“You’ll never get your hands on our fortune,” Klaus said, “or your shoes on our throats.”
“We’ll see,” Esmé said, and swung her left shoe at Klaus as if it were a sword. Klaus ducked quickly and felt the whoosh! of air as the blade swept over him.
“She’s trying to kill us!” Klaus shouted to the audience. “Can’t you see? These are the real murderers!”
“No one will ever believe you,” Esmé said in a sinister whisper, and swung her right shoe at Sunny, who moved away just in time.
“I don’t believe you!” shouted Hal. “My eyesight might not be what it used to be, but I can see your phony medical coat.”
“I don’t believe you, either!” a nurse cried. “I can see that rusty knife!”
Esmé swung both shoes at the same time, but they collided in midair instead of hitting the children. “Why don’t you surrender?” she hissed. “We’ve finally trapped you, just as you trapped Olaf all those other times.”
“Now you know what it feels like to be a villain,” the bald man chuckled. “Move closer, everyone! Mattathias told me that whoever grabs them first gets to choose where to go for dinner tonight!”
“Is that so?” the hook-handed man asked. “Well, I’m in the mood for pizza.” He swung a rubber-gloved hook at Klaus, who fell back against the gurney, rolling it out of the evil man’s reach.
“I feel more like Chinese food,” one of the powder-faced women said. “Let’s go to that place where we celebrated the Quagmire kidnapping.”
“I want to go to Café Salmonella,” Esmé snarled, disentangling her shoes.
Klaus pushed against the gurney again, wheeling it in the other direction as the circle of associates closed in. He held the rusty knife up for protection, but the middle Baudelaire did not think he could use a weapon, even on people as wicked as these. If Count Olaf had been trapped, he would not have hesitated to swing the rusty blade at the people who were surrounding him, but despite what the bald man had said, Klaus did not feel like a villain. He felt like someone who needed to escape, and as he pushed against the gurney again, he knew how he was going to do it.
“Get back!” Klaus cried. “This knife is very sharp!”
“You can’t kill all of us,” the hook-handed man replied. “In fact, I doubt you have the courage to kill anyone.”
“It doesn’t take courage to kill someone,” Klaus said. “It takes a severe lack of moral stamina.”
At the mention of the phrase “severe lack of moral stamina,” which here means “cruel selfishness combined with a love of violence,” Olaf’s associates laughed in delight. “Your fancy words won’t save you now, you twerp,” Esmé said.
“That’s true,” Klaus admitted. “What will save me now is a bed on wheels used to transport hospital patients.”
Without another word, Klaus tossed the rusty knife to the floor, startling Olaf’s associates into stepping back. The circle of people with a severe lack of moral stamina was spread out a little more, just for a moment, but a moment was all the Baudelaires needed. Klaus jumped onto the gurney, which began to roll quickly toward the square metal door they had come in. A cry rose from the audience as the Baudelaires sped past Olaf’s associates.
“Get them!” the hook-handed man cried. “They’re getting away!”
“They won’t get away from me!” Hal promised, and grabbed the gurney just before it reached the door. The gurney slowed to a halt, and for a second Sunny found herself face-to-face with the old man. Butterflies fluttered in the youngest Baudelaire’s stomach as he glared at her from behind his tiny glasses. Unlike Olaf’s associates, Hal was not an evil person, of course. He was merely someone who loved the Library of Records and was trying to capture the people he believed had set it on fire, and it pained Sunny to see that he thought she was an evil criminal, instead of an unlucky infant. But she knew she did not have time to explain to Hal what had really happened. She scarcely had time to say a single word, and yet that is precisely what the youngest Baudelaire did.
“Sorry,” Sunny said to Hal, and gave him a small smile. Then she opened her mouth a little wider, and bit Hal’s hand as gently as she could, so that he would let go of the gurney without getting hurt.
“Ow!” Hal said, and let go. “The baby bit me!” he shouted to the crowd.
“Are you hurt?” a nurse asked.
“No,” Hal replied, “but I let go of the gurney. They’re rolling out the door!”
The Baudelaires rolled out the door, with Violet’s eyes flickering open, Klaus steering the gurney, and Sunny hanging on for dear life. The children rolled down the hallways of the Surgical Ward, dodging around surprised doctors and other medical professionals.
“Attention!” announced Mattathias’s voice over the intercom. “This is Mattathias, the Head of Human Resources! The Baudelaire murderers and arsonists are escaping on a gurney! Capture them at once! Also, the fire is spreading throughout the hospital! You might want to evacuate!”
“Noriz!” Sunny shouted.
“I’m going as fast as I can!” Klaus cried, dangling his legs over the side of the gurney to scoot it along. “Violet, wake up, please! You can help push!”
“I’m try…ing….” Violet muttered, squinting around her. The anesthesia made everything seem faint and foggy, and it was almost impossible for her to speak, let alone move.
“Door!” Sunny shrieked, pointing to the door that led out of the Surgical Ward. Klaus steered the gurney in that direction and rode past Olaf’s fat associate who looked like neither a man nor a woman, who was still dressed as a spurious guard. With a terrible roar, it began to give chase, walking in huge, lumbering steps, as the Baudelaires raced toward a small group of Volunteers Fighting Disease. The bearded volunteer, who was playing some very familiar chords on his guitar, looked up to see the gurney wheel past them.
“Those must be those murderers Mattathias was talking about!” he said. “Come on, everyone, let’s help that guard capture them!”
“Sounds good to me,” another volunteer agreed. “I’m a bit tired of singing that song, if you want to know the truth.”
Klaus steered the gurney around a corner, as the volunteers joined the overweight associate in pursuit. “Wake up,” he begged Violet, who was looking around her in a confused way. “Please, Violet!”
“Stairs!” Sunny said, pointing to a staircase. Klaus turned the gurney in the direction his sister indicated, and the children began to roll down the stairs, bouncing up and down with each step. It was a fast, slippery ride that reminded the children of sliding down the bannisters at 667 Dark Avenue, or colliding with Mr. Poe’s automobile when they were living with Uncle Monty. At a curve in the staircase, Klaus scraped his shoes against the floor to stop the gurney, and then leaned over to look at one of the hospital’s confusing maps.
“I’m trying to figure out if we should go through that door,” he said, pointing at a door marked “Ward for People with Nasty Rashes,” “or continue down the staircase.”
“Dleen!” Sunny cried, which meant “We can’t continue down the staircase—look!”
Klaus looked, and even Violet managed to focus enough to look down where Sunny was pointing. Down the staircase, just past the next landing, was a flickering, orange glow, as if the sun was rising out of the hospital basement, and a few wisps of dark black smoke were curling up the staircase like the tentacles of some ghostly animal. It was an eerie sight that had haunted the Baudelaires in their dreams, ever since that fateful day at the beach when all their trouble began. For a moment, the three children were unable to do anything but stare down at the orange glow and the tentacles of smoke, and think about all they had lost because of what they were looking at.
“Fire,” Violet said faintly.
“Yes,” Klaus said. “It’s spreading up this staircase. We’ve got to turn and go back upstairs.”
From upstairs, the Baudelaires listened to the associate roar again, and heard the bearded volunteer reply.
/> “We’ll help you capture them,” he said. “Lead the way, sir—or is it madam? I can’t tell.”
“No up,” Sunny said.
“I know,” Klaus said. “We can’t go up the stairs and we can’t go down. We have to go into the Ward for People with Nasty Rashes.”
Having made this rash decision, Klaus turned the gurney and wheeled it through the door, just as Mattathias’s voice came through on the intercom. “This is Mattathias, the Head of Human Resources,” he said hurriedly. “All associates of Dr. Flacutono, continue to search for the children! Everyone else, gather in front of the hospital—either we will catch the murderers as they escape, or they’ll be burned to a crisp!”
The children rolled into the Ward for People with Nasty Rashes and saw that Mattathias was right. The gurney was racing down a hallway, and the children could see another orange glow at the far end of it. The children heard another roar behind them as the overweight associate lumbered down the stairs. The siblings were trapped in the middle of a hallway that led only to a fiery death or to Olaf’s clutches.
Klaus leaned down and stopped the gurney. “We’d better hide,” he said, jumping to the floor. “It’s too dangerous to be rolling around like this.”
“Where?” Sunny asked, as Klaus helped her down.
“Someplace close by,” Klaus said, grabbing Violet’s arm. “The anesthesia is still wearing off, so Violet can’t walk too far.”
“I’ll…try….” Violet murmured, stepping unsteadily off the gurney and leaning on Klaus. The children looked around and saw that the nearest door was marked “Supply Closet.”
“Glaynop?” Sunny asked.
“I guess so,” Klaus said doubtfully, opening the door with one hand while balancing Violet with the other. “I don’t know what we can do in a supply closet, but at least it’ll hide us for a few moments.”
Klaus and Sunny helped their sister through the door and locked it behind them. Except for a small window in the corner, the closet looked identical to the one where Klaus and Sunny had hidden to decipher the anagram in the patient list. It was a small room, with only one flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and there were a row of white medical coats hanging from hooks, a rusty sink, huge cans of alphabet soup, and small boxes of rubber bands, but as the two younger Baudelaires looked at these supplies, they did not look like devices for translating anagrams and impersonating medical professionals. Klaus and Sunny looked at all these objects, and then at their older sister. To their relief, Violet’s face was a bit less pale, and her eyes were a bit less confused, which was a very good sign. The eldest Baudelaire needed to be as awake as she could be, because the items in the closet were looking less and less like supplies, and more and more like materials for an invention.
CHAPTER
Thirteen
When Violet Baudelaire was five years old, she won her first invention contest with an automatic rolling pin she’d fashioned out of a broken window shade and six pairs of roller skates. As the judges placed the gold medal around her neck, one of them said to her, “I bet you could invent something with both hands tied behind your back,” and Violet smiled proudly. She knew, of course, that the judge did not mean that he was going to tie her up, but merely that she was so skilled at inventing that she could probably build something even with substantial interference, a phrase which here means “something getting in her way.”
The eldest Baudelaire had proved the judge right dozens of times, of course, inventing everything from a lockpick to a welding torch with the substantial interference of being in a hurry and not having the right tools. But Violet thought she had never had as much substantial interference as the lingering effects of anesthesia as she squinted at the objects in the supply closet and tried to focus on what her siblings were saying.
“Violet,” Klaus said, “I know that the anesthesia hasn’t completely worn off, but we need you to try to invent something.”
“Yes,” Violet said faintly, rubbing her eyes with her hands. “I…know.”
“We’ll help you all we can,” Klaus said. “Just tell us what to do. The fire is consuming this entire hospital, and we have to get out of here quickly.”
“Rallam,” Sunny added, which meant “And Olaf’s associates are chasing us.”
“Open…the window,” Violet said with difficulty, pointing to the window in the corner.
Klaus helped Violet lean against the wall, so he could step over to the window without letting her fall. He opened the window and looked outside. “It looks like we’re on the third floor,” he said, “or maybe the fourth. There’s smoke in the air, so it’s hard to tell. We’re not so high up, but it’s still too far to jump.”
“Climb?” Sunny asked.
“There’s an intercom speaker right below us,” Klaus said. “I suppose we could hang on to that and climb down to the bushes below, but we’d be climbing in front of a huge crowd. The doctors and nurses are helping the patients escape, and there’s Hal, and that reporter from The Daily Punctilio and—”
The middle Baudelaire was interrupted by a faint sound coming from outside the hospital.
“We are Volunteers Fighting Disease,
And we’re cheerful all day long.
If someone said that we were sad,
That person would be wrong.”
“And the Volunteers Fighting Disease,” Klaus continued. “They’re waiting at the entrance to the hospital, just like Mattathias told them to. Can you invent something to fly over them?”
Violet frowned and closed her eyes, standing still for a moment as the volunteers continued singing.
“We visit people who are sick,
And try to make them smile,
Even if their noses bleed,
Or if they cough up bile.”
“Violet?” Klaus asked. “You’re not falling asleep again, are you?”
“No,” Violet said. “I’m…thinking. We need…to distract…the crowd…before we…climb down.”
The children heard a faint roar from beyond the closet door. “Kesalf,” Sunny said, which meant “That’s Olaf’s associate. It sounds like it’s entering the Ward for People with Nasty Rashes. We’d better hurry.”
“Klaus,” Violet said, and opened her eyes. “Open those boxes…of rubber bands. Start to string…them together…to make…a cord.”
“Tra la la, Fiddle dee dee,
Hope you get well soon.
Ho ho ho, hee hee hee,
Have a heart-shaped balloon.”
Klaus looked down and watched the volunteers giving balloons out to the hospital patients who had been evacuated from the hospital. “But how will we distract the crowd?” he asked.
“I…don’t know,” Violet admitted, and looked down at the floor. “I’m having…trouble focusing my…inventing skills.”
“Help,” Sunny said.
“Don’t cry for help, Sunny,” Klaus said. “No one will hear us.”
“Help,” Sunny insisted, and took off her white medical coat. Opening her mouth wide, she bit down on the fabric, ripping a small strip off the coat with her teeth. Then she held up the strip of white cloth, and handed it to Violet.
“Ribbon,” she said, and Violet gave her a weary smile. With unsteady fingers, the eldest Baudelaire tied her hair up to keep it out of her eyes, using the thin strip of fabric instead of a hair ribbon. She closed her eyes again, and then nodded.
“I know…it’s a bit silly,” Violet said. “I think…it did help, Sunny. Klaus…get to work…on the rubber bands. Sunny—can you open…one of those cans of soup?”
“Treen,” Sunny said, which meant “Yes—I opened one earlier, to help decode the anagrams.”
“Good,” Violet replied. With her hair up in a ribbon—even if the ribbon was spurious—her voice sounded stronger and more confident. “We need…an empty can…as quickly as…possible.”
“We visit people who are ill,
And try to make them laugh,
Even when th
e doctor says
He must saw them in half.
We sing and sing all night and day,
And then we sing some more.
We sing to boys with broken bones
And girls whose throats are sore.”
As the members of V.F.D. continued their cheerful song, the Baudelaires worked quickly. Klaus opened a box of rubber bands and began stringing them together, Sunny began to gnaw at the top of a can of soup, and Violet went to the sink and splashed water on her face to try to make herself as alert as possible. Finally, by the time the volunteers were singing
“Tra la la, Fiddle dee dee,
Hope you get well soon.
Ho ho ho, hee hee hee,
Have a heart-shaped balloon.”
Klaus had a long cord of rubber bands curled at his feet like a snake, Sunny had taken the top off a can of soup and was pouring it down the sink, and Violet was staring anxiously at the bottom of the closet door, from which a very thin wisp of smoke was crawling out.
“The fire is in the hallway,” Violet said, as the children heard another roar from the hallway, “and so is Olaf’s henchperson. We have only a few moments.”
“The cord is all ready,” Klaus said, “but how can we distract the crowd with an empty soup can?”
“It’s not an empty soup can,” Violet said, > “not anymore. Now it’s a spurious intercom. Sunny, poke one hole in the bottom of the can.”
“Pietrisycamollaviadelrechiotemexity,” Sunny said, but she did as Violet asked and poked her sharpest tooth through the bottom of the can.
“Now,” Violet said, “you two hold this near the window. Don’t let the crowd see it. They have to think my voice is coming out of the intercom.”