“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.”