She handed the pitcher to Sunny and the loaf to Klaus, who looked at the bread for a long, long time. Then, he turned to his sisters, who could see that his eyes were filling up with tears.
“I just remembered,” he said, in a quiet, sad voice. “It’s my birthday. I’m thirteen today.”
Violet put her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Oh, Klaus,” she said. “It is your birthday. We forgot all about it.”
“I forgot all about it myself, until this very moment,” Klaus said, looking back at the loaf of bread. “Something about this bread made me remember my twelfth birthday, when our parents made that bread pudding.”
Violet put the pitcher of water down on the floor, and sat beside Klaus. “I remember,” she said, smiling. “That was the worst dessert we ever tasted.”
“Vom,” Sunny agreed.
“It was a new recipe that they were trying out,” Klaus said. “They wanted it to be special for my birthday, but it was burned and sour and soggy. And they promised that the next year, for my thirteenth birthday, I’d have the best birthday meal in the world.” He looked at his siblings, and had to take his glasses off to wipe away his tears. “I don’t mean to sound spoiled,” he said, “but I was hoping for a better birthday meal than bread and water in the Deluxe Cell of the uptown jail in the Village of Fowl Devotees.”
“Chift,” Sunny said, biting Klaus’s hand gently.
Violet hugged him, and felt her own eyes fill up with tears as well. “Sunny’s right, Klaus. You don’t sound spoiled.”
The Baudelaires sat together for a moment and cried quietly, entertaining the notion of how dreadful their lives had become in such a short time. Klaus’s twelfth birthday did not seem like such a long time ago, and yet their memories of the lousy bread pudding seemed as faint and blurry as their first sight of V.F.D. on the horizon. It was a curious feeling, that something could be so close and so distant at the same time, and the children wept for their mother and their father and all of the happy things in their life that had been taken away from them since that terrible day at the beach.
Finally, the children cried themselves out, and Violet wiped her eyes and struggled to give her brother a smile. “Klaus,” she said, “Sunny and I are prepared to offer you the birthday gift of your choice. Anything at all that you want in the Deluxe Cell, you can have.”
“Thanks a lot,” Klaus said, smiling as he looked around the filthy room. “What I’d really like is deus ex machina.”
“Me, too,” Violet agreed, and took the pitcher of water from her sister to drink from it. Before she even took a sip, however, she looked up, and stared at the far end of the cell. Putting down the pitcher, she quickly walked to the wall and rubbed some dirt away to see what the wall was made of. Then looked at her siblings and began to smile. “Happy birthday, Klaus,” she said. “Officer Luciana brought us deus ex machina.”
“She didn’t bring us a god in a machine,” Klaus said. “She brought water in a pitcher.”
“Brioche!” Sunny said, which meant “And bread!”
“They’re the closest thing to a god in a machine that we’re going to get,” Violet said. “Now get up, both of you. We need the bench—it’ll be handy after all. It’s going to work as a ramp, just as Klaus said.”
Violet placed the loaf of bread up against the wall, directly under the barred window, and then tilted the bench toward the same spot. “We’re going to pour the pitcher of water so it runs down the bench, and hits the wall,” she said. “Then it’ll run down the wall to the bread, which will act like a sponge and soak up the water. Then we’ll squeeze the bread so the water goes into the pitcher, and start over.”
“But what will that do?” Klaus asked.
“The walls of this cell are made of bricks,” Violet said, “with mortar between the bricks to keep them together. Mortar is a type of clay that hardens like glue, so a mortar-dissolver would loosen the bricks and allow us to escape. I think we can dissolve the mortar by pouring water on it.”
“But how?” Klaus asked. “The walls are so solid, and water is so gentle.”
“Water is one of the most powerful forces on earth,” Violet replied. “Ocean waves can wear away at cliffs made of stone.”
“Donax!” Sunny said, which meant something like, “But that takes years and years, and if we don’t escape, we’ll be burned at the stake tomorrow afternoon.”
“Then we’d better stop entertaining the notion, and start pouring the water,” Violet said. “We’ll have to keep it up all night if we want to dissolve the mortar. I’ll stand at this end, propping up the bench. Klaus, you stand next to me and pour the water. Sunny, you stand near the bread, and bring it back to me when it’s soaked up all the water. Ready?”
Klaus took the pitcher in his hands and held it up to the end of the bench. Sunny crawled over to the loaf of bread, which was only a little bit shorter than she was. “Ready!” the two younger Baudelaires said in unison, and together the three children began to operate Violet’s mortar-dissolver. The water ran down the bench and hit the wall, and then ran down the wall and was soaked up in the spongy bread. Sunny quickly brought the bread to Klaus, who squeezed it into the pitcher, and the entire process began again. At first, it seemed as if the Baudelaires were barking up the wrong tree, because the water seemed to have no more effect against the wall of the Deluxe Cell than a silk scarf would have against a charging rhinoceros, but it soon became clear that water—unlike a silk scarf—is indeed one of the most powerful forces on earth. By the time the Baudelaires heard the flapping of the V.F.D. crows as they flew in a circle before heading downtown for their afternoon roost, the mortar between the bricks was slightly mushy to the touch, and by the time the last few rays of the sun were shining through the tiny barred window, quite a bit of the mortar had actually begun to wear away.
“Grespo,” Sunny said, which meant something like, “Quite a bit of the mortar has actually begun to wear away.”
“That’s good news,” Klaus said. “If your invention saves our lives, Violet, it will be the best birthday present you’ve ever given me, including that book of Finnish poetry you bought me when I turned eight.”
Violet yawned. “Speaking of poetry, why don’t we talk about Isadora Quagmire’s couplets? We still haven’t figured out where the triplets are hidden, and besides, if we keep talking it’ll be easier to stay awake.”
“Good idea,” Klaus said, and recited the poems from memory:
“For sapphires we are held in here.
Only you can end our fear.
Until dawn comes we cannot speak.
No words can come from this sad beak.
The first thing you read contains the clue:
An initial way to speak to you.”
The Baudelaires listened to the poems and began to entertain every notion they could think of that might help them figure out what the couplets meant. Violet held the bench in place, but her mind was on why the first poem began “For sapphires we are held in here,” when the Baudelaires already knew about the Quagmire fortune. Klaus poured the water out of the pitcher and let it run down to the wall, but his mind was on the part of the poem that said “The first thing you read contains the clue,” and what exactly Isadora meant by “the clue.” Sunny monitored the loaf of bread as it soaked up the water again and again, but her mind was on the last line of the last poem they had received, and what “An initial way to speak to you” could mean. The three Baudelaires operated Violet’s invention until morning, discussing Isadora’s couplets the entire time, and although the children made quite a lot of progress dissolving the mortar in the cell wall, they made no progress figuring out Isadora’s poems.
“Water might be one of the most powerful forces on earth,” Violet said, as the children heard the first sounds of the V.F.D. crows arriving for their uptown roost, “but poetry might be the most confusing. We’ve talked and talked, and we still don’t know where the Quagmires are hiding.”
“We need another
dose of deus ex machina,” Klaus said. “If something helpful doesn’t arrive soon, we won’t be able to rescue our friends, even if we do escape from this cell.”
“Psst!” came an unexpected voice from the window, startling the children so much that they almost dropped everything and wrecked the mortar-dissolver. The Baudelaires looked up and saw the faint shape of somebody’s face behind the bars of the window. “Psst! Baudelaires!” the voice whispered.
“Who is it?” Violet whispered back. “We can’t see you.”
“It’s Hector,” Hector whispered. “I’m supposed to be downtown doing the morning chores, but I sneaked over here instead.”
“Can you get us out of here?” Klaus whispered.
For a few seconds, the children heard nothing but the sounds of the V.F.D. crows muttering and splashing in Fowl Fountain. Then Hector sighed. “No,” he admitted. “Officer Luciana has the only key, and this jail is made of solid brick. I don’t think there’s a way I can get you out.”
“Dala?” Sunny asked.
“My sister means, did you tell the Council of Elders that we were with you the night Jacques was murdered, so we couldn’t have committed the crime?”
There was another pause. “No,” Hector said. “You know that the Council makes me too skittish to talk. I wanted to speak up for you when Detective Dupin was accusing you, but one look at those crow hats and I couldn’t open my mouth. But I thought of one thing I can do to help.”
Klaus put down the pitcher of water and felt the mortar on the far wall. Violet’s invention seemed to be working quite well, but there was still no guarantee that it would get them out of there before the mob of citizens arrived in the afternoon. “What’s that?” he asked Hector.
“I’m going to get the self-sustaining hot air mobile home ready to go,” he said. “I’ll wait at the barn all afternoon, and if you somehow manage to escape, you can float away with me.”
“O.K.,” Violet said, although she had been hoping for something a little more helpful from a fully grown adult. “We’re trying to break out of this cell right now, so maybe we’ll make it.”
“Well, if you’re breaking out now, I’d better go,” Hector said. “I don’t want to get in trouble. I just want to say that if you don’t make it and you are burned at the stake, it was very nice making your acquaintance. Oh—I almost forgot.”
Hector’s fingers reached through the bars and dropped a rolled scrap of paper down to the waiting Baudelaires. “It’s another couplet,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense to me, but maybe you’ll find it helpful. Good-bye, children. I do hope I see you later.”
“Good-bye, Hector,” Violet said glumly. “I hope so too.”
“’Bye,” Sunny muttered.
Hector waited for a second, expecting Klaus to say good-bye, but then walked off without another word, his footsteps fading into the sounds of the muttering, splashing crows. Violet and Sunny turned to look at their brother, surprised that he had not said good-bye, although Hector’s visit had been such a disappointment that they could understand if Klaus was too annoyed to be polite. But when they looked at the middle Baudelaire, he did not look annoyed. Klaus was looking at the latest couplet from Isadora, and in the growing light of the Deluxe Cell his sisters could see a wide grin on his face. Grinning is something you do when you are entertained in some way, such as reading a good book or watching someone you don’t care for spill orange soda all over himself. But there weren’t any books in the uptown jail, and the Baudelaires had been careful not to spill a drop of the water as they operated the mortar-dissolver, so the Baudelaire sisters knew that their brother was grinning for another reason. He was grinning because he was entertaining a notion, and as Klaus showed them the poem he was holding, Violet and Sunny had a very good idea of what notion it was.
CHAPTER
Eleven
Inside these letters, the eye will see
Nearby are your friends, and V.F.D.
“Isn’t it marvelous?” Klaus said with a grin, as his sisters read the fourth couplet. “Isn’t it absolutely superlative?” “Wibeon,” Sunny said, which meant “It’s more confusing than superlative—we still don’t know where the Quagmires are.”
“Yes we do,” Klaus said, taking the other couplets out of his pocket.
“Think about all four poems in order, and you’ll see what I mean.”
For sapphires we are held in here.
Only you can end our fear.
Until dawn comes we cannot speak.
No words can come from this sad beak.
The first thing you read contains the clue:
An initial way to speak to you.
Inside these letters the eye will see
Nearby are your friends, and V.F.D.
“I think you’re much better at analyzing poetry than I am,” Violet said, and Sunny nodded in agreement. “This poem doesn’t make it any clearer.”
“But you’re the one who first suggested the solution,” Klaus said. “When we received the third poem, you thought that ‘initial’ meant ‘initials,’ like V.F.D.”
“But you said that it probably meant ‘first,’” Violet said. “The poems are the first way the Quagmires can speak to us from where they are hidden.”
“I was wrong,” Klaus admitted. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong in my life. Isadora meant ‘initials’ all along. I didn’t realize it until I read the part that said ‘Inside these letters the eye will see.’ She’s hiding the location inside the poem, like Aunt Josephine hid her location inside her note, remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Violet said, “but I still don’t understand.”
“‘The first thing you read contains the clue,’” Klaus recited. “We thought that Isadora meant the first poem. But she meant the first letter. She couldn’t tell us directly where she and her brother were hidden, in case someone else got the poems from the crows before we did, so she had to use a sort of code. If we look at the first letter of each line, and we can see the triplets’ location.”
“‘For sapphires we are held in here.’ That’s F,” Violet said. “‘Only you can end our fear.’ That’s O.”
“‘Until dawn comes we cannot speak,’” Klaus said. “That’s U. ‘No words can come from this sad beak.’ That’s N.”
“‘The first thing you read contains the clue’—T,” Violet said excitedly. “‘An initial way to speak to you’—A.”
“I! N!” Sunny cried triumphantly, and the three Baudelaires cried out the solution together: “FOUNTAIN!”
“Fowl Fountain!” Klaus said. “The Quagmires are right outside that window.”
“But how can they be in the fountain?” Violet asked. “And how could Isadora give her poems to the V.F.D. crows?”
“We’ll answer those questions,” Klaus replied, “as soon as we get out of jail. We’d better get back to the mortar-dissolver before Detective Dupin comes back.”
“Along with a whole town of people who want to burn us at the stake, thanks to mob psychology,” Violet said with a shudder.
Sunny crawled over to the loaf of bread and placed her tiny hand against the wall. “Mush!” she cried, which meant something like, “The mortar is almost dissolved—just a little bit longer!”
Violet took the ribbon out of her hair and then retied it, which was something she did when she needed to rethink, a word which here means “Think even harder about the Baudelaire orphans’ terrible situation.” “I’m not sure we have even a little bit longer,” she said, looking up at the window. “Look at how bright the sunlight is. The morning must be almost over.”
“Then we should hurry,” Klaus said.
“No,” Violet corrected. “We should rethink. And I’ve been rethinking this bench. We can use it in another way, besides as a ramp. We can use it as a battering ram.”
“Honz?” Sunny asked.
“A battering ram is a large piece of wood or metal used to break down doors or walls,” Violet explained. “Milita
ry inventors used it in medieval times to break into walled cities, and we’re going to use it now, to break out of jail.” Violet picked up the bench so it was resting on her shoulder. “The bench should be pointing as evenly as possible,” she said. “Sunny, get on Klaus’s shoulders. If the two of you hold the other end together, I think this battering ram will work.”
Klaus and Sunny scrambled into the position Violet had suggested, and in a moment the siblings were ready to operate Violet’s latest invention. The two Baudelaire sisters had a firm hold on the wood, and Klaus had a firm hold on Sunny so she wouldn’t fall to the floor of the Deluxe Cell as they battered.
“Now,” Violet said, “let’s step back as far as we can, and at the count of three, run quickly toward the wall. Aim the battering ram for the spot where the mortar-dissolver was working. Ready? One, two, three!”
Thunk! The Baudelaires ran forward and smacked the bench against the wall as hard as they could. The battering ram made a noise so loud that it felt as if the entire jail would collapse, but they left only a small dent in a few of the bricks, as if the wall had been bruised slightly. “Again!” Violet commanded. “One, two, three!”
Thunk! Outside the children could hear a few crows flutter wildly, frightened by the noise. A few more bricks were bruised, and one had a long crack down the middle. “It’s working!” Klaus cried. “The battering ram is working!”
“One, two, minga!” Sunny shrieked, and the children smacked the battering ram against the wall again.
“Ow!” Klaus cried, and stumbled a little bit, almost dropping his baby sister. “A brick fell on my toe!”