The Mysterious Benedict Society (23 page)

Martina’s poisoned us!
Reynie thought. He was immediately convinced of it. Martina had slipped something into their lunches — perhaps she’d ordered the Helpers to do it. All his anger now flowed in Martina’s direction.

When class was finally over, it took Reynie several seconds to realize why the other students were getting up and leaving. Jillson was staring at him and his friends as if they were a bunch of lunatics. “I said go!” she barked. “Or do you want to stay here all day?”

The four of them bolted from their desks. They needed an emergency meeting.

Most students were headed to the gym to play games before supper, and Mr. Curtain was not in his favorite spot. The plaza was deserted. The children crossed to the farthest corner, made sure no one was in earshot, and all began talking at once.

“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 Martina poisoned us,” Reynie said, “but —”

“Poison?” Kate said. “No, I don’t think so. This is all in my head.”

Reynie and Sticky agreed. It wasn’t a physical problem, exactly; it was something else. But then what
was
it? The three of them began comparing their symptoms.

Only Constance said nothing. She listened as the others talked about how irritable and angry they felt, as if they were engaged in a furious argument, and as they spoke, she seemed to be shrinking. It was Reynie who noticed this — that Constance, with a look of anxious bafflement, had begun to crouch down as if to protect herself from an attack.

“Constance, what is it?” Reynie asked, his brow wrinkling with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s… that’s all?” Constance asked in a weak voice. “You just feel kind of annoyed?”

“
Extremely
annoyed,” Kate said. “Really, I’ve never felt so cranky in my life.”

“So you don’t… you don’t hear… ?” Constance trailed off.

She didn’t have to finish. Reynie couldn’t believe they hadn’t thought of it right away. The experience must have rattled every bit of sense out of all their heads. Hadn’t Mr. Benedict specifically predicted this?
Most of us will simply feel irritable and confused
, Mr. Benedict had said,
essentially the way we feel now whenever the television is on and the messages are being broadcast.

“Mr. Curtain’s boosting the power,” Reynie said gravely, and when Kate and Sticky looked at him, still not comprehending, he said, “It’s the hidden messages. Our minds are reacting to them.”

Sticky gasped. Kate slapped her forehead. Of course! The hidden messages had begun to transmit directly into their minds — no more need for television, radios, or anything else. All the other students were undisturbed because, just as Mr. Benedict had said, only minds with an unusually powerful love of truth noticed anything 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 hand on her shoulder — and Constance, for once, didn’t complain. “There
is
more, isn’t there, Constance?”

Kate and Sticky looked from Reynie to Constance, who was nodding and hiding her face behind her hands. She actually seemed to be fighting back tears. All of their minds were resisting the hidden messages, but Constance — and only Constance — could hear the Messenger’s
voice.

In rare cases, with exceptionally sensitive minds, Mr. Benedict had said. And here was such a case, such a mind: Constance Contraire. The development shocked them all, especially Constance, who was so disturbed by it she spent the evening with her head under her pillow. She was no better by the time Kate smuggled her into the boys’ room for their meeting.

“It might be useful, you know,” Sticky whispered, trying to cheer her up. “A way to gauge Mr. Curtain’s progress. On a really, really awful day, one of
us
might not be able to tell the difference between a normal bad mood and a hidden-message mood. But if you can hear the actual
voices
— well, then, you’re like our canary in the coal mine!”

“A canary in a coal mine?” Constance mumbled without looking up.

Sticky failed to notice Reynie’s warning look. “Oh, yes — miners used to bring canaries with them to gauge oxygen levels in the mine. If the canary died, they knew the oxygen was running out and they’d better get out of there.”

“If the canary
died
?” Constance repeated.

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 I definitely didn’t need Martina Crowe in there whispering it — she was the one doing the last message, in case you’re wondering. I dislike her enough
outside
my head, much less
inside
it. In fact, I think 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 one another with cautious optimism. Constance seemed to be feeling a little better. They all were, actually. They had spent the evening adjusting to the hidden-message broadcasts (there had been three more since Jillson’s class) — trying not to snarl at one another, or smash their fists on desktops, or slam drawers. Studying had been positively excruciating, like trying to read while someone bangs out an annoying tune on a piano — and with fingers on the wrong keys, at that. But an hour had passed since the last broadcast, and the children’s moods had improved. Which helped them focus on the fact that their situation, unfortunately, had
not
.

The thing to come was getting closer. Mr. Curtain was not broadcasting his messages at full-power yet — otherwise all four of them would hear voices, not just Constance. But matters had obviously worsened, and the children had only just arrived on the island. Were they already too late? What should they do?

“Coast is clear,” Sticky said when he’d climbed onto the television and looked out the window. He took the flashlight from Kate. “What should I say?”

“Mr. Benedict will already know the messages are stronger,” Reynie reflected. “He and the others are surely feeling it, too. Just tell him that Constance is hearing voices. He hadn’t expected that.”

“Got it,” Sticky said, turning to the window. “‘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?” Constance grumped.

“Sorry,” Sticky said, gritting his teeth as he always did when Constance used his full name. “I’ll just say, um…” He looked to the others for help.

Reynie glanced at Constance, who was scowling impressively, ready to complain about whatever they suggested. Resisting the first thing that came to mind, Reynie suggested they refer to her as “the smallest one.”

Constance grudgingly accepted this, and soon Sticky had sent the message. A few minutes later, he received a response from the mainland:

Time is shorter than we thought.

Thus to get what must be got

You must become what you are not.

“It sounds like he wants us to put a rush on things,” said Sticky, climbing down from the television.

“Fine by me,” said Kate. “But how, exactly? What does he mean, ‘what must be got’?”

“Whatever it is, we have to become something different to get it,” Reynie said.

“But what could that be?” Constance said.

They all looked at one another. None of them had any idea. They didn’t even know where to start.

T
he message broadcasts were hard on all of them. They felt another one during lunch the next day (it was Corliss Danton, according to Constance), which had them gritting their teeth, growling at each other, and fighting the urge to throw silverware. And another came during the evening, so that they were compelled to study with their nerves being plucked like banjo strings. The last broadcast finally relented just 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 bed grimacing. “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 climbed onto a chair to help Constance down from the 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’s message in my head all day, and I think I’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 become Messengers as soon as possible. We must become what we are not.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “But that’s obvious! We already know that.”

“You’re right,” Reynie admitted. “That’s why I said I’m
starting
to figure the message out — I think there must be more to it. I’m just not sure what, except that we need to hurry up.”

“We’re going as fast as we can, though,” Kate said. “You boys are making perfect scores on the quizzes, and Constance and I — well, we’re doing our best, aren’t we?” She glanced doubtfully at 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, “was that we have to find a way for you and Constance to do better on the quizzes.”

“Ugh,” Kate said, heaving a dramatic sigh. She collapsed onto the floor, throwing out her arms as if she’d been knocked flat. “To tell the truth, I think I’m beyond help. My brain simply won’t absorb that nonsense, no matter how hard I try.”

“Same here,” said Constance. “No way can I improve on those quizzes. I’m too tired 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 your head!”

“At least I’ve been trying!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Reynie said. “Let’s go back to Mr. Benedict’s message. What can 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,
can we?”

Constance pointed out that none of them were antelopes eating canteloupes, or textbooks with hexed looks, or cattle from Seattle.

“You’re just trying to annoy us, aren’t you?” Kate said.

Constance grinned.

“The fact is,” Sticky said in a defeated tone, “there are an infinite number of things that we aren’t.”

“Yes, but Mr. Benedict expects us to figure this out,” said Reynie, “so we should be able to narrow it down. Let’s consider 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, can he?”

“Well, he knows we’re orphans and runaways,” Sticky offered, then quickly added, “I know, I know. We can’t all suddenly 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, “because of our minds’ unusually powerful love of truth, right?”

Sticky scratched his head. “I don’t see how watching television is going to make us Messengers any faster.”

“Wait a minute!” Reynie said, leaping to his feet. “Our love of truth!”

The others fell silent and looked at him. Reynie had begun to pace and whisper to himself. “Become what we’re not… to become 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 exultant expression shifted into one of doubt, and he squinted uncomfortably in the flashlight beam. 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 others hadn’t thought of it themselves, for what Reynie suggested was something that would never have occurred to them, something quite foreign to their natures, something none of them had ever attempted.

They must learn how to cheat.

“It only makes sense,” Reynie quickly explained, when he saw his friends’ horrified expressions. “None of us accepted Rhonda’s offer to cheat, remember? That was part of the test. Mr. Benedict is saying we must become what we are not —
cheaters
— so we all can become 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 he choose us because we
didn’t
cheat?”

“Well, I’m all for it,” Constance said with a snort. “Let’s cheat like the wind!”

Kate was appalled. “I can’t believe you two! Where’s this powerful love of truth Mr. Benedict talked about?”

Reynie wasn’t surprised by his friends’ responses. He too had been wary of the notion when it occurred to him. But were they not secret agents? Was not their very presence on the island a deception? Kate and Sticky’s reaction was just an instinctive response, he thought; they would come around in a minute.