Regardless, Mr. Benedict had somehow sensed the wheelchair passing by; and he seemed to sense, too, when it was safe to speak again. He nodded at the children. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “But he’ll come back any moment. You must hurry!”
Reynie’s arms were covered in goose bumps. “What should we do?”
“Untie my hands,” Mr. Benedict said. “Hurry now, and we’ll escape together!”
Reynie hesitated. Something seemed amiss, but in the urgency of the moment he couldn’t immediately identify it. Kate, though, had already taken out her Army knife — cutting through a rope was obviously faster than untying it — and she began hurrying toward Mr. Benedict just as Constance yanked on Reynie’s arm. Reynie, looking down, realized that she’d been trying to speak but had been too terrified to make a sound. Her eyes were huge. She was frantically shaking her head.
With a flash of horror, Reynie understood the reason for his misgivings: Mr. Benedict would never have asked them to untie him — not when lingering here so clearly jeopardized their safety. No, Mr. Benedict would have told them to run. Reynie dashed after Kate, waving his arms. Not daring to cry out (for fear of a Ten Man lurking in the other chamber) he whispered, “Kate, stop! Stop!”
Kate heard him and looked back, which was exactly the worst thing she could have done. She had already drawn too close to Mr. Curtain — for it could be none other than Mr. Curtain leaping to his feet with such a look of malevolent triumph — and before she understood what was happening, the wicked man had seized her.
Reynie charged in at full tilt. But no sooner had Mr. Curtain grabbed Kate than he let her go, and as Kate slumped to the floor with a stunned expression, Reynie noticed the shiny, silver gloves on Mr. Curtain’s hands — one of which shot forward and took him by the arm. Instantly he felt as if a fireworks display had been launched inside him; his body seemed composed of a million white-hot sparks. It was astonishingly painful, and Reynie’s relief was intense when the fireworks faded, leaving what appeared to be a clear black sky. Or no, not sky . . . Reynie opened his eyes and saw Mr. Curtain’s blurry, smiling face floating above him. He heard Sticky’s voice as if from a great distance, telling Constance to run. Then he felt something cold, hard, and metallic tightening around his wrist.
“Not again,” Reynie mumbled, still dazed.
“Oh yes,” said Mr. Curtain. “Again.”
The children were handcuffed to one another in order of their capture. Kate was cuffed to one of the metal loops in the stalagmite — Mr. Curtain had been sure to deal with her first — and Reynie was cuffed to Kate. Next came Sticky, who despite having seen what those silver gloves had done to his friends had charged at Mr. Curtain in an attempt to save Constance.
“Run, Constance!” he’d yelled. “Run and don’t look back!”
Moments later Sticky was on the ground, shocked senseless, and when he came around again he was handcuffed to Reynie. Together they watched bleakly as Constance was brought back from the cavern entrance, where S.Q. Pedalian had been waiting. She was sniffling and crying and had gone perfectly limp, and S.Q. was compelled to carry her.
“There, there, Constance,” S.Q. was saying in a genuinely concerned tone. “Don’t be upset. This is all just a misunderstanding. I mean you’ve just misunderstood. I mean you’ve been naughty. Do you understand?”
“That’s enough, S.Q.,” said Mr. Curtain, removing his silver gloves and slipping them inside his suit coat. “Just cuff her to Mr. Washington there and say no more.”
It was odd for the children to see the former Executive in regular clothes — gone were the spiffy tunic and sash — but in all other respects he seemed the same. He was tall and gangly, his feet were enormous, and he appeared to be acting against his kindhearted instincts out of some dim-witted loyalty to Mr. Curtain. With the mechanical, efficient movements of one who has performed the same task countless times, S.Q. cuffed Constance’s wrist tightly to Sticky’s. Constance winced as the metal pinched her skin, and S.Q. winced in sympathetic response. But he remembered Mr. Curtain’s order and said no more.
Mr. Curtain regarded the captive children as if contemplating a magnificent piece of art. His cheerful expression had an unsettling effect, for it made him seem more like Mr. Benedict than himself. “Thank you all so much for coming,” he said. “I really could not have asked for a better gift.”
“It was the least we could do,” said Kate. She was quite scared, but she’d rather die than show her fear to the loathsome man who had just shocked the daylights out of her. He had also taken away her Army knife, and with it her hopes of prying out the metal loop.
Mr. Curtain clapped his hands. “Such bravado! Of course, I expected no less from you children. And, as I hope you now realize, I did expect you. Many of my former Executives hold government posts, you see, some of them quite close to Benedict. When you children went off on your own, I was informed at once. My informants were baffled by your disappearance, but your intentions were no great mystery to me. The only question was whether you would succeed in finding your beloved Benedict. Oh, how I hoped you would!”
“Where is Mr. Benedict?” Reynie demanded. “Or are you such a coward that —?”
“Reynard! For shame!” Mr. Curtain waggled his finger disapprovingly. “Do you really think I’m unprepared for your tactics this time? Last time, you’ll recall, you betrayed me, which is the only reason you caught me off guard. This time I know you for the conniving and deceitful little wretch that you are. You won’t fool me into getting angry, Reynard. I won’t be disturbed into falling asleep. Au contraire!”
“What?” said Constance, who with some effort had stopped crying. She glared at Mr. Curtain. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean, what do I want?” asked Mr. Curtain, who seemed confused by her question.
Constance scowled. “You said, ‘Oh, Contraire!’ So what? What is it?”
Mr. Curtain burst into his too-familiar laughter, which sounded like nothing so much as a wounded screech owl. “It’s just as S.Q. said, Miss Contraire! You misunderstand!” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “Never mind, my dear. The point is, I am perfectly undisturbed, and I shall remain so. Oh yes, I shall remain in control of my faculties, which means that you shall remain in my power.” He tapped his fingertips together. “However, I do grow fatigued. I believe I shall fetch a chair.”
With a mysterious, expectant smile, Mr. Curtain put his hands behind him and stood at attention, as if waiting for something. Before the children had time to wonder what it was, they witnessed one of the most disturbing things they had ever seen.
Mr. Curtain’s wheelchair appeared without sound. It shot out of the other chamber like a rocket, speeding around the stalagmites toward its owner, but its wheels made absolutely no sound on the cave floor, and its motor and gears were quiet — even, somehow, more than quiet. The effect was like watching a silent film, except that this was real life. The only noise the children heard was the jingle of their handcuffs (for they were all shuddering). The wheelchair was some kind of rolling nightmare, and strapped into its seat was the real Mr. Benedict. His hands were cuffed to the armrests, his head lolled forward on his neck, and his spectacles were in danger of falling from his nose. He appeared to be fast asleep.