The Mysterious Benedict Society (18 page)

“There’s only one answer I can think of,” 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-toeing back to the path, careful of every step. The children made it to their rooms almost exactly when the Executives were supposed to come for them. It was probably a bad idea to keep Executives waiting, Sticky had said. But it was they, not the Executives, who waited. When half an hour had passed with no sign of Jillson, Constance suddenly sang out:

“Now we have waited for thirty consecutive

Minutes to see some old dirty Executive.

Thirty long minutes I could have been sleeping.

But
she
doesn’t find her appointments worth keeping.”

Kate was startled. “What are you, a cuckoo-clock poet? Cut it out, she might be right outside the door!”

Jillson was, in fact, right outside the door, but to Kate’s relief she entered with no more than her previous bossiness — no hint of indignation. The walls and doors must be very solid, Kate reflected; it would be difficult to eavesdrop through them. This would be to the children’s advantage when they had secret discussions, but it would also make spying on others more difficult — a fact that irritated Kate, though not nearly as much as 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. Whatever floats your boat.”

They joined Jackson and the boys in the corridor. The Executives had a sheet of paper with them now that listed the children’s names, and after checking to be sure each child was accounted for (they still didn’t bother with handshakes), they began the Institute tour. After a quick pass through the dormitory — nothing but student quarters and bathrooms — they walked outside, where Jillson told them they were free to roam anywhere they wished, so long as they kept to the paths. “Too dangerous off the paths,” she said. “The island’s covered with abandoned mine shafts.”

The children exchanged glances.

“They’re from the early days, when Mr. Curtain built the Institute,” Jillson explained. “Before Mr. Curtain bought the island, people said there was nothing here but rocks. What they didn’t know was what
kind
of rocks. Turns out the whole island was rich in precious minerals. Mr. Curtain knew this. He built the bridge, brought in mining equipment and workers — a whole
colony
of workers. Their dormitory was the first building constructed. It’s now the student dormitory.” Like a proper tour guide, Jillson pointed to the student dormitory right in front of them, even though they knew what it was.

Dutifully the children looked and nodded.

“Mr. Curtain became one of the richest men in the world,” Jillson went on with a proud smile. “And can you guess how he used 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 come here. All thanks to Mr. Curtain’s generosity. He asks nothing in return, mind you — not even attention. Mr. Curtain is every 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 next generation.”

The Executives led them across the rock garden onto the large central plaza, which lay fronted and flanked by the Institute’s massive stone buildings. As they walked, Jackson identified the buildings in turn: “Starting from the right you see your dorm, of course — you remember your dorm, don’t you? — and just to the left of it, that one with the tower is the Institute Control Building. It houses Mr. Curtain’s office, the guard and Recruiter quarters, and the Executive suites. You’ll never have reason to go there unless Mr. Curtain calls you to his office. Or unless you become Executives yourselves someday.” Jackson looked the children over and shook his head, as if he rather doubted that possibility.

“Anyway,” he went on, “next to the Institute Control Building you see the cafeteria — right in front of us here — and then the classroom building. That building set off to the side there is the Best of Health Center, which is what we call the infirmary, and the building way on up that path is the gym. The gym is always open, except when it’s closed. And there you have it. Those are all the Institute buildings.”

“What about that one?” Reynie asked, pointing to a rooftop just visible over the classroom 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-ups in white uniforms scuttling about, sweeping walkways and picking up trash and whatnot?”

Reynie nodded. He couldn’t have known they were called Helpers, of course, but he chose not to point this out.

“The Helpers do the maintenance,” Jillson explained, “and the cleaning, the laundry, the cooking — all the unimportant tasks, you know. Now come along, squirts, and don’t drag your feet. There’s still a lot to see inside.”

The Executives bustled them into the classroom building, which had seemed large enough from the outside but was perfectly enormous within. Brightly lit corridors branched out from the entrance in all directions. With Constance struggling to keep up (and looking very unhappy about it), the children were led down corridor after corridor. At last they stopped in one that was lined on both sides with classroom doors.

“Now, there are an awful lot of corridors in this building —,” said Jillson.

“And not just this building,” Jackson put in. “Some connect to the Helpers’ barracks and the cafeteria, which have their
own
corridors, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jillson said. “So the next thing you shrubs need to know is how to find your way around. Now don’t fret. It seems confusing, but it
isn’t
confusing. Which happens to be an important principle you’ll learn here at the Institute.”

“It isn’t confusing?” said Constance, who was turning round and round, clearly confused.

“Look beneath your feet,” Jackson said. “See that stripe of yellow tiles? Just keep to the corridors with yellow tiles on the floor and you can’t get lost.”

Obediently the children looked at the floor. Reynie had noticed the yellow tiles but hadn’t thought anything of them — he’d assumed they were decorative. He must remember not to assume
anything
about this place.

Jillson put a finger to her lips and drew the children over to peek through the window of one of the doors. A gangly Executive stood in front of about thirty attentive young students, leading them in a memorization exercise:

“
THE
FREE
MARKET
MUST
ALWAYS
BE
COMPLETELY
FREE
.

THE
FREE
MARKET
MUST
BE
CONTROLLED
IN
CERTAIN
CASES
.

THE
FREE
MARKET
MUST
BE
FREE
ENOUGH
TO
CONTROL
ITS
FREEDOM
IN
CERTAIN
CASES
.

THE
FREE
MARKET
MUST
HAVE
ENOUGH
CONTROL
TO
FREE
ITSELF
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’ll pick it up in no time.”

“Sounds like nonsense to me,” said Constance.

“On a certain level
everything
sounds like nonsense, doesn’t it?” Jillson said as they continued their tour. “Precisely the kind of lesson you’ll learn at the Institute. Take the word ‘food,’ for example. Ask yourself, ‘Why do we call it that?’ It’s an odd-sounding word, isn’t it? ‘Food.’ It could easily be considered nonsense. But in fact it’s extremely important. It’s the essential 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 other children’s, too, for that matter — but the
smell
of food as well. They were being led into the cafeteria now, a huge bright room crowded with tables, much like any other cafeteria except for the smells. Drifting in the air were what seemed to be a thousand delectable scents: grilled hot dogs, hamburgers, and vegetables; melted cheese; tomato sauce; garlic; sausage; fried fish; baked pies; cinnamon and sugar; apple tarts; and on and on. Beyond the empty tables, on the other side of a counter, they saw Helpers scurrying about in the kitchen, half-hidden behind clouds of steam and grill smoke.

Kate had her nose in the air like a bloodhound. “It smells like a bakery, a pizzeria, and a cookout all at once.”

“That’s another great thing about the Institute,” said Jackson. “The Helpers prepare wonderful meals. You can eat anything you want, and as much as you want, too. Just go up and tell them what you’d like. Don’t be offended if they don’t say anything. Helpers aren’t supposed to talk to you unless you ask them a question. Pretty soon you don’t even notice them. I remember when I was a student, I liked to play tricks on them — nothing they could do about it, you see, because no rule said I couldn’t. But now I hardly pay attention to them, except to keep them in line.”

“It sounds like there are no rules here at all,” Sticky said.

“That’s true, George,” said Jillson. “Virtually none, in fact. You can wear whatever you want, just so long as you have on trousers, shoes, and a shirt. You can bathe as often as you like or not at all, provided you’re clean every day in class. You can eat whatever and whenever you want, so long as it’s during meal hours in the cafeteria. You’re allowed to keep the lights on in your rooms as late as you wish until ten o’clock each night. And you can go wherever you want around the Institute, so long as you keep to the paths and the yellow-tiled corridors.”

“Actually,” Reynie observed, “those all sound like rules.”

Jackson rolled his icy blue eyes. “This is your first day, so I don’t expect you to know much, Reynard. But this is one of the rules of life you’ll learn at the Institute: Many things that sound like rules aren’t actually rules, and it always sounds as if there 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 to join the other new arrivals for Mr. Curtain’s welcome speech. Constance, stop dawdling. You, too, George, hustle it up.”

“Would you mind calling me Sticky?” the boy asked, hustling it up.

“Is Sticky your real name?” asked Jackson.

“It’s what everybody calls me,” Sticky replied.

“But is it official? Is there an official document 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.

T
he children were shown into an ordinary classroom, where sunlight streamed through the windows, the desks sat empty, and an Executive waited to speak with Jackson and Jillson. As the children chose their seats, the Executives held a private discussion. Then Jillson and the other Executive hurried out.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Jackson told the children. “The other group’s finishing their tour, and apparently our Recruiters have brought in some unexpected new arrivals. They’re being admitted right now, so we’ll start a few minutes late. Okay?” He stepped out of the room; then he 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 about mine shafts?”

“You bet I did,” Kate said. “It makes no sense. Why set traps and then warn us about them?”

“They don’t want us to leave the paths,” Reynie speculated. “And if we do, they want to know it — they want to catch us at it.”

Kate’s blue eyes shone with excitement. “If that’s true, there might be traps
everywhere
.”

“You two aren’t helping my stomach,” Sticky said.

Soon the door swung open and a dozen other new arrivals entered, escorted by several Executives and a pair of men wearing fine suits and two watches apiece. There followed a flurry of introductions, desk-choosing, and general mayhem, during which the Executives watched the children very intently, as if they didn’t quite trust them not to bolt from the room or start a brawl. Reynie was painfully aware of their eyes upon him — he already felt conspicuous. But new kids
always
felt conspicuous, he reminded himself. And so he smiled and nodded, trying hard to seem as happy and eager as the other newcomers.

His fellow members of the Mysterious Benedict Society were making the same attempt, some with less success than others. Kate smiled charmingly. Sticky managed a grimace that resembled a smile, though it also resembled the expression you might wear in a sandstorm. Constance nodded a few times in a friendly way — until the nodding grew sleepy and her eyelids drooped. Reynie nudged her. Constance jerked her head upright and blinked in surprise, as if she didn’t quite know where she was.