Constance, of course, began to argue, but Kate had already completed the knot and begun scrambling up the rope. She didn’t waste time looking back. She knew that at this very moment Martina was leaping the brook. She knew she had only a matter of seconds. And when at last she’d reached the flagpole, balanced atop it, and looked down to see Martina charging toward Constance far below, she knew that those seconds were not in her favor. As tired as she was, as fast as Martina was moving, she wouldn’t have time to pull Constance out of reach.
It took only one of those seconds for Kate to think: It has to be all four of us, but Constance can’t handle them. You can handle them, though. It will be rough, but you can handle them.
(Part of Kate believed this — a very important part, for Kate’s sense of invincibility was the main thing that had sustained her all her young life alone. But another part did not believe this — and it, too, was an important part, for unless you know about this part it is impossible to understand how brave a thing Kate was about to do.)
With a fluid motion Kate slipped the lasso from the end of the flagpole. She gripped the rope tightly. Oh well, she thought. I sure hope the little grouch is worth it.
And with that, she leaped backward into empty air.
The rope fell across the flagpole like a cable over a pulley, and as Kate dropped downward, so Constance — much lighter by far — shot up out of the grasp of the astonished Martina Crowe. The tiny girl clung madly to the rope, her eyes bulging, but Kate could do little to calm her. As they brushed past each other, one going up and the other down, both to uncertain fates, Kate offered her breeziest smile and said, “Hang tight, Connie girl! And be sure to untie yourself when you get up there.”
Then she descended into the waiting arms of three powerful Executives, all of them grinning with vengeful excitement.
Stands and Falls
Mr. Curtain! Mr. Curtain, sir!” buzzed S.Q.’s voice through the intercom.
For Reynie, the interruption could not have come at a better moment. For what seemed an eternity now, he had watched Sticky alternately frown with effort and smile with relief, his tea-colored skin going almost as pale as honey, and perspiration trickling down his cheeks like tears. But the frowns had at last faded away, replaced entirely by the pleasant, contented smiles. Sticky had made a great effort, but in the end he couldn’t help it — he had stopped resisting.
Mr. Curtain, however, did not welcome the interruption. After a night with too few sessions, he’d finally got a Messenger into his Whisperer again, only to struggle unexpectedly. The machine had gone balky as an old donkey, losing Mr. Curtain’s train of thought and sometimes misunderstanding him altogether. Usually the mental effect for him was of speaking into a telephone and hearing his own voice in the receiver. But this session had been like hearing himself through a staticky radio. It was the boy, it must be, and Mr. Curtain had just begun to suspect that George was an unfit Messenger after all — that in fact he might be untrustworthy — when the session improved. The boy’s mind grew more receptive, the Whisperer’s wrinkled messages straightened, and Mr. Curtain had at last settled into some real, productive work. He was just finishing the session when the interruption came.
“Mr. Curtain! Please, sir, it’s an emergency!”
“Rats and dogs!” Mr. Curtain said furiously, thrusting off his red helmet. Behind him, the cuffs and blue helmet freed Sticky, who rose, wobbling, in a state of weak confusion. Reynie leaped forward to support him.
“What is it, S.Q.?” Mr. Curtain said, pressing the intercom button on his wheelchair. “It had better be important.”
“It is, sir. Two students are trying to break into the tower!”
Reynie closed his eyes; his heart sank. The Executives knew what the girls were up to, and S.Q. was already outside the door. It was over, then. After all this, after Sticky had been so brave, had tried so hard . . .
“Two students?” Mr. Curtain was saying. “By students you mean children, do you not?”
“Um, yes, sir,” came S.Q.’s uncertain reply.
“Do you mean to tell me you can’t prevent two children from breaking in?”
“Um, well, sir, we’re sure to comprehend . . . I mean apprehend . . . I mean we’re sure to catch them soon. I just thought I should alert you —”
“Thank you, S.Q.,” said Mr. Curtain, who did not sound at all thankful. “Consider me alerted. And by the way, unless you are presented with an actual emergency, I want no further interruptions, understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Curtain,” came S.Q.’s reply. “Sorry, Mr. Curtain.”
With a disgusted shake of his head Mr. Curtain exclaimed, “Children! Am I supposed to fear unarmed children? No doubt they’re in cahoots with my prisoner. Unlikely agents, but no matter — they’ll soon join him.” He grew silent, staring intently at Sticky as if considering how best to cut him up and cook him. “George, I’m afraid I was not terribly pleased with your performance. No. In fact I was rather displeased. Reynard will take over for you now. We will see about you later.”
There could be no doubt what Mr. Curtain meant by “we will see about you,” but Sticky was too exhausted at the moment to be afraid. He only shook his head. He had done all he could.
Mr. Curtain gestured impatiently toward the cushions, and Reynie helped Sticky over to them. Sticky collapsed. Reynie turned to meet Mr. Curtain’s gaze, and saw in those silvery lenses the reflection of his own uncertain, frightened face.
“The time has come, Reynard,” said Mr. Curtain. “Unsatisfactory though your friend’s session has been, we are nonetheless close — very, very close.” Mr. Curtain coughed and wiped his pale, moist brow. As if to himself he mumbled, “I’m afraid I must pause for refreshment, though. But only for a moment. It can’t hurt to savor the occasion, at any rate. A cup of juice, then. Do you hear me, Reynard? I shall have a cup of juice. After that, only a few minutes more . . . and then! And then! The Improvement will begin! Can you believe? I can scarcely believe it myself!” Mr. Curtain’s face, though pale and drawn, quite gleamed with exultation. His dream was on the cusp of becoming reality.
Reynie glanced at the Whisper. Then his glance hardened into a focused gaze. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Didn’t the Whisperer look inviting? Comforting? It almost seemed to be speaking to him — whispering to him all the way over here. Was it whispering to him? Whispering the unthinkable thing . . . ?
Don’t struggle for nothing, Reynard. You can still join Mr. Curtain, be important, be a part of something.
But . . . but Mr. Benedict, Reynie thought. He . . . he needs me to . . .
Mr. Benedict! Is he the one who tricked you into joining him, who encouraged you to cheat on quizzes, who offered you ‘special opportunities’? Or was that Mr. Curtain, who said cheating doesn’t bother him, who rounded up poor unfortunates only to give them a better life, who has offered you a chance to be an Executive? How different are the two men? Not very, Reynard. The only difference is that one can offer you only suffering now, while the other offers you a way to belong — a way to relieve the loneliness.
Shaken, Reynie thought, But . . . Miss . . . Miss Perumal.
You can help her! You can warn her, tell her to keep quiet about the voices in her head. You’ll have Mr. Curtain’s ear — you can vouch for Miss Perumal. You can protect her!
Reynie clasped his hands to his head. But would she want me to do that? At such a cost? No, she wouldn’t. And yet . . . and yet . . . it’s impossible! There’s no way out!