The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Riddle of Ages, page 10
In a low tone, scarcely audible, McCracken asked something about a precise location. Crawlings shook his head noncommittally, uttering a sentence whose only intelligible word was “fair.”
“Close enough,” McCracken said, retrieving his briefcase from the hood of the car. He gestured at the Katz brothers, and, leaving Crawlings behind, the three men walked swiftly to a door, passing through it into late-afternoon sunshine and slamming it behind them. The door, failing to catch properly, swung open again to reveal all three men simultaneously fitting expensive sunglasses over squinting eyes. A Katz brother reached back to close the door more securely. Then they were gone.
All of this occurred in the space of a minute. Precious little had happened, yet from the moment McCracken had speared the apple core with a razor-sharp pencil, the daydream had taken on an unmistakable feeling of threat. Instead of an apple, S.Q. was McCracken’s target now. What he intended to do with their friend once he found him was impossible to tell. But what was very clear indeed was that McCracken would get what he wanted from S.Q., whatever it took.
“There, there, deary,” Crawlings purred, looking directly at the daydreamers. “Don’t look so troubled. Everything is as it should be.”
Every eye in the room popped open.
Sticky, who stood closest to Tai, saw the little boy’s anxious expression and reached to take his hand. Tai gratefully held on to it. “Constance,” Sticky said, “why didn’t we see McCracken asking the Listener to locate S.Q.?”
“I left that part out,” Constance said. “It was a full minute of darkness, just her with her eyes closed, searching in vain as the others waited.”
“So weird,” Kate murmured.
“Okay,” Reynie said, stepping to the map. “Their starting point was a warehouse. Sticky—sorry, George—zoning regulations only allow warehouses in certain neighborhoods of Stonetown, right?”
“Right!” Sticky said. He gave Tai’s hand an excited squeeze. “Some small-scale ones are allowed in almost every nonresidential area, but—how big do you think that building is, Kate?”
Kate considered for the briefest moment, then rattled off dimensions so precise it sounded as though she were reading them from a blueprint.
“Okay, that settles it,” Sticky said. “Only four neighborhoods are zoned for a warehouse of that size.” He quickly named them: the old meatpacking district, which was bisected by the train yards at the far north fringe of the city; the textile district, which began about twenty city blocks due west; the cannery district, in the southeast; and of course, considerably closer to them, the dockyards near Stonetown Harbor.
Reynie looked to Kate, intending to ask for a marker, but she was already handing him one. He circled the areas on the map. (Each circle also happened to encompass a few pushpins; Reynie, based on information he’d been given by agents and sentries, had already made some shrewd guesses about where the Ten Men might be holing up.)
“Okay,” he said quickly, “we’re looking for an area either within one of these circles or immediately to the west of them.”
“Why does it have to be to the west?” Tai piped up.
“The sun,” replied everyone else at the same time. The effect was startling, and Tai gasped. The others glanced at one another, but without the traditional amused expressions or crossing of eyes.
“It’s late afternoon,” Kate explained to Tai, “so the sun is low in the west. And did you see them all squinting when they put their sunglasses on? They were facing west when they set out.”
“And we’re looking for something close by the warehouse,” Reynie said, “because they left on foot. They didn’t even think about taking the car. And Crawlings was breathing hard, remember? He probably ran there with that letter, but it wouldn’t have been from very far away. If it were, he would have used some other form of transportation.”
“Wow!” Tai exclaimed. He let go of Sticky’s hand to clap excitedly. “This is fun!”
The others exchanged furtive glances. No one was going to try to convince Tai otherwise. They were already doing their best to keep their anxieties managed for his sake.
“Crawlings said the word ‘fair,’ right?” Reynie said. He drew an arrow with his marker. “Fair Avenue runs just to the west of the cannery district, so that’s one possibility. There’s almost nothing going on around there—that could be a good reason to choose it as the place to leave the letter.”
“There’s also that miniature golf course called Fairway Fun,” Constance suggested. “Isn’t it near the textile district? We went there with S.Q. once, remember? He was always accidentally kicking my golf balls into the hazards.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sticky said.
Constance turned on him with blazing eyes, but Reynie quickly spoke up.
“It was worth mentioning, Constance,” he said, tapping the map with his marker, “but look—Fairway Fun’s to the east of the textile district.”
Sticky had actually meant that the name “Fairway Fun” made no sense, given that miniature golf courses contained no fairways, only putting greens. But time was of the essence, and he let the misunderstanding pass, not least because a new idea had occurred to him: “There was a street fair scheduled for today! I read it in the newspaper. They were blocking off Second and Chance Streets downtown—that’s just west of the dockyards!”
“Yes!” Reynie drew an arrow on the map. “If the streets are blocked off, that’s another reason they wouldn’t take the car.”
“Uh-oh,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Guys? This just got harder. Do you remember where S.Q. lives? Fairhaven Apartments!”
“Oh no, she’s right!” Sticky groaned. “His rent’s really cheap because the apartments are so close to the train yards. I remember trying to make a joke about it!”
There was an awkward beat of silence as Sticky’s friends remembered his extraordinarily unamusing attempt at wordplay—something about S.Q. getting such a “fair deal” at “Fairhaven.” Even good-natured S.Q. had struggled to chuckle politely.
“Yes,” Constance said dryly. “We remember that, too.”
“So maybe Crawlings had a reason to think that S.Q. was walking home,” Kate suggested. “And he told McCracken where S.Q. lives!”
“It seems more likely than hanging out at a street fair at a time like this,” Sticky observed.
“The meatpacking district is so far away, though,” said Kate, frowning. “Reynie, where are all the agents stationed right now?”
Reynie quickly made several marks on the map.
Kate’s frown deepened. “This is bad! Look, nobody is even the least bit close to any of those neighborhoods!”
“That’s no coincidence,” Constance said with a dark look. “The Katz brothers are famous for avoiding agents, right? There’s a reason nobody’s ever managed to trap them.”
Kate hurried forward and tapped the map with her finger. “Look, we are as close to all four of those neighborhoods as any one of Milligan’s agents is. If I take Captain Plugg’s motorcycle, I can get there faster than any of them could. I’ll find S.Q. and warn him myself!”
Sticky winced. “Kate, at this time of day, average travel time is close to an hour for any of those neighborhoods except the dockyards. You could make it down to the street fair pretty quickly, maybe, but only if you got lucky with traffic. I know you’re a lot faster than average, but—”
“I could at least try!” Kate snapped in exasperation. “I just need to know where to go!”
“You should ask Reynie, then!”
It was Tai who said this. He was bouncing in his seat with an expression of happy excitement. He pointed his finger repeatedly at Reynie, who stood at the map with his lips pressed tight.
“Ask Reynie! He knows!”
Reynie had reasons for not speaking up sooner, the main one being that the answer hadn’t occurred to him until just before Tai made his announcement. Stonetown was a large city, and Mr. Benedict’s community of family and friends was comfortably squashed together in two houses in a single neighborhood. Ever since the Society had come together here, here was where they spent almost all their time. Reynie knew a great deal about Stonetown, of course: He could name all the neighborhoods; he knew the history, the geography, the architectural trends. But he was really only personally familiar with a few neighborhoods. His home, his life, was in this house, with these friends.
In short, with a few exceptions, Reynie didn’t know how long it took to get places. Unlike Sticky, who had absorbed extensive knowledge of local traffic patterns simply by reading and remembering everything—even the most boring things—Reynie hadn’t realized it would take so long to reach those far-flung neighborhoods. Once he did, he knew that McCracken’s warehouse was in the dockyards.
Hadn’t Constance said earlier that McCracken woke the Listener up himself? That had been scarcely half an hour since he’d stood at their courtyard gate. And only a few minutes ago he’d already been settled in at the warehouse long enough to have removed his shoes and suit jacket, long enough to have eaten most of an apple. He’d gotten comfortable. Nor was it the least bit likely that McCracken would have sat on the hood of that car if he’d been in the warehouse for only a few minutes. After an hour’s drive across town, the car’s engine would still be extremely hot, its hood better suited for cooking on than for sitting on. The engine had had time to cool, though, and so McCracken had been there awhile already. All the clues were there. The dockyards were the only place close enough to make sense.
But just because Reynie knew where to find the warehouse didn’t mean he thought Kate should fly to S.Q.’s rescue—not without all the facts available. What if they’d overlooked something? What if she were seen by one of the Ten Men? They’d know she was in town! Worse yet: What if she were actually confronted by the Ten Men? What if she had to face McCracken?
All of this and more had been racing through Reynie’s brain. Now, with everyone staring at him, Reynie felt even more pressure. He needed time. Yet there wasn’t time.
“I think…” Reynie faltered. “Listen—”
“The dockyards!” Tai squealed, unable to contain himself any longer. “He thinks Crawlings saw S.Q. at the street fair!”
And with that, Kate was off.
The sound of Tai’s gasp was lost in the greater commotion of gasping, jumping, and other startled responses to Kate’s sudden explosive movement. (Sticky made a kind of yelp with his mouth closed, for example, and Constance passed gas.) These sounds, too, made less of an impression than did the series of thumps in the house, which the older three knew to be from Kate’s boots hitting the stairway landings as she descended, banister to banister, all the way to the bottom floor.
Reynie looked at the intercom speaker. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was no point trying to stop her now, not unless he was convinced Kate was doing the wrong thing—in which case she might listen to him. He wasn’t convinced, though. He was afraid for her; he had concerns about the risks; but his own notions of risk were very different from Kate’s, and now was no time for argument.
“Let it go, Reynie,” Constance said quietly.
Reynie turned to her. She looked so exhausted. She also looked annoyed, but that was nothing unusual. And in fact he could tell she was trying not to look annoyed, for his sake. Which was unusual.
“You can’t do anything about it,” Constance said, “so stop worrying like that. I’m trying not to know what you’re thinking and feeling, but I’m not exactly at the top of my game, okay?”
“Okay,” Reynie said, quickly composing his thoughts. “Of course. And thanks.”
Constance rolled her eyes.
Sticky and Tai, meanwhile, had gone to the window, for Sticky knew that Kate would appear much sooner than one would expect, and he guessed correctly that Tai would like to see her go. Sure enough, in mere moments they heard the sound of Captain Plugg’s motorcycle firing up, and just as Reynie and Constance arrived at the window, the motorcycle streaked into view from around the corner of the house. To everyone’s surprise, Captain Plugg herself appeared to be riding it. They all recognized her helmet, uniform, and stocky build.
“I don’t understand,” Sticky said. “How is it that—?”
But even as he spoke, the motorcycle came to the courtyard gate and slowed not quite to a stop, and the person they had assumed to be Captain Plugg kicked the gate handle open with one boot, drove through the gate, kicked the gate closed behind her, and screeched off down the street with the cycle’s front wheel in the air.
“So that would be Kate,” Constance said, and they all nodded.
Ripping down a back alley, Kate considered how long it had been since McCracken and the Scaredy Katz set out to find S.Q. Ten minutes? Fifteen? It depended on how much time had passed between the actual event and Constance’s panicky announcement. And she was still a few minutes away herself.
Oh, S.Q., Kate thought, please get on a bus. Go somewhere unexpected. Don’t be poking around the street fair.
Ahead of her a delivery van blocked the alley. On one side of it, the driver stood handing boxes through a doorway. On the other side was just enough space between the van and alley wall for Kate to squeeze through with an inch to spare. She took the gap at top speed, and over the roar of the motor she heard the driver shouting in alarm, followed by the sound of a box being dropped.
“Sorry,” Kate muttered, rocketing from the alley, across an empty street, and into another alley. She was avoiding traffic, making good time. She had already ditched the Captain Plugg disguise—the uniform padded with a couple of hidden pillows—as it was creating too much wind resistance. But she’d gotten well clear of the neighborhood first. If any neighbors had seen her go, Kate might have given them a new impression of Captain Plugg’s skills, but she’d given them no reason to think anyone else was staying in Mr. Benedict’s house.
Now she was approaching Second and Chance Streets, and from behind the tinted visor of Captain Plugg’s oversized helmet, Kate kept her eyes peeled for Ten Men, for S.Q., for anything that might tip her off to their location. She was surprised to discover a great many people leaving the area in a hurry. They were in the streets and the alleys alike, and Kate was forced to slow down and proceed more carefully. Parents ushered along children with faces painted and balloons tightly clutched; couples held hands and exchanged nervous glances; random individuals pressed forward with shopping bags and arms full of knickknacks—all moving in the opposite direction of Kate. Everyone looked agitated—some annoyed, some frightened, some confused. This did not seem good.
And now Kate heard something in the distance ahead: A man was shouting into a megaphone, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Slowing to a crawl, she called out to a frazzled-looking woman carrying a basket of handcrafted candles.
“They say it’s a gas leak!” the woman explained, hurrying past. “They’re evacuating the area!”
Kate considered this information for half a second. Then she rolled on. This was entirely too coincidental a development. She thought it very unlikely that there was actually a gas leak in the area. What was in the area might well prove to be just as dangerous, though, and she rode now with every muscle tensed, studying every face and figure she passed.
There were a few businessmen in the crowd, but Kate dismissed them with a glance. Now, at the tail end of the evacuation, she was mainly seeing street vendors, the folks who had been most reluctant to abandon their booths, who had stayed behind longer than anyone else, either locking things up or gathering as much of their precious wares as they could carry. She saw a flower vendor carrying an impossible quantity of flowers—he looked like a human vase—followed by a caricaturist stumbling along with an easel and rolled-up canvases. She passed a jangling, glittering jewelry maker wearing all her own jewelry. Kate passed an organ-grinder with a monkey, a limping clown with his red wig askew, a one-man band struggling under the weight of his own instruments. No Ten Men, though, and no S.Q.
The crowd had thinned now. Kate passed a few final stragglers as she headed directly toward the sound of the megaphone, turning onto Second Street just as the man wielding the megaphone was rounding the corner at a trot. He was a sweaty, nervous-looking fellow in a blue T-shirt that said “STAFF” on the front of it. He started at the sight of Kate and tried waving her back.
“You can’t be here, miss,” he said. “There’s a—”
Kate stopped the motorcycle. “Who told you there’s a gas leak?”
“Guy from the city?” the man said, hurrying on. “I don’t know. He gave me the megaphone and told me to get everybody out. Listen, I’ve tried to be a good citizen here, but I need to look after myself, too, you know. I can’t be responsible—”
“Absolutely,” Kate said. “Well done, citizen! I’ll take it from here!” She revved the throttle and proceeded down Y Street, veering around two food trucks that blocked the way.
There was no one in sight. Empty stalls lined the street on both sides. Paper plates, napkins, and other assorted trash drifted and skittered along the ground in a warm breeze that smelled of fried dough. The buildings framing the street showed no signs of life. This place had gone from street fair to ghost town in a matter of minutes, Kate thought. But why?
At the end of the block, Kate turned onto Chance Street, similarly desolate and abandoned. Her keen eyes scanned every doorway and window, traveled along the rooftops and fire escapes. She passed an empty hot dog stand, an empty balloon stand, an empty bookstall. She skirted a huge industrial trash bin with a wary eye, but there was no one behind it. She was beginning to think that perhaps there truly was a gas leak, that there was nothing for her to do here after all—no S.Q. to warn, no Ten Men to avoid—when she spied, farther down the street, a lone figure sitting at a table.
