The Perilous Journey (8 page)

The children had been inside that guarded chamber only once, when Mr. Benedict took them in to look around. They had admired the soothing colors and soft lighting he used to calm his visitors (or “guests,” as he called them, to make them feel welcome). It came as no surprise that Mr. Benedict’s guests might stand in need of calming, for they were the Whisperer’s former victims, the extremely unfortunate people whose memories Mr. Curtain had hidden from them — memories Mr. Benedict now employed the Whisperer to restore. The cozy room was a far cry from the cold, austere atmosphere of Mr. Curtain’s Whispering Gallery.

“It can be disturbing to have one’s memory suddenly return,” Mr. Benedict had said, “to remember all at once the important things that have been missing for so long. I do my best to lessen the shock.” He indicated an overstuffed chair in the corner. “That is where my guests sit. It is easily within the Whisperer’s range, and I should think they find it more comfortable — and far less threatening — than the seat my brother designed.”

Mr. Benedict kept the Whisperer hidden behind a decorated screen, but the children didn’t need to see it to remember it. All but Kate, in fact, had sat in its hard metal chair, their wrists cuffed, a helmet pressed tightly over their heads. And all four of them remembered the terrifying moment when they’d realized Mr. Curtain could use his device to wipe away their memories — brainsweeping, he called it — even when they were standing several feet away. Yes, they all remembered the Whisperer perfectly well, and they were quite content to leave it hidden behind the screen in that locked and guarded chamber.

As the children entered the hallway on which the chamber lay, the two guards at its door offered them faint, polite smiles. The guards were not supposed to fraternize while on duty, of course, and they knew the children were free to roam the hallways; they might well let them pass without comment. But depending on their security clearance (depending, in other words, on their access to classified information), the guards might also know something of the children’s history, and this made Reynie worry they would be suspicious of any unusual activity.

“Are you sure there’s a dictionary here?” he said to Sticky, as if they were in the middle of a discussion.

“Yes, there certainly is, Reynie, I am sure of it,” Sticky replied in a tone so stiff that Reynie almost winced. They needed to brush up on their acting.

To her credit, Kate was more convincing than either of the boys had been. Casually retying her ponytail, she winked at the guards and said in a breezy tone, “Just looking up a word.”

The guards nodded, but one of them — a burly, bulldoggish man — watched the children with an appraising look that verged on suspicion. Reynie turned his back, the better to hide his own nervous expression. Sticky had already located the first dictionary and was rapidly examining it as the others looked on. He closed it with a discouraged sigh. “No luck.”

The burly guard leaned toward them. “Must be an unusual word, eh? You ought to try the other dictionary. It’s really big.”

“How do you know there’s another dictionary?” asked Sticky, surprised.

“What else do we have to look at all day but these bookshelves?” said the guard. He pointed a little way down the shelves. “It’s right over there, a great huge fat one. Wait, now where is it? I remember it perfectly — terrible condition, falling apart at the seams. It was right there, I’m sure of it.”

“I know the one you mean,” Sticky said, pointing to a gap on the shelves. “It
was
right there.”

The other guard spoke up. “Oh, Mr. Benedict took that one! Couple weeks back. You were on break, Russ,” he said to the burly guard. “Said he was going to fix it up, but I don’t suppose he got around to it before he left. I saw it in his study not two days ago, and it was still in awful shape.”

Reynie’s heart leaped. “His study? I guess we should go down there, then.” He and the others quickly turned to go, only to find their way blocked.

“Listen, you kids, I know what you’re doing,” said Russ, the burly guard.

They stared at him in bewildered dismay. How could he know? Was this over before they’d even begun?

Reynie forced himself to speak. “You know what we’re… doing?”

“You’re trying to distract yourselves,” Russ said. “I understand. You’re worried about Mr. Benedict and Number Two, and you’re just aching to think about anything else. Am I right?”

“Yes!” cried Sticky from behind Reynie. He sounded much too eager to agree, and Russ might have paused to consider this had Constance not crossed her arms and grumpily remarked, “If you say so.”

“Let me give you some advice,” said Russ, scratching a dry patch on his left jowl. “If you really mean to be distracted, don’t go down to Mr. Benedict’s study. Go back to your room and play a nice little game. Okay?”

“Why?” Reynie asked. “Why not go into his study?”

“It’s serious business down there, son. They’re going through all his papers right now — every folder, file, and book — looking for clues to his whereabouts. They won’t let you in there, anyway. Not until they’re finished, at least.”

“Thank you,” said Reynie as calmly as possible. “It’s… good advice. Come on, everyone, let’s go play a game.”

The children hurriedly said goodbye to the guards, who watched in bemusement as they bumped into one another, sorted themselves out, and walked with strange jerky steps down the long hallway, looking for all the world as if they were trying not to run in panic.

“Poor kids,” said Russ in a low tone. “They’ll do anything to avoid the scary stuff.”

As soon as the children were out of sight of the guards, they ducked into the first available room (it happened to be Number Two’s bedroom) to discuss their dilemma.

“If they find that clue,” Kate said, closing the door, “you know we’ll never see it.”

“They may
already
have found it,” Constance said. She dropped despondently onto the yellow rug Number Two had woven for her floor. “For all we know, they’re planning some disastrous rescue mission even as we speak.”

“We have to assume they haven’t found it yet,” Reynie said. “Mr. Benedict has an awful lot of books and papers in that study, and they probably won’t think to check the dictionary until they’ve checked everything else.”

“We need a distraction,” said Kate. “Something to get them out long enough for us to slip in and grab it.”

“Any ideas?” Reynie asked.

Sticky began to look around the room as if seeking inspiration. Everything he saw was familiar to him already: the open wardrobe with its array of yellow clothing; the basket of sewing materials and stacks of science journals by the bed (Number Two scarcely slept — seldom more than an hour or two — and filled her long night hours with quiet activity); the tidy writing desk with its bouquet of pencils in a cup; and of course the well-stocked cupboard full of snacks (for though she required little sleep, Number Two had to eat almost constantly or else grow irritable and faint).

“I wish we hadn’t come in here,” Sticky muttered, depressed by so many reminders of their missing friend. He went to the window to give himself something different to look at.

Different, though, hardly described what Sticky saw through the window. Indeed, it was one of the strangest spectacles he’d ever witnessed. In the courtyard below, the three police officers were spinning round and round with their legs flying out behind them, as if they were the spokes of a wheel. They were all trying to hold onto whatever it was that was spinning them; they had all lost their caps; and one had even lost his toupee, which lay on the ground nearby like a stunned ferret. At the same time, on the sidewalk beyond the fence, the unpleasant Mr. Bane appeared to have just attempted an unsuccessful headstand, for he lay on his back staring confusedly at the sky. And as if all this weren’t enough to make Sticky suspect he was dreaming, no sooner had his brain registered the bizarre scene than a large bird swooped down into it, snatched the policeman’s toupee, and flew up into the eaves of the house.

Sticky rubbed his eyes, stared out again, and suddenly understood. “I think we have our distraction — Moocho Brazos just arrived.”

The others rushed to the window (Sticky gave Constance a boost so she could see) and quickly made sense of the commotion below: Moocho had come to see Kate for some reason; Mr. Bane had rudely refused to admit him, which had got him tossed over the fence; and the police officers had then felt compelled to restrain the huge man, which they did first by grabbing him, then by clinging desperately as he tried to spin them off on his way to the front door.

A buzzer rang somewhere in the house below, followed by the sound of doors banging open and people rushing down hallways and stairs. The guards were swarming to the exits, and everyone else was hurrying to windows to see what was the matter.

“Sticky’s right!” said Reynie. “Now’s our chance!”

And whirling around as fast as he could, he discovered the bedroom door wide open and Kate Wetherall already gone.

They found Kate coming up the stairs just as they were starting down. In her arms was a massive old dictionary, and her blue eyes twinkled with excitement. She pointed back the way they’d come. Everyone turned and headed straight to Constance’s room, where Kate locked the door and went to the window.

“Good,” she said, peeking out, “Rhonda’s down there trying to clear things up. That buys us time.” She clucked her tongue. “Poor Moocho. I’ll bet he got her telegram and was worried out of his head.”

“You weren’t seen?” Sticky asked.

Kate shrugged. “Nope.”

Even knowing her as they did, the others stared at Kate, flatly amazed. In a matter of seconds — in the time it took the rest of them just to reach the stairway — she had flown down the stairs into the study, found the dictionary, and come out again without being spotted. It seemed impossible.

Kate noticed their expressions. “What?” She bent to look at herself in Constance’s wall mirror. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Just show us the stupid dictionary,” said Constance resentfully. (
She
still had trouble tying her
shoes.
)

Kate laid the thick book on the floor, and everyone knelt for a closer look. The dictionary was a tattered old thing with warped covers — evidence of some long-ago water spill — and a hopelessly ruined spine. Gingerly, so as not to damage it further, Reynie opened it and began turning pages. Some were irrevocably stuck together; some fell out at the merest touch. An odor of must and mildew filled the room.

“He should have thrown this away years ago,” Constance said, wrinkling her nose at the mildew smell. “It isn’t even usable.”

Reynie turned a page to reveal a deep, rectangular space cut out of the dictionary pages. Nestled inside the cut-out space was another book. “Not usable as a dictionary, maybe. But as a hiding place it’s perfect.”

The second book had brown leather covers and was rather large itself. Reynie quickly turned to the first page, which was blank except for the following inscription:

Travelers should always keep journals, and journals should always keep secrets. This journal is no exception. I have taken the liberty of writing the first entry. Read it quickly and move on. Bon voyage! — Mr. Benedict

With the others peering over his shoulder, Reynie flipped through the next few pages. It was difficult to gauge whether the journal was an expensive gift or something Mr. Benedict had snatched from a bargain pile — something discarded as a botched product and sold for a nickel. Its pages, although made of fine, heavy paper, had been cut unevenly, so that some were much wider than others. Each page was blank except for a single word written in the outer bottom corner. Reynie flipped to the back of the book. The same. One word per page, but taken in order the words did not form intelligible sentences.

“Let’s go through it nice and slow,” Kate said.

Reynie returned to the front and began turning the pages one at a time, working all the way to the end. The first several pages yielded the following sequence of words:

TAKE
DOWN
ROSES
AND
THREE
TAKE
YOUR
CHANCES
TAKE
TIME
TO
BELIEVE
TAKE
UP
CINNAMON
CANDLES
TAKE
NOTES
TAKE
MY
RULER
TOO
TAKE
OFF
GLOVES
TAKE
HOME
.

About a third of the way through the journal a different sequence began:

THE
LUCK
OF MY
BROTHERS
THE
NOTION
OF
CONSEQUENCE
THE
SCOUNDREL
THE
FLY
IN
THE
OINTMENT
THE
NERVE
THE
PUZZLE
THE
DOGFISH
ATE
THE
CATFISH
THE
ANSWER
.

And in the last third of the journal, the words in the bottom corners ran like this:

SHORTCUT
HAIRCUT
SHORTCUT
BLUE
SHORTCUT
CREWCUT
SHORTCUT
DO
SHORTCUT
COLDCUT
SHORTCUT
YOU
SHORTCUT
UPPERCUT
SHORTCUT
THROUGH
.

Sticky scratched his head. “It’s some kind of word puzzle, I take it.”

“It does mention the word ‘puzzle,’” Kate said. “Maybe that’s a hint?”

They were both looking to Reynie for help, but Constance surprised them all by speaking first. “Take the shortcut,” she whispered, as if to herself.

“What?” Sticky said.