The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict

by Trenton Lee Stewart

  The one tricky thing—the only project on which Nicholas had made no noticeable progress—had been the situation with Mrs. Brindle and Mr. Griese. Though he felt quite sure that Mrs. Brindle would be a better supervisor if only she and Mr. Griese could overcome their confusion, the mechanics of love seemed far more complex than any engine, and Nicholas hesitated to intervene for fear of breaking something. Perhaps in this case the solution was time, and time alone. Anyway, if all went according to plan tonight, spotty supervision might be less of a problem.

  Having filled his flour-sack backpack with the necessary tools, Nicholas came up from the basement and knocked on Mr. Pileus’s door. “I’m heading over to work on the butter churners,” he said as Mr. Pileus locked the basement door. “Want to come along? I know you’re on break, but if you’re interested…”

  Mr. Pileus nodded. Nothing interested him more than these projects of Nicholas’s. He was learning all sorts of things. He cleared his throat. “I need to replace the alternator in the Studebaker later,” he said as they went out the side door, “if you’d like to join me. I’ve already asked Mr. Collum.”

  “I’d love to,” said Nicholas, thinking alternator later, Studebaker later—he was pleased by how the words’ sounds mimicked that of an engine being cranked—before quickly shifting his own mental gears. “But say, are you sure the alternator is the problem? I’ve been thinking…”

  They headed off for the farm. Neither of them appeared to have glimpsed the two boys ducking behind the gardening shed to avoid being seen. Or rather, one of the boys ducked, and the other boy was yanked. The yanked one, Vern, was now quaking with fear as the yanker, Moray, towered threateningly over him.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time,” Moray said, tapping his belt buckle, “and then I start swinging the belt.”

  “But that’s it, I promise!” Vern squeaked. “That’s exactly what he said. He’ll be leaving his room at midnight.”

  Moray spat into the grass. “Yes, but how, exactly? You never told me that.”

  Vern gulped. “He said Mr. Collum has started leaving his door unlocked at night, in case he needs to use the bathroom or something.”

  “Is that so? He and old Collum sure are acting like old buddies now. Still, that’s pretty interesting, what you say about the door being unlocked. Why would he tell you that?”

  “Because he wants to be my friend. That’s what he said yesterday. I told him no way, I don’t want any trouble with the Spiders! And he said he was working on a special secret project that’s awfully fascinating, and he’d let me in on it if I’d just be his friend and talk to him sometimes when no one’s looking. He said he gets lonely.”

  Moray guffawed. “Sure he gets lonely! That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

  “Sure,” Vern said, laughing feebly. “Anyhow, that’s what he was talking about just now. He said tonight would be perfect for me to sneak out, because Mr. Griese is on duty and he snores a lot.”

  “Mr. Griese does snore a lot,” Moray said, frowning. “I wonder where little Dumb Nose heard about that?”

  Vern retreated a step. “Not me! Maybe it was John Cole! I mean, I’m sure it was, right? It had to be! It sure wasn’t me, Moray!”

  But Moray, lost in thought, was no longer interested in Vern. Without a word, he walked away, in search of the other Spiders. Vern, mopping his brow with his shirt, sank back against the shed in relief. Then, when he was sure Moray had gone, he ran off to the farm. He meant to have his turn on that teeter-totter. After a day like today, he felt that he deserved it.

  A few minutes before midnight, the Spiders made their way up the Manor stairs in almost perfect blackness. There was no moon that night, and it was overcast as well, with not even a hint of starlight through uncurtained windows to help guide the way. Clinging to one another, following the walls, the boys crept in the general direction of Nicholas Benedict’s room. They were soon disoriented, however, for this time there was no candle lit at the candle corner, and they were caught up in a hushed argument about which direction to turn when they suddenly spied a candle flame in the distance. It drifted into view at the far northern end of the passage, near the rear of the Manor. Then it vanished, but they had seen the direction it was moving.

  “He’s already out of his room,” Iggy whispered.

  “Shut up, Iggy,” Moray whispered, and Breaker elbowed Iggy to emphasize the point, and then the three of them hurried down the long passage, moving as silently as they could. They were, in fact, quite silent, for with this hunt in mind they had all gone to bed in their stocking feet.

  When they reached the end of the passage, they spotted the candle flame again, and once again it drifted out of view.

  “He’s moving fast,” Breaker whispered. “What’s his big hurry?”

  “Maybe he heard us,” Moray whispered. “Come on!”

  The boys rushed through the darkness, arms outstretched, until they reached the end of the passage. Once again the distant candle flame floated out of sight; once again they pursued it. They were panting now, and growing heated from exertion, and when, after rounding the next corner, they saw no candle flame at all, they were exasperated. But then, after a moment’s jostling, they all realized that they were not entirely immersed in darkness. The door to one of the rooms stood partly ajar, and from within the room issued the faintest glow.

  They stalked to the doorway and looked in. It was a windowless room with a few odd pieces of furniture in it. A bureau, a trunk, a chifforobe—all just visible. The boys’ straining eyes soon detected the source of light. A candle flickered from behind the bureau, its light so dim that it seemed obvious someone was trying to conceal its flame. Someone hiding behind the bureau. Moray nudged the others, and together they stepped into the room, no longer bothering to be quiet.

  “Close the door, Iggy,” Moray said.

  Iggy closed the door. Instantly they heard the telltale hiss of a candle being extinguished, and everything went dark.

  “It’s too late for that, Dumb Nose,” Moray called into the darkness. “You should’ve put it out sooner. Breaker, you and Iggy track him down while I guard the door.”

  There followed a good deal of shuffling and muttering, the knock of someone’s head against the bureau, an odd splashing sound, and cursing.

  “Moray,” Breaker said. “I think we have a problem.”

  “A big problem,” Iggy said. “Plus my socks are wet.”

  Both of them had found the candle at the same time. It was floating in a large bowl of water, and a string had been tied to it. Breaker explained this to Moray, who, realizing that something fishy was afoot, fumbled for the doorknob behind him. His hand came upon the string, and suddenly he understood. The candle had been tied to the doorknob. When Iggy closed the door, the candle had been pulled over into the water and its flame extinguished.

  Moray tried to open the door. It was locked.

  The Spiders spent the next several minutes arguing furiously with one another. When at last they had grown quiet, trying to think their way out of the predicament, a voice sounded in the darkness. It was Nicholas Benedict’s voice.

  “Hello there, fellows,” Nicholas said. “What are you doing in there in the dark? Why don’t you light the candle?”

  “Because we don’t have any matches!” Iggy said.

  “Shut up, Iggy,” Moray said. He had followed the sound of Nicholas’s voice and come up against the door.

  “Can you hear me all right?” Nicholas asked. “Perhaps you should all gather around the keyhole.”

  “I don’t know how you did this, Dumb Nose,” said Moray, “but if you don’t let us out of here—”

  “If I don’t let you out of there,” Nicholas interrupted calmly, “then you will spend the night in complete darkness, in a room without windows. You could be in there even longer than that, actually. You’re going to have to scream really loudly for anyone to hear you. Of course, Mr. Collum’s going to assume that you stole his key again
, and that you locked yourselves in there for some reason, and that you either lost his key or else you’re trying to keep it hidden from him. Either way you’re going to be in huge trouble. Again.”

  “He must have Mr. Collum’s key!” Iggy cried.

  “You’re a genius,” Breaker muttered. “Of course he does. How else could he lock us in here?”

  “We’ll tell him you did it, Benedict!” Moray growled.

  “And I’ll tell him that I didn’t,” Nicholas said. “It’ll be your word against mine. You know how that works, don’t you? Anyway, it’s going to be hard to explain how I managed to drag all three of you up here, isn’t it?”

  The Spiders were silent.

  “Tell me,” Nicholas said, “how have you enjoyed all your extra chores? Are you looking forward to more of them?”

  Again, silence.

  “I think it should be clear by now,” Nicholas said, “that you’re never going to win. Sure, maybe every now and then you’ll manage to hurt me somehow, like you did with John’s letter—which, by the way, I know that you didn’t read—but I am always, always going to make life harder for you when you do. Can you understand that? Is it really worth it? Wouldn’t it be easier to call a truce?”

  “What do you want?” Moray said gruffly, after another long silence.

  “That’s an excellent question, Moray,” said Nicholas. “What do I want? I’ll tell you. I want you to stop bullying everyone. Not just me. Everyone. You leave the other kids alone. If they want to talk to me, they can talk to me. And you don’t stuff people in trash cans. You don’t hurt them. You don’t make fun of them. If you do any of those things, I will make you pay for it. It’s as simple as that. If you leave people alone, nothing happens to you. Who knows? You might even make new friends. It’s actually a pretty good deal.”

  Moray muttered something.

  “What’s that?” Nicholas said. “I couldn’t hear you. Do you need more time to consider? I’ll be glad to come back in an hour, if you like. If I don’t fall asleep, that is.”

  “We’ll do it,” Moray said.

  “Do I have your word?” Nicholas asked. “Your word of honor? You’ll stick to your code?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait a minute, please. I need all three of you to say it. I have witnesses here, as well.” Nicholas struck a match and relit his candle. Then he lit the candles carried by Gertrude, Buford, Oliver, and Vern. Their faces glowed, and not just from the candlelight. Nicholas returned their smiles with one of his own. He could have lured the Spiders into his trap without them, but he had thought it important to give them an opportunity to participate. All four had leaped at the chance.

  “All right,” Nicholas said. “We’re ready.”

  One by one, the Spiders approached the keyhole, peeked out incredulously at the children gathered in the passageway, and promised to be good.

  Nicholas unlocked the door, quickly pocketing his key, and the Spiders filed out into the passageway. Moray looked furious, and the other two looked confused. None of them spoke. Everyone seemed at a loss for what to do next. Everyone but Nicholas.

  “Well,” he said cheerfully, “I sure am glad that’s settled. By the way, Moray, let me know if you’d like some help with your arithmetic. I’ve noticed you’re having a hard time with it.”

  Moray glowered at him. “I don’t want your stupid help.”

  “Suit yourself,” Nicholas said with a shrug. “But if you change your mind, the offer stands.”

  Iggy coughed. He raised his hand. “Uh, do you think you could help me with my spelling?”

  “Don’t tell him to shut up,” Nicholas said when Moray opened his mouth, and Moray, startled, quickly closed it. “I’ll be glad to help you with anything, Iggy. The same goes for you, Breaker. Just think about it and let me know. There’s no hurry. Only I suppose you really should hurry back to your beds. All of you should,” he added, looking around at the younger children.

  Nicholas started down the passage, beckoning for the others to join him. “Let’s go down as a group. All of the boys should sneak back into the dormitory at the same time, so you don’t have to risk opening the door more than once. Remember to keep quiet, everyone.”

  By candlelight the group shuffled along the passageway. No one spoke, although many a perplexed look passed from neighbor to neighbor. For the first time ever, the Spiders and the other children were in something together—they were on the same side—and everyone felt the strangeness of the situation. Some of them even enjoyed it.

  When they reached the gallery, all but Nicholas blew out their candles, which Nicholas put inside his flour-sack backpack. Then, shading his own candle to minimize the glow, he led them all downstairs.

  At the door to the dormitory, Nicholas gave the boys a goodbye salute. The younger ones waved at him. So did Iggy. Breaker offered Nicholas a slight upward jerk of his chin, which might or might not be interpreted as a farewell gesture. Moray made a face. Nicholas winked at him and turned away. The boys waited for Nicholas and Gertrude to leave so that there would be no light, and then they all slipped into the dormitory together.

  Nicholas walked Gertrude to the door of the ballroom. It would be her last night to sleep in there—or not sleep in there, as had been so often the case. Tomorrow, the girls’ cots were finally to be relocated into the more comfortable, renovated stable building, and the school desks would be moved into the ballroom, according to Nicholas’s plan. Every girl in the orphanage was excited, and Nicholas, for his part, looked forward to seeing what they were like when they’d had a good night’s sleep.

  He patted Gertrude’s arm and turned to go, but before he could take a step, Gertrude flung her arms about him and hugged him tightly. He had to lift the candle high to keep her hair from catching fire. He grinned as she released him, and blew out the candle, and waited for her to slip safely into the ballroom before tiptoeing away in darkness.

  Alone again, Nicholas made his slow, silent way upstairs. For the first time all night, his shoulders relaxed. He couldn’t quite believe he’d pulled it off. He knew that the Spiders were not going to change overnight, of course. There would still be problems. It would often be a struggle. Indeed, he thought it likely that he would continue to face one difficult challenge after another. But when had that not been the case?

  Nicholas crept across the dark gallery, reflecting on the turns his life had taken since his arrival at ’Child’s End. Had it really been only six weeks? He had started out friendless, and now he had two of the best friends imaginable. He had started out as a prisoner in his own room, the very room he was now unlocking with his own secret key, and now he had the run of the Manor, not to mention his beloved Giant’s Head.

  Inside the room, Nicholas relit his candle and settled onto his cot.

  You also couldn’t see past your own nose when you got here, he told himself. Though to be fair, it’s an awfully long nose.

  He giggled sleepily. Then yawned. Then shook his head, trying to clear it.

  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.

  But Nicholas Benedict saw none of this. For now he was simply a little boy on a cot, trying to fight off sleep as he had done countless times before—although this time he resisted not out of fear but for a different reason entirely.

  Gazing at his blanket, Nicholas tried to focus his mind. He began to contemplate the different ways the Spiders might try to wriggle out of their agreement. He imagined the cat-and-mouse games he would have to play to keep one step ahead of them. He would need to prepare for every possibility.

  He shift
ed his candle so that it cast better light on his blanket. With one finger he began tracing rectangles in the plaid pattern, once again imagining them as doors and thinking his way through them. His eyes grew heavier and heavier, but still he resisted sleep.

  Changing direction, Nicholas began to consider the various projects he was cooking up, and to speculate about those that had not even occurred to him yet but that were sure to do so eventually. He yawned again, and again he shook his head.

  He was terribly sleepy, so much so that he would soon be forced to give in and lie down. But he did not want to go to sleep. At the moment he did not even want to rest. 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.

  KEEP READING

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  The Mysterious Benedict Society.

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  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. He was not told how to get to the Monk Building, for example, and had found it necessary to ask directions to the nearest bus stop, acquire a schedule from a dishonest bus driver who tried to trick him into paying for it, and walk several blocks to catch the Third Street bus. Not that any of this was difficult for Reynie Muldoon. Although he was only eleven years old, he was quite used to figuring things out for himself.