A Series of Unfortunate Events Box: The Complete Wreck

  Sunny took a sip of tea, which was indeed as bitter as wormwood and as sharp as a two-edged sword, although the youngest Baudelaire had little experience with metallic weapons or hoary aromatic plants of the composite family, used in certain recreational tonics. “Mama and Poppa,” she said hesitantly, “and poison darts?”

  Her siblings did not have time to answer, as there was another knock on the door. “Finish your tea,” called either Frank or Ernest, “and put on your blindfolds. The trial is about to begin.”

  The Baudelaires hurried to follow the instructions of either the volunteer or the villain, and took a few quick sips of their tea, tied their shoes, and wound the pieces of cloth around their eyes. In a moment they heard the door of Room 121 open, and heard Frank or Ernest step toward them.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “We’re right here,” Violet said. “Can’t you see us?”

  “Of course not,” the manager replied. “I’m also wearing a blindfold. Reach for my hand, and I’ll lead you to the trial.”

  The eldest Baudelaire reached out in front of her and found a large, rough hand awaiting hers. Klaus took Violet’s other hand, and Sunny took Klaus’s, and in this way the children were led out of Room 121. The expression “the blind leading the blind,” like the expression “Justice is blind,” is usually not taken literally, as it simply refers to a confusing situation in which the people in charge know nothing more than the people following them. But as the Baudelaires learned as they were led through the lobby, the blindfolded leading the blindfolded results in the same sort of confusion. The children could not see anything through their blindfolds, but the room was filled with the sounds of people looking for their companions, bumping up against one another, and running into the walls and furniture. Violet was poked in the eye by someone’s chubby finger. Klaus was mistaken for someone named Jerry by a man who gave him an enormous hug before learning of his mistake. And someone bumped into Sunny’s head, assumed she was an ornamental vase, and tried to place an umbrella in her mouth. Above the noise of the crowd, the Baudelaires heard the clock strike twelve insistent Wrong!s, and realized they had been sleeping quite some time. It was already Wednesday afternoon, which meant that Thursday, and the arrival of their noble friends and associates, was quite close indeed.

  “Attention!” The voice of Justice Strauss was also quite close indeed, and rang out over the crowd, along with the repeated banging of a gavel, a word which refers to the small hammer used by judges when they want someone’s attention. “Attention everyone! The trial is about to begin! Everyone please take your seats!”

  “How can we take our seats,” a man asked, “when we can’t see them?”

  “Feel around with your hands,” Justice Strauss said. “Move to your right. Further. Further. Further. Furth—”

  “Ow!”

  “Not that far,” the judge said. “There! Sit! Now the rest of you follow his lead!”

  “How can we do what he did,” asked someone else, “if we can’t see him?”

  “Can we peek?” asked another person.

  “No peeking!” Justice Strauss said sternly. “Our system of justice isn’t perfect, but it’s the only one we have. I remind you that all three judges of the High Court are bare-eyed, and if you peek you will be guilty of contempt of court! ‘Contempt,’ by the way, is a word for finding something worthless or dishonorable.”

  “I know what the word ‘contempt’ means,” snarled a voice the children could not recognize.

  “I defined the word for the benefit of the Baudelaires,” Justice Strauss said, and the children nodded their thanks in the direction of the judge’s voice, although all three siblings had known the meaning of “contempt” since a night long ago when Uncle Monty had taken them to the movies. “Baudelaires, take three steps to your right. Three more. One more. There! You’ve reached your bench. Please sit down.”

  The Baudelaires sat down on one of the lobby’s wooden benches and listened to the footsteps of the manager as he left them alone and stumbled back into the settling crowd. Finally, it sounded as if everyone had found a seat of some kind or another, and with another few bangs of the gavel and calls for attention, the crowd quieted down and Justice Strauss began the trial.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice coming from right in front of the Baudelaires, “and anyone else who happens to be in attendance. It has come to the attention of the High Court that certain wicked deeds have gone unpunished, and that this wickedness is continuing at an alarming rate. We planned to hold a trial on Thursday, but after the death of Mr. Denouement it is clear we should proceed earlier, in the interests of justice and nobility. We will hear what each witness has to say and determine once and for all who is responsible. The guilty parties will be turned over to the authorities, who are waiting outside, making sure that no one will try to escape while the trial is in progress.”

  “And speaking of guilty parties,” Count Olaf added, “when the trial is over, everyone is invited to a very in cocktail party, hosted by me! Wealthy women are particularly welcome!”

  “I’m hosting it,” snarled the voice of Esmé Squalor, “and fashionable men will be given a free gift.”

  “All gifts are free,” said either Frank or Ernest.

  “You’re out of order,” Justice Strauss said sternly, banging her gavel. “We are discussing social justice, not social engagements. Now then, will the accused parties please stand and state their names and occupations for the record?”

  The Baudelaires stood up hesitantly.

  “You too, Count Olaf,” Justice Strauss said firmly. The wooden bench crackled beside the Baudelaires, and they realized the notorious villain had also been sitting on the bench, and was now standing beside them.

  “Name?” the judge asked.

  “Count Olaf,” Count Olaf replied.

  “Occupation?”

  “Impresario,” he said, using a fancy word for someone who puts on theatrical spectacles.

  “And are you innocent or guilty?” asked Justice Strauss.

  The children thought they could hear Olaf’s filthy teeth slide against his lips as he smiled. “I’m unspeakably innocent,” he said, and murmuring spread through the crowd like a ripple on the surface of a pond.

  “You may be seated,” Justice Strauss said, banging her gavel. “Children, you are next. Please state your names.”

  “Violet Baudelaire,” said Violet Baudelaire.

  “Klaus Baudelaire,” said Klaus Baudelaire.

  “Sunny Baudelaire,” said Sunny Baudelaire.

  The children heard the scratching of a pen, and realized that the judge was writing down everything that was being said. “Occupations?”

  The Baudelaires did not know how to answer this question. The word “occupation,” as I’m sure you know, usually refers to a job, but the Baudelaires’ employment was sporadic, a word which here means “consisting of a great number of occupations, held for a short time and under very unusual circumstances.” The word can also refer to how one spends one’s time, but the siblings hardly liked to think of all the dreadful things that had occupied them recently. Lastly, the word “occupation” can refer to the state one is in, such as being a woman’s husband, or a child’s guardian, but the youngsters were not certain how such a term could apply to the bewildering history of their lives. The Baudelaires thought and thought, and finally each gave their answer as they saw fit.

  “Volunteer,” Violet said.

  “Concierge,” Klaus said.

  “Child,” Sunny said.

  “I object!” Olaf said beside them. “Their proper occupation is orphan, or inheritor of a large fortune!”

  “Your objection is noted,” Justice Strauss said firmly. “Now then, Baudelaires, are you guilty or innocent?”

  Once again, the Baudelaires hesitated before answering. Justice Strauss had not asked the children precisely what they were innocent or guilty of, and the expectant hush of the lobby
did not make them want to ask the judge to clarify her question. In general, of course, the Baudelaire children believed themselves to be innocent, although they were certainly guilty, as we all are, of certain deeds that are anything but noble. But the Baudelaires were not standing in general. They were standing next to Count Olaf. It was Klaus who found the words to compare the siblings’ innocence and guilt with the innocence and guilt of a man who said he was unspeakably innocent, and after a pause the middle Baudelaire answered the judge’s question.

  “We’re comparatively innocent,” he said, and a ripple went through the crowd again. The children heard the scratching of Justice Strauss’s pen again, and the sound of Geraldine Julienne’s enthusiastic voice.

  “I can see the headlines now!” she cried. “‘EVERYBODY IS INNOCENT!’ Wait until the readers of The Daily Punctilio see that!”

  “Nobody is innocent,” Justice Strauss said, banging her gavel. “At least, not yet. Now then, all those in the courtroom who have evidence they would like to submit to the court, please approach the judges and do so.”

  The room erupted into pandemonium, a word which here means “a crowd of blindfolded people attempting to give evidence to three judges.” The Baudelaires sat on the bench and heard people stumbling over one another as they all tried to submit their research to the High Court.

  “I submit these newspaper articles!” announced the voice of Geraldine Julienne.

  “I submit these employment records!” announced Sir.

  “I submit these environmental studies!” announced Charles.

  “I submit these grade books!” announced Mr. Remora.

  “I submit these blueprints of banks!” announced Mrs. Bass.

  “I submit these administrative records!” announced Vice Principal Nero.

  “I submit this paperwork!” announced Hal.

  “I submit these financial records!” announced Mr. Poe.

  “I submit these rule books!” announced Mr. Lesko.

  “I submit these constitutions!” announced Mrs. Morrow.

  “I submit these carnival posters!” announced Hugo.

  “I submit these anatomical drawings!” announced Colette.

  “I submit these books,” announced Kevin, “with both my left and right hands!”

  “I submit these ruby-encrusted blank pages!” announced Esmé Squalor.

  “I submit this book about how wonderful I am!” announced Carmelita Spats.

  “I submit this commonplace book!” announced either Frank or Ernest.

  “So do I!” announced either Ernest or Frank.

  “I submit my mother!”

  This last voice was the first in a parade of voices the Baudelaires could not recognize. It seemed that everyone in the lobby had something to submit to the High Court, and the Baudelaires felt as if they were in the middle of an avalanche of observations, research, and other evidence, some of which sounded exculpatory—a word which here means “likely to prove that the Baudelaires were innocent”—and some of which sounded damning, a word which made the children shudder just to think of it.

  “I submit these photographs!”

  “I submit these hospital records!”

  “I submit these magazine articles!”

  “I submit these telegrams!”

  “I submit these couplets!”

  “I submit these maps!”

  “I submit these cookbooks!”

  “I submit these scraps of paper!”

  “I submit these screenplays!”

  “I submit these rhyming dictionaries!”

  “I submit these love letters!”

  “I submit these opera synopses!”

  “I submit these thesauri!”

  “I submit these marriage licenses!”

  “I submit these Talmudic commentaries!”

  “I submit these wills and testaments!”

  “I submit these auction catalogs!”

  “I submit these codebooks!”

  “I submit these mycological encyclopedias!”

  “I submit these menus!”

  “I submit these ferry schedules!”

  “I submit these theatrical programs!”

  “I submit these business cards!”

  “I submit these memos!”

  “I submit these novels!”

  “I submit these cookies!”

  “I submit these assorted pieces of evidence I’m unwilling to categorize!”

  Finally, the Baudelaires heard a mighty thump! and the triumphant voice of Jerome Squalor. “I submit this comprehensive history of injustice!” he announced, and the lobby filled with the sound of applause and of hissing, as the volunteers and villains reacted. Justice Strauss had to bang her gavel quite a few times before the crowd settled down.

  “Before the High Court reviews this evidence,” the judge said, “we ask each accused person to give a statement explaining their actions. You can take as long as you want to tell your story, but you should leave out nothing important. Count Olaf, you may go first.”

  The wooden bench crackled again as the villain stood up, and the Baudelaires heard Count Olaf sigh, and smelled his foul breath. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I’m so incredibly innocent that the word ‘innocent’ ought to be written on my face in capital letters. The letter I would stand for ‘I’m innocent.’ The letter N would stand for ‘nothing wrong,’ which is what I’ve done. The letter A would stand for—”

  “That’s not how you spell ‘innocent,’” Justice Strauss interrupted.

  “I don’t think spelling counts,” Count Olaf grumbled.

  “Spelling counts,” the judge said sternly.

  “Well, ‘innocence’ should be spelled O-LA-F,” Count Olaf said, “and that’s the end of my speech.”

  The bench crackled as Olaf sat down.

  “That’s all you have to say?” Justice Strauss asked in surprise.

  “Yep,” Count Olaf said.

  “I told you not to leave out anything important,” the judge reminded him.

  “I’m the only important thing,” Count Olaf insisted, “and I’m very innocent. I’m sure there’s more in that enormous pile of evidence that proves me innocent than there is that proves me guilty.”

  “Well, all right,” the judge said uncertainly. “Baudelaires, you may now tell us your side of the story.”

  The Baudelaires stood up unsteadily, their legs trembling in nervous anticipation, but once again they did not quite know what to say.

  “Go on,” Justice Strauss said kindly. “We’re listening.”

  The Baudelaire orphans clasped hands. Although they had just been notified about the trial a few hours ago, the children felt as if they had been waiting forever to stand and tell their story to anyone who might listen. Although much of their story had been told to Mr. Poe, and noted in Klaus’s commonplace book, and discussed with the Quagmire triplets and other noble people they had met during their travels, they had never had the opportunity to tell their entire tale, from the dreadful day at Briny Beach when Mr. Poe gave them the terrible news about their parents, to this very afternoon, as they stood at the High Court hoping that all of the villains in their lives would at last be brought to justice. Perhaps there had never been enough time to sit and tell their story just as they wanted to tell it, or perhaps their story was so unhappy that they dared not share all of the wretched details with anyone. Or perhaps the Baudelaires had simply not encountered anyone who listened to them as well as their parents had. As the siblings stood before the High Court, they could picture the faces of their mother and father, and the expressions they wore when listening to their children. Occasionally, one of the Baudelaires would be telling their parents a story, and there would be an interruption of some kind—the ringing of the phone, or the loud noise of a siren outside, or even a remark from one of the other siblings. “Hush,” the Baudelaire parents would say to the interruption. “It’s not your day in court,” they would say, and then they would turn back t
o the Baudelaire who was talking, and give them a nod to indicate that the story should continue. The children stood together, as the wooden bench creaked behind them, and started to tell the story of their lives, a story they had waited their lives to tell.

  “Well,” Violet said, “one afternoon my siblings and I were at Briny Beach. I was dreaming up an invention that could retrieve a rock after you skipped it into the ocean. Klaus was examining creatures in tidepools. And Sunny noticed that Mr. Poe was walking toward us.”

  “Hmm,” Justice Strauss said, but it wasn’t a thoughtful kind of “hmm.” Violet thought perhaps that the judge was saying “hmm” the way she had said “hmm” to either Frank or Ernest, as a safe answer.

  “Go on,” said a low, deep voice that belonged to one of the other judges. “Justice Strauss was merely being thoughtful.”

  “Mr. Poe told us that there had been a terrible fire,” Klaus continued. “Our home was destroyed, and our parents were gone.”

  “Hmm,” Justice Strauss said again, but it wasn’t a sympathetic kind of “hmm.” Klaus thought perhaps that the judge was taking a sip of tea, to fortify herself as the siblings told their story.

  “Please continue,” said another voice. This one was very hoarse, as if the third judge had been screaming for hours and could hardly talk. “Justice Strauss was merely being sympathetic.”

  “Bildungsroman,” said Sunny. She meant something along the lines of, “Since that moment, our story has been a long, dreadful education in the wicked ways of the world and the mysterious secrets hidden in all of its corners,” but before her siblings could translate, Justice Strauss uttered another “hmm,” and this one was the strangest of all. It was not a thoughtful “hmm,” nor did it sound like a safe answer, and it certainly wasn’t sympathetic, or the noise someone might make while taking a sip of tea. To Sunny the “hmm” sounded like a noise she’d heard a long time ago, not long after the day on Briny Beach the children were describing. The youngest Baudelaire had heard the same noise coming from her own mouth, when she was dangling outside Count Olaf’s tower room in a bird cage with a piece of tape covering her mouth. Sunny gasped, recognizing the sound just as Klaus recognized the voice of the second judge, and Violet recognized the voice of the third. Blindly, the Baudelaires reached out their hands to clutch one another in panic.