Chapter One

The Disturbance

In a city called Stone Town a great house reposed in the lazy purple shadows of a summer's day drifting into night. Its occupants readied for the hazy sleep that lingering heat provides. Kate Wetherall dropped her toothbrush into the holder and, with a well-aimed throw at the towel rack, replaced the damp towel with a flourish. Warily checking that her bucket still lay on the bed she exited her compartment, which adjoined with Milligan's (though it was empty at the moment) through a door on the far wall, and entered a small hallway that presented a flight of narrow steps. Characteristically, she was early, but was patient enough, and waited for the others.

Reynie came first. He sat quietly beside her and searched her eyes, "Will you be alright?"

Kate knew what he meant. Once he had healed from all his injuries, Milligan, her father, had gone away on some secret business. She had no idea where he was, what he was doing, or even how long he'd be gone (technically, he was retried, but people still asked for his services). She didn't want Reynie to know how worried she was, but she knew he already did. That's just the way he was. He always knew what to say or when to be quiet- like he was now. She shrugged, plopping her chin gloomily in her hands, "I guess… I just thought he'd stick around more, now that we're…" She didn't bother searching for a word. She knew Reynie understood.

"Settled?" he offered quietly and Kate shrugged her acceptance. That was just it though; everyone in the house had settled down, but that's not how Milligan worked. He always had to be busy and now that the chores were done and school was out for the summer, there wasn't much to do- except dishes. There were always plenty of dishes. Kate happened to be very much like her father, including the great stores of creativity they both possessed. But even that was running low.

Kate shrugged again, listening to the telltale squabbles of Constance and Sticky as they made their way toward them. Actually, you could only hear Sticky's side of the conversations as Constance preferred to use different modes of communication. Except for some disgruntled sighs, Constance was completely silent. Sticky was exasperated, "No, Constance," he was saying, "You can't make me wear my glasses!" Pause. "I like my contacts- I'm just getting used to them." Sigh, pause, "Ugh! No, Constance! Who cares if I blink a lot?" Another pause, "It does not give you a headache. It's all the mind reading that's giving you a headache! And can't you just talk? Stop putting words in my head!" Reynie sighed: Sticky should be in high spirits since his over protective parents were away on an extended vacation for their anniversary and Sticky was staying on the upper floor with the Benedicts instead of in his house across the street.

"No need to be so icky, picky Sticky," Constance clucked gleefully. She was triumphant. Only that morning Sticky had angrily asked her to close her mouth. And so she had. Kate and Reynie grimaced at Constance's satisfied tone of voice. She was only five-years-old (nearly six), but she knew how to upset people. Everyone in the house had learned to put up his guard around her, but Sticky turned out to be the most forgetful (which is quite an ironic thing to say, if you know Sticky in the least).

Reynie gave Sticky a significant look, thinking carefully in Tamil (a language he had almost mastered) so that Constance wouldn't recite his sympathetic visage into words. Sticky sighed and sat against the wall beside Reynie while Constance stuck out her tongue at Reynie and slid crossly into a seat against Kate's back.

"I don't know why we still have these stupid meetings. There's nothing to talk about." She folded her tiny arms over chest with a huff.

"I don't know about that, Constance," Reynie said, his lips twitching at her irritation- he was still thinking in Tamil. "We have the whole summer ahead of us. What will we do with it?" he asked excitedly. He already had some ideas, but wanted the other children to give their input before he said anything else.

"You know, I was thinking-" Sticky started, a far away look in his eyes.

"-That you could sit around and read all the boring old books in this stinking stuffy house," Constance finished for him, tainting his actual thoughts considerably. Sticky scowled, Constance grinned.

Kate and Reynie exchanged looks. They were both rather tired of the younger kids' arguments (though Reynie could hardly be called older than Sticky- they were both nearing 15). Kate, being the oldest in the group, brought it upon herself – with Reynie's help, of course- to break up the bickering whenever she could. Smiling at Sticky, she said, "Sounds like a capitol idea, chum-o. I'll bet you've already finished most of them."

Sticky blushed, reaching up automatically for his glasses, which weren't their, then ducked shyly, "Not quite…" he mumbled.

"What was your idea, Reynie? I know you had one," Kate said expectantly.

Reynie positively beamed at her, "Well, you know, Mr. Benedict's birthday is next. I was thinking we could all make him something." Kate and Sticky nodded excitedly, but Constance only looked at Reynie, adamantly moody.

"What could I possibly make for him?" she asked.

"Perhaps a book of poems? You know how he loves them- and he'll really be able to enjoy them now that he won't fall asleep with emotion." Reynie smiled as Constance tried to hide her look of interest. "Kate, you could make him a contraption of some kind," Reynie said, turning excitedly to Kate, who was dreamily retying her ponytail.

"Yeah… Maybe something to keep his books tidy. Hey, you don't suppose he'd want a bucket of his own, would you? With places for his glasses and pens…" She stopped, thinking up other devises she could put in it.

Grinning encouragingly, Reynie said, "Yes, I think he'd like that. Maybe not a bucket- just so you don't get them confused." Reynie wasn't altogether sure Mr. Benedict would want a bucket, but a briefcase or handbag of some sort might do. He always had to lug things around with him.

Kate waved her hand dismissively, "I'll make it a different color…"

Sticky looked depressed, slumping against the wall, unable to think of anything. Reynie pretended not to notice, saying, "Sticky, I was hoping you could help write a book of our adventures- you know, since we met."

Brightening considerably, he asked, "Really? You'd want me to help you?"

"Sure," said Reynie, "I'll need your help remembering everything- just how it was." It was true: Sticky had a perfect memory. "Actually, I'll need a little help from you girls, too, just to make sure I get everything down correctly."

"You got it, Reynie," Kate said, "but I think you'll have to wait till tomorrow to ask Constance. She's out." Indeed, Constance lay with her head lulling against Kate's shoulder, sound asleep. "I'll carry her upstairs and say goodnight to you boys up there."

Sticky sighed, looking warily relieved at Constance, who looked deceivingly harmless in her sleep. Kate scooped her up and all three of them moved down the hall. They could hear the grown-ups chatting in the kitchen, but there was no need to eavesdrop anymore. Maybe they could pick up on some summer plans, but in silent agreement, the children decided to leave any surprises the adults wanted to give them just what they were: surprises.

Sticky slipped into his room, yawning a sleepy goodnight. Reynie helped Kate situate Constance in her bed, slipping the shoes off her tiny feet and tucking the blankets around her chin. Although she was still small, Constance had grown considerably over the last couple of years. Soon even Kate would have trouble hauling her around.

Walking with Reynie to his room, Kate was quiet for once. Reynie smiled sadly at her, "Kate, I wanted to ask you something."

She couldn't help but smile, "Of course you do. How do you always know when something's bothering me?"

He shrugged. Silent for a moment, he asked, "I'm not sure, but I think it has to do with something more than Milligan being gone. Am I right?"

She nodded, now standing in his doorway, "I think…" she looked away, not wanting to betray her tears, "I think Madge is ill. She hasn't been eating properly and… her feathers have been falling out."

Reynie sighed, trying to give a comforting look, "I'm sure it's just a phase. You could ask Sticky about it. I'm sure he knows all about birds."

Kate perked up immediately, "I'm sure he does."

"Don't worry about it, Kate. Get some sleep. We'll meet tomorrow morning- top of the stairs. Goodnight."

He hardly needed to tell her this- they always met at the top of the stairs in the mornings right before breakfast, but Kate nodded all the same, "Thanks, Reynie," She said, clasping his hand briefly, "Goodnight." He drew the door closed and Kate moved down to her lonely apartment that she couldn't help but think of as a dungeon.

~::~

With unusual slowness, Kate picked up her bucket and pushed the handle over fist, sliding it up to her shoulder and wrapping her arms around Madge's cage. Kicking Milligan's door open, Kate settled her things inside his apartment- as she did every night he was away. Switching off the light, Kate climbed up into Milligan's bed, forsaking her nightly habit of targeting the light switch with things from her bucket. She watched the shadows of blowing trees from behind the curtains of newly cut windows.

Her eyes grew heavy and she smiled, assuring herself that Milligan would be home soon. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if he showed up tonight. Smiling wider at the thought of him finding her asleep in his bed, Kate started to drift, imagining the limbs of the restless trees as live figures. The aching house groaned in the night and she let her eye lids drop still lower, listening to the shush of the wind, sounding like the movement of a window being opened.

Sitting up with a start, Kate watched as the figure she thought she had imagined leapt onto the sill. Kate grasped her bucket with shaking fingers, thinking of Ten Men and kidnappers. Around the corner of the curtains came the unmistakable form of Milligan's tranquilizer gun. Kate sighed, releasing her bucket and sliding her feet over the bed.

"Oh, Milligan," she whispered into the night. She'd never learned to call him dad, and he didn't seem to mind. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just fell asleep in your bed, you see. There was no need for you to come in the window, really, you should have known it was me by Madge's cage…" her own words were sinking in even as not Milligan, but McCracken stepped down into the room.

"Hello, Ducky," he said, smiling, "Oh, dear, I'm afraid I'm not your Milligan- but we'll have just as much fun! Don't you worry. And we'll go see Daddy dearest real soon- cross my heart." He put on a playful face and made an x over his chest. "But right now, plucky, it's time for nighty-nights…. Sweet dreams…" and before Kate could make a move, the plume of one of Milligan's darts sank into her shoulder.

~::~

Reynie lay in his bed, puzzling over his flow of thoughts. For some reason he couldn't get Kate's image out of his head: The way she had hidden her tears and the light in her eyes when he announced his ideas for the summer. She was an exceptional girl. But, why was it that he could not stop thinking about her? Was he just concerned that she didn't have Milligan? No, he thought not. It was definitely something more. He rolled over onto his side, not wanting to give into the answer nagging at the back of his mind. Kate was just his friend, he told himself convincingly. But still blinked unsleeping at the far wall.

His door creaked open and Reynie became very still. No shadow was thrown on the wall, as it should've done if someone had walked into his room. Was someone creeping along the ground in his room? Very slowly, he started to turn. A small hand closed around his ankle and Reynie gasped sitting up. There stood Constance looking very small and very scared.

Trying to catch his breath, Reynie asked, "What is it, Constance? Bad dream?"

She shook her head and climbed up on the bed to sit beside him, eyes petrified, "It's Kate."

"What's Kate?" Reynie asked, wondering if she'd been reading his mind. He quickly focused on thinking in Tamil.

She shook her head, taking small gasping breaths, "Why I can't sleep…" Closing her eyes, Constance took on a look of concentration.

"Well, what's she thinking?" Reynie asked gently, putting a hand on the little girl's back.

"That's just it. It was like I heard her scream," she tapped her temple, eyes squeezed shut, "you know, in here. And then… silence. Like she suddenly fell asleep…"

Reynie felt that it was highly likely that Kate had woken up from a bad dream and then went back to sleep. Especially since she was feeling so down lately, but he said quietly, "Would it make you feel better if I checked on her?"

Constance opened her eyes gratefully, "Would you mind?"

This wasn't at all like Constance. Maybe she was too sleepy to remember her lack of manners. Reynie helped her down from the bed, walking her quietly down the hall to her room, "Of course not. I couldn't sleep myself."

Constance stopped suddenly, her face growing white, "Oh, Reynie, hurry!" She didn't bother to keep her voice down now.

Maybe it was Constance's tone and authority in her voice or perhaps her terrified expression, but Reynie knew he wouldn't find Kate. His stomach dropped as he tore down stairs. Her bed was empty and still made from this morning's chores. He threw Milligan's door open. Madge broke out in angry screeches as Reynie's eyes flew between the empty bed, open window, and Kate's bucket. On the window beneath a small stone, sat a fluttery white thing, quite like an injured bird wanting to fly. Reynie crossed the room and picked up what turned out to be a piece of paper that read:

If you want to see Miss Wetherall again, wait for the list and follow the demands. Until then, she remains in my hands.

~L. Curtain~

~::~

Kate woke with a spitting headache. The ground beneath her bumped and rolled. Inching her eyes open with unbearable caution, she found herself to be blindfolded and bound tightly to some kind of poll, which she rested against. She made a dreamy sound, as if she could still be asleep.

"Is our little chicklet awake, Crawlings?" asked McCracken's voice.

"I think not," he chuckled, "that dart was strong enough to keep a full man down for the count—I should know. Wouldn't be surprised if she slept till morning."

"I hope Milligan doesn't mind that I borrowed his gun. He doesn't have much use for it where he is," McCracken drawled followed by the unmistakable ruffle of newspaper.

His words echoed in her mind, 'where he is'… what did that mean? Was he even alive? Kate's pulse quickened at the thought, but she pushed it away. She felt sure that she was being used as leverage- why else would they want her? And who could her life sway except Milligan? Maybe the folks back at the house, but they were safe. Weren't they? Suddenly wondering if she was the only captive, Kate pretended to roll over in her sleep, attempting to move her blindfold.

One of the men started to get up (sounded like McCracken because the floor groaned) and the other said laughingly, "Don't be so worried. She's just tossing. It's not so comfy to sleep in the back of a moving car, after all."

"Don't underestimate her, Crawlings. She's a tricky one…" McCracken warned, but he didn't come near Kate.

Unable to slide her blindfold down at all, Kate pondered 'waking up' so that she could make enough movement to see, if only for a moment.

Crawling yawned loudly, "Do you think we're almost to the airport, McCracken? I'm afraid my stomach doesn't like all this jostling." Kate heard him pat his stomach several times.

"Nearly, but we won't be able to board till ducky wakes. The boss wants to see her awake and well. You see, he doesn't approve of them being sedated." Since when was Mr. Curtain so concerned about his captives' well being? "You won't tell him I helped her sleep now will you? I thought it best. I have enough scars from that one already…"

"Yes, I heard she unloaded that bucket of hers on you," Crawlings chortled.

"Yes, and I'll admit she has quite an impeccable aim…" He became pensive, "Where is her bucket anyway? She's rarely seen without it…" There was another ruffle as he readjusted his seat, "No, matter. It'll be easier without it."

Kate's stomach sank. Her bucket. Why hadn't she worn it to bed? She knew she should have, but she'd always found that her hip ached whenever she woke. Kate decided to try to 'sleep' as long as she could, seeing as they wouldn't board, a plane she was assuming, until she woke.

After a few minutes, the car stopped and Crawlings moaned imploringly, "Do you think we could wake the little darling? My bed is calling to me. I wouldn't want to be stuck here for the rest of the night- and besides, look how uncomfortable she looks!" He crooned with false concern.

"Hm…" McCracken considered, "Maybe a little shock with that watch of yours would do it."

At this, Kate sat bolt upright, "Good morning fellows!" Smiling brightly, she did her best to shake her blindfold from her. For the tiniest moment, she saw both the Ten Men's angry looks and the dark interior of a dimly lit van. McCracken fastened the blindfold around her more securely.

"I thought she was awake," he mumbled, carefully untying the binds on her arms and pulling her out of her sitting position. Kate's head swam and she clamped her mouth shut, feeling that she might vomit. Realizing that a mess might detain them, she opened her mouth again, but the queasiness had passed. "Now, ducky, will you be a big girl and walk by yourself, or do you need me to hold your hand?" he asked.

Knowing the question was meant to be a threat, Kate smiled, "If you untie my hands, I'd be glad to hold yours…" She popped her knuckles behind her and fluttered her eyelashes. Kate had exceptionally strong hands, but so did McCracken. She knew this from experience.

"Not a chance," Crawlings growled, stepping in before McCracken could answer. "We can't afford to lose her. No messing around. Do you have some duct tape, McCracken? I think it'd be best if she didn't speak."

"I don't think the boss would like that, Crawlings. And neither would Kate, would you, sweetie?" He said, as if talking to a baby.

"Oh, no, thank you. I like my lips just where they are," she replied sappily.

"Well, I think you should at least carry her, McCracken. She's a master at getaways," Said Crawlings nervously.

"Oh, I know that, Crawlings But I also know enough not to touch her more than I have to. But, by all means, you can carry her, if you like," McCracken said, as if he were discussing a rather boring sport.

Crawling made a sound of hesitation then knelt before Kate, who promptly stepped on his hands. He yelped and drew back in pain. Kate purred, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

McCracken laughed, "You all right there, Crawlings? Anything broken?"

Crawlings made an odd growling noise in the back of his throat and Kate said mockingly, "Oh, no! Did I hurt you?"

McCracken laughed good-naturedly, but squeezed Kate's arm a little too tightly, "Manners, plucky. Please apologize to Mr. Crawling, dear," he mocked.

"But, I didn't do it on purpose," Kate responded, trying to sound innocent and flashing a winning smile in what she thought was Crawlings's direction. "Besides, I couldn't say I'm sorry properly with the blindfold on." She craned around hopefully, trying to smile at McCracken, who squeezed her arm still tighter. Soon, she wouldn't be able to feel it- the blood circulation was being cut off.

"Nice, try, but that's not going to happen," He said then addressed Crawlings, "Do you think we should go in now? Chickadee here doesn't seem to be in the best temper. Maybe we ought to put her back to sleep- say she took a nappy on the way here? He probably won't question it."

"But if he does," warned Crawlings, "we'll be out of the job."

"Why is Mr. Curtain so concerned about my well-being?" asked Kate sweetly, cringing inwardly as McCracken redoubled his grip on her.

Both the men laughed openly, "It's not Mr. Curtain who's making this so hard. He'd have you bound and gagged, not to mention unconscious."

"Then who?" asked Kate.

"You'll see soon enough," McCracken grumbled. "Enough talk. I think we'll have to board now."

"What about her? Maybe we could bring some tape with us? You know, just in case."

"Hm, I don't know," McCracken mused. Then he bent down to ask Kate, "You'll behave, won't you, plucky?" His cologne was strong and made her dizzy.

"When have I ever been disobedient?" Kate asked, sarcastically.

McCracken sighed, "Ah, well. Bring the tape Crawlings, but keep it well hidden. The boy might be an idiot, but has enough sense to guess what the tape's for."

Crawling grunted assent then moved around for a moment (to get the tape, Kate guessed) before opening the back on the van with a long creek. It was still dark out, Kate thought. Surely she'd be able to see at least a little light through her blindfold, even if the morning was still dim. Crawling answered inward question:

"It's nearing three- we don't depart till a quarter after. Do you think the boy'll let me switch out shifts so I can get some sleep?" He yawned, emphasizing his point, "I'm dead tired."

"I'm sure you could talk him into it," McCracken said without much conviction- his mind seemed preoccupied. "Hey, Crawlings," he asked wonderingly, "Is it just me, or is our little missy related to our ride?"

"Huh!" Said Crawlings, amused, "Wetherall Flights!" he read, "Would you look at that. It seems as though you have a plane with your name on it, Kate!" The two men guffawed and lifted her up onto a platform that led steeply up into the warm interior of an airplane.

"Come, Kitten, we must make you look presentable before you meet the boss." This turned out to mean taking off the ropes that bound her feet and hands. Finally, they slid the blind from her eyes and Kate took in her surroundings.

They were in a small space (McCracken actually had to duck) with leather seats and expensive carpeting. There was even a classy-looking fridge in one corner.

The men had careful hold of both of her hands and Kate was dragged forward, bucketless, to meet the boss. They entered a long hall with a dining table that looked like it had been through a taffy puller. The table was littered with junk food and fluttering papers and at the end of it sat a very drowsy S.Q. Pedalian.