“Charles is here, from Lucky Smells Lumbermill,” Klaus said. “He cares about us.”
“Sir is here,” Olaf retorted. “He doesn’t. Ha!”
“Hal,” Sunny said.
“Vice Principal Nero and Mr. Remora,” Olaf replied, counting each nasty person on his filthy fingers. “And that pesky little reporter from The Daily Punctilio, who’s here to write silly articles praising my cocktail party. And ridiculous Mr. Poe, who arrived just hours ago to investigate a bank robbery. Ha!”
“Those people don’t count,” Klaus said. “They’re not associates of yours.”
“They might as well be,” Count Olaf replied. “They’ve been an enormous help. And every second, more associates of mine get closer and closer.”
“So do our friends,” Violet said. “They’re flying across the sea as we speak, and by tomorrow, their self-sustaining hot air mobile home will land on the roof.”
“Only if they’ve managed to survive my eagles,” Count Olaf said with a growl.
“They will,” Klaus said. “Just like we’ve survived you.”
“And how did you survive me?” Olaf asked. “The Daily Punctilio is full of your crimes. You lied to people. You stole. You abandoned people in danger. You set fires. Time after time you’ve relied on treachery to survive, just like everyone else. There are no truly noble people in this world.”
“Our parents,” Sunny said fiercely.
Count Olaf looked surprised that Sunny had spoken, and then gave all three Baudelaires a smile that made them shudder. “I guess the sub-sub-librarian hasn’t told you the story about your parents,” he said, “and a box of poison darts. Why don’t you ask him, orphans? Why don’t you ask this legendary librarian about that fateful evening at the opera?”
The Baudelaires turned to look at Dewey, who had begun to blush. But before they could ask him anything, they were interrupted by a voice coming from a pair of sliding doors that had quietly opened.
“Don’t ask him that,” Esmé Squalor said. “I have a much more important question.”
With a mocking laugh, the treacherous girlfriend emerged from the elevator, her silver sandals clumping on the floor and her lettuce leaves rustling against her skin. Behind her was Carmelita Spats, who was still wearing her ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate outfit and carrying the harpoon gun Violet had delivered, and behind her three more people emerged from the elevator. First came the attendant from the rooftop sunbathing salon, still wearing green sunglasses and a long, baggy robe. Following the attendant was the mysterious chemist from outside the sauna, dressed in a long, white coat and a surgical mask, and last out of the elevator was the washerwoman from the laundry room, with long, blond hair and rumpled clothing. The Baudelaires recognized these people from their observations as flaneurs, but then the attendant removed his robe to reveal his back, which had a small hump on the shoulder, and the chemist removed her surgical mask, not with one of her hands but with one of her feet, and the washerwoman removed a long, blond wig with both hands at the exact same time, and the three siblings recognized the three henchfolk all over again.
“Hugo!” cried Violet.
“Colette!” cried Klaus.
“Kevin!” cried Sunny.
“Esmé!” cried Jerome.
“Why isn’t anybody calling out my name?” demanded Carmelita, stomping one of her bright blue boots. She pranced toward Violet, who observed that two of the four long, sharp hooks were missing from the weapon. This sort of observation may be important for a flaneur, but it is dreadful for any reader of this book, who probably does not want to know where the remaining harpoons will end up. “I’m a ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate,” she crowed to the oldest Baudelaire, “and you’re nothing but a cakesniffer. Call my name or I’ll shoot you with this harpoon gun!”
“Carmelita!” Esmé said, her silver mouth twisting into an expression of shock. “Don’t point that gun at Violet!”
“Esmé’s right,” Count Olaf said. “Don’t waste the harpoons. We may need them.”
“Yes!” Esmé cried. “There’s always important work to do before a cocktail party, particularly if you want it to be the innest in the world! We need to put slipcovers on the couches, and hide our associates beneath them! We need to put vases of flowers on the piano and electric eels in the fountain! We need to hang streamers and volunteers from the ceiling! We need to play music, so people can dance, and block the exits, so they can’t leave! And most of all, we have to cook in food and prepare in cocktails! Food and drink are the most important aspect of every social occasion, and our in recipes—”
“The most important aspect of every social occasion isn’t food and drink!” Dewey interrupted indignantly. “It’s conversation!”
“You’re the one who should flee!” Justice Strauss said. “Your cocktail party will be canceled, due to the host and hostess being brought to justice by the High Court!”
“You’re as foolish as you were when we were neighbors,” Count Olaf said. “The High Court can’t stop us. V.F.D. can’t stop us. Hidden somewhere in this hotel is one of the most deadly fungi in the entire world. When Thursday comes, the fungus will come out of hiding and destroy everyone it touches! At last I’ll be free to steal the Baudelaire fortune and perform any other act of treachery that springs to mind!”
“You won’t dare unleash the Medusoid Mycelium,” Dewey said. “Not while I have the sugar bowl.”
“Funny you should mention the sugar bowl,” Esmé Squalor said, although the Baudelaires could see she didn’t think it was funny at all. “That’s just what we want to ask you about.”
“The sugar bowl?” Count Olaf asked, his eyes shining bright. “Where is it?”
“The freaks will tell you,” Esmé said.
“It’s true, boss,” said Hugo. “I may be a mere hunchback, but I saw Carmelita shoot down the crows using the harpoon gun Violet brought her.”
Justice Strauss turned to Violet in astonishment. “You gave Carmelita the harpoon gun?” she gasped.
“Well, yes,” Violet said. “I had to perform concierge errands as part of my disguise.”
“The harpoon gun was supposed to be kept away from villains,” the judge said, “not given to them. Why didn’t Frank stop you?”
Violet thought back to her unfathomable conversation with Frank. “I think he tried,” she said quietly, “but I had to take the harpoon gun up to the roof. What else could I do?”
“I hit two crows!” bragged Carmelita Spats. “That means Countie has to teach me how to spit like a real ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate!”
“Don’t worry, darling,” Esmé said. “He’ll teach you. Won’t you, Olaf?”
Count Olaf sighed, as if he had better things to do than teach a little girl how to propel saliva out of her mouth. “Yes, Carmelita,” he said, “I’ll teach you how to spit.”
Colette took center stage, a phrase which here means “stepped forward, and twisted her body into an unusual shape.” “Even a contortionist like me,” she said, her mouth moving beneath her elbow, “could see what happened after Carmelita shot the crows. They fell right onto the birdpaper that Klaus dangled out the window.”
“You dangled the birdpaper out the window?” Jerome asked the middle Baudelaire.
“Ernest told me to,” Klaus said, finally realizing which manager had spoken to him in the sauna. “I had to obey him as part of my disguise.”
“You can’t just do what everyone tells you to do,” Jerome said.
“What else could I do?” Klaus said.
“When the crows hit the birdpaper,” Kevin said, gesturing with one hand and then the other, “they dropped the sugar bowl. I didn’t see where it went with either my right eye or my left one, which I’m sad to say are equally strong. But I did see Sunny turn the door of the laundry room into a Vernacularly Fastened Door.”
“Aha!” Count Olaf cried. “The sugar bowl must have fallen down the funnel!”
&nbs
p; “I still don’t see why I had to disguise myself as a washerwoman,” Kevin said timidly. “I could have just been a washerperson, and not worn this humiliating wig.”
“Or you could have been a noble person,” Violet could not help adding, “instead of spying on a brave volunteer.”
“What else could I do?” Kevin asked, shrugging both shoulders equally high.
“You could be a volunteer yourself,” Klaus said, looking at all of his former carnival coworkers. “All of you could stand with us now, instead of helping Count Olaf with his schemes.”
“I could never be a noble person,” Hugo said sadly. “I have a hump on my back.”
“And I’m a contortionist,” Colette said. “Someone who can bend their body into unusual shapes could never be a volunteer.”
“V.F.D. would never accept an ambidextrous person,” Kevin said. “It’s my destiny to be a treacherous person.”
“Galimatias!” Sunny cried.
“Nonsense!” Dewey said, who understood at once what Sunny had said. “I’m ambidextrous myself, and I’ve managed to do something worthwhile with my life. Being treacherous isn’t your destiny! It’s your choice!”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Esmé Squalor said. “You have a choice this very moment, Frank. Tell me where the sugar bowl is, or else!”
“That’s not a choice,” Dewey said, “and I’m not Frank.”
Esmé frowned. “Then you have a choice this very moment, Ernest. Tell me where the sugar bowl is, or—”
“Dewey,” Sunny said.
Esmé blinked at the youngest Baudelaire, who noticed that the villainous woman’s eyelashes had also been painted silver. “What?” she asked.
“It’s true,” Olaf said. “He’s the real sub-sub. It turns out he’s not legendary, like Verdi.”
“Is that so?” Esmé Squalor said. “So someone has really been cataloging everything that has happened between us?”
“It’s been my life’s work,” Dewey said. “Eventually, every crucial secret ends up in my catalog.”
“Then you know all about the sugar bowl,” Esmé said, “and what’s inside. You know how important that thing was, and how many lives were lost in the quest to find it. You know how difficult it was to find a container that could hold it safely, securely, and attractively. You know what it means to the Baudelaires and what it means to the Snickets.” She took one sandaled step closer to Dewey, and stretched out one silver fingernail—the one shaped like an S—until it was almost poking him in the eye. “And you know,” she said in a terrible voice, “that it is mine.”
“Not anymore,” Dewey said.
“Beatrice stole it from me!” Esmé cried.
“There are worse things,” Dewey said, “than theft.”
At this, the girlfriend gave the sub-sub-librarian a chuckle that made the Baudelaires’ blood run cold. “There certainly are,” she said, and strode toward Carmelita Spats. With one spiky fingernail—the one shaped like an M—she moved the harpoon gun so it was pointing at the triplet. “Tell me how to open that door,” she said, “or this little girl will harpoon you.”
“I’m not a little girl!” Carmelita reminded Esmé nastily. “I’m a ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate! And I’m not going to shoot any more harpoons until Countie teaches me how to spit.”
“You’ll do what we say, Carmelita,” Olaf growled. “I already purchased that ridiculous outfit for you, and that boat for you to prowl the swimming pool. Point that weapon at Dewey this instant!”
“Teach me to spit!” Carmelita said.
“Point the weapon!”
“Teach me to spit!”
“Point the weapon!”
“Teach me to spit!”
“Weapon!”
“Spit!”
“Weapon!”
“Spit!”
With a raspy roar, Count Olaf roughly yanked the harpoon gun out of Carmelita’s hands, knocking her to the floor. “I’ll never teach you how to spit as long as I live!” he shouted. “Ha!”
“Darling!” Esmé gasped. “You can’t break your promise to our darling little girl!”
“I’m not a darling little girl!” Carmelita screamed. “I’m a ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate!”
“You’re a spoiled baby!” Olaf corrected. “I never wanted a brat like you around anyway! It’s about time you were shown some discipline!”
“But discipline is out!” Esmé said.
“I don’t care what’s out and what’s in!” Count Olaf cried. “I’m tired of having a girlfriend obsessed with fashion! All you do is sit around rooftop sunbathing salons while I run around doing all the work!”
“If I hadn’t been on the roof,” Esmé retorted, “the sugar bowl would have been delivered to V.F.D.! Besides, I was guarding—”
“Never mind what you were doing,” Olaf said. “You’re fired!”
“You can’t fire me!” Esmé growled. “I quit!”
“Well, you can leave by mutual agreement,” Olaf grumbled, and then, with another succinct “Ha!” he lifted the harpoon gun and pointed it at Dewey Denouement. “Tell us the three phrases we need to type into the lock in order to open the Vernacularly Fastened Door and search the laundry room!”
“You won’t find anything in the laundry room,” Dewey said, “except piles of dirty sheets, a few washing and drying machines, and some extremely flammable chemicals.”
“I may have a handsome, youthful glow,” Olaf snarled, “but I wasn’t born yesterday! Ha! If there’s nothing in the laundry room, why did you put a V.F.D. lock on the door?”
“Perhaps it’s just a decoy,” Dewey said, his hand still trembling in Violet’s.
“Decoy?” Olaf said.
“‘Decoy’ is a word with several meanings,” the triplet explained. “It can refer to a corner of a pond where ducks can be captured, or to an imitation of a duck or other animal used to attract a real specimen. Or, it can mean something used to distract people, such as a lock on a door that does not contain a certain sugar bowl.”
“If the lock is a decoy, sub-sub,” Count Olaf sneered, “then you won’t mind telling me how to open it.”
“Very well,” Dewey said, still struggling to sound calm. “The first phrase is a description of a medical condition that all three Baudelaire children share.”
The Baudelaires shared a smile.
“The second phrase is the weapon that left you an orphan, Olaf,” Dewey said.
The Baudelaires shared a frown.
“And the third,” Dewey said, “is the famous unfathomable question in the best-known novel by Richard Wright.”
The Baudelaire sisters shared a look of confusion, and then looked hopefully at Klaus, who slowly shook his head.
“I don’t have time to medically examine the Baudelaires,” Olaf said, “or shove my face into any best-known novels!”
“Wicked people never have time for reading,” Dewey said. “It’s one of the reasons for their wickedness.”
“I’ve had enough of your games!” Count Olaf roared. “Ha! If I don’t hear the exact phrases used to open the lock by the time Esmé counts to ten, I’ll fire the harpoon gun and tear you to shreds! Esmé, count to ten!”
“I’m not counting to ten,” Esmé pouted. “I’m not going to do anything for you ever again!”
“I knew it!” Jerome said. “I knew you could be a noble person again, Esmé! You don’t have to parade around in an indecent bikini in the middle of the night threatening sub-sub-librarians! You can stand with us, in the name of justice.”
“Let’s not go overboard,” Esmé said. “Just because I’m dumping my boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m going to be a goody-goody like you. Justice is out. Injustice is in. That’s why it’s called injustice.”
“You should do what’s right in this world,” Justice Strauss said, “not just what’s fashionable. I understand your situation, Esmé. When I was your age, I spent years as a horse thief before realizing—”
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“I don’t want to hear your boring stories,” Count Olaf snarled. “The only thing I want to hear are three exact phrases from Dewey’s mouth, or his destiny will be death by harpoon, as soon as I say the number ten. One!”
“Stop!” Justice Strauss cried. “In the name of the law!”
“Two!”
“Stop!” Jerome Squalor pleaded. “In the name of injustice!”
“Three!”
“Stop!” Violet ordered, and her siblings nodded in fierce agreement. The Baudelaires realized, as I’m sure you have realized, that the adults standing with them were going to do nothing that would stop Count Olaf from reaching ten and pulling the trigger of the harpoon gun, and that Justice Strauss and Jerome Squalor would fail them, as so many noble people had failed them before. But the siblings also knew that this failure would not hurt them—at least, not right away. It would hurt Dewey Denouement, and without another word the three children dropped the hands of the adults and stood in front of the sub-sub-librarian, shielding him from harm.
“You can’t harpoon this man,” Klaus said to Count Olaf, scarcely believing what he was saying. “You’ll have to harpoon us first.”
“Or,” Sunny said, “put down gun.”
Dewey Denoument looked too amazed to speak, but Count Olaf merely turned his disdainful gaze from the sub-sub-librarian to the three children. “I wouldn’t mind harpooning you either, orphans,” he said, his eyes shining bright. “When it comes to slaughtering people, I’m very flexible! Ha! Four!”
Violet took a step toward the count, who was holding the harpoon gun so it pointed at her chest. “Lay down your weapon, Olaf,” the eldest Baudelaire said. “You don’t want to do this wicked thing.”
Count Olaf blinked, but did not move the gun. “Of course I do,” he said. “If the sub-sub doesn’t tell me how to get the sugar bowl, I’ll pull the trigger no matter who’s standing in front of me! Ha! Five!”
Klaus took a step forward, joining his sister. “You have a choice,” he said. “You can choose not to pull that trigger!”
“And you can choose death by harpoon!” Count Olaf cried. “Six!”