In the third floor of Nicholas Benedict's house, the Mysterious Benedict Society had convened in the girl's bedroom as they had done countless times before. They sat in a circle on the rug, each child wearing a mournful expression. Reynie's mouth was tugged downward at the corners, Sticky stared listlessly into space, Kate lay flat on her back-in no mood to perform her usual acrobatics-and Constance glowered darkly at the wall opposite. Reynie sighed, and glanced at the door, wary of any eavesdropper. But then again, Constance would have sensed if anyone was listening.

"What now?" Sticky asked the room at large. "We've asked ourselves that question before," sighed Reynie, "but we never have any answers." Kate sat up, suddenly energized. "Just because Mr. Curtain and the Whisperer are out of action, doesn't mean our adventures are over!" Reynie nodded thoughtfully. "Kate's right. I guess this is just the quiet after the storm." Constance threw Reynie a dark look. "I don't want to talk about the stupid weather!" she snipped. Sticky rolled his eyes. "It's a figure of speech, Constance. For example-" "Shut up!" Constance interrupted him. Reynie put out a hand. "Easy, Constance." Constance scrunched up her pudgy face, and narrowed her blue eyes to angry slits. "I'm mad," she sniffed, "because you'll all go off and do amazing things, and I'll be left here. It's not fair!" "We'd miss you, too, Connie-girl," Kate said pointedly, and Constance flushed. "Sticky's going to the Stonetown University full time," Constance blurted. "How'd you know that?"

"I'm small. I make a pretty good eavesdropper."

Reynie rubbed his temples with one hand, suddenly hopeless. It was finally coming home to him—the end of the Society was drawing near. "And Reynie's thinking about attending the university, also." "What?" Reynie stared incredulously at the little girl. "How can you possibly have—" He cut himself off. "Of course. You made me think about it when you told us Sticky was going. You read my thoughts." Well?" pressed Kate. "Is it true, Reynie?" Reynie stared at the uneven wood floor. "It's true, I was thinking about going, but I haven't made up my mind just yet." Kate hastily retied her golden blond ponytail. "Well this is a nice mess. Here we are, about to scatter to the wind!" She shook her head. "Well, I'm not going anywhere. I can't be farther than 50 feet from Moocho's pies." She grinned cheerily. Reynie was grateful for her optimism, but then again, Kate would be cheerful in a tank of live sharks.

He thought of how far they had all come. Sticky had once been so nervous and insecure. Now he was an intensely smart boy, with growing self-esteem to boot. Kate had become incredibly skilled with quick escapes, and clever rescues, and she was always filled to the brim with compassion. Constance was steadily honing her physic abilities, while becoming less stubborn…most of the time. Then there was Reynie himself. He had once been a lonely, isolated orphan, scorned by the other boys, and excluded from their fun. His only escape had been books, and Miss Perumal. Now, she had adopted him, and Reynie had three best friends, plus resourceful Milligan, intelligent Rhonda, loyal Number Two, and the profoundly kind Mr. Benedict who was responsible for bringing them all together. He couldn't imagine his life without any of them.

"Earth to Reynie!" Constance was squinting at him, her pudgy fists resting on her waist. "You were practically drooling over there. Mr. Benedict wants us." Sticky frowned from his spot on the floor. "Constance, nobody told us that." Just then, Number Two's voice floated up to them. "Children! Please come downstairs!" "Ha!" Constance grinned with satisfaction. The children rose silently, and filed through the doorway. Reynie paused to let the others pass. "I forgot something," he explained, in response to his friend's questioning glances. He slipped back into the room and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, and blinking away his sudden, stinging tears, he strode blindly to the window and released the rusted latch. Sticking his head out, he gazed out over the city of Stonetown, and beyond that, the bay, and even farther, Nomansen Island. He didn't know quite where he was going, but he certainly knew where he had been. "Remember the white knight," he told himself, and feeling stronger, he turned to glance at a photograph of him and his friends that Constance had hanging on the wall. He studied it carefully, then smiled to himself. If this was the quiet after the storm, he knew the Mysterious Benedict Society would surely do great things in the long sunshine after rain.

Reynie was pacing. This was highly characteristic, and had quite a calming effect on him. It aided his ability to think clearly. He strode to one end of his bedroom, wobbling slightly on the crooked boards of the floor. Coming to the wall, he stopped, turned, and paced the other direction. If only he could shake off the feeling of being watched…he glanced over his shoulder warily, then chuckled. Since when had he become so superstitious? He stopped pacing, suddenly exhausted, as though he'd gained a hundred pounds. "Moocho?" He heard Rhonda call from the floor below. This was followed by Moocho's rumbling voice, then laughter. From down the hall, Number Two's frenetic tapping at the computer keyboard was somehow soothing. Rather like a wall clock that constantly ticks, but when it stops, everyone notices its silence. Reynie sank onto Sticky's bottom bunk, and thrust his chin into his palm, feeling as melancholy as he had been back in the orphanage. He frowned at the carpet, eyeing its mustard and rust colored stripes (Number Two's work). Sticking from one corner of the rug was what appeared to be a slip of paper. Reynie crouched down, retrieved the paper, and unfolded it. Upon further inspection, it seemed to be Constance's doing, for it was written in a familiar wild scrawl. Reynie held the creased note in the pool of lamplight, and read:

Live - die

Laugh - cry

Give up - try

He furrowed his brow. This seemed to be the beginning of a poem, yet this was out of character for Constance, a girl whose greatest joy was insulting others through a lot of nasty (yet amusing) poetry. If nothing else, it was a refreshing change from "Reynie Muldoon is a dull goon." Folding the paper gently, he slipped it into his pocket, and sagged back onto the bed. Constance was wiser than he'd given her credit for. "Reynie? Reynie?" Footsteps thudded in the hall and then somebody knocked on the door. "Come in," said Reynie wearily. Kate flew in, followed by Sticky (his collar awry) and Constance, who bore faint smears of peanut butter on her chin. "We've been looking all over for you," Kate laughed. "I guess we forgot to check here." Sticky straightened his lapel and flopped onto the rug. "It's hot up here," he murmured thickly. "Very hot." This was due to the faulty heating system in the old house. The first floor was chilly, while the third floor was sweltering.

Kate placed her fire engine-red bucket on the floor, and began tidying the boy's room. She breezed about, gathering scattered books, smoothing blankets, and folding piles of clothes. Reynie was grateful for her cheerful energy; it was a relief from his previously gloomy mood. Constance meanwhile, had settled herself in Sticky's desk chair, muttering something about Reynie being "mopey and dopey." "Milligan's taking us into town tomorrow," Kate announced. She tossed a stray sock into the hamper. "We might even get to eat lunch near the bay." Constance glowered at Kate. "It stinks down there. Like old fish and gasoline." Kate shrugged. "I don't mind a little dead fish." Sticky rubbed his stubbled scalp. "That's a good thing. Dad wants to get started on the new flooring by tomorrow morning." Mr. Washington was a skilled carpenter, who frequently put his skills to use by fixing the various glitches in the timeworn house. "I'm so glad we don't have to worry about the stupid ten men, anymore," said Kate. "They drove me nuts. Besides, Crawlings was about as intelligent as a doorknob." The other children nodded, and Sticky shuddered. They all despised Mr. Curtain's followers, a group known as Ten-Men. They carried briefcases full of lethal weapons. Shock watches, poisonous chewing gum, laser pointers, and needle-sharp pencils were just a few. Crawlings had been a particularly brainless ten man, known for having only one eyebrow.

"Anyway," continued Kate, "Even though I miss our adventures, it's nice to know we don't have to constantly be ready for attack." "And now Mr. Curtain is my stupid uncle," Constance growled, spinning in the desk chair. "And I have to visit him every first Wednesday of the month." Her cheeks turned bright crimson, and her wispy blond hair stuck out madly on all sides. It was odd, thought Reynie. Mr. Curtain had once been the Society's greatest enemy. Now, however, he was the cranky, stubborn twin brother to Mr. Benedict, and Constance's uncle, besides. She dreaded the monthly visits to Stonetown prison, and described her experiences in various dark poems. Reynie sighed for the umpteenth time, and stared at the ceiling.

"What happened to all the Ten men?" he asked. "Like Crawlings and Garrotte, and Sharpe?" Sticky reached for his spectacles, then seemed to remember that he now wore contact lenses. "They've gone back into the woodwork, I suppose." Kate rolled her eyes. "Slunk off like dogs with their tails between their legs, I'll bet." Reynie was suddenly angry. "Mr. Curtain paid them to do his dirty work. But as much as they enjoyed the money, they also have a sick pleasure in their doing his work. Hurting children and innocent people is a vile way to live!" "Yeah," agreed Constance. "Vile rhymes with bile, as in, they make me want to barf!" Kate, now practicing her handstands in the corner, snickered. "Remember Crawlings' eyebrow? And the way he used to wiggle it when he was about to shock us?" Reynie nodded with a wry smile. "I'll never forget."

So engrossed in their conversation were the children, that when Rhonda entered the room, they all leaped to their feet, and Kate jumped into a defensive stance. Rhonda raised her eyebrows, amused, and the children relaxed, feeling rather ridiculous. "It's suppertime," she explained. "Unless of course you don't want any." Constance folded her arms. "That's a stupid question, Rhonda." Rhonda smiled enigmatically. "There are no stupid questions, Constance, only stupid answers." At this, the young woman turned, and was gone. The Mysterious Benedict Society exchanged bemused glances, and followed Rhonda downstairs.