Trenton Stewart Quotes

You must remember, family is often born of blood, but it doesn't depend on blood. Nor is it exclusive of friendship. Family members can be your best friends, you know. And best friends, whether or not they are related to you, can be your family.

May your adventures bring you closer together, even as they take you far away from home.

Rules and school are tools for fools! I don't give two mules for rules.

Is this what family is like: the feeling that everyone’s connected, that with one piece missing, the whole thing’s broken?

Oh, here’s a clever one. Do you remember this question from the first test? It reads, ‘What’s wrong with this statement?’ And do you know what Constance wrote in reply? She wrote, ‘What’s wrong with you?

And please don't call me that." I didn't call you 'that', I called you George Washington.

Every great thinker keeps a journal, you know.

The missing aren't missing, they're only departed, All minds keep all thoughts - so like gold - closely guarded,

Children are capable of such open rudeness.

One problem with being a leader, is that even among your friends you are alone, for it is you -- and you alone -- to whom the others look for final guidance.

Now listen, we need to be quiet as mice. No, quieter than that. As quiet as . . . as . . .” “Dead mice?” Reynie suggested. “Perfect,” said Kate with an approving nod. “As quiet as dead mice.

Poor Kate,” said Constance, “she’s lost her marbles.

Grow the lawn and mow the lawn always keep the TV on, brush your teeth and kill the germs, poison apples, poison worms.

Remember, children. For every exit, there is also an entrance. ~ Milligan, The Mysterious Benedict Society

Why, then, do you think the white player might have done it?” Reynie considered. He imagined himself moving out his knight only to bring it right back to where it started. Why would he ever do such a thing? At last he said, “Perhaps because he doubted himself.

What is life without laughter?

Daddy, will you take me to the mill, again?

Reynie's fce fell. 'It's not funny, Kate.' For a moment - a fleeting moment - Kate looked desperately sad. 'Well, of course it's not funny, Reynie Muldoon. But what do you want me to do? Cry?

The gym is always open, except when it's closed.

Remember the White Knight.

Was it worse for him, Reynie wondered, to have felt loved and then rejected? Or was it worse to have always felt alone?

She announced her age right away, for children consider their ages every bit as important as their names.

You've read half the books in this house? This whole house?" "Well, approximately half." Sticky said. "To be more accurate, I suppose I've read more like" - his eyes went up as he calculated - "three sevenths? Yes, three sevenths." "Only three sevenths?" said Kate, pretending to look disappointed. "And here I was prepared to be impressed.

The answer to this riddle has a hole in the middle, And some have been known to fall in it. In tennis it's nothing, but it can be received, And sometimes a person may win it. Though not seen or heard it may be perceived, Like princes or bees it's in clover. The answer to this riddle has a hole in the middle, And without it one cannot start over.

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.

She was a thin woman in a mustard-yellow suit, with a yellowish complexion, short-cropped rusty red hair, and a stiff posture. She reminded Reynie of a giant walking pencil.

Everything is as it should be.

For every exit, there is also an entrance.

'Is that really the best you can say? An average-looking boy? An awful lot of boys are average-looking, S.Q.!' And poor S.Q., he just kept arguing that 'this boy was especially average-looking.' " ~ Kate Wetherall, The Mysterious Benedict Society

Milligan! Come and tell us why you're so dreadfully glum!" ~ Constance, The Mysterious Benedict Society

I can't say for sure, because I have no experience, but -- well, is this what family is like? The feeling that everyone's connected, that with one piece missing the whole thing's broken?

You know what i like about buttons? They're very small things that hold bigger things together. Awfully important, buttons - little but strong.

I'm an orphan!" Constance cried gleefully. "I'm an orphan!" ~ The Prisoner's Dilemma

No one seems to realize how much we are driven by FEAR, the essential component of human personality. Everything else - from ambition to love to despair - derives in some way from this single powerful emotion.

Books had been her means of escape; now they would be her refuge.

They stared out their window at night enough to know where the darkest shadows lay, and it was to the darkest shadows they kept.

Good grief! They're going to call us inside soon, and Sticky hasn't even met Madge yet!" "Who's Madge?" Sticky asked. "Her Majesty the Queen!

Au contraire..." "What?" Constance demanded. Curtain blinked. ~ The Perilous Journey

If we're just trying to be accurate, then how about 'The Doomed to Fail Bunch'?" said Constance. "Honestly! We can't even name ourselves.

Don't thank me,' Mr. Curtain called as the door slid closed. 'Impress me!

Kate seemed to have doubled in size. She had drawn back her broad shoulders and set her jaw, and something in the stance called to mind the contained ferocity of a lioness. But it was the fierceness in Kate's bright blue eyes that had the most striking effect. The sort of look that made you thankful she wasn't your enemy. "It's not going to be over," Kate said firmly "Until we say so.

You are the smartest children i know. You just don't beleive it.

Did the men steal the papers?" Reynie asked, fearing her response. No, because they are fools," Sophie said bitterly. "They demanded to see the papers, and when I did not answer fast enough -- they were very frightening, you see -- they hurt me so that I was not awake. . . . When I opened my eyes they were still trying to find the papers. They did not understand how we organize the library, you see. They were angry and creating a bad mess. . . . The police were coming and the men decided they must leave. I shouted at them as they left: 'It is a free and public library! All you had to do was ask!

I've only just arrived, Kate. It may surprise you to learn that you were my top priority.

Listen, just do what you think is right, and we'll support it." ~ Sticky Washington, The Prisoner's Dilemma

It just supports my personal opinion that he's a wacko

So what's your team called?" asked Kate, twisting her legs into a pretzel-like configuration, "We're called the Winmates because we're inmates who win." Kate looked back and forth at Reynie and Constance, searching their expression for signs of delight. "You gave yourselves a name?" asked Constance. Now it was Kate's turn to be baffled. "You didn't? How can you have a team without a name?

At this, Constance sat down on a rock and covered her face. She seemed smaller than ever now - so small the harbor breeze might catch her up like a scrap of paper and carry her away, carry her into nowhere.

So began one of the fiercest and strangest battles ever fought, a battle that involved all manner of business supplies, elegant clothing and accessories, and no shortage of trickery and taunts.

In other words, you are our last possible hope. You are our only hope.

It's not going to be over until we say so.

Something about this made Reynie uneasy. Had he done so badly? Was this meant to test his courage? He did as he was told, closing his eyes and bracing himself as best he could. "Why are you flinching?" the pencil woman asked. "I don't know. I thought maybe you were going to slap me." "Don't be ridiculous. I could slap you perfectly well with your eyes open. I'm only going to blindfold you.

…I see that something’s are hard to do, but that you can’t live with yourself if you don’t do them. I see that the best way to help myself is to help the people I care about. The rest will sort itself out. It has to, right?

I want love and I won't settle for less

There are empty rooms, and then there are rooms that feel crowded, corner to corner, with absence.

He said that he doesn’t believe we become different people as we age. No, he says he believes that we become more people. We’re still the kids we were, but we’re also the people who’ve lived all the different ages since that time.

Even if he did explain it, no one would believe him because no one would understand him. That's the downside to being a genius - just because you understand something doesn't mean anyone else will.

And I realize there's no shortage of wickedness in the world," said Mr. Benedict, with a significant look at Reynie, "but is it not heartening to know that so many are willing to fight for the good?

There’s a difference between remembering and thinking,

No sooner had he thought this than he realized what was anchoring his happiness. It was purpose. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew the way he thought things should be, and Mr. Harinton was proving that other people--even adults--could feel the same way. Nicholas had something to aim for now. He might not know what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he knew with absolute certainty how he wanted to be.

In the candle's flickering light, the library's thousands of books emerged from the shadows, and for a moment Nicholas could not help admiring them again. During free time he had almost never looked up from the pages he was reading, but now he saw the books anew, from without rather than from within, and was reminded of how beautiful they were simply as objects. The geometrical wonder of them all, each book on its own and all the books together, row upon row, the infinite patterns and possibilities they presented. They were truly lovely.

Oh dear,"cried Rhonda just then, for Mr. Benedict, awash in strong emotion, has gone to sleep.with a sudden loud snore he toppled forward into the attentive arms of Rhonda and Number Two, who eased him to the floor. "What's wrong with him?" Constance asked. "He has narcolepsy," said Kate. "He steals a lot?" "That's kleptomania," Sticky said. "Mr. Benedict sleeps a lot.

Nicholas Benedict did have an exceptional gift for knowing things (more exceptional, in fact, than most adults would have thought possible), and yet not even he could know that this next chapter was to be the most unusual-and most important-of his entire childhood. Indeed, the strange days that lay ahead would change him forever, though for now they had less substance than the mist through which he ran.

It was occurring to Reuben that people, especially adults, are rather quick to dismiss small mysteries, to assume that they have simply misunderstood or failed to observe something, and to go on about their business.

There was a unique pleasure in knowing a friend so well, Reynie reflected, rather like sharing a secret code.

Would you ever have thought I might choose a lie for the sake of my own happiness? The Whisperer's version of happiness is an illusion -- it doesn't take away your fears, it only lies about them, makes you temporarily believe you don't have them. And I know it's a lie, but what a powerful one! Maybe I'm not who I always thought myself to be. Maybe I'm the sort of person who will do anything to hear what I want to believe...

Mr. Benedict: "After I woke up and composed myself, however, I realized the flowers must certainly be yours, Constance, to do with as you please. At any rate -- " Mr.Benedict broke off, for just then Constance jumped to her feet, snatched the bouquet from his desk, and hurled it into the wastebasket with all the force she could muster -- so hard that flower petals flew up out of the wastebasket like tiny pink butterflies. Then placing her hands against the wall to steady herself, she stomped one foot repeatedly into the wastebasket as if trying to put out a fire. "I see we are of the same opinion," said Mr. Benedict as Constance returned to her seat, and the others congratulated her on her judgment.

Somhow those Ten Men -- at the time they were called Recruiters, of course -- discovered that Constance had been at the library. Most likely one of their informants saw her come out, because it was on that very day that the brutes showed up and threatened the librarians. Who told them nothing, incidentally.' 'The same thing happened in Holland,' Kate reflected. 'You'd think these guys would learn their lesson -- librarians know how to keep quiet.' 'It helps to ask politely,' said Mr. Benedict

Go on, Kate. I don't want to have fallen four stories for nothing." - Milligan

Distracted by emotion, she was drying her eyes with a slice of bread.

But you have said it too often, Mr. Benedict!" said Mrs. Perumal in an imperious tone that was quite out of character. "And if you continue in this vein, I'm afraid we'll be compelled to cut our visit short. Surely there are other establishments that would host an entire troup of guests - indefinitely and without reward - and not feel obliged to apologize for it!

Mr. Harinton was real. There were adults in the world who would actually make sacrifices for others - not just for their own families but for anyone who needed help. Nicholas had always had the impression that families looked after one another, and he had come to understand that, on rare ocassions, children would do the same... But this was different. What Mr. Harinton was doing certainly helped Nicolas - but it also simply felt right to Nicholas. It made him want to be exactly like Mr. Harinton himself.

If Nicholas Benedict truly had been able to see the future, his own would have startled him to sleep at once, for he would have seen that he was destined to do things far greater than he ever could have imagined – that wonderful and amazing people would one day be drawn to him like metal to a magnet; that together with Nicholas they would form a most unusual kind of family; and that together, during one of the world’s darkest, most dangerous hours, they would change the course of history… For now he was simply a little boy on a cot, trying to fight off sleep as he had done countless times before…

Remember the white knight." Though it seemed so long ago, he well remembered their conversation about the chess problem. The white knight had made a move, changed his mind, and started over. "And do you believe this was a good move?" Mr. Benedict had asked. "No, sir," Reynie had answered. "Why, then, do you think he made it?" And Reynie had replied, "Perhaps because he doubted himself.

In his mind's eye, he saw his dream of a new life drifting away like a lost balloon. And for some time he sat there, hating to see it go. But then it was gone, and he began to invent a new dream, and he began to feel better.

Maybe we should acquire a taste for bittersweet, “ said Reynie with a grin. Then everything would feel wonderful.

For it is a curious fact about secret meetings that a bond almost always forms among the participants, a bond that can feel both mysterious and powerful.

Kate laid her hand against his cheek. "Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep getting hurt?" "Bad habit," Milligan mumbled.

It's a journal, Reynard. Every great thinker keeps a journal, you know.

Indeed, confident assurances and promises of fortune, when whispered into the right ears, often serve as substitutes for thinking at all.

Shall I tell you what I’m thinking, Mrs. Ferrier?” “Heavens no, Nicholas! That would take hours, and we have only moments.

And when I do crave privacy, I have only to flip the "Closed" sign on my shop door until I'm feeling sociable again. Everyone should have such signs on their doors, don't you think?

And where most people see mirrors, you, my friend, see windows. By which I mean there is always something beyond the glass. You have seen it and will always see it now, though others may not. I would have spared you that vision at such a young age. But it's been given you, and it will be up to you to decide whether it's a blessing or a curse.

But special people tend to go and do special things,” he continued, “and one must accept it as best one can. Whenever I miss old friends, I remind myself that this very act makes them a part of my life. We may be separated by time and distance, and very often by the lack of hours to write each other proper letters, but we remain friends, and I remain grateful.

And yet, in certain ways, the Institute did remind them of other schools: Rote memorization of lessons was discouraged but required; class participation was encouraged but rarely permitted; and although quizzes were given every day, in every class, there was always at least one student who groaned, another who acted surprised, and another who begged the teacher, in vain, not to give it.

The laces had broken and were so short that tying them was like performing surgery on an insect.

It’s not going to be over,” Kate said firmly, “until we say so.

Sorry it took me so long, Katie-Cat," said her father.

Milligan now acted as if he were the happiest man alive - and perhaps he was. Having so long ago exited his life as a father, he had now, at long last, entered it again.

ARE YOU A GIFTED CHILD LOOKING FOR SPECIAL OPPORTUNITIES?

Every unfamiliar trail is an invitation,

You were brave to do what you did," he said slowly. "And I know you did it out of live for our friends. But if you ever do something like this again, I can promise you that Ten Men and Executives are going to be the least of your worries- do you understand?" His espression was very severe, his jaw was set, and his words were clipped and terse as if spoken with much suppressed anger. Kate burst out laughing. "Milligan," she said, "I'll bet you scare the wits out of bad guys, but as a dad you don't scare anyone very much." "She's right." Constance said. "I can tell you aren't really angry." Milligan frowned and looked at Reynie, but Reynie averted his eyes to avoid disappointing him- for he, too, had been unfazed by Milligan's stern admonition. Only Sticky, furiously polishing his spectacles in the back seat, showed the effect Milligan had hoped for. But Sticky was easily unnerved and could hardly be used as a measure. "Well," Milligan said, his face relaxing. "At least I tried." "... Speaking of which, the boys weren't actually touching the breifcases in the trunk, I hope?" Wondering how Milligan knew, Kate stuck her head out the office door and gave Reynie and Sticky a warning look. They nodded and tried to close the trunk as quietly as possible. "They aren't now anyway." "Good," Milligan said, picking up his duffel bag. "I'd hate to have to speak sternly to them again. It embarasses me to be so ineffective.

She needed to judge her friends and family by their actions, not by their thoughts, for thoughts are fleeting and temperamental, the reflection of a moment, and are very often confused and misleading.

You must understand something, George. The world's leaders create catastrophes and resolve them-- all at their own whimsy-- every single day. It is how the world runs. Lacking anything else to believe in, common people need to believe in their leaders' abilities to save them. It's true! Their emotional well-being-- and yes, their fate-- depends on the intelligence and skill of those who manipulate the days' disasters. And it should go without saying that the one who succeeds in taking the reins of leadership-- by whatever means-- is the most intelligent and skillful, and therefore most qualified to lead.

Sights, smells, temperature changes—all sorts of stuff. We notice it without consciously thinking about it. He says we may not be paying attention, but our brains are recording and processing it all the same, and these… these observations, or whatever you want to call them, make up a pattern. So if you’re good with patterns, the way Mr. Benedict says I am, you can sometimes predict things.

Out from behind the desk where he’d been sitting, hidden by the piles of books, appeared a bespectacled, green-eyed man in a green plaid suit. His thick white hair was shaggy and mussed, his nose was rather large and lumpy like a vegetable, and although it was clear he had recently shaved, he appeared to have done so without benefit of a mirror, for here and there upon his neck and chin were nicks from a razor, and occasional white whiskers that he’d missed altogether. This was Mr. Benedict.

but is it not heartening to know that so many are willing to fight for the good? Think of that young librarian, Sophie, who made certain you escaped. Think of S.Q., who risked my brother’s wrath to make me more comfortable. Think of Captain Noland, and Joe Shooter, and all the others – even strangers – who were prepared to sacrifice their safety, perhaps even their lives, on our behalf. That’s something, is it not?

It’s natural that you feel as you do, Reynie. There is much more to the world than most children—indeed, most adults—ever see or know. And where most people see mirrors, you, my friend, see windows. By which I mean there is always something beyond the glass.

Things are much more pleasant when you stop being angry.

Maybe we should acquire a taste for bittersweet," said Reynie with a grin. "Then everything would feel wonderful.

I miss those days, don’t you? I mean, except for the terrible parts.

He’d been about to make a joke, but he kept it to himself.

Nicholas lay with his hands on his chest, thinking how hollow it felt, like an empty gourd. He had never missed having a family, though he had wanted one all his life.

The missing aren't missing, they're only departed.

Sometimes, Reynie, trouble itself is the key. - Mr. Benedict

No sooner had he thought this than he realized what was anchoring his happiness. It was purpose. He knew what he wanted to do.

if nothing else comes of this, at least you’re making friends. That’s more than you had yesterday.

One painting was of an observatory, the other of a boy on a bluff. Both featured starry skies—and both, Mr. Benedict had told them, were the work of a childhood friend.

It was clear Jackson was the sort of young man who considers himself rather smarter than he is, and who is naturally cruel but thinks himself a decent fellow.

Have you ever had a dream in whig, having spied a deadly snake at your feet, you suddenly begin to see snakes everywhere - suddenly realize, in fact, that you're surrounded by them?" Reynie was surprised. "I have had that dream. It's a nightmare." "Indeed. And it strikes me as being rather like when a person first realizes the extent of wickedness in the world. That vision can become all-consuming - and in a way, it, too, is a nightmare, by which I mean that it is not quite a proper assessment of the state of things. For someone as observant as you, Reynie, deadly serpents always catch the eye. But if you find that serpents are all you see, you may not be looking hard enough.

After all he had accomplished, and considering how much he had learned and how far he had come, it is a curious fact—indeed, a remarkable one—that what Nicholas wanted now, more than anything, was to get started.

“Mom” didn’t feel quite right, Reynie decided. Why not use the Tamil word? He’d heard her refer to her own mother as “Amma,” but whether this meant “mom” or “mother,” he wasn’t sure. Reynie felt a flutter of happy anticipation.

With perfect clarity he remembered Reynie saying, “I need you here as a friend.” The effect of those words, and of all his friendships, had grown stronger and stronger, until—though he couldn’t say why he didn’t feel mixed up now—at the most desperate moment yet, he knew it to be true. There was bravery in him. It only had to be drawn out.

The third question, thankfully, was less emotional. It read: “What is wrong with this statement?” How funny, Reynie thought, and marking down his answer he felt somewhat cheered. “It isn’t a statement at all,” he wrote. “It’s a question.

It sounds like there are no rules here at all,” Sticky said. “That’s true, George,” said Jillson. “Virtually none, in fact. You can wear whatever you want, just so long as you have on trousers, shoes, and a shirt. You can bathe as often as you like or not at all, provided you’re clean every day in class. You can eat whatever and whenever you want, so long as it’s during meal hours in the cafeteria. You’re allowed to keep the lights on in your rooms as late as you wish until ten o’clock each night. And you can go wherever you want around the Institute, so long as you keep to the paths and the yellow-tiled corridors.

The ocean was the greatest secret keeper of all. Some of its secrets, like the hidden shoals, could be discovered, but most would never be known. Thousands upon thousands might be revealed, yet there would always be more that remained hidden. The ocean was probably the most mysterious thing in the world, Reuben thought, except for a person.

Majesty the Queen)

Miss Perumal.

a lie stands on one foot but the truth stands on 2.

Given the state of her room, it would have been no surprise to find her chest of drawers utterly empty;

Distracted by emotion, she was drying her eyes with a slice of

Strange as it might seem, it made Reuben feel closer to his mom, and he was sure she felt the same way, though they’d never discussed it. Talking about it might ruin the effect.

NO TALKING. IF YOU ARE CAUGHT TALKING IT WILL BE ASSUMED YOU ARE CHEATING.

Boy finds treasure, plummets to his death. Great story. It

Mr. Furrow jerked a thumb toward the mule in the back of the barn. "Rabbit'll kill anything comes near his carrot if he hasn't done with it. And he'll kick you if you make him go too fast in the field. I'd whip him, but he's so old a whipping might kill him, and he's our last and only mule. So we just keep away from his carrot and we keep it slow. That's the rules with Rabbit.

When the time comes to face McCracken, I don't want you anywhere near." "I agree with Milligan!" Sticky whispered. Milligan winked at him and quickly ushered the children back to the double doors.

Nobody crossed the Directions, not even the police. Because the Directions worked for The Smoke. Reuben headed south, moving from alley to alley, keeping close to the buildings and ducking beneath windows.

You know what I like about buttons?” he said, taking the button from Constance and gazing at it admiringly. “They’re very small things that hold bigger things together. Awfully important, buttons — little but strong.

Jack just needed to play his cards right. What was it Penny had said? The Meyers would be incomparable poker players, if only they gambled. Well, Jack was gambling, all right. Reuben could only hope he was good enough.

Even houses change, Reynie had thought, and it had caused an odd flutter in his stomach. Weren't houses supposed to represent stability? Sure, the Society had changed a lot of things about Mr. Benedict's house on purpose, but some things, Reynie realized, they had changed simply by being there. A thousand footsteps on that particular board, and now it creaked. Every member of the Society, too, bore a thousand hidden footsteps: effects of a different kind, many impossible to have predicted.

Remember the white knight.’ Reynie let out his breath. A long, slow release. He didn’t have to think very hard to know what Mr. Benedict meant by that. Though it seemed so long ago, he well remembered their conversation about the chess problem. The white knight had made a move, changed his mind, and started over. “And do you believe this was a good move?” Mr. Benedict had asked. “No, sir.” Reynie had answered. “Why, then, do you think he made it?” And Reynie had replied, “Perhaps because he doubted himself.

Constance, meanwhile, was slipping a forkful of goopy casserole onto Sticky’s plate. It was the third such forkful, and Sticky (who was just as distracted as Reynie) had yet to notice. He just kept glancing down at his plate with concealed dismay, continuing to eat what was in front of him.

That summer morning in the Lower Downs began as usual for Reuben Pedley. He rose early to have breakfast with his mom before she left for work, a quiet breakfast because they were both still sleepy. Afterward, also as usual, he cleaned up their tiny kitchen while his mom moved faster and faster in her race against the clock (whose numerals she seemed quite unable to read before she’d had coffee and a shower). Then his mom was hugging him goodbye at the apartment door, where Reuben told her he loved her, which was true—and that she had no reason to worry about him, which was not. His

It would be years before it was operating the way a proper city should - which is to say, messily, but more or less freely and honestly, with its citizens accountable to one another and to those they've chosen to represent them, rather than to entities, spectral or otherwise, whose own interests are not in the interest of the people.

Let me ask you: Have you ever had a dream in which, having spied a deadly snake at your feet, you suddenly begin to see snakes everywhere – suddenly realize, in fact, that you're surrounded by them?" Reynie was surprised. "I have had that dream. It's a nightmare." "Indeed. And it strikes me as being rather like when a person first realizes the extent of wickedness in the world. That vision can become all-consuming – and in a way, it, too, is a nightmare, by which I mean that it is not quite a proper assessment of the state of things. For someone as observant as you, Reynie, deadly serpents always catch the eye. But if you find that serpents are all you see, you may not be looking hard enough.

In a city called Stonetown, near a port called Stonetown Harbor, a boy named Reynie Muldoon was preparing to take an important test. It was the second test of the day—the first had been in an office across town. After that one he was told to come here, to the Monk Building on Third Street, and to bring nothing but a single pencil and a single rubber eraser, and to arrive no later than one o’clock. If he happened to be late, or bring two pencils, or forget his eraser, or in any other way deviate from the instructions, he would not be allowed to take the test, and that would be that. Reynie, who very much wanted to take it, was careful to follow the instructions. Curiously enough, these were the only ones given.

Nicholas looked down at his battered shoes and said nothing. He did indeed wish to be contrary—at the moment it was his most earnest wish of all—but somehow he found the presence of mind not to express this feeling. Mr. Collum was right about one thing, anyway. Adoption, in his case, was unlikely. Had he not been in orphanages all his life? He had not been a beautiful baby; he was not a beautiful boy. At the last orphanage, adoptions of any child had been rare, but Nicholas had paid close attention to the process. He had figured out the right things to say, the right way to act, when prospective parents visited. And one time he had actually come close—the young couple liked him; they even spoke about him with Mr. Cuckieu.

Why does Mr. Harsch hate you?” Reuben asked, somewhat absently, for he was only partly listening. He’d never been in a motorboat and was preoccupied by the rumble of the engine, the smell of exhaust fumes now drifting astern, the lovely rush of water along the sides. “Or, I mean, pretend to hate you?” “Who can say?” Jack replied with a shrug. “Maybe because I keep borrowing his boat.” They

The first time he'd crossed this plaza, years ago, he was walking into a new life. He could not help but wonder if he was doing the same thing yet again, this time walking in the opposite direction. His future had seemed so mysterious to him then. Now, after so much had changed, he found himself walking across the exact same plaza feeling almost exactly the same way. It seemed so strange. How many more plazas, Reynie wondered, would he cross in his life?

Afterward Reynie and Kate went into the sitting room to practice their Morse code. Despite their urging, however, Constance crabbily refused to join them. Instead, while Sticky helped them practice, she composed a poem about a bunch of bossy gargoyles who liked to eat cat food and pick their ears. It was an unpleasant poem, and the gargoyles’ names, not very cleverly disguised, were Kateena, Reynardo, and Georgette. After reciting this to the others, Constance went straight to bed without brushing her teeth or saying good night.

For all they know, the rowboat just slipped its moorings,” Jack said, ushering Reuben and Penny into the wheelhouse. “Accidents happen.” He started the motor, and the flooring thrummed beneath their feet. Penny glanced around with a look of growing apprehension. “Wait a minute, whose gillnetter is this? It looks like Mr. Harsch’s.” “It is Mr. Harsch’s,” Jack said as the old boat began to plow forward. “What? But he hates you! You said you were borrowing a boat from a friend!” “Our friendship is kind of a secret,” Jack said, turning the wheel. “Nobody knows about it but me.” Penny covered her face with her hands. “Don’t

Sticky… Sticky… hmm. Always fiddles with his glasses… fiddlesticks! Okay, fiddlesticks. Good. I’ll remember that.

After a few more pages of questions, all of which Reynie felt confident he had answered correctly, he arrived at the test's final question: 'Are you brave?' Just reading the words quickened Reynie's heart. Was he brave? Bravery had never been required of him, so how could he tell? Miss Perumal would say he was: She would point out how cheerful he tried to be despite feeling lonely, how patiently he withstood the teasing of other children, and how he was always eager for a challenge. But these things only showed that he was good-natured, polite, and very often bored. Did they really show that he was brave? He didn't think so. Finally he gave up trying to decide and simply wrote, 'I hope so.

In the meantime, there was nothing to do but exist and persist.

bespectacled, green-eyed man in a green plaid suit. His thick white hair was shaggy and mussed, his nose was rather large and lumpy like a vegetable, and although it was clear he had recently shaved, he appeared to have done so without benefit of a mirror, for here and there upon his neck and chin were nicks from a razor, and occasional white whiskers that he’d missed altogether. This was Mr. Benedict.

him with such a stern look that Reynie

in fact, like to watch television at all. I really am an oddball, he thought, with a feeling of disappointment.

once belonged to Penelope (Reuben hadn’t

would this scrap of leather have been mortared into the wall where no one would ever see it? Was it some kind of secret sign?

earning without learning,

Reynie rarely watched television, he knew the Emergency

Get real,” Constance was saying. “Mr. Curtain is the big deceiver, remember? We can beat him at his own game!” Kate and Sticky had their doubts, but they were less adamant now. Sticky was polishing his glasses, saying he supposed it might be all right, and Kate had begun to pace, saying, “It’s just that I never imagined myself… I don’t know, it’s just hard for me to think that way. Reynie, do you really think that’s what Mr. Benedict is suggesting?” “There’s

You were right, Mr. Benedict," Kate said from the back of the station wagon. "Things are much more pleasant when you stop being angry." -Kate Wetherall

eventually see that he was wasting his admiration on the wrong twin? That it was Mr. Benedict who was good and Mr. Curtain who cared about no one but himself? And when that moment arrived, might not S.Q. Pedalian prove to be the chink in Mr. Curtain’s armor? “No wonder Mr. Benedict took such an interest in what Jackson and Jillson said,” Sticky

surveyed

Reynie knew they would be almost impossible to see down here, yet he suddenly felt so sure of being spotted he could almost hear the Ten Men’s voices echoing down to the landing, “Oh, chickies! Here chickies!” But the men didn’t even glance in their direction, and an instant later had passed out of view.

Now listen,” Reynie said, holding up his hand to check Kate, who had begun to speak again, “before we stray too far from the subject, won’t you tell me what you were doing just now? The last time I heard a sound like that was when the orphanage cat spit up a hairball.” “Oh, that?” Kate said with a shrug. “I’m training myself to regurgitate things, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think.” Seeing Reynie’s horrified expression, she quickly explained, “It’s an old escape artist’s trick. Houdini and all those guys could do it. They’d swallow a lockpick or something, and later they’d use their throat muscles to bring it back up. You’re supposed to train with a string tied to whatever it is you’re swallowing, so you can help pull it back out. I did that at first, but then I thought I might manage it without the string. No luck yet, though.” “So I was right,” Reynie said. “It is funny. But isn’t it dangerous?” Kate pursed her lips, considering. Evidently this had never occurred to her. She wasn’t one to worry about danger much. “I suppose it isn’t the safest thing in the world,” she admitted, and with a serious look she said, “You’d better not try it.” Reynie laughed (for nothing could possibly induce him to try such a thing himself), then affected an equally serious look and said, “All right, Kate, I promise never to swallow—well, what was it you swallowed, anyway?” Kate rolled her eyes and waved off the question. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “And, hey, what happens to it now?” Reynie persisted, looking horrified again. “I mean, since you couldn’t—?” “I don’t,” Kate said firmly, “want to talk about it.

It’s too dangerous alone.

Seeing the city like this for the first time, from the backseat of a car in the early morning darkness, approaching it from an unfamiliar direction, Reuben was struck by how alien it seemed to him. Was New Umbra really his home? It didn't feel like it. The city was just the place where he had been living his life. Home wasn't so much a place as a person. His mom. The two of them thinking of dream houses, sharing a doughnut in the bakery, making each other laugh. The city was just a grim backdrop to that.

That's another thing, Reynie. You're being too hard on yourself. You can't think of everything all the time - no one can. I can't do any of this alone, neither can Sticky, and neither can you. You know that. Maybe you just forget it because you feel responsible. But you aren't responsible for all of us, you know. I mean we're all responsible, right?

You recall how your fears seem to disappear when you’re seated in the Whisperer, do you not?” Martina’s expression sharpened with hunger. “Absolutely,” she breathed. S.Q. nodded. “Of course you do. Again, the magic is in the messages. My Whisperer rewards your cooperation by sending extremely high-power messages that deny your fears. A simple procedure. Fears lurk just beneath the surface and are easy to detect.” S.Q. nodded. “So it’s just a wonderful illusion!” Martina said. “That explains why the fears come back later. I’ve always wondered about that—when I’m in the Whisperer they seem to have gone away forever.” Mr. Curtain laughed. “Sadly, no. The only way fears truly disappear is if you confront them. But who in the world wishes to confront his or her worst fears?” “Not me!” Martina said.

It was a truly pretty morning, with blue skies and a cooling breeze, and the property behind the manor was just as pretty.

It strikes me as being rather like when a person first realizes the extent of wickedness in the world. That vision can become all-consuming — and in a way, it, too, is a nightmare, by which I mean that it is not quite a proper assessment of the state of things. For someone as observant as you, Reynie, deadly serpents always catch the eye. But if you find that serpents are all you see, you may not be looking hard enough.

Mr. Benedict turned toward the wall behind him and said, “I thought we agreed there would be no more eavesdropping, children.” Number Two gasped indignantly and rapped on the wall with her knuckles. “Honestly, children! How rude!” After a brief silence, three muffled, contrite voices said they were sorry. “I never agreed to any such thing!” protested a fourth. “Also, Mr. Benedict, I know perfectly well you made that joke just to get my goat.” “Well,” said Mr. Benedict with a chuckle.

hungry and irritable. It’s important to see how you behave when other children are getting doughnuts

The power itself comes from the fact that you can do something and people can’t see you do it and what kind of responsibility do you have when you can do it. What kind of good things can you do or can you do good things from being invisible in this way?

Mr. Benedict’s amusement sent him right off to sleep, for he had a condition called narcolepsy that caused him to nod off at unexpected moments. These episodes occurred most often when he experienced strong emotion, and especially when he was laughing. His assistants (who were also, as it happened, his adopted daughters) did what they could to protect him—he could hardly take two steps without Rhonda or Number Two shadowing him watchfully in case he should fall asleep and topple over—and Mr. Benedict guarded against such incidents himself by always wearing a green plaid suit, which he had discovered long ago to have a calming effect. Nevertheless, the occasional bout of sudden sleep was inevitable, and as a result Mr. Benedict’s thick white hair was perpetually tousled, and his face, as often as not, was unevenly shaven and marked with razor nicks. (Unfortunately nothing was more comical, Mr. Benedict said, than the sight of himself in the shaving mirror, where his bright green eyes and long, lumpy nose—together with a false white beard of shaving lather—put him in mind of Santa Claus.) He also wore spectacles of the sturdiest variety, the better to protect against shattering in the event of a fall. But as

Errand day was when all the adult houseguests went out to deal with shopping and business.

You can wear whatever you want, just so long as you have on trouser, shoes, and a shirt.

You can wear whatever you want, just so long as you have on trousers, shoes, and a shirt.

You can bathe as often as you like or not at all, provided you're clean every day in class.

You can eat whatever and whenever you want, so long as it's during meal hours in the cafeteria.

You're allowed to keep the lights on in your rooms as late as you wish until ten o'clock each night.

You can go wherever you want around the Institute, so long as you keep to the paths and the yellow-tiled corridors.

When looking in my looking glass I spied a trusted face. Alas, Not to be taken for him am I. Beware, therefore, the Gemini.

When looking in my looking glass I spied a trusted face. Alas, Not to be taken for him am I. Beware, therefore, the Gemini.

began removing things from the bucket. First came a Swiss Army knife, a flashlight, a penlight, and a bottle of extra-strength glue, which Kate examined to be sure its lid was tightly closed. Then she produced a bag of marbles, a slingshot, a spool of clear fishing twine, one pencil and one eraser, a kaleidoscope, and a horseshoe magnet, which she yanked with some effort from the metal bucket. “I’ve been through

I prefer to remain mysterious.

We’ve finally gotten rid of the other children, Reynard.

And then without warning, his eyes closed, his chin dropped to his chest, and he fell asleep.

Breakable codes and findable clues. Everything had been done on purpose.

The missing aren't missing, they're only departed

enter at the exit

promise not to harm any of the children for the time being—but only if you answer at once. That is my offer. Shall I put on my gloves, or…?” “That won’t be necessary,” Mr. Benedict said. “Just make the promise.” “I promise,” said Mr. Curtain. He gave Constance a sly look. “Am I telling the truth, my dear?

poetic

These turbines had been invented by a man named Ledroptha Curtain, who, as a young scientist, had published impressive papers on a wide variety of topics—everything from tidal energy to mapping the brain—until abruptly the papers stopped. No one heard from him for many years. Then one day he reappeared and founded the Institute, apparently having turned his genius to matters of education. There

mumbo-jumbo in my head to tell me. And I definitely didn’t need Martina Crowe in there whispering it—she was the one doing the last message, in case you’re wondering. I dislike her enough outside my head, much less inside it. In fact, I think I’ll write an insulting poem about her… although, come to think of it, ‘Martina’ makes for a tricky rhyme.” Reynie, Kate, and Sticky glanced at one another with cautious optimism. Constance seemed to be feeling a little better. They all were, actually. They had spent the evening adjusting to the hidden-message broadcasts (there had been three more since Jillson’s class)—trying not to snarl at one another, or smash their fists on desktops, or slam drawers. Studying had been positively excruciating, like trying to read while someone bangs out an annoying tune on a piano—and with fingers on the wrong keys, at that. But an hour had passed since the last broadcast, and the children’s moods had improved. Which helped them focus on the fact that their situation, unfortunately, had not. The thing to come was getting closer. Mr. Curtain was not broadcasting his

liked some time to consider his new dilemma,

Instead, while Sticky helped them practice, she composed a poem about a bunch of bossy gargoyles who liked to eat cat food and pick their ears. It was an unpleasant poem, and the gargoyles’ names, not very cleverly disguised, were Kateena, Reynardo, and Georgette

Milligan, having found nothing else to throw, had thrown himself.

Kate was peppering Mr. Benedict with questions: What was their mission to be? Would they need code names? Was it possible to use a somewhat longish code name?

The fact that Sticky had briefly had a girlfriend, for instance, until she broke up with him for remarking upon her pulchritude.

the word LIVE—an acronym, obviously, for the Learning Institute for the Very Enlightened. “At least it doesn’t say die,” Kate mused.

Mr. Benedict, sir, have you read all the books in this house?” Mr. Benedict smiled, glancing fondly about at the many books in his study before looking at Reynie again. “My dear boy,” he said, “what do you think?

Thoughts carry a great deal of freight.

The dictionary is correct. Although the condition takes different forms with different people, in my case an attack is usually triggered by strong emotion. For this reason I wear green plaid suits—I discovered years ago that green plaid has a soothing effect on me—and always try to remain calm. However, every now and then I must allow myself a hearty laugh, don’t you agree? What is life without laughter?

I don’t mean to attack you, child,” Mr. Benedict said gently. “Let us strike a bargain. If you join the team, this shall be our understanding: You will follow my instructions, but only because you have agreed to do so, not because I told you to. No one is making you do anything. It is all of your own free will.” “Fine,” said Constance at last.

Rhonda patted Number Two’s shoulder. “Number Two is a bit testy about this. She was often ignored as a child.” “That doesn’t change the truth!” Number Two snarled. “Easy now,” said Rhonda. “Only teasing.” “Sorry. Blood sugar’s low,” said Number Two, hastily unwrapping a granola bar.

The fact that Sticky had briefly had a girlfriend, for instance, until she broke up with him for remarking upon her pulchritude. (“She didn’t believe me when I told her it meant ‘beauty,’” Sticky said.

a shelf. It was open to the very middle. In only a few minutes, Sticky had read half the book. Reynie marveled at this. He was a fast reader himself—faster than most adults—but compared to Sticky he must seem positively sluggish. Such an incredible gift, and yet here the boy lay, a runaway sleeping in a stranger’s house. What had he run from? Standing there in the lamplit room, reflecting upon Sticky’s life as he slept, Reynie experienced a curious mixture of admiration, affection, and sympathy—curious because although he’d known the boy for only a day, it seemed as if they’d been friends for ages. And Kate, too, he reflected. He was already quite fond of her. And Constance… well, with Constance he would have to wait and see. Anyway,