“That was the plan, but then he got called away on a mission.”
“What kind of mission?” asked Reynie and Sticky at the same time. They were both hungry for details.
Kate shrugged. “No idea. He never tells me anything beforehand, only afterward. I always read the paper for clues, of course — I’d love to be able to tell him I figured out what he’d been up to — but I never find anything.”
“So you have been keeping up,” Sticky said. “I asked about that in my last letter, but you never replied.” His tone was slightly resentful, but Kate either ignored it or else was blithely unaware.
“Of course I’ve been keeping up! But I’m not like you, Sticky. I can’t read ten newspapers every morning, and half of them in foreign languages. I only read the Stonetown Times. Why? Have you seen anything suspicious?”
Sticky grunted. “I wish. What about you, Reynie?”
Although this conversation might have seemed strange if overheard (for it is rare to hear children discuss the newspaper, and still more so to hear one ask whether anything “suspicious” has been found), to Reynie and his friends it felt perfectly natural. All of them had long had the habit of reading the paper — in fact it was a newspaper advertisement that had first led them to Mr. Benedict — and ever since their mission they had scanned the daily headlines with particular interest. It was doubtful any activity concerning Mr. Curtain would be declassified and printed, but it was always possible that some seemingly innocent story might reveal a connection to something deeper and darker — something the children would recognize even if other readers would not. In this single respect they still felt like secret agents, though reading the daily paper was hardly exciting field work.
This morning’s front page of the Stonetown Times, for instance, had been devoted to nothing more sinister than finance, freight, and forestry: INTEREST RATES SHARPLY ON THE RISE, read one headline; CARGO SHIP SHORTCUT TO MAKE MAIDEN VOYAGE, read another; while still another read, PINE WEEVIL MAKES MEAL OF SOUTHERN FORESTS. And the news only grew less interesting on page two.
“Suspicious?” Reynie said. “Not unless you think pine weevils are suspicious. Everything I’ve read has been dull as doorknobs.”
Kate’s eyes twinkled. “Hey, that reminds me! Sticky, I —”
Reynie cleared his throat and gave her a warning look. It was too late, though. Sticky might be slow to make certain connections, but he was exceptionally quick at recognizing personal insults. “Go on,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “It’s about my account of the mission, isn’t it?”
Now Kate looked regretful. “Oh . . . no . . . I was, uh, just going to . . .” She looked helplessly at Reynie, unable to think of what to say.
Much to their relief, Sticky lowered his hands and smiled. It was a sheepish smile, but at least he didn’t seem wounded. “Out with it.”
“Well, it’s . . . factual,” Kate said.
“And thoughtful,” Reynie added, hurriedly taking the account from his pocket in hopes of finding something to praise.
Kate nodded vigorously as Reynie unfolded the papers. “Oh, yes, it’s very thoughtful! And grammatical!”
Sticky winced. “Is it that bad? Oh well, I knew it was probably dreck. You should have seen the earlier drafts. This was my sixth attempt.” He took the account from Reynie and looked it over ruefully before stuffing it into his pocket. “Don’t worry, I figured I could never publish it anyway. I just wanted to do something to celebrate the occasion.”
Reynie had a sudden insight. “That’s why your hair’s gone, isn’t it? For old times’ sake!”
“I thought you might get a kick out of that,” Sticky admitted. “This time Dad helped me shave it — no more hair-remover concoctions.” He shuddered at the memory.
“Well, I love it!” Kate said, giving Sticky’s scalp an affectionate rub, and Reynie grinned and nodded his appreciation.
For a long time the three friends lingered in the orchard, reveling in one another’s company and reminiscing about their mission to the Institute. Laughing, groaning, occasionally shivering as they recalled their experiences — all of which remained perfectly vivid in their memories — they let the afternoon slip past them. When Kate noticed how long the shadows had grown in the farmyard, she gave a start and hopped up.
“Good grief! They’re going to call us inside soon, and Sticky hasn’t even met Madge yet!”
“Who’s Madge?” Sticky asked.
“Her Majesty the Queen!” Kate said, as if this explained everything. Impatiently she hauled the boys to their feet and ushered them out into the farmyard, where she blew on her whistle and tugged on the protective glove. Almost instantly the falcon appeared, streaking down from an unseen height to settle upon Kate’s wrist.
Sticky’s puzzlement faded, replaced by anxiety. Though he readily expressed his admiration of this sharp-taloned creature now regarding him with shining black eyes (“Falco peregrinus,” he said, nodding as he backed away, “impressive bird . . . swiftest of predators . . .”), he was not at all keen to make her special acquaintance. As casually as he could, Sticky took a cloth from his shirt pocket and removed his spectacles.
Reynie smiled to himself. He was quite familiar with Sticky’s habit of polishing his spectacles when nervous, and seeing him do so now was unexpectedly satisfying. There was a unique pleasure in knowing a friend so well, Reynie reflected, rather like sharing a secret code. Also, it was nice not to be the only one afraid of Kate’s bird.
“Don’t worry, Madge,” Kate was saying as she fed the falcon a strip of meat, “I’ll be back before you know it.” And after she’d sent Madge aloft again, she clucked her tongue and said, “Poor thing, did you see how fidgety she was? She knows I’m going away. I think it makes her nervous.”
“Oh yes,” said Sticky, with a doubtful glance at Reynie. “Poor thing.”
Reynie patted Kate’s back. “I’m sure your little raptor will be fine.”
Moocho Brazos had prepared a sumptuous meal, and dinner was a boisterous, satisfying, happy affair, with everyone chatting at once and platters constantly being passed this way and that. For dessert Moocho served his much-anticipated apple pies — six of them, in fact, although that number seemed less extravagant once Moocho’s own appetite was taken into account.
After the dishes were washed, the pleasant tumult died down and the talk fell away. Everyone was overcome with drowsiness. It had been a long day for all, and another full day awaited them. The children were determined to stay up regardless, but though only a year ago they had been on a secret mission making life-and-death decisions, now they were subject to the dictates of their guardians — which meant bathing, bidding one another good night, and going to bed.
“Oh well,” Kate said through a yawn. “We’ll be up again soon. The rooster crows at sunrise, you know.”
And indeed it was the sound of crowing that woke Reynie the next morning. He sat up blearily — he’d slept on a pallet on the floor — to see gray dawn beyond the window and Miss Perumal sitting up in bed, smiling at him.
“Today’s your big day,” she said. “I know you’re excited. You didn’t sleep until after midnight.”
“You were awake?” Reynie asked. He’d been so involved in his thoughts that he hadn’t paid attention to Miss Perumal’s breathing. Obviously, though, she’d been paying attention to his.
“I’m excited, too,” Miss Perumal said. “I know you’re going to love your surprise.”
There was something about her expression that gave Reynie pause. She was happy for him, he could tell — but there was something else, too. It reminded him of the day she had driven him to take Mr. Benedict’s tests, when she had felt convinced he would no longer need her as a tutor. Her eyes, now as then, reflected a mixture of pride, expectation, and a certain sadness. But they were family now, and Reynie knew nothing could induce Miss Perumal to leave him. So what was she musing about?