The Mysterious Benedict Society: Beware the Gemini–Everything as It Should Be

As it happened, this was exactly how a couple of the other newcomers looked—a hefty, bell-shaped girl and a wiry boy sitting near the front.

Reynie and Sticky agreed, but Constance was incredulous.

“Pass me your quizzes, everyone—and no dallying, please. A stitch in time saves time, you know.”

Like all the lessons at the Institute, this one was a barrage of details—pages and pages worth—but the gist was that sickness, like a hungry predator, lurked in every nook and cranny.

Like all the lessons at the Institute, this one was a barrage of details—pages and pages worth—but the gist was that sickness, like a hungry predator, lurked in every nook and cranny.

Like all the lessons at the Institute, this one was a barrage of details—pages and pages worth—but the gist was that sickness, like a hungry predator, lurked in every nook and cranny.

Every touchable surface was a disease waiting to happen, every speck of dust an allergen poised to swell your nose and clog your ducts, every toothbrush bristle a bacterial playground.

The other students sat mostly in stupors, worn out from the class, or else were scouring their notes in hopes of discovering they’d done better than they thought.

The other students sat mostly in stupors, worn out from the class, or else were scouring their notes in hopes of discovering they’d done better than they thought.

The Messengers, though—there were four in the class, wearing their snappy white tunics and blue sashes—were indulging in a peculiar habit Reynie had noticed.

With beaming faces and nary a backward glance, they followed Jackson out.

“For the newcomers among us,” S.Q. said, “let me remind you that you, too, could be privy to the special privileges enjoyed by our Messengers. Study hard! Especially you brand-new recruits—who are doing very well, by the way. Rosie Gardener, Eustace Crust...very well done. You each got several answers correct. Keep up the good work.”

These were not the expressions of children who had been kidnapped and secreted away against their will.

S.Q. gave them an appraising look. “How do you explain your grades? It’s unlikely anyone is helping you. You’re brand-new, and other students naturally shun new kids, so they wouldn’t be helping you.”

He nodded discreetly toward a distant table.

It was a strange requirement of the workers’ jobs, this constant show of deference, but the Helpers met it admirably.

The corridor, just moments ago all gossip and hubbub, fell silent as a graveyard.

The moment Corliss had gone, the corridor erupted into a cacophony of excited conversation.

Sticky’s anxiety took its toll on him; he slept quite poorly, and all the next morning he had trouble staying awake.

On the contrary, he seemed the exemplary student: He sat ramrod straight in his desk, listening with attention, and his Messenger uniform was impeccable.

Not for the first time, Sticky found himself wondering what sort of ordeal Corliss had gone through.

On all sides of him students were tittering, and the Messengers (including Corliss) were sneering disdainfully.

Oh, no, Reynie thought, he's bungled it somehow.

The last broadcast finally relented just as Reynie was closing his notebook.

“I just don’t want to speak for you,” said Kate evasively.

His exultant expression shifted into one of doubt, and he squinted uncomfortably in the flashlight beam.

Kate and Sticky had their doubts, but they were less adamant now.

“Let’s not quibble about who’s to blame. Blaming is wrong. The important thing is to get along with one another, so that we may have better success cheating."

Nor did Sticky, who regretted his outburst, not least because it was imprudent to discuss cheating in the corridor, and even worse to mention Morse code.

As Kate made a great production of fluttering her eyelashes and rolling her eyes loopily about, Reynie and Sticky edged past S.Q. to talk to Charlie Peters, who stood a little distance away, gazing impassively down the corridor, apparently not the least interested in Kate’s fate.

“What special privileges?” Charlie said warily. “I don’t remember any special privileges..."

“That’s true, I did,” Kate admitted, with an impish grin.

“Her insolent behavior contradicts her quiz scores. I don’t understand her motivations, and when I don’t understand something, Reynard, it is natural that I don’t trust it.”

Mr. Curtain’s office was an oblong, white-stoned room with no windows.

“I don’t believe there’s ever been such a clever student at my Institute as you. You have a shrewd, strong mind. I saw this at once. And you are a natural leader.”

"...Obviously I am thinking of you...and perhaps your friend George Washington, too, though about him I am less certain. He possesses enormous talent, but I fear the fidgeting belies an underlying weakness. However, I am loath to dismiss him out of hand. I have an open mind, you see..."

"...Obviously I am thinking of you...and perhaps your friend George Washington, too, though about him I am less certain. He possesses enormous talent, but I fear the fidgeting belies an underlying weakness. However, I am loath to dismiss him out of hand. I have an open mind, you see..."

“Thank you, miss. They do the job,” said one of the Helpers, a short rotund man who looked rather like a bullfrog and sounded even more like one.

Greatly discomfited, the Helper turned to his partner, a wisp of a woman who seemed to be trying to hide behind her hair.

“Have you gone mad?” the woman hissed, first rolling her eyes at her partner, then flashing a miserable, conciliatory smile at the children.