, the hidden messagesbeing sent from the Institute werebroadcast only a few times each day, andon a very weak signal. But the tidalturbines should be able to produce anenormous amount of energy, much more

than necessary to power the Institute —and certainly enough to transmit theSender’s messages on a high-poweredsignal rather than a weak one. Why, then,had Curtain made his turbines soextravagant if he didn’t intend to use thatextra power? And why did he send out hismessages intermittently when he could bebroadcasting around the clock?

“He’s been saving it up,” Reynie said,narrowing his eyes. “It’s what Mr.Benedict was trying to explain thismorning. There’s something badapproaching. Some new thing —”

“The thing to come,” said Mr. Benedict,who had appeared in the doorway. With anod of approval he joined them at thetable, accompanied by Number Two. “Itsounds as if you’ve finished the notes. I

know they’re complicated — do you havequestions about them?”

“I think I understand them pretty well,”said Constance. (The others looked at oneanother in disbelief.) “Right now, thehidden messages are sent at low power,several times a day, by the Sender — aman named Ledroptha Curtain. But histidal turbines are extremely powerful, soit sounds like at some point he’s going tostart boosting the strength of hismessages.”

“Bravo, Constance!” Mr. Benedict said.“Well done!”

The other children scowled.“Well done, all of you,” Mr. Benedict

added, with a wink that made them feel abit better. “Now, then, do you have otherquestions?”

“I do,” said Kate. “What happens whenthe Sender boosts the power?”

“We know only one thing for certain,”said Mr. Benedict. “With just a very slightincrease, the Sender will eliminate theneed for televisions or radios to transmithis messages — he’ll be able to broadcasthis messages straight into everyone’sminds. Even those of us with anuncommon love of truth will no longer beable to avoid the broadcasts.”

Sticky looked horrified. “How . . . howwill that feel?”

“Don’t tell me we’ll hear those kids’voices in our heads,” Kate said, adisgusted look on her face.

“In rare cases, perhaps,” said Mr.Benedict, “with exceptionally sensitiveminds. But most of us will simply feel

irritable and confused — essentially theway we feel now whenever the televisionis on and the messages are beingbroadcast.”

“You said ‘with a very slightincrease,’” said Reynie. “What happenswhen the power gets boosted all the way— when the messages are sent at fullstrength?”

Mr. Benedict tapped his nose. “That iswhen we’ll hear voices in our heads. Ican’t imagine it will be pleasant.”

“It sounds awful,” Kate said, her lipcurling at the very thought. “So why doeshe want us all to think we’re crazy?”

A shadow had crossed Reynie’s face.“That’s not what he wants, is it, Mr.Benedict? At least not the main thing.Otherwise what’s the point of waiting?”

“Okay, now I’m confused,” said Kate,and the other children signaled theiragreement.

“I believe Reynie is wondering,” saidMr. Benedict, “why the Sender wouldwait all this time to boost the power if hecould have done so years ago. Am Iright?”

Reynie nodded.“I agree,” Mr. Benedict said. “The

voices aren’t the point. They are the sideeffect, the unintended consequence of adark and ambitious undertaking. TheSender has spent all these years preparingpeople for something — preparing themfor the thing to come.”

“But what is the thing to come?” saidConstance.

“That is precisely what we must find

out,” said Mr. Benedict, “before it is toolate.”

“And if we are too late?” asked Stickynervously. “Will it really be that bad?”

Mr. Benedict grew solemn. “For us,and for all the people like us — all thosewhose minds cleave so strongly to thetruth — I am convinced it will be . . . mostdisagreeable. You must understand that theSender has not gone to such enormoustrouble — for so many years, and at suchextravagant expense — to allow anyinterference with his plans. He hasalready shown himself to be quiteruthless. No, children, I believe that byvirtue of our minds’ resistance, we shall— how to put it? — I believe we shallreceive special attention.”

At these words a black cloud of

possibility bloomed in the children’sminds, a darkness in which scary thoughtsflickered like bolts of lightning.

Special attention.Their mouths went dry as bones.Reynie’s mind was awhirl. Part of him

w anted not to believe Mr. Benedict.Could he really be trusted? He was an oddman, and the things he told them wereodder still. It would be such a relief tothink his predictions about the thing tocome were nothing more than wildspeculation. And yet Reynie did trust Mr.Benedict, had trusted him almostimmediately. What troubled Reynie wasthat he so badly wanted to trust Mr.Benedict — wanted to believe in this manwho had shown faith in him, wanted tostay with these children who seemed to

like and respect Reynie as much as he didthem.

And so the question was not whetherReynie could trust Mr. Benedict, butwhether he could trust himself. Who in hisright mind would actually want to be putin danger just because that let him be apart of something?

Reynie didn’t know. He only knew hedidn’t want to go back.

The Naming of the Crew

In preparation for the children’sdeparture, Mr. Benedict told them, therewas much necessary information to begathered, and paperwork to be completed,and signatures to be forged, and orders tobe given, and fees to be paid, and phonecalls to be made. Except for their briefmeeting with the children, Number Twohad not left her computer, nor Mr.Benedict his desk, for hours. And sinceMilligan was standing guard, and Rhondaherself was too busy to do more than bringtheir supper and excuse herself, the

children dined alone.Afterward Reynie and Kate went into

the sitting room to practice their Morsecode. Despite their urging, however,Constance crabbily refused to join them.Instead, while Sticky helped thempractice, she composed a poem about abunch of bossy gargoyles who liked to eatcat food and pick their ears. It was anunpleasant poem, and the gargoyles’names, not very cleverly disguised, wereKateena, Reynardo, and Georgette. Afterreciting this to the others, Constance wentstraight to bed without brushing her teethor saying good night.

In truth this came as a relief to the otherchildren, who were already more thantired of Constance’s ways, and whogathered in the boys’ room to discuss this

very concern. She had tried their patienceall evening — indeed, ever since they’dmet her — and the prospect of her joiningthem on a dangerous mission had themworried.

“We simply can’t do it,” Kate said forthe tenth time. She was hanging upsidedown from the top bunk to see if her hairwould touch the floor, but her golden-blond locks came three inches shy, as shehad suspected. “She’s nothing but aburden. She’s cranky, she’s not especiallybright as far as I can see, and she’sprobably the clumsiest kid I’ve ever met— she’s always dropping things, and shewalks like a landlubber on a ship. Howare we supposed to succeed with someonelike that on our team?”

“Kate’s right,” said Sticky, looking up

from a geology book. “Constance willonly make things harder.”

“I feel the same way,” Reynie admitted.“But doesn’t it seem strange that Mr.Benedict would let her join us if shewasn’t important?”

“He may be a genius, but even geniusesmake mistakes,” said Kate, whose facehad gone red as a tomato. She droppedbackward off the bunk, flipping in the airto land on her feet, and casually pulled herhair back into a ponytail. “Maybe he feelssorry for her.”

“Maybe he does,” Reynie said, “butsurely he wouldn’t let his feelings spoilthe mission. He must have good reasonsfor including her.”

“There’s only one way to find out,”Kate said. “You have to go talk to him.”

“I do? Why me?”“Because you’re the only one who can

do it. If Sticky goes, he’ll just mumble andwipe his glasses. If I go, I’ll end upcomplaining about her, as I’ve been doingfor the last half-hour. For instance, didyou see the way she sneaked a bite of mypie at dinner? And it was the only dessertwe had all day!”

“It’s true,” Sticky said, finishing hisbook and thumping it closed. “I’ll gettongue-tied, and Kate will get steamed. Ithas to be you, Reynie.”

And so, a few minutes later, it wasReynie who knocked on the study door.

“Come in, Reynie,” said Mr. Benedict.As before, Reynie found him on the floor,this time with a half-eaten biscuit in onehand, a graph of some kind in the other,

and biscuit crumbs on his green suitjacket. “I was just taking a late supper.Would you care for a biscuit? There’sanother on my desk, though I’m afraid it’scold — I was so intent upon my work Iforgot to eat until now.”

“No, thank you,” Reynie said. Even ifhe’d been hungry he couldn’t have eaten abite — he felt very ill at ease. It didn’tseem quite decent to complain aboutConstance, nor did he like the thought ofexpressing doubt in Mr. Benedict, whomhe liked very much. But it must be done,and he was preparing himself to beginwhen Mr. Benedict said, “I assume you’vecome about Constance.”

Reynie swallowed and nodded.“And that you speak not only for

yourself, but for Sticky and Kate as well?”

Perhaps some day, Reynie thought, hewould get used to Mr. Benedict’s alwaysknowing what was on his mind.

“I understand completely,” said Mr.Benedict. “And if we had time, I shouldbe happy to explain my choices to you ingreat detail. But as we do not, allow me toassure you that Constance is far moregifted than she seems, and that it is notfrom pity, blindness, or rash hopefulnessthat I include her in this mission. On thecontrary, I believe she may be the verykey to our success.”

“If that’s true, then I suppose she’sworth the trouble.”

“Sometimes, Reynie, trouble itself isthe key.”

“Sir?”“I daresay you’ll understand me in time.

Now, listen, it’s true I have a certainsympathy for Constance. Like her, and likeyourself, I grew up an orphan, and I knowwhat it is to feel miserable and alone.However —”

“You’re an orphan?”“Certainly. My parents were Dutch

scientists, killed in a laboratory accidentwhen I was a baby. I was sent to thiscountry to live with my aunt, but she, too,died, and so into an orphanage I went.However, what I intended to say was thatwhile I sympathize with Constance, it isnot from sympathy I include her, no morethan it is from sympathy I include you oranyone else. Fair enough?”

“I believe so.”“Very well, then, will you do me a

great favor? Will you tell your friends

what I’ve said and return to give me theirverdict? If anyone should choose not to goon, I had better know at once.”

The sense of urgency was apparent inMr. Benedict’s tone, and Reynie lost notime hurrying back to relate his answer toSticky and Kate, who sat cross-legged onthe floor, thumb-wrestling to pass thetime. They weren’t happy about the news,but neither were they inclined to quit, soReynie left them to their thumb-wrestlingand hurried back to Mr. Benedict’s study.He was about to knock on the door whenhe heard voices inside. He hesitated, notwanting to interrupt.

“I can’t stand it!” Mr. Benedict wassaying. “I can’t stand putting them indanger! It goes against everything Ibelieve in.”

“I know,” came the reply, and Reynierecognized the voice of Number Two. “Iknow, Mr. Benedict, we all feel that way.But if they don’t go, then it’s over — thecurtain falls. You said so yourself. Wehave no choice. Now please calm yourselfbefore —”

Mr. Benedict said something Reyniecould not make out, but it was clearly anexpression of anguish, or perhaps fury,and then Number Two was saying, “Ohdear. And with a mouthful of biscuit, too.Wake up, dear Benedict” — there was apatting sound — “wake up, or I fear youmay choke.”

After a moment came a snorting noise,then a cough, and then Mr. Benedict said,“Ah. Was I very long gone?”

“Only a moment,” said Number Two

gently.“Good, good. Thank you for your

commiserations, my friend, and now you’dbest be off, back to your confoundedcomputer. I’m sorry to work you so.”

“I know as well as you that it must bedone. Just let me water this violet, for thesake of my conscience, and then I’m off.Poor thing, it’s on the edge of death.”

“I know, I’ve neglected it shamefully,I’ve hardly had a moment. Thank you,Number Two. Now go on and take thatbiscuit — no use protesting, I saw youstaring at it — and if you pass our younghero in the hall, please tell him to walkstraight in.”

Reynie’s heart fluttered. Hero? WasMr. Benedict referring to him?

“He’s an extraordinary child, isn’t he?”

said Number Two, her speech somewhathindered by a mouthful of biscuit.

“Indeed he is. They all are, which iswhy I so despise the thought — however, Iwon’t go on and on. Mustn’t drop off tosleep again; it will take us all night as itis. Shall we meet at midnight to see howthings stand?”

“Midnight it is. I’ll tell Rhonda,” saidNumber Two, flinging open the door.“Why, Reynie! Speak of the devil, Mr.Benedict, here he is. Go on in, child, Imust rush off.”

Reynie stepped inside. “Everybodychooses to continue, Mr. Benedict. We’lldo our best to get along with Constance.”

“I’m glad to hear it, and I have no doubtyou will, Reynie,” said Mr. Benedict, hiseyes already returning to the graph in his

hand. “Thank you, indeed. Now you’d bestget some sleep. Difficult day ahead of youtomorrow.”

Reynie hesitated. “Sir, if I can’t sleep,may I come back here? I promise I won’tbother you. I’ll be very quiet. It’s just thatmy nerves are all jumping.”

“Say no more, Reynie,” said Mr.Benedict, who had begun calculating afigure on the graph with one hand andtaking notes in a tablet with the other, as ifneither required more concentration thanpulling on socks. “My study is your study.Come in whenever you wish.”

Reynie nodded, put his hand on thedoorknob, and again hesitated. “Mr.Benedict?”

“Hmm? What is it, Reynie?”“I wanted to say thank you, sir.”

Mr. Benedict looked up. “Thank me?Whatever for?”

“Just — just thank you, sir. That’s all.”Mr. Benedict gave him a long, puzzled

stare. Finally, with a shrug, a shake of hishead, and an affectionate smile, he said,“Reynie, my good young friend, you aremost entirely welcome.”

Early in the morning, before the sun hadthrown its first ray or the redbirds chirpedtheir first note, all four children weregathered in the boys’ bedroom. Tooanxious to sleep, they had risen almostmagically at the same time and soughteach other out. Now they sat cross-leggedor sprawled on the floor, speaking in

hushed voices. The house was quiet, butthey weren’t the only ones awake. Beyondtheir own voices they could hear, driftingdown the drafty halls, a frenetic, mutedtapping — the sleepless Number Two onher computer keyboard — and fromsomewhere above them the occasionalcreak of a floorboard.

The children were engaged in awhispered debate. It had been decidedthey should have a name. This had beenKate Wetherall’s idea, of course, buteveryone agreed, even Constance. If theywere to go on a secret mission to a placewhere they would be entirely alone amongstrangers, if they must absolutely dependupon one another as fellow agents andfriends — if, in short, they were to be ateam — they must certainly have a name.

And so they had set about choosing whatto call themselves.

“I was thinking something like ‘TheGreat Kate Weather Machine and herStormy Companions,’” said Kate. “It kindof plays on a weather theme.”

Her suggestion was greeted by generalsilence and, from Constance, a stormylook indeed. After a pause Kate said,“Well, does anyone else have an idea?”

“How about ‘The Four Kids Gang’?”offered Sticky. “Or ‘The Secret AgentChildren Group’?”

Constance’s storm-cloud scowl, ifpossible, grew even darker; Reyniecleared his throat; and Kate said, “Um,Sticky? Those have to be the mostabsolutely yawn-causing names I’ve everheard.”

“But they’re accurate,” argued Sticky,looking hopefully at Reynie, but Reynieonly shook his head.

“If we’re just trying to be accurate, thenhow about ‘The Doomed to Fail Bunch’?”said Constance. “Honestly! We can’t evenname ourselves.”

“Listen,” said Reynie, ignoring her.“What is it that drew us all together?Maybe we should start there.”

“Mr. Benedict,” said Kate and Sticky atthe same time.

“All right, how about something withhis name in it, to remind us of ourmission?”

“‘Mr. Benedict’s Very Secret Team’?”said Sticky.

Everyone groaned.Kate said, “How about ‘Mr. Benedict

and the Great Kate Weath —’”“Don’t even finish that,” said Reynie.“The Mysterious Benedict Society,”

Constance said, rising as she spoke. Thenshe left the room, apparently convincedthat no more discussion was necessary.

And, as it turned out, she was right.

Nomansan Island

Stonetown Harbor had always been abusy port: ships steaming in and weighinganchor at all hours, countless stevedoresand sailors as busy as ants, and the dockspiled high with cargo. All of this activityoccurred in the shadow of Stonetownitself, a city that existed for the sake of itsport, and which had grown so large andbusy because of it. Near the harbor’ssouthern slope, however, lay a channel oftreacherous shoals, studded here and therewith great boulders that still bore thescars of ancient shipwrecks, and as a

consequence this southern part of theharbor was always quite still. It was here,among these ship-scarred rocks, thatNomansan Island was found.

The island’s shore was jagged rockitself, with only the occasional spot ofsand upon which a boat might land; yet thecaptain of any craft attempting to landthere must be very brave or foolish, forthe currents in the surrounding water wereunpredictable, and the shallows famouslydifficult to navigate. The only practicalapproach to Nomansan Island was by thelong, narrow bridge that ran from its bankto the mainland’s wooded shore a halfmile away. The city had not developedalong this part of the shore, but had grownnorthward along the inland river, leavinga few acres of woods untouched. (One

day, no doubt, the woods would benoticed — like a nagging itch — andquickly chopped down, but for now theyremained.) It was through these woods,and toward this bridge, that the membersof the newly formed Mysterious BenedictSociety were headed.

They were moving swiftly upon aseldom-used road, in a weary old stationwagon driven by Rhonda Kazembe. As thecar passed beneath the trees, Reynienoticed the first colors of autumn in theiroverhanging branches. The outer leaveswere going red, yellow, and orange, whilethe inner ones still held the deep green ofsummer, so that the trees appeared candy-coated. A lovely sight, but Reynie wasunable to enjoy it. His companions feltmuch the same. Within minutes they would

be admitted to the Learning Institute forthe Very Enlightened, and they wereapprehensive. The closer they came to theisland, the more real the danger felt.

Rhonda was pointing through the treestoward the mainland shore. “Ourtelescopes will be hidden there in thebrush,” she said. “We’ll be setting themup right after I drop you off, and from thenon we’ll attend them at all times. If youstand anywhere on this side of the island,we should be able to see you through thetelescopes as if you were two feet away.Whenever you have something to report,we’ll be ready for it. And if we haveanything to tell you, we’ll send a messagein return. It’s up to you to find the safesttime to communicate. Most likely it willbe after dark, when the others are asleep.

“Even then,” Rhonda added, “there’salways the slight chance our messages toyou will be observed from the island. Forthis reason they must necessarily becryptic —”

“What’s cryptic?” cried a shrill voicefrom the backseat.

“I’m sorry, Constance. By cryptic Imean vague or mysterious. We won’t everuse names, and will never give obviousdirections except in case of emergency. Inmost cases we’ll rely on your ability tofigure out what we mean. It’s moredifficult this way, but we must takeprecautions for your safety. Even withprecautions, your situation will beextremely dangerous.”

With the words “extremely dangerous”fresh in the children’s ears, the car rattled

out of the woods into plain view ofNomansan Island. And there, on theisland’s near side, was the Institute: anarrangement of massive gray buildings, abroad plaza, and a slender tower thatresembled a lighthouse, all of whichappeared to be built entirely of islandstone. From this distance the Instituteblended so thoroughly into Nomansan’sstony crags it seemed a part of the islanditself. Behind it and on either side rose upsteep hills, and beyond the hills could beseen the peaks of still more hills, andbeyond those still more. A flagpole juttedfrom the side of the Institute’s tower,supporting a long red banner that rippledin the breeze. Printed upon the banner, inletters large enough to be read from themainland, was the word LIVE — an

acronym, obviously, for the LearningInstitute for the Very Enlightened.

“At least it doesn’t say die,” Katemused.

“Oh, yes, very encouraging,” saidSticky, whose forehead had begun tosweat.

Reynie stared out the window at theapproaching bridge. To cross it, they hadto first check in at a guard house, andReynie was nervous despite Mr.Benedict’s assurances. New students wereadmitted all the time, and Mr. Benedicthad made every arrangement, hadfollowed every proper procedure, butstill. . . . It was normal to feel nervous,Mr. Benedict had said. All children getnervous on their first day at a new school,and all secret agents get nervous on the

first day of a mission. Combine the twoand your chances of nervousness aregreatly increased.

At the bridge entrance two peoplestepped out of a guard house and wavedthe car to a stop.

“Steady now,” said Rhonda in anundertone. “Nothing to worry about yet.”

The guards were a young man andwoman wearing sunglasses, smiles, andexpensive suits, with well-polished shoesthat gleamed in the morning sun. As thewoman motioned for Rhonda to roll downthe window, no one could help but noticethe huge silver watches on her wrists.Reynie squeezed the armrest.

“May I help you?” asked the woman,peering in. A sweet, citrusy perfumedrifted through the window. The woman

was all smiles, the picture of friendliness.The other guard also smiled, but Reyniecould tell he was studying them with greatattention.

“These are your new students,” Rhondasaid. “Three transferring from BinnudAcademy and one from StonetownOrphanage.”

“Wait here, please.” The womanstepped back into the guard house. Theother guard stayed put. He cocked hishead to hear something the woman wastelling him, but he kept his eyes on the car.

“Steady,” Rhonda intoned again, justloud enough for the children to hear. ButReynie noticed that — ever so subtly —she had shifted the car into reverse. Just incase.

Reynie took a deep breath and held it.

He hoped his friends remembered theirstories. His own was easy enough, since itwas the truth: Mr. Rutger, properlypersuaded, had made a special exceptionin his case. The others, though, were froma special temporary school for orphanscalled Binnud Academy. That morning, asthey’d said their good-byes overbreakfast, Mr. Benedict had pointed outthat if they said “Binnud Academy” aloud,it would remind them his thoughts werewith them always.

“As are mine,” Number Two had said.Distracted by emotion, she was drying hereyes with a slice of bread. “My thoughtsand all my prayers.”

All of the adults had seemed especiallybleary, exhausted, and sad — exceptMilligan, who always looked that way —

yet even so, there was a flicker ofexcitement, indeed of hope, in every eye.

“Go now, children,” Mr. Benedict hadsaid, “go and show them what you’remade of.”

At this moment Reynie felt sure theywere made of jitterbugs. His kneestrembled, and he could barely keep histeeth from chattering. Sticky wasscrubbing his glasses so hard theysqueaked, and Constance had her eyessqueezed tightly shut, unconvincinglyfeigning sleep. Even Kate squirmed alittle. The guard seemed to be taking anawfully long time.

When she finally came out, her smilehadn’t faded in the least. Reynie just hadtime to wonder whether this meant she didor did not have something to hide . . . and

then she was at the car, saying, “Welcome,kids! You’re all clear and right on time.Please drive across to the island gate. I’llradio for them to let you in.”

As Rhonda rolled the window up andput the gear in forward again, all fourchildren released deep breaths. Then theypassed over the long bridge toward theirfate.

After their suitcases had been unloadedfrom the station wagon, and Rhonda hadsigned a form and bidden them farewell,the children were left to wait in a loadingarea by the bridge gate. Their escortswould collect them shortly, the gateguards said. In the meantime they were to

step aside, please, as this was a busy areaand not the sort of place for children to beunderfoot. Workers in white uniformswere hauling crates from a nearby storageshed and loading them into a big truck.And they did indeed seem very busy,tirelessly loading and stacking until itmade your back hurt just to watch them.

The children moved off to the side ofthe loading area, dragging their suitcasesbehind them. (Rhonda had packed changesof clothes for each of them, includingoutfits she had sewn overnight to fitConstance’s diminutive size.) They hadn’tmuch to do or look at to occupythemselves, even though they very muchwanted to be occupied to take their mindsoff their nervousness. There was only theguard house, the storage shed, and the

loading area — all of which wereapparently off limits — and a stone wallthat blocked their view of the harbor.After twiddling their thumbs a fewminutes, the children stacked theirsuitcases and took turns standing on themto peek over the wall. (Constancerequired all four suitcases; the othersmanaged with two.)

They were interested to discover someactivity beneath the bridge — moreworkers in white uniforms, navigating aboat among the pilings. The workerscarried oversized wrenches, cranks, andother tools, and were using them to makeadjustments on some unseen apparatusbeneath the water’s surface. Like theworkers loading the crates into the truck,those in the boats seemed earnestly intent

upon their work. They spoke but rarely,and then in quiet tones, as if they heldsome great reverence for the task setbefore them.

Must be the turbines, Reynie thought,climbing down from the suitcases. Stickyand Kate had come to the sameconclusion, but Constance wonderedaloud what in the world those peoplecould possibly be doing down there. Werethey trying to fix the water?

Reynie wasn’t sure whether or notConstance was joking. He had started toanswer, regardless, when his voice wasdrowned out by the rumbling of an engine.The workers had finished loading the bigtruck. Two men in suits had climbed intothe front, and as the gate opened for them,they waved cheerfully to the children and

drove away over the bridge.“Did you see that?” Constance cried.

“They’re wearing those shock-watches!The bridge guards, too. Have younoticed?”

“Lower your voice,” Kate hissed. “Areyou crazy? Of course we’ve noticed.”

Constance was indignant, but there wasno time for a full-blown argument todevelop, for just then the children’sescorts arrived.

The escorts were dressed identically inblue pants, snappy white tunics, and bluesashes, but they could never be mistakenfor each other. One was a stocky, red-haired young man with icy blue eyes and anose so skinny and sharp it resembled aknife. The other was a powerfully builtyoung woman with a greasy brown

ponytail and small, piggish eyes of anindeterminate color. They introducedthemselves as Jackson and Jillson.

Reynie extended his hand. “My name’s—”

“There’ll be time for that,” Jillson said,turning away. “Let’s get moving. We’lltake you to your rooms first so you candump your luggage.”

Surprised, Reynie lowered his hand. Heknew it was Jillson who had been rude(she and Jackson hadn’t offered to helpwith their suitcases, either), but he stillfelt foolish.

“She’s a nice one, isn’t she?” Katewhispered.

The children were led up a long gravelpath toward the Institute buildings. Theycrossed the broad stone plaza, then a

modest rock garden, then waited asConstance shook the gravel from hershoes. At last they were taken into thestudent dormitory, where, since the girls’room lay at one end of a long stonecorridor and the boys’ at the other, theywere forced to separate.

Reynie and Sticky’s room, aside frombeing very clean and tidy, was rather whatthey would have expected: bunk beds, twodesks and chairs (but no bookshelves), awardrobe, a radiator, a large televisioncabinet (well, that was unexpected), and awindow overlooking the plaza. Reyniewent to the window. Beyond the plaza laythe glittering channel, brilliant in thesunlight and choppy with white-cappedwaves, and beyond that the wooded shore,where Mr. Benedict’s telescopes were

going to be hidden. The children couldsend their Morse code messages from thisvery window. Reynie’s stomach fluttered.His mind might understand he was a secretagent now, but his body still had a hardtime believing it.

Jackson leaned against the doorjamb.“If you need anything, ask an Executive.You can always tell an Executive by theuniform — blue pants, white tunic, bluesash. The Executives run the show here. Alot of us are former students who did sowell as Messengers that Mr. Curtain hiredus on. Don’t get us confused withMessengers, though. Messengers weartunics and a sash, too, but their pants arestriped. They’re just students likeyourselves, only they’re top of the classand have special privileges. Secret

privileges, I might add. Anyway, you’lllearn all about this soon enough. Rightnow just get yourselves unpacked, watchsome TV if you want.” He switched thetelevision on for them. “You’ll have yourorientation tour in an hour. Then you’llmeet Mr. Curtain.”

“Who’s Mr. Curtain?” said Reynie,who thought it best to give the impressionof knowing as little as possible. The lessyou knew, the less people suspected ofyou — and perhaps the more they toldyou.

Jackson sneered, then forced the sneerinto a smile. He looked like a red-headedcrocodile. “I keep forgetting how ignorantyou kids are when you get here. Mr.Curtain’s my boss. He’s the founder of theInstitute, the reason we’re all here. Got

it?” It was clear Jackson was the sort ofyoung man who considers himself rathersmarter than he is, and who is naturallycruel but thinks himself a decent fellow.When the smaller boys didn’t answer himquickly enough, he snapped, “Do youunderstand me or don’t you? You speakEnglish, right?”

The boys nodded.“Good. I’ll see you in an hour.”When Jackson had gone, Sticky

switched off the television. “Did you hearthat? Messengers. We know what thatmeans, don’t we?”

“We’d better find the girls,” Reyniesaid.

“We’re right here,” said a muffledvoice from above them. A ceiling panelslid aside, and Kate Wetherall’s head

appeared through the gap. “There aren’tany support beams over your bunk bed, soone of you move that chair over, will you?I’m going to lower Constance down. Whatare you doing, anyway?”

The boys had been on edge already, butat the sound of an unexpected voicedirectly overhead, Reynie had thrown uphis hands as if to ward off a blow, andSticky had tried, unsuccessfully, to hidebehind his suitcase. With a sheepish grinReynie slid a chair under the gap. Amoment later Constance’s tiny feetappeared, then the rest of her body, asKate, hanging by her legs from a beam,lowered her carefully to the chair. Theboys helped her to the floor while Katesecured her rope to the beam and climbeddown to join them.

“Don’t bother thanking me,” she said toConstance, who was scowling andbrushing insulation from her clothes.

“Why should I thank you? You drag meup into the ceiling, through a heating vent,crawling through spider webs in the dark,across all these hard boards saying,‘Don’t put your knee there! You’ll fallthrough and break your neck!’ and ‘Don’tbreathe so loudly! Someone will hearyou!’ until my heart’s in my throat and myknees are killing me, and you expect me tothank you?”

“Not at all,” said Kate. “I was happy todo it.”

Constance’s eyes seemed ready to popfrom her head.

“Did you ever consider just walkingdown the corridor?” Sticky asked.

“I figured we’d better have a hiddenentrance,” she replied, “in case we wantto meet secretly. I’ll bet those Executivesare always patroling the place. I don’t likethem a bit. Jillson made fun of my bucket,and she kept calling us ‘little squirts’ andbossing us around. I thought Constancewas going to bite her leg off.”

“I considered it,” Constance said.“She’s a tough-looking one, though,”

Kate reflected. “Six feet tall, arms like agorilla, and ties her ponytail with wire.Probably uses it to strangle kids whocross her.”

“Let’s be sure not to cross her, then,”Reynie said, then told them what Jacksonhad said about Messengers.

“Jillson told us the same stuff,” saidKate. “So the voice we heard on the

television must be some Messenger kid,right?”

“It must be. And it sounds like the otherstudents don’t know much about what theMessengers do — they don’t get these‘secret privileges’ until they become topstudents. That means we’ve got to rise tothe top, and fast, so we can becomeMessengers and figure things out as soonas possible.”

“Why don’t we poke around and figuresome things out for ourselves right now?”said Kate, who had a passion for pokingaround.

The others agreed, and so Kate fetchedher rope and replaced the ceiling panel,and they set out down the corridor.Hurrying to keep up with Kate, whoalways moved in high gear, Reynie was

almost to the dormitory exit before henoticed Constance wasn’t with them. Theyall went back. Constance stood justoutside the boys’ room, pointing at a patchof mildew on the ceiling and wrinkling hernose. “That’s disgusting! I mean, that’snasty! I hate mildew!”

“Um, Constance,” Reynie said. “We’rein a hurry, remember?”

They set out again, this time keeping aneye on Constance. But aside from beingeasily distracted, Constance was anintolerably slow walker. When they urgedher to hurry, she obstinately refused. Whenthey let her fall behind, she was irritatedthey didn’t wait up.

“It’s not my fault my legs are shorterthan yours,” she complained. “I can’t beexpected to walk so quickly.”

“How about if one of us lets you ridepiggyback?” Reynie suggested.

“That’s stupid,” Constance said. But inthe end she let Kate hoist her up, and inthis way, at last, they made it out of thedormitory and into sunlight.

The children decided to follow a narrow,well-kept track of crushed stone thatzigzagged up a tall hill by the dormitory.In a few minutes they had reached thehilltop, where they were presented withan excellent view of the island. Its entireterrain was one series of hills afteranother, some of them gentle rises, somelooming peaks.

The children gazed down upon their

new school. The Institute’s gray stonebuildings were so similar to one anotherand so closely packed it was difficult tojudge precisely where one ended andanother began. They were arranged in arough U shape around the broad stoneplaza and were connected by stonewalkways and stone steps. Seen from thisperspective, with the stone tower rising upjust beyond the dormitory, the buildingsgave the impression of a fortress ratherthan a school.

And yet, in the bright sun of morning,the Institute didn’t seem such a forbiddingplace, not as menacing as they’d imagined;in fact the whole island was rather lovely.The hillsides were a patchwork of sand,green vegetation, and clusters of bouldersstitched together by crisscrossing gravel

paths. And here and there along the paths,flowering cactuses had been planted ingreat stone pots. An energetic brook randown from a nearby hill, following itscourse over and around the stones,sometimes spilling in miniature waterfallsas it made its way to the island shore,which lay but a short distance downhillfrom the Institute. Aside from the splashand murmur of water and the distant callsof cliff swallows, the island wasremarkably silent, with no children insight and only an occasional, white-uniformed worker sweeping a walkway orhastening off to some unknown duty.

“I guess everyone’s in class,” saidSticky. He gave Kate a quizzical look.“Why are you getting out yourkaleidoscope?”

“It’s a spyglass in disguise,” Reyniesaid as Kate removed the kaleidoscopelens.

Kate trained her spyglass on the stonetower.

“Look, there’s a window just above theInstitute flag. I’ll bet somethingimportant’s up there. It’s the highestwindow on the island. There’s alwayssomething important behind the highestwindow.” She handed Constance thespyglass.

“It’s probably just so they can reach theflag,” said Sticky. “There has to be a wayto bring it in and clean it, you know.”

“Maybe,” said Kate. “It would besimple enough to sneak in and find out.The window’s not as high as it seems —not if you were on that hill. First you’d

need to get over that rock wall” — shepointed near the top of the hill — “thenhop the brook and climb the rest of theway up. The tower’s built right into thehillside, see? With a decent stretch ofrope you could lasso the flagpole, thenclimb up and stand on the pole while yougot the window open.”

“You call that simple?” Reynie said.Kate shrugged. “Simple enough.”“Anyway,” Reynie said, “it’s in plain

sight and you’d surely be spotted. I don’tthink that’s what Mr. Benedict had in mindwhen he told us not to take unnecessaryrisks.”

Kate sighed. “I suppose that’s true.”Constance, in the meantime, was

looking disgusted. “This is a terriblespyglass, Kate. It makes everything look

far away.”Kate turned the spyglass around and

handed it back to her.The children lingered on the hilltop for

some time. It was pleasant up there, withthe grand view and the breeze, and thoughnone of them said it, they were reluctant togo back down and meet the Executivesagain. Kate was more reluctant than any ofthem, not because she feared being caughtas a spy (though, like the others, she wasnervous about that), but because she hatedto stop exploring. Exploring was what shedid best, and Kate liked always to bedoing what she did best. Not that she wasa bad sport; in fact, she was a very goodone, and she rarely complained. But Katehad spent all her life — ever since herfather abandoned her, which affected her

more than she cared to admit — trying toprove she didn’t need anyone’s help, andthis was easiest to believe when she wasdoing what she was good at.

So when Sticky anxiously suggestedthey head back, Kate couldn’t helpheaving another sigh. Everyone else feltlike sighing, too, however, so no oneasked Kate what hers was for.

Reynie helped Constance climb ontoKate’s back, and the children beganmaking their way down to the dormitory.Kate kept a hopeful eye out for anythingunusual, but unfortunately there wasnothing to see except boulders and sandand swaths of green vegetation.

Halfway down the hill, Sticky stopped.“That’s odd.”

Kate’s eyes lit up. She glanced all

around. “Something’s odd? What’s odd?”Sticky pointed several yards off the

path toward a lush green bed of ivy — orsomething like ivy — covering the groundnear a cluster of boulders. “See thatground vine with the tiny leaves? It’s arare plant called drapeweed thatflourishes in thin soil.”

“Oh boy,” said Constance. “A rareplant.”

Kate’s face fell.“What I was going to say,” Sticky

persisted, “is that some of it was plantedmore recently than the rest. Maturedrapeweed develops a woody brownstem, but young drapeweed has tendergreen shoots. Otherwise they look thesame.”

The others peered at the drapeweed,

trying to make out the shoots and stemsbeneath the dark green leaves. It was true:A large patch in the middle was differentfrom the rest, although the difference wasso subtle only a botanist — or Sticky —would have noticed it.

“What do you think?” said Constance.“Maybe something’s been buried there?”

“Or somebody,” suggested Kate. Shelooked at Reynie. “Shouldn’t we check itout?”

Reynie was pleasantly surprised. Hestill wasn’t used to other children wantinghis opinion. “I think so,” he said after amoment. “But let’s be careful.”

“Careful about what?” Kate said. “It’s aplant.”

“I don’t know. It makes me uneasysomehow.”

“It’s probably nothing,” said Sticky,who began to think he shouldn’t have saidanything. He followed the others off thepath. “Maybe some of the vine developedfungus and died, and a gardener just filledin the bare spot. Drapeweed is prone tofungus. . . .”

The others stopped at the edge of thedrapeweed bed. It was about twice thesize of a living room rug and — to Kate,at least — about half as interesting.“Looks like a patch of ivy,” she said,hitching Constance higher on her back.“Does it give you a rash?”

“No, it’s perfectly harmless,” Stickysaid, walking toward the middle of thebed. Kate and Constance moved to followhim. “I’ll pluck a younger shoot and showyou the —”

In the next moment, the drapeweedseemed to swallow him.

Traps and Nonsense

Kate and Constance were two stepsbehind Sticky when he fell through thedrapeweed. If he’d been the least bitfarther away, there would have been nosaving him. Nor would Sticky have stooda chance had it been any other childlunging to grab him. As it was, with adesperate dive onto her belly, Kate barelymanaged to snatch Sticky’s hand before itdisappeared.

Their troubles were far from over.Kate’s dive to the ground had sentConstance tumbling over her shoulders. In

a flash she caught the girl’s ankle beforeshe, too, disappeared — but then theweight of her two catches began to dragKate forward into the hole.

“Um, Reynie?” Kate called throughgritted teeth. “A little help?”

Reynie rushed over and grabbed Kate’slegs.

Hauling Sticky and Constance to safetywas an arduous, tricky business (and anunpleasant one, too, as Constancecomplained the whole time of Sticky’selbow in her ribs). But eventually Reynieand Kate had dragged them back up ontosolid ground, where all four now lay ontheir backs, looking up at the sky andpanting from the exertion.

“Apparently drapeweed isn’t ‘perfectlyharmless’ after all,” Constance said.

Sticky looked at her. He wanted to beirritated, but found that he was so relievedto be alive he could only smile.

“In fact it appears to be carnivorous,”Kate said.

Before long they were all chuckling.The danger was past, and somehow theexcitement had helped them shed a little oftheir anxiety. Glancing at one another withsatisfied smiles (as if to say, “We did it,didn’t we? Together we did it!”) they roseand dusted themselves off. They gatherednear the hole in the drapeweed — thoughnot too near — and tried to peer in. Allthey could see was darkness and trailingtendrils, and even these were slowlybeing covered up. The flexible stems andshoots thrust aside by Sticky’s fall werestiffening and spreading back into place.

Like a footprint in springy grass, the holewould soon disappear entirely.

Kate crawled to the edge of the hole,pushed aside some tendrils and shone herflashlight down into the darkness. “It’s apit. Twenty feet deep.” She glanced backat Sticky. “Deep enough to break yourlegs.”

Sticky wiped his forehead. “Thanks forthe grab, Kate. I do like my legs.”

“I would thank you, too,” saidConstance, “except I wouldn’t have falleninto the hole if you hadn’t dived, so mythank you and your apology cancel out.”

Kate laughed. “Whatever, Constance.As long as I don’t have to apologize, Isuppose.”

The children stood by the drapeweedfor some time, pondering their discovery.

No one could think of any good reason forit to be there. Why had someone gone tothe trouble of covering that dangeroushole?

“There’s only one answer I can thinkof,” Reynie said at last.

“A trap?” Kate said.Reynie nodded.“Oh, goody,” Constance said. “Now

there’re traps, too.”“But why is it here?” Sticky wondered.

“What is it for?”Kate snorted. “Really, Sticky, you

amaze me! A trap is for catching things —or people.”

Sticky didn’t answer. He was tip-toeingback to the path, careful of every step.

The children made it to their rooms almostexactly when the Executives weresupposed to come for them. It wasprobably a bad idea to keep Executiveswaiting, Sticky had said. But it was they,not the Executives, who waited. When halfan hour had passed with no sign of Jillson,Constance suddenly sang out:

“Now we have waited forthirty consecutive

Minutes to see some old dirtyExecutive.

Thirty long minutes I couldhave been sleeping.

B u t she doesn’t find herappointments worth keeping.”

Kate was startled. “What are you, acuckoo-clock poet? Cut it out, she mightbe right outside the door!”

Jillson was, in fact, right outside thedoor, but to Kate’s relief she entered withno more than her previous bossiness — nohint of indignation. The walls and doorsmust be very solid, Kate reflected; itwould be difficult to eavesdrop throughthem. This would be to the children’sadvantage when they had secretdiscussions, but it would also make spyingon others more difficult — a fact thatirritated Kate, though not nearly as muchas when Jillson said, “Hurry up now,squirts. I can’t wait on you all day.”

Kate bit her tongue. “We’re ready.”“You’d better be,” said Jillson. Then

her face clouded. “Hey, why isn’t your

television on? Is it broken?”“We, uh, we just turned it off, just

now,” Kate lied.“Why would you do that?”Kate blinked. “Because we were

leaving the room?”“Oh,” Jillson said again, considering.

Finally she grunted. “Well. Whateverfloats your boat.”

They joined Jackson and the boys in thecorridor. The Executives had a sheet ofpaper with them now that listed thechildren’s names, and after checking to besure each child was accounted for (theystill didn’t bother with handshakes), theybegan the Institute tour. After a quick passthrough the dormitory — nothing butstudent quarters and bathrooms — theywalked outside, where Jillson told them

they were free to roam anywhere theywished, so long as they kept to the paths.“Too dangerous off the paths,” she said.“The island’s covered with abandonedmine shafts.”

The children exchanged glances.“They’re from the early days, when Mr.

Curtain built the Institute,” Jillsonexplained. “Before Mr. Curtain bought theisland, people said there was nothing herebut rocks. What they didn’t know waswhat kind of rocks. Turns out the wholeisland was rich in precious minerals. Mr.Curtain knew this. He built the bridge,brought in mining equipment and workers— a whole colony of workers. Theirdormitory was the first buildingconstructed. It’s now the studentdormitory.” Like a proper tour guide,

Jillson pointed to the student dormitoryright in front of them, even though theyknew what it was.

Dutifully the children looked andnodded.

“Mr. Curtain became one of the richestmen in the world,” Jillson went on with aproud smile. “And can you guess how heused his wealth?”

“Doubtful,” Jackson murmured.“He built the Institute?” Reynie offered.Jackson looked surprised.“Exactly,” said Jillson. “A free school,

as you know. Doesn’t cost a dime to comehere. All thanks to Mr. Curtain’sgenerosity. He asks nothing in return, mindyou — not even attention. Mr. Curtain isevery bit as reclusive as he is generous.Never leaves the Institute, never takes a

vacation. Too much important work to do,he says, broadening the minds of the nextgeneration.”

The Executives led them across therock garden onto the large central plaza,which lay fronted and flanked by theInstitute’s massive stone buildings. Asthey walked, Jackson identified thebuildings in turn: “Starting from the rightyou see your dorm, of course — youremember your dorm, don’t you? — andjust to the left of it, that one with the toweris the Institute Control Building. It housesMr. Curtain’s office, the guard andRecruiter quarters, and the Executivesuites. You’ll never have reason to gothere unless Mr. Curtain calls you to hisoffice. Or unless you become Executivesyourselves someday.” Jackson looked the

children over and shook his head, as if herather doubted that possibility.

“Anyway,” he went on, “next to theInstitute Control Building you see thecafeteria — right in front of us here —and then the classroom building. Thatbuilding set off to the side there is the Bestof Health Center, which is what we callthe infirmary, and the building way on upthat path is the gym. The gym is alwaysopen, except when it’s closed. And thereyou have it. Those are all the Institutebuildings.”

“What about that one?” Reynie asked,pointing to a rooftop just visible over theclassroom building.

Jackson scowled. “I was getting to that,Reynard. That’s the Helpers’ barracks.You know what barracks are, right? It’s

where the Helpers live.”“Helpers?”“Do you not have eyes?” Jackson

scoffed. “Haven’t you seen the grown-upsin white uniforms scuttling about,sweeping walkways and picking up trashand whatnot?”

Reynie nodded. He couldn’t haveknown they were called Helpers, ofcourse, but he chose not to point this out.

“The Helpers do the maintenance,”Jillson explained, “and the cleaning, thelaundry, the cooking — all the unimportanttasks, you know. Now come along,squirts, and don’t drag your feet. There’sstill a lot to see inside.”

The Executives bustled them into theclassroom building, which had seemedlarge enough from the outside but was

perfectly enormous within. Brightly litcorridors branched out from the entrancein all directions. With Constancestruggling to keep up (and looking veryunhappy about it), the children were leddown corridor after corridor. At last theystopped in one that was lined on bothsides with classroom doors.

“Now, there are an awful lot ofcorridors in this building —,” saidJillson.

“And not just this building,” Jacksonput in. “Some connect to the Helpers’barracks and the cafeteria, which havetheir own corridors, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jillson said. “So the nextthing you shrubs need to know is how tofind your way around. Now don’t fret. Itseems confusing, but it isn’t confusing.

Which happens to be an importantprinciple you’ll learn here at the Institute.”

“It isn’t confusing?” said Constance,who was turning round and round, clearlyconfused.

“Look beneath your feet,” Jackson said.“See that stripe of yellow tiles? Just keepto the corridors with yellow tiles on thefloor and you can’t get lost.”

Obediently the children looked at thefloor. Reynie had noticed the yellow tilesbut hadn’t thought anything of them —he’d assumed they were decorative. Hemust remember not to assume anythingabout this place.

Jillson put a finger to her lips and drewthe children over to peek through thewindow of one of the doors. A ganglyExecutive stood in front of about thirty

attentive young students, leading them in amemorization exercise:

“THE FREE MARKET MUSTALWAYS BE COMPLETELYFREE.

THE FREE MARKET MUST BECONTROLLED IN CERTAINCASES.

THE FREE MARKET MUST BEFREE ENOUGH TO CONTROL ITSFREEDOM IN CERTAIN CASES.

THE FREE MARKET MUST HAVEENOUGH CONTROL TO FREEITSELF IN CERTAIN CASES.

THE FREE MARKET . . .”

“What on earth are they talking about?”Sticky asked.

“Oh, that’s just the Free Market Drill,”said Jackson. “Very basic stuff. You’llpick it up in no time.”

“Sounds like nonsense to me,” saidConstance.

“On a certain level everything soundslike nonsense, doesn’t it?” Jillson said asthey continued their tour. “Precisely thekind of lesson you’ll learn at the Institute.Take the word ‘food,’ for example. Askyourself, ‘Why do we call it that?’ It’s anodd-sounding word, isn’t it? ‘Food.’ Itcould easily be considered nonsense. Butin fact it’s extremely important. It’s theessential stuff of life!”

“It still sounds like nonsense,”Constance muttered, “and now I’m

hungry.”It wasn’t just this talk of food that made

Constance’s mouth water — and the otherchildren’s, too, for that matter — but thesmell of food as well. They were beingled into the cafeteria now, a huge brightroom crowded with tables, much like anyother cafeteria except for the smells.Drifting in the air were what seemed to bea thousand delectable scents: grilled hotdogs, hamburgers, and vegetables; meltedcheese; tomato sauce; garlic; sausage;fried fish; baked pies; cinnamon andsugar; apple tarts; and on and on. Beyondthe empty tables, on the other side of acounter, they saw Helpers scurrying aboutin the kitchen, half-hidden behind cloudsof steam and grill smoke.

Kate had her nose in the air like a

bloodhound. “It smells like a bakery, apizzeria, and a cookout all at once.”

“That’s another great thing about theInstitute,” said Jackson. “The Helpersprepare wonderful meals. You can eatanything you want, and as much as youwant, too. Just go up and tell them whatyou’d like. Don’t be offended if they don’tsay anything. Helpers aren’t supposed totalk to you unless you ask them a question.Pretty soon you don’t even notice them. Iremember when I was a student, I liked toplay tricks on them — nothing they coulddo about it, you see, because no rule said Icouldn’t. But now I hardly pay attention tothem, except to keep them in line.”

“It sounds like there are no rules here atall,” Sticky said.

“That’s true, George,” said Jillson.

“Virtually none, in fact. You can wearwhatever you want, just so long as youhave on trousers, shoes, and a shirt. Youcan bathe as often as you like or not at all,provided you’re clean every day in class.You can eat whatever and whenever youwant, so long as it’s during meal hours inthe cafeteria. You’re allowed to keep thelights on in your rooms as late as you wishuntil ten o’clock each night. And you cango wherever you want around the Institute,so long as you keep to the paths and theyellow-tiled corridors.”

“Actually,” Reynie observed, “those allsound like rules.”

Jackson rolled his icy blue eyes. “Thisis your first day, so I don’t expect you toknow much, Reynard. But this is one of therules of life you’ll learn at the Institute:

Many things that sound like rules aren’tactually rules, and it always sounds as ifthere are more rules than there really are.”

“That sounds like two rules I’ll learn,”Reynie said.

“My point exactly. Now come along,everybody. We need to hurry — you’re tojoin the other new arrivals for Mr.Curtain’s welcome speech. Constance,stop dawdling. You, too, George, hustle itup.”

“Would you mind calling me Sticky?”the boy asked, hustling it up.

“Is Sticky your real name?” askedJackson.

“It’s what everybody calls me,” Stickyreplied.

“But is it official? Is there an officialdocument somewhere that declares

‘Sticky’ to be your official name?”“Um, no, but —”“Well, if it isn’t official, then it can’t be

real, now can it?”Sticky just stared.“Good boy, George,” said Jackson,

leading them back toward the classrooms.

Beware the Gemini

The children were shown into anordinary classroom, where sunlightstreamed through the windows, the deskssat empty, and an Executive waited tospeak with Jackson and Jillson. As thechildren chose their seats, the Executivesheld a private discussion. Then Jillsonand the other Executive hurried out.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Jackson told thechildren. “The other group’s finishingtheir tour, and apparently our Recruitershave brought in some unexpected newarrivals. They’re being admitted right

now, so we’ll start a few minutes late.Okay?” He stepped out of the room; thenhe stepped back in. “Okay?”

“Okay,” the children replied.Jackson shook his head scornfully and

withdrew.“He’s a sweetheart,” Kate said.“I don’t know how you can joke,” said

Sticky. “My stomach’s all in knots.”Reynie’s stomach felt much the same.

“Did you hear what Jillson said aboutmine shafts?”

“You bet I did,” Kate said. “It makes nosense. Why set traps and then warn usabout them?”

“They don’t want us to leave the paths,”Reynie speculated. “And if we do, theywant to know it — they want to catch us atit.”

Kate’s blue eyes shone with excitement.“If that’s true, there might be trapseverywhere.”

“You two aren’t helping my stomach,”Sticky said.

Soon the door swung open and a dozenother new arrivals entered, escorted byseveral Executives and a pair of menwearing fine suits and two watchesapiece. There followed a flurry ofintroductions, desk-choosing, and generalmayhem, during which the Executiveswatched the children very intently, as ifthey didn’t quite trust them not to bolt fromthe room or start a brawl. Reynie waspainfully aware of their eyes upon him —he already felt conspicuous. But new kidsalways felt conspicuous, he remindedhimself. And so he smiled and nodded,

trying hard to seem as happy and eager asthe other newcomers.

His fellow members of the MysteriousBenedict Society were making the sameattempt, some with less success thanothers. Kate smiled charmingly. Stickymanaged a grimace that resembled asmile, though it also resembled theexpression you might wear in a sandstorm.Constance nodded a few times in afriendly way — until the nodding grewsleepy and her eyelids drooped. Reynienudged her. Constance jerked her headupright and blinked in surprise, as if shedidn’t quite know where she was.

As it happened, this was exactly how acouple of the other newcomers looked —a hefty, bell-shaped girl and a wiry boysitting near the front. Both wore dazed

expressions and ill-fitting clothes (herswere too small, his too large), and bothhad wet hair from recent baths. Except forConstance, they were the only childrenwho didn’t seem happy and excited.Perhaps they were just sleepy, though youwould have thought fresh baths and thedread of a new school would have gottenthem wide awake.

Reynie saw one of the men in suitsglance at the dazed-looking children —giving them a little wink and a friendlysmile — and suddenly it hit him.Recruiters, Jackson had said. That mustbe what the Institute scouts were called.Which probably meant that the“unexpected new arrivals” Jackson hadmentioned were . . . Could it be? Couldthese kids really have been kidnapped?

And they just sat there looking sleepy?That seemed unlikely, Reynie thought. Hemust be missing something. And yet . . .

Reynie’s attention was drawn away.The commotion was dying down. Jillsonhad taken her place at the front, apparentlywaiting for a cue from Jackson, who stoodin the doorway. Jackson nodded, andJillson raised her hands for silence. Ahush fell over the room. Then, in abooming voice, Jillson announced, “Andnow, everyone, it is our great pleasure tointroduce to you the esteemed founder,president, and principal of our belovedInstitute: Mr. Ledroptha Curtain!”

Everyone watched the door withanxious eyes. For a long, expectant pause,they heard nothing except a sort of distantwhine, but the whine grew louder by the

moment, giving way to a tremendous grindand screech — as of a car changing gearsand spinning its tires — and into the roomshot a man in a motorized wheelchair,moving so quickly and with such apparentrecklessness that every child in the roomscooted backward in fear of being struck.Mr. Curtain had perfect control of hischair, however, and as he raced down therows he expertly dodged the children’sfeet and the sharp corners of their desks,smiling as he went.

The wheelchair was unlike any they’dever seen: It had four evenly spacedwheels, like a cart, with button controls onthe armrests and pedal controls beneatheach foot. Mr. Curtain was snugged intothe padded chair with a seat belt acrosshis chest and lap, and the chair rolled so

quickly that his thick white hair flew backfrom his head. He wore large roundglasses with silver reflective lenses, sothat his eyes couldn’t be seen; his cheeksand chin were reddened by a recent shave;and his nose was large and lumpy, like avegetable.

His entrance would have been ashocking sight for any child, but it was farworse for those of the MysteriousBenedict Society. That nose (so much likea vegetable) and that hair (so thick andwhite) would have been enough to givethem a start, but that suit he wore — thatgreen plaid suit — was the clincher. Withfaces aghast, the four children gaped at theman, and then at one another, for they sawat once that Mr. Curtain was Mr. Benedicthimself.

Reynie’s mind was racing, searchingfor an explanation. Had Mr. Benedict beenkidnapped? Was he being forcedsomehow to pretend he was Mr. Curtain?But why? And how could he have done itso quickly? They’d seen Mr. Benedict justthat morning. Perhaps Mr. Benedict had asplit personality, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hyde? That seemed unlikely, too. Buteverything was unlikely these days, andReynie preferred almost any explanationto the one that seemed most plausible: Forsome awful, unknown reason, Mr.Benedict had tricked them.

Even as Reynie thought this, the manintroduced as Mr. Curtain brought hischair to a screeching stop, whirled itabout, and shot forward to sit right besidehim. He positioned his chair so perfectly

that his face was mere inches fromReynie’s — so close that Reynie couldsee his own alarmed and searching facereflected in those shiny silver lenses; soclose that he smelled the man’s pungentbreath. And then Mr. Benedict — that is,Mr. Curtain — leaned closer still. Anycloser and that lumpy nose would pokeReynie in the eye. “What is it, young man?Why are you looking at me that way?”

Reynie thought fast. Either Mr. Benedict— Mr. Curtain — somehow didn’trecognize him, or else he was pretendingnot to. “It’s . . . your nose! It looks like apink cucumber!”

His friends stared at Reynie inamazement, but several children burst intogiggles. Mr. Curtain frowned, his fistsclenched, his face darkened — and yet for

a long time he did not speak. His furyseemed to be building up to an explosion.Reynie waited in mounting dread. But thenthe color drained from Mr. Curtain’s face,his frown changed into a satisfiedexpression . . . and he even smiled.

“You children,” he said. “I alwaysforget. Children are capable of such openrudeness. That’s all right, young man, Iwon’t hold it against you. We needstudents who aren’t afraid to speak thetruth. What is your name?”

“Reynard Muldoon, sir. But everyonecalls me Reynie.”

“Welcome, Reynard,” said Mr. Curtain,and with this he turned and rocketed to thefront of the room, where he spun oncemore to face the students, throwing hisarms wide. “Welcome, Reynard Muldoon,

and welcome, all of you! Welcome to theLearning Institute for the VeryEnlightened!”

There was a burst of applause, andReynie and his friends again glanced atone another — more secretly this time —with looks of unhappy bewilderment.Everything’s backward, Reynie wasthinking, trying desperately to make senseof it all. Mr. Benedict puts you at ease,but Mr. Curtain terrifies you. Mr.Benedict admires children, but Mr.Curtain looks down on them. And Mr.Benedict seems to know everything aboutyou, but Mr. Curtain seems to knownothing . . . at least not yet.

Meanwhile Mr. Curtain had begun hiswelcoming speech: “At other academies,”he declared, “children are only taught how

to survive. Reading skills, mathematics,art and music lessons — such a waste of astudent’s time! Here at the LearningInstitute for the Very Enlightened,” Mr.Curtain boomed, writing the name out on achalkboard and circling all the capitalletters, “we show our students how toL.I.V.E.!”

There followed another great round ofapplause, but Reynie was still thinking,Everything’s backward. And gazing at thecircled letters on the chalkboard, he felt asudden, terrible chill. For LIVE, spelledbackward, is EVIL.

As Jillson had explained, the childrenwere free to leave their lights and

televisions on “all night long,” if theychose, provided their rooms were dark byten o’clock. When that hour struck, Reyniewas peering through a crack in the opendoor. Sure enough — just as Kate hadpredicted — an Executive was on patrol.This one, a gangly teenager with giganticfeet, had just turned off the corridor light,and in the relative darkness was checkingto see if any light escaped from beneaththe students’ doors. Reynie switched offtheir own light and quietly closed thedoor.

“Who’s out there?” Sticky asked.“S.Q. Pedalian. Remember him? Kate

joked that ‘S.Q.’ must be short for‘Sasquatch.’”

A knock sounded on their door. WhenReynie opened it, S.Q. Pedalian stood in

the doorway with his arms crossed. Hisgood-natured face, high above them, wasjust visible in the moonlight coming inthrough their window. “You fellows needto keep it down,” he said, though notunkindly. “You’re new, so I thoughtperhaps you wouldn’t understand therules, or lack of them. And sure enough,when I put my ear to your door andlistened, I could hear a sort of murmur,which means you were talking, and thatwon’t do. You’re free to talk, of course,but only if you don’t make any sound.”

“Okay,” the boys mouthed soundlessly.“Okay, just so you know. Have a good

night now,” he said, pulling the doorclosed and crying out in pain. The dooropened quickly, S.Q. withdrew the tip ofhis foot, and the door closed again.

“That must happen to him a lot,” Reyniewhispered.

From above them came the rustlingsound of a ceiling panel being slid aside,and in the glow of a flashlight beam theysaw Constance’s dusty, cobweb-covered,exasperated face. Sticky fetched a chair,and soon Constance and Kate had comedown to join them. Kate turned off herflashlight just as a cloud passed over themoon outside. Instantly the room wasshrouded in gloom.

“What can it possibly mean?” Katewhispered.

“It’s a nasty trick,” Constance said.“I think he’s crazy,” said Sticky. “What

do you think, Reynie?”Reynie had pondered this all day. “I

think we should send a message to the

shore. If we haven’t been tricked — ifMr. Benedict is being forced to act againsthis will, or if there’s some otherexplanation — the reply may give us someidea what to do.”

The others agreed, and Sticky waselected to send the message, he being thequickest with Morse code. Climbing ontothe television cabinet, which stoodbeneath the window, Sticky peered outover the plaza below. At the edge of it hesaw a familiar figure facing away from theInstitute, gazing down toward the bridge.“We’ll have to wait. I can see Mr.Benedict — I guess I mean Mr. Curtain.”

“What’s he doing?” Constance asked.“Just sitting in his chair doing nothing.”“Maybe he’s contemplating what a

terrific madman he is,” Kate said.

“Hold on,” Sticky said. “A couple ofExecutives have gone out — and nowthey’re all leaving together. Boy, he surecan move fast in that thing. They’re puffingto keep up.” Sticky looked in alldirections. The plaza was empty, and hesaw no lookouts on the paths, no boats onthe water, no one on the distant bridge.“Okay, the coast is clear.”

Kate handed him her flashlight, and inMorse code Sticky flashed their message:We see Mr. B when we see Mr. C. Howcan this be?

They had decided to be as brief andcryptic as possible, in case an unseenExecutive spied the signals. Now, as theywaited minute after long minute for aresponse, they began to worry the messagehadn’t been understood. Or worse: that it

hadn’t been seen at all.“There’s no one there,” Constance said

loudly. The other three shushed her. Shestuck out her tongue but continued in awhisper: “This proves it was a trick. Theothers are all in on it. They wanted to getus on this island, and now we’ll never getoff again.”

“Let’s be patient,” Reynie said. “If theydon’t respond soon, we’ll send themessage again. If they don’t reply to that,then I’ll have to agree with Constance:We’ve been tricked, or else something hasgone terribly wrong, and we’d better startthinking about how to get away.”

“Hold on!” said Sticky. “I see a light inthe trees! They’re flashing a response.”

The others held their breaths for whatseemed a terribly long time. Then Sticky

whispered, “Boy, when Rhonda said theywere going to be cryptic, she meant it.”

“So what’s the message?” Kate asked.“It’s some kind of riddle,” Sticky said.

He recited it for them:

“When looking in my looking glassI spied a trusted face. Alas,Not to be taken for him am I.Beware, therefore, the Gemini.”

“Oh, that certainly clears things up,”said Constance, rolling her eyes.

“Sounds like he looked in the mirrorand saw himself, then decided he was nothimself,” said Kate. “I’m afraid that doesclear things up — Mr. Benedict really is

crazy.”Sticky shook his head. “It’s not Mr.

Benedict who sent the message,remember? I just saw him down on theplaza.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Kate. “It must be oneof the others, then. But what are they tryingto tell us?”

Reynie was chewing his lipthoughtfully. “Let’s hear the messageagain, Sticky.”

Sticky repeated it.“What’s a Gemini, anyway?” asked

Constance.“A constellation, a sign of the zodiac,

or a person born under that sign,” saidSticky.

“You’re not very helpful, GeorgeWashington,” said Constance. “Who are

the zodiacs, and why are they so keen onmaking signs?”

“The zodiac is more like a diagram thathas to do with stars and planets andwhatnot,” said Reynie, trying to make itsimple. “Your zodiac sign has to do withwhen you’re born. If you’re born in lateApril, for example, you’re a Taurus, thesign of the bull. You can also be a Pisces,the sign of the fish, or a Capricorn, the, uh—”

“Sign of the goat,” said Sticky.“Right, sign of the goat, and so on —

you get the idea. Your sign depends onyour birthday.”

“So now we’re supposed to find outwhen somebody was born? Who? This isridiculous!” Constance declared.

“I think I know what the message

means,” Kate said in a suddenlyuncomfortable tone. “It’s saying somepeople aren’t who they seem, that wecan’t trust the people we thought wecould. In other words, Constance is right— we’ve been tricked. Whoever sent usthe message must have been duped aswell. It’s Rhonda or Number Two tryingto warn us.”

“It’s a little late to warn us, isn’t it?”Reynie pointed out. “And what’s thisabout a Gemini?”

Kate looked very uncomfortableindeed. “She must think one of us took partin the deception. Someone had a secretpact with Mr. Benedict to help get theothers on the island.”

“You’re saying one of us is theGemini?” said Sticky, appalled.

“I’m sorry,” said Kate. “It’s the onlything I can think of.”

At this suggestion everyone grew quiet,looking at one another with unpleasantfeelings of suspicion.

“Well, there’s no point in putting it off,”Kate said. “If I’m right, we can figure thisout pretty quickly. Let’s tell each other ourbirthdays.”

Everybody but Constance gave theirbirth dates at once — not a Gemini amongthem. But Constance refused. “This isnonsense. Even if I were a Gemini, whichI’m not, we don’t know for sure that’swhat the message means.”

“If you’re not a Gemini,” Sticky said,“why don’t you prove it?”

“You prove it yourself,” Constancesnapped. “How do we know you didn’t

lie? Can you prove when you were born,Mr. Capricorn?”

“Uh . . . ,” Sticky began, for of coursehe could not.

Constance turned to Kate. “What aboutyou, Miss Taurus? Can you prove thatyou’re for us?”

Kate hesitated, trying to think of anindignant response that rhymed.Unfortunately, nothing seemed to rhymewith “Constance.”

“ C a n anybody here prove it?”Constance challenged.

“She’s right,” Reynie said, with afeeling of great relief. “There’s no way toprove it.” (Even in the dim moonlight henoted Constance’s look of gratitude —she’d been very worried about beingconsidered a traitor.) “That’s actually

good news,” Reynie went on, “becauseI’m convinced Mr. Benedict wouldn’tsend a message that made us turn againstone another — not if there wasn’t someway of proving the truth. The messagemust mean something else.”

“You keep forgetting,” Sticky said.“Mr. Benedict is here on the island. He’snot sending us any messages. He can’t beboth places at once.”

“That’s it!” Reynie cried. The othersshushed him.

“That’s it,” he repeated, this time in anexcited whisper. “Both places at once!Sticky, what’s the sign for a Gemini?”

“Sign of the twin,” Sticky saidoffhandedly. His eyes widened. “Wait aminute!”

“That’s right,” said Reynie. “I think Mr.

Benedict has a long lost brother.”

As is always the case with a society, somearguing remained to be done. Kate wantedto know why Mr. Benedict hadn’t toldthem he had a twin on the island, to whichReynie replied that he probably hadn’tknown himself. But if he hadn’t known itthen, Kate persisted, how did he know itnow?

“The looking glass,” Reynie said with agrin. “Remember? ‘When looking in mylooking glass I spied a trusted face.’ Mr.Benedict wasn’t referring to his mirror —he meant his telescope! They just set themup today, remember?”

“So he saw Mr. Curtain for the first

time today,” said Sticky, “when lookingthrough his telescope.”

“I’ll bet it was quite a shock,” Reyniesaid.

“But how could Mr. Benedict not knowhe had a twin?” Kate asked. “They wereborn together.”

“They must have been separated asbabies,” Reynie said. “Mr. Benedict toldme he was an orphan. When his parentsdied, he was sent here from Holland tolive with his aunt. Mr. Curtain must havebeen sent somewhere else.”

“But they’re both geniuses, and they’vealways been interested in the samethings,” Kate said, her imaginationcatching on, “and so at last they’ve beendrawn together!”

“Wow,” said Sticky.

“Uh-huh. I’m sleepy,” said Constance,who chose not to be impressed.

Reynie ignored her. “It’s strange newsbut good news. At least now we know wehaven’t been tricked. Sticky, better sendthem a message that says we understand.”

Sticky did so, and at once the light inthe woods began flashing a response.Sticky watched closely, relating the wordsas they came: Good job. Good night.Good lu . . .

“They stopped signaling,” Stickywhispered, frowning. In a moment he sawthe reason. “Executives! A pair of themhave gone out onto the plaza. They’re juststanding around talking. Now they’resitting on a bench. Looks like they’regoing to stay awhile.”

“The message was almost finished,

anyway,” Kate said with a terrific yawn,“and frankly, I’m toasted. Can’t we call ita night?”

Reynie and Sticky agreed, butConstance was incredulous. “How can wecall it a night? We don’t even know whatthey were going to say!”

Kate laughed. “Good grief, Constance!Are you joking?”

Constance was indignant. “Are you? Itcouldn’t possibly have been ‘good grief’!The second word started with ‘lu.’”

Startled, Kate opened her mouth toreply, but Reynie cut her off. “It’s a goodpoint, Constance. In fact I’m pretty surethey were going to say ‘Good luck.’ Don’tyou think?”

Constance seemed skeptical about this.After all, she said, they couldn’t be sure

that’s what the word was going to be. Butas she was sleepier than any of them —she’d been rubbing her eyes for an hour —she consented to adjourn the meeting.

“Meeting adjourned,” the others said.

Lessons Learned

The Learning Institute for the VeryEnlightened was unlike other schools. Forone thing, the cafeteria food smelled goodand tasted even better. Beyond that, therewere no textbooks, no field trips, noreport cards, no roll call (if you weremissing, an Executive came to find you),no rickety film projectors, no lockers, noteam sports, no library, and, weirdlyenough, no mirrors to be found anywhere.Nor was there any separation betweenbeginning and advanced students: Classgroups were assigned at random,

regardless of age or accomplishment, andeveryone in that group sat in the sameclassrooms together, learning the samelessons. The lessons had been designed byMr. Curtain himself, and when all of themhad been gotten through, they wererepeated from the beginning. Thus all thelessons were eventually reviewed manytimes — and the students who learnedthem best became Messengers.

None of this was familiar to themembers of the Mysterious BenedictSociety. And yet, in certain ways, theInstitute did remind them of other schools:Rote memorization of lessons wasdiscouraged but required; classparticipation was encouraged but rarelypermitted; and although quizzes weregiven every day, in every class, there was

always at least one student who groaned,another who acted surprised, and anotherwho begged the teacher, in vain, not togive it.

“Time’s up!” S.Q. Pedalian called outduring the morning class one day. “Passme your quizzes, everyone — and nodallying, please. A stitch in time savestime, you know.”

“Nine,” corrected a Messenger in themiddle row. Reynie recognized her fromhis other classes. A tall, athletic teenagerwith piercing eyes and raven-black hair,she was much older — and bolder — thanmost of the students, and had a reputationas the leader among Messengers. Hername was Martina Crowe.

“Nine stitches?” S.Q. said. “No,Martina, I’m certain it’s just one stitch.”

“No, a stitch in time saves nine,”Martina scoffed.

“Exactly,” S.Q. replied.With the quizzes all collected, the room

fell silent as S.Q. went through the pages,marking grades in his book. It was thehourly ritual. In every class, an Executivefirst presented the day’s material, then thematerial was reviewed — and sometimesthe review was reviewed — and then thestudents were given a quiz over theprevious day’s lesson. If the materialweren’t so strange, no doubt it would havebeen easily mastered.

Today, the Mysterious BenedictSociety’s third full day of classes, S.Q.’slesson had been called “PersonalHygiene: Unavoidable Dangers and WhatMust Be Done to Avoid Them.” Like all

the lessons at the Institute, this one was abarrage of details — pages and pagesworth — but the gist was that sickness,like a hungry predator, lurked in everynook and cranny. Every touchable surfacewas a disease waiting to happen, everyspeck of dust an allergen poised to swellyour nose and clog your ducts, everytoothbrush bristle a bacterial playground.On and on it went, and all of it was greatlyexaggerated, Reynie thought, though notentirely untrue. What made the lesson soconfusing was the “logical conclusion”S.Q. said must be drawn: Because it wasimpossible, in the end, to protect yourselffrom anything — no matter how hard youtried — it was important to try as hard asyou could to protect yourself fromeverything.

There was some kind of truth hidden inthere, Reynie thought, but it wascamouflaged with nonsense. No wonder itgave students trouble. Luckily, he andSticky had been making perfect scores. Toconfirm this, Reynie glanced over at hisfriend, who gave a small nod and athumbs-up. Probably wasn’t even difficultfor him — Sticky remembered everythinghe laid eyes on. So far, so good. Reynietwisted in his seat to look at Kate. Shepuffed her cheeks, crossed her eyes, andput her hands to her head as if she thoughtit might pop. Not good. Reynie decidednot to look at Constance; his optimism hadbeen spoiled enough.

The other students sat mostly in stupors,worn out from the class, or else werescouring their notes in hopes of

discovering they’d done better than theythought. The Messengers, though — therewere four in the class, wearing theirsnappy white tunics and blue sashes —were indulging in a peculiar habit Reyniehad noticed. Every few moments one ofthem would glance at the door, eyesfocused with keen expectation. MartinaCrowe was especially fixated.

They were waiting to be called out byan Executive — called away for their“secret privileges.” And whenever anExecutive did appear in the doorway —as Jackson did now — every Messengerin the room stiffened with anticipation.

“S.Q.,” Jackson announced. “I needCorliss Danton and Sylvie Biggs.”

The Messengers in question leapedfrom their desks, hastily gathering their

things. With beaming faces and nary abackward glance, they followed Jacksonout. Martina Crowe stared hungrily afterthem.

“For the newcomers among us,” S.Q.said, “let me remind you that you, too,could be privy to the special privilegesenjoyed by our Messengers. Study hard!Especially you brand-new recruits — whoare doing very well, by the way. RosieGardener, Eustace Crust . . . very welldone. You each got several answerscorrect. Keep up the good work.” Hesmiled encouragingly toward the back ofthe room and returned to his grading.

Reynie turned in his seat to see whomS.Q. was speaking to — and then he couldhardly stop staring. New recruits, S.Q.had called them, and indeed, these were

the two whose dazed expressions hadcaught Reynie’s attention the first day —the bell-shaped girl and the wiry boy he’dsuspected of being kidnapped. Theyscarcely seemed the same children now.Their looks of sleepy confusion haddisappeared, replaced by a look ofpurpose, even of pleasure, in their eyes.These were not the expressions ofchildren who had been kidnapped andsecreted away against their will. But thenwhy had they been escorted byRecruiters? And why else would they becalled “recruits”?

Reynie suspected himself of leaping toconclusions. He used to think he was goodat understanding people — Miss Perumalhad told him so more than once — butthese kids were a mystery to him.

Somehow he was getting it all wrong; hehad to be. And speaking of getting itwrong, Reynie’s eyes now fell onConstance, sound asleep with her face onher desk. Reynie felt suddenly depressed.He needed to stop turning around.

S.Q. finished grading the quizzes andstacked the papers on the edge of his desk.“Okay, everyone, class dismissed. Youmay check your quizzes as you leave. Andsomeone had better wake Miss Contraire.I’m fairly certain she’s alive — I saw hertwitch. Reynard Muldoon and GeorgeWashington, please stay after class. I needto speak with you.”

Reynie’s throat tightened, and heglanced at Sticky, who looked as if he’dbeen stung by a hornet. Were theysuspected of something? As the others

filed out of the classroom, Kate gave theboys a meaningful look. Good luck, hereyes said. Constance stumbled blearilypast without looking at them, and then thetwo boys started up to S.Q.’s desk.

Their path was suddenly cut off byMartina Crowe, who fixed them with astare of barely contained fury. Startled, theboys stepped back, as if they’d come upona rattlesnake.

“That’s right,” Martina hissed. “Step.Back.” She glared at them, radiatingmenace. Reynie wondered what to do.Should he ask what was wrong? Wouldthis encourage her to attack?

“Martina?” S.Q. said from his desk.“Do you need something?”

“I know why you want to speak withthem,” Martina said, not taking her eyes

from the boys’ alarmed faces.“Good for you. Now, I do need to speak

with them, so please excuse us.”“I’ll go,” Martina said. “But not far.”

She leaned toward the boys andwhispered, “Do you hear me? Not far!”

Certainly not far enough, Reyniethought as she stalked from the room. Whywas she so angry? Did she suspect them ofsomething, too? Trembling now, the boysapproached the desk.

S.Q. looked grave. “I’m afraid you twoare in hot water.”

“But why?” asked Reynie. Stickywobbled as if he might fall down.

“You have Martina on edge, that’s why.Frankly, fellows, I’m simplyastoundished. Or rather, I should say,astonded. No, that’s not, not quite —”

“Astonished?” Reynie prompted.“Astounded?”

S.Q. nodded. “Those, too. Furthermore,I’m amazed. How are you boys doing sowell on your quizzes? You’re makingperfect scores! I think Martina overheardme talking about it with another Executive,by the way, which is why she dislikes younow.”

Sticky regained his balance. Reynie’sbreathing slowed. They weren’t introuble, after all. Except, for some reason,with Martina Crowe.

S.Q. gave them an appraising look.“How do you explain your grades? It’sunlikely anyone is helping you. You’rebrand new, and other students naturallyshun new kids, so they wouldn’t behelping you.”

“I remember things,” said Stickysimply.

“I try hard,” said Reynie.S.Q. looked as if this was just what

he’d suspected. “Rememberingness andeffortfulness, both fine qualities. It seemsyou two have an abundant supply. I justwanted to congratulate you and tell you tokeep it up.”

“Like Eustace and Rosie?” Reynieasked.

“Oh, those two? They’re a differentcase, boys. They’re special recruits.Special recruits get extra attention in theearly days, by order of Mr. Curtain.They’re a little slow to come round, andthey need encouragement. But you watch,one day they’ll be top students. Specialrecruits often end up as Messengers, and

many become Executives. Take Jacksonand Jillson, for example — they werespecial recruits themselves.”

“What makes special recruits sospecial?” Sticky asked. He almostsounded jealous.

S.Q. seemed troubled by this question.“Well, as for that, I can’t really say, uh,here nor there. All you need to know is —well, you don’t need to know anything.Except for the material, that is. Obviouslyyou must know that. And how to . . .actually, I suppose there are many thingsyo u should know, but —” He checkedhimself, cleared his throat, and said, “Justwork hard, boys, and you’ll have nothingto worry about.”

“Except Martina,” said Reynie. “Shelooked like she wanted to throttle us.”

S.Q. laughed. “She probably does!You’re showing her up. Perfect quizscores are extremely rare. If you boyscontinue like this, you’ll be Messengers inno time — and so naturally theMessengers hate you. There’s a limitednumber of Messengers, you see, and noguarantee that any will stay a Messenger.Have a bad week on your quizzes andanother student might take your spot.”

“Does that happen often?” Reynieasked.

“Hardly ever,” S.Q. said. “Messengerscan’t bear to lose their special privileges.I remember how awful I felt whenever Ihad to turn in my sash and tunic. Happenedto me several times. But eventually I gotall the lessons down like butter — like apat of butter — got them down pat — and

never lost my position again. Until I wasmade Executive, that is. Anyway, Isuppose to Martina you seem like a threat.I understand her feeling, though of coursethere’s no call for her to be so crankyabout it.”

Cranky was hardly the word, Reyniethought. Venomous was more like it. Theywould have to watch out for MartinaCrowe.

People and Places to BeAvoided

Reynie and Sticky spent the rest of themorning looking nervously over theirshoulders. Between classes they hurriedthrough the corridors, not wanting to beambushed by Martina, and when atlunchtime they spotted Martina lingeringnear the cafeteria counter, they put offgetting their lunches despite the insistentgrowling in their bellies. Instead theyfound a table and waited for Kate andConstance. When the girls returned fromthe counter, Reynie and Sticky quickly

related what S.Q. had told them aboutMessengers, and also what had happenedwith Martina. The cafeteria was soabsurdly loud they could speak in normalvoices and not be overhead, but it was allKate could do to keep her voice below anoutraged shout.

“Where is Martina now?” she said,glancing left and right.

“I’m trying not to see her,” Sticky said.“Easy, Kate,” Reynie said. He nodded

discreetly toward a distant table. “She justsat down at one of the Messenger tables.Every now and then she shoots darts withher eyes. But let’s not worry about it.We’ll need to avoid her, that’s all.”

Constance wiped her mouth with hersleeve. “Hey, when you boys get yourlunch trays, bring me back some ice

cream.”“Whatever happened to asking?” Sticky

said. “Whatever happened to please?”Reynie looked at Constance, who by

way of answering Sticky was poking hertongue out. She did have terrible manners,it was true: She spilled food withabandon, chewed with her mouth open asoften as not, and held her utensils likeshovels. But Reynie found her behaviormore sad than irritating. He knew she mustnever have had anyone to teach her bettermanners. He had no idea what her life hadbeen like before — Constance hated beingasked questions and generally ignoredthem, or else responded by making rudesounds — but it was obvious she’d hadlittle guidance.

Constance noticed Reynie looking at

her. She bugged her eyes and opened hermouth to show him her chewed-up food.She didn’t like being looked at any morethan she liked being asked questions.

Reynie and Sticky went up to thecounter to order their lunches. TheHelpers were stirring soups and tossingpizza dough and otherwise attending to ahuge array of dishes, all of which smelledheavenly, and the boys’ mouths werewatering like sprinkler systems. Reyniefinally settled on lasagna and chocolatemilk — and ice cream, since Stickyrefused to do Constance’s bidding. Reyniejust didn’t feel like dealing with a whiningsession.

The Helper who took his order noddedsilently, averting her eyes, and set aboutpreparing the tray. Reynie watched her

uneasily. Only a few Helpers had everspoken to him, and not one had made eyecontact. Apparently Mr. Curtain had laiddown strict rules about this. It was astrange requirement of the workers’ jobs,this constant show of deference, but theHelpers met it admirably. In fact theywere so silent and shy of eye contact thatReynie tried not to greet them or even lookat them much. To him this felt profoundlyrude, but doing otherwise always seemedto make the Helpers uncomfortable.

Sticky must have been thinking aboutthe same thing, because when they hadrejoined the girls at the table, he said,“Can you imagine a worse job than beinga Helper?”

“Aren’t they a sad lot?” said Kate. “Notalking, no eye contact. No way I could

work a job like that — I’d have to besedated.”

“Hey, maybe they are being sedated,”Sticky suggested. “Maybe there’ssomething in their food!”

Kate shook her head. “I’ve seen themeating the same food they serve us, andwe’re just fine, aren’t we?”

They all looked uncomfortably atConstance, who had finished gulping herice cream and let her sticky chin drop toher chest. Her eyelids were fluttering, andher breathing had deepened into a snore.

“Well, but she was that way before wegot here,” said Reynie.

It was a long and wearisome day. The

afternoon classes went much the same asthe morning ones: First Reynie would feelheartened by how well he and Sticky haddone on the quiz, then dismayed by thehateful looks their successes brought them— from other students and Messengers ingeneral, but especially from Martina. Andif Kate and Constance were drawing nosuch unpleasant attention themselves, itwas only because they were having aterrible time with the quizzes, which waseven more discouraging.

When the last class was dismissed, thefour of them went out onto the plaza andsat on a stone bench. (All but Kate, whobounced in place, burning off energy.)Most of the Institute students spent thehour before supper playing in the gym, orelse watching television in their rooms,

but the Mysterious Benedict Society hadwanted a little time to themselves. As itturned out, they spent their whole time onthe plaza undisturbed by Martina oranyone at all, and yet they spoke hardly aword. The reason was that they could notstop staring — with a curious mixture offascination, fear, and uneasiness — at Mr.Curtain in his green-plaid suit, silveryglasses, and demonic wheelchair.

The plaza was a favorite spot of his.The children had seen him there the daybefore, too, and also at night. It was wellknown that Mr. Curtain often sat there foran hour or so in the afternoons, duringwhich time no one ever disturbed him butExecutives — and they came to him onlywith urgent matters. This afternoon was nodifferent. Everyone who crossed the plaza

gave Mr. Curtain a wide berth, and no oneever passed in front of him, as he seemedto delight in gazing off toward the bridgein the distance, and no one wished todisrupt his view.

Gazing aside, Mr. Curtain was hardlyidle. He had a stack of newspapers withhim and was going through themmeticulously, occasionally marking things,and smiling mysteriously. From time totime he opened a large book, which hecarried in his lap, and made a note insideit. Then he would gaze off into thedistance again. Eventually Mr. Curtainspun around and shot across the plaza,disappearing inside the Institute ControlBuilding and snapping the children out oftheir trance.

Having spent so much time staring, and

since at supper they were unable to get atable to themselves, the children wouldhave to wait until after lights out for anysecret discussions, for the evenings weredevoted to studytime. It was essential thatReynie and Sticky continue to do well ontheir quizzes — especially if Kate andConstance didn’t start doing well. And, atany rate, one of the few rules theExecutives seemed willing to admit towas that students were not allowed in oneanother’s rooms. Private meetings amongregular students were the sort of thingstrictly frowned upon at the Institute,where all secrets were reserved forMessengers and Executives.

There was no prohibition regarding thedormitory corridors during studytime,however, and before the children holed up

in their rooms to labor over their notes,they lingered a few minutes outside thedoor to Reynie and Sticky’s room. If theydidn’t talk to each other now, it was onlybecause they were eavesdropping. Theyhad discovered that, at this time of day,there was a considerable amount ofactivity and conversation in the corridor,which always provided an opportunity tolearn something. Here and there along thecorridor, little clusters of students stoodtalking, reluctant to knuckle down andstudy yet, and a steady stream of childrentoting toothbrushes and toiletries passed inand out of the bathrooms.

This evening the most obviouseavesdroppees were Reynie and Sticky’sneighbors, a couple of thick-headed, thick-middled older boys who had made a point

of never speaking to Reynie and Sticky.The boys stood in their doorway playing agame that involved kicking each other inthe shins without crying out, and as theykicked and grimaced back and forth, theyspeculated endlessly about theMessengers’ secret privileges. This was afavorite conversation among non-Messengers, but never a productive one,and it was no different with these boys. Itsoon became clear neither had any ideawhat the privileges were, only that theywere much to be coveted.

The boys’ talk quickly wore thin, andReynie was just about to give up and gostudy when Jackson’s voice boomed downthe corridor: “Corliss Danton! There youare!”

A few doors down, Corliss Danton

jumped. (Everyone jumped, but Corlissjumped the highest.) He turned to lookwith strangely guilty eyes at Jackson, whocame marching toward him through thelittle clusters of students, all of whomflattened themselves against the walls tolet him pass. The corridor, just momentsago all gossip and hubbub, fell silent as agraveyard. Corliss straightened hisMessenger sash as Jackson came up.“What — what’s the matter, Jackson?”

“You know what the matter is, Corliss,”said Jackson. “Mr. Curtain needs to speakwith you. I’ve come to show you to theWaiting Room.”

At the mention of the Waiting Room,Corliss — who was fair-skinned to beginwith — turned positively white. The boysfrom the neighboring room flinched and

took a quick step backward, trying todisassociate themselves. A murmur spreaddown the corridor.

“But . . . but . . .” Corliss cleared histhroat. He tugged at the bottom of histunic. “But come on, Jackson. Why wouldI be punished? What —?”

“You aren’t being punished. Mr.Curtain only wants to speak with you. Buthe’s busy at the moment, so you’ll have towait. Come with me right now.”

Corliss shook his head and steppedback. “I . . . you know what? I don’t thinkso. I think I’ll just . . . just . . .” He glancedleft and right, contemplating the corridorexits.

Jackson’s tone was casual but firm. “Iunderstand you don’t like to wait, Corliss.Nobody likes waiting. But if you don’t

want to go to the Waiting Room and loseyour special privileges, then you’d bettercome along right now.”

Corliss cringed. “N-no, that won’t . . .won’t be necessary. I’ll go with you,Jackson. I suppose one way or another I’mgoing to have to wait, is that right?”

“One way or another.”Corliss took a deep breath to steady

himself. “Okay, you bet. Whatever Mr.Curtain wants. You’ll get no complaintsfrom me.”

Jackson winked. “That a boy. Let’s getmoving.” He put his hand on Corliss’sshoulder and walked him out the far exit.

The moment Corliss had gone, thecorridor erupted into a cacophony ofexcited conversation. One girl even burstinto tears; she’d once been to the Waiting

Room herself, apparently, and wasdistraught at the mere mention of theplace. As the girl’s friends tried toconsole her, Reynie and Sticky’s thick-headed neighbors were still staring at theexit through which Jackson had ledCorliss as if to his doom.

“The Waiting Room,” one boy said. “Ididn’t know Messengers ever got sent tothe Waiting Room.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” said the other,shaking his head. “I think it’s bad luck totalk about it. I don’t need that kind ofluck.” The boys went into the room andclosed the door behind them.

Reynie and the others looked anxiouslyat one another.

“I think perhaps we ought to avoidbeing sent to the Waiting Room,” said

Constance.“You think?” said Kate.Sticky took out his polishing cloth.

Logical Conclusions andMiscalculations

When the ceiling panel slid aside thatnight, Kate’s was the only face thatappeared.

“Where’s Constance?” Reyniewhispered.

“Down for the count,” Kate replied.“Drowsiest kid I’ve ever met. Fell soundasleep at her desk. I couldn’t wake her.”

“I guess you can fill her in later,”Reynie said doubtfully, and Sticky shookhis head with a look of disapproval.

“I’m so glad to see you boys,” Kate

said, sitting on the floor. She crossed herlegs in an elaborate, pretzel-like formationthe boys would have thought impossible.“I’m sick of studying. I must have goneover my notes a hundred times, but none ofit sticks in my head. It makes no sense!‘You must work longer hours to havemore time to relax’? ‘You must have warto have peace’? How are these ‘logicalconclusions’? Please tell me!”

Reynie gave a weary laugh. “Whatabout ‘It’s important to protect yourselfbecause it’s impossible to protectyourself’?”

“Oh, yes, the hygiene lesson,” Kate saiddisgustedly. “That one’s the best. I wouldnever have thought brushing my teethcould make me feel so hopeless.”

Reynie cocked his head. Something

about what Kate said seemed familiar. Butwhat was it?

“The stuff doesn’t make a bit of sense tome, either,” said Sticky, “but I don’t havetrouble remembering it. I can help youstudy, Kate.”

“When?” Kate said, exasperated.“There’s never any time! No, I need to justdo it myself.”

“Oh . . . oh, okay,” said Sticky meekly,his feelings obviously hurt.

Kate was too preoccupied to notice.She was absently braiding her hair intocomplicated knots, then unbraiding itagain. “I really don’t get it, boys. What’sthe point of learning this mush?”

It suddenly occurred to Reynie whathad struck him as familiar. “I think it’sconnected to the hidden messages!

Remember that phrase we heard on theReceiver? ‘Brush your teeth and kill thegerms’? That has to be related to thehygiene lesson, don’t you think?”

“Hey, you’re right!” Kate said,brightening.

“And now that I think of it, on our firstday here we overheard the kids in S.Q.’sclass going on and on about the marketthis, the market that —”

“The Free Market Drill,” said Sticky.“Exactly! And ‘market’ was the very

first word we heard come through Mr.Benedict’s Receiver, remember?”

Sticky nodded — of course heremembered — but Kate only shrugged.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” shesaid. “Anyway, the classes are obviouslylinked to the hidden messages. So the

question is how it all fits together.”“The sooner we become Messengers,

the sooner we find out!” said Reynieexcitedly.

“We aren’t Messengers yet, so holdyour horses,” said Sticky, who was stilltrying to recover from his woundedfeelings and felt a bit testy. “We’ve onlybeen here a few days.”

“It’s true,” Reynie sighed. “All right,let’s report this to Mr. Benedict.”

They prepared to send a report to themainland, only to be thwarted by thepresence of Mr. Curtain on the plaza. Andthen, just as Mr. Curtain was finally goinginside, a couple of Executives came outfor a leisurely stroll over the Institutegrounds. They seemed intent on strollingevery walkway and path in sight. The

night was growing late, and the children,exhausted, decided to adjourn. Theycouldn’t very well succeed in theirclasses if they couldn’t stay awake inthem.

“The report will keep,” Kate said witha yawn, “and in the meantime we’ll sleep.You boys have a good night.”

She scurried up her rope, drew it intothe ceiling after her, and disappeared.With a mixture of amusement andadmiration, Reynie and Sticky watchedher go. Kate’s method of coming andgoing still took some getting used to.

“What must it be like, getting around theway she does?” Sticky wondered.

Reynie shrugged. “Dusty, I imagine.”Long after Kate had gone her dusty way

and the boys had gone to bed, Reynie lay

awake, calming his nerves by composing amental letter to Miss Perumal. He couldnever actually write the letter, of course— he could never send it — but it soothedReynie to think of Miss Perumal, in asetting far from this responsibility anddanger, sipping her tea and correcting hisTamil grammar. He reflected upon thepleasant afternoons they’d spent walkingin Oldwood Park, discussing this thing orthat — her mother, or the aged trees in thepark, or baseball, or dogs. And the times,too, when he’d told her about some savageteasing he’d got from other children, uponwhich Miss Perumal never offered advice— which would have been useless — butonly nodded and clucked her tongue,smiling sadly at Reynie as if his memorywere her memory, too, as if they shared it.

Well, he supposed they did share it, nowthat he’d told her of it. And somehow thishad always lightened its effect on him —even, on occasion, cheered him right up.

Reynie had just ended the letter whenhe heard Sticky rise and move about theroom, and then, after a pause, whisper,“Reynie, are you awake?”

It would have been a nice way to go tosleep; Reynie was feeling calm for thefirst time all day. But he couldn’t verywell thank Miss Perumal in his letter foralways being there to listen, then turnaround and not be there for Sticky. “Yes,I’m awake,” he replied.

“The coast is clear now.”Reynie looked down from his bunk.Sticky had put on his spectacles and

was peering out the window. “If Kate

hadn’t taken her flashlight, we could sendthe report. We should remember that nexttime. We might as well get something outof a bad night’s sleep.”

“We could flip the light switch,”Reynie suggested.

“I suppose so,” Sticky said doubtfully,with a twinge of worry in his voice, “butwhat if there’s someone outside? I can’tkeep an eye out from over by the lightswitch.”

“There are two of us, remember. I’llwatch out the window.”

Sticky was casting about for hispolishing cloth. “Makes me nervous,” hesaid, finding the cloth on his desk andgiving his glasses a brisk rub. “I keepthinking about that Messenger’s face whenJackson told him about the Waiting Room.

The last thing we want is to be suspectedof something.” He put his glasses on andsighed. “Now I wish I hadn’t mentioned it.But I suppose we ought to?”

“We’ll do it quickly and get it overwith,” Reynie said.

The light switch, unfortunately, made asharp clicking sound when it was thrown.Sticky cringed with every click, as if hewere being shocked, and by the end of themessage his trembling, sweaty fingerswere slipping off the switch. At last themessage was sent, however, and no onehad discovered them.

Peering toward the mainland shore,Reynie chuckled. “They want to knowwhat we’re still doing up.”

Sticky felt too anxious to smile.“Anything else?”

“We’re doing excellent work, we mustcontinue to be careful, and now we shouldreally get some sleep.”

“They said all that?”Reynie climbed down from the

television. “Well, they said, ‘Excellent.Careful. Sleep.’”

“They don’t have to tell me twice,”Sticky said, slipping into bed. “Especiallynot the careful part. My stomach’s all inknots, Reynie. It feels that way all thetime.”

“I know,” Reynie said, climbing up tohis bunk. “Same with me. But at least weknow Mr. Benedict and his crew are outthere watching. We’re not alone, right?”

“I suppose that should be encouraging,”Sticky said uncertainly.

“I take it you don’t find it very

encouraging.”“No,” Sticky replied, pulling his sheet

up tightly under his chin. “No, ever since Ifirst saw him, I keep imagining Mr.Curtain chasing me down, getting closerand closer. He seems a lot closer than Mr.Benedict and the others do, way off on thatshore.”

This time Reynie said nothing. Heunderstood too well how Sticky felt. Ifonly he knew of something comforting tosay, something to ease Sticky’s anxiety —and, yes, something to ease his own. Hethought and thought. He lay awake a longwhile, thinking. Surely there wassomething.

But if there was, he could not think of it.

Sticky’s anxiety took its toll on him; heslept quite poorly, and all the nextmorning he had trouble staying awake. Bythe time Jackson’s class started, hiseyelids felt heavy as anvils. It required aheroic effort — including a lot of painfulpinches on the leg — to keep his eyesopen and pay attention to Jackson’s long,droning lecture. At last Jackson finished,however, and despite his drowsiness,Sticky had managed to lock all theinformation securely in his head. The end-of-lecture review would not require hisattention, which meant it would requirewillpower instead — it would be all hecould do to stay awake. He needed tooccupy his mind with something.

And so Sticky focused on CorlissDanton, who was back in class this

morning, looking no worse for wear. Onthe contrary, he seemed the exemplarystudent: He sat ramrod straight in his desk,listening with attention, and his Messengeruniform was impeccable. In fact his entireperson fairly shone. From finger to foot,his fair skin was rosy from scrubbing;even his fingernails seemed meticulouslygroomed. He looked as though he wouldsmell like a bar of soap. Corlissobviously meant to make a goodimpression, Sticky thought. He wanted toappear cleansed of any past wrongdoings.

Only after Corliss had glanced past himtoward the door a few times did Stickyrealize he was not entirely recovered fromhis visit to the Waiting Room. His facewas weary, even dazed, as if he hadn’tslept a wink, and an unmistakeable

remnant of misery showed in his eyes. Notfor the first time, Sticky found himselfwondering what sort of ordeal Corliss hadgone through. Then he found that he didn’twant to think about it, as it made hisstomach hurt. And then he found that hewas asleep.

Sticky wouldn’t have known he wasasleep, though, had Martina Crowe nothissed, “You! Skinny bald-headed four-eyes! What are you doing sleeping? Aren’tyou supposed to be the super student?”

Sticky’s eyes snapped open. On allsides of him students were tittering, andthe Messengers (including Corliss) weresneering disdainfully. In a flush ofembarrassment, Sticky reached for hisspectacles.

“Watch him go to polishing his glasses

now!” said Martina. “What a weirdo!”“Silence!” shouted Jackson from the

front of the room. His icy sharp gaze fellon Sticky. “You can say whatever you likewhen you have permission,” Jackson said,adding: “Right now no one haspermission.”

Paralyzed, Sticky couldn’t even manageto nod.

Kate, however, was too outraged tohold her tongue. “But it wasn’t Sticky whospoke!”

Martina, who happened to be sittingright in front of Kate, whirled about with alook of shock. Kate met her gaze defiantly,which surprised Martina even more.Before they could exchange words,though, Jackson had come charging downthe aisle to stand over Kate. “Did you

raise your hand to ask permission tospeak?”

Kate shook her head, and then, with abright look, raised her hand.

“No,” Jackson said. “You don’t havepermission to raise your hand. And let mejust warn you and your friend,” he saidwith a glance at Sticky, “it won’t benefityou to challenge a Messenger.”

Martina ran a hand through her raven-colored hair and nodded with remarkablesmugness. Kate’s face burned bright red— she fairly radiated fury — but she heldher tongue. Jackson returned to the front ofthe room, and the students returned to theirbusy note-taking.

All except Sticky, who was too upset toconcentrate. Instead he stared miserably atJackson, and then at his other tormentor,

Martina, who seemed exceedingly pleasedwith herself. His gaze was distracted by amovement below Martina’s desk. Katewas slipping her feet back into her shoes.But why had she taken her shoes off? Itwas too cool for bare feet. Just thenMartina shot a glance toward Sticky.Sticky averted his eyes and didn’t lookthat direction again. He could feel themalice even without looking.

And so it was that when Jacksondismissed class and Martina leaped fromher seat, Sticky heard, but did not see,Martina crashing face-first onto the floor.He glanced over in surprise. Notebooks,papers, and pencils had spilledeverywhere, and Martina was raisingherself slowly to her hands and knees,spluttering and shaking her head as she

tried to get her bearings. Messenger or no,her fumblings prompted a burst of laughterfrom the other students — except for Kate,who pretended not to notice as shegrabbed Sticky’s arm, dragging himtoward the door.

“I tied her shoelaces to the desk,” shewhispered. “With my toes.”

“Great,” Constance said at lunch. “Notonly do we have a dangerous secretmission, but now we have enemies, too.Nice work, Kate.”

Kate laughed. “She was already theboys’ enemy. I just added myself to thelist. What did you expect me to do, let herget away with it? She called him bald-

headed, for Pete’s sake.”“I am bald,” Sticky said, running a hand

over his scalp. “It’s my own fault. I usedhair remover when I ran away, to disguisemyself.”

“That explains it,” said Reynie. “I’dwondered but was afraid to ask.”

“Isn’t hair remover supposed to stinglike the dickens?” Kate asked.

“I’d heard that, so I invented my ownmixture, adding other ingredients to keepit from stinging.”

“Did that work?” Constance asked,plainly hoping it didn’t.

“No,” Sticky admitted. “It felt like myhead was on fire, and now it’s takingforever for my hair to grow back! It hasn’teven started!”

The others smiled. Then grinned. Then

giggled. And finally — unable to helpthemselves — they burst out laughing.Sticky groaned and ducked his head, but atlast even he had to smile. For a whiletheir laughter wiped away the troubles athand, and they were reluctant to give it up.

But eventually — too soon — theirlaughter fell away. And unlike Sticky’shair, the troubles at hand did not hesitateto come back.

Poison Apples, Poison Worms

That afternoon in class, Jillson lecturedon the national economy. She also spokeabout education, crime, the environment,war, taxes, insurance, health andmedicine, the justice system . . . and fruit.

“You see,” Jillson said near the end ofthe lesson, “all these terrible problems arethe result of one thing: bad government!Don’t get me wrong, government is a goodthing. Without government you can solvenone of the world’s horrible problems —unless you have a bad government, inwhich case the problems only get more

horrible. Sadly, all the world’sgovernments are bad ones. Like a poisonapple” — here Reynie’s ears perked up— “our governments look beautiful, shiny,and wholesome from a distance, but onceyou’ve partaken of them, they prove quitedeadly. What’s more, they shelter morethan one wicked official — like poisonworms in that poison apple.”

Poison apples, poison worms, Reyniethought. That was another hidden-messagephrase they’d heard through Mr.Benedict’s Receiver. He wasn’t surprised— he knew the classes were connected tothe hidden messages — but he did wonderexactly how it all fit together. He felt surehe could figure it out if only —

Without warning, Reynie’s moodshifted. His optimism drained away, and

he was suddenly angry with Jillson —stupid, lecturesome Jillson! — and notjust Jillson, either, but . . . really, he wasangry with just about everybody he couldthink of. It was an unusual feeling forReynie, and very distressing. He felt asthough the walls were pressing in on him,as though he wanted to get up and run fromthe room. He felt like yelling and kickingthings — preferably Jillson.

What was going on? Was the pressurefinally getting to him? Completelyfrazzled, Reynie laid down his pencil andglanced over at Sticky — who was glaringat his quiz as if he wanted to tear it up andtoss it into a fire. Oh, no, Reynie thought,he’s bungled it somehow. For a momenthe felt mad at Sticky, too. But then Sticky,catching his eye, nodded as usual and gave

a feeble thumbs-up. It wasn’t the quiz,then. And now Sticky was staring atReynie with a concerned expression —which was how Reynie realized he wasscowling himself. He looked over at Kateand Constance. Both had their heads intheir hands and looked ready to scream.And yet none of the other students seemedaffected in the least. So why would onlythe four of them . . . ?

Martina’s poisoned us! Reynie thought.He was immediately convinced of it.Martina had slipped something into theirlunches — perhaps she’d ordered theHelpers to do it. All his anger now flowedin Martina’s direction.

When class was finally over, it tookReynie several seconds to realize why theother students were getting up and leaving.

Jillson was staring at him and his friendsas if they were a bunch of lunatics. “I saidgo!” she barked. “Or do you want to stayhere all day?”

The four of them bolted from theirdesks. They needed an emergencymeeting.

Most students were headed to the gymto play games before supper, and Mr.Curtain was not in his favorite spot. Theplaza was deserted. The children crossedto the farthest corner, made sure no onewas in earshot, and all began talking atonce.

“Are you feeling what I’m feeling?”Reynie asked.

“What’s this all about?” Kate said.“So you feel it, too? I think my head’s

going to split open!” Sticky said.

“My first thought was that Martinapoisoned us,” Reynie said, “but —”

“Poison?” Kate said. “No, I don’t thinkso. This is all in my head.”

Reynie and Sticky agreed. It wasn’t aphysical problem, exactly; it wassomething else. But then what was it? Thethree of them began comparing theirsymptoms.

Only Constance said nothing. Shelistened as the others talked about howirritable and angry they felt, as if theywere engaged in a furious argument, andas they spoke, she seemed to be shrinking.It was Reynie who noticed this — thatConstance, with a look of anxiousbafflement, had begun to crouch down asif to protect herself from an attack.

“Constance, what is it?” Reynie asked,

his brow wrinkling with concern. “What’swrong?”

“That’s . . . that’s all?” Constanceasked in a weak voice. “You just feel kindof annoyed?”

“Extremely annoyed,” Kate said.“Really, I’ve never felt so cranky in mylife.”

“So you don’t . . . you don’t hear . . . ?”Constance trailed off.

She didn’t have to finish. Reyniecouldn’t believe they hadn’t thought of itright away. The experience must haverattled every bit of sense out of all theirheads. Hadn’t Mr. Benedict specificallypredicted this? Most of us will simply feelirritable and confused, Mr. Benedict hadsaid, essentially the way we feel nowwhenever the television is on and the

messages are being broadcast.“Mr. Curtain’s boosting the power,”

Reynie said gravely, and when Kate andSticky looked at him, still notcomprehending, he said, “It’s the hiddenmessages. Our minds are reacting tothem.”

Sticky gasped. Kate slapped herforehead. Of course! The hidden messageshad begun to transmit directly into theirminds — no more need for television,radios, or anything else. All the otherstudents were undisturbed because, just asMr. Benedict had said, only minds with anunusually powerful love of truth noticedanything was happening.

“So we can’t avoid them anymore?”Kate said. “Well, that’s depressing.”

“I think there’s more,” Reynie said. He

knelt beside Constance and put his handon her shoulder — and Constance, foronce, didn’t complain. “There is more,isn’t there, Constance?”

Kate and Sticky looked from Reynie toConstance, who was nodding and hidingher face behind her hands. She actuallyseemed to be fighting back tears. All oftheir minds were resisting the hiddenmessages, but Constance — and onlyConstance — could hear the Messenger’svoice.

In rare cases, with exceptionally sensitiveminds, Mr. Benedict had said. And herewas such a case, such a mind: ConstanceContraire. The development shocked them

all, especially Constance, who was sodisturbed by it she spent the evening withher head under her pillow. She was nobetter by the time Kate smuggled her intothe boys’ room for their meeting.

“It might be useful, you know,” Stickywhispered, trying to cheer her up. “A wayto gauge Mr. Curtain’s progress. On areally, really awful day, one of us mightnot be able to tell the difference between anormal bad mood and a hidden-messagemood. But if you can hear the actualvoices — well, then, you’re like ourcanary in the coal mine!”

“A canary in a coal mine?” Constancemumbled without looking up.

Sticky failed to notice Reynie’swarning look. “Oh, yes — miners used tobring canaries with them to gauge oxygen

levels in the mine. If the canary died, theyknew the oxygen was running out andthey’d better get out of there.”

“If the canary died?” Constancerepeated.

Sticky looked suddenly regretful.“That was perhaps an unfortunate

comparison,” Reynie said.“The point is you’re important,” Kate

said. “Okay?”“I already knew that,” Constance

snapped. “I didn’t need all this mumbo-jumbo in my head to tell me. And Idefinitely didn’t need Martina Crowe inthere whispering it — she was the onedoing the last message, in case you’rewondering. I dislike her enough outsidemy head, much less inside it. In fact, Ithink I’ll write an insulting poem about her

. . . although, come to think of it, ‘Martina’makes for a tricky rhyme.”

Reynie, Kate, and Sticky glanced at oneanother with cautious optimism.Constance seemed to be feeling a littlebetter. They all were, actually. They hadspent the evening adjusting to the hidden-message broadcasts (there had been threemore since Jillson’s class) — trying not tosnarl at one another, or smash their fistson desktops, or slam drawers. Studyinghad been positively excruciating, liketrying to read while someone bangs out anannoying tune on a piano — and withfingers on the wrong keys, at that. But anhour had passed since the last broadcast,and the children’s moods had improved.Which helped them focus on the fact thattheir situation, unfortunately, had not.

The thing to come was getting closer.Mr. Curtain was not broadcasting hismessages at full-power yet — otherwiseall four of them would hear voices, notjust Constance. But matters had obviouslyworsened, and the children had only justarrived on the island. Were they alreadytoo late? What should they do?

“Coast is clear,” Sticky said when he’dclimbed onto the television and looked outthe window. He took the flashlight fromKate. “What should I say?”

“Mr. Benedict will already know themessages are stronger,” Reynie reflected.“He and the others are surely feeling it,too. Just tell him that Constance is hearingvoices. He hadn’t expected that.”

“Got it,” Sticky said, turning to thewindow. “‘Constance hearing voices.’

Here goes.”“But don’t use her real name!” Reynie

warned.“Oh, right,” Sticky said sheepishly. “Of

course not.”“Are you just trying to get me caught,

George Washington?” Constancegrumped.

“Sorry,” Sticky said, gritting his teethas he always did when Constance used hisfull name. “I’ll just say, um . . .” Helooked to the others for help.

Reynie glanced at Constance, who wasscowling impressively, ready to complainabout whatever they suggested. Resistingthe first thing that came to mind, Reyniesuggested they refer to her as “the smallestone.”

Constance grudgingly accepted this, and

soon Sticky had sent the message. A fewminutes later, he received a response fromthe mainland:

Time is shorter than wethought.

Thus to get what must begot

You must become what youare not.

“It sounds like he wants us to put a rushon things,” said Sticky, climbing downfrom the television.

“Fine by me,” said Kate. “But how,exactly? What does he mean, ‘what mustbe got’?”

“Whatever it is, we have to becomesomething different to get it,” Reynie said.

“But what could that be?” Constancesaid.

They all looked at one another. None ofthem had any idea. They didn’t even knowwhere to start.

A Surprising Suggestion

The message broadcasts were hard on allof them. They felt another one during lunchthe next day (it was Corliss Danton,according to Constance), which had themgritting their teeth, growling at each other,and fighting the urge to throw silverware.And another came during the evening, sothat they were compelled to study withtheir nerves being plucked like banjostrings. The last broadcast finally relentedjust as Reynie was closing his notebook.He laid his head on his desk in relief.

“I am so glad that’s over,” said Sticky,

who had spent studytime lying on his bedgrimacing. “You finished?”

With an effort, Reynie nodded.They heard Jackson’s booming voice in

the hallway announcing lights-out.“I’ll get the light,” Kate said, dropping

to the floor behind Reynie.Reynie gasped and fell out of his chair.

Sticky banged his head on the top bunk.Kate switched off the light and climbedonto a chair to help Constance down fromthe ceiling.

“Maybe you should start knocking,”Sticky grumbled, rubbing his head.

“And spoil the surprise?” Kate asked.“Listen,” Reynie said, scrambling back

up. “I’ve been going over Mr. Benedict’smessage in my head all day, and I thinkI’m starting to figure it out. What is it Mr.

Benedict sent us here to get?”“Information,” Sticky said. “You think

that’s what he meant by ‘what can be got’?Just information?”

“Secret information,” Reynie said.“Which is why we need to becomeMessengers as soon as possible. We mustbecome what we are not.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “But that’sobvious! We already know that.”

“You’re right,” Reynie admitted.“That’s why I said I’m starting to figurethe message out — I think there must bemore to it. I’m just not sure what, exceptthat we need to hurry up.”

“We’re going as fast as we can,though,” Kate said. “You boys are makingperfect scores on the quizzes, andConstance and I — well, we’re doing our

best, aren’t we?” She glanced doubtfullyat Constance. “At least I know I am.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”Constance said, frowning.

“I just don’t want to speak for you,”said Kate evasively.

“My point,” Reynie interjected, “wasthat we have to find a way for you andConstance to do better on the quizzes.”

“Ugh,” Kate said, heaving a dramaticsigh. She collapsed onto the floor,throwing out her arms as if she’d beenknocked flat. “To tell the truth, I think I’mbeyond help. My brain simply won’tabsorb that nonsense, no matter how hard Itry.”

“Same here,” said Constance. “No waycan I improve on those quizzes. I’m tootired to study any more than I already do.”

“Which is hardly any,” Kate muttered.Constance flared. “Let’s see you study

with voices spouting gibberish in yourhead!”

“At least I’ve been trying!”“Hold on, hold on,” Reynie said. “Let’s

go back to Mr. Benedict’s message. Whatcan we think of that we all are not?”

“Grown-ups?” Sticky suggested.“True,” Reynie said gently. “But I don’t

think we can hurry up and get older, canwe?”

Constance pointed out that none of themwere antelopes eating canteloupes, ortextbooks with hexed looks, or cattle fromSeattle.

“You’re just trying to annoy us, aren’tyou?” Kate said.

Constance grinned.

“The fact is,” Sticky said in a defeatedtone, “there are an infinite number ofthings that we aren’t.”

“Yes, but Mr. Benedict expects us tofigure this out,” said Reynie, “so weshould be able to narrow it down. Let’sconsider what he knows about us —something we all have in common,something that could be changed.”

“He only just met us,” Kate pointed out.“He can’t know that much about us, canhe?”

“Well, he knows we’re orphans andrunaways,” Sticky offered, then quicklyadded, “I know, I know. We can’t allsuddenly have families. So what else?”

“We’re all gifted,” said Constance.“We all passed his silly tests.”

“And none of us watches television or

listens to the radio,” said Kate, “becauseof our minds’ unusually powerful love oftruth, right?”

Sticky scratched his head. “I don’t seehow watching television is going to makeus Messengers any faster.”

“Wait a minute!” Reynie said, leapingto his feet. “Our love of truth!”

The others fell silent and looked at him.Reynie had begun to pace and whisper tohimself. “Become what we’re not . . . tobecome Messengers faster . . . and Mr.Benedict knows that we’re not, because . .. yes, I think I have it!”

Kate shone her flashlight at Reynie,who stopped in his tracks. His exultantexpression shifted into one of doubt, andhe squinted uncomfortably in the flashlightbeam. He cleared his throat, hesitated, and

cleared his throat again.“Well?” Constance demanded. “What’s

the big idea?”At last Reynie managed to come out

with it. And it was no wonder the othershadn’t thought of it themselves, for whatReynie suggested was something thatwould never have occurred to them,something quite foreign to their natures,something none of them had everattempted.

They must learn how to cheat.

“It only makes sense,” Reynie quicklyexplained, when he saw his friends’horrified expressions. “None of usaccepted Rhonda’s offer to cheat,

remember? That was part of the test. Mr.Benedict is saying we must become whatwe are not — cheaters — so we all canbecome Messengers more quickly!”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Kate cried.“That can’t be what Mr. Benedict means!”

Sticky was shaking his head. “Didn’t hechoose us because we didn’t cheat?”

“Well, I’m all for it,” Constance saidwith a snort. “Let’s cheat like the wind!”

Kate was appalled. “I can’t believe youtwo! Where’s this powerful love of truthMr. Benedict talked about?”

Reynie wasn’t surprised by his friends’responses. He too had been wary of thenotion when it occurred to him. But werethey not secret agents? Was not their verypresence on the island a deception? Kateand Sticky’s reaction was just an

instinctive response, he thought; theywould come around in a minute.

Still, Reynie was troubled by Kate’squestion. Where was his powerful love oftruth? His mind resisted the hiddenmessages . . . but maybe not as much as hisfriends’ did. How could he know? Hadn’the been sorely tempted to cheat on Mr.Benedict’s tests, when Rhonda made theoffer? Was he perhaps not quite the truth-loving brave soul Mr. Benedict andeveryone else thought him to be?

“Get real,” Constance was saying. “Mr.Curtain is the big deceiver, remember?We can beat him at his own game!”

Kate and Sticky had their doubts, butthey were less adamant now. Sticky waspolishing his glasses, saying he supposedi t might be all right, and Kate had begun

to pace, saying, “It’s just that I neverimagined myself . . . I don’t know, it’s justhard for me to think that way. Reynie, doyou really think that’s what Mr. Benedictis suggesting?”

“There’s one way to find out,” saidReynie, who really hoped he was right —not because he wanted to cheat, butbecause if cheating was Mr. Benedict’sidea rather than his own, Reynie wouldfeel better about himself.

Sticky sent their query at once: Pleaseadvise about cheating.

A few minutes later a light beganflashing in the woods. Sticky relayed themessage as it came: Do Not

“I guess that settles it,” Kate said.“There’s more,” said Sticky.The rest of the message was this: Get

Caught.“I guess that settles it,” said Constance.

“Cheating practice” occupied theMysterious Benedict Society for two fullhours that night. The moment the childrenreceived permission, they appliedthemselves to finding the best strategiesfor “earning without learning,” asConstance called it. None of them hadever tried it before, and at first they madea very poor showing indeed. But theywere nothing if not quick learners, and bythe time they called it a night, they all feltreasonably confident they could cheat acheater out of cheating lessons, nine timesout of ten.

Their hard work paid off the nextmorning. The girls’ quiz scores finallybegan to improve. Given her height andsharp eyesight, it was simple enough forKate to sit behind Reynie and copy overhis shoulder, while Reynie kept his paperat a helpful angle. Their greatest difficultylay in watching out for witnesses, but Kateand Reynie were good at this, and theirteamwork produced excellent results. Infact, they were so heartened by theirsuccess that not even the morning’shidden-message broadcasts dimmed theiroptimism.

Sticky and Constance’s cheatingstrategy was more complicated. Constancewas too short to copy over a shoulder, andnote passing was much too risky, so at lastReynie had suggested Morse code.

Notoriously fidgety, Sticky signaled theanswers by tugging his ear or tapping histemple — motions he disguised with headscratches, collar-straightening, andspectacle-polishing — and Constance satin the back row, where none of the otherstudents would notice her watching him.

The strategy worked, but not withoutproblems. In the corridor between classesConstance complained under her breath,“Every time you have a real itch, I get thewrong answer.”

“Sorry,” Sticky said sheepishly. “I getitchy when I’m nervous. I’ll try to dobetter.”

“Don’t just try,” Constance said.“Actually do better.”

“Hey, my fidgeting isn’t the onlyproblem, you know!” Sticky hissed. “It

would help if you had practiced yourMorse code at all!”

Constance’s face turned so red, her paleblue eyes glistened so brightly behindangry tears, and her wispy blond hair wasin such a state of dishevelment that shelooked more like a small child’s paintingof a person than an actual person herself.A fierce display of vivid colors in oddproportions, she seemed to have steppedright out of a canvas for the sole purposeof throwing a fit.

“Now, children,” Kate said in amotherly tone, stepping between them.“Let’s not quibble about who’s to blame.Blaming is wrong. The important thing isto get along with one another, so that wemay have better success cheating.”

“Not funny,” said Constance, but the

joke did take the edge off her fury, and shesaid no more.

Nor did Sticky, who regretted hisoutburst, not least because it wasimprudent to discuss cheating in thecorridor, and even worse to mentionMorse code. Was he crazy? What if he’dbeen overheard? The very prospect of theWaiting Room made him woozy.

And so the morning passed: strugglingto ignore hidden-message broadcasts,concentrating on the lessons, cheating onevery quiz. The four had a bit more tothink about than the other students. Yet theboys continued making perfect scores, thegirls were coming along nicely, thebroadcasts eventually let up, and bylunchtime everyone was in an upbeatmood.

At the same time, they were on highalert for clues. Between classes they’dheard the rumor that Charlie Peters, one ofthe oldest Messengers at the Institute, wasgraduating. He hadn’t been in class allday, and some Executives had been seenwith him in the dormitory that morning.This was the usual thing, someone said.Graduates never spoke to a soul when theyleft — apparently they were too high andmighty even to say good-bye to oldfriends. They had no choice, said anotherstudent; the Executives never allowed it.

“I wonder what that’s all about,”Reynie said as they made their way to thecafeteria for lunch.

“Good question,” Kate said. “Andhere’s our chance for some answers.” Shepointed down an adjoining corridor,

where S.Q. Pedalian had just appeared,escorting Charlie toward a distant exit.“Quick, you try to talk to him while Idistract S.Q.”

“How do you propose to do that?”Constance asked. But Kate had alreadydashed off down the corridor, and Reynieand Sticky were hurrying after her.

“S.Q.! Hey, S.Q.!” Kate called out. “Iwanted to ask you a question about yourlecture this morning.”

S.Q. turned to see Kate barrelingtoward him. “I’m afraid I can’t talk rightnow, K —”

Before S.Q. could finish, Kate took aspectacular fall. Her feet shot out fromunder her; her arms and legs flew in everydirection; her bucket clanged and scrapedagainst the stone floor, sending up sparks;

and at last — with her feet first in front ofher and then somehow behind her — Katetumbled and slid to a stop a few yardsaway from S.Q., where she did a veryconvincing job of rolling her eyes backinto her head.

“Kate!” S.Q. cried, hurrying to check onher as the boys came running up. “Stepback!” he ordered. “Give her room tobreathe!”

As Kate made a great production offluttering her eyelashes and rolling hereyes loopily about, Reynie and Stickyedged past S.Q. to talk to Charlie Peters,who stood a little distance away, gazingimpassively down the corridor, apparentlynot the least interested in Kate’s fate. Aterribly pale boy, with pale eyes, palehair, and pale skin, Charlie looked like a

figure made of wax. When the boysapproached, he didn’t even acknowledgethem. He wore a faintly confusedexpression, as if he couldn’t see why hehad to leave the Institute, why he couldn’tjust keep on being a Messenger forever.

“She’ll be fine,” Reynie said, jerking athumb toward Kate as if Charlie mightactually care. “Falls down a lot, but shealways recovers.”

“What?” Charlie said, looking at theboys for the first time.

Reynie’s face took on a sympatheticexpression. “Oh, I guess your mind’s onother things, since you’re graduating. Noone could blame you for that. I’ll betyou’re sad to go, aren’t you? You’ll missall those special privileges.”

“What special privileges?” Charlie

said warily. “I don’t remember anyspecial privileges. Being a Messenger is aresponsibility, a matter of leadership.When you’re a Messenger, you’re so busyhelping Mr. Curtain that you hardly havetime to think. In fact,” Charlie said,looking disappointed now, “in fact, itseems like only yesterday I was madeMessenger, and now I’m going homealready. I’ve been so busy that everythingin between seems like a blur.”

“Busy doing what?” Sticky asked.Behind them, S.Q. was struggling to

help Kate back to her feet. Kate wasmaking it difficult by slipping on thingsthat had spilled from her bucket.

Charlie grew agitated. He glanced leftand right, then fixed them with a decidedlysuspicious look. “I can’t say.”

“But why not?” Reynie urged. “Did theythreaten you? Can you tell us anything?”

Charlie shook his head doubtfully. Heseemed to be considering, though, and theboys felt their hopes rise. Then he shookhis head again, more vigorously this time.He seemed extremely distressed by theirquestioning. “I can’t say,” he repeated. “Ireally can’t.”

“— lucky to be alive,” S.Q. was sayingto Kate behind them. Then his voicesharpened. “Hey! You boys get away fromCharlie!”

“Okay, bye, Charlie,” Reynie saidquickly, and Sticky gave a playful salute,but Charlie only stared at them with adistraught expression, as if they’d donehim some grievous wrong. Casting theboys a disapproving look, S.Q. took

Charlie’s arm and led him away towardthe exit.

“Any luck?” asked Constance, who hadfinally come down the corridor and wasstanding there, conspicuously unhelpful, asKate gathered her things.

Reynie picked up Kate’s slingshot andhanded it to her. “He isn’t talking. Hewouldn’t say why.”

“I did all that for nothing?” cried Kate,dismayed.

“I’m not sure,” Reynie said. “There’ssomething curious about what Charliesaid. Something . . .” He frowned. “I’mgoing to have to think about it.”

“Anyway, Kate, don’t tell us you didn’tenjoy doing that,” Sticky said.

“That’s true, I did,” Kate admitted, withan impish grin. “How did it look?”

“Like you fell out of an airplane,”Reynie said as they started toward thecafeteria again.

“Really?” Kate gazed at him withshining eyes. She was deeply touched.

Tests and Invitations

During the last class of the day, near theend of the lecture review, the classroomdoor flew open and Jackson came in.“Don’t mind me,” he said to the Executivehe’d interrupted, though from the wayJackson strutted, it was clear he enjoyedthe attention. “Just posting the newMessenger list.”

Every student in class sat up straighter.The new Messenger list! It was wellknown that the list hadn’t changed in overa month. Now Charlie Peters’s departurehad left an open slot. Who had filled it?

As Jackson hung the paper at the front ofthe room, everyone strained their eyes tomake out the names. Kate was the only onesharp-eyed enough to succeed. “No luckyet,” she whispered to Reynie. “Yourname’s not on it.”

The moment class was dismissed, thestudents swarmed toward the list. MartinaCrowe, the first in line by virtue of hersharp elbows, announced that BonnieHedrickson was the new Messenger. Thisprompted a collective moan ofdisappointment. Still, no one stepped outof line. Everybody wanted to see forthemselves, perhaps hoping Martina wasplaying a joke, or that Bonnie’s namewould magically disappear, replaced bytheir own.

The Mysterious Benedict Society had

gathered near the back. “Let’s get out ofhere,” Kate said. “It’s Bonnie, all right. Isaw her name.”

“You three go on,” said Reynie, whofelt strangely compelled to see the list upclose. “I’ll meet you on the plaza.” And sothe others left, and Reynie got in line,wondering why he felt drawn to look.Perhaps he was not so different from theother students after all. Perhaps he, too,hoped for something impossible.

“The secret privileges!” said a girlwistfully.

“And those tunics!” said a boy. “I’ll geton that list if it kills me!”

Reynie leaned sideways to see whowas at the front of the line. RosieGardener and Eustace Crust, the twospecial recruits. Despite their confusing

behavior, Reynie still suspected them ofhaving been kidnapped, and he foundhimself wondering yet again how they hadcome to be so pleased with their fates.Those initial dazed expressions long sinceevaporated, the special recruits were alleagerness now, and both had greedy glintsin their eyes. Reynie watched them leavethe room with an unexpected pang ofsympathy. Who had they been before? Hadthey, like Sticky, run away from home?Had they ever known parents at all? Whatkind of miserable life had they had, thatthe Institute seemed so wonderful to themnow?

As the line moved forward, Reynie hada flash of insight. He imagined the specialrecruits’ futures as they themselves mustimagine them: With nowhere else to turn,

no parents or grandparents begging fortheir returns, they would devotethemselves entirely to the Institute. Theywould rise through the ranks ofMessenger, wear their fancy tunics andsashes, and one day, when the time came,they would turn their backs on the outsideworld to become Executives. It wouldn’tmatter how they had come here, or whathad come before. That part was alreadyforgotten, or else would be forgotten in thepleasurable rush of being important. Ofbeing a part of something.

Standing before the list now, Reyniedidn’t even look at it. His sympathy, herealized, had shifted into something else, adifferent feeling altogether. What was it?It certainly wasn’t pleasant. Then withsurprise he recognized it: jealousy.

“How strange,” Reynie said to himself.“What is strange?” said a man’s voice.Reynie whirled to find himself face-to-

face with Mr. Curtain, who stared keenlyat him from behind his silver lenses. Lostin thought, Reynie had lingered after allthe others had filed out, and now he foundhimself alone with the Sender himself.

“I — I beg your pardon, sir?”“You said something was strange,” said

Mr. Curtain, drumming his fingers upon agreat, thick book in his lap. “I daresay youwere referring to the Messenger list.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Reynie said, then lied: “Iexpected to find my name on it. I’ve beenmaking perfect scores.”

“That is what I thought,” said Mr.Curtain. “The minds of children are easilyread, even gifted children like yourself,

Reynard.”“I’m glad you think I’m gifted,” said

Reynie, sensing an opportunity. “I want tobecome a Messenger more than anything.”

“Of course you do,” said Mr. Curtain.“All the Executives have reported howwell you’re doing. Both you and yourfriend George Washington have farexceeded expectations. In fact, in thehistory of the Institute, no one has evermastered so much material so quickly.”

Mr. Curtain’s chair had been rollingcloser, slowly, almost imperceptibly, sothat now their faces were very near toeach other. “It is a strange coincidence, isit not, that two such gifted children shouldbe admitted to the Institute at the verysame time, and that they should be suchclose friends?”

Hidden behind those reflective lenses,Mr. Curtain’s expression was difficult toread. Was he suspicious? Reynie’s heart,already beating double-time, kicked into ahigher gear. “As for being admitted at thesame time,” he said, “that is acoincidence. But it’s no surprise that twogood students should become goodfriends, especially if they’re roommates.”

“True,” said Mr. Curtain with anapproving crook of one eyebrow. “Youare a bright child, a very bright child,Reynard, and I believe you would make afine Messenger. Do you believe thatyourself?”

“Oh, yes, sir, very much!” cried Reyniewith as much enthusiasm as he couldmuster.

“Good. But you must remember,

Reynard, that you are new. Your time hasnot yet come. Not yet. It will come soon,however, if only you are patient. I trustyou are capable of patience?”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Curtain.”“That is all we ask, my boy. I must

confess I am not a patient man myself.”Here Mr. Curtain’s voice changed. Whereit had been briefly paternal andencouraging, it now turned searching.“Take, for example, your female friend,the diminutive Miss Contraire. I am losingpatience with her. My Executives havejust reported that although her quiz scoresare improving, she remains quite unruly— sleeping during lessons, refusing tospeak when questioned, making sour facesat the Executives, that sort of thing.”

Inwardly, Reynie groaned.

“She doesn’t seem dedicated,” Mr.Curtain went on. “Her insolent behaviorcontradicts her quiz scores. I don’tunderstand her motivations, and when Idon’t understand something, Reynard, it isnatural that I don’t trust it.”

“Perfectly natural, sir,” Reynie agreed.“But you know what they say about peopleyou don’t trust.”

“No,” said Mr. Curtain, lifting oneeyebrow. “What do they say?”

“If you don’t trust them, keep themclose.”

Mr. Curtain burst out with a screechylaugh that made Reynie jump. “Keep themclose. Very good. There is even more toyou than I’d thought, Reynard Muldoon.Very well, I’ll keep her close, as you do,and perhaps one day she will prove

useful.”“Perhaps so,” Reynie said. He had the

distinct feeling that something betweenthem had changed — as if he had passed atest. A test I didn’t know I was taking , hethought with a curious sense of déjà vu.

“Yes, keep them close,” said Mr.Curtain, stroking his chin. He seemed tobe considering something. “Yes, that is thebest way to control the problem. Andcontrol is the key, my boy. Never forgetthat. Control is always the key.”

“No, sir,” said Reynie. “I won’tforget.”

Mr. Curtain smiled. “Very well,Reynard, I have decided something. Ishould like to speak with you further.Come with me to my office, won’t you?Step along quickly now. I hate to waste

time getting from one place to the next.”And spinning his chair about, Mr. Curtainrocketed from the room.

Reynie hesitated only long enough totake a deep, deep breath, then hurried afterhim.

Mr. Curtain did hate to waste time. Reyniehad to run to keep up with him. Throughthe empty corridors and across thecafeteria, where the Helpers were busypreparing supper, Mr. Curtain neverslowed — not even when he approachedthe door onto the plaza. Slamming it openwith the front of his chair (and scatteringfrightened students left and right), hezoomed across the plaza and the rock

garden, his wheels spitting up bits ofgravel that stung Reynie’s arms. Racingalong behind, Reynie saw his friendsacross the plaza, staring after him inwonder and not a little apprehension. Hewaved to reassure them, though at thismoment he could have used somereassurance himself.

As Mr. Curtain banged through the doorto the Institute Control Building, itoccurred to Reynie that every door in theInstitute must have been designed to beopened in this violent manner. Mr. Curtainclearly would not bear having to wait fora door to open. Nor to wait for anylagging students, and so Reynie hurriedon. They passed down a number of door-lined corridors, which must be theRecruiter quarters and Executive suites.

At last they came to a plain metal door,whereupon Mr. Curtain stopped soabruptly that Reynie — who had expectedhim to smash it open without slowing —almost ran up against the back of hiswheelchair. Now he saw the numerickeypad beside the door. Mr. Curtain kepthis office locked. Directing Reynie to lookaway, Mr. Curtain punched in the numbercode, the door slid swiftly open, and Mr.Curtain shot into the office. Reynie had toleap forward before the door closedagain.

Mr. Curtain’s office was an oblong,white-stoned room with no windows. Itseemed bony and cold, like an emptyskull. The bare stone floor had not even arug, and there was a drain in it, perhapsfor the sake of cleaning. High on the wall

behind Mr. Curtain’s desk, in a heavysilver frame, hung an old map of Holland(Mr. Curtain’s place of birth, Reynieremembered) along with several sketchesof Stonetown Harbor and NomansanIsland. Beneath the sketches stood a rowof locked cabinets — bookshelves,Reynie realized, but locked so no onecould get at the books. Mr. Curtain’s desk,a dull-polished, Spartan metal affair, wascarefully organized with file boxes andshort stacks of paper. On one corner of thedesk sat an artificial violet in a pot. Theflower looked perfectly real, was inexcellent condition, and unlike Mr.Benedict’s live violet, required no care.How strangely similar the two men were,Reynie thought, and yet how utterlydifferent.

Mr. Curtain motioned for Reynie to sitacross the desk from him, then set hislarge black book upon the desk. It wasclearly an old book, with a binding thathad been mended more than once and withseveral pages dog-eared throughout. Thebook fell open to a place Mr. Curtain hadmarked with a paper clip, and Reynie sawthat the pages were covered withhandwriting. It was a journal!

Mr. Curtain was drumming his fingerson the desk and regarding Reynie insilence. It suddenly occurred to Reyniethat perhaps he was expected to speak.“Did — did you want to show mesomething in that book?”

Mr. Curtain frowned. “This book?Certainly not.” He reached forward andsnapped the journal closed. “I was only

collecting my thoughts, Reynard. Tell me,what do you think of my map? I saw youlooking at it as we entered.”

“Your map of Holland, sir? It’s quitelovely.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Mr. Curtain said, histone shifting to fondness. “I was born inHolland, you see — an orphan likeyourself. I spent my childhood there, too,and a terrible childhood it was. Tauntedand bullied, ridiculed and abused by otherchildren. I don’t miss my childhood, but Ido, on occasion, miss Holland, a countrywith an admirable tradition.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, whydid the other children torment you?”

“ I do mind your asking,” Mr. Curtainsaid coldly, but then he collected himselfand said in a friendlier tone, “We both

know you’ve had similar experiences, dowe not, Reynard? For being different?”

Reynie hesitated, then nodded.“People are capable of great

wickedness, Reynard. They cause eachother such misery. This is why I’mparticularly proud of my work. Despitehaving been persecuted myself, my chiefgoal in life is to bring happiness to all.”He smiled a tight smile, a smile that gaveReynie the feeling Mr. Curtain half-believed what he said, but also thatsomething else, something much larger anddarker, lay beneath.

“Now, Reynard, to the point,” said Mr.Curtain. “I don’t believe there’s ever beensuch a clever student at my Institute asyou. You have a shrewd, strong mind. Isaw this at once. And you are a natural

leader.”“I don’t know about that, sir. I —”“Don’t argue with me, Reynard,” said

Mr. Curtain. “I dislike contradiction.”“Sorry, sir.”Mr. Curtain’s tone softened. “A natural

leader, I say. Oh, you may not see ityourself, but I daresay I can see a bit morethan you. The way your friends gatherabout you, the way your enemies wish todestroy you — don’t think I haven’tnoticed these things. It is familiar to me,you see. You remind me of myself at yourage.”

“I’m . . . flattered, sir. I’m sure youwere a brilliant student.”

“No doubt,” said Mr. Curtain with asmile. “And I had my share of enemies,too. Children despise superior minds, you

know, especially in leaders, who mustoften make unpopular decisions.”

Reynie thought suddenly of Kate andSticky, who had been so shocked at hissuggestion to cheat on the quizzes. Butthey didn’t despise him, he knew that. . . .

“One problem with being a leader,”Mr. Curtain was saying, “is that evenamong your friends you are alone, for it isyou — and you alone — to whom theothers look for final guidance.” (Reyniefelt a pang. That was true, he thought. Hedid feel that way sometimes.) “I’m notsaying this is your experience now,” Mr.Curtain went on, “for you are only a boy.But in your future you may wish to choosecarefully with whom you associate. Nopoint in being a regular sort of person,Reynard. You have a greater calling, a

duty to yourself, and you must pursue itwith all your heart and mind.”

“And . . . how should I do that?” Reynieasked.

“This is what I’m arriving at,” said Mr.Curtain. “When you are a little older andmore experienced, I have you in mind asan Executive.”

“An Executive!”“I see you are amazed. You should not

be. No, the question is not whether youhave the ability to be an Executive — youhave that in abundance — but whether youhave the inclination. You are an orphan, Iknow. No doubt you have little to miss inyour old life. And so I urge you strongly toconsider what might constitute a new life— a life as an Executive.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen —,” Reynie

began.Mr. Curtain screeched — that is,

laughed — and cut Reynie short. “Ah, yes,what you’ve seen. There is more to beingan Executive than what you’ve seen,Reynard. There soon will be, at any rate.See here, I am about to tell you somethingonly my Executives and a handful ofMessengers know. You’re to hold thisinformation in utmost secrecy. If it comesback to me, I will know it was you whotold it, do you understand?”

Reynie could not imagine what he wasabout to be told. His heart and stomachseemed to be switching places inside him,then changing their minds and switchingagain. “I understand, sir.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Curtain. “Here isthe secret: Things are going to change,

Reynard. They are going to improve. Iwill not say precisely how. That willcome later, after you have provenyourself. Suffice it to say that the Instituteas you know it is destined to change.Grand things lie in store. TheImprovement is quite near, and after it hasoccurred there will be no such thing asMessengers anymore. Much to theheartbreak of my students, I know, but it isfor the better.”

Reynie almost started in his seat. Nomore Messengers? Why not?

“Even so,” Mr. Curtain was saying, “Ishall still need Executives, and I intend tokeep on a few of the best Messengers togroom for higher service when they comeof age. Obviously I am thinking of you . . .and perhaps your friend George

Washington, too, though about him I amless certain. He possesses enormoustalent, but I fear the fidgeting belies anunderlying weakness. However, I am loathto dismiss him out of hand. I have an openmind, you see. In fact,” he added with oneof his short, screeching laughs, “openminds are what I prize most!”

Mr. Curtain pressed a button on hischair, and the office door slid open.Reynie was being dismissed.

“Thank you, sir,” Reynie said, steppingout into the corridor, where Jackson stoodwaiting for him.

“Don’t thank me,” Mr. Curtain called asthe door slid closed. “Impress me!”

When at last the lights were out, the girlshad descended from the ceiling, andReynie had told his friends everything thathad happened, the first thing Constancecould think to say was, “You don’t trustme?”

“Come on, Constance,” Sticky said.“That’s just what he wanted Mr. Curtainto think. It’s better than having himsuspicious of Reynie, too, you know.”

Kate pretzeled up her legs and thrusther chin into her hands. “TheImprovement,” she said. “So that’s whatMr. Curtain calls the thing to come. Andhe said he won’t need Messengersanymore?”

“That’s what he said,” said Reynie.“But I knew better than to ask why. I stillneed to prove myself to him.”

“Well, we’d better pass all this on toMr. Benedict,” Sticky said, climbing uponto the television. As soon as the coastwas clear, he sent their report, outliningall they’d learned: Mr. Curtain called thething to come the Improvement, it wascoming very soon, and Messengerswouldn’t be needed. A few minutes later aresponse began flashing among themainland trees.

“Here it comes,” Sticky said.Do not worry, the message said.And then, after a short pause: But do

hurry.

Everything As It Should Be

Before supper the next day, theMysterious Benedict Society, hopeful forclues, climbed the hill beyond the gym totake a look around. It was quite a high hill,but if you moved at a quick pace — andKate always moved at a quick pace, evenwith Constance riding piggyback — youcould follow the winding path to thesummit in a matter of minutes. This Katedid, with Reynie and Sticky panting alongbehind her at some distance. By the timethe boys reached the top, she was alreadysurveying the area with her spyglass.

Reynie mopped his brow. “Seeanything?”

Kate shrugged. “Grass and rocks,bushes and rocks, vines and rocks, sandand rocks. Lots of rocks,” she said,lowering the spyglass. Then, ever socasually, she added, “I also found anothertrap.”

“A trap?” Sticky said, glancing allaround, as if the trap might sneak up andgrab him.

“Don’t worry, it’s way down there, in alittle grassy area behind the InstituteControl Building. You can’t see it fromanywhere else, but if you aim the spyglassover the roof of the classroom building,you can just see it.” She offered thespyglass to Sticky, who declined. Hedidn’t care to see any more traps. Reynie

took a look, though, and sure enough, fromthis spot you could just make out thetelltale drapeweed and boulders behindthe building.

Reynie returned the spyglass to her. “Iwonder why both traps are right next to agroup of boulders.”

“Don’t you think it’s to make themharder to see?” Kate said. “By moonlightor sunlight, the drapeweed would almostalways be in shadow.”

“Crafty,” said Constance.“Drapeweed was a perfect choice,

then,” said Sticky. “It’s a shade-lovingplant.”

“Put away the spyglass,” Reyniemurmured. “We have company.”

Two Helpers had appeared on the pathbelow them, each lugging two buckets full

of gardening tools. They were makingtheir slow way up the hill, clearing weedsand debris from the paths. As they drewnear, they moved wordlessly to the edgeof the path, so as not to disturb thechildren.

“Good afternoon,” Reynie said,forgetting that he usually avoided greetingHelpers. He was nervous about thespyglass and had wanted to seem casual.

The Helpers, a man and a woman,glanced at Reynie with fearful suspicion.To ease their worries he smiled good-naturedly and gave a little wave — thenimmediately regretted it. The Helpers,feeling compelled to reciprocate, stoppedwalking and set down their buckets sothey could wave back.

“Nice buckets,” Kate said.

“Thank you, miss. They do the job,”said one of the Helpers, a short rotundman who looked rather like a bullfrog andsounded even more like one.

At the sound of his voice, Reyniestarted. He knew this man! He took a stepcloser and peered at the man’s face. TheHelper took a step backward and avertedhis eyes.

“Mr. Bloomburg?” Reynie said. “Ialmost didn’t recognize you!”

Greatly discomfited, the Helper turnedto his partner, a wisp of a woman whoseemed to be trying to hide behind herhair. “Is he speaking to you?”

“Have you gone mad?” the womanhissed, first rolling her eyes at her partner,then flashing a miserable, conciliatorysmile at the children. She made an effort

to speak calmly: “He said Mister. Didn’tyou, young man? Anyway, my name’s notBloomburg.”

“Well, neither is mine,” said the man,and, looking at the ground near Reynie’sfeet, he said, “Please don’t take offense,but my name is Harry Harrison.”

“You aren’t Mr. Bloomburg?”“I don’t mean to be contrary,” said

Harry Harrison (the other Helper signaledher vigorous agreement), “and I hope youwon’t be displeased. But no.”

The other children were staring atReynie, who seemed dreadfully confused.“But . . . but . . . how long have youworked here?”

The Helper glanced at his partner. “Along time, wouldn’t you say, Mary?”

“I know I’ve been here a long time,” the

woman said, looking at the ground, “andyou’ve been here for most of that, so yes.”

“I hope that’s okay,” said Harry.“But how long, exactly?” Reynie

pressed.“I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he did

indeed seem very sorry. “I don’t believe Iremember the exact date. Do you, Mary?”

“The exact date, no. But certainly a longtime.”

Reynie put his hands on his head.“You’ve never visited StonetownOrphanage?”

“You seem agitated,” said Mary in aworried tone. “I’m sorry if we’ve upsetyou. Aren’t we sorry, Harry?”

“Very sorry indeed,” said Harry,miserably. “We didn’t mean to botheryou.”

“You haven’t upset me,” said Reynie,sounding very upset. “But are you nottroubled that you can’t remember exactlywhen you came here?”

At this, both Helpers shook their headsand said, “Everything is just as it shouldbe.”

The children’s eyes widened, but theHelpers seemed unaware of the oddity oftheir response. They were only waiting tobe dismissed, hoping the children wouldnot abuse them or get them into trouble.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Reynie said atlast. He seemed finally to be recovering.He even managed to chuckle and say, “I’msorry, I’m really a dunce. You just look somuch like him . . . this person I used toknow. Obviously I’ve made a mistake.Nice talking to you, though.”

The Helpers were relieved. “Oh,indeed . . . very nice . . . a great pleasure .. . ,” they said, taking up their buckets andhurrying down the other side of the hill.

“Okay, what was that all about?” askedKate when they were out of earshot.

Reynie’s brows were knitted withconcentration. “That was Mr. Bloomburg,no doubt about it. His face, his shape, thatfroggy voice — there’s no question it washim. And yet he pretended not to know me— pretended not to be himself. Now whywould he do that?”

“Maybe he’s a secret agent,” Constancesaid. “You know, like Milligan was. Andyou were blowing his cover.”

“Mr. Bloomburg?” Reynie said. “Idoubt it.”

“He did kind of remind me of Milligan,

though,” Sticky said. “Did anyone elsenotice how sad he seemed? How sad theyboth seemed? In their eyes, I mean. I’dnever gotten a good look at a Helper’seyes before — they’re always lookingaway. But with these two I could plainlysee it.”

“That’s true,” Kate reflected. “I don’tthink I’ve ever seen anyone so sad asMilligan, but these two came awfullyclose. Reynie, do you think — Reynie,what’s wrong?”

The color had drained from Reynie’sface. He stood staring off into thedistance, at nothing in particular, andindeed he looked as if nothingness wereexactly what he wished to see.

“Are you okay?” Sticky said.Reynie didn’t answer. He had finally

come to understand something that wouldhave seemed obvious had it not seemedimpossible: Milligan, the missing agents,Mr. Bloomburg — they had all had theirmemories stolen.

Once this had occurred to him, a greatmany puzzle pieces suddenly fit together.When Milligan was captured, he’d thoughtMr. Curtain discovered his amnesia, whenin fact Mr. Curtain had caused it. Thatwas why Mr. Curtain got so angry whenMilligan said his memory was fine. Mr.Curtain had wanted to steal his memory,or wipe it away — or whatever it was thatmight be done to memories — and thenretrain him as a Helper. Just like the otheragents. Mr. Curtain had transformed allthose meddlesome people into his ownprivate workforce, and they didn’t even

realize it.The Helpers had been programmed to

believe that “everything is as it shouldbe.” But you could see it in their eyes.Their lost lives, their lost families —something inside them missed those thingsterribly.

“Reynie, you’re worrying us,” saidKate. “What’s the matter? Reynie!”

At last Reynie’s eyes focused, and heturned to his friends and told them whathe’d just realized.

Kate, Sticky, and Constance stooddumbfounded — struggling, just as Reyniehad, to accept that such a thing waspossible. And yet, once you believed itwas possible, so many things could beexplained. It finally made sense how thespecial recruits, if they’d been kidnapped,

could seem so untroubled: They had beenkidnapped, all right; they just didn’tremember it. And Charlie Peters! He hadseemed so dazed — just like the specialrecruits on their first day — and then sodisturbed when the boys asked him aboutspecial privileges. “I can’t say,” he’d toldthem. He was disturbed because he reallycouldn’t say — he couldn’t remember!

“This is crazy, but it all seems to fit,”Kate said, pacing on the path. “Exceptwhy aren’t the special recruits as sad asthe Helpers? They seem pretty happy to behere.”

“Charlie didn’t seem that sad, either,”Sticky reflected. “He got upset, but hewasn’t really sad. It must be different withlacunar amnesia. Maybe —”

“Wait a minute,” Constance demanded.

“Back up and say that again in humanwords.”

“Lacunar amnesia? It means you can’tremember a specific event.”

“That explains it,” Reynie said. “Youonly get sad if you can’t remember all thethings that are dear to you. If you only losea little of your memory, you just getconfused for a while — confused but notsad.”

“That’s exactly how I feel right now,”said Kate. “Who is Mr. Bloomburg,Reynie? Why is he here?”

“He was a school facilities inspector.He’d come around the orphanage everysix months or so. Mr. Rutger was afraid ofhim — afraid he’d find something wrongand the orphanage would have to pay forrepairs — but Mr. Bloomburg was a good

man. Always laughing, always talking. Hechatted constantly with anyone who’dlisten. And afterward he’d give the kidsginger snaps. A very friendly, very kindman . . .”

Reynie trailed off. He gazed across theharbor channel toward the mainland, as ifby gazing he might somehow get backthere, and not just to the land, but to a timewhen he didn’t know all the things heknew now.

“What was he talking about all thetime?” Kate asked.

“His children,” Reynie said.“Oh,” said Kate soberly.“He loved them dearly,” said Reynie.

“And now look at him, afraid of everychild he sees. It’s not even a year since Isaw him last.”

Kate was putting it together. “So Mr.Bloomburg came to the Institute to makean inspection, which was never supposedto happen, and he didn’t like what hefound —”

“And Mr. Curtain made sure that henever went back,” Reynie finished.

“But how could Mr. Bloomburg forgeth i s children?” Sticky protested. “Itdoesn’t seem possible. Can it really bepossible? Can any of this be possible?”

Reynie made no reply.“I just can’t believe it,” Sticky said,

wishing he really couldn’t.

Of Families Lost and Found

The mood in their meeting that night wassubdued: no bickering, no laughter, only ageneral feeling of grim resolve. Now thatthe children finally knew some things, theyall rather missed not knowing them.

If only they had proof of what theyknew! But all they had was their word,and the word of children, they knew,amounted to nothing. If the authoritieswouldn’t listen to Mr. Benedict, theycertainly wouldn’t listen to children.Reynie and the others could argue all daythat Mr. Curtain was erasing people’s

memories, that dozens of governmentagents were being held captive onNomansan Island — but they couldn’tbegin to explain why it was all happening,and without proof, no one would helpthem try to find out.

“If we could lay our hands on thatjournal,” Kate had said, “do you think thatwould be proof enough?”

“Fat chance,” said Sticky. “Mr. Curtainalways has it with him.”

“Anyway, even if we stole it andconvinced people to read it,” said Reynie,“they’d think it was a hoax. Mr. Curtain’smessages have made sure of that.”

“At least we could read it,” Kate said.“You know it’s chock full of information,and some of it might be exactly what Mr.Benedict needs. . . .” She sighed. “But

you’re right, swiping it would be toorisky. I wish we could do something,though.”

“We’re doing all we can, aren’t we?”Sticky said. “We’re telling Mr. Benedicteverything we know.”

“Speaking of that,” said Reynie, “weshould send our report. There’s a lot totell.”

So much to tell, in fact, that Sticky wascomplaining of a blister on his finger bythe time he’d finished the report. A fewminutes later a reply flashed from themainland trees:

What has been lost may yet be found.Have hope.

“Is he saying he has hope,” saidConstance irritably, “or is he telling us tohave hope?”

“Either way,” Reynie said, “I think hebelieves those people might be able to gettheir memories back. Maybe he thinks hecan find a way to do it. That’s a prettyhopeful thing, isn’t it?”

“Assuming we can stop whatever Mr.Curtain’s up to,” Sticky said.

Constance stood up. “You’re nothelping my hopefulness, GeorgeWashington. I’m going to bed.” Shefrowned at the ceiling, then looked atKate. “I’ll need a ride.”

After the meeting was adjourned andthe girls had gone, Sticky and Reynieclimbed into their bunks. Reynie hardlyfelt like sleeping, but he did need to calmdown and clear his thoughts, and so lyingin his bunk he turned to his usual method.He wrote a mental letter:

Dear Miss Perumal,Every time I think of poor Mr.

Bloomburg and his family, my mindreturns to you. How would yourmother — whom I know you love somuch — feel if you just suddenlyvanished from her life? It is anawful thing to consider. She lovesand depends upon you, and I knowyou depend upon her, too. I neverthink of you without rememberingyour mother, too.

With these thoughts on my mind, Ihad a strange feeling earliertonight. Looking around at Sticky,Kate, and Constance, I wonderedhow I’d feel if one of themdisappeared. Sometimes Constancedrives me crazy, but now I can’t

imagine being here without her. Ican’t say for sure, because I haveno experience, but — well, is thiswhat family is like? The feeling thateveryone’s connected, that with onepiece missing the whole thing’sbroken?

Reynie paused in his letter to consider. Ofthe four of them, Sticky was the only oneto have a memory of family life. Was itworse for him, Reynie wondered, to havefelt loved and then rejected? Or was itworse to have always felt alone? Katesaid she had no memory of her deadmother, nor of her father who abandonedher. And Constance — well, they knewalmost nothing of Constance, but Reynie

had the feeling that she, too, had neverknown a family.

Reynie’s mind went back to his lastnight at Mr. Benedict’s house. It seemedso long ago now, yet he remembered itwith absolute clarity. Much like tonight,he had felt too worked up to sleep, anddespite the late hour he had slippedquietly out of bed and crept down to Mr.Benedict’s study. Mr. Benedict hadwelcomed Reynie to sit up with him if hehad trouble sleeping; and obviously he’dquite expected Reynie to do so, for whenReynie arrived, a cup of hot tea waswaiting for him on Mr. Benedict’s desk.There was even a little jar of honey (andjudging from the way Mr. Benedict’spapers stuck to his fingers as he worked,he had already been into it himself).

“You have a question for me?” Mr.Benedict said, as Reynie sat down.

Reynie laughed. “How do you alwaysknow?”

“I’m not sure,” Mr. Benedict admitted.“Perhaps it’s a matter of empathy. I knowthat if I were you I’d have questions.” Hescratched the top of his head with one ofhis pencils. “Though come to think of it,perhaps it’s a matter of odds. You seemthe type always to have questions. Thus atany given moment, it’s a safe bet for me toassume you have one.”

“I was wondering if you ever wish youhad a family,” Reynie sputtered. He hadn’tmeant to speak so directly, but once he’dbegun to ask it, the words just tumbled out.

Mr. Benedict nodded. “Certainly whenI was your age I did. But not anymore.”

Reynie wasn’t sure whether to becomforted or depressed by this revelation.He’d been wondering how it would feelfor him to grow up without relatives.“You . . . you grew out of it, then? Youstopped wanting it?”

“Oh, no, Reynie, you don’t grow out ofit. It’s just that once you acquire a family,you no longer need to wish for one.”

Reynie was caught off guard. “Youhave a family?”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Benedict replied.“You must remember, family is often bornof blood, but it doesn’t depend on blood.Nor is it exclusive of friendship. Familymembers can be your best friends, youknow. And best friends, whether or notthey are related to you, can be yourfamily.”

Reynie had drunk up those words likelife-saving medicine. Even though the nextmorning he would leave on a dangerousmission, even though he knew somethingterrible was coming down the pike, thosewords of Mr. Benedict’s had made allgood things seem possible. Reynie hadgone to bed thinking of the people hemight one day — if everything turned outall right — consider a part of his family.

And now, lying in his dark room at theInstitute in an altogether different mood,Reynie finished the letter he had begun toone of those very people.

At least I had you, Miss Perumal, ifonly for a while. Maybe you weren’tmy family, but you were the closestthing I had — maybe that I’ll ever

have. And now things are awful andseem likely to get worse, and Iworry that I’ll never have thechance to tell you what it meant tome. . . .

“Reynie?” whispered Sticky from thebunk below.

Reynie cleared his throat. “Yes?”“Were you having a bad dream? It

sounded like you were crying.”Reynie wiped his eyes. “I just . . . just

can’t get over what he’s done to thosepoor people.”

“I know,” Sticky said. “It’s maddeningto think what might be in that journal of his— to think there might be something wecould use to stop him . . . but I knowthere’s no way we can lay hands on it.”

Reynie sat bolt upright. “Sticky!”Sticky nearly fell out of bed. “What?

What is it?”“Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong

way,” Reynie said. “Maybe we don’t haveto lay hands on it!”

Tactical Cactupi

The last class was dismissed into aperfect fall afternoon. Blue skies, cooltemperatures, the subtlest of breezes. Thesun seemed to rest upon a distant hilltoplike a giant orange on a giant table.

On the plaza, Mr. Curtain sat in hisfavorite spot, gazing off toward thebridge, reading a newspaper with a lookof satisfaction, occasionally making a notein his journal. A few students had gatheredat the edges of the plaza and in the rockgarden, passing the time before supper. Asalways, they gave Mr. Curtain plenty of

room. No one dared go near him while hewas working — which is why so manyjaws dropped when Reynard Muldoonwas spotted walking toward him. Did thenew kid not know any better? Was he justdying for a visit to the Waiting Room? Nostudent had ever approached Mr. Curtainon the plaza before.

Reynie guessed this, which is why hisbreath came so short. But keeping hisshoulders squared and one hand behindhis back, he did what no other studentdared to do. He approached from thefront, knowing he would have only oneshot at this; his plan would be spoiled ifMr. Curtain turned his chair. “Mr. Curtain,sir?”

Mr. Curtain glanced up, his lensesgleaming like polished chrome in the sun.

“Sorry to bother you,” Reynie saidquickly. “But I couldn’t help noticing thatyour book has a lot of dog-eared pages. Imust say I was surprised.”

Mr. Curtain seemed unsure whether tobe angry or incredulous. “You’resurprised I have pages to which I oftenrefer?”

“Oh, no, sir! I’m surprised nobody hasever given you a suitable present.” Reynieshowed Mr. Curtain what he’d beenholding behind his back — a fistful of thinblue ribbons. “Book markers! I thoughtthey should be special, so I asked alaundry Helper for some sash material —I’m sure you recognize that shade of blue— which she cut into ribbons and sewedup nicely along the edges.” Reynie heldout the ribbons, which were indeed

elegantly stitched. “I hope you like them.”Mr. Curtain was taken aback. He was

flattered, it was true, yet his expressionclearly showed that he agreed withReynie, that he rather thought someoneshould have given him such a presentbefore now. It was a proper attention thathad been lacking. “Thank you, Reynard,”he said with a tight nod. “An appropriategift indeed, from one young scholar to hissuperior. I shall put them to good use.”Mr. Curtain returned to his newspaper.

“Sir?” Reynie said. “Aren’t you goingto put them in?”

Mr. Curtain grunted impatiently, hisexpression darkening. The boy was anuisance. And yet the nuisance hadflattered him, and the ribbons would beuseful. His expression softened a little.

Finally he sighed and set aside hisnewspaper. Flipping his journal back tothe first dog-eared page, he slipped aribbon inside. He was beginning to turnthe page when Reynie said, “What exactlyis that book, sir?”

Mr. Curtain paused. “It’s a journal,Reynard. Every great thinker keeps ajournal, you know.” He returned to hisbook-marking.

“I must say, it’s an awfully big journal.”“What better place to record ‘awfully

big’ ideas, eh?” said Mr. Curtain, whichwas just what Reynie had thought hewould say. “Now, Reynard, no moreinterruptions. I have a great deal of workto do.” Mr. Curtain flipped to the nextdog-eared page.

“Sir? One last question?”

“ A very last question, Reynard,” Mr.Curtain said, looking up. “Go ahead.”

“Why are you always gazing off towardthe bridge?”

“Ah, I suppose it does appear that I’mlooking at the bridge,” Mr. Curtain saidwith a smile. “In fact I’m gazing fondlytoward one of my greatestaccomplishments — the tidal turbines. Itrust you know about the turbines?”Reynie nodded. “I thought so; they’re quitefamous. They are an extraordinaryinvention, you see, and part of the greattradition.”

“The tradition, sir?”“Do you not recall my mentioning my

homeland’s admirable tradition? I wasreferring to the great conquest — theconquest of the sea. Holland claimed

much of its land from the sea, you know.Dikes and polders, my boy! Nothing in theworld less controllable than the sea, andyet the Dutch found a way to control it.And now, in my own way, I have done thevery same thing. My turbines capture theocean’s infinite energy, which I use for myown purposes. Is it not remarkable?”

“It’s the most remarkable thing I’veever heard,” Reynie said, equallyimpressed by Mr. Curtain’s remarkablevanity.

“No doubt,” said Mr. Curtain. Heclapped his hands together. “But enoughdelay. Even greater things lie ahead,Reynard, much greater things, and we mustwaste no time achieving them.” He beganpaging through the rest of his journal,inserting the ribbons.

Mr. Curtain was turning the pages withdisheartening speed, but Reynie dared notinterrupt again. Instead he allowed himselfone glance — and a brief one, at that —behind Mr. Curtain, toward the hill pathleading up beyond the dormitory. A shortdistance from the bottom, the path curvedaround a large potted cactus. Nothingunusual about this — there were manysuch cactuses set along the Institute paths— but this particular cactus seemed tohave several arms. A cactupus, Reyniethought with an inward smile.

“There,” said Mr. Curtain, holding upthe journal, with the ends of ribbonssticking out here and there. “Satisfied?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Reynie, though intruth he was disappointed. He could seemany dog-eared pages remaining. (He

would have liked to bring more ribbons,but the timid Helper had given him all thesash material she could spare. She’d beenafraid to disappoint him but terrified togive him more.)

“You’re quite welcome,” Mr. Curtainreplied, as if it were Reynie who’d beengiven the present and not himself. “Andnow you may leave.”

This time Reynie needed no urging. Hehurried off the plaza and across the rockgarden, where several students gaped athim, surprised to see him still alive. Heeven seemed to be happy. Then Reyniereached the path and hurried uphill towardthe cactupus.

Constance stood high above on thehilltop, keeping a lookout — actuallydoing what she’d been asked to do, which

was promising. Behind the cactus, Katewas on her hands and knees, and Stickystood precariously on her back. He waspeering through Kate’s spyglass, which hehad steadied atop a high cactus branch.

“Did he get anything?” Reyniewhispered to Kate, so as not to disturbSticky.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Stickysaid. “I did get a little, and I’ll get more ifhe’ll just write anything. He’s on a freshpage, but now he’s gazing away again.”

“Only a little?” Reynie said.“He was turning the pages pretty fast. . .

.”“Sorry, I tried to stall him as best I

could.”“And I could only see a small part of

each page,” Sticky said. He glanced down

at Reynie with an impish smile. “But I doremember what I saw.”

“Is it any good?” Reynie asked.“Beats me. I haven’t had time to think

about it. There’s a difference betweenremembering and thinking, at least forme.” He returned to the spyglass. “Couldyou see us at all?”

“Kate’s forearms and your elbows, butyou’re pretty well hidden,” Reynie said.“Anyway, from below it’s impossible tosee what you’re doing.”

“What about from above?” Stickyasked. “Are we still clear in thatdirection?”

Reynie turned to check on Constance. Itwas good that he did. Constance washurrying down the path toward them. ForConstance, though, “hurrying” meant

running a few steps and tripping, running afew steps more and stumbling. . . .

And walking about twenty yards behindher was Jackson.

“Jackson’s coming!” Reynie hissed.He was immediately knocked to the

ground. Sticky, in his fright, had fallen offKate’s back and crashed onto Reynie. Thespyglass flew out of Sticky’s hand andonto the gravel path . . . and before theboys could gather themselves, Jackson hadbrushed past Constance — knocking herroughly to her knees — and was uponthem. “What’s going on here?”

“We were . . . trying to make a humanpyramid,” Reynie said.

“A human pyramid? With three kids?”Jackson said with a sneer. “That’spathetic. And what’s this?” He had seen

the spyglass and was bending to pick it up.Kate sprang forward and snatched it

away. “It’s mine, that’s what it is!”Jackson stared at Kate, amazed a

student had spoken to him that way. Thenhis amazement gave way to anger. “You’llshow it to me here,” he said in athreatening voice, “or else in the WaitingRoom. It’s your choice, Wetherall.”

Kate stared back at him, defiant. Theothers held their breath.

“Fine,” Jackson said with a smile. Hewas beginning to enjoy himself. “Let mejust tell you how this works. I’m about tograb your arm — and I intend to squeezeso hard it hurts — and escort you to theWaiting Room. If you try to run away orfight me, I’ll personally see to it that youget kicked out of the Institute . . . after you

go to the Waiting Room. How does thatsound?”

Kate had no choice. Reluctantly sheheld out the spyglass. As Jackson snatchedit from her grasp, Sticky turned away, hisface hidden in his hands. He couldn’t bearto look.

Jackson burst into laughter. “Akaleidoscope? You risked going to theWaiting Room for a kaleidoscope?” Heput his eye to the lens.

“Yes, but it’s my kaleidoscope,” Katesaid.

“Well, you can keep it,” Jackson said indisgust. He handed Kate her spyglassback. “This is the sorriest kaleidoscopeI’ve ever seen.”

Reynie grimaced his way throughstudytime, trying to ignore a broadcast thatwent on for two hours. After it ended,Reynie noticed Sticky was still grimacing.Sticky had spent all of studytimereproducing what he’d seen in Mr.Curtain’s journal and was still at his desk.“What’s the matter?” Reynie asked him.“Forget something?”

Sticky groaned. “Forgetting isn’t theproblem. Art is the problem.” He threwdown his pencil. “There was a diagram inthere, but I can’t draw worth a flip. Wordsand numbers, yes. Pictures? Hopeless.”

“You can always try again,” Reyniesaid, looking over Sticky’s shoulder at thedrawing. It seemed to depict a mound ofspaghetti with numbered meatballs. “Wehave a minute before lights out. It’ll be

easier if you don’t have to use theflashlight.”

“Flashlight or floodlight, it won’tmatter. I’d do just as well in the dark. Thiswas my fourth try. It was supposed to be adiagram of Mr. Curtain’s brain, with lotsof numbers on every region.”

Reynie stared doubtfully at the picture.“Are you sure it was Mr. Curtain’sbrain?”

“It said ‘MY BRAIN’ at the top of thepage.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t suppose there was akey to those numbers, was there? Or anexplanation of the diagram?”

Sticky shook his head. “Not on thatpage.”

Reynie patted him on the back. “Thendon’t worry about it. We don’t need a

diagram to know what a brain looks like.”Sticky’s face shone with relief.

“Really? Oh, I hoped you would say that!”He tore the page into tiny bits. Reyniehelped him shred the other attempteddrawings, too, most of which resembledmisshapen balls of yarn with numberedthreads. They finished just as the girlsmade their appearance in the ceiling.

Everyone was eager to begin. In no timethe lights were off and they were allseated in a circle on the floor.

“Okay, I have all the entries writtendown,” said Sticky, showing them a thinstack of papers. “They cover a lot of time— the first is from years ago, and the lastwas written today. Shall I read themaloud?”

The others agreed, and so, starting with

the first entry, Sticky read:

No one seems to realize how muchwe are driven by FEAR, the essentialcomponent of human personality.Everything else — from ambition tolove to despair — derives in someway from this single powerfulemotion. Must find the best way tomake use of this.

“Well, that’s cheery,” Kate said.“I’ll bet Mr. Curtain’s just a big

scaredy cat,” Constance said. “So hethinks everyone else is, too.”

Sticky, who happened to considerhimself a prime specimen of scaredy cat,

moved on without comment. The nextentry, he said, was dated a year later:

Much to my disappointment, I haveconcluded there is no such thing asperfect control. I have come tounderstand, however, that the illusionof perfect control can amount to thesame thing.

“He’s all about illusions,” Reyniereflected. “The Institute’s ‘lack of rules’is an illusion, not to mention its excellentreputation. And the Emergency, too — thehidden messages make everything seemmore hopeless and out of control than itreally is. But then where is this illusion of

control?”“I didn’t see anything about that,”

Sticky replied. He glanced at his papers.“The next few entries are all about usingchildren as filters to keep the messageshidden. It’s nothing we don’t know. I’llskip them for now. I’m afraid the next partis a bit technical. Ready?”

The others said they were (thoughConstance squeezed her eyes shut as ifexpecting it to hurt), and Sticky continued:

Brainsweeping a success! High-power, close-contact transmissionworks perfectly well as a forcibleprocedure! Retraining should alsosucceed: ‘Contentment’ messageswill 1) counteract a brainswept

individual’s tendency to question,and 2) lessen the chronicmournfulness effect.

Predicted side effects ofretraining: timidity, anxiety, self-doubt.

Conclusion: satisfactory.

Constance put her hands on her head.“Umm . . .”

“Brainsweeping must be Mr. Curtain’sterm for destroying people’s memories,”Reynie said. “If they’re in his machine —I think that’s what he means by ‘close-contact transmission’ — then he canbrainsweep them against their will, whichis what he means by ‘forcible.’ That mustbe what happened to Milligan, except

Milligan got away before Mr. Curtaincould ‘retrain’ him.”

“But the other agents weren’t so lucky,”Sticky said. “Mr. Curtain retrained themwith ‘contentment’ messages that tell themnot to question anything!”

“And to feel less sad,” Kate said. “Butthat part must not have worked so well.They all still suffer from that pesky‘chronic mournfulness effect.’”

“There’s more about it in the nextentry,” Sticky said.

Long-term brainsweeping andretraining results mixed: Helpersmanageable but still dispirited.Worse, too-frequent relapse ofmemory, often in association with

trigger object. Typical episodebegins with the last important thingremembered: names of significantpersons, unfulfilled obligations, etc.Most irritating. Note: Two of lastfour episodes occurred near mirrors.Reflection must be promoting self-identification. Solution: Removemirrors.

Kate rubbed her hands together. “NowI’ m really starting to feel like a secretagent. We’re figuring things out! What’snext, Sticky?”

Sticky checked his papers. “We’realmost finished. The next entry explainswhy the special recruits aren’t so sad. It’smore or less what we thought.”

“Can you just give it in a nutshell?”Constance asked, then added: “Please?”

The others resisted looking at oneanother, and no one spoke. It was perhapsthe first time Constance had ever used thatword, and though she’d quite possiblysaid it by accident, no one wished to spoilthe moment. If they mentioned it aloud, shemight retract it. And so Sticky onlynodded and gave the next entry in anutshell.

“Remember when we talked aboutlacunar amnesia, or forgetting particularevents? Apparently Mr. Curtain can usehis machine to wipe out specificmemories without taking away everything— without doing a complete brainsweep.It makes people dazed for a while, butthen they get better, and the memories

rarely come back.”“So if those Recruiters had managed to

kidnap us,” Kate said, “Mr. Curtain wouldhave made sure we didn’t remember it.That’s why special recruits aren’tscared.”

“But because they weren’t completelybrainswept,” Reynie said, “they aren’tsad, either. Which makes them betterExecutive material. I’ll bet most of theExecutives used to be special recruits.Maybe even all of them. After all, theyhad no families to return to on themainland.”

“I suppose that should make it harderfor me to dislike them,” Kate observed.“Since they were kidnapped orphans andall.”

Everyone considered this for a minute.

Then they looked at one another and shooktheir heads. They couldn’t help it. Theystill disliked the Executives.

“But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t tryto help them,” Reynie pointed out. “If Mr.Benedict can figure out how to bring theirmemories back, maybe they can start over— maybe they’ll learn how not to be sonasty.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” Kate said.Sticky flipped a page. “Guess what?

The date of this next entry is the day wearrived on the island.”

At last — all facilities nowcomplete! Proper officials in properplaces. Public mood at proper levels.The Improvement is very close at

hand. Everything is ready exceptfinal modifications and the final fewshipments, one of which is beingloaded even as I write. Farewell!I’ve dispatched a Helper crew toadjust turbine output — shall requirea great deal more from them incoming days.

“We saw that!” Kate said. “We sawthem working on the turbines! And wesaw that truck the Helpers were loading!”

“Those crates,” Reynie said. Heslapped his forehead. “I’m so stupid! Itshould have occurred to me. . . .” Helooked at the others, feeling completelyfoolish. “I’m sure you already know whatI’m talking about.”

The others stared back at him, havingno idea.

“I liked that part about your beingstupid, though,” said Constance.

“Recruiters were driving that truck,remember?” Reynie said. “So it must havehad something valuable in it — somethingMr. Curtain wanted to protect. Why elsewould he need such security?”

“Oh, yeah, I was just going to think ofthat,” Kate said with a laugh. “You’re toohard on yourself, Reynie.”

“But if I’d thought of it sooner,” Reynieargued, “Mr. Benedict might have beenable to investigate! For all we know, therest of the shipments have been sent out bynow. We may never know what was inthose crates.”

“Maybe not,” said Kate, “but we can

still report it, and we can keep an eye outourselves. Right?”

“True,” Reynie admitted. He still feltlike a dolt, but he preferred not to dwellon the feeling. “Sticky, how many moreentries do you have to read?”

“Two,” Sticky said. The next one wasthis:

Success! As of this morning, themessages are transmitting directly.To my great satisfaction, theWhisperer is now capable of

“That’s it?” Kate asked.“Sorry,” Sticky said. “His hand was

covering the rest.”

“The Whisperer,” Constance said. “Sothat’s what he calls his dumb machine.”

Reynie said nothing. He was wonderingwhat new thing the Whisperer wascapable of now. He knew one thing forsure: If Mr. Curtain was happy about it,then it spelled bad news.

Sticky was preparing to read the lastjournal entry. “This is where he seems togo completely bonkers. I can’t make headsor tails of it.”

It’s Curtain for You! Trust LedropthaCurtain. Curtain makes things better.Feel certain about Curtain. No, Feelcertain with Curtain. Curtain HasControl.

“Bizarre!” said Kate.“Is he talking to himself?” asked

Constance.“Sounds like he’s trying to convince

somebody of something,” Reynie said.“But who would that be?”

“It just supports my personal opinionthat he’s a wacko,” Kate said with ashrug. “But wacko or not, he’s awfullycareful about keeping his secrets — whichis why this has been so extremely,marvelously, wonderfully satisfying!”

Unable to sit still any longer, Kateleaped to her feet, pumped her arms in theair, and in a barely restrained whispersaid, “Can you believe we actually spiedin Mr. Curtain’s journal and got awaywith it? The Sender himself! I say threecheers for us! Three cheers for the

Mysterious Benedict Society!”Reynie and Sticky whispered three

cheers, but Constance rolled her eyes andsaid cheering was for babies.

“I see you’re back to being yourself,”Kate said with a chuckle. “But I’m notgoing to let it bother me.” Constancescowled and started to reply, but Katewent right on talking. “We’re on a roll,everyone. We’re really gettingsomewhere! I say we report all this to Mr.B, then tomorrow we take a peek at theloading area with my spyglass. Let’s try tofigure out what’s in those crates!”

The others agreed; they sent theirreport, and two hours later Reynie wasdrifting away to sleep, having finished anupbeat mental letter to Miss Perumal andfeeling hopeful for the first time in ages.

Maybe, he thought, Mr. Benedict reallycould do something to stop Mr. Curtain.And then maybe he could help Mr.Bloomsburg and Milligan and everyoneelse get their memories back. It waspossible, wasn’t it?

Reynie breathed deeply, stretched out,and let sleep overcome him. As dark asthings seemed, at least they didn’t seementirely hopeless. The children werefinally making some progress. Who knewwhat would happen tomorrow?

Of course, Reynie could not know whatwould happen, and this was fortunate. Forif he had known, he would never haveslept so easily.

Caught in the Act

The very next day Sticky was caughtcheating. In a display of triumphant fury,Jillson marched to the rear of the room,snatched Sticky’s hand — with whichhe’d been tugging his ear lobe — anddemanded, “What’s this?”

Terrified, Sticky mumbled, “My . . . myhand.”

“Yes, but what were you doing withyour hand?”

“Scratching my ear?”“I’m not as stupid as I look, you know!”

Jillson roared, then hesitated, realizing

what she’d said, before scowling andsaying, “That’s it, Washington, you’regoing to the Waiting Room! Stand up!”

Jillson glanced at Reynie and Kate, andat Constance in the back, obviouslysuspecting one of them as a cheatingpartner. But the fidgety bald boy was theonly one she felt confident about. “Standup,” she repeated, yanking Sticky to hisfeet as if he weighed no more than a bird.“The rest of you sit tight. I’ll send anotherExecutive to monitor your quiz — which,thanks to this cheater, you’ll all have tostart over from the beginning.”

Boos and jeers erupted as Sticky wasdragged from the room, casting one lastfrightened glance back at Reynie beforedisappearing. With an awful, helplessfeeling, Reynie watched him go. He

looked back at Kate, who shook her headgrimly. Sticky was in deep trouble. Theywere all in deep trouble.

“Too bad, so sad,” said Martina.“What exactly is the Waiting Room?”

asked Eustace Crust, one of the specialrecruits.

“Ask Corliss Danton,” said Martinasmugly. “Tell them, Corliss.”

Corliss, who at the mention of theWaiting Room had buried his face in hishands, was silently wiping tears from hiseyes. “It’s . . . just a place you go whenyou’re waiting to meet with Mr. Curtain.An . . . unpleasant place.”

Reynie looked at Constance, whoseface was even more sullen than usual, andfearful as well. He wanted to give her acomforting look, but she wouldn’t even

glance in his direction. Anyway, whatgood would a look do? He was no moreconfident than Constance that the endwasn’t hurtling toward them.

It was bad enough that Sticky’s worstfear had come true, but if Sticky told Mr.Curtain everything — and who couldblame him if he cracked under suchpressure? — it would mean the end oftheir mission . . . and the beginning ofsomething else. What would Mr. Curtaindo if he found out? Would he take awayeverything? A complete brainsweep? Andnot just for Sticky but for all of them?

Maybe they weren’t even worth thetrouble, Reynie thought grimly. They wereorphans, after all — or in Sticky’s case,believed to be. Might they not just . . . gomissing? Departed, Mr. Curtain would

call it. Really departed. Reynie had apanicky feeling in his belly, the kind healways got when he dreamed he’d fallenfrom a precipice. Only with dreams healways woke up.

After their last class of the day, theMysterious Benedict Society — minus onemember — gathered in the rock garden.

“I hope Sticky isn’t suffering terribly,”Kate said. “He dreaded the Waiting Roommore than anything. If it had to happen toone of us, it should have been me.”

“Don’t worry,” Constance said glumly.“You may still get your chance.”

Reynie didn’t point out that the WaitingRoom might be the least of their worries.

“Look, until Sticky comes back, I think weneed to keep to our plan. Let’s go checkout the loading area.”

The others agreed, and, with Constanceriding piggyback, they left the rock gardenand walked across the empty plaza. It wasa bleak day, and no one, not even Mr.Curtain, was out to enjoy it. There were afew students on the path that led to thegym, however, and Reynie and the otherspassed them without a word. Kate haddecided the hill beyond the gym wouldoffer the best view of the loading area, sothis was where they were headed now.

As the children mounted the hill, anearly evening mist began to settle, andthrough its haze the lights of distant harbortraffic shone in blurred colors. Far to thenorth a foghorn groaned, reaching them

less as a sound than as a trembling in theirbellies, as if their bodies were pipes in asomber old organ. It was a somberevening all around.

Reaching the summit did nothing toimprove their mood. Far below them,down by the bridge gate, the loading areawas completely deserted. No trucks, noHelpers, no crates in sight, no point evenin getting out the spyglass. The gate guardswere huddled in their guardhouse, keepingwarm and dry. Reynie gazed over thewater toward the mainland shore. Itseemed no more than a shadow in the mist,as impossible to determine as their fate.

Reynie’s gaze drifted back toward theInstitute. The usual crowd of students hadgathered at the gym, waiting for the doorsto open. From this height they looked like

insects, eagerly massed at the entrance ofa bug trap. In theory the gym was open allday long, and students were encouraged touse it “any time at all,” but of courseclasses, meals, and studytime took up mostof the day. In the remaining free minutes,hopeful students often took turns tugging atthe door, which remained stubbornlyclosed. Just before supper, however,Jackson and many of the other Executiveswould appear from inside the gym and letthe students in. If anyone had the gall toask why the door had been locked,Jackson would respond that it hadn’t beenlocked; the students had simply beenunable to open it.

Constance, too, was looking down atthe little crowd of students milling outsidethe locked doors. “The gym’s always

open, except when it isn’t,” she said,mimicking Jackson. She mopped her dampface with her damp sleeve. “What do theExecutives do in there, anyway?”

Constance had only meant to expressher annoyance (in fact she was composingan insulting poem in which Executiveslicked the gym floor clean), but Reynielooked at her as if she’d turned to gold.

“That’s a good question! I alwaysassumed they were exercising — justkeeping the gym to themselves. But what ifthey’re up to something else?”

Kate brought out the spyglass. “Guesswhat? There’s a window in the back. Icould take a peek. I’d need to find a wayto reach it, though — it’s a good ten feetoff the ground. What do you think,Reynie?”

Several things raced through Reynie’smind at once. It would mean going off thepath, which meant risking traps, not tomention serious trouble. But maybe theywere already in serious trouble and didn’tknow it yet, and what they found out mightbe extremely important! Reynie frowned.He wished he had more time to deliberate,but there was no more time — the gymdoor would be unlocked any minute.

“I’ll go with you,” he said. “I can standon your shoulders.”

Kate grinned. “Okay! Here’s the plan:We’ll drop behind this hill to be out ofsight of the gym, then circle around thosesmaller hills and sneak up from the back.”

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” saidConstance.

“We need a lookout. From up here you

can see everything, and we’ll be able tosee you. If anyone heads around thebuilding, jump up and down and waveyour arms.”

“Oh, goody,” said Constance. “I get tostand here by myself and be misted on.”

But Reynie and Kate had alreadyhurried off. They moved quickly downhill,running over damp sand and scrub brushand narrow swaths of grass, steering clearof boulders, keeping an eye out fordrapeweed. Finally they came up to a lowrise at the rear of the gym. Here they werehidden from view, and as Kate waited forReynie to catch his breath, she jerked herthumb behind them, where the landerupted into a jumbled labyrinth of dunesand rocky hills. “Our escape route,” shewhispered, “if we need one.”

Reynie squinted up to the high hilltopwhere they’d left Constance. He could justmake out her small red figure against thebackdrop of gray sky. He thought shemight be moving, though only slightly. “IsConstance waving? Can you tell?”

Kate peered through her spyglass. “Justpicking her nose. Let’s move.”

Quickly they climbed over the rise andscrambled down behind the gym, wherethe ground gave over entirely to crumbledgray stone, as if the building had shedpieces of itself onto the land around it.Good, Reynie thought. No footprints. Hewas worried, though, by the discovery ofa back door that Kate hadn’t seen orthought to mention. Reynie pointed andfrowned. They didn’t want surprisevisitors. Kate was already working on it

— she pointed to a large petrified treelimb lying among the stony rubble nearby.Together she and Reynie dragged it overand braced it against the bottom of thedoor.

Kate gave a satisfied nod and kneltdown. Reynie climbed onto her shoulders.He steadied himself with his hands againstthe stone wall and got his feet set on hershoulders. Slowly, smoothly, Katestraightened up. Reynie’s chin came to thebottom of the window. He could just seeinside . . . and what he saw was the mostcurious thing.

Two lines of Recruiters — there weredozens of them — stood back to backdown the length of the gym floor, as ifpreparing for a dance. Each of them facedsome kind of cut-out figure, but Reynie

wasn’t sure what they were. At the far endof the lines stood Jackson, S.Q., and agreat many other Executives. Jackson wasshouting something Reynie couldn’t makeout. Again as if in a dance, the Recruitersadopted different poses. Some spreadtheir arms as if welcoming an embrace.Others reached out as if to shake hands ingreeting. And still others raised theirhands, palms forward, in a calminggesture that Reynie recognized too well.All of them were smiling, smiling.Jackson shouted again.

Reynie could see the figures moreplainly now. The figures came in all sizes,from small children to full-grown adults.He shuddered.

This was no dance. The Recruiterswere preparing for something. But what?

Hadn’t Mr. Curtain’s journal said newchildren were no longer necessary? Andthis many Recruiters certainly weren’trequired to guard the bridge gates. No,they were preparing for something else.The Improvement. The thing to come.

“All right, everyone!” Jackson shouted.“That’s it for today!”

The Executives started making theirway down the lines, collecting the paperfigures. The practice was over, and itsuddenly occurred to Reynie that he’dnever seen Recruiters leaving the gym —which must mean they used the back door.His stomach did a flip. He and Kateneeded to get out of here. “Kate,” Reyniewhispered, glancing down. “We need —”

He didn’t finish, for just then he glancedback through the window and saw S.Q.

staring up at him.Fear shot through Reynie like a dose of

hot poison. His nerves tingled all over hisbody, and in his panic to get down, hetoppled from Kate’s shoulders.

“Are you all right?” Kate whispered.“Run!” Reynie cried, regaining his feet.

“Run, run, run!”Reynie was halfway up the rise when

Kate overtook him and caught his arm inan iron grip. “Come on!”

The back door gave an ominous thump,then another, followed by the sound ofangry curses. The tree limb had boughtthem a few extra seconds. Together theydashed up the rise, with Reynie halfrunning and half being dragged behindKate, feeling as if he’d been tied to agalloping horse. He cast one glance up at

Constance — a red smudge on the hilltop,jumping up and down and wavingfuriously — and then he and Kate flungthemselves down the other side of the rise,out of sight.

“Tell me they didn’t recognize you,”Kate said, pulling him to his feet.

“I don’t know,” said Reynie.“Then let’s head for the hills and hope

for the best.”And so they fled: away from the gym,

away from the paths, away from theInstitute — into the tangled rock-jungle ofsand dunes, ridges, and crags that made upthe island’s interior. Weaving among thehills, keeping low, constantly changingdirections, they ran as if their livesdepended upon it — which indeed theymight have. In his mind’s eye Reynie kept

seeing S.Q.’s disapproving, accusingeyes. Had he been recognized? Had hebeen?

When Kate thought they’d put enoughdistance between themselves and the gym,and was convinced they hadn’t beenfollowed, the two children hunkeredbeneath a scraggly copse of stunted cedartrees to rest. It was just in time — anotherstep and Reynie might have collapsed intoa useless heap. Between ragged breaths hetold Kate what he’d seen, right up to thepart when he’d seen S.Q. frowning at himfrom across the gym.

Unbelievably, or almost unbelievably,Kate made a joke of it. “Well, if herecognized you, he’s probably wonderinghow you got to be so tall.” She chuckled.“The poor guy, he’s not the brightest —”

Reynie groaned. He’d just realizedsomething. Having only just sat down, hestruggled to his feet again. “We need tosplit up.”

“Why? I thought we’d just circle backup to Constance —”

“Listen, Kate, they’ll know it took twopeople. The window’s too high for oneperson to have looked through withouthelp, remember? You go back forConstance. If S.Q. recognized me, at leastyou can claim you were miles away whenit happened.”

“Gosh, you’re right,” Kate said,adjusting her bucket on her belt. “Youhead that way, then, and I’ll fetchConstance. If we’re lucky we’ll belaughing about this over supper.”

“If we’re lucky,” said Reynie, who was

not feeling lucky at all. In fact he had theawful feeling he wouldn’t see Kate again.If Mr. Curtain knew the truth, by tomorrowReynie might become someone elseentirely — a mixture of mysterious painand forgotten purposes, forgotten dreams.His friends’ faces would blur, likephotographs somehow beingundeveloped, then disappear entirely. Themission would fail. All would be lost.

Suddenly, Reynie felt compelled tograb Kate’s hand. “Thanks for helping meget up that hill back there. I never couldhave made it in time by myself.”

Kate waved him off. “Oh, good grief.Just do me a favor. If you get sent to theWaiting Room, tell Sticky I said hello.”

Reynie’s face fell. “It’s not funny,Kate.”

For a moment — a fleeting moment —Kate looked desperately sad. “Well, ofcourse it’s not funny, Reynie Muldoon.But what do you want me to do? Cry?Now get going, will you? And make sure Isee you at supper!” She turned and hurriedinto the gloom.

And so, in the darkness and mist,Reynie picked his way alone through theforbidding hills. In half an hour hearrived, weary and wet, at a path on thefar side of the Institute. Nobody accostedhim in the student dormitory, where heslipped into his room and changed. Andno one looked askance at him as hecrossed the plaza. He had yet to meet anExecutive, though. Reynie hesitated a longtime at the cafeteria door. Then tellinghimself he must at least pretend to be

brave, he went inside.He saw the girls right away. They sat in

damp clothes at a table to themselves.Constance resembled a wet hen — sameshape, same dour crankiness, and onlyslightly larger — but Kate smiled when hecame in, and the sight of her sunny facegave Reynie a pinprick of hope. Hereminded himself Kate was capable ofsmiling in dire circumstances. Heshouldn’t assume good news. Still,nobody seemed to be paying him anyattention, and the Executive on duty onlygave him a bored look and turned away.So perhaps Kate really did knowsomething.

Kate really did. The moment Reynie satdown, she told him he was safe.

Reynie thought he would die of relief.

“They were questioning students whenConstance and I came down the hill,” Katesaid. “Nobody saw you. Jackson asked usand we told the same story. He wasyelling at S.Q.: ‘Is that really the best youcan say? An average-looking boy? Anawful lot of boys are average-looking,S.Q.!’ And poor S.Q., he just kept arguingtha t this boy was especially average-looking. Jackson seemed ready to stranglehim.”

Reynie couldn’t believe what he washearing. He was safe! Really safe! Andthen, just as suddenly as the weight hadlifted from his shoulders, it returned. Fornow that one worry had passed, othersquickly crowded in to take its place.Sticky was still in danger. And if Stickywas, they all were.

“Are you okay?” Kate asked. “You lookterrible.”

“At least he’s dry,” said Constance,who was blotting her hair with a napkin.

“You haven’t seen Sticky, have you? Orheard anything?”

The girls shook their heads. They allgrew very solemn, then, and finished theirmeal in silence.

The Waiting Room

Reynie sat alone in his room. It was afternine o’clock, and Sticky had still notshown up. A message broadcast had justended, and Reynie, worn out, was makinghimself go over the day’s notes one lasttime. For once he was glad to be studyinghis lessons — studying helped take hismind off worse things. He’d even beengrateful for the message broadcast, whichwas so irritating and made it so difficult toconcentrate that he’d had no space leftover in his brain to worry about Sticky.Even so, Reynie felt awful, and now to

make matters worse, he smelled somethingawful, too. His nose wrinkled withdisgust. What was that? Had somethingcrawled under the floor and died?

Then the door opened. It was Sticky.He was covered in slimy, black stinking

mud, and he walked into the room like azombie. From his red, hugely swolleneyes it was obvious he’d been crying forhours. But it wasn’t the eyes themselvesthat caught Reynie’s heart — it was theirlook of total despair.

Reynie leaped up and threw his armsaround Sticky. “You’re out!”

Sticky pulled away without speaking.He removed his spectacles, studied theirmud-spotted lenses, and set them on thedesk without bothering to clean them.Then, still not saying a word, he went out

of the room. Reynie grabbed some ofSticky’s things and ran out after him. In thecorridor he squeezed past two Helpersalready mopping up Sticky’s muddyfootprints in weird silence. A couple ofboys were leaving the bathroom, holdingtheir noses and trying not to step in themuddy spots on the floor. Reynie ran intothe bathroom.

Sticky had stepped into a shower stallwithout undressing and was trying to gripthe faucet handle, but his slimy hand keptslipping off. Finally he grabbed it withboth hands and wrenched on the hot water.He flinched when the spray struck hisface, then stood impassively, eyes closed,as black water swirled at his feet.

Reynie watched him anxiously. “I’vebrought you some soap, Sticky. And a

towel and clean clothes.”Sticky made no reply.“Hey, get undressed and use this soap,

all right?” After Reynie had repeated thisseveral times, Sticky gave a dull nod andreached for the soap.

Reynie washed up at the sinks — hewas filthy and rank from hugging Sticky —then went to their room, changed clothes,and waited. He stared at the door, afraidof what was coming. Afraid to have hissuspicions confirmed. He’d been doinghis best to remain calm, but he wastrembling all over. He felt sure Sticky hadbeen brainswept. And Mr. Curtainwouldn’t erase Sticky’s memories just forcheating, would he? If not, then why hadthis happened? What crime would call forsuch terrible action? There seemed to be

only one answer: Sticky had told Mr.Curtain everything.

When Sticky finally returned, hedumped his wet clothes in the corner, puton his muddy glasses without cleaningthem, and then, without once looking atReynie, he pulled his suitcase frombeneath the bed.

“Sticky, what’s happened?”No reply.“You have to talk to me, Sticky! I’m

afraid something terrible has happened toyou. Not just the Waiting Room, I mean,but something even worse.”

In a dull tone just tinged with anger,Sticky said, “I don’t suppose there’sanything worse than that place. Whatwould you know about it?”

Reynie caught his breath. Sticky

remembered the Waiting Room — andcome to think of it, he remembered wherehis suitcase was. There was still hope!“You’re right, Sticky. I don’t knowanything that’s happened. Can you tellme?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Stickysaid, opening the wardrobe with tremblingfingers. “And I don’t intend to go backthere. I’m running away. They told me Mr.Curtain couldn’t see me today, that S.Q.will come for me again in the morning.I’m to meet with Mr. Curtain ‘if he’savailable.’ So either I’ll have to go backto that . . . that nightmare, or else I’ll haveto face Mr. Curtain, where I’m certain togo to pieces, Reynie, where I’m certain tolose control and tell on you and everyoneelse —”

The more Sticky spoke, the moreemotion crept into his voice, until at last,shaking, he covered his eyes and droppedto his knees. “I can’t do it, Reynie. I can’tgo back there, and I can’t face Mr. Curtainwithout failing you. I just can’t. I have toleave. I have no choice.”

Reynie’s eyes suddenly filled withtears. “Listen to me, Sticky. I’m so sorryfor what you’ve been through. Really I am.But I can’t tell you how glad I am you’restill in there. I thought they’d taken yourmemory! But it’s still you in there, Sticky— still my good friend!”

“Not for much longer,” Sticky saidmiserably. “I’m going to crack, Reynie.You know how badly I handle pressure.I’ll flub it tomorrow, and you’ll all becaught. What kind of friend will I be

then?”Reynie closed the suitcase. “You’re not

going to flub anything.”“How can you know?”“I can see it in you,” Reynie said with

perfect conviction. “You’d hold fasttomorrow even if I didn’t have a plan —which I do. When your friends really needyou, they can count on you. I just know it.And I do need you, Sticky. I need you hereas a friend.”

Sticky’s eyes flickered like a candle onthe verge of guttering. “It’s . . . nice of youto say,” he said doubtfully. Then heshuddered. “But Reynie, it’ll kill me if Ihave to go back to that place. All thosehours, with every second crawling by —and other things crawling by, things youcan’t see — constantly sinking into that

goop, the smell so horrible, like somethingdead, like maybe it’s yourself that’s dead—”

“You won’t have to spend another dayin there,” Reynie said. “I swear it.”

“You bet your boots you won’t,” saidKate, whose head appeared in the ceilingabove them. She lowered Constance intothe room. “If they send you back there,we’ll find a way to get you out, no matterwhat. Okay, chum?”

Shakily Sticky rose to his feet.“It’s going to be all right,” Reynie said.

“I’m sure you’ll see Mr. Curtain first thingin the morning.”

“But that’s no good, either! It’s terrible!How can I keep from giving you all away?He knows we’re friends, he knows I wascheating, and he’ll just put two and two

together. . . .” Sticky caught his breath,held it a moment, and started over. “Okay,you mentioned a plan, didn’t you? Do youreally have one?”

“I’ll tell you about it,” Reynie said,handing him a roll, “but first you shouldeat. I smuggled some food for you.”

For the first time, Sticky’s eyesbrightened and stayed bright. “I amawfully hungry.”

“Ten o’clock!” roared Jackson fromjust outside the door. Everyone jumped.No one had heard him creeping down thehallway. “Lights out!”

As he hurried to the light switch,Reynie gave Kate a questioning look.

“We turned ours off before we left,”she said a little too loudly.

Immediately Jackson rapped at the

door. “Do you boys have someone in therewith you? You know that’s against therule. No room visits, period! And evenmore no room visits during lights out!”

“It’s just the two of us,” Reynie replied.This was just what Jackson had hoped

Reynie would say. If he caught the boyswith visitors now, they were not onlybreaking one of the Institute’s very fewrules, but lying about it as well. He flungopen the door and switched on the light.“Aha! There you —” but he cut himselfshort, for he saw only the two boys, sittingon the floor.

“Isn’t the light supposed to be off?”Reynie asked him.

With a scowl Jackson reached to turnoff the light, then thought better of it. “Notjust yet,” he said, strolling over to the

wardrobe. “First I’d like to see who youhave in here.” He threw open thewardrobe doors.

Nothing but clothes inside.“If you don’t mind, we’d like to get

some sleep. Sticky’s had a long day.”“And whose fault is that?” Jackson

said, kneeling to look beneath the bottombunk. Only the boys’ suitcases. He roseand stared at Reynie, who smiledpleasantly, and then at Sticky, who onlyshrugged. Jackson sneered. “How did youlike the Waiting Room, George?”

Reynie suddenly boiled over withanger. He had spent the evening in such astate of emotion, he couldn’t seem to stophimself. “How can you do that to people,Jackson? Send them to a place like that,and then tease them about it?”

Jackson feigned puzzlement. “What doyou mean, ‘a place like that’? The WaitingRoom isn’t such a bad place. And it’sperfectly safe. A little mud never hurtanyone. Washes right off, doesn’t it? Itmay have a bit of an odor, but an odorcan’t hurt you any more than mud can —or darkness, for that matter. Darkness isgood for you. Rests the eyes. Preventssunburn . . .”

Livid though he was, Reynie fought toregain control of himself. He should neverhave said anything in the first place. It didno good to argue with an Executive.

Jackson was still lecturing withobvious pleasure. “And yes, I supposethere are a great many flies and beetlesand crawling things — but they didn’t biteor sting, did they? You aren’t afraid of a

fly, are you, George?”“No,” Sticky replied in an even tone.

But he was glaring at Jackson. It was suchan angry look — so full of defiant outrage— that Reynie actually felt encouraged.There was strength in Sticky. It was justeasy to miss. Easiest of all for Stickyhimself.

Jackson missed it, too. “Of course youaren’t. So let’s hear no more nonsense,”he said, screwing up his face as if talkingto a pitiful baby, “about the WaitingWoom being such a nasty wittle pwace.”Then he grinned wickedly, shut off thelight, and left the room. His boots thumpedaway down the corridor.

Constance’s stifled voice called out,“Good grief! Do you intend to keep me inhere forever?”

“Quiet,” Reynie whispered, peeking outthe door. The corridor was empty. Henodded at Sticky, who dragged hissuitcase from beneath the bed.

“It’s a good thing you’re so small,”Sticky whispered as Constance climbedout.

“Oh, yes, lucky me! So small you canpack me in the luggage. Why don’t you trycurling up in a suitcase?” Constance said,forgetting that Sticky had spent his entireday standing in filth, darkness, and bugswarms.

The ceiling panel slid aside and Katedropped down into the room again. “Nowwhat’s this about a plan?” she said, as ifthey’d never been interrupted.

Punishments and Promotions

Both boys were awake before dawn. Andthey had stayed up late the night before,going over the plan. But Sticky wasn’t atall sleepy. Fear was keeping his eyeswide open. As he got dressed in the dark,he whispered up to the top bunk, “Reynie,they didn’t happen to blindfold you whenyou went to Mr. Curtain’s office, didthey?”

“A blindfold? No.”“Then I guess I’ll know right away if

I’m going to the Waiting Room. That’ssomething, I suppose.”

Reynie rolled over and looked downfrom his bunk. “They blindfolded you?Why?”

“Didn’t say. Jillson just dragged meonto the plaza, put the blindfold on, andspun me around until I threw up. I mean Iliterally threw up. Then she laughed andled me inside and down some stairs to theWaiting Room. I had to wear it when Ileft, too.”

Reynie furrowed his brow. Why wouldthey blindfold Sticky like that?

Just then someone banged on the door.Sticky stared at the door a long momentbefore opening it. S.Q. Pedalian stood inthe dusky corridor, eating a cinnamon roll.His mouth stuffed full, he beckoned forSticky to follow him. The time had come.

Sticky took a deep breath. “Wish me

luck, Reynie.”Reynie nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll

do great.”Sticky followed S.Q. down the

corridor. The dormitory was perfectlysilent, save for the echo of their footstepsand the occasional gulping sound fromS.Q., who was munching his cinnamonroll with gusto. Then they were outside inthe chill morning air, where S.Q. stopped,licked his fingers, and — to Sticky’shorror — reached into his pocket.

“S.Q.?” Sticky asked in a strainedvoice. “Am I . . . am I to wait a littlelonger, or —?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Curtain can meet withyou,” said S.Q. casually, pulling out abanana, not a blindfold. “Now, Sticky” —S.Q. was the only Executive who ever

called Sticky by his nickname, though onlyby accident — “that is, George, allow meto give you some advice. I’m anExecutive, you know, and I understand theway things work around here.” Glancingleft and right, S.Q. lowered his voice. “Ilike you, George, you’re a nice kid, andvery bright. And you’re an orphan, whichmakes you a good candidate for Executivesomeday if you’ll just straighten right upand fly . . . if you fly straight and right . . .”

“Straighten up and fly right?”“Yes, all of those,” S.Q. said, relieved.

“My point is, don’t blow your chancesright off the bat. Whatever you do, do notadmit to Mr. Curtain that you cheated. Ifyou did cheat, I mean. I’m not saying youshould lie. That’s even worse. Don’tadmit to cheating, and don’t lie.”

“You’re saying my best course of actionright now is not to have cheated in thepast.”

“Exactly,” S.Q. said.“That’s helpful.”S.Q. grinned. “Thought it would be. Mr.

Curtain hates a cheater more than anything.Otherwise he’s a genial fellow. So justkeep that in mind during your meeting —the most important thing is not to admityou cheated.”

“Thanks,” Sticky said in a weak voice.His head had begun to ache. S.Q.’s advicewas exactly the opposite of Reynie’s.

He would have liked some time toconsider his new dilemma, but in less thana minute he was standing outside the metaldoor to Mr. Curtain’s office. Beads ofsweat appeared on his smooth scalp. What

should he do? If anybody should know thissort of thing, it would be an Executive.Yet S.Q. was not the brightest bulb in theExecutive chandelier. Reynie, on the otherhand, was very shrewd about people. . . .And now S.Q. was knocking on the door.Sticky rubbed his throbbing temples. Hefelt on the verge, once again, of growingparalyzed. Or worse: flub-mouthed.

The door slid open. S.Q. motioned forSticky to enter. Whatever course he chose,he had to choose it now.

Mr. Curtain sat in the middle of the coldstone room, his fingers laced together, hischin lifted expectantly. The giganticsilver-eyed spider, waiting for the fly.

“I’m sorry I cheated, sir!” Stickydeclared as he went in.

The door slid closed behind him, but

not before he heard a shocked S.Q.mumbling something about the poor kidcracking under pressure.

Mr. Curtain drummed his fingers on thejournal in his lap, regarding Sticky withthose unseen eyes. Sticky was hard-pressed not to fidget. A bead of sweattrickled down the curve of his bald head,made its way to his earlobe, and hungthere, trembling. It tickled Stickymaddeningly, but he held still. SuddenlyMr. Curtain shot forward in his chair —Sticky nearly jumped out of his shoes —and screeched to a stop with his faceinches away.

“Do you care to explain yourself?” Mr.Curtain said coolly.

Sticky had memorized the speech. (If hehadn’t, he might never have gotten a word

out.) He stammered, swallowed, thenbegan: “I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t wantto do anything wrong. But she put so muchpressure on me —”

“You mean Constance Contraire, Iassume,” interrupted Mr. Curtain with alook of satisfaction.

“Constance? Oh, no, sir. She’s toostubborn even to let me help her withhomework. I’m sure you’ve noticed howstubborn she is. You notice everythingabout everybody, if you don’t mind mysaying so, sir.”

“Hm,” said Mr. Curtain. “I havenoticed that, it’s true. But if not ConstanceContraire, then of whom are youspeaking?”

“Well, as I was saying, sir, she put somuch pressure on me, and I wasn’t sure

what to make of it, she being a Messengerand all —”

“WHAT?” Mr. Curtain bellowed, hisface instantly purple. “A Messenger?Snakes and dogs, I’ll —” He cut himselfoff, and for a few moments wentabsolutely silent, as if trying to decide justwhat horrible thing to do to Sticky. Sendhim back to the Waiting Room? Fling himinto a patch of drapeweed? Crush himbeneath the wheels of his chair?

Sticky closed his eyes.When several moments had passed,

however, without his being sent, flung, orcrushed, Sticky opened one eye. The colorhad faded from Mr. Curtain’s face so thatit no longer looked like an eggplant withglasses; only the tip of his lumpy noseretained a crimson hue. And he had begun

drumming his fingers again. “George,”Mr. Curtain said, more calmly now, “whyare you looking at me with one eye?”

Sticky quickly opened his other eye. “I .. . I . . .”

“Never mind,” said Mr. Curtain. “Nowexplain yourself. Are you telling me aMessenger made you cheat?”

“I’m sorry to say so, sir. It made herfurious that Reynie and I were doing sowell. She couldn’t believe we alreadyknew more than she did. She humiliatedme in class, and later she told me she’dkeep doing it — or even worse — unless Iagreed to help her. The quizzes were somuch easier if I just gave her the answers,she said. And if I did, she would make iteasier for me — by not tormenting me.”

“You are speaking of Martina Crowe,”

Mr. Curtain said.Sticky nodded.“Hmm. I shall have to look into this.

Your cheating doesn’t trouble me much, Imust say, so long as I understand thesituation. The secret is control, do yousee? I simply wish to know thecircumstances so that I can manipulate —that is, so that I can manage them. Nomatter what the circumstances, George, solong as they are controlled, we may haveharmony. Do you understand?”

“I believe so, sir.”“Very well. I’m sorry you had to wait

to speak with me on this matter. Iunderstand it is an unpleasant thing towait. Unfortunately there’s no help for itsometimes — I’m quite busy. The goodnews is that you will not be punished.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sticky said humbly.“And George?”“Yes, sir?”“ Yo u are doing rather well, aren’t

you?”“Apparently, sir.”Mr. Curtain was looking Sticky up and

down and nodding to himself, as ifappraising a fine new piece of machinerythat would come in handy.

“Nice work,” said Constance. “You’re anatural liar.”

It was less diplomatic congratulationsthan he’d received from Reynie and Kate— who had cheered and clapped him onthe back — but Sticky was too relieved to

quibble.They were on their way to lunch,

trailing well behind the rest of the studentsso that they could speak privately in thecorridors. They were all pretty pleasedwith themselves — not least becauseMartina Crowe was in hot water. Andnow, as they approached the end of thecorridor, they overheard Jackson andJillson talking in an empty classroom.Looking at one another in silentagreement, they stopped walking to listen.

“— finally caught who was spying inthe gym,” Jackson was saying. “A waste,though. He was a good Messenger. And aspecial recruit, you know. Mr. Curtainwould probably have kept him on, trainedhim into an Executive one day. I guessnow he’ll be retrained as a Helper.”

“Too bad,” Jillson said. “Shouldn’thave been so average-looking.”

“What he shouldn’t have been was socurious,” said Jackson. “The nerve of thatkid! Always asking questions — it’s whatgot him sent to the Waiting Room lasttime, you know. I thought he’d learned hislesson.”

“Apparently not,” said Jillson. “Anyword on the accomplice?”

“His partner in crime? Not yet.Personally I can’t see what there is toworry about, but you know Mr. Curtain.Can’t be too careful, he says. We’resupposed to be extra vigilant, keep an eyeout.” Jackson grunted. “And I guess youheard he’s changing the door codes.”

“No! Again? I hate learning newcodes!”

“Tell me about it,” Jackson said.“Would have saved us some trouble if thekid had ratted on his partner, but he deniedeverything to the end. Like I said, it’s ashame. Probably would have made a goodExecutive.”

“Quiet,” Jillson said. “Did you just hearsomething?”

In the corridor, the children’s eyeswidened. They held their breath.

“Only my stomach growling,” Jacksonsaid. “Get your stuff together, won’t you?Let’s go eat.”

That was the children’s cue to move.With relieved expressions, Sticky, Kate,and Constance hurried quietly on down thecorridor. Reynie followed behind, tryingto calm himself. Jackson’s news had quiteupset him.

After they’d safely rounded the corner,Kate said, “Can you believe it? That’stwo narrow escapes now! First Sticky gotoff the hook for cheating, and now you’reoff the hook for spying, Reynie!”

“Yeah,” said Reynie, his face flushedwith guilt. “It’s . . . it’s great news.”

“And now Martina’s on the hook,”Constance said. “This might actually be agood day.”

By supper the rumors were flying. MartinaCrowe had not been in any of her classes.Some said she was enjoying a longsession of her special privileges —whatever those were. Others argued thatthe secret privileges never lasted this

long. More likely, someone said, she’dbeen sent to the Waiting Room — astudent had seen Jackson and Jillsonescorting her across the plaza. MartinaCrowe? Going to the Waiting Room? Whohad seen that? For this no one had ananswer, so maybe it was just a rumor.

Reynie had begun to feel rather ill. Itwas starting to seem everything he did gotsomeone hurt. First he’d suggested theycheat, which landed Sticky in the WaitingRoom. Then he’d spied through the gymwindow, for which some poor, average-looking kid was paying the price. Nowthere was this plan he’d put into effect —the plan to get Martina bumped from theMessenger list. It had seemed clever at thetime, but was he sure about that? For allhis caution and wits, he was turning out to

be a dangerous person to be close to. Helooked at his untouched meal withdistaste. He shoved it away and put hisface in his hands.

“Reynie?” Kate said. “What’s thematter?”

“It was my plan,” Reynie mumbled.“Hey, if anybody deserves the Waiting

Room, it’s Martina.”“If anyone deserves it . . . ,” mumbled

Sticky, who felt every bit as bad asReynie. He knew how terrible the WaitingRoom was — at the very mention of it hehad broken into a cold sweat — and hehad been the one to condemn Martina witha lie. It didn’t matter how cruel she was.No one deserved the Waiting Room, noteven Martina.

To make matters worse, at that very

moment a hidden message broadcastbegan.

“It’s that boy Harold Rockwell,”Constance grumbled to herself. “Shut up,Harold.”

Reynie gave Constance a bleak look. Ithad occurred to him to wonder whatwould happen to her when Mr. Curtainboosted the signal power all the way. IfConstance could hear voices now, whatwould it be like for her then? What wouldit do to her? Had she thought to wonderabout this herself? For her sake, Reyniehoped not. If he were in her shoes he’d beterrified.

This day had gone from good to bad toworse. And from there to worse thanworse.

“Watch your toes, everyone,” Kate

murmured.S.Q. Pedalian was squeezing between

two nearby tables, where students werewincing and crying out as he passed.Reynie tucked his feet safely out of reach.S.Q. came up and looked appraisingly atthem. “Why the long faces, kids?Everything all right?”

The children tried to appear cheerful sohe would leave them alone, but for onceS.Q. judged correctly. “You can’t fool me.I know downtrodden faces when I seethem. I’m surprised at you! Here Stick — Imean, here young George has got off cleanand easy, you’re doing great on yourquizzes, and yet the whole lot of you sitsaround like the cat got your pudding. Er,the pudding . . . no, got your tail. . . .”

No one felt like helping him, and after a

moment S.Q. gave up. He adopted ashrewd expression, which, on S.Q.,looked rather as if he had severeindigestion. “Now don’t tell me you’refretting about not making the Messengerlist yet! Is that it? Listen here,” he saidconfidentially, leaning in close to them,“I’ll tell you a secret, because you’regood eggs. You’re closer than you think!”

Reynie nodded glumly. “Is it becauseMartina’s not a Messenger anymore?”

S.Q. cocked his head. “How could youpossibly know that?”

“Everybody knows,” said Kate.This surprised both S.Q. and Reynie,

who said together, “They do? How?”Kate pointed across the cafeteria,

where Martina had just come in, escortedby Jillson and Jackson. She wore her tunic

and sash as always, but not the typicalstriped pants of a Messenger. No, herpants were solid blue, and as the otherMessengers cheered and clapped, her faceshone simultaneously with malevolenceand triumph.

Martina had been made an Executive.

Half a Riddle

That evening, at precisely 10:01, S.Q.Pedalian knocked on the boys’ door. Heknocked first with his feet, by accident,and then with his knuckles. Getting noresponse, he opened the door and peeredin. In the dim room he saw the boys lyingon their bunks in their pajamas. Somethingcaught his eye, however, and he lookedupward. Only shadows on the ceiling.

“S.Q.? Is that you?” Reynie asked in asleepy voice.

“Sorry, boys,” S.Q. said, snapping onthe light. “I didn’t think you’d be asleep so

early — it’s only just now lights-out. Mr.Curtain wants to see you. Hop up now,both of you, and get dressed. You know, Icould have sworn I saw one of yourceiling tiles move.”

“Probably just a shadow,” Reyniesuggested, fumbling with his trousers andshoes.

“Or a mouse,” said Sticky in a crackedvoice. His mouth had gone very dry.

S.Q. scratched his head. “A mouse, hm?That’s probably it. A lot of students havecomplained about mice in their ceilinglately. I suppose we’ll have to put outsome traps.” As Reynie made a mentalnote to tell Kate to look out formousetraps, S.Q. ushered them from theirroom.

Both boys were in a state of high alarm.

Obviously Martina had convinced Mr.Curtain she hadn’t cheated, for how elsewould she have been made an Executive?Thus Mr. Curtain must know that Stickylied, and no doubt Reynie had beenimplicated as his accomplice. Which wasas it should be, Reynie thought miserably.It was his plan that got Sticky into thismess — twice.

At the entrance to the Institute ControlBuilding, S.Q. stopped. With asympathetic expression, he knelt down andput a hand on each of their shoulders. “Iimagine you two are wondering what Mr.Curtain wants to speak with you about.”

“Oh, yes!” cried the boys together, andReynie’s heart leaped. If he had a momentt o prepare, maybe he could think ofsomething to say, something that . . .

“I wish I knew,” S.Q. said, shaking hishead. “I hope it’s nothing bad.”

Sixty seconds later the boys were alonewith Mr. Curtain in his office. Trying tobreathe evenly (and mostly failing), theywaited for him to speak. Mr. Curtain hadput down his journal and rolled out frombehind his desk. But instead of his usualzooming about, he was inching towardthem, very, very slowly, contemplating theboys in a way that gave them theimpression of a predator — a wolf spidercame to mind — seeking just the momentto pounce upon its prey. They had to fightthe urge to recoil.

“No doubt,” said Mr. Curtain as hedrew near, “you are wondering whyMartina Crowe was made Executive.After all, according to you, George, she

was a bully and a cheat. Isn’t that right?”Sticky reached for his spectacles,

checked himself, and thrust his hands intohis pockets to still them. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s true, Mr. Curtain,” said Reynie.“We were wondering that.”

“Yes. I know. And now I shall tell youwhy. Do you remember what you said tome the other day, Reynard, when wediscussed Miss Contraire? You said thebest way of dealing with those you don’ttrust is to keep them close. I agreed withyou then, and I agree with you now. Ofcourse, had Martina Crowe not been suchan excellent candidate for Executive, Iwould have sent her packing at once. Butshe has always been useful, and as I toldGeorge, the cheating itself doesn’t troubleme, so long as I understand the situation.

At any rate, the situation has beenrectified. Miss Crowe and I had a briefdiscussion of the matter (she denied thecheating, I might add), and ultimately shewas promoted. Everything is settled.

“Everything, that is, except for yoursituation,” Mr. Curtain went on. “Which iswhy I have sent for you.”

“Our . . . situation?” said Reynie. Hecould hear Sticky trying to swallow.

“Indeed,” said Mr. Curtain. “For as ofthis moment, you are both madeMessengers!”

The boys were stunned. Here they’dbeen afraid something terrible was instore for them — instead, their missionhad leaped forward! Messengers at last!Their faces broke into huge grins.

“Oh, thank you!” Sticky cried, hoping

he sounded more grateful than relieved.“We won’t disappoint you,” said

Reynie.“I should hope not,” said Mr. Curtain.

“I have two new Messenger slots to fill,and as a matter of urgency I am promotingyou a day earlier than planned. Here areyour new uniforms.”

Returning to his desk, Mr. Curtainproduced two white tunics, two pale bluesashes, and two pairs of striped trousers.“Wear them with pride. And then . . . whoknows? One day you may forego thosestriped pants for solid blue ones, just asMartina Crowe did today!”

When S.Q. had finally left off slapping the

boys on the backs in painful congratulationand lumbered away down the corridor,Reynie and Sticky exchanged relievedglances and closed their bedroom doorbehind them. The door’s closing revealedthe silhouette of Kate Wetherall pressedflat against the wall behind it. Sheswitched on her flashlight and whisperedin an exasperated tone, “You didn’t evenknock!”

“It’s our own room!” Sticky replied.“I’m surprised you didn’t hear us in the

corridor,” Reynie said. “S.Q. was pattingus on the backs so hard my teeth wereclacking together.”

“To tell the truth,” Kate saidsheepishly, “I was asleep until I heard thedoorknob turn. I only had to time to leapacross the room and hide.” She jerked her

thumb toward the lower bunk, whereSticky’s covers and pillows were inlumpy disarray. “And first I had to throwthe covers over Constance. You weregone so long, she fell asleep on Sticky’sbed. I meant to keep guard, but I guess Inodded off.”

“Some guard,” said a groggy voicefrom beneath the covers.

“Anyway,” Sticky said, “we’re gladyou’re here. We have some news.”

He and Reynie held up their newuniforms.

“Messengers!” Kate exclaimed. “I can’tbelieve it! And here we were worriedyou’d gotten in big trouble!”

Constance sat up, rubbed her eyes, andsquinted at the uniforms.

“Oh, yes,” Reynie said with a laugh.

“So worried that you both fell asleep.”Kate gave him a disapproving look.

“We were worried,” she insisted. “AndI’m sure Mr. Benedict is, too. We told himyou’d been called to see Mr. Curtain. Weshould let him know the good news rightaway.”

“You sent a report?” Sticky asked,surprised.

“Took us forever,” Constance said,stretching. “Morse code’s a little rusty.”

Rusty was not exactly the word forConstance’s Morse code, but the boysresisted comment. They were both glad tohear a report had been sent. They’d beenunable to send one the night before — anight crew of Helpers had been workingon the plaza, filling cracks and replacingbroken stones.

Sticky climbed onto the television,made sure the coast was clear, and beganflashing a message.

“Our ‘special privileges’ begintomorrow,” Reynie told the girls. “That’sall he told us.”

“Nervous?” Kate asked.“What do you think?” Reynie said. “I

feel like I swallowed a beehive.”“Here comes a response,” Sticky said

from the window. “Glad . . . proud . . .now pay attention.”

“Sounds like he’s about to tell ussomething important,” Reynie said. Hewent over and peered out the windowwith Sticky. Sure enough, the light in thewoods continued flashing its codedmessage:

With open eyes now you may findA place you must exit to enter.Where one —

“Where one what?” Sticky said, whenthe message broke off and didn’t resume.“Why did they stop?”

Reynie groaned. “It’s Mr. Curtain,” hesaid, pointing. “He’s going out onto theplaza.”

“Now?” Sticky hissed, watching thefamiliar figure rolling into view below.“In the middle of the message? Hecouldn’t have waited twenty moreseconds?”

“At least we have a start,” Reynie said.But a start was all they had, for even

after a long discussion, the children were

left stymied. The last, unfinished line gaveno clue at all, and the first seemedpointless, as it hardly seemed necessary totell them they needed to keep their eyesopen. Which left only the middle line, andthat one utterly baffled them. How on earthcould you enter a place by exiting it?

“We’ll have to try again tomorrow,”Kate said finally, stifling a yawn. “I can’tthink straight anymore tonight. At least youboys made Messenger. That’s anencouraging development.”

The others agreed, the meetingadjourned, and in a few minutes the girlshad disappeared into the ceiling and theboys had gone to bed. Reynie had justbegun to compose a mental letter to MissPerumal when Sticky whispered into thedarkness.

“Reynie, you awake?”“Wide awake,” Reynie replied.“I wanted to ask you . . . does this

‘encouraging development’ scare the witsout of you as much as it does me?”

Reynie laughed. “It may be the worstencouraging development I’ve everexperienced.”

In the bunk below, Sticky laughed, too.Their laughter relaxed them the tiniest bit— and that was all it took. In momentstheir exhaustion overcame them, and bothboys fell asleep.

The Whisperer

When the knock sounded on his door,Reynie was in the midst of a terribledream. He had written down his letters toMiss Perumal, and Jackson, having foundthe letters on the desk, was pounding themwith his fist. Bang! Bang! Bang! “We’vegot you!” he cried with a wicked laugh.“Don’t worry, you won’t be punished! It’sthe Waiting Room for you — what funyou’ll have there! And when you’vedisappeared beneath the stinking mud forgood, we’ll get your beloved MissPerumal, too!”

“No!”“What do you mean, ‘No’?” said

Jackson. “Isn’t this what you’ve beenworking for?”

This was an unexpected response, andReynie, startled, opened his eyes. Jacksonstood in the doorway, staring at Reyniewith an expression of wild impatience.

“I’m sorry,” Reynie said, coming fullyawake. “I was dreaming. What did yousay?”

“I said hurry up and get your tunic on.I’m to take you to Mr. Curtainimmediately. Today’s your big day!Special privileges, Reynard! Now wakeup your skinny bald friend and hustle, willyou? I want to get a muffin on the way.”Jackson stepped out of the room to wait.

When, after considerable shaking,

Reynie had roused Sticky, the two of themthrew on their Messenger uniforms.

“This is it,” Reynie whispered. “Wehave to be on our toes.”

Sticky nodded. “Good luck.”They shook hands resolutely.“It’s about time,” Jackson muttered

when they came out. “Now follow me.”He set off in double-time for the cafeteria.It was just before dawn, with no one astirbut a few silent Helpers mopping floors,sweeping walkways, or scaling ladders toscrub mildew from ceilings. In thecafeteria, too, the Helpers were alreadyhard at work. Jackson helped himself to afreshly baked blueberry muffin and a glassof cold milk. “Better choke somethingdown quick,” he said to the boys. “Youdon’t want to be in the Whisperer with an

empty stomach. It’s very draining. Youneed all the energy you can get.”

At this, the first open mention of theWhisperer, goose bumps rose on the boys’arms. Their stomachs flipped, too, butdutifully they reached for muffins and milkand, just as Jackson said, choked themdown. Sticky, already losing his nerve,couldn’t help trying to stall. “What aboutclasses?”

“What do you think all those classes arefor, George? I don’t see how you’ve evermade Messenger if that’s how dimwittedyou are. You’ll have plenty of time forclasses after your session. The Whispereris what’s important, boys. It’s the wholereason we’re here.”

After all the secrecy that had comebefore, it was very strange indeed — in

fact it was thrilling — to be spoken towith such candor and trust. They reallywere Messengers at last! Reynie almosthad to remind himself that his newposition wasn’t an honor to be prized.

“All right, then, swallow and follow,”said Jackson, turning on his heel. The boysgulped their milk and hurried after him.Out on the plaza, in the gray light of dawn,Jackson ordered them to stand still. “Ifyou ever become Executives,” he said,tying cloths over their eyes, “then you’llbe allowed to learn the route to theWhispering Gallery. Until then, it’sblindfolds and no talking. Understand?Now, then, round and round you go.” Hegrabbed their shoulders and spun themabout until they were so dizzy theystumbled and bumped into each other.

Jackson allowed himself a moment tolaugh. Then he took them by the elbowsand set off.

They were marched across the plaza,down a walkway, and finally over a patchof grass. Then came a sort of scuffing,thumping noise — it sounded like Jacksonkicking something out of the way with hisboot — and the boys were led inside.They went down a short passage, then upsome winding stone steps. And then morewinding steps. Steps after steps aftersteps. They must be heading up to the topof the flag tower, Reynie thought. No otherplace in the Institute could have so manysteps.

With their leg muscles burning andchests heaving, the boys finally reachedthe top. Jackson gave them a few good

spins — perhaps just for the fun of it —and removed their blindfolds. They stoodin a bright, narrow stone passage. Beforethem loomed a great metal door.

Jackson pressed a speaker button on thewall. “Your new Messengers are here,sir.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Curtain’s voicethrough the speaker.

The door slid heavily open.“What are you waiting for?” Jackson

said. He gestured impatiently, mumblingsomething about numbskulls not takinghints, and the boys stepped through theopen doorway. The door slid closedbehind them.

“Welcome to the Whispering Gallery!”said Mr. Curtain, spinning his wheelchairaway from the desk at which he’d been

working. He beckoned them forward witha crook of his finger. “Come in, boys, andtake a look around!”

The Whispering Gallery, though quitelarge, was furnished only with a singledesk, two cushions in the corner, and, inthe center of the room, a strangecontraption resembling an old-fashionedbeauty-salon hair dryer. So this was theWhisperer: an oversized metal armchairwith a blue helmet bolted to the seatback,and another helmet (this one red)protruding into empty air behind it. Itlooked surprisingly simple — no runninglights, computer screens, or whirringgizmos — and indeed, considering itspurpose, the entire room seemed simple.Smooth, uniform stone walls, a lack offurniture or decoration, and only a single

window.Kate was right, Reynie thought. There is

something important behind the highestwindow.

“If you’re wondering why theWhispering Gallery is so austere,” saidMr. Curtain, “the answer is security. Youwill find no heavy metal objects or sharpdevices lying about, nothing with whichmy Whisperer might be damaged, nothingto be used as a weapon. The Whisperer’scomputer system and power supply aresafely protected by two feet of metal andstone. The walls are solid stone as well.The door through which you entered is theonly door, and I am the only one who canopen it. Control, boys! Control is key. TheWhispering Gallery is perfectlycontrolled.

“I say all this to impress upon you theimportance of our project,” Mr. Curtaincontinued. He gestured for them to sit onthe cushions. “Why else would suchsecurity be necessary? It is a great honorto be made Messenger, and I hope youwill not squander it.”

“No, sir,” the boys said together.“Here, at last, is your special

privilege,” said Mr. Curtain. “OnlyMessengers are allowed to help me withmy project, and you may be assured it is amarvelous project. Now, I’m sure you’rewondering what the Whisperer is — am Iright?”

The boys nodded.“Of course I am. My machine cannot

help but provoke curiosity. It lookssimple, does it not? Only a chair with a

helmet? Don’t be fooled! The Whispereris a miraculous invention — mymiraculous invention — and issophisticated beyond reckoning. Have youever heard of a machine capable oftransmitting thoughts? Of course not!Would you even have thought it possible?Never! And yet it is possible. MyWhisperer makes it possible.”

Mr. Curtain waved elegantly at thecontraption behind him, rather like a gameshow hostess displaying fabulous prizes.“It has been fashioned with the humanbrain as a model — my human brain, infact, which as you might suspect is quitean excellent one. And it is my brain thatcontrols it! No need for keyboards andcomputer screens, knobs and dials, bellsand whistles. The Whisperer listens to

me. For not only is it capable oftransmitting thought, but also — to acertain extent — of perceiving thought.And although currently its proper functiondepends upon my being present andconnected —”

“You mean you have to be hooked upfor it to work?” Sticky blurted.

Mr. Curtain’s wheelchair rolledforward until the front wheels pressed theedge of Sticky’s cushion. Mr. Curtain’sreflective glasses and protuberant noseeased toward Sticky’s face like a snaketesting the air. “You are only a child,George, so I do not expect much of you,”Mr. Curtain said coolly, “but if you are tobe a Messenger you must be made awareof something. I do not take kindly tointerruption.”

“Sorry,” Sticky mumbled, lookingdown.

“Good,” said Mr. Curtain. “And yes, Imust be ‘hooked up’ for it to work — fornow. It is undergoing modification, yousee. For years I have employed theWhisperer as an . . . educational tool. Butgreater things are in store. Once mymodifications are complete, the Whispererwill become a wondrous healing device,boys — a device capable of curingmaladies of the mind. No, it’s perfectlytrue! I see the surprise on your faces. But Iassure you, my invention is destined tobring peace to thousands — perhaps evenmillions — of troubled souls. And youboys will have played a part. Is it notexciting?”

As if to demonstrate his excitement, Mr.

Curtain shot backward in his wheelchairat breakneck speed, screeching to a stopbeside his desk. (His entire life must feellike an amusement-park ride, Reyniethought.) A moment later he had shot backover to the boys with a brown package inhis hands.

“What you are wondering now,” Mr.Curtain said, “is how Messengers play apart. The answer is this: The Whispererrequires the assistance of unsophisticatedminds. Children’s minds. You see, thoughmy machine is stunningly complex, itsmental processes still pale in comparisonto my own. For the Whisperer to do, well,certain things I wish it to do — I will notwaste time explaining details you cannotcomprehend — my thoughts must first passthrough a less sophisticated mind. This is

where my Messengers come in.“Now, do not be daunted,” Mr. Curtain

went on. “It’s an easy matter. When youoccupy the seat, the Whisperer directs youto think certain phrases — it whispers toyou, do you see? — and when you thinkthese phrases, the Whisperer’stransmitters do the rest. Your function isthat of a filter: my thoughts, once they passthrough your minds, are more easilyprocessed. Do you understand what Imean by this?”

“They go down easier,” Reynie said.“Like candy rather than medicine.”

“Precisely!” said Mr. Curtain, seemingpleased. “But the thoughts will bemedicine, make no doubt of that — oneday soon they will be medicine forcountless minds. For now, our project

consists of inputting data. Which is to say,we are filling the Whisperer’s computerbank with necessary information.”

So this was the explanation Mr. Curtaingave his Messengers: “inputting data.”They weren’t even told they were actuallysending messages — that they themselveswere whispering to others!

Mr. Curtain had laced his fingerstogether atop the brown package in his lapand was looking at the boys expectantly.With a hint of impatience, he said, “Andnow for your questions.” The boys got thedistinct feeling that if they didn’t havequestions, he would be most displeased.

Sticky, trying to do his part, cleared histhroat and squeaked, “What . . . what isthat package for?”

“Excellent question, George!” cried

Mr. Curtain, which clearly meant it wasthe question he had wanted to be asked.“The package is for demonstrationpurposes.” He held up the box. “Tell me,how many things do I hold in my hand?”

“One?” Sticky replied.Mr. Curtain looked at Reynie. “Is that

your answer, too, Reynard? I hold onething in my hand?”

There must be something inside thebox, Reynie thought. But he sensed thiswas not a time Mr. Curtain wished to beimpressed. Rather, Mr. Curtain wanted tosurprise the boys for “demonstrationpurposes,” and so Reynie replied, “Itcertainly looks like one thing.”

“Ha!” Mr. Curtain cried, seeming quitepleased indeed. “And yet observe.” Heturned the package upside down, and out

of it spilled hundreds of little pieces ofpaper. “One package, yes, but onepackage may contain many things, do yousee? Now clean up these paper scraps —I despise a messy floor.”

As the boys scrambled to pick up thepaper, Mr. Curtain continued, “What do Ido if I wish to transmit an enormousamount of information in a short space oftime, hmm? Do you think I can sit in myWhisperer every minute, every hour of theday, dictating to my Messengers? Hardly!There is work to be done, modifications tobe made, an Institute to be run, plans to beimplemented! And so how do Iaccomplish the inputting of all this data?Packaging, boys. I transmit packages, andevery package contains an incredibleamount of information.”

Reynie and Sticky finished cleaning upand sank onto the cushions again.

“I am going to say something to younow,” said Mr. Curtain. “One phrase only.But I want you to pay attention to whathappens in your minds when I say it. Areyou ready?”

The boys nodded.“Poison apples, poison worms.”The boys blinked, startled, for in a

single moment an entire lesson — anentire class period of listening to Jillsondrone on and on about bad government —had blossomed in their heads.

Mr. Curtain was smiling. “Onepackage, many thoughts. If you havemastered the material, then the properphrase will conjure it — like the magicwords that coax a genie from a bottle. Do

you see?”In fact the boys understood much more

than Mr. Curtain realized. Finally it allmade sense! Mr. Benedict had wonderedhow the hidden messages could be sosimple and yet have such profound effects.It was one of the things he’d hoped theymight find out. Now they knew: Mr.Benedict’s Receiver was able to detectthe “package” phrases, but not theinformation contained in them. He couldhear the magic words, but he couldn’t seethe genie!

“Very well,” said Mr. Curtain, when hesaw that the boys understood, “you havebeen sufficiently briefed. And now themoment of truth. Reynard, have a seat inthe Whisperer. George, you may observefrom your cushion. If all goes well, the

session should last about half an hour.Then you shall have your turn.”

Reynie rose and approached themachine. His mouth went pasty and bitter-tasting as he recalled Mr. Curtain’s sayingthat the Whisperer could perceivethoughts. “To a certain extent,” he’d said— but to what extent? How much could itsee? Would the Whisperer reveal him as aspy? Reynie stopped and stared at themetal chair and the blue helmet, rackedwith indecision. Should he try to resistsomehow? Try to mask his thoughts? Wasit even possible? He had no way ofknowing, and no time to consider.

“Reynard?”“Sorry, sir. Just . . . just savoring the

moment.”With clammy hands Reynie took his

seat in the chair. Mr. Curtain, meanwhile,zipped around to the rear of theWhisperer, reversing himself so that hisback was to Reynie’s as he fitted the redhelmet over his own head. “LedropthaCurtain!” he barked. Instantly the bluehelmet lowered itself onto Reynie’s head,contracting to fit snugly against histemples. At the same time, metal cuffspopped out of the armrests and closedover his wrists.

“Never fear,” said Mr. Curtain. “Thecuffs are only to keep you secure. Pleaserelax.”

Reynie took a deep breath and tried invain to stop trembling. After a moment herealized it was his seat that trembled —the Whisperer was pulsing with energy.He closed his eyes.

Good, said a voice in his head. Itwasn’t his own voice, nor was it Mr.Curtain’s. It was the Whisperer’s. Notunkind, but not friendly, either. Impossibleto describe, it was simply . . . there.Good, it repeated. What is your name?

Reynie still wasn’t sure if he ought toresist a little. How much could theWhisperer detect? If he gave an inch,would it take a mile? He was trying todecide how to proceed when theWhisperer’s voice in his head said,Welcome, Reynard Muldoon.

But he hadn’t answered! Opening hiseyes in surprise, he saw Sticky on hiscushion watching with intense concern.Reynie tried to concentrate. Of course —this wasn’t like talking. He hadn’trealized he’d thought his name, but once

you were asked to think of your name, youcouldn’t not think of it, no matter how youtried. Like the Whisperer’s voice, theanswer was simply there.

Reynard Muldoon, what do you fearmost?

Spiders, Reynie lied, trying to regainsome control. Spiders made Reynienervous, but he wasn’t afraid of them.Certainly they were not what he fearedmost. That was something he didn’t wantthe Whisperer to know.

But responding to Reynie’s involuntaryanswer, the Whisperer said, Don’t worry,you are not alone.

At once Reynie was filled with anastonishing sense of well-being. He felt sogood, so at peace, he could hardly holdhis thoughts together. So this was why

those other Messengers looked so happy,why they craved their sessions sointensely! When you did what it wanted,the Whisperer rewarded you by soothingyour fears. Reynie would never haveguessed it could feel so wonderful.

Reynie had another problem now. Avery troubling problem. Having beenmade to feel so wonderful — and soeasily, so unexpectedly — Reynie foundh e wanted to give in to the Whisperer.Wanted it desperately. This was adisturbing development, and while he stillhad some trace of determination left —before he lost himself entirely — Reyniedecided he must learn something if hecould.

Mr. Curtain? he thought. Can you hearme?

Let us begin, said the Whisperer.Mr. Curtain, can you hear my

thoughts?Let us begin.Mr. Curtain didn’t seem to be hearing

him. So maybe the Whisperer could onlyseek out certain things and was incapableof detecting anything else. Reynie had tohope so.

Let us begin, the Whisperer repeatedwith an unmistakable hint of impatience.

He could not put it off any longer.Okay, Reynie thought, bracing himself.

Okay, I’m ready.

When Reynie opened his eyes again,Sticky stood over him, staring at him as if

he might be dead. Reynie blinked andstretched. (He saw relief in Sticky’seyes.) He was fatigued, but pleasantly so,as if he had worked hard at someextremely enjoyable task. The cuffs hadretracted into the armrest, the blue helmethad been lifted from his head, and Mr.Curtain was at his desk, making a note inhis journal and speaking quietly into hisunseen intercom.

“Are you okay?” Sticky whispered.“You were in that thing for two hours.”

“Two hours!” Reynie repeated, amazed.It had seemed like only a few minutes. Heremembered the first stream of wordsentering his mind, remembered dutifullyrepeating them, his mind relaxing into afeeling of marvelous happiness. Therewas nothing at all to fear, nothing at all to

worry about. In fact, now that Reyniethought about it, he was a little cranky. Hewanted to slip back into that feeling. Hewas struck with a pang of bitter jealousythat Sticky was about to take his place inthe Whisperer.

“Does it hurt?” Sticky asked. “Are youall right?”

Sticky’s worried expression broughtReynie to his senses. “No . . . no, don’tworry. Just relax. I think . . . I think we’resafe for now. We can talk later.”

“No whispering, boys!” Mr. Curtaincalled, wheeling over to them. “I dislikeall secrets save my own.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Reynie. “I was onlytelling him not to worry, that it doesn’thurt.”

Mr. Curtain laughed his screechy laugh.

“Of course it doesn’t hurt. It wouldn’t beuseful if it did. To function properly, myWhisperer has always needed children,and children are averse to pain — I’vefound that out through experience. No, itdoesn’t hurt, George. Quite the opposite. Idaresay Reynard can assure you thesession was perfectly wonderful. Andunusual, I might add — two hours was far,far longer than I expected. As I have saidbefore, Reynard, you have a strong mind.New Messengers rarely make it half anhour before their concentration flies apartand they slip into a daze. Even myseasoned Messengers never last more thanan hour.”

Mr. Curtain seemed tired himself.Perspiration glistened on his forehead,and his lumpy nose was splotched with

red. Tired but happy, just like Reynie. “Iam very pleased, Reynard. Very pleased,indeed. I believe we have more to discussnow. And if George’s session goes evenhalf so well, our discussion will includehim, too. Wouldn’t you like that, George?Of course you would. Meanwhile, I’vesent for some juice. Using the Whisperercalls for frequent refreshment.”

Reynie rose shakily from the seat. Hismind kept returning to the phrases he’dbeen compelled to think: “. . . Brush yourteeth and kill the germs. Poison apples,poison worms. The missing aren’tmissing, they’re only departed. . . .” Andwith each phrase came the memory of thepleasure he’d been given by thinking it.He wanted to sit back down, go straightinto another session. . . .

Reynie shook his head. He couldn’tbelieve how strongly the Whisperer tookhold of you. Also how much it took out ofyou — he felt so weak he stumbled overto a cushion and collapsed upon it. Stickyfollowed and hovered over him, wantingto help somehow, not knowing what to do.

Mr. Curtain, meanwhile, had pressed abutton on his chair, and the WhisperingGallery’s metal door was sliding open.Jillson the Executive entered with aplastic jug and paper cups.

“Anything else, sir?” Jillson eyed theboys with grudging approval. She held anesteem for Messengers she didn’t have forother students.

“That will be all, Jillson,” Mr. Curtainreplied.

Jillson went out, and Mr. Curtain

poured the juice. Plastic jug and papercups. No glass. Mr. Curtain was indeedcareful. But even if they’d had a heavyglass bottle, something hard to conk himover the head with, what then? TheWhisperer’s computer circuitry wassafely hidden beneath the stone floor, itschair and helmets made of strong metal.How could they possibly do anythingabout it?

“Ready, George?” said Mr. Curtain. Itwas more of a command than a question.Sticky gulped and took his place in themachine. Once again Mr. Curtain fitted thered helmet over his head and growled,“Ledroptha Curtain!”

The blue helmet lowered, the cuffsappeared, and Sticky squeezed his eyesshut. His hands strained unconsciously

against the cuffs, wanting to get at hisspectacles. He was obviously frightened.

Reynie watched from the cushion. PoorSticky. In a moment his fear woulddissolve, replaced by somethingwonderful — which was far moretroubling than the fear, for how could theywork to defeat Mr. Curtain if they foundhis invention irresistible? Even now, freeof the Whisperer’s metallic grip, Reyniefound himself longing for that sensation ofperfect security, of not being alone. . . .

His thoughts were interrupted bySticky’s nervous voice crying out: “StickyWashington!”

A pause.Then more quietly: “Fine. George

Washington.”The Whisperer had asked his name, and

Sticky, without realizing, had answeredaloud. Apparently it preferred Sticky’sgiven name.

Reynie watched his friend anxiouslyclutch the armrests. He wished he couldhelp him, but there was nothing to bedone. Next the Whisperer would ask whathis greatest fear was, and poor Stickywould be powerless to hide it. He mustface the worst, and indeed it was with adistinctly quavering voice that Stickyspoke his reply to the Whisperer’sunspoken question.

“Not being wanted,” Sticky said. “Notbeing wanted at all.”

Open Sesame

At lunchtime Kate was tossing grapesinto the air — so high they almost struckthe cafeteria ceiling — then catching themin her mouth, where they made a satisfyingplock! She did this without thinking, as itwas an old habit with her always to tossgrapes when she ate them. And so,although she might seem distracted, Katewas actually listening carefully as theboys told of their experience in theWhispering Gallery. This was provenwhen Reynie said the Institute was goingto close, and Kate — glancing down in

disbelief — received a tunk! (forehead)instead of a plock!

“It’s true,” Sticky said. “Mr. Curtainforesees a ‘call to greater duty’ in the nearfuture. He warned us to keep it quiet. He’dalready told us that one word about theWhisperer gets your Messenger statusrevoked — and believe me, no Messengerwants to chance that. I suppose if he knewwe were telling you this . . .”

“He’d toss you out of the tower,” Katesaid, wiping grape juice from herforehead.

“He told us all this,” Reynie said,“because he’s considering keeping usaround after the change — theImprovement, as he calls it — to betrained up as Executives. He said we’dget to use the Whisperer once a week as a

reward for our service.”“Is it really as great as all that?”

Constance said. “Sitting in a stupid chairdoing nothing?”

Reynie and Sticky glanced at each otherand quickly glanced away. Neither wishedto admit how overcome he’d been by theWhisperer. In fact, Reynie had strugglednot to sound excited — even fond — whenhe described it to the girls. Did he reallywant to say aloud that Mr. Curtain’smachine had made him feel . . . well . . .happy?

Instead, Reynie changed the subject.“It’s exhausting, is what it is. That’s whyMr. Curtain needs so many Messengers.He alternates them to keep their mindsfresh. Given the number of Messengers,our turn should come again in about a

week, assuming — oh, for crying out loud,there goes another one!”

The children scowled and clutched attheir heads. Constance, though, looked notjust annoyed but perplexed — as if thiswere her first hidden message broadcastinstead of her thirtieth.

“Constance?” Reynie said. “Are you—?”

“Quiet,” Kate hissed. “Here comes asash.”

“Hello, George, hello, Reynard,” theMessenger said, ignoring the girls. Hewas a stout boy with braces so heavilyrubber-banded that his mouth looked likea cat’s cradle. “On behalf of the otherMessengers I want to congratulate you,and to invite you to join us at one of theMessenger tables for meals. You know —

to mess with the Messengers, ha ha!”“Ha ha,” said Reynie, as politely as

possible. It wouldn’t exactly help theirmission to offend the other Messengers,but neither did he wish to be split up fromKate and Constance. He glanced at Sticky,who had a curious, expectant look on hisface, as if he really were consideringjoining the Messengers. What was hethinking?

“Thanks so much,” Reynie said quickly.“But do you have any concerns aboutstomach viruses? It may be a day or twountil Sticky and I get over ours.”

“Stomach viruses?” said the boy.“Stoma —? Oh, yes,” said Sticky,

catching on. “We spent most of last nightthrowing up. It was bad, too — I felt like Iwas being turned inside out. But Reynie’s

too cautious. We’re probably notcontagious. We should go ahead and joinyou.” He grabbed his tray and made as ifto rise.

“Uh, no . . . no, I think Reynard’sprobably right,” said the boy, backingaway. He covered his mouth and spokefrom behind his hand. “You can never betoo careful with these things. Why don’tyou fellows give it a few days, and whenyou feel absolutely better, I mean onehundred percent, then come on over andjoin us.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” Reyniesaid as the Messenger hurried away.

“Quick thinking,” Kate said. “And you,too, Sticky — pretty bold work. But whathappened to the Sticky Washington Iknow? You know, the shy and timid one?”

“Give me a break,” Sticky said, duckinghis head.

“Ah, there he is!”Sticky tried to smile, but in truth he was

decidedly troubled. If Reynie hadn’tspoken up just then, he wasn’t at all surewhat he would have done. He had actuallywanted to join the Messengers! Was thatall it took to sway him — being asked?Did he want so much to be wanted that hewould do, well, anything? It was as if theWhisperer had opened a door, and nowSticky couldn’t close it again. He was soashamed he could hardly look up.

Reynie, meanwhile, felt deeplydisturbed. The more he thought about hisresponse to the Whisperer, the moreconvinced he was that becoming aMessenger had been a bad development, a

blow to their mission rather than a boon— because he was too weak to handle it.He needed to get through the mission andoff this island before he faced theWhisperer again. His next turn probablywouldn’t come for several days, and yetalready he found himself glancing atdoors.

Reynie cleared his throat. “I think weneed to —”

“Please!” Constance snapped, coveringher ears. “Reynie! Will you please . . .stop . . . talking!”

Taken aback, Reynie closed his mouthand stared at her in surprise.

“What is your problem?” Sticky saidsharply.

Constance lowered her hands andlooked at Reynie with a mixture of

ruefulness and irritation. “Sorry aboutthat,” she said tersely. “It’s just thatyou’ve been on this whole time, and it’salready getting old. One of you, maybe.But two of you is too much.”

“On?” Reynie repeated. “Two of me?”“You know,” Constance said, tapping

her head. “You’re on. The broadcast —it’s you talking.”

The others looked at one another inamazement.

Reynie was flabbergasted. “Are you . . .are you sure, Constance? I mean I’m —I’m right here!”

Constance thumped the side of her head,as if trying to clear water from her ears.“It’s like you’re in stereo.”

“Wow,” Kate said, impressed. “Thismust be really weird for both of you.”

“You know what this means?” Stickysaid. “Mr. Curtain is recording theWhisperer sessions! He can recordthoughts!”

“But if he can do that,” said Kate, “thenwhy does he need fresh Messengers all thetime? Why not just play his recordings?”

“I think I know,” said Reynie, finallyrecovering from his astonishment. “Hehasn’t always been able to do it.Remember the ‘modifications’ he wroteabout in his journal? He said it thismorning, too — he said his Whispererwas ‘undergoing modification.’”

“That explains why he’s not going toneed Messengers after the Improvement,”Sticky said. “Once he’s finished recordingall his messages, he’ll have no use forMessengers anymore.”

“And he’ll be able to broadcast hisrecordings around the clock,” saidConstance. She sighed miserably andclosed her eyes. “That’s just peachy.”

That wasn’t all, Reynie thought. He hada strong suspicion that as soon as Mr.Curtain had recorded his messages, hewould boost them to full-strength. It wasall going to be part of the Improvement.But for Constance’s sake, Reynie decidednot to mention this aloud. She was alreadyfrightened, no doubt. Sitting there, eyestightly shut, anxiously wondering what layin store for her. . . .

Reynie felt an itch in the back of hismind. He had recently felt the very sameway himself. But his eyes hadn’t beenclosed, exactly. . . .

“We’re almost out of time, aren’t we?”

Sticky was saying. “I never thought we’dstill be on the island when all the bad stuffhappened. Of course, I hoped it neverwould happen.”

“I wish we could be doing something!”Kate said. “If we could just figure outwhat Mr. Benedict . . .” She paused.“Reynie, why are you looking atConstance like that?”

Constance opened her eyes to findReynie staring at her.

“Mr. Benedict said with open eyesnow,” Reynie muttered, almost to himself.“Meaning before they were closed — orblindfolded!” Abruptly he stood up.“Quick, everyone, we still have timebefore class.”

Kate leaped to her feet. Her blue eyestwinkled with excitement. “Where are we

going?”“To find a place you must exit to enter.”

Moments later the Mysterious BenedictSociety stood on the plaza, exactly wherethe boys had stood that morning whenJackson blindfolded them. A few studentsmilled about in the rock garden, but therewere no Executives in sight.

“This is the spot, isn’t it?” Reynieasked.

“I’m pretty sure,” said Sticky, who stillwasn’t sure what Reynie was up to.Reynie had been in too much of a hurry toexplain.

“And how many steps did we takebefore we went inside?”

Sticky told him, and Reynie looked atKate. “Which door would that take us to?”

Kate asked Sticky to take a few stepswhile she watched. Then, one by one, shestudied the Institute buildings. Finally sheshook her head. “Based upon the length ofyour stride, that many steps wouldn’t takeyou to any door of any building in thewhole Institute, front or back.”

“Oh,” Sticky said, certain he haddisappointed Reynie somehow. “I’msorry. I was so nervous, you know. I guessI’ve misremembered.”

“I don’t think so,” said Reynie, who, farfrom looking disappointed, was growingmore and more excited. “We left theplaza, remember? Went down a walkway— and then across grass.”

“Grass?” Sticky said. “Hey, that’s right!

I was so anxious I didn’t even think aboutthat. And you know what? It was the samewhen Jillson took me to the WaitingRoom.”

Reynie nodded. “When Mr. Benedictsaid we must exit to enter, he meant wemust exit the buildings to enter someplaceelse — a place we can’t get to frominside!”

Kate’s face broke into a grin. “It’s thetraps, isn’t it? The number of steps youtook would bring you almost exactly to theone behind the Institute Control Building.”

“But why would we want to enter thetraps?” Constance asked doubtfully.

“Not the traps themselves,” Reyniesaid. “Remember how we thought theboulders were to help hide them? I thinkit’s the other way around. The traps are

there to keep us away from the boulders— because the boulders are hiding secretentrances!”

“Secret entrances!” Constance said,trying hard not to look impressed. “Howdid you think of that?”

“Actually I should have thought of itsooner,” Reynie said. “Sticky had alreadytold me Jillson took him outside andblindfolded him. Obviously theExecutives wanted to keep somethinghidden — something other than theWaiting Room, I mean, because no saneperson would ever want to find thatplace. I’ll bet you anything the next line ofMr. Benedict’s message was going to besomething like ‘Where one of you hasbeen before.’”

Sticky was mystified. “But how would

Mr. Benedict know?”“They’re watching the Institute through

their telescopes, remember? And theplaza’s in plain sight of the mainland.They must have seen Jillson blindfold youand take you behind the Institute ControlBuilding. That’s how Mr. Benedict knewabout it.”

“So you mean something good came outof that?” Sticky asked, his eyes suddenlyshining with tears. “I didn’t go to theWaiting Room for nothing?”

“You aren’t going to start crying on us,are you?” asked Constance rudely.

“Not now,” Sticky growled, removinghis spectacles and swiping at his eyes. “Ibelieve you’ve cleared me right up.”

“Anyway,” Reynie said, “the passagesthat lead to the Waiting Room and the

Whispering Gallery may also leadsomewhere else. Somewhere important.We need to get inside them and find out.”

“So what’s next?” Kate asked. “Sneakaround to the boulders behind thebuilding? We still have a few minutesbefore class.”

Reynie considered. “I think the ones upbehind the dormitory would be safer.There’s too much activity down here.”

“Safer is good,” Sticky said.Kate was bouncing on the balls of her

feet. “So what are we waiting for?”“The right moment,” Reynie replied.

As it happened, Reynie had a particular“right moment” in mind — the moment the

day’s classes had ended, when all theRecruiters and most of the Executiveswould be in the gym, marking the steps oftheir eerie dance. There would be far lessof a chance of bumping into someone inthe secret passages, he pointed out. Butthey would only have a few minutes. Theyneeded to hurry.

Luckily hurrying was something atwhich Kate excelled. By the time theothers had made it halfway up the hill tothe stretch of path nearest the drapeweedpatch, Kate had already reached thehilltop well above them. A quick check tomake sure no one was coming up the otherside of the hill; a quick scan of the plazato see if anyone was looking this way;then Kate gave the “all clear” sign, and theothers ran over to hide behind the

boulders. A minute later she joined them.“We’ve found the entrance,” Sticky told

her, pointing to a barely detectable outlinein the stone. “The question is how to openit. We’ve already tried pushing it, slidingit, and begging it. No luck.”

“Open Sesame!” Constance cried, thenscowled at the unmoving boulders as ifshe hated them.

At the moment Reynie wasn’tparticularly fond of them, either. Hehadn’t considered that it might be difficultgetting into the secret entrances onceyou’d found them. Now here they stood,thwarted, while precious seconds tickedaway.

Kate glanced around to be sure theycouldn’t be seen, but Mr. Curtain hadplaced the entrance very carefully. The

back of the boulders couldn’t be seen fromanywhere below — not from any windowor door in the Institute. The same was truefor the boulders behind the InstituteControl Building. If students stayed on thepaths and walkways as they weresupposed to, they would never spot anExecutive using a secret entrance.

Reynie, meanwhile, was casting aboutfor a hidden lever or knob — anything thatmight open the door. Finding nothing, hegrowled, “Come on! We don’t have timefor this!” He gave the door a frustratedkick.

To the amazement of all, the stone doorimmediately swung up and away,revealing an open archway.

“You kick it?” Sticky criedincredulously.

Reynie nodded, finally understanding.“Mr. Curtain likes to ram through doors,”he said. “Have you noticed?”

The children hurried through thearchway into a small, empty foyer. Thewall swung closed behind them, andimmediately a light came on overhead. Itwas so bright they almost had to squint.Before them an equally bright passagewaycurved away in a steep descent. Reyniehad thought to post Constance near theentrance as a lookout, but he saw now thata lookout was pointless. After the passagecurved away from the foyer, it descendedfor quite some distance uninterrupted byother doorways or passages. If someonecame in through the foyer, there would beno place for a lookout to hide. Thechildren had no choice but to keep

together and hope for the best.Quickly, quietly, they moved down the

passage. Constance was riding piggyback,Kate and Reynie were tiptoeing, andSticky, who was bad at tiptoeing (hebrought his knees rather too high, so thathe looked and sounded like a prancinghorse), carried his shoes and walkedsilently in his socks. In the bright light,with no nooks or crannies to duck into,they all felt quite vulnerable.

Near the bottom of the hill they cameupon another passage that branched off totheir right and slanted steeply downward.They wouldn’t need to investigate it,though; they knew at once where it led. Aremarkably foul odor hung in the air, andthe passage descended to a lonely blackdoor with an iron padlock. Near the door

the stone floor was slick with black mud,and from beyond it came a high-pitchedhumming noise, punctuated with littleclicks and scratches. Reynie turned. Stickystood a few paces behind them, tremblingand closing his eyes.

“Let’s move on,” Reynie said quickly.He and Kate took Sticky by the arms justas his knees appeared ready to buckle. Heleaned on them gratefully as they hurriedon.

A dozen paces more and the childrenhad come to another passage that branchedoff to the left. This one led to a simplemetal door.

Regaining his composure, Sticky quitleaning on Kate and Reynie and set hisshoulders. Whatever the door concealed,he wanted to confront it bravely — or at

least more bravely than he’d handled theWaiting Room. And so, while Kate andConstance looked questioningly at Reynie(who seemed hesitant to be the one toopen it), Sticky took the opportunity topress forward and give the door a sharpkick. This produced a sound very muchlike that of a hammer coming down upon afinger — a sort of dull donk — and Stickyfell to the floor, clutching his foot.

Reynie pointed to a numeric keypadbeside the door. “It’s not like the outsidedoors,” he whispered. “It’s locked.”

Sticky winced and put his shoes backon. So much for regaining composure.

“What’s that?” Kate said, pointing to apiece of paper stuck to the wall above thedoor. “It looks like a note. Here,Constance, let me lift you up.” In a

moment Constance had the note. Printed indistinctive, awkward handwriting, it read:LOSE the new code? Turn OVER for newcode!

At the bottom of the paper an arrowpointed down.

The children sucked in their breath.Could it be as simple as this? Could theybe so lucky? Eagerly Reynie flipped thepaper over. On the back was another note,this one in different handwriting:Attention all Executives: You cannotleave notes like this. S.Q., this had betterbe gone by tonight. Stop trying to beclever. — Jackson

“I knew it was too good to be true,”said Constance.

“I don’t get it,” Sticky said. “Whywould S.Q. say ‘turn over for code’ if he

wasn’t going to write the code on theback?”

“It’s S.Q., remember,” said Kate.“Maybe he forgot to write it. My questionis why Jackson didn’t just take the notedown himself.”

“And miss a chance to scold S.Q. infront of the other Executives?” Constancesaid.

“Good point,” Kate said.Reynie was studying the note. “There’s

something . . .” The others looked at himexpectantly. He rubbed his chin. “Well . . .why did Jackson tell him not to try to beclever?”

“Because Jackson knows it’s pointlessfor S.Q. to try?” said Constance.

“But he did try — that’s what Jackson’ssaying. So the question is, what did S.Q.

do that he thought was so clever? Surely itwasn’t just leaving the note so high up. Itwas hard to reach, maybe, but not hard tospot.”

Kate read the note again. “Okay, whydoes he capitalize LOSE and OVER? It’snot just for emphasis, is it?”

“I think it’s to call attention to them,”Reynie said. “There’s something specialabout them. . . .” He trailed off,considering.

“Well . . . both words have fourletters,” Sticky offered, hoping somehowthis was a helpful thing to point out.

“Maybe the code’s in invisible ink,”Constance suggested.

“With invisible ink he could have justwritten the code on the front,” Reyniesaid. “What would be the point in turning

the note over?”“You think everything S.Q. does has a

point?” Sticky said.Suddenly Reynie stifled a laugh. “Wait

a minute! I have it! Turning the note overis the point! S.Q., you devil!”

“Um, Reynie?” said Kate. “We did turnit over, remember? There’s nothing there.”

“We turned to the back of the paper,”Reynie said. “S.Q. didn’t mean that. Hemeant to turn the note upside down.”

“I still don’t get it,” Sticky said.“Think of it this way. What if the note

read: ‘Is LOSE the new code?’ Theanswer is ‘Yes, but you have to turn itOVER!’” Reynie turned the note upsidedown and pointed to the word LOSE. Theletters were now numbers: 3507.

“Hey, that is clever,” said Sticky. “For

S.Q., I mean.”“We’re just lucky he’s not clever

enough to remember the code withoutleaving notes,” Reynie said.

The note was returned to its properplace, and the children preparedthemselves. Now that they’d had amoment’s pause, their minds had filled upwith questions: What would they findbehind this door? What if it wasterrifying? Or what if it was exactly whatMr. Benedict needed? Or what if — thishad suddenly occurred to Reynie — whatif S.Q.’s note had been left on purpose, totrick sneaking children like themselves?

Reynie saw a troubled look crossKate’s face. Had it occurred to her, too?Mr. Curtain suspected another snoop onthe 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’scoming!”

“H-he?” Sticky repeated.That was why Kate’s expression had

changed. She’d heard something, and nowReynie and the others heard it, too —down in the main passage, growing louderby the second, an electric whine, a shiftingof gears. . . .

It was Mr. Curtain.They had no choice but to go through

this door, even though Reynie had noanswer to his last burning question: Whatif it was a trap?

Practice Makes Perfect

The door slid open. The children dashedthrough. They found themselves in awarm, bright room that smelled heavily ofnewsprint and ink. It seemed to be somekind of press office. Two tables stackedwith printed material stretched across themiddle of the room, and in the far corneran oversized printer was spitting out pageafter page. A television stood near theprinter — its screen flashing but thevolume turned down — and on top of itsat a glass of juice. The room appeared tobe in the process of being disassembled:

Two long tables had been folded up andleaned vertically against one wall; severalempty wooden crates were stacked againstthe other. This was clearly a busy place,and only temporarily empty.

Mr. Curtain rolled into the room twentyseconds later carrying a tall stack ofnewspapers in his lap. Empty was howthe room appeared to him, too. Humming achipper tune, Mr. Curtain shot over to theprinter and began sorting through theprintouts.

Meanwhile, the entire membership ofthe Mysterious Benedict Society,crammed inside an empty crate like abunch of discarded dolls, peered outthrough the spaces between the crate’swooden slats. Reynie, because of theunfortunate angle of his neck and the

weight of Constance upon it, was onlyable to see a bit of floor. Constance’sview of the ceiling was little better.Sticky, however, was in the perfectposition to see the evidence of theunfortunate thing that had just happened;and by pinching Kate’s ankle to get herattention, then repeatedly blinking androlling his eyes, he tried to explain it toher. His eyes, wide as saucers, seemed toKate more anxious and panicky than usual.This was understandable, she thought,given their predicament. Although, wasn’tsomething missing? Something about hiseyes? And was he trying to pointsomething out to her? Kate swiveled herown eyes to see what Sticky was lookingat.

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 seenthem fall — she was too busy throwingConstance over her shoulder, tumbling inafter the boys, and pulling the top of thecrate over them. But she saw them now,all right. And if Mr. Curtain hadn’t beenabsorbed in his newspapers when he camein, he would have spotted them, too. Butthe moment he finished his task at theprinter and turned around . . .

Kate could tell the spectacles werebeyond her reach. She would need toconsult her bucket. This proved a bittricky, though — one arm she could notmove at all; the other she had to threadaround Constance’s neck while pressingher elbow into Sticky’s nose; and she had

to bend her wrist backward at an unnaturalangle that hurt like the dickens. A bittricky, yes, but Kate managed it, and witha sharp tug (which brought tears toSticky’s eyes), she had her horseshoemagnet.

The spectacles had wire rims. Kate justhoped it was the proper kind of wire.

Mr. Curtain had turned the volume upon the television. A news anchor wassaying something about the Emergency.Mr. Curtain giggled — actually giggled —as if he were watching a comedy show.He sipped his juice and returned to hiswork, humming again.

From her awkward angle inside thecrate, Kate could see Mr. Curtain’swheels pointed toward the printer. Nowwas the time. She slipped her arm

between two crate slats and stretched itout as far as she could. The magnet wasstill a few inches short of the spectacles.Gripping it as tightly as she could betweentwo fingers, Kate stretched just a tiny bitfurther. The spectacles twitched. Thenquivered. Then slid over to meet themagnet with a click.

Mr. Curtain’s humming stopped. “Hey?Who’s there?”

With a sharp squeak, the wheelswhipped about to face the crate, intowhich Kate, a split second before, haddrawn the spectacles. There was a longpause, a tap-tap-tapping of fingers on ahard surface, and finally a grunt. Thewheels turned away.

A few minutes later Mr. Curtain had leftthe room.

The children piled out of the crate,stretching their stiff limbs and rubbingtheir bruises.

Reynie looked quickly about. “He tookhis juice, so maybe he’s not coming back.Constance, will you stand guard? Youknow the code — if you hear someonecoming, run in and warn us.” He usheredher out the door before she could think toargue.

Sticky was already going through astack of fresh printouts. “These aregovernment press releases.”

“What’s a press release?” Kate asked,looking over his shoulder.

“A kind of report sent to thenewspapers to be printed,” Sticky said.He scratched his head. “Strange, these areall dated from the future. One’s from next

week, one’s from the week after, and soon for months — even years!”

“They’ r e planned press releases,”Reynie said, coming over to flip throughthe pile. “Articles Mr. Curtain intends tohave printed in the newspapers. And theyall have something to do with him. Look atthe headline on this one from next week:‘ESTEEMED SCIENTIST ANDEDUCATOR APPOINTED TOIMPORTANT POST.’”

Sticky groaned and took off hisspectacles. “Will you read it aloud,Reynie? I’m afraid I need to polish these.”

And so Reynie read aloud:

LEDROPTHA CURTAIN, therecently named Minister AndSecretary of all The Earth’s

Regions (M.A.S.T.E.R.), had this tosay about his new role: “Thegovernments of the world haveestablished my position as that ofan advisor and coordinator in thistime 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 herethat the governments have finallyreorganized themselves in response to theEmergency.”

Sticky spluttered. “But the Emergencyis made up — it’s something Mr. Curtaincreated! I can’t believe every single —”

“That’s it!” Reynie cried, staring

intently at the paper. He felt a wave ofrelief, quickly followed by alarm — as ifhe’d finally succeeded in translatinghieroglyphics only to discover he’dtranslated 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 importantelement in human personality, remember?It’s why the Whisperer has so muchappeal to Messengers — it soothes theirfears, and Mr. Curtain uses that tomotivate them. So what if he created afear, a fear everyone would hold incommon, a fear the entire public wouldshare?”

“The fear that everything is hopelesslyout of control,” Kate said.

“Exactly! Then his next step would bet o soothe that fear with just the rightmessage. The Messengers all love theWhisperer with a passion, right? Well,Mr. Curtain intends to make it so thateveryone in the world will feel the wayMessengers do!”

“Everyone will love the Whisperer?”Sticky said.

“No,” Reynie said. “Everyone willlove him.”

Reynie was putting it all together now.“So those journal entries — the placeswhere 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. “Youmean ‘Ledroptha Curtain Stops the Hurtin’was an idea for a hidden message? That’sso lame!”

Reynie handed another press release toKate. “Look at this one: ‘CURTAINBEST MAN TO HANDLE BAFFLINGAMNESIA EPIDEMIC.’”

“An amnesia epidemic?” Sticky said.Kate had moved down the table to rifle

through a stack of pamphlets, shaking herhead in disgust. “And here’s how heintends to pull it off.” She handed eachboy a pamphlet. Reluctantly Sticky put hisglasses back on, and in grim silence theyall read the pamphlet. It was an officialadvisory from something called the Public

Health Administration:

Just what is Sudden AmnesiaDisease (SAD)? SAD is anextremely contagious disease thatcauses total memory loss in thosewho contract it.

What’s being done about it?Although the origin and cure of thisdisease have yet to be found, they’rebeing investigated by a group ofexperts headed by none other thanLedroptha Curtain, the highlyregarded scientist and our newlynamed Minister And Secretary of allThe Earth’s Regions. SAD cases areadmitted for free care at the AmnesiaSanctuary on Nomansan Island, a

state-of-the-art facility wherepatients live comfortably, under strictquarantine, while the cure for theirdisease is sought.

A m I a SAD case? Are myneighbors? A common first symptomof SAD is the belief that one hearschildren’s voices in one’s head. Theonset of this symptom is most sudden,and once it has begun, it persistswithout interruption until amnesiasets in.

Reynie flipped to the next page, whichshowed a picture of two smilingRecruiters. They had their hands on theshoulders of Jackson the Executive, whowas trying his best to look miserable and

happy at the same time. The photo captionread: “Already feeling better! A SADcase jokes around with our friendlydoctors.”

Sticky had finished the pamphlet andhurried to the other table. “There are moreover here, printed in dozens oflanguages!”

“I can’t believe it,” Kate said. “Itdoesn’t make sense.”

For Reynie it all made too much sense.The last piece of the puzzle had fallen intoplace. “This whole thing,” he saidbleakly, “the Helpers, the Recruiters, theMessengers — the entire Institute — it’sall been one big experiment to make surehis plan can work. Mr. Curtain has beenpracticing. The Institute will become theAmnesia 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 intendsto brainsweep everyone who resists him?Doesn’t he have to put them in hisWhisperer to do that? What about peoplein other countries?”

Sticky waved a handful of pamphlets.“He has Sanctuaries set up all over theworld. The maps on the back show theirlocations.”

Kate humphed, then frowned curiously.She had just noticed the edge of adoorframe behind the folded tables

leaning against the wall.“ I t is hard to understand how he’ll

manage it, though,” Reynie said. “Sticky,remember when he told us the Whispererwas going to be a ‘healing device’ thatwould bring peace to thousands oftroubled minds?”

“Even millions,” Sticky said with ashiver. “I remember.”

Kate had squeezed behind the tablesand found a numeric keypad by thecovered-up doorway.

“But how would that be possible? Somany people brainswept in so short atime? That’s a major operation — itwould take ages to prepare for it.” Reyniefelt an unexpected burst of optimism.“Maybe we’ve gotten lucky! Maybe we’rein time. If we can just figure out how —”

“Boys?” Kate poked her head out frombehind the tables. “There’s a door backhere. You need to see what’s on the otherside.” She spoke in an oddly strangledvoice, as if she’d just seen a dead body.

Sticky’s eyes widened. He shook hishead. “I don’t want to. Reynie, you lookand then tell me about it.”

But Reynie grabbed Sticky’s arm, andtogether they went to look through thedoor.

“Oh,” said Reynie.“Oh, no,” said Sticky.“Are those what I think they are?” Kate

asked. “They look like old-timey hairdryers.”

“I’m afraid so,” Reynie said.The machines stretched in long rows —

row after row after row — across a vast

underground warehouse. An elegantlylettered sign that hung from the ceilingread: WELCOME TO MEMORY TERMINAL. Alongone wall were stacked hundreds of crates.Reynie bent to inspect the nearest one. Itwas filled with bundles of paper andmarked with an address in China. Thecrate next to it bore the same address butwas filled with machine parts —including, he noted, a red helmet and ablue one.

“It really is happening,” said Kate. “Ican’t believe it.”

“So what’s in the crates?” saidConstance.

They turned to find Constance standingin 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. Weneed to get out of here before it’s toolate.”

And yet as they rushed out of theMemory Terminal and up the long secretpassage, Reynie couldn’t stop thinking,“But we are too late! Much, much toolate!”

The night was rainy, the plaza deserted.The light in the distant woods had stoppedflashing, and Sticky turned from thewindow. “They want us to wait for areply. 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 tothumb-wrestle her to pass the time. Reyniedeclined. Even thumb-wrestling feltbeyond his ability at the moment.Everything did. He was hoping againsthope that Mr. Benedict would find someway to save them — to save everyone —without requiring anything more from him.Reynie didn’t think he was capable ofmore, not since the Whisperer. He wasworried, deeply worried, that theWhisperer had revealed to him who hetruly was.

At the window Sticky suddenly sat upstraight. “Here’s a message!” He adjustedhis spectacles and stared intently towardthe mainland. “Know . . . thine . . .enemy.” After a minute Sticky climbeddown. “That’s it. ‘Know thine enemy.’”

Kate looked hopefully at Reynie. “Idon’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 sopleasant not to have anyone grumping andmumping for a few minutes.”

The children woke Constance (whoclaimed she hadn’t been sleeping) and puttheir heads together. What could it mean?Didn’t they already know Mr. Curtain wasthe 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 abook by Sun Tzu called The Art of War . Itcomes 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 noidea what they’re talking about. Let’s askfor another hint.”

The others agreed — it couldn’t hurt toask — so Sticky returned to the windowand sent a follow-up question: Whichenemy? But to this he received no reply.Sticky repeated the message and again got

no reply. He was about to try a third timewhen Reynie stopped him.

“There has to be a reason they’re notreplying,” Reynie said. “Are you sure thecoast is clear?”

Sticky cringed. “I hadn’t thought ofthat.” He peered out the window. “Theplaza’s empty . . . so’s the rock garden . . .the shoreline and the bridge are harder tosee, but as far as I can tell they seemdeserted.”

“Let me look,” Kate said, climbing upbeside him and sweeping her eyes fromleft to right. “Sticky’s right, it does seemclear.” She took out her spyglass andscanned the view again. “Nope, no one outthere 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 comecrashing into the room.

“Sorry!” Kate whispered sheepishly.“It’s all right. I thought he was staringright back at me. But he’s too far away forthat, of course. The spyglass makes himseem closer.”

Frazzled, the others gatheredthemselves up.

Kate was looking out the windowagain. “He really is staring in thisdirection, though. Oh, it gives me thecreeps. Surely he’s not looking at ourwindow? I have to remember it’s dark inhere. He can’t see me.”

“Who are you talking about, Kate?”Reynie asked nervously.

“A Recruiter. He’s standing downunder the edge of the bridge.” Shelowered the spyglass and squinted into thedarkness. “No wonder Sticky didn’t seehim. Without the spyglass he just lookslike a shadow among the bridge pilings.”

“Maybe the message was a warning,”Constance said. “To let us know an enemywas out there watching.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Constance!”Sticky said impatiently. “If they’d seenhim there, they wouldn’t have sent anymessage at all.”

“You don’t make any sense,” Constancesnapped. “They shouldn’t have sent you atall.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’tknow who you think you are —”

“Easy, you two,” Reynie said. “A

message broadcast just started, didn’t younotice? It’s making us cranky.”

It was true. Though the messages wereunpleasant as ever — and came morefrequently now that Mr. Curtain had somesessions recorded — the children weregetting used to them. Sometimes theydidn’t immediately recognize the reasonfor their bursts of fussiness.

Sticky took a breath. “He’s right. Sorryabout that.”

“That’s okay,” said Constance, thougheveryone noticed she didn’t apologizeherself.

Kate was still watching the Recruiter.Exasperated, she said, “Why won’t thatman leave? Doesn’t he know we have asecret message to receive?”

“Maybe he does,” Reynie said with

misgiving, “and is waiting to see it.”Sticky rubbed his head in agitation. “Do

you really think so? You think we’ve beenfound out? They’re spying on us now?”

“I don’t know, but something seemsextremely fishy about him standing in theshadows all alone. Recruiters are neveralone — they’re always in pairs. And heobviously doesn’t want to be spotted. Infact, from this angle, we’re about the onlyones who could see him down. . . . Wait aminute.”

“You think he wants us to see him,don’t you?” Kate said, raising herspyglass again. “He really is looking thisway! Just standing there not moving. Andhere’s something weird I didn’t noticebefore — his hair is wet, but his clothesare dry. What do you think he’s up to?”

Reynie thought he knew. “Does heremind you of anybody, Kate?”

“Does he remind me . . . ? Of course! Ican’t believe I didn’t see it!” She rappedher forehead with her knuckles. “It’sMilligan!”

“Milligan’s here?” Sticky cried, unableto contain his excitement.

Reynie grinned. “That’s what theymeant by ‘Know Thine Enemy.’ And that’swhy they didn’t respond to our secondmessage — they had to make sure welooked for him. Sticky, let’s send amessage that says, ‘Enemy Known.’”

Sticky sent the message.No sooner had he done so than the light

in the woods began flashing a messagewith extreme rapidity: Go at once. Hurry.Hurry. Hurry.

The children leaped to their feat, theirhearts racing. What in the world? Hadthey been found out? The boys threw ontheir shoes, Kate retrieved her rope fromthe ceiling, and Constance climbed ontoher back. Sticky took one last glance outthe window — “It’s still flashing‘Hurry!’” — and the children flew fromthe room, down the darkened corridor,and out into the night.

They had stared out their window at nightenough to know where the darkestshadows lay, and it was to the darkestshadows they kept. Avoiding the plaza,where they would be terribly exposed,they bolted quick as cats along the bottom

of the hill by the dormitory, dashed acrossa stretch of crumbling shale, then madestraight for the water. With a finalscramble down a rocky incline, they cameto the island shore. If they kept low theywould not be easily seen; the inclinewould shield them from view of theInstitute. Keeping low, then, and steppingcarefully on the rocky shore, the childrenmade their way toward the bridge.

It had stopped raining, but the nightremained cold and windy. Before thechildren had gone half the distance to thebridge, the wind began to carry a strong,spicy scent to their noses. The odor of afamiliar cologne. They stopped andlooked around, seeing nothing. Then ashadow detached itself from the rockyincline and took on the general form — if

not the exact appearance — of Milligan.He certainly smelled like a Recruiter,Reynie thought, but for some reason heseemed un-Recruiter-like. He was dressedin a fine suit; he wore watches on bothwrists; and his hair, though quite wet asKate had mentioned, was perfectlycombed. So what was it?

It was the smile, Reynie realized, orrather the lack of one. He’d never beennear a Recruiter who wasn’t smiling, andcertainly not one who looked inconsolablysad.

“I’m sorry not to have fetched youmyself,” Milligan said, “but this was thesafer course. A Recruiter on the shorealone may or may not draw suspicion, buta Recruiter in the student dormitory mostcertainly would.”

“What’s going on, Milligan?” Kateasked.

“I’m to take you away,” Milligan said.The children were stunned.“Away?” Reynie repeated. “You mean

off the island?”Milligan produced four black cloaks —

no one saw from where — and held themout. “Put these on and draw them tight.They’ll help conceal you. If we run intotrouble, stay close and don’t worry. I’lldie before I let harm come to any of you.”

“Don’t worry?” Sticky said. “Don’tworry? You’re talking about dying andwe’re not to worry? What’s happening,Milligan?”

“There’s little time for explanation,Sticky. I can get you to the mainland, butwe must make our way to the other side of

the island, and it will be slow going.”“But why are we going?” Kate said.“Your mission is completed.”Reynie felt an enormous pressure lift

from his shoulders. Completed! Thatmeant he wouldn’t be tested anymore! Nomore worrying about failing everyone. Hecould leave the island without ever facingthe Whisperer again. Yes, it was time togo: Just thinking of the Whisperer filledhim with longing, even made him want tostay. . . .

“Completed?” Kate said. She seemedsuspicious. “Does that mean Mr. Benedicthas a plan now? He thinks he can stop Mr.Curtain?”

“You mustn’t worry about that, Kate,”said Milligan. “Please put the cloak on.”

Kate tossed the cloak onto the ground.

“You didn’t answer my question. DoesMr. Benedict think he can stop Mr.Curtain or not?”

Milligan frowned. “It doesn’t concernyou anymore, Kate. The Improvement ismuch too close. Mr. Benedict wants youaway from here, where you can be safe.”

“I’m not budging until I get an answer,”Kate said firmly. “Can Mr. Benedict stopthe Improvement or not? Tell us the truth!”

The other children were holding thecloaks in their hands, glancing back andforth from Kate to Milligan.

Milligan looked away over the water.He seemed extremely reluctant to answer.Finally he sighed. “No, children. We haveno way to stop it. You’ll have to go intohiding — we all will. We’ll need to keepmoving, keep ahead of the Recruiters . . .

but Mr. Benedict believes he can keep yousafe, and you have my word that I’ll do allI can to protect you. Please, try not toworry. Mr. Benedict will never give up.That much I can assure you. He will worktirelessly, and perhaps in time he can finda way to counteract Mr. Curtain’smessages — to clear all of our minds.”

Kate was having none of it. “Whatabout Constance?” she demanded. “Whathappens to her when Mr. Curtain booststhe power all the way? She’s alreadyhearing voices, you know!”

Milligan looked sadly at Constance. “Idon’t know, child. Nobody does. I’m sosorry — you’re in danger no matter whereyou go.”

At this, Constance sat down on a rockand covered her face. She seemed smaller

than ever now — so small the harborbreeze might catch her up like a scrap ofpaper and carry her away, carry her intonowhere.

It was then Reynie knew they couldn’tleave.

He shouldn’t have needed Kate to showhim, he thought. His desire to save himselfhad kept him from seeing it at first, but atleast he saw it now. He felt it in his bones,and it felt perfectly awful, but there itwas: They couldn’t leave. Not just forpoor Constance’s sake, but for Mr.Bloomburg, and Milligan, and theHelpers, and all the future people Mr.Curtain intended to brainsweep, not leastof whom was dear Miss Perumal herself.Mr. Benedict would never ask it of him,but he must ask it of himself.

“Milligan, please tell Mr. Benedictthank you,” Reynie said. “But I’mstaying.”

Kate threw her arms around him. “Oh, Ihoped you would say that, Reynie!Because I’m staying, too. We have to,don’t we?”

Sticky seemed ready to cry. “You’restaying? But . . . but . . .” He turned andgazed longingly toward the mainland. Hehad known they would say this. And heknew they were right.

“Sticky?” said Kate.“I suppose we don’t have much

choice,” Sticky said. “We don’t havemuch chance, either. But we’re the onlyone Mr. Benedict has got.”

Milligan tried again, and then again, butthe more he pressed the children, the more

determined they became. Finally he gaveup. “In that case, I’m to give you amessage from Mr. Benedict.”

“A message?” Constance said. “Whydidn’t you tell us before?”

“Mr. Benedict had a feeling you wouldchoose to stay. ‘That is exactly the kind ofchildren they are,’ he said. He hoped todiscourage such a decision and carry youto safety. But if you adamantly refused —and only then — I was to give you themessage.”

“So what is it?” Kate asked.“He said to remind you that every

single one of you is essential to thesuccess of the team — that now more thanever, you must rely upon one another in allthings.” Milligan took the cloaks backfrom the children. “What’s more,” he said,

tucking the cloaks down the legs of his suitpants, “you must also rely upon me.Whatever develops, I’m here to help you.I’m staying on the island. When the timecomes, this is the place to contact me.”

“How do we do that?” Reynie asked.Milligan pointed back the way they had

come. “Not far from here an old drainageculvert empties into the channel. It’s agood marker. To leave me a message, hideit in a dry spot within twenty paces of theculvert, and stack two stones upon it. I’llcheck the place often, and meanwhile I’llkeep an eye on you as best I can.” Withthat, Milligan turned to go.

“Wait a minute,” Kate said. “Aren’t yougoing to wish us luck?”

“Luck?” Milligan said, without turningaround. “I’ve been wishing you luck from

the moment I met you. What I wish for younow is a miracle.”

He disappeared into the darkness. Thechildren stared after him.

“He thinks we need a miracle,” Stickysaid in a bleak voice.

“Well, optimism has never been hisstrong suit,” said Kate. “Or haven’t younoticed?”

A Chess Lesson

Reynie woke before dawn, shivering anddrenched in sweat. For the second night ina row he had dreamed an awful thing. Thistime, while his friends cried for help fromsomewhere far away — so far away theysounded like whining mosquitoes —Reynie had been sitting in the Whisperer,incredibly happy and content, grinning intriumph. Why triumph? He tried toremember. He was grinning because . . .Reynie shuddered, remembering: He haddecided to join Mr. Curtain.

Reynie rubbed his temples. Just a

dream, he told himself, though realitywasn’t much better.

Nor did reality improve as the dayunfolded. Classes, meals, studytime — allpassed in an unpleasant blur as Reyniestruggled to come up with a plan. For thefirst time since he’d set foot on NomansanIsland, he was dreading the meeting of theMysterious Benedict Society that night. Hehad no idea what to do. The others werelooking to him as a leader, and he couldonly look back at them as a failure. Whenthe lights finally went out and the girlsjoined them, Reynie was cringing evenbefore Kate asked her question.

“Okay, Reynie, what’s the plan?”Reynie shook his head. “I . . . don’t

have one. I’m sorry. I’ve tried, but mybrain just goes round and round. All I can

think is that we need to disable theWhisperer, but —”

“That’s a great plan!” Kate said,excited. “How do we do it?”

“That’s what I mean,” Reynie said witha shrug. “I don’t see how we can. Thecomputers are below the WhisperingGallery, tucked away beneath two feet ofmetal and stone. There’s no way. . . .”

“Mr. Curtain told you that,” Katepointed out. “Are you sure he was tellingthe truth? You were blindfolded,remember. How do you know thecomputers aren’t sitting out in the openand you just couldn’t see them?”

Reynie was surprised this hadn’toccurred to him. “It’s a good question.”He considered a moment. “But no, asmuch as he emphasized security, I’m

inclined to think he’s telling the truth.Wouldn’t you say, Sticky?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sticky said.“But Mr. Curtain needs some way to get

to those computers,” Kate pressed. “Towork on them and modify them and allthat. Don’t you think?”

Reynie went from being surprised tobeing mortified. Shouldn’t he have thoughtof this? “You’re . . . you’re right, Kate. Hemust have some way of getting to them.Which means we might be able to get tothem, too. After all, we know the doorcodes now!”

“It couldn’t hurt to take a peek,” saidKate, standing up. “And the sooner thebetter. I’ll go by myself — if I get caught,you three might still have a chance tofigure something out. Now just tell me

how to get there. I know I need to gothrough the secret entrance behind theInstitute Control Building, but then what?Sticky?”

Sticky felt a powerful urge to make up alie — to protect the Whisperer.Unbelievable, he thought. He tried again,but again he felt the urge. Only byclenching his fists and speaking throughgritted teeth did he manage to tell Kate thetruth. “It’s just down a short passage andthen up the tower steps.”

“We need to go with you, though,”Reynie said. “It’s too dangerous alone.”

Kate waved him off. “I’ll be fine. It’sreally a one-girl operation, anyway.”

You shouldn’t let her go alone, Reyniethought. She ought to have help. But whenhe opened his mouth to argue, he found

nothing would come out. A fog seemed tohave rolled into his mind, and on top ofthat he felt bone-weary. He was tired,very tired, of always trying to do the rightthing.

Kate set her flashlight on the television.“You’ll need this in case I get caught.”

“If you get caught —,” Constancebegan.

“Don’t worry, I won’t give up myfriends,” Kate snapped. “Good grief,Constance, it’s the last thing I’d do!”

In a vexed tone Constance said, “I wasgoing to say, ‘If you get caught, don’tworry. We’ll find some way to saveyou.’”

They were all moved by this —especially Constance, who’d said itherself — and Kate patted Constance’s

shoulder. “Sorry, Connie girl. SometimesI forget you’re not always a crab. Now letme take you back to the room. Reynie,Sticky — I’ll let you know what I find out.Wish me luck!”

They wished her luck, and momentslater the girls were gone.

With hardly a word between them,hardly even a glance, the boys slipped intotheir beds. They often chatted a minute ortwo before dropping off to sleep, but nowboth were afraid of betraying howstrongly the Whisperer was affecting them.

Betray, Reynie thought. It was an uglyword, an awful thought. But as oftenhappens with awful thoughts, he could notstop thinking it. Why hadn’t he arguedwith Kate? He should have insisted heaccompany her. Why hadn’t he? Was it the

broadcasts fogging his mind? Or was itthat part of him didn’t want to stop Mr.Curtain?

Reynie pressed his fists into his eyes. Inhis mind he began composing a letter.

Miss Perumal,Would you ever have thought I

might choose a lie for the sake ofmy own happiness? The Whisperer’sversion of happiness is an illusion— it doesn’t take away your fears, itonly lies to you about them, makesyou temporarily believe you don’thave them. And I know it’s a lie, butwhat a powerful one! Maybe I’m notwho I always thought myself to be.Maybe I’m the sort of person who

will do anything to hear what I wantto believe. . . .

Reynie was crumbling, on the brink ofdespair. Mr. Benedict had expected him tobe a leader to his friends, to be smartenough to devise a plan, to be brave. Buthe was no kind of leader at all, he knewthat now, certainly not brave, and Mr.Benedict felt very far away indeed. Moreand more, Mr. Curtain seemed like thereal man, and Mr. Benedict like a memoryfrom a dream. And Miss Perumal, the onlyperson who always treated him kindly,had become an imaginary reader to whomhe wrote imaginary letters.

What has happened to you? he thought.He’d never expected doing the right thingto be so hard. But it was. Too hard for

him, anyway. He was the wrong personfor this task, the wrong person in thewrong place.

Reynie squeezed his eyes shut, tryingnot to cry. But that only made him see theWhisperer all the more clearly. How washe supposed to resist the Whisperer whenit was the one thing that offered relief?What he needed was help — someencouragement, some guidance, anythingto bolster his resolve. The others alllooked to him. Who was he supposed tolook to?

It had to be Mr. Benedict, Reyniethought. If Mr. Benedict couldn’t help him,then he was beyond help.

Reynie climbed down and went to thewindow. He gazed out into the dark night.Kate was off somewhere risking her neck.

Sticky was murmuring in his sleep, havingtroubled dreams. And Constance’s dreamscould be no less troubled — she had moreto worry about than anyone.

Reynie would send one message, onemessage only. He had never beensuperstitious, but he decided now that ifhe received no response to help him, hewould give up. Just give up and take aneasier path. He wouldn’t have to try to besome kind of hero, wouldn’t have to fail— and soon it would be too late to matter.There would be nothing he could do, nopoint in trying. It would be out of hishands.

Just thinking about it was so enticingReynie almost didn’t send the message.But then, squeezing his lips tight indetermination, he signaled the words

before he could change his mind:Whisperer too strong. Please advise. —RM

Reynie waited at the window, his hearthammering. He felt his entire future,indeed his entire character, dependedupon the next few moments. Send mesomething, he thought. Please just sendme . . . just send me anything.

He waited. Minutes crawled by. Whymust they take so long? Perhaps they hadnothing to offer him. Perhaps they wereracking their brains for anything to sayother than “good luck.” Or perhaps theyweren’t even watching — perhaps theRecruiters had found them. Reyniecouldn’t know the reason, but the reasonhardly mattered. What mattered was theempty night.

“I can’t believe this is it,” Reyniethought, with the strangest mixture ofdespair and relief.

But this was it. It was all over.He was just turning from the window

when he saw a distant flash, a pinprick oflight among the trees on the mainlandshore. Someone, at last, was signaling aresponse. Reynie heard his pulse poundingin his ears. He held his breath until themessage was completed.

Remember the white knight.Reynie let out his breath. A long, slow

release. He didn’t have to think very hardto know what Mr. Benedict meant by that.Though it seemed so long ago, he wellremembered their conversation about thechess problem. The white knight had madea move, changed his mind, and started

over.“And do you believe this was a good

move?” Mr. Benedict had asked.“No, sir,” Reynie had answered.“Why, then, do you think he made it?”And Reynie had replied, “Perhaps

because he doubted himself.”Reynie stared out the window for a long

time. Then he put down the flashlight andclimbed back into bed. His heartbeat hadsteadied, his shoulders relaxed. In hismind he took out the letter he had justwritten to Miss Perumal, crumpled it up,and threw it away.

He would write her another.

The Mouse in the Culvert

As Reynie composed a more optimisticletter to his former tutor — indeed, evenas, in his mind, he wrote the words “andnow our hopes really do lie with Kate” —Kate was feeling less and less optimisticherself.

Her problem wasn’t finding Mr.Curtain’s secret computer room. Herproblem was not getting caught.

At first everything had gone fine. Katehad flitted through the shadows behind thedormitory, and in no time had made herway down to the boulders behind the

Institute Control building, kicked open thesecret entrance, and darted inside thefoyer. It was here that the problems began.The ceilings had no crawl space, and theair vents were too small to accommodateher. She had no choice but to move aboutin the open. And it was open in thepassage, as a quick peek from the foyerproved — open and bright as day. Not tomention it was hardly a “short passage” atall. Lined with doorways, it stretched offinto the distance, where it finally turned acorner. Why had Sticky said it was short?

Then Kate remembered the boys hadbeen blindfolded. They must have thoughtit was short, because they’d only gone alittle way before Jackson had led themthrough a doorway and onto the towersteps. Any one of these near doorways

might lead to the steps, then. Should shetry them all?

As if in answer, about halfway downthe passage a door slid open and Jacksonstepped out into the passage. Kate pulledback into the foyer and listened. Nofootsteps. She peeked out again. Jacksonwas leaning against the wall by the door,munching absently on a stick of licorice.He seemed relaxed, settled, as if heintended to stay there awhile. Kate smiled.She thought it pretty likely he wasguarding the tower steps. Now she justneeded to get past him.

Pulling back out of view, Kate easedher slingshot from her bucket, snugged amarble into it, then peeked around thecorner again. She waited a long minute,then another. Finally the opportunity came:

Jackson looked down to straighten hissash, muttering something to himself. Itwas now or never. Kate launched themarble down the passage.

The marble shot over Jackson’s head,struck the stone floor in the distance witha satisfying click, bounced off the farwall, and skittered around the corner.Jackson spat out his licorice and barked,“Who’s there?” Not waiting for ananswer, he ran down the passage andaround the corner, and Kate dashed to thedoor he’d been guarding. Next to it was anumeric keypad. She hadn’t counted onthat, but if Mr. Curtain hadn’t changed thecodes again. . . . Her fingers flew acrossthe numbers.

The door opened. Kate leaped inside.Only then did she realize she was in an

elevator. An elevator? Of course! Howelse would Mr. Curtain get up to theWhispering Gallery in his wheelchair? Hemust not let his Messengers use it — hedid like his secrets, didn’t he? Probablyenjoyed the thought of the childrenlaboring up all those steps, too. As thedoor slid closed, Kate saw the towersteps through an open doorway across thepassage. Jackson had been guarding bothentrances.

There were only a few buttons insidethe elevator. They were unlabeled, but itwasn’t hard to guess that the top buttonwould be for an entrance outside theWhispering Gallery, and the one below it— that would surely be the computerroom. Kate stared longingly at the button .. . but of course she couldn’t press it. She

couldn’t use the elevator. Jackson wassure to hear it. He was probably alreadycoming back down the passage.

And so Kate improvised. She emptiedher bucket, flipped it over, and standingatop it on her tiptoes, unscrewed themaintenance panel above her. She’d neverworked so quickly in her life. In no timeshe’d tied her rope in place, gathered herbucket and things, and disappeared thoughthe panel into the elevator shaft above.

No sooner had Kate replaced the panelbelow her than the elevator door opened.Kate held perfectly still. She heardJackson grunt. The door closed again.

Kate flicked on her penlight. Theelevator cables stretched high above her,disappearing into blackness. She took offher shoes and socks, slid the socks over

her hands to protect them, then put hershoes back on. With her penlight clampedbetween her teeth, she started up, wastingno time. She had a very long, very difficultclimb ahead of her.

It was a very long, very difficult way to goonly to be disappointed. Despite thesocks, the cable hurt her hands; the climbwas exhausting; and when at last Katecame to a set of doors near the top, shefound them impossible to pry open or peekthrough. Above them another set of doors(which must open onto the passagewayoutside the Whispering Gallery) provedequally immovable. Then, squeezing pastthe winch and machinery at the top of the

elevator shaft (if the elevator had startedjust then, she’d have been killed), Katediscovered that a vent cover she’d spottedwas welded shut. The vent was too tiny toclimb through, anyway. She did manage topeer down through it, if only to make thefollowing, discouraging mental notes:

In the foyer: two Recruiters, very bigand dangerous-looking, both wearingshock-watches. Behind them: thick metaldoor, three manual locks in addition toan electronic keypad, one of the locks acombination. Air ducts: too small forConstance to fit through, even if greased.Ceiling: inaccessible. Windows: none.

No windows, Kate thought, and no hopefor entry. She couldn’t even get to theroom outside the computer room, muchless into the computer room itself. It was

hard to resist a sigh. She’d had grandvisions of sabotaging the Whisperer,destroying its computers all by herself.Ripping out cables, crushing components,stealing mysterious gizmos that could notbe replaced. Not only would she beregarded as a hero, she would prove onceand for all that she could do everythingalone — that she needed no one’s help.But now she saw she could do no suchthing. Not this time.

Kate stiffened. In her disappointmentshe had let her mind wander, and onlynow became aware that one of theRecruiters was peering into the darknessin her direction.

“McCraig,” the Recruiter said to hispartner, “do you see something odd behindthe vent there?”

McCraig pulled out a flashlight.Nothing behind the vent. “Probably amouse.”

“A talking mouse?”“That’s not coming from the vent, you

idiot. That’s the Executives coming up thesteps. Got a new one taking the tourtonight, remember?”

Kate, who had pulled back just in time,also heard the voices. They were just onthe other side of the wall.

“— part of your training,” S.Q. wassaying, his voice growing louder. “After Ishow you the ropes up here, you and Imeet with Mr. Curtain so he can explainsome things to you.”

“Yes, you’ve already said that,” said atesty voice. Martina Crowe. “But why areyou coming to the meeting? You’ve been

an Executive for almost a year now.”“Well, you probably haven’t noticed,”

S.Q. said, “but I’m a little slow on thepick-up. Mr. Curtain sometimes has me sitin on these tutorials, to refresh my memoryabout certain things.”

Kate heard a derisive snort, thenJackson’s voice saying, “Hold on, youtwo.” She leaned and peeked through thevent again, but couldn’t see him. Theentrance from the tower steps was out ofview.

“McCraig,” she heard Jackson say tothe Recruiter. “Everything fine up here?Nothing unusual going on tonight?”

“I’m telling you, Jackson,” said S.Q.’svoice, “it was probably a mouse.”

“We got mice, too,” said McCraig.“Other than that all’s fine.”

“Jackson takes his guard duty veryseriously,” S.Q. said knowingly.

“Hey, it’s Mr. Curtain who wantssecurity stepped up,” Jackson snapped.“You got a problem with Mr. Curtain,S.Q.?”

“Of course not! I was just saying . . .”Kate didn’t hear the rest. She was

already easing her way down the elevatorshaft again. She needed to beat Jacksonback down so she could slip out. Andthen? What was this about a meeting withMr. Curtain? Maybe the night didn’t haveto be an entire loss. The trouble would befinding a way to eavesdrop on his office.Too risky going into the Institute ControlBuilding. But maybe she could findanother way.

“And so you see, Martina,” Mr. Curtainsaid, rolling out from behind his desk,“after the Improvement most people willbe much happier.”

“But not all,” said S.Q. “Isn’t that right,Mr. Curtain?”

“Quite right, S.Q. Unfortunately, therea r e some people whose natures inclinethem to be sad when others are happy.”

Martina was smiling. “May I assume,”she said in a sly tone, “that these poorsouls would not only be unhappy — whichcertainly is tragic enough — but mightalso . . . cause trouble? Am I right thatbrainsweeping will not only help themfeel better, it will make them moremanageable?”

“You understand perfectly,” said Mr.Curtain with an approving look. “And

S.Q., I believe that explanation shouldsatisfy you, as well.”

If the explanation had not satisfied S.Q.,it had nonetheless created in him thestrong impression that he ought to besatisfied, and so he laughed and said, “Isee, yes. Of course.”

Martina leaned forward in her chair.“One thing I’m still unclear on, though, ishow brainsweeping works. It doesn’tactually erase the memories?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Curtain said. “Anyonewho knows anything about the human mindunderstands that it never truly forgetsanything. To completely erase memoriesis impossible. What is possible, however,is hiding memories from their owners. Touse my favorite comparison, we sweep theold memories under a mental rug — hence

the word ‘brainsweeping’ — and therethey remain hidden away, with no one thewiser.”

“And everyone happier,” S.Q. said.“Yes, S.Q.,” said Mr. Curtain with a

significant look at Martina. She was abrand new Executive, but alreadyunderstood far more than S.Q. ever would.“Yes, my friend. Everyone’s happier.”

“Isn’t it amazing?” S.Q. said toMartina. “I get goose bumps every time Ilearn it.”

“It is much the same with fears, youknow,” Mr. Curtain said. “S.Q., do youbelieve you have it down now? Wouldyou like to explain to Martina how theWhisperer deals with fears?”

“Oh, yes, of course I would,” said S.Q.,reddening. “That is, I would, but, um —”

“But you’ve forgotten?” Mr. Curtainsnapped, flashing a sneaky half-grin atMartina. (Apparently he took pleasure intoying with S.Q., which no doubtexplained why Mr. Curtain hadn’t bootedhim off the island years ago.)

“Forgotten? Oh, no!” S.Q. cried indismay. “No, I wouldn’t say I’ve forgotten— you know, nothing is ever trulyforgotten, you said so yourself, sir, ha ha—” He coughed. “It’s just that, uh, you’reso much more elegant than I am.”

“I daresay that’s true. Perhaps you alsofind me more eloquent than you. Verywell, S.Q., I shall explain it, and you maynod along as always.”

S.Q. nodded.Mr. Curtain turned to Martina. “You

recall how your fears seem to disappear

when you’re seated in the Whisperer, doyou not?”

Martina’s expression sharpened withhunger. “Absolutely,” she breathed.

S.Q. nodded.“Of course you do. Again, the magic is

in the messages. My Whisperer rewardsyour cooperation by sending extremelyhigh-power messages that deny your fears.A simple procedure. Fears lurk justbeneath the surface and are easy todetect.”

S.Q. nodded.“So it’s just a wonderful illusion!”

Martina said. “That explains why the fearscome back later. I’ve always wonderedabout that — when I’m in the Whispererthey seem to have gone away forever.”

Mr. Curtain laughed. “Sadly, no. The

only way fears truly disappear is if youconfront them. But who in the worldwishes to confront his or her worstfears?”

“Not me!” Martina said.S.Q., already beginning to nod, checked

himself and shook his head.“Nobody does,” said Mr. Curtain. “And

now we are on the brink of offering thesame peaceful contentment on a muchgrander scale. After the Improvement, yousee, everyone’s greatest fear shall bedrowned out by a message much like theones you receive in the Whisperer. It willbe grand!”

“I can’t wait!” S.Q. cried, unable tocontain himself. “To think that so manypeople will be so happy!”

Mr. Curtain chuckled. “You don’t have

long to wait, S.Q. My modifications havegone much more quickly than I evenhoped. I now fully expect the Improvementto begin the day after tomorrow —perhaps even sooner.”

“The day after tomorrow!” Martinaexclaimed. “I had no idea!”

“Yes, you’re very lucky,” Mr. Curtainsaid. “You’re the last Executive promotedbefore the Improvement. It’s a proudtradition, Martina. Several generations ofExecutives have come before you, many ofwhom were dispatched to the four cornersof the world to prepare for theImprovement. In fact, many have becomeimportant government officials.”

“What will I be doing?” Martina asked,her eyes shining with anticipation.

“You’ll start by helping with the

Sweepers,” said Mr. Curtain. “You’vebeen to the Memory Terminal, yes? S.Q.showed you the Sweepers?”

“We just came from there. They lookexactly like the Whisperer.”

“True, but they are much lesspowerful,” said Mr. Curtain, “and muchless sophisticated. The Whisperer,Martina, is a sensitive, delicatelybalanced machine that requires my strictguidance for its proper function. Only myWhisperer can bring about theImprovement.”

Here Mr. Curtain paused, his faceadopting an expression of fond reverie.

“So the Sweepers just bury memories,”Martina said. “Nothing fancy.”

“Correct,” said Mr. Curtain. “They aremuch simpler tools than the Whisperer,

hardly more sophisticated than metalbrooms. Otherwise my Executives wouldbe unable to operate them.”

This time it was Martina who noddedand S.Q. who did not. In fact, S.Q. nowwore an unusually serious expression.

“Um, sir?” S.Q. said timidly, raising hishand. “A thought just occurred to me.”

Mr. Curtain raised his eyebrows.“That’s remarkable, S.Q. What is it?”

“Shouldn’t we be asking people’spermission? I mean, if we’re putting thingsin their heads, shouldn’t we ask themfirst?”

Martina’s jaw dropped with disbelief,but Mr. Curtain was long used to theworkings of S.Q.’s mind. In fact, S.Q. hadasked this question before, more thanonce, but had forgotten. With more

amusement than impatience, Mr. Curtainanswered, “If we ask permission, S.Q.,then it doesn’t work. Do you want peopleto be happy, or don’t you?”

“Oh, I do!”“Then the answer is no, we should not

be asking permission. Do you see?”Relieved, S.Q. nodded.“And so, Martina,” Mr. Curtain

concluded, “you may now anticipate theImprovement with pleasure. As I said, bythe day after tomorrow we —” Mr.Curtain’s attention shifted to the draincover in his office floor. “How odd. Ithought I heard something in the drain.”

“Maybe it’s a mouse,” S.Q. ventured.“What’s that drain for, anyway?” asked

Martina.“Would you like to tell her, S.Q.?” said

Mr. Curtain, still peering toward thesaucer-sized grate. “I suspect that’ssomething you do remember, grisly detailsbeing the most memorable.”

“Oh, yes, sir!” replied S.Q., eager toprove his knowledge. He cleared histhroat importantly. “You see, Martina,back in the early days, when the Institutewas being built and a colony of workerslived on the island, this room was used asthe butchery. There was always a lot ofblood, of course, gallons of it, and thebutchers would wash it down that drain.The drain connects to a culvert, whichcarried everything off to the harbor. Theysay sharks used to gather in the watersthere, drawn by the scent of blood, andworkers would fling mice out for them tosnap up. . . .”

Here S.Q.’s face brightened. He’dsuddenly remembered something else, andit was rare that he remembered twodifferent things in so short a time. “Youknow what, Mr. Curtain? Jackson heard amouse, too, not half an hour ago. We’rehaving a real problem with them lately.”

“The real problem,” said Mr. Curtain,“is that we hear these mice but never seethem.”

Rolling to his desk, he took up a pot ofhot water S.Q. had brought him for his tea.“It may be that our mice have grown betterat hiding. However, it occurs to me thatalthough the drainpipe is mouse-sized, theculvert is human-sized, and wouldprovide a perfect hiding place for somebold eavesdropper who managed to findits entrance.” Even as he spoke, he shot

across the room and dumped the steamingcontents of the pot down the drain.

He waited, listening carefully, but not asound reached him save the gurgling of thehot water as it drained away. “Hmm.Perhaps it was a mouse, after all, or theecho of harbor traffic. Pipes do havestrange acoustic effects.” For a moment hestared at the empty pot in his hand,somewhat lost in thought, then said, “I dowant my tea, however. S.Q., run over tothe cafeteria and bring me another pot ofwater. And some pastries, too. Here, I’dbetter write it down for you.”

The note Mr. Curtain handed to S.Q.had nothing to do with tea or pastries. Itread: Go at once to the culvert openingon the south shore. Bring Jackson along.If you find no one, scour the sand near

the opening for footprints. Hurry!S.Q. read the note, read it again,

glanced up to express his puzzlement, andsaw Mr. Curtain lay a finger to his lips.Understanding dawned on him then, andtripping in his great haste, he left theroom.

Kate’s ear had been to the pipe when sheheard the splash — she’d barely had timeto jerk her head back before the hot watergushed out. Even then, a little splashedonto her neck, and it was all Kate coulddo to hold in a gasp. Then she heard Mr.Curtain send S.Q. away, and suspecting atrap, she beat a quick retreat down theculvert to the shore.

As she emerged into the night air, Katespotted two figures (S.Q. and Jackson,though in the dark she couldn’t tell this)burst out from behind the Institute ControlBuilding and race across the plaza for theshore. In moments they would be upon her.There was nowhere to go but the water.Kate plunged in and dove deep. It wasshockingly cold — too cold for sharks,she hoped, for what S.Q. had said justbefore Mr. Curtain dumped the water wasmuch on her mind. That butchery businesswas long ago; surely by now the sharkswould be out of the habit of congregatinghere. She hoped. Anyway, she couldhardly return to shore, so in the water shemust stay.

Fortunately Kate was an excellentswimmer. Heading out into the channel,

she stayed underwater as long as shecould, emerged briefly to gulp air, anddove under again. When at last shesurfaced and looked back, she’d put agood distance between herself and theshore, and saw to her relief that shewasn’t being pursued. Perhaps she hadn’teven been seen. Good. She would justneed to swim down the coastline and finda safe, inconspicuous place to sneakaground.

Kate turned, looked at the water ahead,and gasped.

She’d seen what she expected to be thelast thing she ever saw. A shape,triangular and black, slicing toward herthrough the dark water. Fear coursedthrough her body like an electric shock.She braced herself for the brutal,

daggerlike teeth, and in that split secondof waiting, managed to wonder if it wouldbe the shark’s bite that killed her, or ifinstead she would be snatched away, deepdown, to drown in a bloody darkness.

In the next moment, she saw that theshark fin was only a rock.

The fear drained away, but theaftereffects of panic remained, sharpeningKate’s senses. With her heart thuddinglike bass drums in her ears, she lookedaround. Jagged rocks pierced the watersurface all about her. Amid the murk ofnight and the sloshing of a thousand tinywaves, most of them appeared to bemoving. More than a few resembled sharkfins. Perhaps a few even were.

“Good grief,” she said, for she had nochoice but to swim right through them.

She’d have to be careful not to cut herselfto ribbons on their sharp edges. And she’dhave to hope none of them were actuallysharks.

Sacrifices, Narrow Escapes,and Something Like a Plan

By the time she crept into Reynie andSticky’s room half an hour later, Kate wasin a better mood. Which is to say, she wasdisappointed with her mission, miserablycold, soaked to the bone, and in a gooddeal of physical pain. But at least shehadn’t been eaten by a shark. At the soundof squishing shoes and a strange, rapidlittle clicking sound, the boys awoke tosee Kate giving their radiator a bear hug,her teeth chattering furiously, her clothesdripping water.

“Kate!” they cried in barely containedwhispers. “What happened? Are you allright?”

“W-w-w-ell,” she stammered, unablefor the moment to continue.

Reynie threw his blanket over hershoulders, and when at last she grewwarmer, Kate told them everything. (Sheomitted, however, the part about theimagined shark. No sense getting into allthat.)

“Luckily I had my bucket secured withmy belt,” she said, “or I’d have lost it forsure. Even so, I did lose a few things, andmy penlight is waterlogged. And myfingers were too numb to grip anything, soI couldn’t climb into the ceiling. I had tosneak down the corridor. Can’t believe Ididn’t bump into Jillson or somebody.”

“I can’t believe you managed toeavesdrop through that drainpipe,” Stickysaid. “How did you even think of it?”

“A lucky guess,” Kate said. “Reyniementioned that drain in the floor when hefirst told us about Mr. Curtain’s office.Then last night Milligan pointed out theculvert to us. Drains and culverts — I puttwo and two together and hoped for thebest.”

Reynie had been rummaging for an extratowel. He handed it to Kate. “So there’sabsolutely no way we can get into thatcomputer room?”

Kate shook her head reluctantly. Shehated to admit it.

“All right,” he said. “Nice job, Kate.”“Nice job? But I didn’t accomplish a

thing!”

“Are you kidding? Now that we knowwe can’t reach the computer room, wewon’t waste time trying. And we don’thave any time to waste — by the day aftertomorrow we’ll have no chance at all. Weknow that now, too, thanks to you. It’s allcrucial information.”

Kate shrugged dismissively, butsecretly she was pleased. She opened andclosed her hands. The feeling seemed tobe returning to her fingers.

Reynie was concentrating. There wasno message broadcast at the moment; thestorm system in his mind had moved out.“And what was that he said, Kate? Abouthis Whisperer being a sensitive machine?”

“Sensitive and delicately balanced,”said Sticky. “And it requires his strictmental guidance for its proper function.”

“ I think that’s what he said,” Kateadmitted. “I tried hard to remember it justas he said it, but I don’t have quite thememory you do.”

“All right, we’d better report all this toMr. Benedict right away,” Sticky said,scrambling up onto the television.Instantly he groaned. “Jackson’s out on theplaza with S.Q. — he’s yelling at S.Q.about something.”

“Sticky and I will wait them out,”Reynie said. “Kate, you should changeinto dry clothes and go on to bed. No pointall three of us staying —” Just thenanother broadcast began. They allgrimaced. Reynie felt the storm systemmove into his mind again.

“Good grief, I hope this one doesn’tkeep me awake,” said Kate with a sigh.

“I’ll go lay these clothes on my radiatorand try to sleep, anyway. We only have aday or so to save the world. We’ll needall the rest we can get!”

Sleep she did: Kate was so tired from hernight’s exertions that she slept through thewake-up announcement and was lategetting ready for breakfast. Constance wasno help, either. When Kate had returned inthe middle of the night, she’d awakenedConstance to fill her in, and afterwardConstance was even sleepier than usual.So both girls were snoozing soundly whenJillson banged on their door. Katedreamed she was back in the circus, beingfired from a cannon.

“Up!” Jillson shouted, rapping againwith such force that the girls’ windowrattled in its frame. “Helpers stop servingbreakfast in fifteen minutes, girls!”

Waking with a start, Kate leaped out ofbed, threw on some clothes, and snatchedher shoes from the radiator. They hadn’tdried much, unfortunately. Then she shookConstance awake — or at least into agroggy stupor. “Come on, Connie girl!We’ve got to get moving!”

Constance smacked her lips, blinked afew times, and said, “Don’t call me Con—”

“Right, right. Sorry.”After a lot of hustling and cajoling,

Kate got Constance moving, then quick-stepped it to the cafeteria with the smallergirl riding piggyback. She spotted the boys

at their usual table and squished over tothem. For some reason, Reynie’s eyeswidened at Kate’s approach, and nosooner had she sat down beside him thanhe said loudly, “There you are! Let mepour you some juice, Kate!” With unusualawkwardness he grabbed a juice pitcher,lost his grip, and ended up sloshing anentire quart of juice all over Kate’s feet.At a nearby table, a group of Messengersburst out laughing.

“Good grief, Reynie!” Kate said. “I canpour my own juice, all right?”

In an undertone Reynie said quickly,“Listen, Kate. Rumors have been flying allmorning. They know someone was in theculvert and swam away to escape — yoursoggy shoes are a dead giveaway.Everybody saw me spill that juice, so now

you have a reason other than harborwater.”

“Yikes,” Kate said. “Thanks, buddy.And wipe that grin off your face,Constance. You don’t always have toenjoy it so much, you know.”

As the girls wolfed down theirbreakfasts, Reynie and Sticky filled themin: After Kate left their room, they’dfinally had the opportunity to send Mr.Benedict a report, but to their enormousdisappointment, Mr. Benedict hadn’t beenable to reply. Jackson and S.Q. hadreturned to the plaza, this time with Mr.Curtain, who like Jackson was clearlyfurious with S.Q. about something andkept shaking his finger in S.Q.’s face.

“We wondered why S.Q. was in somuch trouble,” Sticky said, “and this

morning we found out. Everybody’s heardabout it: Jackson and S.Q. failed to catchthe spy, but they did find footprints in thesand at the culvert entrance, footprintsleading down into the water.”

“What?” said Kate, freezing with aforkful of scrambled eggs halfway to hermouth. “Oh, no! I meant to wipe away theprints, but then I didn’t have time.” Shereddened, ashamed, and set down herfork. “I’m sorry, everybody. They’ll matchmy shoes to the prints, you know they will.And then it’s . . . Why are you bothshaking your heads?”

“Because you have nothing to worryabout,” said Reynie.

Sticky broke into a grin. “S.Q. took careof the problem for us. Those big feet of hiscame in very handy for once. He found the

footprints, all right, and followed themdown to the shore, but in the process hisown footprints destroyed yours!Destroyed them completely! That’s whyMr. Curtain is furious.”

“Ha!” Kate said, profoundly relieved.“Here’s to good old S.Q.!”

“We’re still in a tight spot,” Reyniesaid. “Mr. Curtain will be watchingeverybody very . . . and, oh, don’t you findthese danishes splendid, Sticky? They godown wonderfully well with cold milk,especially the raspberry ones.”

Sticky wasn’t puzzled by the change ofsubject. He, too, had seen Jackson andMartina approaching the table. He wasresponding earnestly that he preferred thecinnamon rolls when Jackson drew up andsaid with a sneer, “George, forgive me for

interrupting your very interestingconversation about breakfast foods, butMartina and I are making an inspection.No doubt you’ve all heard about the spy.”

“We have,” Reynie said, “and we canhardly believe it. Why on earth would aspy be at the Institute?”

Jackson knuckled Reynie painfully onthe head. “If you would use your brain,Muldoon, you might figure a few thingsout. The spy obviously hopes to stealsome of Mr. Curtain’s secret technology,then sell it to someone who might use itfor wicked purposes.”

“That would be terrible,” Kate said.Reynie was rubbing his head. “Anyway,

yes, we’ve heard about the spy.”“And yet one thing you probably have

not heard about is this.” Jackson reached

into his pocket and drew out a marble.Kate’s marble.

“The spy is a marble?” Reynie asked.“Ha ha, young man. Ha ha. No, this

marble happens to have been foundsomewhere last night, somewhere — letme put it this way — somewhere it shouldnot have been.”

“That seems a reasonable way to putit,” Reynie said.

Martina leaned forward, peering intoKate’s bucket. “So Jackson and I arelooking for the marble’s owner. I don’twant to point any fingers,” she saidsilkily, “but it seemed to me Kate’s bucketmight be a good place to look. She has somany odds and ends in there, you know.”

Reynie and Sticky tried to appearunconcerned, but their minds were in

turmoil. Kate had mentioned losing a fewthings in the water last night, but she’dsaid nothing about the marbles andslingshot.

“Mind if we have a look?” Martinaasked, already reaching.

“Not at all,” replied Kate. BeforeMartina could actually touch anything, shedumped the bucket’s contents onto thetable: a magnet, a Swiss army knife, aspool of twine, a kaleidoscope, and a rope(which was damp, but you couldn’t tellwithout touching it). No marbles. Noslingshot.

“Oh,” said Martina, with a look ofbitter disappointment.

“Okay, then,” said Jackson. “Justchecking. We have other people to ask, sowe’ll leave you to continue your

fascinating conversation. Come on,Martina.” With some effort he drew thereluctant Martina away.

Kate winked. “I may not know when theCenozoic Era was —”

Sticky was aghast. “Kate, we live in theCenozoic Era. Sure, it began 65 millionyears ago, but —”

“What I was going to say,” Katecontinued stubbornly, “is that I may notknow when the Cenozoic Era was, but Iwasn’t born yesterday.”

“What in the world are you peopletalking about?” asked Constance.

“She just means to say she’s notstupid,” said Reynie. “So you got rid ofthe marbles and the slingshot on purpose,Kate?”

“Of course. I figured he’d find that

marble, so I had to dump the others. I surehated to, though. I won most of them in agame with a lion tamer.”

“Poor Kate,” said Constance, “she’slost her marbles.”

Everyone but Kate was chuckling aboutthis one when Martina and Jackson,halfway across the cafeteria, suddenlyseemed to change their minds and returnedto their table. An intimidating look ofcruel pleasure on Martina’s face dried upall their laughter and made them wait insilence for the explanation.

“Jackson forgot to mention somethingelse,” Martina said. “He just so happenedto spit out a piece of licorice last night inthe same place he found that marble. Butwhen he looked for it later, it was gone.”

Reynie felt Kate stiffen next to him.

They were in trouble.“Funny thing about licorice,” said

Jackson. “It’s just the sort of thing to getstuck in the bottom of your shoe withoutyour realizing it.”

“I get it, I get it,” said Kate, squirmingin her seat. “So now you want to see thebottoms of my shoes.”

“If you’d be so kind,” Martina said witha wicked grin. She’d noticed Katesquirming and was delighted to thinkshe’d frightened her.

“Well, sorry about the dripping, butReynie just spilled juice all over them,”Kate said.

“Oh, yes, we saw that,” Jackson said.He let out an amused rattle of laughter thatsounded like a sheep in pain.

While Jackson was bleating at her

expense, Kate pressed something sticky,gritty, and cold into Reynie’s hand beneaththe table. She hadn’t been squirming fromnervousness — she’d been twisting herlegs up to get at the licorice. As she liftedher sodden shoes now for the Executivesto inspect, Reynie reached across underthe table and pressed the hunk of licoriceinto Sticky’s hand. The further away fromKate the better, he thought. Sticky had thesame idea, immediately passing thelicorice on to Constance.

Constance, unfortunately, did notunderstand what it was.

In horror the boys watched her raise theslimy, dirty, half-chewed glob of candyabove the tabletop to examine it. Reynie’seyes swiveled to the Executives, who,having been disappointed in Kate’s shoes,

were now asking her to show her emptyhands, then checking for stickiness underthe edge of the table. He looked back toConstance and saw the realization hit her,her eyes widening with alarm. And then,an instant before Martina glanced up tosee it, Constance popped the licorice intoher mouth, chewed it up, and swallowedit.

“Eww, that was the most disgusting thingI’ve ever seen,” Sticky said later, whenthe crisis had passed and the Executiveswere off harassing other children.Constance’s cheeks, normally a rosy red,had turned a faint shade of green.

“Disgusting, yes, but heroic,” Reynie

said.“We all have to make sacrifices,”

Constance muttered miserably.“What we need to make is a decision,”

said Kate. “We need a plan, and quick.Does anybody have any ideas? I’m freshout.”

Constance only groaned and put herhead in her hands.

“I do have one thing to say,” saidReynie, then hesitated. He had intended tosay that he couldn’t face the Whispereragain — that the mere thought of it turnedhis mind to jelly, so how much worsewould it be if he actually experienced theWhisperer again? Wouldn’t he be certainto give up? This was what Reynie hadmeant to say. But now he found hecouldn’t. He was too ashamed.

Constance groaned again withoutlooking up. “Reynie, you’re the king ofsaying you have something to say, then notactually saying anything. Do you realizethat?”

“Sorry,” Reynie said. “I . . . I forgot.”He was not the only one at the table

with troubled thoughts. Sticky felt thesame way Reynie did, and Kate was stillwishing she’d been able to sabotage thosecomputers, to have solved the dilemma allon her own. (And having failed to do that,she was trying to pretend to herself thatshe hadn’t.) Constance, meanwhile, wastrying not to contemplate what mighthappen to her when Mr. Curtain boostedthe messages to full power. Thus all thechildren were trying not to think of thingsinstead of trying to think of things, and

trying not being generally less productivethan trying, they weren’t coming up withready answers.

In the midst of going round and round inhis mind about not facing the Whisperer,however, Reynie did stumble againstsomething which — if seen from adistance and not stared at directly —might resemble a plan. A hundred timeshe’d thought to himself, “I can’t face theWhisperer again.” But this time, for somereason, he had tacked on the word“alone.” And this was how he stumbledagainst the planlike thing.

“Okay, everyone. I think I do have aplan now. Didn’t Mr. Benedict tell us thatwe must rely upon one another in allthings? That every single one of us isessential to the success of the team? We

have to take into account that we needeach other.”

“That’s the plan?” Constance said. “Togive each other big hugs?”

Reynie ignored her. “I was thinkingmaybe if we faced Mr. Curtain and hisWhisperer together, we could figure outwhat to do.”

“You mean all of us in the WhisperingGallery at the same time?” said Constancedoubtfully. “With Mr. Curtain there? Whatcould we possibly do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Reynie admitted.“But there’s Milligan, too, remember. Ifwe contact him, we’ll have him to helpus.”

“I say it’s worth a try,” said Kate.“We’re running out of time. How do wemanage it? Should Constance and I sneak

in while you two are having yoursessions?”

Reynie considered. “The door iscontrolled by a button on Mr. Curtain’schair, so you can’t sneak in. But Stickyand I could press the button to let you in.”

“There’s at least one problem with allthis,” said Sticky. “We weren’t to haveanother turn in the Whisperer for at least afew days, remember? By then it will betoo late!”

Kate tried to think. “What would begood . . . What would be good would be ifMr. Curtain won the Nobel Peace Prize!”

Sticky spewed a mist of chocolate milk.“Have you gone off your . . . oh, hi there,S.Q.! What brings you by our table?”

S.Q. Pedalian looked down upon themdejectedly. “Hello, kids. I suppose you

heard how I bungled that spy business.Wiping out the footprints and all that.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Reynie said.“I doubt anybody could have done a betterjob.”

“It’s nice of you to say,” S.Q. said witha sigh. Then he took a deep breath just sohe could sigh again. “But enough aboutpitiful me. I came over to ask about you,Constance. Are you feeling all right? Youseem rather, well, green-colored.”

“I’m afraid we gave her a stomachvirus,” Reynie interjected. “Sticky and Ijust got over it.”

S.Q. looked sympathetic. “Oh, yes, theother Messengers told me about thatstomach bug. It’s a nasty one, eh? How doyou feel, Constance?”

“Like I ate something revolting,” said

Constance. “I guess that’s what I get forhanging around with Reynie and Sticky.”

“Now, now,” S.Q. observed, “nothingbetter for you than spending time withMessengers. Good influence and all that. Imean, stomach bug aside. Let’s just hopenot too many other people get sick. Itwould be a shame if classes had to becanceled. There’s too much good stuff toreview!”

They all heartily agreed with S.Q.,thanked him for stopping by, and noddedas he droned endlessly on about theescaped spy and a good many other things,until finally his jaw was worn out, hismind was empty, and he went away.

“What we need,” said Kate, as if they’dnever been interrupted, “is for you boys toget your turn sooner. Isn’t there any chance

you could be called on tomorrow?”“I’m afraid not,” Reynie said. “Not

unless every other Messenger suddenlyfell ill.”

“Too bad we can’t actually give thembelly aches,” said Constance.

Sticky’s ears perked up.“Who says we can’t?” he said.

Bad News and Bad News

The children’s plan was bold, ill-formed, and likely to fail, and all of themknew it. They also knew they must actnow or never. “Tomorrow, then,” Stickysaid, hurriedly grinding a plant rootbetween two rocks. When he wasfinished, Constance swept the powder intoa small bag and handed him another root.

“Yes, tomorrow,” said Kate, standingguard on the hilltop, a few yards up thepath. “And let’s hope it’s not too late.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be any sooner,”said Constance. “I don’t particularly look

forward to tomorrow.” She contemplateda few pulpy grains of crushed rootclinging to her fingertips and resisted —for the twentieth time — the temptation tosee what they tasted like. Sticky hadwarned her that wild chuck-root (“orEuphorbia upchucuanhae, as it’s morewidely known”) was a powerful emetic.Constance had never heard the word“emetic,” but for once she hadn’t requiredan explanation. It was clear from theirplan — and from Sticky’s mischievousgrin — that by tomorrow most of thestudents at the Institute would be barfingup their suppers.

Those suppers had yet to be eaten,however. It was the end of the school day,not yet suppertime, and the uneasymembers of the Mysterious Benedict

Society were the only children outside inthe chill air. The other students wereeither in their rooms studying or watchingtelevision, but the moment class wasdismissed Sticky had led his friends uphere, just over the top of the hill beyondthe gym. It was here, on the day they’dencountered Mr. Bloomburg, that Stickyhad spotted the patch of wild chuck-root(along with various other plants whoseLatin names he rattled off and the otherspromptly forgot).

“This should be enough,” Sticky said,grinding up the last bit of root. He dustedhis hands vigorously. Then consideringwhat would happen if he absentmindedlytouched his lips — then absentmindedlylicked his lips — Sticky dusted themagain. And a few minutes later, when the

children were gathered on the hilltop, hedusted them again. “I’m actually starting tofeel guilty about this, can you believe it?”

“Maybe it means you still have aconscience,” Reynie said.

Kate snorted. “Or maybe it meansyou’re sympathizing too much with theenemy. Personally, I don’t feel the leastbit guilty for sending a bunch of bullies onan emergency trip to the bathroom.”

Sticky wiped his hands on his pants.“Don’t let your feelings make you tooambitious on this one, Kate. If you overdothe dose, you might hurt somebody.”

“And it isn’t just Messengers getting thestuff,” Reynie reminded her. “That wouldbe too suspicious. It has to be everybody.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Who needsparents when I have you two? Don’t

worry, I won’t kill anyone. And I promisenot to enjoy it the tiniest bit if Martinaturns green.”

Guilty or not, they all smiled at thethought.

“So let me just review the plan,”Constance said. “The other Messengerswill get sick and won’t be able to do theirsessions with the Whisperer, so you boyswill get your turn early. When you getcalled for your session, Kate and I willsneak away somehow and wait outside thedoor to the Whispering Gallery. Now,how exactly are we supposed to do that?What if we’re in class?”

“We haven’t worked that part out yet,”Reynie admitted.

“Right,” said Constance. “And then oneof you will push the button that opens the

door, even though the button is on Mr.Curtain’s wheelchair. How are you goingto manage that?”

“We haven’t figured that part out yet,either,” mumbled Sticky.

“I see. And then, after all this has beenmagically accomplished, Kate and I willrush inside, and the four of us togetherwill somehow defeat Mr. Curtain, ruin hisWhisperer, and make our escapeunharmed — even though we’re on anisland, and the bridge is guarded byRecruiters. Any idea how this is going tohappen?”

“No,” the boys said dejectedly. Kateshrugged.

“Okay,” Constance said. “I just wantedto be sure I understood the plan.”

“Anyway, you can’t count Milligan

out,” Reynie said. “He’ll be there to helpus.”

Constance threw her hands into the air.“How do you know? You haven’t evenleft the note for him yet!”

Reynie rubbed his temples. “I’m goingright now, Constance. Okay?”

“Be quick, Reynie,” Kate said. “I’llneed all three of you to distract theHelpers while I doctor the food.”

“How are we supposed to do that?”Constance asked, launching into a tiradeabout how ill-prepared they were, howlittle time they had, and how this plan wasgiving her a worse headache than thehidden message broadcasts did. “So I askyou again,” she concluded, “exactly howare we supposed to distract the Helpers?”

“Just be yourself,” Kate said with a

sigh.

Reynie left the others arguing on thehilltop and hurried down toward theshore. He had insisted he be the one tohide the note. Kate would have loved tosneak down to the culvert again, but thiswas not a clandestine operation. It had tobe done in the daylight. Reynie did take aroute that made it difficult for him to beseen from the Institute grounds, but if hewas spotted, he’d invented a goodexplanation.

In one pocket Reynie carried a note forMilligan that told him of their plan. Inanother pocket he carried a sketch of theisland bridge, which Reynie had spent

most of two class periods working onfrom memory. He was a fair artist and hadfelt modestly satisfied with the result untilKate glanced at it after class.

“Not good?” he’d asked, seeing herbrow wrinkle.

“It’s okay,” Kate had said tentatively.“But the perspective’s a bit off. See, ifyou just follow the line here . . . anddarken those shadows there. . . .” In abouttwo minutes she had produced a muchbetter sketch than his own.

Reynie scowled. “I’ll take yours,” hesaid grumpily. “Wouldn’t want you tohave gone to all that trouble for nothing.”

At the top of the sketch he’d printed theti tl e , Your Favorite View . If he wascaught, Reynie would say he’d gone to theshore for a better view of the bridge, so as

to make the best possible drawing — thedrawing, of course, being intended as apresent for Mr. Curtain.

Hurrying along at the bottom of theincline, just out of reach of the lappingwater, Reynie patted his pocketsanxiously. Both pieces of paper werethere. Good. Now don’t step in the water,he told himself. Wet shoes might drawsuspicion. And be sure the note doesn’tstick out when you leave it — cover it upcompletely with the rocks. And don’tleave any footprints. It’s a miraclefootprints didn’t sink us last time. Onlypoor old S.Q. spared us that disaster.

Reynie found the culvert and marked offtwenty paces from it. He looked around.Not a soul to be seen. There was no oneon the bridge, the incline concealed him

from the rear, and in front of him wasnothing but water . . . and across it themainland shore. It occurred to him thatMr. Benedict and his crew were probablywatching him through a telescope rightnow. He stared toward the trees across thechannel. No doubt they could see him. Thequestion was whether he would ever againsee them. Reynie gave a melancholy littlewave — one part hello and one partgoodbye — then bent and hid the notebeneath two big rocks.

Be sure, Reynie reminded himself. Hadhe stacked the rocks carefully? Had hemade sure the note couldn’t be seen? Hadhe left any telltale footprints in the sand?Satisfied on all counts, he hurried back theway he’d come, anxious to put distancebetween himself and the note. As he left

the shore and started up the incline,Reynie considered what to do with thesketch. He didn’t think he’d been spotted,but he should save it just in case. Ifsomeone confronted him about it later, hewould have his excuse in his pocket.

Reynie patted his pocket, but the sketchwasn’t there! How could it not be there?Hadn’t he put it in his left pocket? Hereached into his other pocket and felt thepaper. He must have had it confused. Orhad he? He took out the paper to be sure,then stared at it in disbelief. It was hisnote! He had left the sketch under therocks!

Now things were getting dicey. Kateneeded his help, and it was almost timefor supper. But they absolutely had tocontact Milligan. You can do it, Reynie

told himself. You’ll just have to run.Reynie ran. Down the incline, watching

his step on the rocks, careful not to getwet, careful not to leave prints. Soon he’dmade his way back to the two stackedstones. He glanced quickly around —shore, bridge, water. All clear.Exchanging the note for the sketch(unfolding the note to be certain this time),he put the stones back, checked one lasttime for footprints, and ran off as fast ashe could.

Two minutes later Reynie was alone onthe plaza, breathing hard. He saw S.Q.Pedalian appear from behind the InstituteControl Building, but there was no wayS.Q. could have seen him, and there wasno one else in view. Reynie wiped hisbrow. That was a lot of excitement over

nothing. He waved to S.Q. and hurried on,not wanting to get caught up in aconversation. No time for that. The otherswere waiting.

As it happened, S.Q. was in a hurry,too. All day long he had been tormentedby his mistake. How could he have beenso foolish as to wipe out the spy’sfootprints? Such a ridiculous blunder! Andall day long he had thought maybe, justmaybe, if he were to go back down thereand take a closer look . . . S.Q. picked uphis pace, feeling more eager with everystep. He would skip supper and spend theentire hour searching. Wouldn’t it besomething if he did find the spy’s footprintafter all? Or some other clue? They hadscoured the area pretty carefully before,but you never knew, did you? How

wonderful it would be if he could redeemhimself in Mr. Curtain’s eyes!

And so it was that with longer andlonger strides, S.Q. Pedalian hurriedacross the plaza and down the incline,toward the shore, toward the culvert,toward the place where Reynie, in hisanxious hurry, had stacked the two stonesjust a little less carefully than he’d donethe first time — toward the place whereone corner of the note stuck out, flickeringin the harbor breeze like a tiny white flagof surrender.

When suppertime came and the cafeteriaroiled once again with rowdy students, themembers of the Mysterious Benedict

Society suddenly developed an apparentdislike for anything salty or sweet. Theyloaded up their trays as usual, to avoidsuspicion, but carefully avoided touchingtheir forks to anything but greenvegetables.

“You couldn’t have saved even onekind of pastry, Kate?” asked Constance,screwing up her face to swallow aBrussels sprout. She barely managed it,gulping it down with plain water ratherthan her usual orange-flavored soda.“These might as well be poisoned.”

“Better safe than sorry,” said Kate,through a mouthful of lima beans.“Anyway, I didn’t have time to pick andchoose, you know.”

All around the cafeteria, children werestuffing themselves with their usual

favorites — greasy foods, savories, andsweet treats — and guzzling chocolatemilk and soft drinks. Reynie, meanwhile,speared a dry lettuce leaf with his forkand thought: So far, so good. Despite hisbland supper, despite the nagging messagebroadcast in his head, and despite theuncertainty of his plan, he felt a stirring inhis heart, a good feeling that might passfor hope. Kate had spread the powder,Reynie had delivered the note to Milligan,and neither of them had been caught. Atleast some parts of the plan were going ashoped.

It really was a good feeling. But itdidn’t last long.

Jillson appeared in the cafeteria, ajubilant grin on her face, and came straightover to their table. Without asking, she

crowded herself into a seat betweenReynie and Kate — her wide shouldersforcing them to draw their arms closetogether over their trays, like prayingmantises — and snatched a cream pufffrom Kate’s tray and said, “Hi, there,squirts!”

Kate frowned, but only out of principle.Privately she was delighted. “Helpyourself,” she said coolly.

“Thank you, I will,” Jillson said,gulping the cream puff down. “Listen, Ihave good news and bad news, and Ithought you kids would be particularlyinterested. You heard about S.Q.’sbungling the spy business, right?”

“It does ring a bell,” said Reynie, whodidn’t like where this was going.

“Well, guess what?” Jillson said.

“There’s been a new development. S.Q.went back down to the culvert just now, totake one last look around. And he foundsomething.”

The children could only stare at her,stricken with dread. They were alsoconfused. If S.Q. had found the note, thenwhy weren’t they already in trouble? WasJillson toying with them?

“Now, as I said, there’s good news andbad news,” Jillson went on.

Feeling as if they’d just been given verybad news indeed, Reynie had to stophimself from asking what the good newswas.

“The bad news,” Jillson said, “is thatwhat S.Q. found — a curious piece ofpaper — was destroyed before he couldread it.”

“That’s . . . terrible!” the childrencried, trying to cover their relief. It wastoo plain on all their faces, and they knewit.

Luckily, Jillson didn’t notice. Sheplaced a hand on her belly and frowned.After a moment she belched, smiled withsatisfaction, and continued, “Don’t worry,the good news makes up for it. The spy’sbeen caught!”

The children looked at one another.Caught?

Jillson belched again and scowled.“Must have eaten too much pudding. Yes,caught like a rat in a trap. Turns out it wasa man disguised as a Helper. Came out ofnowhere, snatched the paper from S.Q.,and tried to run away. But Jackson heardS.Q. shouting for help, and some

Recruiters on the bridge had seen ithappen, so in no time they had the spysurrounded. He tried to fight them off, buthe was no match for our guys, I can tellyou. He’s in a classroom right now, underheavy guard.”

Reynie felt as if he’d been kicked in thebelly. They had lost Milligan. “Why . . .why are you telling us this, Jillson?”

“Well, I have to admit I was surprised.Martina had convinced me that Kate wasthe spy. She was disappointed to learnotherwise. But I thought you should knowKate’s off the hook. The Helper confessedto everything. He’s a lone operator,apparently. That means he works byhimself.”

Kate looked quite sick. “Did he saywho he was?”

“We don’t know his name, but he wason the island once before — years andyears ago. When they took off the disguise,Mr. Curtain and some of the Recruitersrecognized him at once. Oh, and get this:He ate that piece of paper! Chewed it upand swallowed it before anyone couldread it. Said it was from his privatejournal and was none of our business.Very dangerous madman. Don’t worry,though, they’re taking him to the WaitingRoom in just — oh! Here they comenow!”

The children could barely bringthemselves to look.

There was Milligan. His hands andankles were cuffed, his feet dragged alongin a defeated shuffle, and his ocean-blueeyes, sadder than ever, focused only on

the ground before him. Though he kept hishead bowed, the cuts and bruises on hisface were easily seen. He was beingmarched across the cafeteria by a half-dozen Recruiters and Executives(including a very proud Martina Crowe)— none of whom showed any marks froma scuffle. Reynie wondered how this waspossible. Jillson said he’d tried to fight,but if Milligan had really resisted,wouldn’t his captors look as if they’dcaught a tiger by the tail? Had he onlypretended to struggle? But why? Unless . ..

Suddenly Reynie understood. BecauseS.Q. had glimpsed the note, Milligan hadchosen to be caught. He’d wanted achance to confess, a chance to make up astory about that piece of paper. A note

would have suggested someone else hadwritten it — another spy on the island —but a page from a private journal pointedonly to Milligan himself. Yes, he hadwanted to convince Mr. Curtain he wasworking alone, had wanted to takesuspicion off the children. He hadsacrificed himself for them.

As Milligan passed through thecafeteria, the whole place erupted inapplause for the Executives andRecruiters, then horrible boos and jeersfor the captured spy. The miserable manwas led past their table — right past thegrateful and heartbroken children he’dsaved — but never did he look up orreveal any awareness of them.

“Boy, doesn’t he look glum?” Jillsonsaid.

Kate started to speak, but a catch in hervoice made her words incomprehensible.She was thinking exactly what her friendswere thinking. Milligan had said he woulddie before he let any harm come to them.

Sticky’s Discovery

M captured. Must face Whisperertomorrow. Please advise.

“Still no response,” Sticky reportedfrom the window.

The others waited in depressed silence.Although the “stomach virus” had spreadlike wildfire (already the bathrooms andthe Best of Health Center were crowdedwith students), the success of their schemehad done nothing to boost their spirits. Noteven the sight of Jillson hurrying down acorridor with her hand over her mouth,clutching a paper bag in case she didn’t

reach the bathroom in time — not eventhis managed to cheer them. Time wasslipping away, and they’d been forced toabandon the hope that they’d nurtured inthe backs of their minds: the hope that ifthings went terribly wrong, Milliganwould be there to save them somehow.

After another interminable minute hadpassed, Kate said, “I’m sick of waiting. Isay forget the plan and let’s try to rescueMilligan instead.”

Sticky was taken aback. “But he’s underheavy guard — we wouldn’t stand achance!”

“We don’t stand a chance either way,do we?” said Kate.

“That isn’t like you, Kate,” said Reynie,surprised. “I think the broadcasts aregetting to you.”

Kate frowned. “You’re . . . you’re right.I’m sorry.”

“Wait, here comes a response,” Stickysaid. “What in the world? Can that reallybe it?” He began signaling with theflashlight again.

“For crying out loud, what are youdoing, George Washington?” demandedConstance. (Though the others wouldn’thave thought it possible, Constance grewsteadily crankier as the Improvement drewcloser.) “Did they send a message ornot?”

“I’m asking them to repeat it.” But whenthe message was repeated, Sticky was leftscratching his head. “It’s just an oldsaying: Laughter is the best medicine.”

“Are they joking?” Kate said.“Maybe it’s their way of saying for us

to cheer up, to have hope,” Sticky said.Reynie didn’t think so. “That’s too

lighthearted. They wouldn’t expect us tofeel like that, not with Milligan takenprisoner. It’s a riddle of some kind —important advice. We just have to figureout what it means.”

“For once I’d like a straight answer,”Constance grumbled. “It’s ridiculous thatthey do it this way — it isn’t right!”

“They have to be careful, don’t they?”Sticky said. “If they gave us a straightanswer and someone else saw it, we’d bein even worse shape.”

“How much worse shape could wepossibly be in? I’m tired of being careful.And I’m tired of their dumb codes, andI’m tired of you all treating me like astupid baby.”

“Easy now, Constance,” Reynie said, ascalmly as he could. “We’re all frustratedand upset, and I know you’re scared —”

“Shut up,” Constance snarled. “I’m sickof you, too! Who made you king,anyway?”

“Why don’t you shut up?” Reyniesnapped.

With that — the first time Reynie hadever spoken so sharply to her —Constance lapsed into furious silence. Theothers, disgruntled, turned their energytoward solving the riddle. But Sticky andKate were not the best puzzle-solvers, andReynie was lost in his mental fogbank.(And the Whisperer, high up in its tower,kept shimmering like a lighthouse beaconthrough that fog.)

After half an hour of useless guessing,

the children had come no closer to ananswer, and Constance abandoned hersilence in order to mock their efforts.Reynie put his head in his hands. “Okay,Constance, I give up. Is that what youwant? None of us can concentrate whileyou’re being this way. I say we adjournand get a few hours of sleep. Maybe alittle rest will help.”

Constance, who felt very desperateindeed, could not control herself. “Rest?”she sneered. “I thought what we neededwas laughter. Isn’t that what stupid oldBenedict said? Well, hardy har har, that’sthe funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re hopeless,” said Kate, who’dbeen in an awful mood to begin with andnow had lost all patience. “Reynie’s right.Let’s go back to our room.” She scurried

up her rope into the ceiling, and as shehauled Constance after her she whispereddown: “We’ll be back before dawn. Or Iwill, at least. If she’s still acting like this,she can rot in our room, for all I care.”

The gap in the ceiling closed.Reynie and Sticky looked at each other.

Everything seemed to be falling apart, andneither boy could hide his worry. It waswritten plainly on both their faces.

“If you think of anything at all . . . ,”Reynie said.

Sticky nodded. “I’ll wake you up. Youdo the same.”

Fully dressed and fully miserable, theboys climbed into their beds, still goingover the message again and again in theirheads. Laughter is the best medicine,laughter is the best medicine. . . . By

midnight, neither had come up withanything. By one o’clock, Sticky waswhimpering himself to sleep. By twoo’clock, Reynie was abandoning his lastletter to Miss Perumal, starting over, thenabandoning the new one as well — tooanxious even to think about being anxious.His mind returned to Mr. Benedict’smessage.

“Why laughter?” he wondered for thehundredth time. “Why medicine? It’ssomething . . . something that cures anillness or . . . or solves a problem, maybe,but what problem?”

But the answer remained maddeninglyelusive. Reynie decided he would have tostay awake. There was no way he couldsleep, anyway, not until he had figured outthe message. Having made this decision,

he sighed, rolled over to get comfortable .. . and fell asleep.

Some time before dawn Reynie awokewith a start. His mind had been workingfuriously as he slept. He swung down offhis bunk and shook Sticky. Sticky openedone eye, then closed it to open the other,as if too afraid now to look at the worldwith both at once.

“Wha —?”“Sticky, wake up.”This time Sticky blinked both eyes.

“Hmm? What time is —?” He sniffed andrubbed his head, coming slightly moreawake. “Oh, has something happened?”

“I have an idea about what Mr.

Benedict meant,” Reynie said excitedly. “Ijust don’t think it’s quite right yet. I thinkmaybe it’s half right. Let me tell you aboutit, and then you tell me what you think.”

Sticky sat up, fully awake now. “I’m allears.”

But no sooner had Reynie begun than aknock sounded on their door, and S.Q.Pedalian, not waiting for a response,poked his head into their room. “What,already up? Good boys! You must haveguessed all the other Messengers aredown for the count, and Mr. Curtain needsyou again right away. He’s had to cancelhalf his night sessions thanks to thisstomach bug. Good thing you two arealready over it, eh? Can you imagineanything worse than not being able to gowhen Mr. Curtain summons you?”

The moment had arrived too soon! Noone had expected such an early morningsession. Snatching a pen from his desk,Reynie scribbled something on the palm ofhis hand.

“What are you doing?” S.Q. said.“Just writing down something I don’t

want to forget.”“I do that sometimes,” S.Q. reflected,

“only I usually forget I wrote something onmy hand, and I wash it off before Iremember. What are you writing?”

“Remind me to tell you later,” Reyniesaid.

“Right — now hurry and get dressed.Don’t want to keep Mr. Curtain waiting.”

The boys threw on their clothes andfollowed S.Q. out the door. In the corridora few weak-kneed, pasty-faced students

were making their way to and from thebathrooms, and a group of silent Helpersworked double-duty to keep the floorsmopped. S.Q., cheerful now that he’dmade up for his earlier blunder, smiledand patted the miserable students as hepassed. “Hang in there! Chins up! Look onthe bright side — it could always beworse!”

The trip to the Whispering Gallerydidn’t seem nearly long enough. Theblindfolding, the walk to the secretentrance, the exhausting climb upcountless steps — all of it seemed to passin one excruciating instant. Then S.Q. wasremoving their blindfolds and pressing theintercom button. “Reynard Muldoon andStic . . . er, George Washington here fortheir sessions, Mr. Curtain!”

Mr. Curtain’s voice came through aspeaker: “They must wait. Meanwhile,bring me more juice.”

In his most authoritative tone (whichwas not very authoritative), S.Q. orderedthe boys not to stir from that spot. Afterthey assured him that such a thing wouldnever have occurred to them, he hastenedback down the steps.

“Let’s run!” Sticky whispered.“No, listen, we still have a chance,”

said Reynie. “You have to go first, Sticky,and make your session last as long as youcan. If you resist the Whisperer at the verybeginning, while you still have strength,you might be able to stretch out the session—”

Sticky’s jaw dropped. “Resist it? ButMr. Curtain will suspect something! He’ll

notice it, you know he will. He’ll send meback to the Waiting Room! He’ll —”Sticky began to shake all over. “He’ll turnthe Whisperer on me! I’ll be brainswept!”

“I know the risks,” Reynie said. “Butthis is our only shot.”

Sticky’s horrified expression shiftedinto one of anger. “Why don’t you go first,then? Why don’t you be the one to resist it,if you’re so brave?”

“I need to try to signal the girls,”Reynie said. He grabbed Sticky’s arm.“We can still do this, Sticky!”

Sticky looked doubtful, evensuspicious. “How do you propose tosignal the girls? How —?”

The Whispering Gallery door slid openand Martina Crowe came out, herexpression pleasantly befuzzed. She was

so content she almost didn’t bother tosneer at them. Almost. But then shestopped and made an effort.

Reynie returned the sneer with his bestfake smile. “Did you just have a sessionwith the Whisperer? I thought you were anExecutive now.”

“I’m such a young Executive, I can stilldo Messenger work in a pinch,” Martinaboasted. “And this is definitely a pinch.I’ve never seen so many upchucking kidsin my life.”

“You haven’t gotten sick?”“Sick of being hungry, is all. I was so

busy capturing that spy last night, I missedsupper. That’s the price you pay for beingan Executive, doing the important work.Not that you boys would know anythingabout that.” With an immensely self-

satisfied and condescending expression,Martina walked on, saying over hershoulder, “Hurry on in, boys. I’m off toanother duty. You’ll notice I don’t have towear a blindfold, either.”

The moment she was out of earshotReynie whispered, “You have to trust meon this, Sticky. To give us a chance, youhave to go first. It’s our only hope.”

Sticky’s face was a mask of doubt.“Boys, get in here!” Mr. Curtain called.Reynie tried to make one last plea to his

friend, but Sticky turned and plunged intothe Whispering Gallery without lookingback.

Reynie had no choice but to follow.Taking a deep breath, he walked into theWhispering Gallery . . . where his breathescaped like air from a balloon. There it

was! The Whisperer! Reynie’s eyelidsfluttered. Stepping into its presence waslike stepping into a warm bath. He wantedto take his seat in it and never climb out.

You have to fight , Reynie told himself,and with great effort he tore his eyes fromthe seductive machine to look at Mr.Curtain.

Mr. Curtain seemed tired but eager.“Welcome, boys. I trust you are fullyrecovered? You have your strength up?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys said together.“I hope so! Only a tiny handful of

Messengers have recovered, and I’veworn them all out. You saw I resorted tousing an Executive — a rare thing, asolder children are so much less effective.But I’ve been put off my schedule and amraging against the delay. If only this

infernal stomach sickness hadn’t emerged,my project would already be complete!”

“Sorry to hear that, sir,” said Reynie.“No matter, my young friend. The

problem will soon be rectified, for Iintend to finish right now!”

Reynie sucked in his breath.“You mean . . . you mean . . . ,” Sticky

stammered.“I see you’re quite tongue-tied by the

honor. That’s right, George, you boysshall personally preside over thecompletion of my project. If all goes well,that is.”

The boys forced weak smiles.Mr. Curtain clapped his hands together.

“Now, here is our task. First we shallhave a last session devoted to old material— the last of the lessons. Then we shall

have a session of entirely new material.Material hot off the presses!” Mr. Curtainwaved his journal triumphantly. “I’ve justcompleted it.”

Reynie tried to stall. “Shouldn’t wetake time to study it, sir?”

“No, Reynard, in this case simplicity isessential. My Whisperer is designed tosoothe troubled minds, and nothingsoothes the mind more effectively than asimple answer to a complicated problem.”

“Mr. Curtain, sir?” Sticky asked. “Doyou still plan to close the Institute?”

At this unexpected question, Reynieglanced sharply at Sticky. Was he stalling,too, or was it the opposite — had Stickyalready given up?

Mr. Curtain chuckled. “Don’t worry,George, I haven’t forgotten you. The other

students will be sent home tomorrow — Ihave chosen to answer a higher callingand will be serving the public in a muchgrander capacity — but I have you boys inmind as personal assistants, to begroomed as Executives as you mature.”

“You . . . you really do want us, then?”Sticky asked.

“But of course I do,” Mr. Curtain said,with an encouraging smile. “I could useyou both! And the sooner the Improvementbegins, the sooner you’ll begin your newlife. What better motivation to performwell, eh?”

Sticky’s lip quivered.“I’m here with the juice, sir,” S.Q.’s

voice called through the intercom speaker.“Finally,” Mr. Curtain grumbled, his

smile instantly vanishing, as fake smiles

often do. He pushed a button on the arm ofhis wheelchair.

Reynie, who had been watching Stickyin bleak despair, noted which button Mr.Curtain pressed. If Kate and Constancemanaged to come, he could open the door.But what were the chances of that? FirstSticky would need to resist Mr. Curtain’sinvitation — and with the pull of theWhisperer so powerful, with Mr. Curtainnow so likely to succeed, could Reyniehold out hope for this?

S.Q. brought their juice and tripped outagain; Mr. Curtain sipped from his papercup with an expression of eagercontemplation, and then the moment hadarrived. “Very well, Reynard, let’simprove the world. You may take yourseat in the Whisperer now.”

Reynie stared pleadingly at Sticky,whose expression was impossible to read.What was going on in his head?

As it happened, Sticky himself did notknow.

There had been times in Sticky’s lifewhen an important question wouldflummox him no matter how well he knewthe answer; and times he had run awayfrom his problems; and times when he’dfelt himself paralyzed when action wasmost needed. He’d never understood thistendency of his — he knew only that herarely lived up to expectation, and for thisreason had clung so fiercely to hisnickname. Any boy with a name likeGeorge Washington must surely have greatthings expected of him.

And yet, in these last days, he’d become

friends with people who cared about him,quite above and beyond what wasexpected of him. With perfect clarity heremembered Reynie saying, “I need youhere as a friend.” The effect of thosewords, and of all his friendships, hadgrown stronger and stronger, until —though he couldn’t say why he didn’t feelmixed up now — at the most desperatemoment yet, he knew it to be true. Therewas bravery in him. It only had to bedrawn out.

So it was that Sticky stepped in front ofReynie and said, “May I go first, Mr.Curtain? I’ve been looking forward to thisever since my last session.”

Mr. Curtain laughed his screechy laugh.“I daresay Reynard feels much the same,George. But let’s not quibble. Reynard

went first last time. You may go first thistime. Take your seat.”

At last Sticky met Reynie’s gaze, whichwas now full of gratitude and admiration.With a quick nod, Sticky turned andclimbed into the Whisperer. ImmediatelyMr. Curtain whizzed over to sit behindhim, fitted his head inside the red helmet,and barked, “Ledroptha Curtain!”

The cuffs sprang up around Sticky’swrists. The blue helmet lowered.

“Sticky Washington,” Sticky said aloud,closing his eyes.

Reynie watched his friend’s face growtense with the effort of resisting. He knewthe Whisperer wanted Sticky’s givenname.

“Sticky Washington,” Sticky repeated.“Hold on, Sticky,” thought Reynie, his

eyes darting to Mr. Curtain’s face, whichseemed both tired and troubled. Had Mr.Curtain already sensed a problem? Hewas frowning with concentration, his eyesclosed.

How long could Sticky hold on —knowing his resistance might betray him?Knowing all he must do to relieve histerror was cooperate? Knowing he wasbut moments away from that wonderfulrelief? It would be like trying not toscratch the most powerful itch anyone hadever known.

Reynie moved silently to the window.“Sticky . . . Washington,” Sticky said

again, in a much weaker voice, andReynie knew they hadn’t much time.

Mr. Curtain’s eyes were still closed.Now was his chance. Reynie waved his

hand back and forth in front of thewindow. It was dark outside, but the roomwas well-lit — his hand would be visiblefrom outside. Back and forth he waved,back and forth, back and forth. Please,please, let somebody notice, he thought.Please, Rhonda, let it be true what yousaid. Through the telescope we appear tobe only a few feet away. Through thetelescope you watch the islandconstantly. Please let it be true. Andplease let your eyes be sharp.

With one final attention-gathering wave,he placed his hand against the glass so thatthe message scrawled on his palm couldbe read, if only someone was out there toread it: We need K & C here! Now!

The Great Kate WeatherMachine

K and C, as it happened, were still inbed. It had been an awful night for Kate.Try as she might, she couldn’t forget thelook in Milligan’s eyes as the Executivesand Recruiters paraded him through thecafeteria. She slept poorly, in and out of adoze, constantly worried and miserable,and never once did she have a shred of anidea what to do.

Now it was almost dawn, time to rise,though rising hardly seemed worth thetrouble. Worsening Kate’s mood, if that

was possible, was a distant, irritatingbeeping sound, the erratic honking of afaraway horn. A car alarm on themainland, or some obnoxious kid foolingaround with an air horn. It had been goingon for several minutes now. Long honks,short honks, long honks again, on and on.Irritating, and irritatingly familiar, likesomething she was supposed to rememberbut couldn’t. Almost like a code, shethought. Almost like . . .

“Morse code!” Kate said aloud, sittingbolt upright in bed.

A long honk, a short honk, a long oneagain, a pause. That would be a K. Shelistened intently. Here came some more.Oh, why hadn’t she been studying herMorse code? Flying to her desk, Katewrote the code down as it came. Short,

long. Long, short. Long, short, short. Apause. That spelled and, she was fairlysure. Long, short, long, short — a C. Kand C.

“Will somebody turn off that stupidalarm?” Constance moaned in her sleep.

“Shush! No, don’t shush! Constance,wake up! We’re being signaled!”

But Constance, lost in a sleepy fog, onlyburied her head under her pillow.

The code kept coming. Kate struggledto decipher it. “I hope the boys are gettingthis,” she thought. “Sticky will know it forsure.” After a pause the message started torepeat, and Kate studied what she’d jotteddown: k and c to flauto were now. Goodgrief! It made no sense at all. “K and C”stood for Kate and Constance, obviously.But what did “flauto” mean? Was it

Spanish? Latin? Again she hoped Stickywas listening — he knew every languagein the book. Here came the message again.Kate paid close attention, careful not tomistake short for long or vice versa,making sure to recognize pauses. Shecame up with this: k and c to flau towernow. What in the world? What was a “flautower” anyway?

“Flag tower!” she exclaimed, realizingher mistake. “Good gravy, Kate! The boysare in the flag tower already! Constance,wake up!”

“Quiet down!” came the muffled voicefrom beneath the pillow.

Kate threw on her shoes, fastened herbucket to her belt. Who knew how longthey’d been up there? Who knew what sortof danger they were in? What if she was

too late? She’d have to —Kate stopped in mid-thought, staring at

the tiny lump of bedclothes that wasConstance Contraire. How could shepossibly make it with that belligerent girlalong? Kate would have to carry her,assuming she could even get her out ofbed. What if Constance slowed her downso much she couldn’t help the boys intime?

It occurred to Kate to leave her behind.An inviting thought — so inviting shealmost did just that. She went to the door.Hesitated. Looked back. The plan hadcalled for all four of them. That was whatMr. Benedict had said mattered most, andit was what they’d agreed upon onlyyesterday. All four of them. That was theplan. No way would she be the one to

mess it up. In a flash Kate was at thebedside, shaking Constance like a maraca.“Wake up, Constance! It’s an emergency!”

Even with the shaking and urging, ittook Kate a minute to get Constance fullyawake. Dawn had broken, daylight grewstronger by the second, and with it her fearthat she’d be too late. By the timeConstance understood what washappening, Kate had jammed her shoesonto her feet. “Get on my back!” sheordered, ignoring Constance’s whiningthat her toes hurt (Kate had forced theshoes onto the wrong feet). Constanceclimbed on — still grumbling — and Katedashed from the room.

In the corridor they passed severalstudents clinging miserably to paper bags,standing in line for the overcrowded

bathroom. There were slick spots here andthere on the floor that the Helpers hadn’tmopped up yet, and Kate nimbly avoidedthese, trying not to think about them. Whena queasy-looking Executive approached toask their business, Kate cried, “Get back!She’s about to barf her Brussels sprouts!”The Executive, who had already seenmore of this sort of thing in one night thanshe cared to see in a lifetime, steppedaside without another word.

Faster and faster Kate ran, catching herpace, her bucket bouncing against her hipand Constance clinging desperately to hershoulders. Past exhausted Helpers withtheir buckets and mops, out of thedormitory, and straight for the secretentrance behind the Institute ControlBuilding. With the help of Mr. Curtain’s

elevator, Kate figured they could beoutside the Whispering Gallery in thirtyseconds or less. “Provided we get lucky,”she thought, “and the entrance isn’tguarded.” She rounded the boulders,kicked the door open, and burst throughthe foyer into the secret passage.

The entrance was guarded,unfortunately. And by none other thanMartina Crowe.

Kate drew up short, trying to think ofwhat to do.

Martina was so astounded by Kate’ssudden appearance, she almost lookedafraid, as if Kate had come to deal hersome blow. But she quickly grew haughty.“How did you two get down here? You’rein serious trouble now, do you realizethat?”

Kate scarcely heard Martina. Her mindwas racing. Could she get past Martina?Alone, maybe, but with Constance on herback? Martina would call for help, and theRecruiters guarding the computer roomwould come running. All Martina had todo was hold Kate off a few shortmoments. No, they’d never make it. Theywould have to try another way.

“Well, what do you have to say foryourselves?” Martina snarled, advancingthreateningly.

Kate bit her lip, clenched her fists, andfor once, said nothing. Instead she whirledon her heel, hitched Constance higher onher back, and ran away.

Martina stared after the girls, extremelyconfused. It was not like Kate Wetherallto back down like that, not like her at all.

And why had they come into the secretpassage in the first place? They’d been ina hurry, clearly rushing toward someurgent business. Her face darkened as shecontemplated the possibilities.

Just then Jillson rounded the corner.She’d spent a dreadful night in thebathroom making sounds like a sea lion,but now that she was feeling better shewas coming to relieve Martina from guardduty. “Jackson told me to take over foryou. If Mr. Curtain doesn’t finish the jobwith Reynard and George, you may behaving another session in a few hours. Goget some rest.”

Martina wasn’t listening. Her mind wasawhirl with speculations about Kate. Thewicked little snoop must know this wasthe way up to the Whispering Gallery, she

thought. Why else would the girls havecome here? And what had they been insuch a hurry for? And . . . and what wasthat infernal beeping sound in thedistance? Martina was finding it difficultto concentrate.

“Jillson, did you pass Kate Wetherall inthe foyer just now?”

“And that little squirt Constance? Youbet I did. I sent them straight back to theirroom. Some kids never learn. It’ll be abrainsweep for those two, no doubt aboutit.”

“They aren’t going back to their room,”said Martina. “Something’s going on.”

Jillson frowned. “Is that so? Do youthink it has anything to do with thatmaddening honking sound? What is that,anyway?”

“You’ve noticed it, too, then. I don’tknow. It almost sounds like — no, itdefinitely sounds like a code. Yes, it’s ac ode ! Morse code. Jillson, you don’tknow Morse code, do you?”

“Why on earth would I? Nobody usesMorse code anymore. But you know, Mr.Curtain keeps all sorts of code books inhis office cabinet. We could take a look. Ihave the cabinet key with me — privilegeof a senior Executive.”

Moments later the two of them were inMr. Curtain’s office, poring over a chartof Morse code, hastily scrawling atranscription of the distant honks.

“What’s a ‘flauta’?” Jillson asked,scratching her head.

Martina corrected the mistake. Notshort short long, but long long short — not

U but G. Flag tower. “I knew it! Let’s gofind Jackson. We have two more spies tocatch!”

The spies in question were at that verymoment hurrying down a corridor in theHelpers’ barracks, where Kate had justburst into a storage room and snatched aladder from an alarmed Helper. Now theywere tripping and stumbling toward theexit. Kate stumbled because of theunwieldy ladder. Constance stumbledbecause it was her natural method oflocomotion, and because her feet hurt frombeing in the wrong shoes.

“Come on!” Kate urged, panting forbreath. “Can’t you move any faster?

Honestly, I can’t carry you and the ladderboth.”

“Just leave me then! You don’t want mealong, anyway.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Katemuttered, banging the door open at the endof the corridor and hauling the ladder outinto the early morning light. Constancecame tottering after her, struggling to keepup as Kate rounded the classroom buildingand charged onto the empty plaza.

The horn still sounded from across thewater, insistently repeating its urgentmessage.

Kate was just thinking, I wish they’dknock it off now, someone else is sure tocatch on, when the horn abruptly stopped.Unfortunately, even as it did so, twoExecutives emerged from behind the

boulders on the hill to stare curiouslytoward the mainland. (One of them wasS.Q., whose gangly frame Kate recognizedeven from this distance. The other, judgingby the size of her head, was a tall-hairedExecutive named Regina.) They were toodistracted at the moment to notice thegirls. Still, this would never do.Constance was dragging behind. If theExecutives spotted them, she was sure tobe caught.

“Listen,” Kate puffed as they crossedthe plaza, “if the sashes come after us, I’llslow them down. You keep going. Headstraight up the hill behind the InstituteControl Building — to that stone wallbelow the brook. I’ll catch up with youthere.”

Constance stopped. “All the way up

there? But I can’t walk that far! I’mexhausted! My feet are killing me!”

Kate skidded to a halt. “You can’t makeanything easy, can you? Not even now, themost important moment of your life?” Shedropped the ladder and reached into herbucket for the rope.

“What are you doing?” said Constance.“I thought we were in some huge hurry.”

“Put a lid on it,” Kate said.Before Constance could think of a

grumpy reply, Kate had tied the ladder toher belt and hoisted the smaller girl uponher back. “I’ll just have to drag the stupidthing. It’s going to make an awful racket,though, so hang on.”

With that, Kate was off, faster than shewould have thought possible herself,perhaps spurred on by the tremendous

bang and clatter and scrape of the ladderdragging behind her. In the distanceRegina began to shout — the ruckus hadcaught her attention. Kate glanced up thehill to see S.Q. tripping over his feet, andRegina tripping over S.Q., as they startedout after the girls. “Bless those sizefifteens,” she thought. “Now we may justmake it.”

Kate made her way to the back of theInstitute Control Building, hustled past theboulders and the drapeweed trap, andstarted up the hill. It was a difficult ascent.There was no path here, the slope wassteep and slippery with gravel, and Kate— unlike her pursuers — was dragging aladder and carrying someone on her back.Even so, Kate was halfway up before S.Q.and Regina even arrived at the bottom.

She was just about to feel encouragedwhen Martina, Jackson, and Jillson cameswarming out the back of the InstituteControl Building.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Kate said.She smiled and waved.

“Unfortunate?” cried Constance.“Unfortunate?”

“Don’t you think so?” Kate asked,panting under her burden. Jackson sentS.Q. and Regina scurrying away —probably to notify Mr. Curtain — andstarted up the hill with Jillson and Martinaclose behind.

They were moving very fast.Kate stopped glancing back and pressed

on, hard, until she and Constance came tothe stone wall. From below them theyheard the rapid scraping of boots on

gravel. Quickly Kate worked to untie theladder from her belt — but after the longdrag uphill, the knot had grown too tight.Come on, come on, she thought,unfastening her belt to slip the knot free. Inher haste she missed her grip on the bucketand, to her horror, it slipped loose andtumbled several yards down the hillbehind her.

“Leave it!” Constance cried, seeing herlook of dismay. “There’s no time!”

Constance was right. They would losetheir narrow head-start. But even worsewas to lose her bucket. And so, to themocking laughs of Martina from halfwaydown the hill (“Fat lot of good that bucketwill do you when we catch up with you!”)she handed her rope to Constance andscampered back to retrieve it. Everything

had spilled out, including her preciousspyglass, but here Kate drew the line —she snatched up the bucket and left the restbehind.

“You lost your lead!” Jackson called.“You might as well wait for us there.”

“Just wanted to give you a fightingchance!” Kate called back. With theladder in place and Constance (fumingwith disapproval) on her back, she beganto climb. She was really sweating underher load now. The wearier she grew, theheavier Constance seemed. In a finaldetermined burst, she scaled the last fewrungs just as Jackson reached the ladder.She scrambled forward onto the high,sloping ground above the wall.

A few paces ahead, just above the rockwall, ran the brook Kate had spotted their

first day on the island. It streamed along ashallow gully for some distance beforefinally spilling over the wall and runningdownhill. Kate stumbled quickly towardit. By the time she’d dumped Constance —rather unceremoniously — next to thebrook, Jackson and Jillson were both onthe ladder, and Martina was preparing toclimb.

“What good is your bucket doing younow?” Jackson jeered.

“I’m glad you asked!” Kate said,bending over the brook to scoop thebucket full of water. Instantly it was asheavy as a bowling ball. Returning to lookdown into Jackson’s icy blue eyes — hewas only a few rungs from the top — shegave him a friendly wink.

And dropped the bucket.

Surprised though he was, Jacksonresisted the urge to let go and catch thebucket. It didn’t matter. The bucket caughthim. It landed squarely on top of his headand sent him tumbling backward down theladder, in the process knocking Jillsondown as well. They landed in a wet,moaning heap at Martina’s feet.

“Instant ton of bricks,” Kate said withsatisfaction. “Just add water.”

There wasn’t time to reflect upon thepleasing scene. Martina had been quick-witted enough to grab the ladder beforeKate could haul it out of reach, and waswaiting only for her dazed companions toclimb to their feet again. SlingingConstance over her shoulder, Katesplashed across the brook (too tired nowto leap it) and made her way up the last,

steep stretch of ground to the tower wall.“Ugh!” Constance cried. “Get your

shoulder out of my belly, you big —”“Listen,” Kate said, setting her down

and hastily forming a lasso with her rope.“I need to concentrate, so keep quiet, willyou? We have to reach that window asquick as we can.” As she spoke, sheswung her lasso round and round, eyeingthe flagpole that jutted out from the towerwall high above them, the Institute’s redflag rippling gently beneath it.

Careful, Kate warned herself. Don’t letthe lasso get fouled up with that flag. Itwas essential she didn’t miss — there’dbe no time for a second attempt.

Kate concentrated, took aim, said aprayer, and . . .

“You don’t really think you can lasso

that flagpole, do you?” Constance blurtedjust as Kate flung the lasso upward.

The outburst nearly broke Kate’sconcentration, but her throw was trueenough — with a perfectly timed twitch ofthe rope, she adjusted its path. The lassodropped neatly over the end of theflagpole. Kate heaved a sigh of relief.“You call that quiet?” she asked,tightening the loop with a tug.

“It could have been louder,” Constancereplied.

“Thanks ever so much,” said Kate,already tying the rope around the smallergirl’s waist. “Now don’t argue. I’m doingthis so I can haul you up after me. I canclimb faster this way.”

Constance, of course, began to argue,but Kate had already completed the knot

and begun scrambling up the rope. Shedidn’t waste time looking back. She knewthat at this very moment Martina wasleaping the brook. She knew she had onlya matter of seconds. And when at lastshe’d reached the flagpole, balanced atopit, and looked down to see Martinacharging toward Constance far below, sheknew that those seconds were not in herfavor. As tired as she was, as fast asMartina was moving, she wouldn’t havetime to pull Constance out of reach.

It took only one of those seconds forKate to think: It has to be all four of us,but Constance can’t handle them. Youcan handle them, though. It will berough, but you can handle them.

(Part of Kate believed this — a veryimportant part, for Kate’s sense of

invincibility was the main thing that hadsustained her all her young life alone. Butanother part did not believe this — and it,too, was an important part, for unless youknow about this part it is impossible tounderstand how brave a thing Kate wasabout to do.)

With a fluid motion Kate slipped thelasso from the end of the flagpole. Shegripped the rope tightly. Oh well, shethought. I sure hope the little grouch isworth it.

And with that, she leaped backwardinto empty air.

The rope fell across the flagpole like acable over a pulley, and as Kate droppeddownward, so Constance — much lighterby far — shot up out of the grasp of theastonished Martina Crowe. The tiny girl

clung madly to the rope, her eyes bulging,but Kate could do little to calm her. Asthey brushed past each other, one going upand the other down, both to uncertainfates, Kate offered her breeziest smile andsaid, “Hang tight, Connie girl! And besure to untie yourself when you get upthere.”

Then she descended into the waitingarms of three powerful Executives, all ofthem grinning with vengeful excitement.

Stands and Falls

Mr. Curtain! Mr. Curtain, sir!” buzzedS.Q.’s voice through the intercom.

For Reynie, the interruption could nothave come at a better moment. For whatseemed an eternity now, he had watchedSticky alternately frown with effort andsmile with relief, his tea-colored skingoing almost as pale as honey, andperspiration trickling down his cheekslike tears. But the frowns had at last fadedaway, replaced entirely by the pleasant,contented smiles. Sticky had made a greateffort, but in the end he couldn’t help it —

he had stopped resisting.Mr. Curtain, however, did not welcome

the interruption. After a night with too fewsessions, he’d finally got a Messenger intohis Whisperer again, only to struggleunexpectedly. The machine had gone balkyas an old donkey, losing Mr. Curtain’strain of thought and sometimesmisunderstanding him altogether. Usuallythe mental effect for him was of speakinginto a telephone and hearing his ownvoice in the receiver. But this session hadbeen like hearing himself through astaticky radio. It was the boy, it must be,and Mr. Curtain had just begun to suspectthat George was an unfit Messenger afterall — that in fact he might beuntrustworthy — when the sessionimproved. The boy’s mind grew more

receptive, the Whisperer’s wrinkledmessages straightened, and Mr. Curtainhad at last settled into some real,productive work. He was just finishing thesession when the interruption came.

“Mr. Curtain! Please, sir, it’s anemergency!”

“Rats and dogs!” Mr. Curtain saidfuriously, thrusting off his red helmet.Behind him, the cuffs and blue helmetfreed Sticky, who rose, wobbling, in astate of weak confusion. Reynie leapedforward to support him.

“What is it, S.Q.?” Mr. Curtain said,pressing the intercom button on hiswheelchair. “It had better be important.”

“It is, sir. Two students are trying tobreak into the tower!”

Reynie closed his eyes; his heart sank.

The Executives knew what the girls wereup to, and S.Q. was already outside thedoor. It was over, then. After all this, afterSticky had been so brave, had tried sohard . . .

“Two students?” Mr. Curtain wassaying. “By students you mean children,do you not?”

“Um, yes, sir,” came S.Q.’s uncertainreply.

“Do you mean to tell me you can’tprevent two children from breaking in?”

“Um, well, sir, we’re sure tocomprehend . . . I mean apprehend . . . Imean we’re sure to catch them soon. I justthought I should alert you —”

“Thank you, S.Q.,” said Mr. Curtain,who did not sound at all thankful.“Consider me alerted. And by the way,

unless you are presented with an actualemergency, I want no further interruptions,understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Curtain,” came S.Q.’s reply.“Sorry, Mr. Curtain.”

With a disgusted shake of his head Mr.Curtain exclaimed, “Children! Am Isupposed to fear unarmed children? Nodoubt they’re in cahoots with my prisoner.Unlikely agents, but no matter — they’llsoon join him.” He grew silent, staringintently at Sticky as if considering howbest to cut him up and cook him. “George,I’m afraid I was not terribly pleased withyour performance. No. In fact I was ratherdispleased. Reynard will take over foryou now. We will see about you later.”

There could be no doubt what Mr.Curtain meant by “we will see about you,”

but Sticky was too exhausted at themoment to be afraid. He only shook hishead. He had done all he could.

Mr. Curtain gestured impatientlytoward the cushions, and Reynie helpedSticky over to them. Sticky collapsed.Reynie turned to meet Mr. Curtain’s gaze,and saw in those silvery lenses thereflection of his own uncertain, frightenedface.

“The time has come, Reynard,” saidMr. Curtain. “Unsatisfactory though yourfriend’s session has been, we arenonetheless close — very, very close.”Mr. Curtain coughed and wiped his pale,moist brow. As if to himself he mumbled,“I’m afraid I must pause for refreshment,though. But only for a moment. It can’t hurtto savor the occasion, at any rate. A cup of

juice, then. Do you hear me, Reynard? Ishall have a cup of juice. After that, only afew minutes more . . . and then! And then!The Improvement will begin! Can youbelieve? I can scarcely believe it myself!”Mr. Curtain’s face, though pale anddrawn, quite gleamed with exultation. Hisdream was on the cusp of becomingreality.

Reynie glanced at the Whisper. Thenhis glance hardened into a focused gaze.He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Didn’t theWhisperer look inviting? Comforting? Italmost seemed to be speaking to him —whispering to him all the way over here.Was it whispering to him? Whispering theunthinkable thing . . . ?

Don’t struggle for nothing, Reynard.You can still join Mr. Curtain, be

important, be a part of something.But . . . but Mr. Benedict, Reynie

thought. He . . . he needs me to . . .Mr. Benedict! Is he the one who

tricked you into joining him, whoencouraged you to cheat on quizzes, whooffered you ‘special opportunities’? Orwas that Mr. Curtain, who said cheatingdoesn’t bother him, who rounded up poorunfortunates only to give them a betterlife, who has offered you a chance to bean Executive? How different are the twomen? Not very, Reynard. The onlydifference is that one can offer you onlysuffering now, while the other offers youa way to belong — a way to relieve theloneliness.

Shaken, Reynie thought, But . . . Miss . .. Miss Perumal.

You can help her! You can warn her,tell her to keep quiet about the voices inher head. You’ll have Mr. Curtain’s ear— you can vouch for Miss Perumal. Youcan protect her!

Reynie clasped his hands to his head.But would she want me to do that? Atsuch a cost? No, she wouldn’t. And yet . .. and yet . . . it’s impossible! There’s noway out!

Mr. Curtain had finished his juice andwas watching Reynard watch theWhisperer. “You’ve missed it, I see,”purred Mr. Curtain. “Well, miss it nolonger. Take your seat, Reynard. Takeyour rightful place.”

Reynie’s mind was so foggy. Had Mr.Curtain said “your rightful place”? Or wasthat his own mind? And who had been

talking to him before that? Wasn’t it theWhisperer? No, he realized. Unfortunatelynot. It wasn’t the Whisperer at all. It wasReynie himself.

“Reynard!” Mr. Curtain prompted.Reynie made his way toward the

Whisperer. The session would go quickly— a few minutes, Mr. Curtain had said —and then it would be over. And then . . . heswallowed hard. What would happen toConstance? Would something dreadfulhappen to her when Mr. Curtain boostedthe power? And what would become ofthe others?

He looked back at Sticky, slumped on acushion in a posture of weary defeat.Despite his terror, in the face of theWhisperer’s irresistible power, Stickyhad resisted with all his might. He would

never have done that if not for Reynie’surging, and now it had put him intodisfavor with Mr. Curtain. Was Reyniereally going to help Mr. Curtain? It wouldbe a betrayal of their friendship! And Kate— to think of what they’d been throughtogether, and the risks she’d taken. . . .

“Ledroptha Curtain!”The cuffs clasped Reynie’s wrists. The

helmet lowered. Reynie closed his eyes,only to see the faces of his friends. Heremembered the final question of Mr.Benedict’s first test: Are you brave? Now,at least, Reynie knew the answer. Hewasn’t brave. He had only hoped he was.

Good, said the Whisperer. What is yourname?

“Just get it over with quickly,” Reynietold himself.

Welcome, Reynard Muldoon.“Welcome,” Reynie repeated. Yes.

Welcome was such a — such awelcoming word. It made you feel a partof something. It made you feel . . . notalone. No, he was not alone at all. And yet. . .

Reynard Muldoon, what do you fearmost?

In his mind’s eye Reynie still saw thefaces of his friends. Sticky, Kate,Constance — all watching him withconcern. They’d been through so muchtogether! Was he really going to betraythem?

“You could never be more alone than ifyou betrayed your friends,” Reynie said tohimself.

Instantly the Whisperer’s voice said,

Don’t worry. You will never betray yourfriends. You are brave enough.

Reynie was so startled he almostlaughed aloud. The Whisperer was tooperceptive for its own good! At the mostimportant moment of all, it had given himjust the encouragement he needed — theencouragement to help him fight it!

Let us begin, said the Whisperer.Reynie was flooded with a terrific

sense of well-being. Real well-being —not an illusion at all. He would not betrayhis friends. He knew that now. He hadconfronted his worst fear, and now it wasgone. No need for the Whisperer to deny it— there was nothing left to deny!

Let us begin, the Whisperer repeated.Reynie braced himself. Let the worst

come. He would be brave enough to

resist, and he would not be alone.Let us begin, the Whisperer repeated,

more insistently.Not just yet, Reynie thought.Let us begin.First let me polish my spectacles,

Reynie thought.Let us begin.Not without my bucket, Reynie

insisted.He heard Mr. Curtain muttering behind

him.Let us begin, let us begin, let us begin.Rules and schools are tools for fools,

Reynie thought.And then, as if he had conjured her,

Reynie heard Constance’s shrill voice. Itwas perhaps the first time he had everbeen glad to hear it.

“Help! Open up! Let me in!”“Pah!” sputtered Mr. Curtain. “What is

wrong with this infernal machine? Andnow another interruption! Where is thatvoice coming from?”

“From the window,” said Sticky, wholooked every bit as surprised as Mr.Curtain.

“The window?” Mr. Curtain said,thrusting the red helmet from his head andlooking toward the window. Nothing wasvisible beyond it except blue sky. Hegrunted and lowered the helmet again.“Never mind. We’ll just ignore it. I amgoing to finish this session if it’s the lastthing —”

“Open up! Open up! Open up!” shriekedConstance.

“That’s going to be difficult to ignore,

sir,” Reynie said as Constance continuedto shriek.

“This is outrageous! How am I toconcentrate if . . . ?” Mr. Curtain’s facetwisted with frustration. “Very well, I’llhave to address this. The window latch istoo high for me to reach from my chair,however. George —” He glancedsuspiciously at Sticky, then shook hishead. “No, George, you stay where youare. Reynard, go and see what the troubleis.”

The cuffs unclasped his wrists, thehelmet went up.

Reynie needed no prodding. In aninstant he was across the room andscrabbling at the window catch. He flungopen the panes and looked down. Justbeneath the window, the miniature figure

of Constance Contraire clung desperatelyto the flagpole — Reynie’s firstimpression was of a koala bear huggingthe trunk of a fallen eucalyptus tree — herentire body trembling with effort, her eyesrolling with fright. She had good reason:The least slip would send her plummetingto rocky ground.

Nor, apparently, was the ground a saferplace to have remained, for there Katewas engaged in a furious struggle.Reynie’s heart swelled with pride andhope. It might be bad, but it wasn’t over.The girls weren’t captured yet.

“Well?” Mr. Curtain demanded fromacross the room. “What is it?”

Sticky was watching with a hint of newhopefulness.

Reynie kept his face turned away; he

must not reveal his smile to Mr. Curtain.“It’s those children S.Q. mentioned, sir.One appears to have been apprehended.The other is stuck on the flagpole outsidethe window.”

Mr. Curtain seemed unsure whether tolaugh or snarl. “Go ahead and haul himinside, then. This will be our lastinterruption.”

“It’s a girl, sir,” Reynie corrected.“Sticky, can you help me?”

Sticky, having recovered a bit ofstrength, came over to hold Reynie’s legsas he reached out and lifted the frightenedgirl through the window.

“Well, well, well, ConstanceContraire,” said Mr. Curtain withapparent satisfaction. “Just as I suspected.I knew all along you weren’t to be trusted.

In fact, I would have taken care of youlong ago had it not been for —”

He gave a sudden start, whipping offhis glasses to reveal bright green, horriblybloodshot eyes — eyes quite flaming withangry realization.

“Had it not been,” he repeated, turningthose eyes now on Reynie, “for you.”

Mr. Curtain threw his silver glasses tothe floor, as if without them he wouldhave seen the truth much sooner. And then,to the children’s great confusion andhorror, the fearsome man unstrappedhimself, rose from the wheelchair to standat his full alarming height, and strodeacross the room to seize them.

Kate Wetherall, meanwhile, was fightingfor her life. Martina Crowe had beenhoping for just this sort of occasion, anopportunity to exact revenge for pasthumiliations. And now Jackson andJillson, never the most delicate creaturesto begin with, were equally determined toknock Kate about, having beenembarrassed — not to mention bruised —by her bucket. Kate might be clever andquick as a fox, but she was a weary foxnow, and one among hounds.

Still, she had managed to inflict someunpleasantness: In addition to the knot onJackson’s head, his pointy nose wasswollen and red where she’d pinched it toencourage her release. Jillson’s ear wasringing painfully — the result of a well-placed elbow. And Martina had been

rebuffed by an excruciating shin-scrape.The Executives circled her more warilynow, looking for the right moment torenew their attack.

Kate crouched, watching themcarefully, her lasso at the ready. (For onceConstance had followed Kate’s advice —had untied herself so that the Executivescouldn’t yank her down — and the ropewas now free). The others circled andcircled, eyeing the lasso, looking for aweakness. But it was Kate who saw onefirst: Martina had taken an awkward step,was slightly off balance. Kate feinted tothe side — moving as if to flee — andwhen Martina lunged to stop her, Katesnared her ankle with the lasso and jerkedher off her feet. Martina landed in the dustwith an angry growl.

It was an excellent throw, but it wasalso the beginning of the end. Before Katecould let go of her rope, Martina grabbedit and heaved. Kate was pulled offbalance, and Jackson chose that exactmoment to give her a shove — and nogentle shove, at that. It was as if she’dbeen struck by a ram. Kate went reeling,trying to catch herself.

But it was Jillson who caught her.The next few minutes were wretched

ones indeed. Kate’s ears were boxed, herhair pulled, her cheeks pummeled withJillson’s boltlike knuckles. And thoughshe writhed and twisted, swung her fists,and kicked her feet, she could do nothingto stop them. Kate had told herself shecould handle the Executives, but she’dbeen fooling herself — just as she had

fooled herself for so long. She couldn’t doeverything by herself. She realized thatnow.

Kate stopped struggling. Why struggle?She was of no use now to her friends,herself, or anyone. She was completelyovercome, helpless and alone. The bitterirony wasn’t lost on Kate: The momentshe finally admitted to herself she neededhelp, there was no help to be found.

As if reading her thoughts, Martinahissed, “Now you realize how outclassedyou are, don’t you, Wetherall? I don’tblame you for giving up.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Martina,” Katemumbled through bloody lips. “I’m justtaking a nap while you yammer on.”

This infuriated Martina, and as Jacksonand Jillson redoubled their grips on

Kate’s limbs, the raven-haired girlprepared to unleash her most viciousattack yet. Stepping back to get a runningstart, she cried, “I’ll kick you until you cryfor mercy, Wetherall! I’ll make you sufferuntil you beg me to stop! I’ll beat you untilyou admit I’m the best! I’ll —”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said anunfamiliar voice, followed by threesuccessive swit, swit, swits, upon whichMartina’s eyes crossed, Jackson andJillson sighed, and all three collapsedupon the ground unconscious, dart feathersblooming from their shoulders as if bymagic.

Where Martina Crowe had been,Milligan now stood with his tranquilizergun. Covered from head to toe in slimyblack mud, his left arm in a sling

fashioned from an Executive’s blood-stained tunic, Milligan — wonder ofwonders! — was grinning at Kate withjoyous eyes. That was why his voice hadseemed unfamiliar — it was too cheerful.She hadn’t recognized it at all.

And yet. Staring at him all the while,Kate rose unsteadily to her feet. And yet . .. something about those eyes. There wassomething familiar about him, after all.Something . . .

“Sorry it took me so long, Katie-Cat,”said her father.

The Best Medicine

You,” Mr. Curtain repeated, loomingover the children and glowering inparticular at Reynie. “You betrayed me!After all I did for you — welcomed you tomy Institute, soothed your fears with myWhisperer, offered you a role in myImprovement — after all this, you chose todefy me?”

“I don’t suppose you’d accept anapology,” Sticky offered. (A cheekyresponse for him, especially since he wastoo petrified by the sight of Mr. Curtain’stowering figure even to reach for his

spectacles, though every bone in his bodywanted to give them a terrific polishing.)

Mr. Curtain laughed a terrifying,screech-owl laugh, and said, “Oh, no, I’mafraid not, George. But I thank you forreminding me how pathetic children are.Quick to follow, quicker still to flee. Yes,quite pitiful, and annoying as gnats, butcertainly not a threat. To think you hoped .. . what did you hope for, anyway? Todefeat 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 handsclutching your grubby little collars. I’llsummon my Executives to bear you off.”

Mr. Curtain turned to walk back to hischair. He paused, however, at the sight of

Reynie Muldoon’s penetrating stare. Theboy’s eyes shifted rapidly back and forth,as if calculating something with greatconcentration. Before Mr. Curtain couldask what the devil he was doing, Reyniesaid aloud, as if to himself, “Okay, so itisn’t laughter.”

“What are you blathering about,Reynard?” Mr. Curtain demanded.

Reynie hardly seemed to hear him.“With Mr. Benedict, it’s usually laughterthat does it. But if it’s not laughter withyou, then what? It must be something,otherwise you wouldn’t strap yourself socarefully in. You’re so afraid of losingcontrol — but how, exactly?”

Mr. Curtain’s eyebrows shot up. Hisentire head quivered like a struck bell. “Ihave no idea — what the devil are you —

snakes and — I haven’t time for yourchildish —,” he sputtered.

“Yes, you’re definitely afraid ofsomething,” Reynie said more forcefully,his eyes lighting up. “The chair, the straps,the reflective glasses — they’re all thereto keep your secret safe from the children.But why are you so afraid of children?Maybe that’s why you keep saying we’reso harmless. You’re trying to convinceyourself. In fact you’re scared to death ofus! You’re like a tiger afraid of mice!Why else would you stand there shaking inyour boots?”

“It’s not from fear, you insignificantspeck of dust!” roared Mr. Curtain, hisface livid with rage. “How dare you! I’llcrush you all like the gnats you are!” Andwith that, he sprang forward . . . only to

drop in a green-plaid heap at thechildren’s feet, where he promptly beganto snore.

Reynie’s breath escaped in a whoosh ofrelief. Then he nodded. “Laughter usuallyputs Mr. Benedict to sleep. With Mr.Curtain, it’s anger. Quick, Sticky, let’s tiehim up with our sashes.”

Sticky released Constance’s hand,which in his fright he had unconsciouslyseized, and loosened his sash. “So that’sthe 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 furiousand then suddenly got quiet,” Reynie said,knotting his sash around Mr. Curtain’sankles, “I always thought he was gettingready 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 lookingwildly about. When they fell uponReynie’s face, they narrowed with hatred.“Oh, that’s right,” he said, yawning. “Iwas on my way over to kill you. Butwhat’s this? Sashes? Surely you don’tthink mere ribbons could restrain me?”

Reynie’s face fell. “I sort of hoped theywould.”

“Then you are even more foolish than Iperceived you to be,” said Mr. Curtain,and spreading his arms and legs with onepowerful thrust, he ripped the sashes intwo.

“If we’re so foolish,” Constance

shouted before he could rise, “then whatdoes that say about you? You made theboys Messengers even though they alwaysintended to betray you, and we’ve trickedyou again and again. We even know aboutyour narcolepsy, though you tried so hardto hide it. If we’re foolish, then you’re thegreatest fool of all, since we’re obviouslymuch smarter than you!”

For a moment Mr. Curtain trembledviolently, unable even to form words inhis fury. Then his eyes closed and he sankback upon the floor.

“That was fun,” Constance said.“That was close,” Sticky said. “But

now what? There’s nothing else to tie himup with.”

“How about this rope?” cried a familiarvoice, and to their surprise Kate

Wetherall suddenly leaped in through theopen window.

She was a welcome sight, but a terribleone. Her cheeks were scratched andbleeding, her lips were swollen, herclothes were torn, her hair stuck out in alldirections, and on top of this she wasstreaked with mud. Yet she seemedcheerful as ever they’d seen her, herbruised, black eyes shining with happinessand her bloody lips spread in a terrificgrin. As she knelt to bind Mr. Curtain’shands and feet, Kate eagerly told themwhat had happened.

“Your father!” Sticky cried. “I can’tbelieve it! So that’s why Milligandisappeared all those years ago — he wascaptured on a mission!”

“But why has he disappeared now?”

Constance demanded. “Shouldn’t he behere?”

“He said he was going for help. I didn’ttake time to ask for details — I thoughtyou’d need me.”

Reynie nudged the slumbering Mr.Curtain with his toe. “It’s good you camewhen you did. Otherwise he’d havethrottled us when he woke up.”

“So now what?” Constance asked.Reynie was already moving toward the

Whisperer. “I’ve been thinking about whatMr. Curtain said. That the Whisperer is asensitive — how did he say it, exactly,Sticky?”

“A sensitive, delicately balancedmachine that requires his strict mentalguidance for its proper function.”

“Exactly, and we also know that its

computers are modeled on Mr. Curtain’sbrain. Well, if it’s so sensitive anddelicate, and if it’s like a brain, we oughtto be able to confuse it. Maybe we cantrick it into shutting itself down!”

“That’s your plan?” Constance askeddoubtfully.

“Any machine can be turned off,”Reynie said, “if only you know how. Solet’s figure out how.” He pulled Mr.Curtain’s red helmet down onto his head.Instantly he heard the Whisperer askinghis name.

“Ledroptha Curtain!” he barked, just ashe had heard Mr. Curtain do.

You are not Ledroptha Curtain , camethe reply.

Reynie took a deep breath. He had totrick the Whisperer, had to think just as

Mr. Curtain would. Concentrating with allhis might, he tried to imagine what agenius he was, and how pleasant lifewould be once he was known asMASTER Curtain, and what a nuisancechildren were.

“I am Ledroptha Curtain!” he declaredagain.

There was a pause. Could theWhisperer be hesitating? Was ituncertain? I must control it, Reyniethought, which definitely reminded him ofMr. Curtain. Focusing on these words, heredoubled his concentration. Control it,he thought. Control it, control it, controlit. The pause stretched out. In his mind hethought he could hear a clicking sound,like the tumblers of a lock. This reallymight work!

Then the Whisperer said, No, you arenot Ledroptha Curtain.

An awful chuckle sounded from acrossthe room. Reynie ducked out of the redhelmet. Mr. Curtain had opened his eyes.His face showed evident mirth. “Surelyyou didn’t think you could fool myWhisperer. How typically juvenile. I’mafraid my Whisperer is foolproof,Reynard. Or perhaps I should saychildproof — they amount to the samething.”

At that moment S.Q. Pedalian’s voicecame over the intercom. “Mr. Curtain? Ihope this qualifies as an actual emergency,sir. I don’t want to disturb you. But I justreceived a report that some Executiveshave been knocked out with tranquilizerdarts, and Kate Wetherall was seen

climbing through your window. There’s aladder by the brook, but it’s too short.Shall we send for a taller one and followher in?”

Mr. Curtain smugly lifted an eyebrow.“Reynard, be a good lad and tell S.Q. youwish to surrender. This will be the mostefficient course. You are soon to becaptured, regardless.”

“We’re not done yet,” Reynie saiddeterminedly, climbing into theWhisperer’s seat.

S.Q.’s voice came over the intercomagain. “Mr. Curtain, sir? Since youhaven’t responded, we’re sending for thetallest ladder we can find. We’ll come toyour aid at once!”

“Poor Reynard,” Mr. Curtain said. “TheWhisperer won’t activate the blue helmet

unless I am wearing the red one. So yousee, your idea may have been good — fora child — but ultimately fruitless.”

“He’s trying to trick us!” Kate warned.“He wants us to put him into theWhisperer!”

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 stoodand poked his head up into it. Nothinghappened.

“This is really very amusing,” Mr.Curtain said.

Reynie turned to his friends. “I have totry 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 neverbe stopped. I’ll do my best to resist. If hebrainsweeps me, one of you has to take myplace. He’s already tired — maybe wecan wear him out.”

“How very touching,” Mr. Curtain said.“Willing to be brainswept are you,Reynard? I applaud your sacrifice. Thatis, I would if my hands were not socrudely bound.”

The others looked uncertainly atReynie, who smiled as bravely as hecould and said, “What choice do wehave?”

Sticky and Kate agreed. It was the onlything to do.

With the three of them working quicklytogether — Constance had retreated intothe corner looking more frightened,stubborn, and miserable than ever — theylifted Mr. Curtain (who only smiled,offering no resistance), strapped him intohis wheelchair, and rolled him intoposition beneath the red helmet. Thenshaking hands and wishing each otherluck, they fitted the helmet over his head.

“Ledroptha Curtain!” he roared indelight.

Reynie’s vision seemed to flicker. Didhe have something in his eyes? He blinkedand looked again.

Mr. Curtain was smiling triumphantly athim. “Obviously, Reynard, you wereunaware of the extent of myimprovements. You needn’t be seated in

my lovely Whisperer to experience itsmost powerful effect. In this room you areall quite within range.”

In horror Reynie’s mind flashed back toan entry from Mr. Curtain’s journal, theone that began, “As of this morning, themessages are transmitting directly. Tomy great satisfaction, the Whisperer isnow capable of . . .” They hadn’t seen thelast part, but now — too late — Reynierealized how it must have ended. If Mr.Curtain could broadcast messages directlyinto people’s minds, he could brainsweepthem in the same way! He had only tofocus on them!

Again Reynie’s vision seemed toflicker, this time for a little longer.Everything simply disappeared, as if thelights had gone out. It came again — a

wave of complete blankness. Mr. Curtainwas doing it to the others, too: Stickystood blinking and clutching his head,utterly stunned, and Kate was turninground and round, as if seeking herinvisible attacker.

“What . . . what’s happening?” shecried. “What do we do?”

“He’s trying to brainsweep you!”Reynie shouted. “Fight it! Think ofeverything you love and hold on to it!”

You have to fight, Reynie commandedhimself. Think of Miss Perumal. And yourfavorite books. And Mr. Benedict. Andyour friends . . . You have to . . . hold on. .. .

“As you can see,” Mr. Curtain wassaying, “my machine is capable of muchmore 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, anoverwhelming shouted silence, abovewhich you could hear nothing else.Nothing else. . . . His eyelids weredrooping now. Reynie pinched himself,but he hardly seemed to feel it. He slippedto his knees. It was impossible to fight.Impossible to resist. What could they do?Reynie couldn’t think straight at all. Therewas nothing they could do . . . nothing theycould 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 givena marvelous, unexpected present. Stickyhad dropped to his hands and knees. Katewas leaning against a wall, trying to holdherself up. And Constance . . . Where wasConstance?

The sound of metal cuffs snapping intoplace drew Reynie’s gaze back to theWhisperer, 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 weresqueezed shut, her mouth set tight andgrim. She looked as cranky and unhappyas they had ever seen her. “ReynieMuldoon!” 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 withirritation.

“That’s the first time she ever used mynickname,” Sticky said. He sat up on hisknees. “But why has the brainsweepingstopped?”

“Mr. Curtain must be focusing all thepower on her,” Reynie said in awondering 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!” Reyniecried. “And no one can resist likeConstance!”

For a moment Constance and Mr.Curtain both trembled violently, as ifcaught in an earthquake. Perspirationpoured down the face of man and girlalike. And then, in a voice so loud it hurteveryone’s ears, Constance exclaimed: “I. . . don’t . . . CARE!”

This was followed by a crazed string ofnegatives: “No! I won’t! I will not! Youcan’t make me! Uh-uh! Never! No!”

Mr. Curtain hissed. “Bend, youobstinate child!”

“NEVER!” Constance shrieked. Andindeed it seemed she never would. Mr.Curtain’s face had gone quite purple, anddrops of perspiration fell from the tip ofhis lumpy nose like water from a leakyfaucet. It was a fierce battle. Thechildren’s admiration soared. This wasConstance’s great gift — the gift ofstubborn independence — and she wasbringing it to bear with all her might.

For all her valiant resistance, though,the child was, after all, only a child. Asthe minutes passed, Constance’s voicegrew more cracked and strained, hercheeks redder and redder, her strengthcloser to failing. She could not hold outforever. Indeed, she seemed ready at anymoment 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 couldremove her somehow, one of the otherscould take her place. But Constance wasshackled into place. The children watchedin growing despair as the brave childgrew weaker and weaker, her voice softerand softer, until at last her cries ofdefiance were scarcely more thanmumbles.

And now Mr. Curtain’s voice came tothem. It, too, was weak, as if the strugglehad taken as great a toll on the man as ithad the child. But it was smug,nonetheless: “As I told you, and as younow see for yourselves, children, mycreation is foolproof.” He smacked hislips and forced a feeble smile. “A few

moments more and I believe you can saygoodbye to little Miss Con —”

A loud booming sound interrupted him.The children jumped. Had the Executivescome to break down the door? But no, thebooming sound didn’t come from the door.It came from behind the wall, and wasquickly followed by a muffled voice:“Katie! Are you in there, child?”

“Snakes and dogs!” growled Mr.Curtain. “Who is that? And how did he getback there?”

“Milligan!” Kate shouted as they all puttheir ears to the wall. “Where are you?”

“In a passage behind a hidden door, butthe door opens from the inside. Is there alever 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 keepa secret exit. When it comes down to it,you’re not even half as brave as a child.”

Reynie was hoping his words wouldinfuriate Mr. Curtain into sleep, but Mr.Curtain had prepared himself and was notso easily goaded. “You’re right. I giveup,” he said slyly. “If you promise not tohurt me, I’ll tell you which button to push.It’s the middle one there on the right arm.”

“Sure it is,” said Reynie, whorecognized the button. Pushing it wouldadmit the Executives. He studied the otherones. “Let’s see, this one’s for theintercom — I saw you push that one, too— and these levers are obviously for thewheels and brakes, so that leaves . . . thisone!” He held his finger above aninconspicuous silver button.

“You’re right,” Mr. Curtain said with adramatic sigh. “That’s the one.”

Reynie grinned. “You want me to thinkyou’re trying to trick me. But you can’ttrick me that way, either.”

Mr. Curtain scowled, Reynie pressedthe button, and an electronic keypadpopped into view on the wall aboveKate’s head.

“Well done, my miserable youngspies,” said Mr. Curtain haughtily.“You’ve found the keypad. What a pityyou 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 allletters!”

Mr. Curtain smiled an oily, self-satisfied smile. “You must have got that

number from one of my Executives. Iadmit I’m impressed. However, I’m afraidnot even my Executives know the code tomy secret exit.”

“Maybe we can guess it,” Stickyventured.

Mr. Curtain shook his head as if hepitied them. “Do you not see thepointlessness of your efforts? Even if youmanaged to escape the island, you wouldhave accomplished nothing. Moreover,you can be assured my Recruiters wouldcome for you. You would be captured bynightfall, and by morning you would becalling me your master. You will be undermy complete control!”

“Thank you!” Reynie burst out, his facebrightening.

Mr. Curtain was startled. “Thank me?”

“You’ve given me an idea! Aren’t youalways saying that control is the key?”

Mr. Curtain snorted with contempt, butfrom 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 ladderand should have it outside your window intwo minutes!”

Mr. Curtain chuckled. “Reynard, youpathetic fellow, did you honestly think youwere smarter than I? Did you truly believeyou 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 sinceyou’re so proud of your home country, Ithink 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, howdo you spell ‘control’ in Dutch?”

“Same as in English,” Sticky replied.“Only with an E on the end.”

“Here’s hoping,” Kate said, reaching upto tap the E key.

“Snakes and dogs!” howled Mr.Curtain, before falling into a peacefulsleep.

As the hidden door slid open and Katewas swept up into Milligan’s good arm,

Reynie and Sticky rushed over to helpConstance. The cuffs and helmet had notretracted. Constance’s eyelids werefluttering, and still she murmured, soquietly 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 rightbehind them. And then, before they couldexpress their amazement, into the roomstrode Mr. Benedict himself.

“Mr. Benedict!” Reynie cried. “Wewere trying to confuse it — that is,Constance was, but —”

Mr. Benedict nodded. “You’ve donewondrously 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 comeclose to breaking her will. The bravechild, she’s very nearly used it up all atonce.”

“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 stopfighting 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 befine. Constance, dear, please climb downfrom the chair now. We must hurry.”

“But she can’t climb down,” Reyniesaid, indicating the cuffs.

“What do you know about it?”Constance replied grumpily, sliding hertiny wrists free of the metal bands andslipping 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 toppledforward when she tried to stand. Mr.Benedict caught her, held her by theshoulders, and looked her squarely in the

eyes. “I am so proud of you, Constance.You’ve been very brave indeed. Thankyou for your great efforts.”

Constance beamed with pleasure.There was no time for anything: not to

express their shock at Constance’s havingchosen to remain in the Whisperer despitethe agonizing struggle, not to seekexplanations for the arrival of Mr.Benedict and his agents, not even to tellMr. Benedict what had happened.Fortunately, he and his agents seemed toknow exactly what to do. AlreadyMilligan had lifted the slumbering Mr.Curtain out of his chair and laid him —more gently than anyone thought hedeserved — onto the floor. AlreadyRhonda was ushering the children towardthe secret exit. And already Mr. Benedict

(allowing himself only a moment to stareinto the sleeping face of his brother, whohad chosen such a dreadful path) —already he was taking Mr. Curtain’s placein the wheelchair and reaching for the redhelmet.

“Mr. Benedict, there’s no time!” saidSticky. “They’ll come through thatwindow any moment!”

“There’s time, Sticky, but not foreverything. Thanks to you children, thismachine is disoriented, and I must strikewhile the iron’s hot. Hurry now, all ofyou. Make your escape as quickly as youcan.”

The others were dumbfounded,including Number Two, who hadshadowed Mr. Benedict to the wheelchairand seemed at a loss what to do. “You

mean you’re staying behind? But they’llcatch you! They’ll kill you!”

“Why else am I here if not to do thisnow?” he told her soothingly. “Milligan,please take my brother with you. We mustseparate him from his machine. If I fail todisable it, you must do everything in yourpower 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 byKate’s rope, and threw him over hisshoulder.

“Now, don’t worry about me,children,” Mr. Benedict said. “Above allelse, you must make your escape. Go atonce! Milligan, allow no one to linger.Not even you, dear Number Two. Hurrynow! Go!”

Escapes and Returns

Down, down the winding passage theywent, through darkness and spider websand dripping water, until at last theyemerged into a cold wind, brilliantsunlight, and the sound of waves breakingon rocks. They were on the far side of theisland, the side opposite the bridge. In thedistance a flat-bottomed motorboat laybeached on a strip of sand scarcely wideenough to accommodate it. Together thelittle group scrambled through scrub brushand gravel down to the boat. Milligandumped Mr. Curtain onto the sand, then

began helping Rhonda and Number Twousher the children into the boat. Kate hadjust climbed over the gunwale, withRhonda and Number Two scrambling inafter her, when Sticky pointed and cried,“He’s getting away!”

Milligan whirled. Kate’s rope lay in atangle on the sand, and Mr. Curtain wasrunning with surprising swiftness back theway they’d come. Already he was almostto the secret passage. In an instantMilligan had pulled out his tranquilizergun and fired — but it was too late; Mr.Curtain had gone too far. The dart whizzedbehind him just as he disappeared into thesecret passage.

It was a terrible misfortune, and for amoment Milligan seemed his old grimself. With a severe expression he turned

back to the children. “No time to chasehim. My duty is to see you to safety, andfor that we must leave at once.” Laying ahand on Kate’s shoulder as he prepared toshove off, he murmured gently, “Remindme, though, to teach you a better knot.”

“What if Mr. Curtain stops Mr.Benedict before he can disable theWhisperer?” Sticky asked.

“We’ll go into hiding,” Rhonda saidgravely. “Those are Mr. Benedict’sinstructions.”

Milligan launched the boat and steeredthem out into the channel, where thechildren eyed the rocks that jutted up hereand there on all sides.

“Um, Milligan, aren’t these waterssupposed to be dangerous to navigate?”asked Reynie as the boat whizzed past a

sharp rock, missing it by inches.“Oh, yes, fearsome dangerous,” said

Milligan with a smile. “Many a boat hascapsized here. But I haven’t been secretlyswimming in the channel every night fornothing. I know these rocks well. You’venothing to fear.”

The strange sight of Milligan’s smileeased their fears of drowning, but it alsochafed Constance, who blurted, “How canyou possibly smile knowing Mr. Benedictis back there? He’s sure to have beencaptured already, and now Mr. Curtainwill see to it that he’s killed!”

“Don’t fret, child,” Milligan said,squinting against the spray as he steeredtheir boat between two boulders. Themainland was rapidly approaching. “Iintend to return for him the moment I’ve

ferried you to safety. I would neverabandon Mr. Benedict.”

“But you won’t stand a chance! You’reinjured, and they’ll be ready for you! Mr.Curtain will —”

The distraught girl was interrupted bythe boat’s rushing up onto sandy shore.Before she could continue, Number Twohad carried her off to the waiting stationwagon. The others quickly followed, andsoon Rhonda Kazembe was cranking theignition and pulling the car onto the road.Milligan sat near an open window withhis tranquilizer gun at the ready. “Justdrop me near the bridge guardhouse,” hedirected Rhonda, “then take the childrenaway.”

“But Milligan,” asked Sticky, “howwill you escape? For that matter, how did

you ever escape in the first place? Iremember that Waiting Room — therewas no way out!”

“No way but down,” Milligan replied.“I eventually realized that where there’smud, there’s water, so an undergroundstream must run somewhere below theroom.”

“But . . . but how?”“No great matter,” Milligan said. “I had

only to hold my breath a few minutes todig down through the mud into the stream,drag myself upstream, then dig throughmore mud and, oh, about a foot of clay.After that it was only a question of tearingout a few stones, prying apart a fewboards, chiseling out some mortar,bending the bars of a metal grate enough tosqueeze through (that’s how I broke my

arm), then incapacitating the guards andusing their keys to unlock my shackles.Really, it’s quite simple once you knowthe trick.”

The children blinked.“More remarkable,” Milligan went on,

in a voice so happy he almost sang, “moreremarkable by far was what happenedwhile I was doing it. Down there in themud, holding my breath and digging away,I realized that the feeling I had — that Imust get back to you children, that I mustreach you no matter what the cost — wasexactly the same feeling I’d had when Ifirst awoke out of blackness years agowith the name ‘Milligan’ ringing in mymind. Thinking of this, I realized for thefirst time that it was a child’s voice thathad been saying my name. And just as this

realization struck me, so too did the coldwaters of the underground stream, and intomy mind flashed an image of a mill pond,a lovely place perfect for swimming. Icould picture a girl swimming in that pond— so young it was hard to believe shecould swim at all, much less splash anddive about like an otter — and in mymind’s eye I drew her near to me, heardher laughing, and, as I took her hand tolead her home, heard her ask me, ‘Daddy,may we come to the mill again?’ To whichI replied, ‘Of course, Katie-Cat. Of coursewe’ll come to the mill again.’

“Mill again — Milligan. Do you see? Itwasn’t my name at all. It was my last,unkept promise to my daughter. I had onlyto realize this, and all of my othermemories came flooding back. The best

moment of my life,” he finished, with anaffectionate look at Kate beside him.

Kate was trying to fight back tears andfailing miserably. The station wagon wasapproaching the island bridge now. She’dbeen so thrilled to get her father back.Was she really expected to give him upagain to another dangerous mission? Notjust dangerous — hopeless. No, shewouldn’t have it, and with a ferocity thatsurprised even her she declared, “Youcan’t go, Milligan! I won’t let you! Howcan you possibly leave me again?”

Milligan flinched as if he’d been stung,his own eyes suddenly brimming withtears. “Oh, Katie, it’s the last thing I wantto do, but how can I possibly leave Mr.Benedict? Without him we’d never havebeen 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 carnear the guardhouse.

“Hush, both of you!” cried Reynie,surprising everyone. He was pointing atthe bridge, upon which now Mr. Curtaincould be seen in his wheelchair racingtoward them. An entire troop of Recruitersran alongside him, shaking their cuffs,their shock-watches glinting in thesunlight. The rocketing wheelchairzigzagged recklessly, forcing theRecruiters to jump this way and that toavoid being knocked aside, and the twoRecruiters in the guardhouse (who musthave radioed the island the moment theyspotted 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 leavewith the others!” Milligan commanded. Hereached for the door handle. “Rhonda, seethat she does. I’ll lure them off by headingback for the boat. Perhaps I can cut behindthem. Number Two, drive like a fiend andnever look back!”

“No!” Reynie shouted, just asforcefully, and Milligan checked himselfwith a start. “Stay put, Milligan! NumberTwo, don’t drive away. Just trust me.Please trust me. We have to wait andsee!”

It was a tense moment. And a curiousone, too — for every person in the car,adult and child alike, realized just thenthat they trusted this eleven-year-old boy

quite without reservation. If ReynieMuldoon asked them to do something, ifhe promised them something, they woulddo what he asked and believe every word.

Number Two looked at Milligan, wholooked back at her.

He nodded. She nodded. They waited.At the near end of the bridge Mr.

Curtain came to a sudden screeching stopin his wheelchair — so sudden that healmost flew out of it, despite the straps —pointed at the station wagon, and cried,“It’s a trick! Those are decoys! The othersmust still be on the island!”

The Recruiters were scratching theirheads. “But, sir,” one of them protestedmildly, “they look just like the ones we’reafter!”

“Fool!” Mr. Curtain shouted in his most

terrible voice. “Do you really believe theywould escape the island only to comeright back to the bridge? These people aremeant to distract us. Back to the island atonce! That’s an order!”

The Recruiters flinched and spun ontheir heels.

“You, too!” he snarled at the Recruitersin the guardhouse. “Forget the decoys! Weneed all hands on the island!”

The Recruiters saluted uncertainly andleft their posts, hurrying to catch up withthe others. For a moment Mr. Curtainwatched them go. Then, quicklyunstrapping himself, he rose from the chairand 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 mostconvincing. In all their years together, hehad never seen him look so angry or speakso unkindly.

“Thank you, Reynie, for saving me fromthat dart,” said Mr. Benedict with a winkand a clipped version of his dolphinlaugh. He paused with his hand on thedoor handle, having noticed that Mr.Curtain wasn’t in the car. His eyebrowsrose. “But if my brother escaped, thenhow did you know who I was? How couldyou be sure?”

“To be honest,” Reynie replied, “Iknew 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 thatwicked contraption. However, I do think Iwould have got the hang of it with just abit of practice.”

“We’re very glad you’re safe, sir,” saidNumber Two from behind the steeringwheel. “But may we please leave now andsave the congratulations for later?” Shewas nervously eyeing the troop ofRecruiters, who had realized their leaderwas not among them. One by one theywere turning to gawk and point at thestation wagon. Some had started backacross the bridge.

“By all means, Number Two,” said Mr.Benedict, climbing into the car. “Let usfly!”

For Every Exit, an Entrance

Every night the moon made its slowpassage over Stonetown, and every nightReynie Muldoon gazed up through thewindow of the drafty old house,remembering the moonlit meetings of theMysterious Benedict Society. There wasmuch to remember about that time, andmuch to tell, but the moon in its nightlytravels would dwindle, disappear, andfatten again before their stories wereentirely 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 ofhis most trusted Executives. So reportedthe government officials Mr. Benedict hadpersuaded to raid the Institute. Theseofficials had never believed him before,but their former skepticism had crumbledunder the weight of new developments.For one thing, Milligan’s memory hadreturned, and with it a number of top-secret government passwords. Foranother, Kate, unbeknownst to anyone, hadswiped a pamphlet from Mr. Curtain’spress room, not to mention Mr. Curtain’sjournal, which she’d nabbed on her wayout of the Whispering Gallery. But mostimportant of all, the Whisperer was nolonger broadcasting Mr. Curtain’smessages. Their mind-muddying effectswere daily diminishing, the Emergency

was fading, and minds long closed to truthwere opening again, like flowers cravingsunlight.

These days a steady stream of agentsand officers flowed through Mr.Benedict’s doors, gathering details andscribbling furiously in notebooks (andoften getting lost in his maze). Theywanted to catch Mr. Curtain, though forthis Mr. Benedict held out little hope. Mr.Curtain, he said, was too smart to beoutfoxed by adults. Only children couldhave accomplished it.

Still, there remained the importantproblem of all those who had been robbedof memories: the “recruited” children; thesecret agents who’d been retrained asHelpers; Mr. Bloomburg, of course; and agood many of the Executives, who not so

long ago had been hapless orphans insearch of purpose and a home. It would beMilligan’s task to lead the search for allthe unfortunates who had ever set footupon Nomansan Island; it would be Mr.Benedict’s to restore their memories.Already Mr. Benedict was hard at workmodifying his twin’s invention with theaim of reversing its brainsweepingfunction — instead of covering up oldmemories, it would coax them into theopen again — and when pressed, Mr.Benedict admitted he thought it ratherlikely he would succeed. To those whoknew him, this meant there was no doubthe would.

Mr. Benedict firmly insisted, however,that modesty had nothing to do with hisopinion that the children had been the real

heroes in this adventure. It was they, heargued, who took the risks to discover Mr.Curtain’s dark secrets; they who overcameMr. Curtain in the Whispering Gallery;they who primed the Whisperer forshutdown; and they who figured out howto unlock the secret exit — something thatcould only have been done from theinside.

“How did you even know about thatsecret exit, Mr. Benedict?” Kate askedone night, some weeks after their return.Though everyone in the house had beentalking nonstop, it had mostly been togovernment agents, not to one another, andtheir own curiosities had yet to besatisfied. This night happened to be thefirst that they all sat down together with noone to interrupt them. Everyone in the

dining room cradled a mug of steaming hotchocolate, for autumn had now given wayto winter, and everyone — evenConstance Contraire — wore anexpression of profound relief to findthemselves alone together at last.

“Again I must defer the credit,” saidMr. Benedict. “It was Milligan who foundit.”

Everyone looked to Milligan, who wasseated at the table beside Kate.

“I just felt sure Mr. Curtain would havebuilt a secret escape route for himself,”Milligan explained. “So after I joined youon the island, I searched every night undercover of darkness. Even then I was lucky— I only found the entrance the nightbefore I was captured.”

“It’s always about entrances and exits

with you, isn’t it, Milligan?” Kate teased.Milligan laughed — it was a hearty,

booming laugh — and everyone at thetable jumped. They were still getting usedto his laughter. After all these years ofacting like the saddest man alive, Milligannow acted as if he were the happiest manalive — and perhaps he was. Having solong ago exited his life as a father, he hadnow, at long last, entered it again.

Milligan reached over and pluckedKate’s chin, which for the first time inweeks was not greasy with ointment. (Hercuts and bruises were long since healed,having been constantly overattended to,not only by Milligan but by everyone elsein the house as well.) Kate beamed,swatting playfully at his hand. The nextmoment she realized the marshmallow

was missing from her hot chocolate. Shelooked up to see him pop it into his mouth.

“You thief!” she said, giggling.Milligan gave her a wink and a fresh

marshmallow.At the other end of the table,

meanwhile, Reynie was preoccupied witha curious question: What should he callthe person beside him? He was seatednext to Miss Perumal, of course. They’dbeen reunited at last — with much huggingand great quantities of tears — and she satby him now with one hand resting on hisshoulder. But would he continue to callher Miss Perumal? What would he callher? This is a pressing question for allchildren who find themselves with a newparent, and so it was for Reynie, whoseabsence had impressed upon Miss

Perumal how dear to her he was: At theirreunion, she had lost no time asking whathe might think of her adopting him.

At first Reynie had been unable toanswer her, only threw himself into herarms and hid his face.

“Oh dear,” Miss Perumal had said,bursting into a fresh bout of tears. “Ohdear, I hope this means yes.”

It had, of course, meant yes, and the twoof them sat now with the odd sense —very much like that experienced byMilligan and Kate — of having beenfamily for ages, yet somehow having onlyjust met. An odd sense, but extremelypleasant.

“Mom” didn’t feel quite right , Reyniedecided. Why not use the Tamil word?He’d heard her refer to her own mother as

“Amma,” but whether this meant “mom”or “mother,” he wasn’t sure. Reynie felt aflutter of happy anticipation. He wouldask Sticky.

At that moment, Sticky happened to bethe only unhappy person in the entiregroup. He was trying valiantly not to showit, though. Instead he pressed Mr. Benedictwith another question: “But how did youfinally disable the Whisperer?”

“I only finished what you children hadalready begun,” replied Mr. Benedict. “Ipersuaded the Whisperer that I wasCurtain, then gave it orders that more orless baffled it out of operation. But hadConstance not already thoroughlydiscombobulated it, and had I notpossessed a brain so very much like mytwin’s, we might never have succeeded.”

“Three cheers for Mr. Benedict’sbrain!” cried Kate. Everyone laughed andcheered.

“And three cheers for Constance,” saidMr. Benedict, then grew thoughtful as theothers cheered and Constance blushed.“That reminds me. Constance, my dear,would you please step into the kitchen andretrieve the small box on the table there?”

Constance nodded and went into thekitchen.

“I can’t believe it,” Sticky said. “Shewent without even grumbling. It’s almostlike she’s growing up.”

“That is precisely to the point, Sticky,”said Mr. Benedict, with a nod to RhondaKazembe, who went to a cabinet andproduced an enormous birthday cake thathad been hidden inside.

“Thank goodness,” said Number Two.“I’m starved.”

Constance returned to find the othersbeaming at her and pointing to the cake.She blushed yet again. “But my birthdayisn’t until next month!”

“Who knows what the next monthbrings?” asked Mr. Benedict. “I say let useat cake now!”

Constance shook her head bemusedly,though clearly she was delighted, and asshe clambered back into her chair shehanded him the little box he’d sent for.

“It was the three cheers that remindedme,” said Mr. Benedict, opening the boxand shaking out three birthday candles.“I’d forgotten to put the candles on thecake.”

“Three birthday candles?” Reynie said.

“Three birthday candles? Constance isonly two years old?”

“Two years and eleven months,” thegirl said defensively.

The children gaped.“But . . . but . . . ,” Sticky began, then

closed his mouth and shook his head.“Why, that explains everything!” Kate

said, with a feeling of great relief, as if anagging question had finally beenanswered, though she’d never realizedshe’d had the question in the first place.

Reynie laughed with delight. “So thatwas what Mr. Benedict meant when hesaid you were more gifted than anyonerealized. I thought he was just referring toyour incredible stubbornness!”

“Who’s stubborn?” Constance said,frowning.

“A toddler,” Sticky murmured tohimself. “No wonder she was always sosleepy, so cranky, so stubborn. She’stwo!”

“I am not stubborn,” insistedConstance, who had overheard. Then shecorrected him: “And I’m almost three.”

The next day, although the house onceagain teemed with agents and rattled withthe noise of a thousand phone calls, Mr.Benedict found it necessary to abandon theprojects for a time and attend to importantmatters of a more personal nature. Hetracked Sticky down in an upstairshallway, where Number Two was rubbingSticky’s bald head and nodding.

“Yes, I concur,” she said matter-of-factly. “Your hair is definitely comingback.”

“Finally,” Sticky said.Number Two noticed Mr. Benedict and

frowned. “What on earth are you doing outof your chair? Why didn’t you call for oneof us?”

“I apologize, Number Two. I wasdistracted by an urgent matter and willreturn at once. Sticky, will you pleaseaccompany me? I have something todiscuss with you.”

“Make sure he sits down, Sticky,”Number Two called after them.

Together they went into Mr. Benedict’soffice, where Mr. Benedict obediently satat his desk and said, “Sticky, I won’t beataround the bush. Your parents are here.”

“My — my parents? Here?” Stickysaid, glancing around as if expecting tosee them hiding behind furniture. It wasonly a nervous response. He had no ideahow he felt about the news.

“I’ll explain,” said Mr. Benedict. “Letus begin with what you already know.After you ran away your parents did, for atime, get caught up in the suddendownpour of riches. In fact they made somuch money they were wealthier thanmost people, wealthier by far than theyhad ever been. Though they did look foryou, their efforts grew halfhearted —”

“You’re right,” Sticky interjectedmiserably. “I know this part.”

“Not entirely, my friend. Their effortswere halfhearted, I say, but this, more thananything, was because they were afraid of

you.”“Afraid? Of me?”“Indeed, they were afraid of their

inability to give you a proper home. Whenyou ran away, Sticky, your parents werebitterly ashamed. You were already somuch smarter than they were, and they hadalready made such a terrible mess ofthings. If you wished to run away, thenperhaps — or so they thought in theiranguish — perhaps it was for the best.Perhaps you were better off withoutthem.”

“Better off?” Sticky echoed,remembering that long-ago phrase of hisfather’s, the phrase he’d partly overheard.He’d thought his father meant they werebetter off without him.

“These were their thoughts at the time.

You must also realize they were beinginfluenced by Curtain’s hidden messages.‘The missing aren’t missing, they’re onlydeparted,’ remember? A most perniciousmessage indeed. And yet despite this,Sticky, your parents became perfectlymorose. Despite their desperate hopes thatthe money would help them forget you,they soon understood no amount of richescould fill the hole you’d left in their lives.They realized they needed you, even ifyou didn’t need them. And so they’vespent all their money looking for you, infact have gone deeply into debt and arenow quite poor.

“It may also interest you to know,” Mr.Benedict continued, “that your parentsbegan their search before we disabled theWhisperer. So determined were they to

bring you back, you see, their minds beganto resist the broadcasts. Only a powerfullove could have mounted such aresistance.”

Sticky was having trouble taking it allin. “And they found me? You didn’t callthem?”

“They found you. I could have kept youhidden, perhaps. But once I wasconvinced of how earnestly they soughtyou, once I had grasped their true feelings,I allowed you to be found.”

“So you think I should go with them.”“It’s what you think that matters,

Sticky.”“Well, but how do they seem to you?”“Quite wretched, I should say, and sick

with longing for their lost child. Theymade a terrible mistake and will always

regret it. When I told them you were safe,your parents’ relief overwhelmed them.They wept and wept. Nor had theystopped weeping when I took my leave ofthem. I believe they’re still weeping, infact — I saw Rhonda bringing freshtissues.”

Sticky’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Andthey really said they needed me more thanI needed them?”

“That appears to be their take on thematter. What is your own opinion?”

The tears spilled over and ran downSticky’s cheeks. “May I see them?”

“You had only to ask, my friend,”declared Mr. Benedict, rising to shakeSticky’s hand. His eyes shone withemotion. “They’re waiting for you in thedining room.”

Sticky flew from Mr. Benedict’s studytoward a reunion so joyous and tearfuland, eventually, so full of happy laughter,that soon the dining room was crowdedwith all Sticky’s friends, and withMilligan and Rhonda and Number Two,and even a few unfamiliar officials drawnby the commotion. It was a splendid,uproarious, spontaneous celebration, withhugs and handshakes and kisses allaround, and eventually Milligan producedthe remains of last night’s birthday cakeand Rhonda whipped up a frothy fruitpunch. Even the officials, at first irritatedby the delay in their investigations, gotcaught up in the frenzy, and before longthey had shed their coats and ties, one ofthem had put on a record, and dancingbroke out.

This had been going on for some timewhen Number Two suddenly looked aboutfor Mr. Benedict. “Mercy!” she cried, andflew from the room. She found him exactlywhere Sticky had left him after their warmhandshake; only instead of standing Mr.Benedict was sprawled facedown acrosshis desk, papers scattered all about,snoring like a freight train with anexpression of pure happiness on his face.

“Mr. Benedict is adopting Constance,eh?” Kate said to Reynie. “That’s goodnews. And a good fit, I’d say. He certainlyenjoys her lame jokes.”

They had completed their snow fort andwere building up a supply of snowballs

for the coming attack. Across thecourtyard Rhonda, Constance, and Stickywere engaged in the same activity.Peeking over the top of the fort to observethe other side’s progress, Reynie said,“Yes, everybody’s finding their family, itseems. You have Milligan. I’m to have amother and a grandmother. Constance getstwo sisters and a father —”

“Two sisters?”“Oh, yes, it turns out Mr. Benedict

adopted Number Two and Rhonda longago. Though Rhonda believes it’s moreapt to say they adopted him. In fact, I thinkthat’s how Mr. Benedict put the questionto Constance: ‘Would you be willing toadopt us as your family?’ Constance toldhim she’d have to consider it, but wasinclined to accept.”

Kate snickered. “‘Inclined to accept.’What gumption. Hey, you’re making thosetoo big. Try to make them about this size.”She displayed one of her perfectly formedspheres to Reynie, then scooped up moresnow with her new bucket (a gift fromMilligan — it was exactly like her oldone).

“Kate! Reynie! Are you ready forignominious defeat?” shouted Rhondafrom across the courtyard.

“Defeat? We know not the word!” Kateshouted back, then whispered to Reynie,“Actually, ‘ignominious’ is the word Idon’t know.”

“Shameful,” Reynie said.“Hey, I can’t know every word, Mr.

Smarty. For crying out loud, how —”“No, ‘ignominious’ means shameful.”

“It does?” Kate said. She frowned withpassionate defiance. She was as happy asshe had ever been. “The beasts! We’ll seeabout that. Do you remember ourstrategy?”

Reynie rolled his eyes. “How could Iforget? You barrage them with snowballswhile I run out and gather all the onesthey’ve thrown, so as to keep our pilefrom running low.”

“Yes, and repack them to the propersize while you’re at it,” Kate said.

“Would you mind terribly if I threw anoccasional snowball myself? That is partof the fun, you know.”

Kate sighed. “I hate to waste asnowball, but I suppose there’s always thechance you’ll hit something. Fine, you canthrow some.”

“Much obliged,” Reynie said.Moments later the courtyard erupted

into a melee of flung snowballs, scurryingchildren, and peals of laughter. Morelaughter sounded from behind thewindows of the house, where all theadults, including Miss Perumal and theWashingtons, sipped apple cider andwatched the gleeful battle below. Mr.Benedict laughed so hard, in fact — agreat, long, series that sounded like anentire school of dolphins — that NumberTwo hurried over to snatch the hot ciderjust as he went limp in sleep. He awokeminutes later only to laugh himself tosleep again, and so he continued, laughingand sleeping and laughing again, allafternoon, until at last he slipped into aprolonged slumber. When he awoke a

final time to Number Two’s gentle shakingof his shoulder, Mr. Benedict saw that theday had grown noticeably darker.

“It’s dusk and we’ve called them intwice already,” Number Two told him.“Can’t you urge them to come inside atonce? Dinner’s growing cold.”

“Soon, Number Two, soon,” said Mr.Benedict, casting an affectionate look firstat her, then at the giddy, happy childrenbeyond the window. “Have a snack, whydon’t you? Sneak a bowl of the stew — Iwon’t tell anyone — but let’s give them afew minutes more. They’ll be so cold thateven lukewarm victuals will seem pipinghot to them. Just a few minutes more,Number Two. Let them play. They arechildren, after all.”

And this was certainly true, if only for

the moment.

Dear Reader,

It has come to my attention thatcertain individuals wish to know myfirst name. If you are one of these,and if you are acquainted with thecode, then I assure you the answerlies within your grasp.

Best regards,

Mr. Benedict

Acknowledgments

Many good people helped this bookalong the way (in not a few cases bybuoying its author), and they deserve farmore than an expression of my gratitude,but here they shall have at least that: Iwould like to thank Sara Curtis, forencouraging me before I began; MarkBarr, Todd Kimm, and Lisa Taggart, fortheir thoughtful and valuable comments onearly drafts; Eric Simonoff and KateSchafer, for spectacular agentry; MeganTingley, Nancy Conescu, and Noel De LaRosa, for their faith in the book anddedication to making it better; MaryO’Connell, Chris Adrian, Diane Perry,Nicola Mason, Michael Griffith, Brock

Clarke, Kenner Estes, and Shannon andDavid Collier-Tenison, for theirgenerosity of spirit; Elaine Price, forminding the front while I minded thebooks; my wife, Sarah Beth Estes, for herhelpful opinions on multiple drafts, not tomention braving fire and rain; and my sonElliot, for being Elliot—which is to say,for making everything fine.