Sacrifices, Narrow Escapes, and Something Like a Plan
By the time she crept into Reynie and Sticky’s room half an hour later, Kate was in a better mood. Which is to say, she was disappointed with her mission, miserably cold, soaked to the bone, and in a good deal of physical pain. But at least she hadn’t been eaten by a shark. At the sound of squishing shoes and a strange, rapid little clicking sound, the boys awoke to see Kate giving their radiator a bear hug, her teeth chattering furiously, her clothes dripping water.
“Kate!” they cried in barely contained whispers. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“W-w-w-ell,” she stammered, unable for the moment to continue.
Reynie threw his blanket over her shoulders, and when at last she grew warmer, Kate told them everything. (She omitted, however, the part about the imagined shark. No sense getting into all that.)
“Luckily I had my bucket secured with my belt,” she said, “or I’d have lost it for sure. Even so, I did lose a few things, and my penlight is waterlogged. And my fingers were too numb to grip anything, so I couldn’t climb into the ceiling. I had to sneak down the corridor. Can’t believe I didn’t bump into Jillson or somebody.”
“I can’t believe you managed to eavesdrop through that drainpipe,” Sticky said. “How did you even think of it?”
“A lucky guess,” Kate said. “Reynie mentioned that drain in the floor when he first told us about Mr. Curtain’s office. Then last night Milligan pointed out the culvert to us. Drains and culverts — I put two and two together and hoped for the best.”
Reynie had been rummaging for an extra towel. He handed it to Kate. “So there’s absolutely no way we can get into that computer room?”
Kate shook her head reluctantly. She hated to admit it.
“All right,” he said. “Nice job, Kate.”
“Nice job? But I didn’t accomplish a thing!”
“Are you kidding? Now that we know we can’t reach the computer room, we won’t waste time trying. And we don’t have any time to waste — by the day after tomorrow we’ll have no chance at all. We know that now, too, thanks to you. It’s all crucial information.”
Kate shrugged dismissively, but secretly she was pleased. She opened and closed her hands. The feeling seemed to be returning to her fingers.
Reynie was concentrating. There was no message broadcast at the moment; the storm system in his mind had moved out. “And what was that he said, Kate? About his Whisperer being a sensitive machine?”
“Sensitive and delicately balanced,” said Sticky. “And it requires his strict mental guidance for its proper function.”
“I think that’s what he said,” Kate admitted. “I tried hard to remember it just as he said it, but I don’t have quite the memory you do.”
“All right, we’d better report all this to Mr. Benedict right away,” Sticky said, scrambling up onto the television. Instantly he groaned. “Jackson’s out on the plaza with S.Q. — he’s yelling at S.Q. about something.”
“Sticky and I will wait them out,” Reynie said. “Kate, you should change into dry clothes and go on to bed. No point all three of us staying —” Just then another broadcast began. They all grimaced. Reynie felt the storm system move into his mind again.
“Good grief, I hope this one doesn’t keep me awake,” said Kate with a sigh. “I’ll go lay these clothes on my radiator and try to sleep, anyway. We only have a day or so to save the world. We’ll need all the rest we can get!”
Sleep she did: Kate was so tired from her night’s exertions that she slept through the wake-up announcement and was late getting ready for breakfast. Constance was no help, either. When Kate had returned in the middle of the night, she’d awakened Constance to fill her in, and afterward Constance was even sleepier than usual. So both girls were snoozing soundly when Jillson banged on their door. Kate dreamed she was back in the circus, being fired from a cannon.
“Up!” Jillson shouted, rapping again with such force that the girls’ window rattled in its frame. “Helpers stop serving breakfast in fifteen minutes, girls!”
Waking with a start, Kate leaped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and snatched her shoes from the radiator. They hadn’t dried much, unfortunately. Then she shook Constance awake — or at least into a groggy stupor. “Come on, Connie girl! We’ve got to get moving!”
Constance smacked her lips, blinked a few times, and said, “Don’t call me Con —”
“Right, right. Sorry.”
After a lot of hustling and cajoling, Kate got Constance moving, then quick-stepped it to the cafeteria with the smaller girl riding piggyback. She spotted the boys at their usual table and squished over to them. For some reason, Reynie’s eyes widened at Kate’s approach, and no sooner had she sat down beside him than he said loudly, “There you are! Let me pour you some juice, Kate!” With unusual awkwardness he grabbed a juice pitcher, lost his grip, and ended up sloshing an entire quart of juice all over Kate’s feet. At a nearby table, a group of Messengers burst out laughing.
“Good grief, Reynie!” Kate said. “I can pour my own juice, all right?”
In an undertone Reynie said quickly, “Listen, Kate. Rumors have been flying all morning. They know someone was in the culvert and swam away to escape — your soggy shoes are a dead giveaway. Everybody saw me spill that juice, so now you have a reason other than harbor water.”
“Yikes,” Kate said. “Thanks, buddy. And wipe that grin off your face, Constance. You don’t always have to enjoy it so much, you know.”
As the girls wolfed down their breakfasts, Reynie and Sticky filled them in: After Kate left their room, they’d finally had the opportunity to send Mr. Benedict a report, but to their enormous disappointment, Mr. Benedict hadn’t been able to reply. Jackson and S.Q. had returned to the plaza, this time with Mr. Curtain, who like Jackson was clearly furious with S.Q. about something and kept shaking his finger in S.Q.’s face.
“We wondered why S.Q. was in so much trouble,” Sticky said, “and this morning we found out. Everybody’s heard about it: Jackson and S.Q. failed to catch the spy, but they did find footprints in the sand at the culvert entrance, footprints leading down into the water.”
“What?” said Kate, freezing with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to her mouth. “Oh, no! I meant to wipe away the prints, but then I didn’t have time.” She reddened, ashamed, and set down her fork. “I’m sorry, everybody. They’ll match my shoes to the prints, you know they will. And then it’s . . . Why are you both shaking your heads?”
“Because you have nothing to worry about,” said Reynie.
Sticky broke into a grin. “S.Q. took care of the problem for us. Those big feet of his came in very handy for once. He found the footprints, all right, and followed them down to the shore, but in the process his own footprints destroyed yours! Destroyed them completely! That’s why Mr. Curtain is furious.”
“Ha!” Kate said, profoundly relieved. “Here’s to good old S.Q.!”
“We’re still in a tight spot,” Reynie said. “Mr. Curtain will be watching everybody very . . . and, oh, don’t you find these danishes splendid, Sticky? They go down wonderfully well with cold milk, especially the raspberry ones.”
Sticky wasn’t puzzled by the change of subject. He, too, had seen Jackson and Martina approaching the table. He was responding earnestly that he preferred the cinnamon rolls when Jackson drew up and said with a sneer, “George, forgive me for interrupting your very interesting conversation about breakfast foods, but Martina and I are making an inspection. No doubt you’ve all heard about the spy.”
“We have,” Reynie said, “and we can hardly believe it. Why on earth would a spy be at the Institute?”