The Mysterious Benedict Society (13 page)

“But won’t those men come back?” Reynie asked.

“It’s possible,” Mr. Benedict said. “Which is why we must work quickly. As it is, I’m hoping we can avoid detection long enough to launch our investigation.”

“And if we can’t?” said Constance, as if she rather expected failure.

“If we can’t, child, all is lost!” Mr. Benedict cried. Instantly he looked regretful. In a softer tone he said, “I’m sorry to raise my voice. Failure in this instance is an upsetting prospect. Now, please, let me explain. These men intended to take you to a school called the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened.”

“I’ve heard of that place,” Reynie said. “Some kids from the orphanage wanted to go there, but Mr. Rutger said it was against policy and wouldn’t allow it.”

“Doubtless it was, at least against
his
policy. Aside from being the orphanage director, Mr. Rutger is headmaster of your academy, is he not? I believe he gets paid per 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 advanced school! He wanted me on the academy’s rolls — just out of greed!”

“It’s possible he thought it was in your best interest,” Mr. Benedict said. “Greed often helps people think of reasons they might not discover on their own. At any rate, it
was
in your best interest not to go. The Institute will admit any child, but it is particularly fond of orphans and runaways. In fact, as you can see, such children are sometimes taken to the Institute whether they wish to go or not.”

“The hidden messages are coming from the Institute, aren’t they?” Reynie said.

“I believe the school was created for that very purpose,” said Mr. Benedict. “Every so often the Sender must have new children, and the Institute receives a steady stream.”

“I can’t believe the Sender gets away with it,” Sticky said.

“He’s very cunning, Sticky. The Institute is a highly secretive, well-guarded facility — not the usual thing for a school, you know — yet it enjoys a wonderful reputation. The hidden messages have convinced everyone of the Institute’s great virtue.”

“There’s an often-repeated phrase in the hidden messages,” Rhonda explained. “
Dare not defy the Institute
. Obviously it’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 for those kids!”

“I’m afraid runaways and orphans vanish even more easily than government agents do,” said Mr. Benedict. “Lest you forget, ‘The missing aren’t missing, they’re only departed.’”

The children looked at one another, appalled.

“I’m glad Milligan was here to protect us,” Sticky said with a shudder. “The Institute is the last place I’d want to be.”

At this, Mr. Benedict looked somewhat uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the scouts won’t carry you to the Institute against your will, it’s true. But to the Institute you must certainly go. You are to be my secret agents.”

I
t took Kate Wetherall about three seconds to embrace her new role as a secret agent. While the other children gaped, blinked, and pinched themselves to be sure they weren’t dreaming (actually, Constance pinched Sticky, who yelped and pinched her back) — in short, while the other children were adjusting to the news, Kate was peppering Mr. Benedict with questions: What was their mission to be? Would they need code names? Was it possible to use a somewhat
longish
code name?

Mr. Benedict waited until they’d all calmed down. Then he explained their mission: how they were to be admitted to the Institute the following day, how he would draw up all the necessary papers, and how (much to Kate’s disappointment) they would
not
be required to use code names. They must be themselves, Mr. Benedict said. They would have secrets enough to keep.

“What are we to do, exactly?” Sticky asked.

“Exactly what they want you to do,” said Mr. Benedict. “Learn. You must be excellent students. One of the few things we know about the Institute is that certain privileges are granted only to top students. No doubt it is these children the Sender uses to send his hidden messages.”

“So you’re hoping we’ll gain some secret knowledge,” Reynie said.

“Indeed. How the Sender’s messages accomplish such profound effects, what the particulars of his plan are — anything you uncover may help us find a way to defeat him.”

“So that’s it?” Sticky said. “You just want us to be students?”

“Much more than that,” Mr. Benedict said. “For not only must you learn what they teach, you must also try to learn what they do
not
teach. Every odd detail, every suspicious aspect of the Institute — any unusual elements at all, you must report to me. You never know what curious tidbit might hold the key to the Sender’s entire plan. Anything you notice may be of use.”

Kate was rubbing her hands together. “So you want us to sneak around, maybe break 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 report it to me, but you must take no unnecessary risks. Your mission is dangerous enough as it is.”

Kate looked crestfallen. The other children looked relieved.

“Now then,” Mr. Benedict went on, “we must communicate often — and in secret. 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, the Institute is located on Nomansan Island, which lies in Stonetown Harbor a half mile out. From a hidden position on the mainland shore, we shall constantly watch the island. Every day and every night, at every moment, your signals will be watched for. It will be up to you to choose the safest time. We’ll be ready for it.”

“But we leave tomorrow, and we don’t even
know
Morse code!” Constance complained.

“Actually, I do,” said Sticky. “I can teach 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 an eyebrow, “I advise you to take Sticky up on his offer. For this is an important point I wished to discuss: You are a team now. Whether you always agree is inconsequential, but you must take care of one another, must rely upon one another in all things. I don’t exaggerate when I say that every one of you is essential to the success of the team, and indeed, to the fate of us all. You must remember that.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, George Washington, you can teach me that stinky Morse code.”

“Call me Sticky, please. Just plain Sticky is fine. You don’t even have to use my last name.”

“When do we begin, George Washington?”

Sticky scowled. “Don’t
call
me that!”

Kate leaned over to Reynie and whispered, “I think we may have more trouble than Mr. Benedict expects.”

It was suggested the children study Morse code in the dining room, but the afternoon was so beautiful, and the shady courtyard so inviting, they begged to pack lunches and study outside. Mr. Benedict agreed on the condition that no one venture beyond the gate, and that Milligan accompany them. So out they went into the courtyard, where Sticky and Constance now sat on a stone bench under the elm tree, while Kate and Reynie sprawled on the ivy-covered earth nearby. Milligan, disguised as a gray-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 stand for letters and numbers. The letter
A
, for example, is made with one short signal and one long signal, or a dot and a dash. Here, I’ll show you.” Borrowing Kate’s flashlight (Kate had her bucket with her as always), Sticky turned it on and off again very quickly. “That was the short signal — the dot,” he said. Then he turned it on for a full second. “And that’s the long signal — the dash. Together they make an
A
, 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 out right here,” he said, pointing to the charts Mr. Benedict had given them.

“Let’s practice,” Sticky said. “Constance, you use the flashlight and the chart to spell out a message, and we’ll figure out what you’re saying.”

Constance’s hands were so small that she needed both of them to hold the flashlight, so Sticky held the chart up for her. Squinting at the paper in concentration, she flashed the light once very quickly, followed this with two longer 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 her message. As Mr. Benedict had remarked, they were all quick learners, but even so it took them some minutes, for everyone but Sticky had to keep checking the charts. Finally, though, Constance flashed the code for her last letter (dash, dot — an
N
), then looked expectantly at Sticky, who immediately began to fidget. The message had been:
Why did you run?

“Hey, that’s a good question,” Kate said. “Why
did
you run away, Sticky?”

“It would take too long to answer in code,” Sticky said. “Let’s just practice with a different message, something short.”

“Skip the code and tell us,” Kate insisted. “If we’re going to be a team, we should 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 grew long, so that they resembled miniature versions of Milligan (who had, in his silent way, drawn close to listen). It turned out that Sticky had once been quite content with his life — the agreeable child of agreeable parents — but the situation changed once his gifts became known.

This happened one April day when his mother (whose knees were arthritic, and whose wheelchair needed extra oiling in damp weather) wondered aloud, in a rare fit of irritation, why it had to rain so much. As Sticky helped his mother into her chair, he launched into a detailed explanation of weather systems and local geography. He’d always been a shy, silent child — this was the first time he’d given any hint of his considerable knowledge. His mother checked him for a fever.

That evening she told his father, who asked Sticky to repeat what he’d said before. Sticky did, word for word. His father had to sit down. Then he rose again, went into the den, and returned carrying several volumes of an outdated encyclopedia. Questioning Sticky together, the Washingtons discovered that their son, who was only seven at the time, carried more information inside his head than a college professor, perhaps
two
professors, with an engineer thrown in to boot. Astonished and proud, they could hardly have been more excited if they’d found buried treasure.

And in a way they had, for right away they began entering him in quiz competitions, which Sticky won easily. He took home substantial prizes: a new encyclopedia to replace the outdated one, a new writing desk, a cash prize, a savings bond. The more Sticky won, the more excited his parents grew. They encouraged him to study constantly, to read through their meals together, to stay up late reading, to stop wasting time with his friends. The pressure to win began to distract him. His parents grew angry when he missed questions — which he began to do more and more, as he tended to get mixed up when nervous — and scolded him for not caring about them. If Sticky cared, they said, he would try harder to win, since only by winning would he bring wealth and happiness to the family.

This came as a surprise to Sticky, who knew they’d never been wealthy but hadn’t realized they were unhappy. And for him it was different — the more he won, the unhappier he became. But though he sometimes missed questions whose answers he knew, he still won the contests easily, gaining admission to bigger contests with bigger prizes, until at last his parents were perfectly dazzled by the prospect of fortune, and Sticky was perfectly exhausted. Despite complaining and even begging, however, he couldn’t persuade them to let him stop. If he wanted to be rich and famous, they said, he must keep winning. When he replied that he didn’t care to be rich and famous, they didn’t believe him and said he was only being lazy.

Finally Sticky decided to make a point by pretending to run away. He left a note, then hid for several days in a cellar closet his parents thought was boarded up, but which Sticky had found a way to enter. From there he was able to venture forth to sneak food, use the bathroom, and do a little spying on his parents. At first he was pleased by what he saw: The Washingtons, extremely distressed, had raised an outcry about their lost son, seeking help from all quarters. But then something unfortunate happened. A rich man, himself a former quiz champion, heard of the case and gave a large sum of money to the Washingtons to aid their search. Word of his generosity quickly got around, which inspired other philanthropists — unwilling to be outdone — to send even
more
money; and before long people everywhere were sending gifts to the Washingtons, who were growing rich. To his great astonishment and mortification, Sticky saw his parents begin trying less and less to find him, instead devoting their time and energy toward the proper disposal of their newfound riches. At last, one day, when he managed to overhear his father saying something about being “better off now” — better off with him
gone
, Sticky realized — he could no longer bear their betrayal. He ran away for good.