“I’ll steer my chair as far as the path,” said Mr. Curtain, already moving. “Then we can exchange burdens.” He glided swiftly away up the passage, with McCracken limping along behind him and with never a word of thanks to S.Q. — nor even a glance of acknowledgment — for having made the amazingly practical suggestion that the two of them work together.
Still smarting from McCracken’s insult and Mr. Curtain’s cold treatment, S.Q. Pedalian had only just returned to his work when Mr. Benedict spoke to him. No one had seen Mr. Benedict wake up, and in fact he spoke now in a careful, measured tone, with a very sleepy quality, as if perhaps he hadn’t woken at all.
“S.Q.,” Mr. Benedict said in this strange, somniferous tone, “I know you have much to do, but if you can spare just a moment, these handcuffs are chafing me again.”
S.Q. turned to Mr. Benedict with a look of distress. “Oh, no, Mr. Benedict, you shouldn’t have spoken! Don’t you realize I have to report you to Mr. Curtain now? It was a direct order, you know! You’ll be punished!”
Mr. Benedict fixed S.Q. with a steady gaze. “I realize that, S.Q.,” he said, still in that slow, sleepy tone, “and it’s quite all right. You must do what you must do, my friend. I bear you no ill will.”
Plainly relieved, S.Q. smiled, then stifled a yawn.
“Still,” said Mr. Benedict, “the handcuffs, as I said, are chafing my wrist most terribly. Just as they always do.”
S.Q. stared at him, not in hesitation or even with suspicion, but as if it were taking a long time for Mr. Benedict’s words to register in his brain. The children, bewildered, said nothing. They dared not even breathe. They could see Mr. Benedict was up to something even if S.Q. couldn’t. S.Q. yawned again but didn’t take his eyes from Mr. Benedict’s.
“You are very tired, aren’t you, S.Q.?” said Mr. Benedict.
S.Q. continued to stare. After a moment, he nodded dumbly. “I really am,” he whispered.
“I know you are, my friend,” said Mr. Benedict. “And so am I. You should sit with me a moment and rest. But first, please unlock my handcuffs, just as you’ve kindly done before. I would like to rub some feeling back into my wrist.”
And then, to the children’s profound amazement, S.Q. Pedalian walked over to Mr. Benedict and unlocked his handcuffs. At first Mr. Benedict did not stir; he only thanked S.Q. and rubbed his wrist gratefully. Then he patted the ground beside him.
“Sit for a moment,” Mr. Benedict said.
“For a moment,” intoned S.Q., his eyes heavy-lidded, his shoulders slumped. He sat beside Mr. Benedict and leaned back against the stalagmite.
“You should feel how these pinch,” said Mr. Benedict, and very casually, as if adjusting a cufflink on S.Q.’s sleeve, he slipped the open handcuff onto S.Q.’s wrist (the other was still attached to the metal loop) and tightened it. “There, isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“It is a bit constraintive,” S.Q. murmured, frowning. “I mean constrictual. I mean . . .” He trailed off, his expression troubled.
“We should take them off,” said Mr. Benedict. “Here, give me the key.”
S.Q. gave Mr. Benedict the key.
Leaning forward to obscure S.Q.’s view, Mr. Benedict slipped the key to Kate, who lost no time in freeing her-self and the others. Then Mr. Benedict drew the children away from the stalagmite, where S.Q. still sat cuffed to the metal loop. S.Q. blinked rapidly, as if coming awake. He stared at the children, and then at Mr. Benedict, in perfect bafflement.
“I am sorry, S.Q.,” said Mr. Benedict. “Some part of you must understand that I mean that.”
S.Q. shook his head violently as if to clear it. His expression darkened; his lip began to quiver. “But . . . but you can’t be serious! You can’t have lied to me!”
“I never did,” said Mr. Benedict.
S.Q. was stunned. “But all those other times — you never tried anything! You promised you wouldn’t! I even gave you a drop of the truth serum to be sure!”
“Yes, but I made no such promise this time, S.Q. Nor did I promise to release you — I said only that we should take your handcuffs off. Which we should. In a better world and time, I would gladly release you. And I hope to see you again in just such a world, and at such a time. You have a bright soul, S.Q. I’m extremely sorry to leave you in this predicament, but leave you I must.” Mr. Benedict turned away with a sorrowful expression. “Come, children, we should hurry.”
Kate hoisted Constance onto her back, and together the escaped prisoners made quickly for the passage. Behind them, S.Q. sat with his face growing darker and darker, his eyes darting back and forth as he worked through what Mr. Benedict had said. He was plainly trying not to believe what had just happened.
“You hypnotized him?” Constance asked as they hurried up the passage.
“Something like that,” said Mr. Benedict gravely, “although much coarser. Persuading him was possible only because he trusted me not to betray his kindness. I’ve just dealt a terrible blow to the best part of S.Q. Pedalian, children. We must all hope he recovers.” Mr. Benedict touched Reynie’s shoulder. “I hope you haven’t given up on the S.Q.’s of the world, Reynie. As you see, there are a great many sheep in wolves’ clothing. If not for S.Q.’s good nature, we’d never have escaped.”
They were now approaching the cave entrance, from which they could hear an unearthly moaning — it was dawn, and the island’s daily wind had risen — and Reynie was just reflecting that they hadn’t escaped yet when the wind’s moaning was drowned out by a howl of anguish echoing through the cave behind them. S.Q. had finally accepted the reality of his situation. In furious outrage he screamed after them, “You’re just like Mr. Curtain said! I believed you, Mr. Benedict! I trusted you! I should have known! I should have known!”
At the cave entrance Mr. Benedict stopped to look back. Perhaps it was a result of his exhaustion, or perhaps it was because he was the direct cause of S.Q.’s suffering, but his expression was as mournful as any of the children had ever seen it.
“If only —” he began, but he never finished his thought, for at that moment he fell asleep.
Sticky spared Mr. Benedict a vicious knock on the head by being in his way when he fell. Thus it was Sticky who suffered the knock, bruising his forehead on the hard ground as he fell with Mr. Benedict on top of him. Tugging free, he gently rolled Mr. Benedict onto his back and resettled the sleeping man’s spectacles before resettling his own. He shook Mr. Benedict’s arm. “Wake up, Mr. Benedict! Wake up!”
S.Q.’s howls had stopped as abruptly as they’d started, and the only sound now was the moaning of the wind and Sticky’s entreaties as the others looked anxiously on. Mr. Curtain and McCracken had been gone no time at all. If they’d forgotten something and came back . . . Reynie cast a nervous glance out beyond the cave. Dawn may have broken, but there was no sunshine. Gray clouds scudded low over the mountain, and — just as Constance had predicted — a fine gray mist hung over everything, swirling in the wind like smoke.
“He isn’t waking up,” Sticky said, patting Mr. Benedict’s cheek.
“Uh oh,” said Constance. “This can happen when he’s really worn out. Sometimes we can’t wake him for hours.”
“Well, he’s surely as exhausted right now as he’s ever been,” Sticky said. He looked up at Reynie. “This isn’t good.”
“Let’s see if we can fashion a stretcher,” said Reynie. “We can’t afford to wait. We need to get to that bay forest.”
“What about Number Two?” Kate protested.
“Our best chance of helping her now is to get to the forest. Like you said, that’s where Milligan expected us to go, so that’s where we should look for him. If he isn’t there, maybe his friends will be, and we can get them to help us. But there’s no chance of any of that if we’re caught. We need to move!”