For a moment Mr. Curtain trembled violently, unable even to form words in his fury. Then his eyes closed and he sank back upon the floor.
“That was fun,” Constance said.
“That was close,” Sticky said. “But now what? There’s nothing else to tie him up with.”
“How about this rope?” cried a familiar voice, and to their surprise Kate Wetherall suddenly leaped in through the open window.
She was a welcome sight, but a terrible one. Her cheeks were scratched and bleeding, her lips were swollen, her clothes were torn, her hair stuck out in all directions, and on top of this she was streaked with mud. Yet she seemed cheerful as ever they’d seen her, her bruised, black eyes shining with happiness and her bloody lips spread in a terrific grin. As she knelt to bind Mr. Curtain’s hands and feet, Kate eagerly told them what had happened.
“Your father!” Sticky cried. “I can’t believe it! So that’s why Milligan disappeared all those years ago — he was captured on a mission!”
“But why has he disappeared now?” Constance demanded. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
“He said he was going for help. I didn’t take time to ask for details — I thought you’d need me.”
Reynie nudged the slumbering Mr. Curtain with his toe. “It’s good you came when you did. Otherwise he’d have throttled us when he woke up.”
“So now what?” Constance asked.
Reynie was already moving toward the Whisperer. “I’ve been thinking about what Mr. Curtain said. That the Whisperer is a sensitive — how did he say it, exactly, Sticky?”
“A sensitive, delicately balanced machine that requires his strict mental guidance for its proper function.”
“Exactly, and we also know that its computers are modeled on Mr. Curtain’s brain. Well, if it’s so sensitive and delicate, and if it’s like a brain, we ought to be able to confuse it. Maybe we can trick it into shutting itself down!”
“That’s your plan?” Constance asked doubtfully.
“Any machine can be turned off,” Reynie said, “if only you know how. So let’s figure out how.” He pulled Mr. Curtain’s red helmet down onto his head. Instantly he heard the Whisperer asking his name.
“Ledroptha Curtain!” he barked, just as he had heard Mr. Curtain do.
You are not Ledroptha Curtain, came the reply.
Reynie took a deep breath. He had to trick the Whisperer, had to think just as Mr. Curtain would. Concentrating with all his might, he tried to imagine what a genius he was, and how pleasant life would be once he was known as MASTER Curtain, and what a nuisance children were.
“I am Ledroptha Curtain!” he declared again.
There was a pause. Could the Whisperer be hesitating? Was it uncertain? I must control it, Reynie thought, which definitely reminded him of Mr. Curtain. Focusing on these words, he redoubled his concentration. Control it, he thought. Control it, control it, control it. The pause stretched out. In his mind he thought he could hear a clicking sound, like the tumblers of a lock. This really might work!
Then the Whisperer said, No, you are not Ledroptha Curtain.
An awful chuckle sounded from across the room. Reynie ducked out of the red helmet. Mr. Curtain had opened his eyes. His face showed evident mirth. “Surely you didn’t think you could fool my Whisperer. How typically juvenile. I’m afraid my Whisperer is foolproof, Reynard. Or perhaps I should say childproof — they amount to the same thing.”
At that moment S.Q. Pedalian’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Curtain? I hope this qualifies as an actual emergency, sir. I don’t want to disturb you. But I just received a report that some Executives have been knocked out with tranquilizer darts, and Kate Wetherall was seen climbing through your window. There’s a ladder by the brook, but it’s too short. Shall we send for a taller one and follow her in?”
Mr. Curtain smugly lifted an eyebrow. “Reynard, be a good lad and tell S.Q. you wish to surrender. This will be the most efficient course. You are soon to be captured, regardless.”
“We’re not done yet,” Reynie said determinedly, climbing into the Whisperer’s seat.
S.Q.’s voice came over the intercom again. “Mr. Curtain, sir? Since you haven’t responded, we’re sending for the tallest ladder we can find. We’ll come to your aid at once!”
“Poor Reynard,” Mr. Curtain said. “The Whisperer won’t activate the blue helmet unless I am wearing the red one. So you see, your idea may have been good — for a child — but ultimately fruitless.”
“He’s trying to trick us!” Kate warned. “He wants us to put him into the Whisperer!”
Reynie had sat beneath the blue helmet, just in case it might work. But about this, at least, Mr. Curtain had told the truth — the helmet wouldn’t come down. He stood and poked his head up into it. Nothing happened.
“This is really very amusing,” Mr. Curtain said.
Reynie turned to his friends. “I have to try it.”
“Splendid!” Mr. Curtain cried.
Sticky grabbed Reynie’s arm. “If you’re sitting in the Whisperer, he can brainsweep you. That’s how he does it. You won’t stand a chance!”
“Maybe not,” Reynie said somberly, “but if we don’t stop him now, he’ll never be stopped. I’ll do my best to resist. If he brainsweeps me, one of you has to take my place. He’s already tired — maybe we can wear him out.”
“How very touching,” Mr. Curtain said. “Willing to be brainswept are you, Reynard? I applaud your sacrifice. That is, I would if my hands were not so crudely bound.”
The others looked uncertainly at Reynie, who smiled as bravely as he could and said, “What choice do we have?”
Sticky and Kate agreed. It was the only thing to do.
With the three of them working quickly together — Constance had retreated into the corner looking more frightened, stubborn, and miserable than ever — they lifted Mr. Curtain (who only smiled, offering no resistance), strapped him into his wheelchair, and rolled him into position beneath the red helmet. Then shaking hands and wishing each other luck, they fitted the helmet over his head.
“Ledroptha Curtain!” he roared in delight.
Reynie’s vision seemed to flicker. Did he have something in his eyes? He blinked and looked again.
Mr. Curtain was smiling triumphantly at him. “Obviously, Reynard, you were unaware of the extent of my improvements. You needn’t be seated in my lovely Whisperer to experience its most powerful effect. In this room you are all quite within range.”
In horror Reynie’s mind flashed back to an entry from Mr. Curtain’s journal, the one that began, “As of this morning, the messages are transmitting directly. To my great satisfaction, the Whisperer is now capable of . . .” They hadn’t seen the last part, but now — too late — Reynie realized how it must have ended. If Mr. Curtain could broadcast messages directly into people’s minds, he could brainsweep them in the same way! He had only to focus on them!
Again Reynie’s vision seemed to flicker, this time for a little longer. Everything simply disappeared, as if the lights had gone out. It came again — a wave of complete blankness. Mr. Curtain was doing it to the others, too: Sticky stood blinking and clutching his head, utterly stunned, and Kate was turning round and round, as if seeking her invisible attacker.
“What . . . what’s happening?” she cried. “What do we do?”