Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“YES!” Violet shrieked, as her machine began to whir. 

She had been working on building it for weeks, and now she had finally reached her favorite part, turning it on. She loved how it leapt to life, feeling like Frankenstein from Shelley’s novel, a favorite since she had been little. 

Her sense of accomplishment melted as she heard the telltale sounds of a failing engine, about to cut out altogether. Not on her watch.

She reached into her pocket, attempting to grab her ribbon. 

Violet, like her parents, sometimes tied her hair up when she was working on a particularly difficult problem, such as the one before her at the moment.

Violet came up empty. She must have put it in the other pocket.

“Shit.”

 It wasn’t in that one either.

Klaus looked up from his book. He was sitting across the room reading in a comfy old armchair they’d had for as long as they could remember.

“Language.”

‘What! I barely even said it!” Violet complained.

“Still counts.” 

“Like hell it does,” She mumbled, standing up and scanning the area for her ribbon.

Violet had been wearing her yellow one all week, one of her least favorites and the only survivor of the great ribbon massacre. She had been bugging her parents to go out with her and buy some more but they had been strangely distracted over the past couple days.

“Have you seen my ribbon?” Violet asked her brother.

“Nope,” 

“Damn it!” she exclaimed.

Klaus put down his book and gave her a look. “You do understand that we have a one year old baby sister, right?”

“We literally just talked about this. Besides, it’s not like she’s in the room or anything.”

“She might as well be.”

“Whatever. I’m going to ask Mom and Dad about my new ribbons, because this one isn’t turning up anywhere.” 

“Good luck with that.”

Violet walked towards the kitchen, frowning. 

Her brother could be such a pain sometimes.

Violet entered the kitchen just as the oven timer went off, Bertrand running over to get it. 

“Be careful!” Beatrice warned. She was sitting at the dining room table with Sunny, trying to get her to eat her food, a trying task as the infant disliked everything mushy, vastly preferring something she could bite down on instead.

“I’ve got it!” Bertrand replied, opening the oven door to get a faceful of smoke. 

Sunny grinned. It was funny to see her father hack up his lungs after inhaling the fumes. 

“Flambé!” she giggled, meaning something similar to “It may be burnt, but it still looks better than what I’m eating.”

With that Violet could agree. Both her parents were horrible cooks but they weren’t baby food bad. At least her father wasn’t. Her mother was another matter altogether. 

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Beatrice said, selecting a clean knife to cut the blackened banana bread. “It might just be a little crunchy, that’s all.”

That made Sunny interested. 

“Como,” she offered, “I’ll eat it.”

“I won’t,” Violet said, grabbing a plum from the fruit bowl and taking her seat at the table. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”

“Are you sure sweetie?” her mother asked. 

“Beatrice, it’s black.” Bertrand interjected, recovered from the coughing fit that reminded Violet of Mr. Poe, her parent’s banker, of whom she had a running bet on when he would die. 

“So? I ate blackened food all the time as a child.”

“I know you did,” he said, “I did too. But that doesn’t mean that Violet needs to.”

“Otip,” Sunny added, meaning “I would just like to reiterate that I have no problem with eating the crunchy fire bread.”

Something shifted in Beatrice’s demeanor with the mention of fire, and she relented on the issue, refocusing on Sunny’s breakfast, to the baby’s great dismay.

“So,” Violet began, “ Have you heard anything about my new ribbons?”

“New ribbons?” Bertrand asked, “What’s wrong with your old ones?”

“Don’t you remember? You had me bite-proof Sunny’s crib, which made her want to get back at me so she got Klaus to tell her where I hid my ribbons, which he told her because I used a sandwich as a bookmark last week, which to be honest is none of his business since he had already read that book and I barely got any food on it. But anyways Sunny found my ribbons and baked them into a casserole that she tried to get me to eat (I didn’t) and so now they’re all crusty and smell like beef.”

Bertrand opened his eyes in surprise. He most certainly did not remember that. But it sounds like something his kids would do. After all, they did take after Beatrice.

“Rag,” Sunny said proudly. “I think I got the upper hand on that one.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure little sister,” Violet said, with a devious smile and a falsely sweet intonation.

Uh-oh.

“Best go check your room.”

Sunny glared at her sister angrily, forced to stay at the table and finish eating. If she tried anything, anything at all, then she would have the wrath of a very intelligent infant with a lot of free time upon her. 

“Very impressive,” Beatrice said after a few moments pause. “The casserole thing must have taken a lot of thought. Why, it reminds me of a series of escalating pranks that I participated in when I was around your age, Violet. I believe it went from stealing a muffin to grand theft auto of a yellow school bus, although if my memory serves me right it could have been a charter.”

“She’s joking of course!” Bertrand added a little too quickly. 

While he had not been present in that particular instance he knew “The Bus Incident” was not something he wanted his children to emulate. They were mischievous enough without his wife’s encouragement.

“So,” Violet said, bringing the group back on task. “I was wondering if either of you had a ribbon I could borrow?” 

Bertrand was eager to get Violet out of the kitchen and as far away from Sunny as possible, as she was bound to discover the prank after breakfast. He didn’t know what his daughter had done to her but he knew that it wouldn’t be good for his continued sanity, or the structural integrity of the mansion.

“I believe there are some in my desk.” 

Beatrice gave him a strange look. They had a single study room with two desks, one for each of them. This room was usually off limits to the children and held various furtive documents, among other things, that would be inconvenient for them if found.

After Violet had raced out of the room and Sunny had finished her breakfast, Beatrice pulled Bertrand aside. 

“Why did you send her in there! There’s things that-”

“It will be okay, she’s just getting a ribbon.”

“She’s my daughter, Randy, there’s no way in hell she won’t go snooping.” Beatrice said, pacing back and forth.

“She’s our daughter, Beatrice,” he corrected, putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “And she’s getting older now. Maybe a little snooping wouldn’t be such a bad thing?”

Beatrice was incredulous. “ Not a bad thing? It would be horrible thing! A travesty even!”

Bertrand sighed. “It’s Violet. I’d like to think she’d understand.”

  “You would.”

As Violet was standing outside of her parents study she felt an urge to knock. This was ridiculous, of course, as there was no one inside, but it seemed like a thing she ought to do. It was a forgien space, a stranger inside her own home, and it almost felt wrong to enter. But enter she did.

Her first thought was that it was messy. Her second was that messy was not an appropriate word. 

The study was not the organized and studious room you would expect from people of her parents’ standing, in fact it looked like a hurricane had blown through, leaving a plethora of things behind.

Papers were stacked in towering piles, lamps resting on top. Violet was surprised that none had fallen, as the stacks almost seemed to topple upon her mere presence. 

A fire could start very easily in a place like this , she thought. It was like a tinderbox, primed to ignite.

It was cluttered everywhere, but Violet decided to start over by Bertrand’s desk, as his side of the room seemed organized enough, even if the contents were sorted onto the floor in specific groups, organized by some sort of niche criteria.

She picked a path over to her father’s worktable, trying to avoid knocking over anything important, which was harder than it sounded. She came close to collapsing a group that seemed to have something to do with leeches, but she was able to steady it before it fell.

Bertrand’s desk was simple, unlike Beatrice’s, who’s was grand and extravagant, and made of a dark mahogany. She felt along the ridgeline and sighed in disappointment. This was the kind of desk you couldn’t open, and she would have to feel around inside.

Violet slowly reached into the desk, searching for something ribbon-like.

Nothing.

This can’t be right! She thought. Her father said there were ribbons in here.

With a sigh Violet turned and faced her mother’s mess of a workspace. She could already tell from across the room that her desk was overflowing, and she had very little means of organization.

This was not going to be pleasant.

She weaved back through the piles, barely steadying a lamp as it began to fall. 

“This is a complete mess,” she mumbled. Violet was disorganized, of course, but this was worrying. They were her parents! They were full grown adults!

Reaching her mother’s desk, Violet knelt down and felt the side. This one didn’t open either. Just her luck.

Reaching in, she hoped that her mother wasn’t the sort of person who ate at their desk, as she would have no way of knowing what was inside.

As she scrounged around, Violet noticed a distinct difference between her father’s desk and the one belonging to her mother. Beatrice’s desk was almost devoid of documents.

It seemed impossible except… What if the papers scattered about were all her mother’s? It made sense. 

Violet noticed that Beatrice’s desk was entirely full of miscellaneous objects. Miscellaneous objects and… a ribbon! 

Violet tugged on the end of the ribbon and felt another object inside rattle. 

It must be tied to something, she thought, grabbing the entire thing and lifting it out. 

Violet squinted in confusion. What is this doing hidden away in her mom’s desk? 

The ribbon was tied onto a beautiful porcelain bowl, like the kind used to hold sugar. It looked fragile, and Violet thought that it might break apart in her hands. 

The sugar bowl, she noticed, was surprisingly warm, most likely a result of the contents inside. 

Violet took off the lid to take a peek, squinting in confusion at the contents.

The bowl was filled with a sort of powder that stuck to the sides, compacting into a hard layer in the center. 

What was most odd about it, however, was that the powder was dark red, and flaking off in bits.

Is it some kind of spice? Violet thought. The family owned a collection of cookbooks and Sunny always had her older siblings read them aloud to her before bed. 

It cooked like it could be some kind of hot pepper, or maybe paprika. Violet placed a finger onto the dark layer, trying to get a small bit on her finger to taste when it broke, a warm red liquid seeping out, metallic with the unmistakable scent of blood. 

“What the fuck?” Violet dropped the bowl, shattering it, and rushed out of the study, blood dripping off her hands. 

Why did her mother have a bowl of blood? How do you even get a bowl of blood? Questions raced through her head as she sped across the mansion, the blood dripping down onto the carpets and rugs, her queries overshadowed by the more daunting question of whose blood it was.

“Violet, there you are!” Bertrand said, draping a towel across her arms. 

He didn’t see the blood.

“I need-”

“You’re going to the beach!” Beatrice said cheerfully, handing Klaus a picnic basket.

They had gathered in the foyer, Klaus and Sunny all packed up to leave. 

“You aren’t coming with us?” Klaus asked.

“I’m afraid we have to stay at the house to clear some matters up.”

“Violet!” Beatrice said, her voice masked with almost unnatural happiness. “Won’t you be a dear and carry the umbrella?” 

“Nube,” Sunny said, informing the group that today was set to be cloudy.

“A cloudy day is the best day to go to the beach,” Bertrand recited.

“Now, Hug your parents goodbye!”

What the hell was going on? Her parents had a hidden bowl of blood and now they’re shooing them out of the house? Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Beatrice gave Violet a hug, a tight hug, a loving hug, the kind of hug that one might give to a child that they would never see again. 

“I love you so much,” Beatrice whispered in her ear, voice no longer happy. “So much more than you could ever know.”

Violet loved her mother too, and hugged her back even harder, a sticky hand brushing up against her arm. 

Oh shit, her hands!

Beatrice held her daughter tight. She was terrified of what would happen if they sent her children away, but keeping them here would be selfish, and a million times worse for everyone. She felt her daughter hug her back, her hands on her arms, Her hands…

Beatrice’s face turned white in terror. Her hands! She pulled back, grabbing her daughter’s wrists and holding them up for a closer look. 

They were red. Blood red, and she knew exactly whose blood it was. 

Their plan was completely and totally fucked.

Faking another cheery smile, she gripped her daughter’s hands tighter, calling for Klaus and Sunny to go ahead without her.

“Vi!” Sunny protested, meaning “I want to stay with Violet!” 

A few minutes earlier the infant had discovered that her older sister had bite-proofed her entire room, and she was not about to let her get away with it.

“Klaus!” Beatrice trilled. “Start heading to the trolley. Your sisters should be right behind you.” As she said that she knew that that was not going to end up being the case. They didn’t have time for this.

The boy began to complain, but Beatrice ushered him out the door and slammed it behind him. She’d regret that later.

“Beatrice what the hell?” Bertrand exclaimed. His wife was throwing the plan to the wind, and for no reason.

“Violet found it.” she answered.

“Violet found what?’

“Violet found your creepy blood bowl,” the girl said, referring to herself in the third person.

Bertrand turned to Beatrice, aghast.

“Surely you didn’t!” 

“It was good spot!”

“That’s an absolutely horrible spot!” he answered.

“That’s why they wouldn’t look there!” she quipped.

He sighed. “That reasoning never works.”

“They?” Sunny asked, meaning “Who’s They? And what are they looking for?” 

Both adults whipped around. They had forgotten that their children were still there, Violet holding Sunny with her bloodstained hands. 

“Violet, Sunny, go wash off and change. Quickly. Then meet us in the study. Don’t speak a word of this to anyone. Go!” Beatrice instructed. 

After the children had hurried out of the room, Beatrice and Bertrand turned to face each other. 

“The go-bags,” They said in unison, rushing to their respective hiding places. 

Bertrand dug through the cabinets in the dining room. These were never opened, it was the perfect spot for a secret compartment. He wiggled the wood free and grabbed his bag, rustling through to make sure everything was still there. Flashlight. Check. Clothes. Check. Money. Check. The list went on and on, everything in place. 

He then entered the study, Violet and Sunny already there and cleaned up. Sunny was sitting on a desk as Violet reached down to untie the ribbon from the broken handle piece of the sugar bowl. 

“Stain,” Sunny warned, “Be careful not to step in it,” 

Sunny had been a little less concerned about the blood than her sister, although that can be excused by her lack of experience with the subject, as she was in the point in her life in which one does not witness a lot of death. This would change soon enough.

“Girls, where’s your mother?” Bertrand asked, sensing the first signs of smoke. 

This was not good.

Bertrand had been trained well, and he knew that the fire would soon be approaching the study. They had to start moving, hoping that Beatrice wasn’t too far behind. Where could she have gone?

He rushed over to her desk and started pushing. “Violet, put your sister down and help me move this.”

“What are we doing?” She asked, the desk being dragged off of the carpet altogether.

“Escaping.”

Bertrand lifted up the rug to reveal a trapdoor. They were running out of time. Where was Beatrice?

“Scopin!” Sunny shouted, distracted by a strange smell. “I see smoke!”

Smoke and no Beatrice. Bertrand had to hope that she got out some other way. He couldn’t consider the alternative. Not now. Not when his daughters depended on him.

“Get in!” He shouted, lifting the trapdoor and ushering them inside. 

“What’s going on? Why is there a passage under Mom’s desk? Where is Mom?” Violet said, Sunny in her arms. They didn’t have time for this. 

“The house is on fire! Get inside. Now!” 

Violet reluctantly climbed down into the tunnels, the two girls safe for the moment. 

But not Beatrice. Or himself.

He waited a few more seconds for her.

Nothing. 

Their time was running out. 

Bertrand began to enter the tunnels, looking up at his home, the last part of it he would see before it dissolved into flames. 

He was about to close the trapdoor when he heard something that sounded vaguely like footsteps, nearing the study.

Could it be?

It could. With a sharp crack Beatrice kicked the study door down, holding tight to her backpack, covered in soot.

With a grin, she spotted Bertrand and headed over to the trapdoor, clambering down behind him.

“Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easy, did you?”

Chapter Text

Klaus stood outside the Baudelaire mansion, a picnic basket and towel in one hand and his book in the other. What in the world had just happened?

Taking a brief look back at his house, Klaus began to start out towards the trolley station, unaware that that would be the last time he ever saw his childhood home intact.

The trolley station was close to deserted, with the only other inhabitants businessmen and women from the city commuting to work. At least he and his sisters would have the beach to themselves.

Speaking of his sisters, when were they going to get there?

His father had given him a trolley ticket before he had been ushered out of the house, and presumably gave ones to Sunny and Violet as well. He was on the 1:15 to Briny Beach, leaving in three minutes with his sisters nowhere in sight.

After a few more moments of indecision, Klaus decided to board the trolley, and head to the beach himself. It was their loss.

Briny Beach was just as bleak as Sunny had predicted earlier, the only animal in sight a seagull high above. He hoped it wouldn’t rain, and his book wouldn't get wet.

Klaus was currently engrossed in a novel about the history of Egypt, a volume he had found lost under a shelf in his parent’s vast library. Klaus loved to learn about all sorts of things, and had remarkably good memory and focus for his age, only twelve years old.

After finally resigning the possibility that his sisters would show up, Klaus laid out a towel and began to read, absorbing all the information he could on Egyptian civilization. 

Halfway through a very interesting chapter about the Hyksos invasion of the Middle Kingdom, Klaus looked up from his book to see a mysterious figure in the fog. 

His heart skipped a beat, it was irrational, of course, to assume that this figure would come here with the intent to harm him, or even find anyone at all, with the weather as it was. 

The figure took another step forward and let out a wracking cough, Klaus sighing in relief. It was just Mr. Poe from the bank, fortunately for his part in the bet, still living.

“Klaus Baudelaire?” Poe asked.

“Arthur Poe from the bank,” he replied.

“I’m Arth- well, yes. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I’m afraid that your entire family has perished in a terrible fire that has destroyed your home.”

Klaus dropped his book in surprise, the pages lying facedown on the sand. He- They- No. It couldn’t be true. Why he just- Sunny. Violet. Mom and Dad. Everyone, gone. Not gone. Dead. 

Poe coughed again. “Perished means killed.”

In a voice barely above a whisper, Klaus choked out a reply.

“I know what perished means.”

“Good!” Poe said cheerily, all traces of empathy disappearing as quickly as they arrived. “There are two more orphans in the car, their house burned down earlier today too. I’m sure you’d love to meet them, I bet you would have a lot in common.”

Orphan, Klaus thought bitterly. I’m an orphan. O-R-P-H-A-N, noun, a child whose parents are dead. 

It was uncomfortable considering himself that way, his parents that way. Dead. To think that he could sit on the beach reading while they… No.

Poe lead a shocked Klaus to his car, rambling on about his wife Eleanora and the promotion that his parents death would bring him, coughing every few seconds. Could this shallow and inconsiderate man really be who his parents had chosen as a banker? Not as a banker, as a what did he call it… executor of their estate? 

Poe drove an old black roadster, with plenty of room in the back. Sitting down by the window, Klaus surveyed the two children next to him.

They were both about his age, and had the same round face, holding different colored notebooks that were remarkably similar in shape and style. 

The boy next to him was currently writing in his, but he looked up as Klaus entered the car. His eyes were puffy and red, as if he had just been crying and he gave Klaus a slight smile.

The other child was staring out the window away from him, her long black hair blocking his view.

“Now children,” Poe started, turning the key in the ignition. “This is Klaus Baudelaire, he’s an orphan just like you. Klaus, these are the Quagmire twins, you will all be staying together under the care of your new-”

“Triplets.” the boy corrected, his voice cracking. “My sister Isadora and I are triplets.”

Poe sighed. “There are two of you. That makes you twins.”

“Just because our brother is dead, that doesn’t make us twins.” the boy insisted.

Their brother was dead. Their triplet. Klaus didn’t have a brother or a triplet but he had sisters, both older and younger and knew what the boy was feeling. 

“Actually,” Klaus jumped in, “he’s right. The death of a triplet doesn’t make them twins, just as the death of my sisters doesn’t make me an only child.The death of a sibling doesn’t affect one’s birth identity.”

Poe nodded, clearly not understanding a word that he had said.“Potatoes, Tomatoes.”

“It's Potato.” Klaus corrected. “The saying is potato, potato, not potatoes, tomatoes. That makes no sense.”

The boy next to him chuckled at this. 

“My name’s Duncan Quagmire,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Klaus Baudelaire, although the circumstances may be less than ideal.”

Klaus agreed with Duncan. Three orphaned children stuck in the back of a banker’s car heading who knows where was very much less than ideal. He then realized that Poe was talking again.

“As I was saying, you will all be staying under the care of your generous new guardian, an actor named Count Olaf. He lives just on the other side of the city and-”

Poe was interrupted again.

“I want to see it.” 

Isadora turned to Poe, the first time she has spoken since Klaus had arrived.

“We should be there shortly, Count Olaf’s house is just-”

“She means our house.” Duncan explained. “The one that… you know.”

It burned down. With Quigley inside.

“Hm,” Poe said, checking his watch. “We would have to be speedy. Banking hours will be starting soon. But I suppose if word of this gets back to my boss, I could finally get that promotion… very well.”

The noises of the city seemed to fade away as they neared the Quagmire Mansion. Klaus noticed that there seemed to be dozens of houses burned down in this area, so close to where he lived. How could he have never seen the smoke from home? It was horrifying to think that so many could have gone through what he was going through right now, and in his own backyard, nonetheless. 

The car stopped in front of another blackened plot, this one indistinguishable from the rest, save for the smell. It was pungent, thick and greasy, and filled his lungs.This house had burned down recently. He hated to think if his house was like this, but deep inside he knew it was.

Isadora exited the car, with Poe behind her, until it was just him and Duncan sitting next to each other. 

“Do you think I should go in?” the boy said to Klaus, so quietly that he almost didn’t pick it up.

“I’ve read lots of books about regret.” Klaus answered. “They all talk about should have’s. Things that they should have done, that they should have said. Places that they should have visited. This seems to be one of those moments. But it’s not my decision..”

Duncan stared outside where his home used to be and took a few deep breaths. He was scared, beyond scared even. He couldn’t do this alone, just him and his sister. But maybe he didn’t have to.

Duncan stood up and held out a hand to the boy. 

“Want to join me in sifting through the ashes of my childhood home?” 

Klaus smiled. “Only if you do with mine.”

The Quagmire Mansion was not in a good state, mostly considering the fact that it had been completely burned down a few hours prior. Poe warned the children not to go upstairs as it was unstable, so they were confined to the first level. 

The Quagmire Mansion made Klaus a little bit uncomfortable, as its layout was so close to that of his own home. The fallen beams in the foyer, charred wood in the kitchen, it all made it think of where he lived, the remains of which they would soon visit. 

By the time that Klaus and Duncan had joined the others inside, Isadora had already wandered off to who knows where, and Poe was heading back to the car to wait. This left the boys all by themselves.

“Where do you want to start?” Klaus asked. Duncan was looking like he was on the verge of tears again as he stared around the living room.

“Anywhere you want is fine.” he said. 

Klaus walked over to a set of cabinets.

“Maybe something in here survived the fire,” he speculated, opening the top drawer. It was marked with a soot covered cursive letter, possibly an “O” or a “Q”.

The drawer was filled with pieces of parchment and measuring instruments, a few of which that Klaus had read about before. For example, that was a compass, and the other a protractor. The majority of the papers inside were reduced to ash, with only a few remaining bits marked with a light blue. Construction documents? Klaus wondered. Blueprints, maybe?

“Maps.” Duncan said. He had moved behind him and was staring at the compass that Klaus held in his hand. “My brother Quigley liked drawing maps. He’s a cartographer.”

There was a pause.

“He was a cartographer.”

Klaus put the compass back and looked at Duncan.

“My sister Violet was an engineer,” he started. “I’d like to think that she and Quigley would have gotten along well.”

Duncan smiled at that. “They would have been a force to be reckoned with.”

“Unstoppable,” Klaus agreed.

Duncan walked over and sharply closed the cabinet with a clang, turning back towards Klaus.

A noise sounded from above, and a box fell off the top shelf, narrowly missing his head.

“Are you okay?” Klaus asked, racing to his side.

“I’m fine,” he answered. “But what’s that?”

In the fall the box had broken open, revealing something that resembled an archaic telescope, or maybe a spyglass. 

The spyglass was charred and burnt, just like the majority of things in the house. Klaus reached down to pick it up, when the larger lens half crumbled into ash.

“What is it?” Duncan murmured. 

“It looks like a spyglass of some sort,” Klaus replied, “I read a book about seafaring once, and it had a section on spyglasses. The book never mentioned one like this though, with these markings. See the detail?”

Duncan held his half aloft. “They look like letters, or maybe numbers. Why would a spyglass have those? Why would my parents have a spyglass?”

“Maybe the characters help with navigation?” Klaus offered. 

“That still doesn’t explain my parents having it,” he answered.

Klaus shrugged. “Maybe they were into sailing?”

“I’d think I’d know if my parents had a secret sailing obsession.”

A racketing cough sounded behind them.

“Boys?” Mr. Poe asked, “there you are! We need to go quickly if we’re going to stop by the Baudelaire Mansion before meeting with Count Olaf.”

He paused a moment, counting on his fingers. One… two… no three.

“Where’s your sister?”

“Around here somewhere,” Duncan said.

Isadora was indeed around here somewhere. In fact, at the moment she was in her parents study. 

Over the course of the past twenty minutes, Isadora had wandered all over the house, assessing the destruction. It was bad. Not a single room had been spared from the flames, and most definitely not the study. 

A large beam had collapsed, crushing a good portion of the room, along with everything in it. Isadora surveyed the wreckage for any sign of something unharmed. Earlier she had found a hairclip of her mothers, pink and elegant, the one she had worn to a ball when Isadora was six or seven years old. 

She remembered that ball well. Her mother had come back with soot on her dress.

Isadora fingered the barette in remembrance. It was warped now by the fire, one of the prongs wavy and undefined, the other bent at the tip. But it still worked, and she could still see it resting in her mother’s dark brown hair, a trait that unlike her brothers, she did not share.

“Burnt home, shattered dreams,” she whispered, “Two triplets torn at the seams.”

Isadora was a poet, she always had been, starting to write couplets from a young age. However, her poetry seemed different now, more solemn that what she used to write, funny stories and the like.

As she neared the column, Isadora took in a quick breath, wrinkling her nose at the smell. 

It was like the smoke but stronger, another scent layered on top. It would later join a list of things that she would never forget, of things that would haunt her until the day she died. 

It was the smell of burning flesh. Human flesh.

Quigley! Isadora thought rushing over to the beam. Oh please don’t let it be Quigley, or Mom, or… she spotted a glint of silver lying on the ground. Dad. 

It was his watch, the old silver one that her grandfather had given to him before she was born. The fire had melted it together, making it useless, but still unmistakably his. 

She was crying now, for the first time since she had heard the news, trails of tears rushed down her face, her throat caught in a sob. Her dad had died here, trapped under a falling beam as he burned alive. 

Her mind turned this over and over, seeing the flames engulf him, Quigley and her mother trapped in similar ways all around the house as she and Duncan escaped. Why them? Out of everyone to escape, why them? 

Quigley was the oldest. He would have been better at this, at taking care of Duncan. She was just a poet, in the right place at the right time, able to escape out the kitchen window, her little brother going out the front. She didn’t know how to be the oldest child, to protect her siblings. Quigley may have been a bit of a goofball but at least he knew how to be in charge, to keep them safe. She was a fucking mess!

“Isadora?” Duncan called from out in the hall. She couldn’t let him see this. See Dad. She had to keep him safe. 

Trying and failing to wipe away her tears, Isadora headed out into the hallway.

“Mr. Poe said that we had to go soon,” Duncan started, breaking off when he saw her face. “Oh Isa!” 

He ran over to his sister, giving her a tight hug as she began to cry harder. 

“It’s too much,” she whispered. “It’s all too much.”

Duncan lead Isadora back to the group, never once letting go of his triplet. Maybe coming home was a bad idea, he thought. It was hard seeing this place. This was the house he had grown up in. He had taken his first steps here, wrote his first article here, loved his siblings here. Now those things only existed inside his head, memories, things he was scared he would forget. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t forget Quigley. Forget Mom. Forget Dad. He didn’t know what he would be like without them. Isadora was all he had left.

The car pulled to a stop just in front of another blackened home, this one just slightly different than his own. With a curt smile Klaus opened his door and headed inside, leaving the triplets in the car. 

“You can go in without me,” Isadora sniffled.

Duncan shook his head. “I’m staying here with you. Remember the rules? Triplets don’t leave other triplets alone when they’re in trouble.”

She smiled sadly. “I love you, Duncan.”

“I love you too, Isadora.” he said, resting his head on her shoulder.

Together they then spoke the last set of words, the ones that would never be received but always said.

“And we love you as well, Quigley.”

Klaus Baudelaire felt like a stranger in his own home. It didn’t really count as much of a home anymore, however. His bedroom had completely collapsed into the parlor, taking half of the nursery down with it. 

The rest of the house had also been warped by the flames. Hallways that he had walked his whole life seemed foriegn now, and once or twice he almost got lost. It seemed like the last time he had been here wasn’t this morning but a hundred years ago, and he was now exploring the ruins of a place he once knew and loved. 

“Agh!” As Klaus turned a corner he tripped, landing on his back. “What was-” he began, stopping as he saw what he had tripped over. “-that.”

He had stumbled on a metal canister of some sort, covered in a layer of soot. 

Brushing the grime away with his sleeve, Klaus sat there, puzzled. 

What he had tripped over was a spyglass, one almost identical to the piece he had seen at the Quagmire’s. Only his piece was split cleanly in half, almost as if it had been separated on purpose, a clean cut. 

Klaus popped open the lens cap, noticing it had an engraving on it, one that resembled the shape of an eye. This was something he had to tell Duncan about. It was all so strange. 

“Duncan!” Klaus said, sliding into the seat next to him. “You’ll never believe what I found! It’s a spyglass! Like the other half of yours, see!” He held out the object for the boy to examine.

“A spyglass?” Isadora asked. “What spyglass?”

“We found a piece of a spyglass in a box in your house,” he explained. “And apparently mine has one just like it.”

Duncan pulled out the other piece, comparing it to Klaus’s. “Look at that.” he said. “They’re the same.”

“Not exactly the same,” Isadora said, pushing the two pieces together. “They’re part of the same thing. Like a jigsaw puzzle.” 

She was right. The two pieces fit together almost perfectly. 

“That’s just so strange,” Klaus wondered. “Our two parents having the same exact model, just sitting on a shelf in our houses. It makes me wonder if they got it from the same place, if there’s a person out there who knew both of our parents, a sort of link between four people who never met each other.”

“Children!” Poe coughed. Oh great, he was still here. He put the car into park and looked back at the kids. “Now Quagmires,” 

“And Baudelaire,” Klaus corrected.

“Oh yes, and you. Now Quagmires. We’re about to meet Count Olaf, your new guardian. I expect you to be polite, as we are representing  the department of Orphan Affairs and Mulctuary Money Management as a whole. It may be a hard adjustment, but I believe you will come to enjoy your time with him, as he is a very influential member of the acting community.”

Duncan looked at Klaus, then Isadora. Maybe Mr Poe was right. Maybe they would be okay after all. His sister and his new friend all living together in the same house. I mean, how bad could it be?

Chapter Text

Upon entering the tunnels Beatrice and Bertrand were immediately assaulted.

“Mom!” Violet shrieked, pulling both her parents close. 

“What was that? How did you know the house was on fire? Why was the house on fire? What is this place? Why is it so dark here?” 

Beatrice grimaced. She knew she would have to answer some of these questions eventually, but now was not the time, and this was not the place. It had been 15 years, she thought. Who knew what might be down here? 

“I saw the smoke,” she answered after a moment, blatantly avoiding the other questions. 

Violet nodded suspiciously. Her mother wouldn’t keep secrets. She was a pillar of truth and honesty. She wouldn’t lie to her own daughter. Violet repeated these words over and over in her head, believing them less each time.

A quiet patter of footsteps caused Beatrice to turn around, grabbing tightly onto Violet’s hand and breaking into a sprint, Bertrand, now carrying Sunny, running behind. She should have known they would send someone to check the tunnels. They had lingered too long already.

They ran for what seemed like five minutes, or maybe it was ten, Violet didn’t know anymore. They were in some sort of catacomb system, one with so many twists and turns she had no idea how her mother wasn’t lost already.

Beatrice was lost and Bertrand knew it. She had never been good at navigation before they left the organization, but it had gotten steadily worse in the fifteen years since. He had expected from her route that she was trying to find her way to the Elling Street safehouse, but a wrong turn a few hallways back had made their situation more apparent. 

Bertrand knew he should have said something when she passed their exit but he didn’t want to embarrass her. Besides, he knew a place nearby that was much nicer, and less painful for them both. 

Beatrice knew exactly where she was going. Or at least that’s what she told herself when she turned into yet another tunnel she didn’t recognize. Changing the tunnel system should be illegal, she thought. Not that that would stop anyone she knew, but still. 

 By this point she was almost considering asking Bertrand for help. He was too nice to make fun of her for it but she was still hesitant to concede.

Beatrice reached a fork and slowed a bit. Both tunnels seemed familiar to her, but the one on the left seemed like a better bet. She adjusted her foot and prepared to start down that path when Bertrand sped by with Sunny, taking the one to the right, and forcing Beatrice to follow.

Following Bertrand, Beatrice and Violet entered another tunnel, this one illuminated by slits in the ceiling, surrounding what seemed to be a manhole cover, a ladder folded up beneath it. 

“Pest?” Sunny asked, “Why are we stopping?” She rather liked the feel of running through the tunnels, although that was primarily because she didn’t have to do any of the actual exercise..

“This is our stop,” Beatrice answered. Turning to Bertand she said, “Do you want to time it or should I?”

He handed Sunny to Violet. “I can do it.”

Unfolding the ladder, Bertrand prepared to climb out into the street.

“Cover your eyes,” he warned the others. “This could get bright.”

Sliding open the manhole cover Bertrand blinked. Or not. The street was overshadowed by towering trees, blocking the light from entering. It was as if the entire area was pitch black. Why, even the streetlights were out! A quick burst of wind caused Bertrand to slide back inside the tunnel at the last minute. 

Damn drivers, turning their lights off for no good reason. 

“What was that?” Violet asked, her face flushed from all the running. 

“Car.”

“You didn’t see it?” Beatrice asked.

He sighed. “Dark is in.”

After catching his breath for a moment Bertrand tried again, peeking his head out the manhole cover. This time he knew better, and listened for the cars instead of looking. When he was satisfied that there were no oncoming vehicles he carefully climbed out, taking ahold of Sunny so Beatrice could exit as well, followed by Violet. 

The street was dark and frigid, causing Violet to shiver. There was something about this place that was menacing, more so them the tunnels even, as they lacked the kind of warmth that came with knowing you were not alone. She felt terribly alone out here, and she could barely see her father walking ahead of her.

She reached out reflexively, taking hold of her mother's hand, warm and solid. She was still mad at her, or course, for the secrets and the lies, none of which had yet been explained, but it was comforting to have her by her side, a reminder of their home, devoured by the flames. 

Bertrand rapped on the back door of the apartment complex a few times, checking to make sure no one was lurking nearby. They wanted as little exposure as possible, especially are vulnerable as they were now, hours after their “deaths”, hiding in the center of the city, sans disguises.

A few seconds of silence gave him the safety to enter, gesturing to the others to remain as quiet as possible. The room he frequented was on the thirteenth floor, a place well known for its secrets.

Due to superstition, contractors would often skip the thirteenth floor, leaving an empty area perfect for hiding out. Only accessible via the stairs, the 13th floor could be easily spruced up into a safehouse by adding a few utilities, and a V.F.D. disguise kit. 

This safehouse was part of a series that Bertrand had helped create a few years back, and was relatively unknown by the majority of the organization, save for a few trusted associates. 

When they arrived inside Violet immediately headed to the couch, exhausted. Today she had fled her burning house, ran a few miles in a creepy underground labyrinth, emerged said labyrinth into the middle of a busy street, and climbed 12 flights of stairs, no small feat for a girl of fourteen, especially one who was not particularly sporty. Within minutes Violet was asleep and Sunny was moved next to her, the two girls peacefully resting on the sofa. This let Beatrice and Bertrand get to work.

The company of their girls had been a wrench in the works, causing them to make some changes to the plan. Some big changes. With a pot of bitter tea at the ready, the two adults took a seat at the kitchen table and began to plot.

“Did you get it?” Bertrand asked. 

Beatrice unzipped her backpack and pulled out an old, slightly singed leather notebook, filled to the brim with stray papers and newspaper articles. “Of course I did, although I had to run into the fire to get it. Couldn’t let this go to waste. We’re going to need it.”

Bertrand scootched closer and turned the first page, his throat tightening at the familiar scrawl. “L always was the best researcher.”

“Yeah,” Beatrice agreed. “Yeah, we was.”

  They split open the notebook, piles of documents mixing with their notes as they got to work.

When Violet woke up the kitchen was immaculate, and her mother and father were sitting at the table drinking some tea. She groggily shook Sunny awake and sat down next to them.

“How did you sleep?” Bertrand asked.

Violet ignored the question. “What time is it?” It looked so early that the light had barely begun to filter in through the windows. “Why are we here? Where is here? Why haven’t we talked to the police or found Klaus? Where is Klaus?” 

Beatrice looked up at the clock behind her. “I’d say it's about ten. Dark is in so it will be harder to find us here.” 

Dark is in? What did that even mean and why did her parents need to be hidden?

Sunny wouldn’t get distracted that easily. “Dolas!” she said, meaning, “Where’s Klaus?”

Bertrand sighed. You and your brother were supposed to be sent to a relative of ours, Dr. Montgomery. He would then keep you safe for a few months before we could come back home.

Beatrice frowned. This was getting awfully close to telling the truth. Next they would be asking about-

“Juntos?” Sunny asked. “Why couldn’t we all stay together?”

That. Beatrice opened her mouth, ready to launch into the lie they had prepared when Bertrand began to speak again. What is he doing?

“There are people out there that are mad at your mother and I. Very mad. Mad enough to do things, to hurt us, to hurt you and your brother. We just wanted to keep you safe from that.”

Sunny nodded but Violet was more reluctant. There were things that they weren’t telling them, she knew, like why those people were after her family, and what they would have to do to change that. Her parents seemed like different people now, not the same as they were before all of this, before the bowl. It was a part of growing up, she knew, learning things about them that made them seem more like people, more human. But this? Of course her parents would go above and beyond. 

“What’s going to happen now?” Violet asked. “When do we go to this Montgomery?” 

Bertrand sighed. “You and Sunny aren’t going to Dr. Montgomery, it's far too dangerous for us to go anywhere right now. We’re going to lie low here for a week or so, make sure there’s no one following us.”

“But what about Klaus?”

“Your brother should be fine,” Beatrice answered. “We can trust Monty.”

“But…” Violet said. “If we aren’t telling anyone, then he’ll think we’re dead. Everyone will think we’re dead.”

The Baudelaire parents wrapped their children in a hug. “We’re sorry,” Bertrand said.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” Beatrice remarked. 

Violet felt a flash of anger towards her mother. It wasn’t supposed to be this way? What? She was just supposed to think that her parents had died instead. That wasn’t any better than this. It was still a lie. One that Klaus was living right now, by himself. 

A few hours of being shut in had not done any favors for Violet’s mood. She had been playing cards with Sunny for hours, and had been losing horribly. How did she get this good? Violet thought. It definitely wasn’t from anyone she knew. After her fifth round of poker, and her third run in with bankruptcy, Violet was beyond bored. 

She didn’t know what to do without her inventions, without anything to test her mind. She was miserable, and tired of asking her parents questions, and watching as they refused to answer. 

Beatrice could see what was happening to Violet. She knew it was her fault that her daughter was here with her instead of at Monty’s. Maybe some fresh air would help. It was hard being in hiding, especially without any friends to keep you company. Why, Beatrice could remember her first safehouse stay rather well. It was during her apprenticeship and her chaperone had left mysteriously so it was just her and O, alone making smores in the chimney of the lonesome cottage, dreaming of their time as members together. How differently things turned out.

Bertrand laid a hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. 

“This is going to be hard for them,” He said. 

Beatrice nodded. 

“Maybe we could let them go outside? Just for a moment or two to catch their bearings?”

Bertrand smiled. “I think that’s a great idea. They can go get some food for the next few days.” 

“They would have to be in disguise of course,” Beatrice continued.

Bertrand’s smile faded as Beatrice went on.

“They would also have to use fake names, and speak a little differently to avoid detection.”

He hated doing this to his children, making them do this to survive. But he agreed with Beatrice. They needed to be cautious. Especially in the city. 

Beatrice helped him pull out a trunk of disguises from a hidden closet in the safehouse.

“Now,” she said to her daughters. “We need you to go to the store and buy a few items for us.”

“It’s very important,” Bertrand added. “That no one can know that you are our daughters, so we need you to pretend to be someone else.”

“Fake?” Sunny asked. “You want us to lie?” 

“No, no of course not!” Beatrice interjected. “Think of it as like a game.”

A game, Beatrice? She thought to herself. This isn’t a game, it’s life or death! Kill or be killed! 

No, she corrected sternly. It’s not kill or be killed. Her kids would be different. They would be better. She would be better. 

Violet scratched at her wig, the blonde curls sticky against her face. Her parents had fitted her with a heavy hairpiece and a pair of tinted sunglasses, as well as a typical everyday outfit, neutral colors,so not to attract attention. The wig itched, the glasses made everything too dark, the clothes were drab, and her arm hurt from the constant weight of the groceries. Violet thought she had it worse.

Sunny would disagree with that statement. Strongly. Beatrice and Bertrand had thought that a young girl carrying an infant would be too recognizable and proposed that Sunny hide in the empty grocery bag. That worked well enough, when the bag was empty. 

She currently had a milk carton wedged against her back, the corner poking into her side every time Violet took a step. In front of her was a pineapple, the sharp leaves brushing past her face. These leaves were too much for Sunny to handle, and after her fifth attempt at biting them off she had relented, waiting for Violet to bring her back home.

Violet turned the corner onto Dark Avenue, the appropriately named street where they were staying, when she saw something strange.

“What the fuck?” she mumbled, causing Sunny to pop up from inside the grocery bag.

“Kitty,” the infant remarked. 

The girls spied a woman, her hair and shades resembling that of Violet’s disguise, although her clothes were much more fashionable. The odd thing about this woman, however, was who, or rather what was with her. The woman was holding a pink jeweled leash, with a fiery orange cat at the end, and was walking him down the street.

The cat did not seem to pleased about this arrangement, and as the duo neared them he let out a piercing hiss, one that was returned by immediately by Sunny, her head sticking out of the failed disguise.

“What an interesting monkey you have there,” The woman remarked, stopping in front of Violet.

 “I always wanted an exotic pet, but I got this one instead.” she said, giving her cat a swift kick. 

The woman spoke in an English accent, highlighted with an air of condescension. 

“But animals are in right now, and the more homicidal the better.”

The cat bristled at this, looking like he wanted to rip the woman’s throat out, along with that of Violet. 

Violet frowned. She didn’t like cruelty of any kind, and animals were no exception. 

“I’m sure it isn’t all that bad Miss,” she said awkwardly.

“Miss?” The woman stiffened. “You don't know who I am? My name is Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor, the sixth most important financial advisor in the entire city. Who are you to not know who I am?”

Sunny did not like any of this at all. That woman seemed horrible, and the cat even worse. It had been looking at Violet’s ankles deviously, and flexing its paws to reveal sharp claws, threatening the girls, as well as his owner. 

The cat, Rocket, according to his nametag, seemed unstable, crazed almost, like it had found a stash of something not meant for feline, or even human, consumption.

Sunny could feel Violet cringe as the woman kept on talking, introducing herself, and beginning to ramble about fashion. She had to do something to help her sister. She had to go absolutely batshit crazy.

Violet was trapped in conversation with someone horrible. She had been talking with Esmé for about five to ten minutes now, and the woman showed no signs of stopping. Apparently she was very invested in trends, what’s in and what’s out, and somehow thought Violet was too.

As Esmé began to go on about the stylishness of feather boas, Violet felt a tug at her arm, followed by a loud, high-pitched shriek. Sunny.

Sunny was having the time of her life. She was flinging the food out of her grocery bag in every direction, it landing everywhere and on everyone, a particularly well-aimed carton of milk spilling all over Esme’s alligator skin boots.

“Parr!” She squealed at her sister, “Run!”

Violet didn’t need to be told twice. She quickly dropped the groceries on the ground and held Sunny tight, leaving a fuming Esme behind, with only a scratch on her ankle, courtesy of Rocket.

Violet and Sunny burst into the safehouse, disguises ripped off and covered in lettuce fragments. 

“What happened?” Beatrice asked urgently. “Are you alright?”

“Loco!” Sunny said, meaning “We just ran from a crazy lady!” 

Violet laughed. “You were pretty crazy too, there.”

Sunny growled playfully. 

“Girls,” Bertrand said. “I hate to interrupt but can you describe this woman? She must have seen you without disguises.”

The smile fell off Violet’s face. “Sure, I guess. She was tall, blond, wore fancy clothes, and didn’t stop talking about herself and how great she was.”

“Did she give you anything that might tell who she is?” Beatrice asked. “A name, business card, anything?”

Sunny grinned, not noticing the change in the conversation. “Esmé!”

Bertrand looked at Beatrice grimly. “Just what I suspected. Girls, pack your stuff. We’re leaving.”

Violet stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She didn’t have any stuff. Not anymore. 

Chapter Text

As she stepped out of Poe’s car, Isadora got her first glimpse of Count Olaf’s house, her new home. 

It was nice and well kept, a line of white rose bushes out front, with three tall oak trees scattered in the back, perfect for building a treehouse some day. The house itself was painted a light blue, with cream highlights on the wooden beams. All in all, it looked like a pleasant place to stay, even if it wasn’t as big as she and Duncan were used to.

Isadora hopped up onto the porch first, wiping her feet quickly on the mat before ringing the doorbell.

“Just a moment!” called a voice from inside.

The door opened to reveal a woman in her mid 50’s or 60’s, wearing a dark gown and a powdered wig, like the kind that would be found on a judge. 

 “Why hello there,” she said, smiling at them. “You must be the children I’ve been hearing all about.”

“People have been talking about us?” Duncan asked.

“Only good things,” she laughed. “I’m Justice Strauss.”

“Nice to meet you Ms. Strauss,” Klaus said. “Are you married to Count Olaf?”

Her face paled. “Married to Count Olaf? Oh heavens, no!”

That was odd, Klaus thought. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed your marital status based on your living arrangements.”

“My living arrangements?” Justice Strauss wondered aloud. “Oh! you mean… goodness no! Count Olaf doesn’t live here with me. He lives right next door, in that nice old gothic home with the large tower, see?”

The children did indeed see the house in which they would soon be staying, but it was not something one could describe as “nice”. 

It was tall, with four floors, and a large porch that barely hung on to the foundation. There was some type of mold growing up the walls, the kind that was home to unwelcome pests. From afar the windows seemed nonexistent, empty holes without glass or curtains, sure to cause a nasty draft. All of this however, paled in comparison to the tower.

Count Olaf’s residence had a large tower, the stem twisting away from the house, making it sway furiously in the wind, as if it was about to collapse.

“Quagmires, look!” Poe said. “Your new home has a tower, how fun! You can climb up to the top and pretend to be a princess, Isadora. It’s perfect for a girl your age.”

Isadora snorted. She doubted anyone could climb up that tower without it falling over, and she wasn’t a big fan of heights regardless. 

“I'll pass, thanks.”

After a quick glance at his watch, Mr. Poe turned around and shook Justice Strauss’s hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Ma’am,” Poe said. “Quagmires, say goodbye to Justice Strauss.”

“Goodbye Justice Strauss,” the children said. 

“Goodbye Quagmires!” Justice Strauss waved as they walked away. “You three are welcome here any time!”

Count Olaf’s house was not remotely like Justice Strauss’s, even if they were so close together. The residence of Count Olaf had a feel to it, one Klaus could describe as an aura of menace, unsettling the children to their very bones.

Poe, however, was unaffected, and he was the one to approach the door to the children’s new home, they themselves hanging back near the broken railing of the front porch.

Count Olaf did not have a doorbell, only a single brass knocker, shaped like an eye, with the iris and white curving out from the pupil. It was odd, yet somehow vaguely familiar to Klaus and the Quagmires, as if they had seen it only recently. 

Poe raised his hand to the eye shaped knocker and coughed, knocking twice.

“Hello, Hello, Hello…” A man said, opening the door dramatically. “Wait, you’re not a Quagmire!”

He was middle aged, and wore ragged clothes, full of holes and unraveling at the seams. He was accompanied by a foul odor, most likely stemming from his feet, which were bare and moldy, revealing a tattoo shaped like the aforementioned eye on his left ankle.

“No, I’m not. They are.” Poe said, gesturing to the children. 

“Hello, Hello, Hell-”

Poe coughed.

“Oh damn it, you ruined it!” Count Olaf complained. “I had this whole sinister speech prepared and you just…” 

“Sinister speech?” Poe asked.

“Schiminster Scmeech?” he mocked. “Ugh, just come inside.”

The inside of Count Olaf’s house was worse than the outside, if that was even possible. 

There were bottles and broken glass scattered everywhere, and the walls were practically black from grime. 

“This is where you live?” Isadora asked incredulously.

“I’m sorry if it’s not the finery you’re used to in your big mansion,” Olaf sneered. “But your money should help clean it up a little bit.”

“Actually,” Poe interjected. “The Quagmire Sapphires cannot be sold until Isadora or Duncan turn eighteen.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” he screamed. “Twenty-two years!”

Klaus frowned. Did he not know how ages worked?

After a few moments Olaf turned to Poe and smiled deviously, bringing his arm down in front of his face. “And...scene!”

Poe clapped enthusiastically, but Olaf turned to the children.

“After a theatrical performance,” he said. “It is customary for the audience to clap.”

The children looked at each other. What on earth had just happened? 

“Come on Quagmires!” Poe chastised. “Count Olaf is a critically-acclaimed actor! You should be honored for him to be your guardian!”

Duncan looked at his sister. He wasn’t so sure that that was an act. 

“It’s okay,” Olaf said sweetly. “I’m just so glad that these orphans are in my home! My career will be a sapphire way to get them involved in the theatre.”

Poe nodded and took a quick glance at his watch. 

“Look at the time! Banking hours will be starting soon enough. Goodbye Quagmires, be good for your new guardian! And remember, Mulctuary Money Management will always be-”

Olaf slammed the door as Poe stepped outside.

“Now,” he cackled deviously. “Let’s get to work.”

He walked towards the group and came to a stop in the middle of the foyer.

 “You three children, owe me.” Olaf said.

“Pardon?”

“I expect to be paid, once you brats come of age, for everything you used in my house: food, clothing, rent, plumbing, electricity, and of course, emotional damages.”

“Emotional damages?” Klaus asked.

Olaf ignored him. “Unfortunately, as that idiot from the bank said, you can’t pay me until Isotope and Dierdre are of age so you’ll have to do chores in the meantime as interest.”

“Is he serious?” Duncan asked Isadora. “Making us pay him to live here when we don’t have a choice? That’s so…”

“Deplorable?” she suggested.

“Exactly.”

“You will have fifty-four chores to complete each day,” Olaf said. “In the kitchen you will have to cook the five regular meals, and clean up after all of them. In the ballroom you will have to-”

“Wait, sorry did you say that we’ll be cooking the meals?” Klaus asked.

“Yes?” Olaf slowly replied.

“And didn’t you also say that we had to pay you for all the food? So that would mean that we would have to pay you for doing our chores. That doesn’t seem like an effective syste-”

“That doesn’t seem like an effective system!” he mocked. “Look me in the eye, Glasses, and tell me that I care.”

“My name isn’t Glasses, it’s-”

“I don’t care what you’re fucking name is! If I say it’s Glasses, then it’s Glasses. If I say it’s Rude Child Who Won’t Shut Up then it’s Rude Child who whatever I just said. Do you hear me?”

“I-” Klaus stammered.

“Do. You. Hear. Me?” Olaf threatened.

Klaus squeaked out a reply. “Yes.”

Olaf smiled. “Good. Now as I was saying, this is the ballroom. You will need to scrub the floors twice a day and…”

“Are you okay?” Duncan whispered to Klaus. The boys hung back, following Olaf through the house, not listening to a word he said.

“I’m good,” Klaus answered, looking at Olaf. “He’s just so horrible. Why would Mr. Poe leave us here? He must have seen the house. He was there with us, it’s a wreck. Why I wouldn’t be surprised if it was infested with-”

“SPIDER!” Duncan screamed.

“Yes, how did you know I was going to…”

“NO, I MEAN IT, SPIDER!”

“Oh shit!”

Duncan leapt back, leaning into Klaus, who was pressing himself against the wall.

“What are you two wusses screaming about?” Olaf asked.

Duncan pointed at the spider.

It was barely half an inch long, and was a deep black, with a red hourglass shape on its back.

Olaf laughed and crushed it with his bare foot. “Oh please, those are barely even poisonous.”

“Venomous.” Klaus said staring at the spot where the spider once was, “The spider you just killed, a Latrodectus hesperus, or Western Black Widow, if I’m not mistaken, would be venomous, not poisonous, as it injects venom into its prey by biting them, instead of being ingested. The venom of a Black Widow is known for being deadly, especially to humans but that is actually-”

Olaf leaned towards Klaus, his face inches away from the boy’s. 

“If you don’t close your mouth soon, them I’m the one who’s about to get deadly. And  trust me, then the Black Widow will be the least of your problems.”

Olaf quickly stormed up the stairs, leading the children to a small room in the attic.

“You will sleep here, and use the bathroom across the hall. These are the only two rooms you are allowed to be in unless you are doing chores. I have left you a bed and a pile of rocks. That will be extra.” 

He snarled and turned around. “Any questions?”

Klaus raised his hand, lowering it after a few seconds of silence. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Once Olaf had left, Klaus collapsed on the bed.

“Are you okay?” Duncan asked.

“No,” he said, voice cracking. 

“I thought what you were saying about spiders was interesting,” Isadora offered.

“Yeah!” Duncan agreed. “You can tell us what to do if we see any more.”

Klaus sat up, sliding back to try and make room for the triplets on the tiny bed. 

“I can do that.” He said.

“I hope our rooms are bigger,” Isadora joked.

“Doubtful,” Klaus mumbled.

“The spider,” Duncan reminded.

“Oh yes,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “The variation of spider we saw earlier was a Latrodectus Hesperus, a Western Black Widow. The Western Black Widow is the most famous type of Widow, known for the red hourglass symbol on their backs, although sometimes it can be yellow or even white.”

“Can it kill you?” Isadora asked.

Klaus laughed, his mood significantly lifted. 

“Technically yes,” he said, “But Black Widows only bite when they’re threatened, and only the females have enough venom to kill you.”

“I hope one gets Count Olaf,” Duncan grumbled. 

Isadora nodded. “The one and only time I’ve ever wanted to be a spider.”  

The triplets stayed with Klaus late into the night, Isadora reading him poems, and Duncan his favorite articles, with both listening when he talked and read out of his book. 

It was a comfort to have them there, Klaus thought. He had only known the Quagmires a day but they seemed like the kind of people who you could immediately be friends with, not that Klaus had ever had many friends. 

He had never gone to school with the other children in his neighborhood, his parents opting to teach him and Violet at home. The children who lived near them were nice enough, but he never talked to many of them, and they never said anything back, although they did give him strange looks when he was outside playing with Sunny. 

Sunny. His little sister. A baby, barely a year old. He wondered what she was thinking when she died. If she was all alone. He hoped she wasn’t. He could almost hear her, screeching for Mom, for Dad, for Violet, for Him, as the flames started to crawl closer. Screaming his name over and over, Klaus... Klaus... Klaus…  

No. He wouldn’t do this to himself. Repeating this morning over in his head, more painful each and every time. He had read books about fire, about burning. His parents kept them up high, where they thought they would be harder to reach, but he got a stool. 

The books said that fire was a painful way to die. Your skin would crack and peel away, and the second layer would blister and blacken. You would be in so much pain that you couldn’t even think. It was known as the most painful way to die. 

He hoped, he hoped with all of his heart that his family had died quickly, breathing in too much smoke, or going into shock. It would be kinder, less painful. After all, he had read that people could burn for hours.

His worrying was interrupted by the light touch of hair against his neck, making him freeze. Without moving, Klaus looked down, seeing Duncan resting his head on his shoulder, breathing in and out gently, asleep. 

Duncan’s eyelid twitched for a moment, and Klaus was scared he would wake, but it stopped and his breathing eventually evened out. 

Klaus smiled involuntarily. He was so quiet! At home he could hear Violet snoring through their thin adjoining walls, but Duncan was right next to him, and he had to strain his ears to hear. 

A few more moments passed and Duncan began to twitch, his leg shooting out and kicking Isadora in the side, his whole body shaking, and little beads of sweat forming on his head.

“Isadora!” Klaus whispered. “Isadora, wake up!”

“What?” she groaned. “I’m sleeping,”

“Something is wrong with Duncan.” Klaus said.

That caught her attention immediately.

“Is he okay?” she asked frantically, turning over to check on her brother.

“I don’t know,” Klaus answered. “He looks like he’s having a nightmare.”

“Duncan!” she said. “Duncan can you hear me?”

Duncan was at home. It was just as he remembered, before the fire, the place where he grew up in. He was wandering around the house looking for Quigley. He had to find Quigley! He didn’t know why he had to talk to his brother but it was urgent, important. 

As he walked down the main hallway, it began to wither, the walls, the carpet, everything on fire, and him in the center. He had to find his brother. The house was coming down now, the smoke choking at his lungs. He couldn’t stay here much longer, but he had to find Quigley. 

He was running, parts of the walls breaking behind him. He couldn’t find Quigley! Where was Quigley? 

Duncan ran upstairs, the stairwell falling apart behind him. He knew this was a bad idea but he had to find Quigley, he had to. 

He raced down the upstairs hallway, stopping in front of the second door to the right, Quigley’s room. 

He put his hand on the doorknob and winced. It was hot, and he could see the red on his hand where it had burned him. But he couldn’t give up. He had to find Quigley.

Duncan reached for the handle again when he heard a faint call from inside.

“Duncan!” Quigley screamed. “Duncan can you hear me?”

He took a few steps back and launched himself at the door feet first, breaking it off its weakened frame.

“Quigley!” he screamed.

The room was engulfed in flames now, but he had to make his way inside. Jumping over the flames by the door, he turned towards the main area of the room. 

It was empty. Empty except for the mirror.

Duncan walked closer to the mirror, watching the flames behind him eat away at his exit. 

“Quigley!” he cried. “Quigley where are you?”

He looked around through the mirror, his heart stopping when he saw the letter printed on his shirt. 

“Q”. Quigley. He was Quigley.

That was when the floor collapsed.

Duncan woke up screaming. His clothes were covered in sweat and he could hear people talking to him, distantly, but it was if they were underwater.

Where was he? He didn’t recognize the dark room, it was cold and empty. He blinked as Isadora waved her hand in front of his face, everything coming back into focus.

He was at Count Olaf’s house, his new home. His real home was gone. And so was his brother. 

“Duncan?” he could hear Isadora asking. “Duncan are you okay?”

He got up and walked out into the hall. “I’m going to get a glass of water and try and find my room.” 

“I’ll go with you,” she offered, moving towards him.

Duncan turned around. “Please don’t,” he whispered. 

She looked at him, hurt.

“I just need to be alone right now.” 

Count Olaf’s house was scary at night. 

Each step Duncan took he imagined millions of bugs watching him, crawling all over.  This house is creepy enough already, he thought. Why does it have to be infested with bugs?

“ Like calls to like,” Quigley would say here. Count Olaf and his buggy brethren.

He missed his brother. He missed him so much that it hurt. It was only this morning when they last saw each other but it felt like he had been without him for a million years.

One of the worst parts was that it didn’t feel like Quigley was dead. One would think that you could tell, immediately, the moment your triplet died, but it wasn’t like that at all. 

He felt fine. Or at least he did until they told him that he would never see his brother again. 

Now he felt horrible.

As Duncan neared the kitchen he heard voices talking inside. 

It was Olaf and another man, someone he hadn’t heard before.

His ears perked up when he heard what they were saying. 

“What are you going to do about the children, boss?” the man asked Olaf.

Duncan stepped closer. They were talking about him!

Olaf took a swig of wine. “I’ll make them pay.” he snarled.

“Revenge?” The man asked. “They’re children!”

“I meant the sapphires, you dumbass!” Olaf shouted. “Now get me some more wine!”

Duncan stood pressed against the wall as the man walked over to the wine rack. He couldn’t make even the slightest sound, the man was so close. 

I’m going to be fine, Duncan thought. I’m going to be perfectly fine, as long as I stay absolutely silen-

He felt something scurry across his foot and looked down.

“SPIDER!”

The man turned around and walked over to him, pointing a shiny metal hook in between his eyes.

“Spider?” Duncan offered weakly.

The hook-handed man just smiled.

Chapter Text

The tunnels seemed different entering them the second time, darker, colder, unwelcoming. It’s all in my head, Violet thought. They’re just tunnels, nothing else.

Bertrand led the way this time, the girls following closely behind as he confidently navigated through the catacombs, their destination still unknown to Violet and Sunny.

“Doon?” Sunny asked, “Where are we going?”

Beatrice shushed her. “We need to be quiet,” she whispered. “Try not to move too loudly.”

 Violet bristled. She was tired of all of this. Tired of the secrets, the moving around. She wasn’t a baby like Sunny, she was fourteen fucking years old, and her parents wouldn’t tell her anything. 

She still didn’t know anything about the fire, or the strange “enemies” that they were so worried about. Hell, she still hadn’t been told anything about the bowl in her mom’s desk! You know, the one filled with actual blood?

She was going to do something about it. When they got to the next place she was going to get answers. To demand them. To learn the truth. And nothing was going to stop that from happening. 

Bertrand heralded the group to stop as they reached a fork in the tunnels. 

“Any preference?” He asked Beatrice.

Out of the three tunnels, two of them would bring them to their destination, an older safehouse that they had visited many years ago and hadn’t been to since. 

Bertrand remembered those days fondly, before everything happened, before they left. He didn’t regret leaving the organization of  course, but the people left behind, their friends and those who were a little bit more, he felt bad for leaving them behind. 

Out of the two tunnels, both would get them there at around the same time, although one went by the bank, and the other a museum. Both ways were risky, of course, being so close to important structures, but there was really no other option. They couldn’t take the third tunnel, that was for sure.

As Beatrice was considering their options Violet took a few steps down the third tunnel, the one on the far right. This one was warm, sweltering, a severe contrast to the freezing state of the other corridors. 

It was lit by an automatic lighting system in the ceiling, Violet noticed, one that turned on as she drew near. 

“I have to get a look at this,” she mumbled, clambering onto a large rock. With one hand placed in groove in the low hanging ceiling, Violet reached into her pocket and grabbed her ribbon. 

In an impressive move that took years of practice, she tied her hair back with a single twist of her wrist, and got to work on deciphering the contraption.

The lights were mounted up high, just far enough so that Violet’s fingertips couldn’t reach. She could fix that easily enough. 

Spotting a place in the wall that didn’t seem too slick, she prepared to jump, lifting her legs up to get a better view inside of the device. 

Taking a deep breath, she began to count down to her launch, when her father noticed what she was doing. “Three… Two…”

“Violet! Get down from there, it’s dangerous! You can’t-”

“One!”

Violet jumped off the rock, deeper into the hallway, the hall itself moving with her. 

Down on ground level holes opened up, carved subtly into the stone, and launched a volley of sharp spikes into the other side of the cavern, barely missing her feet.

Violet held on tightly to the ceiling and screamed.

“Violet!” Beatrice yelled, rushing to the entrance of the tunnel. The spikes had completely blocked up all entrance and exit, and Violet’s grip on the roof of the cavern was the only thing that kept her from plummeting onto the sharp spikes below.

“Tiget!” Sunny shrieked, warning her sister to hold on.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Violet snapped back. “I’m not planning on letting go anytime soon.”

“Penta!” Sunny quipped, meaning, “It doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”

“Yeah, well…” Violet bit back before being interrupted by her mother.

“Girls, please!” Beatrice whispered. “We need to move quickly and quietly, we don’t know who heard that.”

“Quickly and Quietly?” Violet complained. “I’m hanging from the fucking cieling over a thing of spikes, I don’t think that being quiet is my biggest problem right now.”

Beatrice sniffed. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Just then Bertrand returned, the girls not even noticing his disappearance. 

“I found a step stool,” he offered.

“Nasab?” Sunny said, meaning something that roughly translates to “Where?”

Bertrand shrugged sheepishly. “Wine cellar?”

“I hate to be that person,” Violet said. “But how does a stool stop me from being impaled before I even reach you guys?”

“You’re going to have to jump,” Beatrice stated.

“Jump?” Violet gasped. “I’ll never be able to make it!”

“Sip,” Sunny told her, now understanding what was happening. “You will. I know it.”

She smiled. “Thanks Sun, It means a lot.” 

Taking a deep breath, Violet looked at her little sister, so small in her mother’s arms. 

“And Sunny,” she began. “If I don’t make it, I’m sorry about what I did to your room.”

“Intfa,” Sunny replied. “No you’re not. Now jump. Jump and you won’t fall.”

Violet jumped. Violet jumped and she fell. She fell onto the cold floor of the tunnels, barely clearing the spikes behind her. 

“Verda?” Sunny said. “See? You did it.”

“Yeah,” Violet mumbled. “I guess I did.”

Beatrice and Bertrand let out a sigh of relief. 

“She’s okay,” Beatrice whispered.

Bertrand gave her hand a squeeze. “She’s our baby girl. She had to be.”

Bertrand led them down the second tunnel, moving quickly to try and flee the scene they had left behind.

The tunnel they were entering now was dark and airless, full of unseen hazards. Beatrice and Bertrand pulled out flashlights from their backpacks, Beatrice taking up the rear of their train so that Violet, holding Sunny, would not fall behind. 

They had been moving quickly for several minutes now, as the dirt paths turned to stone, a sign that they were nearing the intersection with the sewer system. 

“What’s that smell?” Violet asked, as they entered into the chamber.

There was a path cut in the trail they had been following, with no bridge or crossing, dark water rushing by. 

Bertrand turned towards his daughter, flipping his flashlight off. 

“You don’t want to know.”

With that said, he took a step forward off the edge, and dipped his foot into the murky stream and grimaced. 

“It’s warm.” 

He took a few more steps, before stepping out of the other side.

“Your turn, Violet.” he said.

She took a step away from the water. “I think I’ll go last, please.”

Beatrice nodded, walking to the other side of the tunnel without a word, finally gesturing for Violet to join them on the other side.

She didn’t like this. She didn’t like any of this.

Closing her eyes, Violet dipped her toes into the stream, shuddering at the contact. It was warm.

“Moving slowly will just make it worse,” Beatrice said. “We’re right here. It’s only a few steps.”

A few disgusting, grimy steps. 

Sunny pulled on her ear in reassurance. She was Violet Baudelaire, inventor. She could do this. 

She inched her other foot forward, the water reaching down to her socks. 

She had to keep moving.

Taking a few more steps, Violet began to pick up the pace. This isn’t so bad, she thought. I just need to not think of where I am, or what could be in here with me.

As soon as Violet thought that, she felt a sharp movement past her leg, causing her to scream and drop everything she was carrying, which included her baby sister Sunny.

“Sunny!” they screamed, the fast moving water carrying the youngest Baudelaire away from the others..

“Sunny!”

Sunny laughed. This was fun! She could feel the warm water all around her, carrying her downstream. 

She adjusted her foot slightly, the movement pushing the higher under the surface. 

There was water in her mouth, in her eyes, her nose, everywhere. 

Sunny struggled and shook as much as she could, finally turning over onto her back.

This was not fun, not fun at all. She didn’t like it when the sounds of her family cut out, and the lights slowly dimmed, as she was carried deeper under the city, towards who knows where. 

She was pulled along for a few minutes, or maybe more, Sunny wasn’t sure, her head eventually hitting something hard, sending her spinning under the water. 

Sunny grabbed onto something and pulled, dragging herself onto the shore, if you could even call it that.

She had landed on a mound of gray ash, loads of it, piled up in the tunnels.

The water was hurting her throat and she spent a few minutes coughing it out onto the sand. 

Remind me to learn how to walk, she thought. 

Sitting down on the bank, Sunny noticed what she had hit her head on. 

Looming above her was a great big metal door, with dozens of gears and locks. There were large words, letters perhaps, lined across the top, ones Sunny couldn’t understand. At the bottom of the door was a large grate, the one she had run into. 

What in the world was this place?

She decided that it didn’t matter, that her mother and father would be there with her soon, and that Violet would pick her up and walk away from this place. It was inevitable. It was the only possible solution. She just had to wait for them. Patiently.

Sunny ended up waiting for about fifteen seconds before getting bored, and decided to crawl back towards the water, where she could insult it for hurting her. 

Picking up a handful of sand, Sunny hurled it into the water, laughing as it made a noise. 

“Take that you dirty river!”

Sunny grabbed some more sand. 

“You’re horrible!” she threw it, picking up another handful.

 “You’re mean!” 

“I’ll bite you!”

Sunny screamed at the sewer for a few more minutes, laughing and throwing sand until there was almost none left, and she was partly sitting in the water.

She reached down again for some sand,her fingers grabbing onto something that was most definitely not what she had expected. 

Sunny pulled the object out of the water. It was some sort of disk, hard and smooth, leaving a warm feeling across her fingers.

Looking closer, she noticed that there seemed to be something written or drawn on it, but the water had worn it away. 

This must have been down here for a long time, Sunny thought, testing her teeth on the side.

When they had left the Baudelaire mansion earlier, no one thought to bring along anything for Sunny to bite on, forcing the infant to get creative and make her own.

The sides of the disk were sturdy, a feature good for biting. This would do nicely. 

She heard a noise echo down the length of the tunnel, surely her family coming to get her. She stuck the disk in her large pocket, to clean it later, and began to call out towards the sound.

“Aci!” she cried, over and over. “I’m here! I’m here!”

“Sunny!” Violet screeched, running through the sewers. “Sunny! Answer me, Sunny!”

How could she have lost her! Her baby sister! Oh Sunny, please let her be alright…

Violet turned a bend in the corner and shouted again, this time getting a reply.

 “Aci!” It was Sunny.

They ran down that passage, Beatrice scooping Sunny up in her arms. 

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she whispered. 

Sunny had found herself deep into the tunnels, Bertrand thought, turning around. 

They were near the trapdoor, still sealed firmly shut but engraved with three letters he did not wish to see at the moment. “VFD.” They couldn’t stay here long.

“Beatrice,” he said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Look.”

“Look at what?” Violet asked, following his gaze. “VFD?”

Shit. “It’s an acronym.” Bertrand said quickly. Nice thinking. Now he had to figure out what it stood for.

“An acronym for what? Vulgar Feces Drainage?” Violet complained.

That worked. “Sure.”

She grimaced. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Let’s.”

The walk back to the main path was even more disgusting than the one there, the group less focused on Sunny.

Beatrice was keeping a strict eye on her daughters, not letting them take a single step away from her. Both of them managed to almost die in the span of a half an hour, she thought. We can’t stay in the tunnels much longer. They weren’t safe. Less so than she thought.

Luckily for Beatrice her wish would soon come true, as they came back onto the main path, and after five more minutes of walking, they came to a stop beside a metal grate.

“Where is this one going to lead?” Violet asked. “Off a cliff? Into the ocean?”

“Vulcan?” Sunny joined in.

“Ooh, a Volcano would be nice. Toasty.” 

“It’s not going to lead into a volcano,” Bertrand said.

“I don’t know,” Beatrice added. “Isn’t there one that leads into an old lava tube near here?”

“Not helping, Beatrice.” 

She smiled. 

Turning to Sunny, Beatrice rested her hand on the panel. “Volcano on three. One… Two.. Three!”

I’m sorry to say, dear reader, that the tube that the Baudelaires entered was not, in fact a lava tube, but somewhere much more desolate, although still very hot. A boiler room.

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Violet scoffed. “I thought for sure we'd get at least some toxic gas.”

“Inah?” Sunny grinned. “Who says we didn’t? We’re probably breathing it in right now.”

Violet gave her a high five.

“It would explain a lot.”

Bertrand wiped his hand across his brow. It’s really hot in here, he thought.

“We’re almost there girls,” he said, opening the door to the back stairwell. “Only thirteen more floors to go!”

Violet groaned. “Why can’t we just take the elevator? It’s right there.”

Across the hall from them was a pair of twin metal doors, a keypad full of buttons resting to the side.

“We can’t just take the elevator,” Beatrice said. “Who knows who could be waiting at the bottom?”

Sunny looked at Violet. “Qin?” she asked.

The girl shrugged. “Who, what, she probably just misspoke.”

Beatrice pursed her lips. She meant exactly what she said. Every word.

Sunny nodded, thinking about carrots and other hard, bite-able things as Beatrice got to work climbing.

It felt like ages before they got to floor thirteen, the steps twisting around, as if the walking would never end. By the time they stopped in front of an apartment, Violet had decided to never walk another day in her life. 

Bertrand knocked on the door.

“Why’d you knock?” Beatrice asked. 

“Just thought it seemed polite,” he answered.

What was not polite however, was the sound that followed the knock, of boots clomping around inside and of things being moved.

“There’s somebody in there!” Beatrice whispered.

“I know!”

“Should I kick the door down?” She offered.

“No! Isn’t the key in the plant?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t checked!”

“Well you should probably do that!” Bertrand replied.

Violet sighed. Her parents were sounding like the Mitchums, not that she knew who they were. Sticking her hands in the flowerpot, Violet felt around for the sharp metal feel of a key. There!

“I’ve got it!” she said, handing it over to her father, who unlocked the door, barely taking a step inside before Beatrice handed him Sunny and rushed ahead. 

“Beatri-” he said, stopping short when they entered the main room.

It was a mess, random items and documents scattered around, worse than their own study back home. However, that was not what had surprised him.

That would be the figure on the fire escape. A man, escaping with a large briefcase. 

He was halfway out the window when he looked up, giving the group a view of his face.

No. It couldn’t be. 

“Lemony?” Beatrice screamed.

That was impossible.  

Lemony turned around, shocked.

“Beatrice?”

He couldn’t be alive, he just couldn’t.

 They took a step towards each other, speaking in unison.

 “I thought you were dead!”

Chapter Text

The hook-handed man assessed Duncan for a moment. 

After a long moment, he gave him a hard shove, causing Duncan to trip and stumble into the light.

 “You’ll never believe what I found, boss,” the man said.

“Why look who is up and about,”Olaf remarked. “Is widdle Daphne Quagmire wooking for his mommy?” 

The hook-handed man laughed. “It’s funny because she’s dead!”

Olaf ignored him and pulled Duncan close.

 Bending down and staring him in the eyes, he frowned. 

“What do you want, twerp?”

“Water?” Duncan stammered.

“Is that a question, or an answer? Olaf said coldly.

“An answer?”

“WRONG! It’s an answer!”

Olaf dug his nails into Duncan’s arm. “Now what were you really doing down here?” he asked. 

“Nothing?” Duncan said, his voice cracking.

Olaf dug his nails in deeper, twisting them into his flesh. Duncan’s muscles spasmed and he let out a yelp. Olaf dug deeper, narrowing his eyes as he felt them break skin.

Duncan was crying now, tears and snot mixing together down his face. It wasn’t even that bad a cut, he thought. He needed to stop crying. But it hurt so bad...

Olaf scoffed and let go. “This one’s a fucking baby,” he said to the hook handed man. “Absolutely useless. You can’t break a baby. It’s no fun.” 

He kicked Duncan in the shin. “Go back to your beds,” he snarled. 

“Beds?” the hook handed man asked. “When did you give them multiple beds?”

“Bed, Beds, whatever.”Now get out of here.”

One bed? Duncan thought. Did his room just not have a bed in it? He didn’t understand what Olaf was saying until it dawned on him. What if he didn’t have a room?

Now that he thought about it, Olaf never mentioned any other bedrooms, just the one. He must have just assumed that he had another place to sleep. He thought about what Olaf told him to do. “Go back to your bed.”

He couldn’t do that, Not like this. Isadora had enough to worry about, and besides, Klaus had his problems too, they all did. His cuts weren’t that big a deal. They barely even mattered.

Quietly Duncan slipped into the bathroom, the dirty one that they were allowed to use. There were no rags, or towels, or anything that could clean out and cover the five, small nail shaped slits in his arms, at least not until they scabbed over. 

Grabbing one of the toothbrushes in the tin, Duncan grimaced and got to work, turning on the water and scrubbing at his arm with the brush. The bristles hurt like hell, but he bit down and got through it, tucking his long nightshirt around the spot where he had been injured. This had to do. At least for now. 

Duncan walked across the hall and back into the room, surprised at the size of it. He knew Olaf was terrible, verbal abuse and lying to bankers terrible, but yet his indecency still surprised him. This is who they ended up with? Out of all the people in the city?

Klaus and Isadora didn’t move as Duncan laid back down, perhaps they were already asleep. A twitch of the arm gave Isadora away, however. She was pretending. She was pretending to be asleep to avoid him. 

He had messed up. Storming out like that, not talking to her, he couldn’t do that anymore. Without Quigley neither of them could do stuff like that anymore. 

They had to be there for each other, to support each other, but most importantly they had to protect each other. Isadora may be older, but he was her triplet, he was the only Quagmire brother left, and he had to fill in. He had to make sure nothing happened to her, nothing like what happened to his brother or anyone else. He had to be strong. He had to be brave. He had to be Quigley.

Taking her hand, he gave it three quick squeezes, a hidden message. I love you.  

She squeezed back. I love you too.

Klaus woke up to find that he was in a brightly lit room, stinking of mildew. Where am I? He thought. But then he remembered.

Olaf. Fires. Duncan. He smiled at the last one, turning over to look at the other boy as he slowly blinked awake.

Duncan smiled at him softly. “Hi,” he whispered.

Klaus returned the greeting.

Beside the boys, Isadora was still sound asleep, the blinding light from the window not fazing her at all. 

They laid there for a minute or two, Klaus finally getting up to head downstairs for the day.

“I was thinking of getting some breakfast,” he said to Duncan. “Do you want to join me?”

“Sure!” Duncan replied, stepping out in the hallway, before stopping at the top of the stairs, frozen in place.

“Duncan?” Klaus asked. He was down a few steps on the first landing.

“What if Olaf’s down there?” the boy trembled.. 

Klaus stared at him for a few seconds, remembering what Olaf had said the day before. Before yesterday, he didn’t know that anyone could be that mean, at least to him. When he thought about it, Kluas didn’t want Olaf to be there. He didn’t want him to be anywhere.

Klaus swallowed. “We can’t stay upstairs forever,” he said finally.

“Why not?” 

“We’d have to eat, and go to school, and do chores and-” Klaus elaborated.

Duncan sat down on the top step. “Who says?” he asked. “I doubt Olaf would even remember we were here. It would be weeks before he would even see us. We would be safe then.”

“Safe? Do you think we could ever be safe living with a monster? Screw safe, what about free? You’d never become a journalist locked up in here, and Isadora would never get to share her poems. We couldn’t live like this.”

Duncan frowned. He was right in a way. They couldn’t stay with Olaf. They had already been with him for a day and already he had hurt Klaus… and Duncan too. 

He moved his injured arm onto his lap, feeling the cuts. “What you’re suggesting is worse,” he said finally. “Living with Olaf, talking with him, seeing him. It’s so much worse.”

Klaus sat down next to Duncan, their shoulders touching. 

“It is, isn’t it.” he whispered. “But we have to try. It will be over soon, and then we can live how we want, away from here.”

Duncan nodded, resting his head against the other boy’s. 

Away from here sounded nice. Almost as nice as having his brother back, having it all back.

In the kitchen Klaus and Duncan discovered that Olaf had left for the day, much to their relief. He had also left a note on the counter, written in sloppy handwriting that took the awakening of Isadora to decipher.

“This word,” she said, chewing on the thick porridge that Olaf had left them, “looks like trout. No, sorry, ‘troupe’,”

“Like a troop of Snow Scouts?” Duncan asked.

“Troupe with a ‘U’.” she answered. “For acting.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Klaus added, “but does it say anything about what’s happening with the troupe?”

“I don’t think so,” she began, “unless… there!”

“What is it?”

Isadora stood up and moved between the two boys, waving the note in front of their faces. 

“The last sentence says we have to prepare dinner for his troupe!”

Her accomplishment deflated when she realized what it meant.

“We have to prepare dinner for his troupe,”

Klaus sighed. “Now would be a pretty great time for some ribbon casserole,” he said. 

The Quagmire Triplets looked at him strangely.

“Something my sisters did once,” he explained.

Isadora nodded. “Quigley did lots of interesting things, too,” she said.

“One time he made a map of Middle Earth out of sticky notes,” Duncan said. 

Isadora laughed. “And he put them all on the ceiling of the living room,” she continued.

“They were up there for days!” her brother interrupted.

“But then the sticky bits wore out, and they all fell down on the floor.”

“And Mom made us clean them all up!” they finished together.

The triplets laughed for a few moments, and Klaus with them, before being forced by their surroundings to continue to work on the letter.

“He says that there is money for shopping in the third drawer to the right,” Isadora said, pointing towards the cabinet.

Klaus walked over and opened it. “There’s barely any money in here!” he complained, holding up a faded leather pouch.

She sighed. “It will have to do.”

Leaning over her shoulder, Duncan looked at the bottom of the letter, pointing to the strange word at the bottom. 

“What does that say?” There was a symbol of some sort near the end, written in a kind of strange script, but it was eerily familiar, and he was sure he had seen it before.

“This?” Isadora asked, holding up the letter. “It looks to be a signature of some sort, although it doesn’t say Olaf. In fact, it only says something when you twist it, like so, and besides, then it's only letters.”

“Which letters?” Duncan asked.

“V, F and D,” she answered.

Klaus walked over, setting the money on the table and taking a look at the signature. “It also looks a little bit like an eye, don’t you think?” he said. “Like the tattoo on Olaf’s ankle.”

That’s where I’ve seen it before! Duncan thought. Of course, Olaf’s ankle, Olaf’s signature, it made perfect sense. 

“Speaking of Olaf,” Klaus said. “Do either of you know how to cook?” 

Isadora shook her head, and Duncan shrugged.

“I’ve made latkes before with Mom,” he offered.

“More like you burned them,” Isadora teased.

“Hey, that was not me! They would have come out perfectly if she had remembered to flip them.”

Isadora laughed. “Blaming it on a dead lady,” she said. “Nice one.”

“I didn’t-” he interrupted, eyes beginning to water. “She-”

“Oh shit,” Isadora panicked. “I didn’t mean to I swear, I was just trying to-”

Duncan sniffed. “I know you were, besides, Mom always had a dark sense of humor. She wouldn’t have minded.”

Isadora put a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Mom isn't here right now. You are. And you care.”

A soft knock on the door startled, the children.

“Did you hear that?” Klaus asked.

Duncan nodded. “Do you think someone is here to see Olaf?”

“Like anyone would willingly want to talk to that piece of shit,” Isadora snorted.

Duncan thought of the man he had encountered last night, the one with the shiny hooks who had found him in the kitchen. 

“I can think of someone,” he whispered.

He took a step back, hiding in the shadow of the staircase as Klaus and Isadora continued on to the front door. 

Duncan’s breathing slowed, and he reached down to straighten his shirt. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t. He was fine. He was okay. It wasn’t him.

Thankfully, Duncan was correct. On one of the three counts at least.

The door opened slowly to reveal Justice Strauss, holding a basket of fruit and some freshly baked bread.

“Hello Quagmires!’ She said. “I brought some food over, if you don’t mind. May I come in?”

Klaus looked behind him at the interior of the house. “Better not,” he replied. Don’t want to get the Plague. “But we would be delighted to come over and talk.”

Strauss smiled. “That sounds wonderful! I’ll see you all in a few minutes, then.”

After she left, Isadora turned to Klaus.

 “What was that?’ she asked. “We need to make a huge dinner, and talking to the neighbors won’t help!”

“Ms. Strauss brought over a load of food for three children and their guardian that she dislikes. So I think it’s safe to say that she can cook, which is exactly what we need at the moment, if I’m not mistaken.”

Isadora smirked. “Fair point. Justice Strauss it is then.”

The interior of Justice Strauss’s house was just as nice as they had first imagined, with the flowered wallpaper adding a sense of cleanliness and safely, that they had been sorely missing across the street.

“Sit down, sit down!” Justice Strauss gestured, walking over to the table with a basket of bread.

“So, how have you been?” she asked.

Klaus looked at the others and thought of Olaf, and the fire. 

“Not so great.”

She nodded. “That’s predictable. You’ve all been through so much in the past day or two, what with losing your parents, and the move.”

“Speaking of the move,” Klaus said. “We feel so terrible for inconveniencing Count Olaf, and wanted to do something to make it up to him.”

Isadora choked on her bread. “We what?”

Klaus turned and stared at her. “We would like to do something to make it up to him . Cook a meal, perhaps?”

“I… ugh,” Isadora mumbled. “Yes. We would like to make him a large dinner for him and all his friends.”

Duncan nodded. “Very large.”

Justice Strauss cleared the table, frowning. “Are you sure? It seems to be a lot for you children, and so soon after you’ve arrived.”

“You think?” Isadora whispered.

“There’s only one problem,” Duncan continued. “We don’t know how to cook.”

Strauss stood up. “Well I think that I can help with that. My library has a large collection of cookbooks, perfect for this occasion.”

Their heads shot up. “Did you say library?”

“I did indeed. I’ve been collecting books for years.” she said. “Do you want to see?”

They nodded, standing up from the table and running after Justice Strauss. 

“This,” she said, pushing on a pair of double doors, “Is my library.”

The personal library of Justice Strauss was not as large or as in depth as that of the Baudelaires or Quagmires, but to the children, after a hard day in Count Olaf’s home, it was astonishing.

“It has books on journalism!” Duncan said, rushing over to one shelf. “No!” he squealed. “No, it can’t be!” He grinned, jumping up and down. 

“What can’t be?” Isadora asked.

“She has it! Sifting the Muck from the Muckrakers by Moxie Mallahan!”

“Moxie Mallahan?” Klaus asked.

Duncan nodded. “She’s my hero! She lives in this small town a few hours away from here and writes the best journalism guides. They talk about lead composition, source evaluation, everything! And I’ve read all of them except one. This one!”

Justice Strauss lifted the book off the shelf and placed it in Duncan’s hands. 

“You can have it, if you want.” she said. “It’s just been sitting on my shelf this whole time, and you’ll enjoy it more than I ever could.”

“Are you serious?” Duncan asked, pulling Justice Strauss into a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He snatched the guide from her hands and jumped onto a nearby armchair. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Isadora said a few moments later.

Strauss laughed. “It’s quite alright, dear, we’ve all had the feeling. Now, you said you wanted a cookbook?”

With the help of Justice Strauss, Klaus and Isadora found the perfect recipe: Pasta Puttanesca.

“It means very few ingredients,” Klaus informed them.

“You will need capers, olives, anchovies, garlic, chopped parsley, tomatoes, and spaghetti noodles.” Strauss told them.

Isadora sighed. “That’s a lot. Do we have enough money to buy all that?”

“Buy? That’s ridiculous.” Justice Strauss said. “I have a few of those ingredients in my garden, and we can walk to the market to get the rest. I can handle the expenses. You children shouldn’t have to pay for that. And anyways, you should always lend a hand to those in need, when they are doing a good deed.”

Isadora smiled. “Was that a couplet?”

Strauss laughed. “Of course! I’ve always had a love for poetry. In fact, I have a whole shelf dedicated to couplets alone.”

Isadora squeezed her tightly.

“Justice Strauss,” her voice cracked. “You are an absolute angel.”

Strauss smiled, resting a hand on the top of the girl’s head. “I try. I really try.”

The rest of the day passed in a bright blur for the children. They picked vegetables from the garden, walked to the market, read books, and helped make a marvelous meal. But finally, it began to get dark, and they were forced to walk home, back into the clutches of their guardian, Count Olaf. 

“Thank you Ms. Strauss,” Klaus said, shaking her hand.

She shook back. “You’re very welcome, Quigley.”

Klaus frowned. “My name isn’t Quigley. It’s Klaus.”

“I’m sorry!” She said. “I don’t know where I got the name Quigley from, then.”

Duncan grimaced. He knew exactly where she got it from. The Daily Punctilio.

“Goodbye, Justice Strauss,” he said, giving the judge a quick hug. “Thank you again, for letting me keep your book. It means a lot.”

She hugged him back. “Thank you and your siblings for coming over today. I had a good time.”

Isadora nodded. “I did too.” she looked to where Duncan and Klaus were standing on the porch. “We all did.”

“Have a nice night!” Strauss said as they walked away. “I’m sure Count Olaf will love your Pasta Puttanesca.”

Isadora looked down at the bowl in her hands. He had to. Even Olaf couldn’t deny that their meal looked amazing. And it was all thanks to Justice Strauss.

By the time the children had returned to their new home, it had grown late, but their guardian had still not returned.

“I wonder where he is?” Klaus asked, Placing the plates around the table.

Isadora was making a round with the silverware. “As long as it’s not here, I don’t care. In fact, I’d be happy if he never came back.”

Duncan nodded. He would be happy if they never saw Olaf again. Or any of his friends. He thought about the hook-handed man. Would he be at this dinner? Duncan hoped not.

Olaf was worse, of course, that was obvious. He was mean and horrible, and would not hesitate to hurt them, as Duncan knew too well. But there was something about the hook-handed man, something that made him seem scarier, more dangerous. It was something that Duncan saw in his eyes when he had grabbed him. Awareness. Recognition.

Olaf didn’t give a shit. He never did. He hurt and laughed and mocked and didn’t think twice about any of it. But his friend, the one with the hooks? Duncan saw how he worked. 

With him, everything was a choice. He wasn’t some rabid animal, but a person, a hunter, waiting, thinking. And Duncan didn’t like that one bit.

Once the pasta had cooled down to a more manageable temperature, the doorbell rang and the children prepared themselves for the arrival of Olaf. 

Klaus grabbed the ladle. 

Duncan readied the bowl.

And Isadora? She stood up straight and took a deep breath, ready to stare down Olaf if he so much as said a mean word to anyone, especially her little brother.

Chapter Text

Lemony walked over from the window and towards the kitchen, placing a full kettle on the stove.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he said.

Beatrice nodded. “Fifteen years is a long time.”

Lemony smirked. “It feels even longer when you’re dead.”

“Well, I think we can all relate to that statement now,” Bertrand said, still standing by the doorway.

“Bertrand,” Lemony gasped, just noticing the man’s presence.

“Hello, Lemony. It’s been too long.”

Violet looked over at Sunny. “They know this man?” she mouthed.

Sunny shrugged. “Contro,” she whispered. “We should listen and find out.”

Beatrice and Bertrand sat down at the kitchen table with Lemony, waiting for their tea to boil.

“Should we sit down?” Violet whispered to her sister. “I don’t see any more chairs.”

Sunny pointed behind them. “Sofa.”

Violet frowned. It’s so far away. But they could still hear some of the things being said on the other side of the room, and that would have to be good enough.

Beatrice got up as the kettle began to whistle.

“Oh, I can do it,” Lemony offered, rising to meet her.

She smiled. “I don’t mind.” Walking over to the counter, she paused a second. “You still like it bitter, right?”

“Always. Bitter as Wormwood-”

“And sharp as a double-edged sword,” Bertrand finished.

Lemony raised a hand to accept his tea. “Exactly.”

After they had settled down with their drinks, the adults set to a more serious topic.

“How are you alive?” Beatrice asked. “Everyone said you were dead, the police, the newspapers, my sources…”

He chuckled. “Never believe what you read in the Daily Punctilio. They’re full of shit.”

“Of course I know that,” Beatrice said. “But even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Lemony reached into his bag and pulled out that morning’s copy of the Daily Punctilio. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

The Headline read: “Quagmire and Baudelaire Mansions Burn Down, Children Orphaned.” Below, there were two pictures, one of Klaus, and another of a pair of twins, sitting on a sofa with the edge cropped out strangely.

Beatrice frowned. “I don’t see any problems with it.”

“Read the caption.”

“Isadora and Duncan Quagmire, (right) with their triplet Quigley. (left)”

Quagmires? But where was Kl- 

“Oh,” Beatrice said.

Lemony nodded.

“Maybe this is for the best,” Bertrand said. “Klaus would be safer without our enemies knowing about him.”

“Being a Quagmire could make it worse,” she countered. “Three kids would be a bigger target, and it would attract the attention of both sides of VFD.”

“What’s VFD?” Violet asked. 

The adults looked up. Shit. They had forgotten she was there.

“It… uh” Lemony stuttered, noticing her for the first time.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about!” Beatrice said quickly, standing up and pushing in her chair. “In fact, I think it’s getting rather late, and we should all head to bed. Don’t you agree Bertrand?”

She glared at him to to respond.

“Yes, it’s very late. Almost 8 PM.” 

Violet glared at them. They wouldn’t get away with this. Not this time. She said she was going to find out the truth, and she meant it. Even if she had to sneak around to do it.

Hoisting up Sunny, Violet started to where she assumed the bedrooms were. 

“Fine. I was feeling tired anyway.” she said.

The room that Violet and Sunny were staying in was small, but it was the only one with a crib in the apartment. 

Violet put Sunny down quickly, waiting a few minutes, pretending to sleep until her sister’s breathing evened out. Now.

Violet stood up, as quietly as possible, and took a few steps towards the door.

If Mom and Dad think they can have secret conversations without me, she thought, they are sorely mistaken.

She twisted the doorknob and pushed on the wood, stopping when it let out a sharp creak. Fuck. 

“Vi?” Sunny said. “Don?” It was her way of saying “Violet, where are you going?”

Violet walked over to her sister’s crib. “I’m going to go say goodnight to Mom and Dad,” she lied.

“Veni?” Sunny asked. “Can I come?”

“No Sun, it’s not that kind of goodnight.”

Sunny frowned. “What do you mean?”

Violet sighed. Sunny was her sister, and she was just as wrapped up in this as she was. She deserved the truth, just as much as Violet did. 

“I found something,” Violet began. “In Mom’s desk. The day of the fire.”

Sunny looked at her, confused.

“Do you remember the bowl, the broken one, that left a stain on the carpet?”

Her sister nodded. 

“Well that stain, it was blood. Human blood.”

Sunny took a moment to think about that before speaking. 

“Sol,” she said, “I’m sure Mom had a reason.”

Violet laughed. “What reason could she have for hiding a bowl of blood? Think about it Sun, it makes no sense! If Mom killed someone, why would she keep the blood? And in a sugar bowl, no less?”

“Dart?” Sunny whispered fearfully. “You think Mom killed someone?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Violet stood up and walked back to the door. “But I intend to find out.”

She could hear noises from the other room. Her parents were still awake. That was good.

Violet crept slowly toward the noise, kneeling down behind a corner.

“And you’re sure they’re dead?” Violet heard her Mom say. “Penny, Quentin, their kid?”

“No,” Lemony said. “The Quagmires could have used the tunnels, like you did.”

Violet peeked her head out to try and get a glimpse. The tunnels! She knew those. But who were the Quagmires? She moved closer.

“Any word from the organization on this?” Bertrand asked. 

Organization? Violet thought. What organization?

Lemony sighed. “I’m not the one you should be asking. You’re probably closer than I am.”

“We got out.” Beatrice said. “Or we thought we did.”

“And I guess your house is proof of that?” Lemony stated.

Our house? Violet thought. What did this organization had to do with our house burning down?

Beatrice ignored him. “That’s what this is about. We thought it would be enough to take what they have and run. But there’s always more.”

Bertrand nodded. “And now we need something-”

“On them.” Lemony finished. 

After a moment he spoke again. “Finding dirt on VFD is hard. They clean up well.”

VFD? Was that the organization? But why did their parents need information on them? And what did it have to do with their house? She had to hear more.

Violet moved even closer, her knee hitting a weak spot in the floor. That wasn’t good.

“Did you hear that?” Beatrice asked. “Is someone there? Violet?”

Shit. Violet held her breath, not even daring to move. 

She heard a scraping noise, and saw her Mom stand up from the table. 

This was her last chance. Sliding back slowly, Violet pushed herself a few feet down the hallway, enough to stand up and make it to her room. 

She shut the door and slipped into bed.

“Enco?” Sunny whispered. “Did you find anything?”

 “Only more questions.”

Sunny woke up in the middle of the night with a pain in her side.

Rolling over, she pulled out the disk she had found the night before. It was dirtier than she had remembered, with a film of gray sand over it, like the kind from the sewers.

Sunny slipped the disk back in her pocket and stood up, still confined to her crib.

“Vi?” she asked, waking her sister up.

“What do you want?” Violet mumbled. 

“Taxi?” Sunny said, asking her sister for a lift.

Violet walked over to the crib and picked Sunny up. 

“Now, where do you want to go?”

Sunny smiled mischievously and pointed towards the ground.

“Lazybones,” Violet sighed, setting her down. “Are you happy now?”

Sunny nodded. 

As Violet went back to bed, Sunny crawled out into the main hallway, careful not to be too loud. It was late, but you never know who might be awake, and a dirty sewer disk is just the kind of thing that her family would disapprove of her having, much less biting on.

There was a bathroom across the hall, she had seen it briefly earlier, and the sink looked perfect for making her disk more presentable. 

One thing that was not perfect about the sink, however, was that it rested three feet above the ground, which would be no problem for an ordinary sized human, but for a small child like Sunny, presented quite a challenge.

But Sunny was determined, and her teeth were always up to the task, and so she set out on a way to reach the counter top.

Looking around the room, Sunny tried to see if there was anything that could be of use to her. There was a towel that seemed long enough to climb, but her teeth could rip it easily. There were some boxes under the counter that could possibly be used for stairs, but that wasn’t the best option, as she didn’t know how to walk. Finally, her eyes rested upon a low hanging pull chain and she smiled. Oh, this would be perfect!

Crawling over to the light bulb, Sunny tied a small basket to the end of the cord, and climbed into it. 

“Thank you, Violet,” she whispered, before pulling back on the string, causing her contraption to swing away from the counter.

Sunny held tight, leaning the other direction as her makeshift swing approached the back wall. This change seemed harmless at first, but as Sunny neared the counter, and her place of departure, the knots keeping the basket up came undone, and she was left biting onto a cord that was rapidly approaching a hard marble counter top.

She had to make a decision, and quick. Fall to the floor, or jump? Fall or jump? She remembered what she had said to Violet a few hours earlier, when she was in a similar situation. 

Jump. Jump and you won’t fall.

Sunny jumped, landing softly on a stack of hand towels. 

“Well, that was lucky,” she remarked. 

She racked her brain to think of what she did wrong. A few months ago Violet made this exact invention, and swung Sunny all around the living room. It worked perfectly. It was her favorite memory of them all together, Klaus laughing along with them as he looked up from his book. Eventually he joined in too, pushing her just high enough to still be safe. She missed him. 

Sunny pulled the disk out of her pocket and placed it in the sink, turning the water on warm. Klaus read a book once that said warm water killed more germs. He tried to read it aloud to her but it was much too dense. Maybe they could finish it one day. 

Sunny grabbed the bar of soap, and scrubbed until all the gray grime was gone. Without the silt, the disk looked kind of pretty, perhaps it was ornamental once.

Looking closer Sunny noticed a few things about it. It was curved outward slightly, like a shield, and there seemed to be some sort of design on that side, although water and age had made it faint and unrecognizable.

There was also some sort of bump as well. It was small, and smoothed out from the water, probably just some small flaw that was never fixed.

Sunny frowned. What was it?

She took a bite, testing the waters. It tasted strange, but that could be expected, although it was more fragile than she had bargained for, not like the rocks and hard plastics she was used to. Sunny kept it anyway. Maybe it could be used as a warm up for her teeth, or at least a substitute until she found something more solid. 

She pushed the hand towels she had landed on off the counter and jumped onto them, softening her descent. 

That was a lot easier than the way up, she thought. 

As Sunny crawled out of the bathroom and into the hallway, she noticed a strange light coming from the other room. Someone had left a lamp on in the kitchen.

It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it, and no one would be up again until morning. So Sunny Baudelaire did what most responsible children would do in her place: turn it off. 

This did present a bit of a challenge, as Sunny was a baby confined to the ground, and the lamp was resting on the kitchen table, but as we’ve seen earlier, she did not give up easily, especially in problems relating to her height.

Sunny crawled over to the power outlet, and the lamp cord in it. 

In a move that no one should try at home, she took the cord in her mouth, and pulled, trying to free it from the wall.

It didn’t budge. 

She pulled again.

No luck.

Sunny tightened her grip and jumped backwards, hitting the leg of the table. The lamp turned off, but not without the movement knocking an object off the side of the table. 

Sunny looked at it. It was a newspaper, she knew that for certain, but she couldn’t read any of the words. All she saw was a photo of her older brother staring back at her from the front page.

Sunny immediately understood that this was important, and pulled the page loose, leaving the rest of the paper folded up on the floor. She had to show this to Violet. Violet would know what it said. 

“Vi!” Sunny shrieked.

“Huh?” Violet asked, rolling out of bed and landing flat on the floor.

“Shit.”

Sunny shouted again. “Vi! Up!”

Violet groaned and sat up, still wrapped in her covers. 

“What is it? Can’t you tell me in the morning?”

“No.”

“Well, this better be important enough to wake me up at two in the morning,” she said, standing up and turning on the light.

Sunny held up the front page of the Daily Punctilio.

“That would do it.”

Violet took the paper and made room for Sunny on the bed, and began reading.

“Quagmire and Baudelaire Mansions Burn Down, Children Orphaned.” she began.

“Quag?” Sunny asked.

Violet nodded. “Just what I was thinking, Sunny. Maybe it will tell us.”

“Early yesterday afternoon in the residential district, two different mansions burned down at around the same time, with their inhabitants inside.” she read. “Only three individuals survived the flames, triplets, Quigley, Isadora, and Duncan Quagmire.”

Sunny tapped on Violet’s shoulder. 

“Viv,” she wondered, meaning “But aren’t we still alive?”

Violet nodded. “But they don’t know that.”

“Kla?” Sunny shrieked. “But isn’t Klaus still alive too?”

She stated at her for a second in thought.

“He is,” Violet said. “But why would they…?”

Violet noticed which paper they were holding.

“Oh.”

“Kay?” Sunny said, her way of asking “What is it? Are you okay?”

“This is the Daily Punctilio. Dad called it the worst newspaper in the city. Mom called it something even worse. Remember?”

“Lo?” Sunny shrieked. “This is the burning heap of shit?”

Violet nodded and kept on reading.

“The Quagmire Triplets, pictured above, will be staying with their closest living relative for the time being, as stipulated by their parents will.”

Sunny looked confused.

“The people at the Daily Punctilio think that Klaus is one of these Quagmire triplets,” Violet explained. “And will be staying at Dr. Montgomery’s with him.”

“Quig?” she asked, meaning, “But what happened to the third Quagmire triplet? The one they think Klaus is?” 

Violet looked back down at the paper, at the photo of the two Quagmires. She knew realistically, what had happened to the other triplet, this Quigley, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. Even for someone who hated secrets, a little white lie to her baby sister couldn’t hurt.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Violet said eventually. “He probably escaped like we did, and is with his parents like we are.” 

Sunny nodded. She trusted Violet. And her word was enough for her. She just hoped Quigley Quagmire was happy, wherever he was. 

Quigley Quagmire was most decidedly not happy. Besides the fact that he knew nothing about what was happening to his siblings and his father, he had been walking for hours, and couldn’t complain about any of it. 

His mother had taken that job. Or rather, not taken. It was hard to explain.

She had pushed him down some strange hole in their house, which he later found out was connected to some sort of tunnel system, one that went on for miles.

He had then waited at the entrance for what seemed like ages, or maybe just a few minutes, before being joined by his mother, a haunted expression on her face.

He had no clue what had happened. She didn’t tell him. So they did nothing, and waited at the bottom of the ladder. But you can’t wait forever, and so they (or more accurately, he) decided to start walking.

So for the past day or so, they had been moving at a snail’s pace, his mother behind him, never saying a word. 

He had no clue where he was going, none at all, and she hadn’t told him anything, hadn’t even spoken, since she had followed him into the tunnels.

This wasn’t like her. This wasn’t anything like her. Penelope Quagmire was bold, she was brave, she was strong. Now Penny just seemed empty.

And Quigley? He was hopelessly lost. Literally and Figuratively. 

Chapter Text

“Orphans?” Olaf yelled, flinging open the door. “Where are you orphans?” He turned to face them. “There.”

Isadora could see the boys squirming beside her at the sound of his voice. She didn’t like that one bit. 

“Dinner’s ready,” she spat. “We’ll bring it to you in the dining room.”

As the troupe made their way to their seats, the children regrouped in the kitchen. 

“This should be easy,” Isadora said. “I’ll go around with the pasta, Klaus can carry the sauce, and Duncan can pour their drinks.”

“Drinks?” Duncan asked. 

“I think there’s wine in the fridge,” she replied.

“Are we sure we want to give them alcohol?” Klaus wondered.

Isadora nodded. “Good idea. Duncan can bring around water and we can get the wine only if they ask.”

“What about us?” Duncan said.

“What about us?”

“Well, when do we eat?”

Isadora thought for a moment. “We can do it after. Try and speed through their dinner and eat when they’re done.”

A shout was heard from the dining room.

“Orphans! Where’s our food?”

“Ready?” Klaus asked, picking up the bowl of sauce.

“Ready,” the Quagmires replied.

Ducan started in the middle of the table, moving clockwise with the water, while Isadora and Klaus went the other direction with the pasta. This way they got to Olaf last. None of them wanted to be near that man, for any amount of time.

The Henchpeople accepted Duncan’s water without question, a few even saying thank you. 

But then he got to Olaf. Duncan slowly poured the water into his glass, not turning to meet the man’s gaze. Please don’t say anything, please don’t say anything.

Olaf lifted the glass and took a long sip of water, dramatically spitting it back out onto the entire table, and the other henchpeople’s food.

“This isn’t wine!” He yelled. “What is this!”

Duncan stood awkwardly at his side.

“It’s water,” he stammered.

“I know it’s water!” Olaf snarled. “I have two eyes right here and I can see that this is water. I was asking where the wine was!”

Duncan looked over at Isadora, who nodded quickly from the other side of the table. 

“It’s in the kitchen.”

“It’s in the kitchen,” Olaf mocked. “Go get it!”

Duncan nodded and rushed out of the room. 

“Shitty orphans, why do I even try,” Olaf muttered.

Isadora watched her brother rush out of the room. Olaf was already in a bad mood. She just wanted to get this over with. And soon.

“Is there any salad?” the hook handed man asked as she scooped some noodles on his plate.

“I’ve always been a fan of a good chef’s salad,” he continued. “It’s really interesting how you can make different arrangements with the vegetables and-”

Isadora nodded and moved on to the next person. 

She and Klaus slowly spooned out Puttanesca as they moved closer and closer to Olaf, his frown growing larger each second that Duncan hadn’t returned.

Where is he? she thought, as they reached Olaf’s seat. Now would be a good time for a distraction… Their guardian was sure to find something wrong with the food, she just knew it, especially when he was like this.

As they scooped pasta, Olaf looked down at his plate in disgust and confusion.

“Where’s the Roast Beef?” he sneered.

Klaus frowned. “We didn’t make roast beef,” he said. “We made Puttanesca sauce.”

“Where is the roast beef?” he repeated slowly.

“You didn’t tell us you wanted roast beef.” Klaus replied.

Olaf stood up and walked toward Klaus, cornering him against the wall.

“Where is the roast beef, orphan?” he asked.

Klaus pushed back against the wall, standing as far away from Olaf as he could. 

“There isn’t any,” he whispered.

“Louder,” Olaf prodded.

“There isn’t any!”

Olaf looked back at his troupe. 

“Did you hear this brat? He said there wasn’t any roast beef!”

They nodded. “Yeah! We want roast beef!”

He turned to Klaus. 

“Do you know what happens to orphans who disobey their fathers?”

“You’re not my father,” Klaus said. “My father was a good man, much better than the likes of you.”

Olaf laughed at that. 

“A good man? Please. Quentin was anything but good, and everyone knew it.”

Klaus blinked. Who?

Olaf kept on talking.

“Orphans that don’t listen and break the rules get punished. Do you want to be punished, Glasses?”

Duncan chose that exact moment to enter the room, running in with an open bottle of red wine.

“I’ve got it!” he yelled. “I had a little trouble finding a corkscrew so I ended up using a fork, but then I dropped the fork down the sink, and it wouldn’t really come back out, but anyways, I have the wine.”

His eyes widened as he realized what was happening.

“I… uh”

“Get over here, orphan, and get me my wine.” Olaf snapped.

Duncan walked over quickly, his hands shaking, little splashes of wine spilling out as he neared the man.

“Do you want me to, uh…”

“Pour it in the glass, and give it to me.”

He nodded and grabbed the wine glass, shaking as he filled it all the way to the brim.

Splashing some wine on the floor, he handed the completely full glass to Olaf, who drank it all in seconds. 

“Another.”

“I.. uh”

“Another!”

Duncan poured a second glass, this one slightly overflowing as he walked over to Olaf.

When he was about two steps away, Duncan tripped on an uneven spot in the carpet, and fell into Olaf, wine glass in hand.

“Get off me!” Olaf shouted, looking down at his dripping red ensemble.

“Oh, orphan, you’re going to pay for this…” 

He rushed towards Duncan, who spun around until he was pressed up against the wall next to Klaus.

Olaf smirked. “Now I’ve got you two…”

He took a step closer to the boys and raised his open hand, bringing it down on Duncan’s cheek with a sharp slap that could be heard from across the room.

Both boys screamed.

Duncan was lying on the floor, tears in his eyes, as Klaus turned to Olaf.

In a fit of rage, he ran at Olaf, but was stopped in his tracks as the man’s knee collided with his stomach, and he fell to the ground as well.

Throughout this whole encounter, Isadora had been standing a ways away, unconsciously retreating to the other side of the room. But the show of force against her brother had broken her out of her trance and she sparked to action.

Picking up the hard plastic ladle, she ran at Olaf from behind and swung it.

“Leave them the fuck alone, you rat bastard!” she screamed, as it collided with the side of his face.

He whipped around, a small gash bleeding where the ladle had hit his cheek, and he began to turn red with fury.

Uh-oh.

His hands laced around her neck as he lifted her into the air.

Isadora gasped. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe!

He started to shake her, his eyes wild and uncontrollable.

She gasped again, trying to suck in more air as Klaus and Duncan began to pick themselves off the floor.

“Let her go!” They shouted, taking a few steps towards Olaf before the Bald Man blocked their path.

“Isadora!” Duncan screamed, as her face started to turn an unsettling shade of purple.

“Let her go!”

Olaf turned to them, “Let her go?” he asked, the anger replaced by an unsettling calm. 

“Sure thing.”

He removed his hands from around her neck, Isadora collapsing onto the floor in a gasping heap.

“Isadora!” Duncan cried, rushing to her side. 

“Now, now,” Olaf said, kicking the boy back. “I think Little Miss Hero here needs to take a time out and think about what she’s done. And I know the perfect place to put her.”

He turned to the henchmen.

“Hooky, Baldy, take her away, I’ll tell you where to go later. Ladies, hold the boy. I have a feeling that he’s going to try and cause some problems.”

Isadora was dragged out of the room, still gasping and unable to talk as Duncan screamed, which quickly turned into sobs. 

“Give her back! Please,”

Olaf turned and frowned. 

“But how do I know you’ve learned you lesson?”

“I have, please! Just give her back!” Duncan wailed.

Olaf kneeled down next to the crying boy, looking as if he was considering that option. Then he smiled.

“I don’t believe you.”

Once Olaf had walked out of the room, Duncan began to cry harder, curled up tight on the floor.

Klaus shook away the pain in his chest and sat next to him.

“We’re going to get her back,” he said, placing a hand on Duncan’s shoulder.

Duncan sniffed. “How do you know?”

Klaus thought for a moment. “Because Olaf has nowhere else to put her. She has to stay in the house, and once we find her, we can go to the bank and have them lock Olaf up.”

Duncan nodded, tears still trailing down his face, but Klaus wasn’t finished. 

“And she’s strong,” he said. “She attacked him, hit him. Someone like that has to be alright.”

“My mother was like that,” Duncan said. “And look where that got her. She’s dead.”

“Well Isadora isn’t your mother.” he replied.

That didn’t make Duncan feel any better.

“I can’t do anything to help her.”

“We can search in the morning,” Klaus said. “As we do our chores we can look through the house for where he’s keeping her.”

Klaus lent Duncan a hand and the two boys stood up and headed for their room.

Klaus let go of Duncan’s hand abruptly. 

“Wait one second,” he prompted. “There’s something I need to get.”

Klaus walked across the hall and slipped back into the dining room.

He poured the puttanesca sauce from earlier onto the pasta and walked back to the bottom of the stairs.

“What’s that?” Duncan asked.

“Dinner.”

They carried the dish of pasta upstairs and into the bedroom, putting it between them. 

Duncan looked at Klaus expectantly.

“What?”

“Forks.”

Klaus sighed and started back downstairs. How had he forgotten forks?

He sneaked back into the dining room, ducking under the table when he heard voices. It was the White Faced Women!

“Did you hear he’s working on a new show?” one of the women asked.

“Another Al Funcoot, ready for the stage!” the other cheered.

“Ready? He’s barely started. It will take weeks to perfect,”

The second woman tensed, her excitement not at all dampened by the news.

“But when it does, we’ll get a lead role!”

Both women chattered on eagerly, grabbing two wine glasses and slipping back out.

Klaus took a few deep breaths and hid under the table for a few more minutes, waiting to make sure they had left. He slowly reached up and plucked two unused forks from the table, bringing them upstairs to Duncan, who by now had fallen asleep.

He sighed and looked at the other boy, curled up tight on his part of the bed. Klaus noticed that he had left a large space for Isadora on the side.

Klaus sat down and took a few bites of the pasta. It was as good as he had imagined, almost better. Justice Strauss is a really good cook, he thought. And a nice neighbor.

Once they got Isadora back maybe they could still see her from time to time, perhaps she would be friends with their new guardian, once they had escaped this place.

For a second Klaus let his mind drift into another world, one full of books and baking, where Justice Strauss was his guardian instead of Olaf, and his siblings were there with him. Maybe that could still happen one day. Being with Justice Strauss. His siblings were long gone.

But in his head, they didn’t have to be.

Klaus fell asleep and dreamed of his family that night, with him, alive. It was the only nice dream he would have for a long while.

Isadora Quagmire woke up somewhere warm and damp, her head throbbing, probably from the lack of water, and impact with the ground.

She tried to remember the events of the last night, the pasta, Duncan with the wine, Klaus, the ladle. She groaned.

Two of Olaf’s friends had dragged her down here, the bald one throwing her against the wall. 

She could feel a dozen injuries flare up, every inch of her crying out in pain. 

For a second she just laid there, wallowing, before remembering that her brother was still out there, with him. 

She was the oldest. She was the strongest. She had to be.

Isadora picked herself up, and began to survey her surroundings.

She was locked in an old wine cellar, mostly empty, with a few bottles stacked up in piles by the door. It was musty, and there was a single dirty window high above the floor. 

She walked over to the door and twisted the handle. Locked from the outside. Great.

Pulling out her commonplace book, which she thankfully still had, Isadora wrote down her findings so far. 

The window is small, and looks like a tight fit. Climbing out not an option?

She walked over to the door and twisted the knob.   

The door is locked.

She pushed on the frame.

And sturdy.

She continued to circle the room, looking for anything else that could help her escape. Staying here was not an option. Her brother was out there. Without her. 

She scoped out the room a second time, then a third. Finally after her eighth lap around the cellar, she gave up, grabbing a crate and walking over to the little window. 

Using the crate as a stool, Isadora stood and tried to look outside.

The glass was covered in a layer of grime so thick and brown that she couldn’t see anything but her reflection staring back.

She looked different than she had just two days before, weary and hopeless, her long black hair knotted together worse than she had ever seen it. There was dirt on her face, and a ring of dark bruises around her neck, that looked like hands if you squinted.

Isadora frowned. She couldn’t do anything about the bruises, or her hair, but she could fix the look. No one got to see her down, especially not Count Olaf.

She was startled by the appearance of a beetle in the window, breaking through the layer of grime.

A beetle? She thought. How could a beetle… She put her hand up to the glass, expecting it to come away coated in a layer of dust and dirt. It was clean.

She wiped the window with her sleeve. Clean. She could see the dirt there, it was right in front of her, behind her reflection, but it was almost as if it was on the other side of the glass.

Her reflection! Of course! A dirty window wouldn’t be able to show her reflection, only a clean one could. But if it was clean, where was the dirt coming from?

She watched the beetle walk along the surface of the window, later being joined by another of the same type. That was it!

The window wasn’t coated with grime, it was dirt! She was looking at dirt! 

Isadora let out a cheer and smiled. She was underground!

That was perfect! She had never had a problem with dark spaces, or close confines, like her brothers. Heights were her only setback, and there was no way that could hurt her now.

She only had to find a way to contact the boys and escape, no easy task for someone in her situation. But Isadora wasn’t about to let her brother stay out there alone. With Olaf no less. When she got out of here, he was going to have to answer for what he did. To her and her triplet.

Chapter Text

Bertrand had always been a morning person. Even when he was little.

He would lay in bed and watch the numbers change on the clock, waiting for it to hit the number six. His mother never let him leave bed before six.

He smiled, thinking of the time when he still had a mother, a father, a sister. A family. Now they were all gone.

No , he thought. You still have a sister. She’s out there, safe, away from all of this nonsense you got yourself wrapped up in.

She was with her family.

When Bertrand was eight years old, his house burned down, with his mother and father inside.

They had some savings, nothing much, but it was still enough for the bank to send him and his little sister off to a nice boarding school, Prufrock Preparatory. 

Their banker said it was only temporary. A few months, nothing more, until they could track down his uncle Elwyn. 

They never found his uncle, but they did find something else. A birth certificate. Belonging to his three year old sister Lucy.

Apparently his mother had an affair with the man she worked for, someone rich and powerful. 

After the fire he must have read about them in the newspaper, and realized Lucy was his. He showed up at the school and adopted her immediately. Her. Just her.

When Bertrand asked about himself the man just scoffed, turning away and walking off, Lucy waving back at him over his shoulder, smiling.

It had hurt then, but at least he knew she was happy. Safe. She lived in a world without VFD, and no matter how much he tried to escape, he was VFD.

On their first morning in the apartment with Lemony, Bertrand woke up later than usual, around seven or so, still early, but the sun was up, an unusual way for him to start off the day.

The rest of his family, with the exception of Sunny, who strangely, was still asleep, were not the biggest fans of waking up.

He grabbed three mugs, pausing for a second before deciding against getting one for Violet, and started making a pot of coffee.

He was glad they had chosen to include a coffee machine in the model for this safe house, as tea never quite did the job for him in the mornings, probably something to do with the amount of caffeine involved.

He placed his mug on the table, leaving more in the pot for Beatrice and Lemony, and sat down, looking around for the newspaper from yesterday. 

He knew it wasn’t the best source of information, but Bertrand had always liked reading the Daily Punctilio. It was the only big newspaper in the city, and there was something nice in sitting down and taking the time to read the news.

He frowned as he felt the press of paper against his foot. That was strange, why was the paper on the floor? 

His eyes caught on the headline. It was the second page, but the story was just as interesting as the first. More so, even.

“Beatrice! Lemony!” he shouted. “You have to come see this!”

Lemony Snicket woke to the sound of voices.

In the past fifteen years on the run, he had rarely woke to any sound at all, much less the ones of other people. He had always chosen out of the way spots to rest, and where he had always been alone. It was safer that way. For him and the people he loved.

But it was a pleasant surprise when he heard Bertrand’s shouts. Even with the volume and tone, Lemony was content for a moment, and smiled as he took in the noise.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

When he realized that Bertrand was screaming for him, he sat up in a second, smashing his head against a low hanging shelf.

Who builds a shelf over a bed, anyways?

Lemony shook it off and rushed into the kitchen, a half step behind Beatrice.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Is something wrong?” she said.

Bertrand was waving the newspaper around like crazy. 

“You have to see this!”

He held up the headline for them to see.

“Museum Shows Object For the First Time Since Attempted Theft,” Beatrice read. “Is that even possible? Could they have it? It’s been thirty years.”

Lemony stared at the photograph beneath it and felt his throat close. That was it. The artifact his sister tried to steal all those years ago.

“I believe so,” he said finally. “The police were never reported finding it, and my sister didn’t have it when they caught her, so it’s possible the museum has had it this whole time.”

“But what is it?” Beatrice asked. “I mean, I know what it is, but what’s important about it?”

Lemony shrugged. “It could be anything. All I know is that VFD wanted it. Badly.”

Violet looked at Sunny from her hiding spot in the hall. She had heard her father’s shouts and had woken up Sunny, finding a spot to listen to what they said. This seemed like the sort of conversation that they weren’t supposed to hear.

“VFD?” Sunny wondered.

Violet frowned. “They were talking about it last night,” she explained. “It seems to be a person, or maybe a group of people, but they never talk about them for very long. Listen.”

“Do you think they’ll try and steal it again?” Bertrand said.

Beatrice thought for a moment. “Perhaps. Now hand me the article.”

She quickly read it, her eyes narrowing once she reached a certain part, about halfway down the page.

“There’s going to be a party tonight honoring the exhibition, as well as local artisans,” she said. “They might try and make a move then. Security would be lighter.”

“This bowl could contain the kind of thing you two need to get out,” Lemony stated.

“Three,” Beatrice smiled. “If it has something as valuable as we hope, we could all be free.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” Bertrand asked.

“If you’re suggesting that we sneak in to the Museum of Items during a huge party to steal a valuable artifact, then yes, Bertrand, that is exactly what I am suggesting.”

“But the party’s tonight!” he protested. “We’d need invitations, clothes…”

Beatrice laughed, the way she did when she was about to suggest something crazy.

“Who said we’d need invitations?”

Violet was in awe. Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire, her parents, were going to rob a museum? 

What the hell and fuck even was her life?

“Heist?” Sunny asked her sister. “Are we going to rob a museum?”

We. Are we going to rob a museum.

Violet wished she could know the answer to that question. However, she had no idea if they were coming with. If she knew her parents, then probably not. I mean, what sane people would let their kids come with them on a heist? It was lunacy! There was no way that they would let them come.

But who said we needed their permission?

Violet picked up Sunny, standing her up on her lap. With a large grin, she pulled her close.

“Robbing a museum?” Violet said. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Hip,” Sunny agreed, “It’s how memories are made.”

Violet gave her a high five.

“You’re a really cool sister, you know that, right?”

Sunny smiled. “Cool.”

The rest of the day passed slowly for Violet. The adults had left around ten or so, with some weak excuse about getting food, when she knew full well that they were making preparations for their plot. Well, little did they know, Violet was making preparations too.

She had found an old easel in a side room, and using a large sheet of white paper, began planning with Sunny.

“So,” she said, making a vertical line through the center of the sheet. “We know that they are planning to rob a museum, and that they’re going to do it tonight. Was there anything else?”

Sunny thought for a second. “Tealth!” she said, “They’re going to sneak in!”

Violet added that to their notes.

“But how will they do it?” she wondered. “They couldn’t go in through the front, and sure, maybe there’s a back entrance, but how could they-”

“Tunnel!” Sunny shrieked.

“Of course, the tunnels!” Violet exclaimed. “That has to be it!”

“So they’re going in through the tunnels somehow, and then to that museum, Sunny what was it called?”

Sunny leaned over and picked up the newspaper, staring at the article for a second.

“Lee,” she mumbled.

Violet smacked her forehead. 

“Of course. You can’t read.”

She looked at the article herself. “The Museum of Items. Funny name, I wonder what it shows.”

“Items, probably.” Sunny answered.

Violet smiled at that. 

“There will be a gala tonight starting at eight in the main hall, blah blah blah, honoring our new exhibits, blah blah blah, community, artisans, pottery, etc. Oh look! Origami Sculpture, that looks cool enough.”

Violet put down the paper. 

“I think we’ve covered all the main points, that is, except for the big question mark.”

Sunny frowned. “Bomby?” 

“No. VFD. They seem to be at the center of this, whoever they are, but we still know almost nothing about them.”

“Phant?” Sunny suggested. “We know they have a stupid name.”

Violet snorted. “That’s for sure.”

The adults arrived back at the safe house a few hours later, Sunny in the middle of horrendously beating Violet at poker.

“That’s cheating!” Violet cried, as Sunny flipped over an impossibly good second card.

“Tampa,” she snorted. “I don’t have to cheat. You’re just bad.”

“No fighting!” Bertrand called from the hallways. 

“We’re not fighting!” Violet called back.

“Digo,” Sunny mumbled. “Speak for yourself.”

Beatrice, Bertrand and Lemony strolled back into the apartment carrying huge paper grocery bags, Bertrand’s weak knees almost buckling under the weight.

That’s strange, Violet thought. There must be something awfully heavy in those bags. Supplies, perhaps?

They ate a dinner of Pasta Puttanesca, something Lemony said meant “very few ingredients” in Italian. No one spoke as they ate, focusing heavily on the tasks now before them, and the nerves twisted together like knots in their chests. 

It was like the calm before the storm, feeling the weight of rain in the air, seeing the clouds overhead, as the whole group waited for the first drop to fall.

Beatrice looked at Violet, then Sunny. Was she really going to do this? She was so eager before, but looking at the faces of her daughters reminded her that she was a mother now, not some wild actress who could do things like this. She had three children, and she was doing a horrible job of protecting them, of being their mother. 

She felt a hand rest upon her knee. Bertrand. She let out a deep breath and met his eye. They would be okay. Just one last thing. One more. Then she could give her children the childhood they deserved, the one she never had. Then she could be a mother. And they could be a family. One more.

Meanwhile, Violet was feeling something very different altogether. She was buzzing. All of her, everywhere felt so alive, like she was on fire, burning up, about to explode. 

Her foot was tapping against the ground much too fast, and she put her hand down to slow her bouncing leg. She felt so full, like there were a million good bright burning things living inside of her, so many that she might explode, confetti bursting out, or maybe candy, like a piñata. She had never been so excited in her entire life, not for anything ever, except maybe the day when Sunny came home from the hospital. 

She was a burst of lightning, a bomb, a swarm of fireflies, fireworks, a flaming pillar that reached miles into the sky. Her rational brain seemed to fade away, there were no thoughts bouncing around, telling her that it was a bad idea to sneak after her parents with her infant sister, to commit a felony and hope to get away easily. But she didn’t care. She didn’t give a shit.

She was going on a fucking robbery. And it was going to be great!

After dinner, Lemony made sure to clear the table as quickly as possible. 

He wanted to get a head start towards the museum, he didn’t like staying in the apartment now that Beatrice and Bertrand were there.

Call it cowardice, but he didn’t like looking at Beatrice’s daughter. She looked close enough to her mother, but there were features that reminded him of people that would be painful to think about. He had been on the run for fifteen years, and he was still scared to talk to his older sister, to take responsibility for where he had put her. Some things never changed.

He remembered back when he was younger, during his apprenticeship, when he got her arrested. She was able to escape, of course, but afterwards she was always a little different, a little colder towards him. He feared the same would happen, only worse, now. 

With his insistence, she had slipped Beatrice a box full of darts, poisonous darts, ones that would strike true and kill their victims, as well as her engagement. 

He never got a chance to apologize. If he had listened better, played his part better, like he was supposed to when he was younger, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Olaf never had to know.

The worst part was, on some level, he was happy about it. He had hurt his sister deeply, but he was happy. She deserved better, better than Olaf. Lemony knew it. She knew it. Everyone knew it, even Olaf. And yet she had fallen in love with him anyway. Jacques was right. Kit did have bad taste in men.

Lemony looked at Beatrice and Bertrand out of the corner of his eye, quarreling over whether or not to take headlamps of flashlights on their journey into the tunnels, and subsequent heist. 

He smirked. Maybe bad taste was just a Snicket thing.

Violet and Sunny played cards in the living room as their parents prepared. They could hear shuffling and movement in the other room, but eventually it faded, and they knew it was their turn to follow.

They had no supplies to bring with them, and so their departure was a lot easier, Violet slipping down into the tunnels with Sunny in her arms.

They walked back through the boiler room close behind the adults, their footsteps hidden by the sounds of the machinery. The tunnels would be the hard part.

They couldn’t bring their own flashlights, to stay hidden so Violet and Sunny would have to walk just close enough behind the adults that they could still see, not making any noises to alert them of their presence.

They would finally reveal themselves when they got to the museum, when it was too late to send them back to the apartment.

It was hard finding their way in the catacombs, as the light was very dim in front of them, and Violet had to watch every step she took, careful not to make a sound.

She noticed that the route they were taking seemed slightly familiar, and she was sure of it once they reached the intersection with the sewer.

Holding Sunny, Violet’s mid flashed back to the day before, when she had dropped her sister in this exact spot.

She wouldn’t let that happen again. Holding Sunny as tight as she could, Violet stepped into the warm water, and followed behind her parents, hoping that she wasn’t splashing too loud.

 Once they reached the end of the tunnel, the adults stopped in front of the large metal door, the one where they had found Sunny by, and stared up at the letters at the top.

VFD. There it was again.

Her mother then whispered something she couldn’t make out, and raised a hand to a panel in the middle. She was far off, but it looked something like a keypad, only larger, and she was there for a long time, conversing with the others.

After a few moments, a beeping sound issued throughout the chamber, and a little light flashed on.

Using the combined effort of all three adults, they pulled the humongous door open, and stepped inside, Violet taking off in a sprint to slip in before it closes.

She just made it. Barely.

“Violet?” Beatrice gasped, noticing her daughter behind her. “Sunny?”

Sunny waved.

“What are you doing here?” Bertrand asked “How did you even know we were going to be here?”

Violet stared at him for a few moments, saying nothing. It would be best if they didn't guess she and Sunny had been listening in.

Violet handed Sunny to her mother, and skipped ahead.

“So where is this museum we’re going to rob, anyways?”

The adults stared at her.

“You thought you could leave me out of doing something exciting?” she asked.

“She’s just like her mother,” Lemony whispered. 

Bertrand nodded.

I guess this is going to be a family outing, he thought. There’s no possible way that can go wrong.   

Chapter Text

Klaus woke up afraid, something that was becoming a usual occurrence in his life nowadays. Duncan had already awoken, and was pacing across the room, stopping to cry every few seconds. He already had his brother taken away, Klaus thought, He doesn’t need his sister gone too.

They were going to get Isadora back. They had a plan. They were going to look for her. They were going to find her. There was no other option.

Klaus put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder and suggested they go downstairs and look for the list, that way they can get started on finding Isadora quicker.

Duncan wiped his nose on his sleeve and nodded. They were going to find Isadora. They were.

When the two boys went downstairs, they found something surprising, although it was not the pleasant kind of surprise they were wishing for.

“Children,” Olaf acknowledged as they walked into the kitchen.

The boys were confused. Why was Count Olaf here? He was never here.

“You may be wondering why I’m here,” he said. “As a talented and successful actor, I have the time and money to spend at home taking care of my children, which I am doing.”

Klaus looked skeptical. That was the most bullshit thing he had ever heard. 

“He’s here to keep an eye on us,” he whispered.

Duncan bit his lip and nodded.

Klaus stared at Duncan for a few more seconds. Without his sister, his friend was barely holding it together. He just hoped Olaf wouldn’t notice. 

“What are our chores for the day?” Klaus asked. He was eager to get away from Olaf and start looking for Isadora.

Olaf leaned forward, his eyes shining wickedly. 

“I’m so glad you asked, Glasses. You and Dandelion here will be chopping wood all day.”

“Is that all?” Klaus asked. He needed to see the entire house to find Isadora.

“It is not all,” Olaf said. “I have generously provided you with a single axe head, and wooden handle, which you will use to chop wood until sunset, when you will come inside and prepare my dinner.”

Olaf stood up and gestured for them to follow. 

“What if we finish chopping all the wood?” Klaus asked. “Can we stop then?”

Olaf laughed and pushed open the door to his backyard.

“You won’t.”

Olaf’s backyard wasn’t as bad as his front yard, or the interior of his house, but it was not a pleasant place to be. Instead of something nice like flowers, or even grass, Olaf’s backyard was covered in humongous piles of wood. 

In the middle of the yard, true to his word, was a single axe head, not connected to the pole.

Duncan sat down on a stump and began to cry once more.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing. Isadora was out there somewhere, alone, and he couldn’t even help her, he couldn’t even protect her. Couldn’t even try to do either!

He let out a sob. If Quigley were here, Olaf wouldn’t have Isadora. If he was as good as Quigley, none of this would have happened. But he was Duncan, useless, and his sister was in trouble somewhere and he couldn’t-

Duncan saw something move and looked up, finding Klaus crouched in front of him.

“Duncan,” he said. “I need you to look at me, and listen to what I am saying.”

Duncan kept crying.

“Duncan!” he shouted as he began to shake Duncan’s shoulders.

“You need to stop crying! You can’t help her when you cry!”

“I can’t help her either way!” Duncan shouted back.

“You can,” Klaus said. “I have a plan.”

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll never be able to-”

“I have a plan!” Klaus shouted. “And we won’t know if we don’t try!”

He took a deep breath and sat down next to Duncan.

“Please tell me you’ll try.”

Duncan sniffed and nodded.

“Great.”

Klaus picked up the two parts of the axe.

“It’s simple. One of us chops wood, while the other looks for Isadora.” 

He looked down at the broken pieces in his hands, and frowned.

“If only I was like Violet, and could invent something to fix this axe,” he said.

He sat the pieces back down and began to pace across the yard.

“Think Klaus, think!” he whispered. “When Violet needed to think, she always tied her hair up in a ribbon, but you don’t have long hair, or a ribbon.

Klaus stopped.

He did have one of those things.

He had forgotten about it, lost down at the bottom of his pocket, but he did have one, a ribbon, the bright yellow one Violet was looking for on the day she died.

He had her ribbon.

He pulled it out. The color had faded a bit from what he remembered, but it still worked perfectly, unlike the ruined ones that had made up the rest of her collection.

Klaus smiled and ran over to the stump, picking the head and shaft of the axe and fastening them back together with the ribbon, tied tight with the devil’s tongue.

“What are you doing?” Duncan asked, looking up, as he tried to wipe the sticky salt water off his face.

Klaus pulled the knot tight and looked over his invention. 

“I’m honoring my sister’s memory.”

Using the yellow ribbon, Klaus had managed to reattach the axe head to the handle, a shoddy invention, but it would work.

Klaus handed the axe to Duncan.

“I need you to use this and cut wood. It’ll make a perfect distraction while I look for Isadora inside.”

Duncan felt the axe awkwardly, and suggested, “Why don’t I look for Isadora, while you chop wood?”

Klaus looked uncomfortable at the prospect. He was the best person to look for Isadora, at least right now. He wanted Duncan to be able to see his sister, of course, but he wasn’t exactly subtle at the moment, and Klaus was scared of what Olaf would do his friend if he caught him. 

“I need you to chop wood…” Klaus fumbled for an excuse, “because I’m not sporty enough to do it myself.”

Duncan looked at him strangely. 

“What’s sportiness have to do with it?”

Klaus shrugged.

“Upper body strength?”

“Listen,” he comforted. “The best way you can help Isadora is by being a distraction.” 

Duncan opened his mouth to protest, but Klaus wasn’t done.he added.

Duncan paused for a moment, then nodded. 

“Just find her, alright?” he said.

Klaus turned and started towards the house.

“Of course,” he replied, “She has to be here somewhere.”

As he reached the porch, he was startled by a loud shout.

“Did you hear that?” he asked Duncan. “I think it’s coming from near that woodpile!” 

“Here, here! I'm here!” Isadora cried.

She had woken up to voices coming from outside her window, and had immediately started screaming.

“It's me! It's Isadora!”

Duncan gasped and yelled, “Isadora! Where are you!”

She looked around the cellar, thinking of a way to tell them.

“I'm underground! In a wine cellar of some sort! But there's a window on the outside, you'll have to dig me out!”

Klaus quickly ran over to the stump and picked up the axe Duncan had left behind.

“Tell me if you can see any movement,” he said, plunging the axe into the ground.

Isadora pushed her face up to the glass, looking for the smallest shift in the dirt.

Was that one? She thought she saw something, but her heart sank as another bug emerged.

“I've got nothing,” she called up, her voice cracking.

She had been lucky so far, alone in the basement, but she knew it wouldn't last, and Olaf or one of his henchmen would come down to deal with her sooner or later. Preferably later, but she didn't want to be here when that happened.

“We can't be far,” Isadora heard Duncan say. “Try another spot, and fast!”

She heard a noise somewhere not far off, the sound of metal striking something.

“You're close!” she said. “I heard that one, but nothing moved.”

“This is taking too long,” Duncan said, getting desperate.

He knelt down on one side of their previous hole and started digging with his hands, searching frantically for his sister.

“Isadora!” he screamed. “Isadora, Isadora!”

He pushed his hands deeper into the dirt, mud coating his fingers, getting under his nails, but he didn’t care, he just had to find his sister.

Isadora’s heart leapt as the dirt parted and Duncan’s hands pressed up on the other side of the glass. She was almost there!

“There’s a window,” she told them. “You’re going to need to dig a hole around it, and then pull me up.”

Klaus and Duncan pried away the dirt from the exit, Klaus with the axe, and Duncan with his hands. Finally it was big enough that she could see.

When Isadora saw her brother through the glass, she noticed he was crying. His face was red and puffy, and there was mud all over it from when he had touched it while digging.

But at least he was okay. Safe.

Isadora took a step back from the window and signaled to them that she was ready. 

Klaus slid the axe down to Isadora, breaking the window.

There were still a few pieces of glass near the edges of the frame, but Isadora used the axe and brushed them away, leaving a few small shards in her haste.

Grabbing onto Duncan’s hands, she pulled herself up through the window, pausing as she felt her leggings catch on something, then rip. That wasn’t good.

She shook it off and kept climbing, the dirt coming away under her feet.

With a pull from her brother she was out. It was over.

They hugged, and with his tears on her shoulder, she began to cry too.

She did it, they could leave. It was over. Finally, over.

Their celebration was interrupted by a noise from the porch.

Olaf cleared his throat. 

“What, I wonder, do we have here?”

Isadora snarled and pushed Duncan behind her, putting herself in between the boys and Olaf.

“Leave us alone, you villain!” she said. 

He laughed. 

“Quagmires, Quagmires, Quagmires. You know it saddens me when you misbehave.”

She snorted.

“Because when you misbehave,” he continued. “It means I have to punish you.”

Isadora swallowed, the sudden act aggravating her newly formed bruises. 

Stupid neck, she thought. Not now! She had to be strong for Duncan.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she growled.

“I won’t?” Olaf asked. “And why is that?”

“Because we’re leaving,” she said, her voice cracking. Fuck.

Olaf grinned, and took hold of her arm.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Isadora struggled against him, kicking at his legs, but his grip was too tight, and the others weren’t any help.

At some point during the confrontation, the henchpeople had emerged from behind the house, and had surrounded Klaus and Duncan.

Not again! She thought. It seemed just like last time, only she had a feeling Olaf had learned from his mistakes.

From behind her she heard Duncan yell, “Where are you taking her?”

Olaf stopped for a minute, and when he turned around there was a sinister twinkle in his eye.

“Let’s just say she’s going to be somewhere far out of reach.” he said, staring up at the tower.

Isadora followed his gaze and felt her blood run cold. No. This could not be happening. 

She started to scream, thrashing even wilder than she had before, a feat she thought impossible, but still Olaf’s hand did not remove itself from her arm.

She kept fighting as he hauled her up the stairs to the tower room, too tired to keep fighting back.

Once they had reached the top, she fell to the floor, not even trying to make her way back downstairs, held in place by the illusion of ground beneath her.

She could do this. It would be okay. She would just stay on the ground. This tower was stable. Completely stable. There was no way anything could topple it.

A strong breeze rocked the foundation and she felt the wood shift heavily beneath her. Maybe not, then.

Then she noticed the cages. There were five of them, lined up against the wall, varying in sizes from small to large. Olaf was staring at one of the larger cages in thought. He looked back at her, as if he was assessing her size, and choosing the best fit. 

She panicked and made a break for the stairs, but was hauled back by the hook handed man, who had been standing by the doorway, out of sight. He then placed her in the cage and slammed the door shut, Olaf locking it, and pocketing the key.

With the two men’s combined effort, they were able to attach the large cage off the side of the tower, leaving her hanging three stories above the ground. From this height, a fall would be deadly.

She pulled herself tight, and watched as Olaf and the hook handed man left the tower room, the former turning back to stare at her one last time, before locking that door behind her too.

She shivered as a gust of wind blew by, the cage rocking back and forth, coming dangerously close to hitting the side of the building. Her eyelids were clamped shut, and she didn’t dare open then for fear of looking down.

“I’m going to fall,” she whispered. “I’m going to hit the ground, and I’m going to die.”

The cage rocked again, this time more violently. She whimpered.

She could do anything. Anything but this.

Duncan looked up at his sister, watching her cage sway in the wind.

He had been scared before, but this was worse. So much worse.

“She’ll be okay,” Klaus said. “We’re going to find a way to get her out. Like last time. At least now we know where she is.”

Duncan whipped around. 

“You don’t understand!” he screamed, feeling himself start to cry for the fifth time that morning.

Klaus looked hurt.

“What don’t I understand?”

Duncan softened and sat down on the stump, looking up at his sister.

This was bad. Very bad. Anywhere else, anything else, any one else, would be better than this. 

He gulped and told Klaus,

“Isadora is afraid of heights.”

Chapter Text

There were more people here than she had expected.

The Museum Gallery Hall was almost packed, and Beatrice was trapped in the middle of it, Bertrand alongside her. It was risky for them to be together in public, surrounded by so many people who might know them, but the item of interest was in a room only accessible by the main hallway, which was reserved for the event.

Skimming the area for familiar faces, Beatrice whispered something to Bertrand and watched as he broke off, moving further away from her. They were more likely to be recognized together, and he had another job to do elsewhere, distracting the museum security so she could enter unopposed.

Speaking of security, she wondered how Lemony was doing. She had him go with both Sunny and Violet, a choice she was now regretting, as her daughters could be overwhelming, especially after spending fifteen years in hiding like he had.

Had it really been fifteen years? It seemed much shorter than that, but life after VFD was already blurring together, like a nice dream she had just woken up from, already slipping into the haze of forgetfulness. But Beatrice was determined, she wouldn’t let it disappear. For her children. They deserved stability and warmth, not the perils that came with the childhood she had, the one they would soon be experiencing if their mission did not succeed.

Mentally, Beatrice chided herself. She shouldn’t think that way. They wouldn’t fail. Sunny, Klaus, and Violet wouldn’t turn out like her, they would be better. So much better.

A loud laugh came from behind her, and Beatrice snapped around, only to duck down upon noticing the people talking.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Jacquelyn!” Arthur scolded.

Arthur Poe was a banker, and the executor of her estate. He was also a family friend as well, if you could call him that. 

The Baudelaire parents had always had a tenuous relationship with the Poes, as Beatrice thought them rather unpleasant, while Bertrand agreed that they were quite dull. But it was always a good decision to make nice with the people who controlled your money, especially if they were married to the press. It was something she had learned when she was eleven years old, one of the many lessons that came with her unusual education.

Upon noticing Poe, Beatrice had gone into what could be described as a panic, which settled down, only to escalate once she realized who the banker was talking to. Jacquelyn Scieszka.

Jacquelyn was related to one of Beatrice’s close friends, and once she would have embraced her if they had met at an event like this, only now that was not the case. While Jacquelyn’s mother could be trusted not to betray their plan to VFD, the same did not apply to R’s daughter, who since Beatrice had known her, had been fiercely loyal to the organization, above everything except perhaps her own family. But the Duchess and her other daughter were not here tonight, and so Beatrice had to avoid Jacquelyn at all costs, something imperative now that she was heading her way.

Shit. Beatrice grabbed a glass of champagne off a nearby tray and held it above her face for cover, looking for a place to hide.

This is bad, this is bad, There!

She noticed a small alcove along the far wall and cut across the room, pressing her back up against the inside edge so she was invisible to everyone passing by.

Whew. That was close. A few more seconds and Jacquelyn could have spotted her.

“Scared of crowds?” someone asked.

Beatrice looked up to find another woman looking at her, hiding along the other side of the alcove.

Beatrice stared at her, finally regaining her composure and stammering, “No, not particularly, it’s just…”

“A lot?” the woman suggested.

“Exactly.”

“I get that,” she said, leaning back against the wall. “I almost didn’t come here tonight, with everything going on in my life. Professional concerns, wife has the flu, things like that.”

Beatrice nodded thoughtfully.

“Why did you come, then?” she asked.

“Nepotism. My wife has an in with one of the curators, and he was able to get some of my sculptures onto the lineup. I’ve never had my work anywhere like this before, and all this isn’t really helping.” she said, gesturing to the crowd.

Beatrice nodded, peeking her head out to look for Jacquelyn and Poe. She spotted Bertrand over by the staircase, but no sign of anyone else. She didn’t want to seem rude, but she had somewhere more important to be, and small talk was only making her late.

“Good luck, then” she told her. “I should try to move around some more, but I hope your wife gets better soon.”

“Thanks,” the woman replied. “I never caught your name. I’m Ornette.”

“Helena,” Beatrice said, giving Ornette one of her many aliases. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for your pieces next time I’m at the museum.”

Ornette smiled quickly, as Beatrice turned and began to walk away.

 She really meant what she said to her. If everything turned out well tonight, if she was able to walk the streets, free and unafraid, she would go to the museum again with her children, for fun. She would live a real life, hearing the stories she never had time for before.

Bertrand looked over at his wife and smiled, before disappearing into the crowd.

She had a part to play, as did he, although there was still a great amount of time left before it was his turn to take action.

In this plan, he didn’t have too much to do, just distracting the guard if he got too close to the exhibit while Beatrice was inside. It wasn’t very exciting, or glamorous, but it suited him. 

He didn’t mind playing backup. He had done it countless times before, at banks, prisons, operas, anywhere his relationship with Beatrice and VFD took him. Tonight would be no different.

He stood by the stairs for a while, watching the minutes count down, from twenty, to fifteen, then ten.

He was about to start towards the exhibit when from behind him, someone came up the stairs, almost knocking him over.

“I’m-” the stranger coughed. “Sorry about-” he coughed again. “That.”

Bertrand just stood there, trying not to move or do anything unusual.

He could recognize that excessive coughing anywhere. Standing right behind him was Arthur Poe. 

Bertrand had to say something to him, to get rid of him, but he couldn’t think of what. 

Lowering his voice to an almost excessive degree, Bertrand coughed out an excuse and began to walk off.

“Wait, a second, sir,” Poe said, chasing after him.

The banker walked faster than he did, almost breaking into a jog as he cut in front of Bertrand, turning around to look at his face.

They were screwed now. They had to be. There was no way he would go unrecognized. 

He stayed as still as possible as Poe scanned his face, it seemed like an eternity, just standing there, waiting for his fate to be revealed.

For a little over a minute, much longer than was acceptable in any circumstances, or under any sense of decorum, Poe stared at Bertrand’s face, waiting, looking for something that wasn’t there.

Then he coughed.

“I’m sorry sir,” Poe said eventually. “But you remind me of someone, although I can’t place just who.”

Bertrand nodded quickly, and in the deeper voice he said, “Yes, I get that a lot, just one of those faces,” before quickly running off, leaving Poe in the dust.

He stopped for breath near an alcove, smiling curtly at an unknown woman as she walked out of it and past him.

He checked his watch and almost cursed. Five minutes. That would have to be enough time. 

Lemony Snicket was apprehensive, a word which here means uneasy or restless about his trip into the bowels of the Museum of Items. He was not an apprehensive person usually, although that had changed with his years on the run, as a sense of skepticism was something that came in quite useful numerous times, and in fact had saved his life on multiple occasions.

Tonight, as he walked with Violet and Sunny Baudelaire into the employee area, he was feeling uneasy about his surroundings, something deep in his gut giving off an acute feeling that something was bound to go horribly wrong.

I need to stop narrating , he thought. Nothing is off, and nothing good will come out of me obsessing about it.

He had grown used to the habit of narrating his life while on the run, it gave him a sense of comfort, as if he was only a character in a book, and there would be a happy ending waiting for him once it was all said and done. Of course, Lemony Snicket was a reasonable person, and he knew in real life that people did not get happy endings, and even if he was a character in a book, said book would be highly unpleasant to read, especially with him in it. Whoever would even want to read a book like that, he did not know.

“Hey?” Violet asked, breaking him out of his spell. “Are you alright? You were looking kind of queasy there.”

He shook his head as if to clear it out. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

She nodded. “Thinking does that sometimes.”

They awkwardly continued on for a few more moments before Sunny broke the silence. 

“Yen?” she asked Lemony. “So, who even are you, really?”

Lemony stared at her.

“She was asking you a question,” Violet explained, “She wanted to know who you were.”

Lemony nodded. “I’ve got it, thank you.”

He really didn’t know what to say to that, how to reply to Beatrice’s children, not without telling them things their mother obviously did not want them to know.

He kept walking, before finally saying, “We’re friends.”

Violet turned to look at him. 

“That was an awfully long time to think if you’re just friends.”

“Noce,” Sunny added, “Besides, we know all our parents' friends.”

Lemony almost said something at that, as he was sure that they did not know all, or rather a majority of their parents friends, but he decided to leave it at that.

After a few seconds more, he amended his statement and said, “We were friends.”

Violet nodded, but in a way that indicated that she was not thoroughly satisfied with his answer. 

They walked on for a few seconds more, stopping to look around as the hallway widened into two rooms, a closed off office full of cameras, and a more open space full of desks for curators and the like. They moved into the office.

It was cramped in there, about the size of a large closet or a small bathroom. No wonder there are no people in here, Lemony thought. It would be a human rights violation to make anyone stay like this for more than a few minutes.

Lemony stood in front of the monitors for a second, looking around at all the buttons before realizing he had no clue what he was doing, and ceding control over to Violet. She quickly took charge, reaching into her pocket for a dark red ribbon that she tied into her hair, and sat down at the desk.

With her hair pulled back, Lemony sensed an obvious change in Violet, as she took on a different kind of air. Her eyes closed then snapped open, focusing single mindedly on the task before her. 

She stood still for maybe half a second before reaching out and pressing some buttons on the keyboard, ejecting something from the console to get a better look at the wires twisted up inside. 

Lemony wondered what he would have done without her and her sister, trapped in a small room with a computer he had no clue how to operate and a daunting task before him. He knew he wouldn’t take the time to mess with the hardware, like she was. In fact, he would probably just smash it and just hope that disabled the alarms.

He wiped his sleeve across his forehead. It was really getting hot in here.

Whispering a quick excuse to Sunny and her enraptured sister, Lemony stepped out of the room and into the office section for some air.

There wasn't a lot to do while waiting, and Lemony ended up wandering through the rows of desks, reading nametags, looking at photos, trying to get a glimpse at the lives of the people who worked there, completely unweighted by the concerns that came with his life and former organization.

The desk he was stopped in front of now was clean and clear of most clutter. Not neurotically clean as some people's spaces were, but comfortably clean, the sign of an organized and well balanced person.

Lemony sat down at the desk and looked around for any photographs. At first glance, there were none, but taped quietly right on the wall was a photograph of a woman, about his age, with light blonde hair and a smile on her face.

There was something familiar about her, as if he had seen her someone before, met her briefly when he was younger, but nothing came to mind. He was sure it would think of it eventually.

He stood up and took a step back, about to move on to the next desk when he noticed something odd about the one he was just at. It didn't have a nametag.

All the others had little plaques on them, with the names of the employees and their title underneath, but this one did not.

Perhaps it was placed inside, Lemony thought, although he had no reason to believe this was true.

After a few quick seconds of shuffling around, Lemony felt his hand hit cold metal and he lifted the nameplate into view, his heart stopping when he saw what was written on it.

Kellar Haines, Asst. Curator , it read. 

Kellar Haines.

Lemony's heart raced as he tried to calm himself down. Kellar Haines. Kellar Haines.

He wasn't here. Why would he be? Kellar was probably off eating dinner at home, or doing whatever Kellar Haines did on a Saturday night.

Sure, Kellar happened to work here and that was an unfortunate coincidence, yet another piece of crappy luck. But there was no way he would be here, or that Lemony would encounter him. There was a party going on, no one was here. Kellar wasn't here!

In the basement of the Museum of Items, Kellar slowly removed the new exhibit from its case. It was an honor for him to be given this job, to bring it up to display for the guests of tonight's gala, and he was glad to do it, or at least the first part.

Kellar had worked his way up inside the museum, his skills as a typist and his inquisitive nature perfect for a curator of his level. It fit for him, although he wasn't used to this performative side of the job that he would have to do tonight, but it was worth it to go down to the vault, his favorite place in the whole building.

Something, he didn’t know what, made this night in the vault different from all other nights. Due to the party, he was alone down here, a rare occasion, surrounded by numerous items of value and not, all of which held stories and memories, with him there to listen.

One item in particular was especially exciting, and it was the one right in front of him, the one he would be putting on display in just a few short minutes. 

The Sugar Bowl. Of course, the bowl in question wouldn't be referred to as The Sugar Bowl , but rather A Sugar Bowl, as Kellar was sure that there were many other Sugar Bowls out in the world, but there was something about this one that felt different, off, unique.

He smiled, then placed the Sugar Bowl into a box and began to exit the vault, starting his journey up to the exhibit.

Lemony was still staring at Kellar’s nameplate when Violet and Sunny emerged from the office, the alarms shut down and the girls ready to head towards the exhibit hall to meet up with their parents.

“Are you coming?” Violet asked him, pulling him back to reality. Seeing Kellar’s name mentioned had brought up old memories of his apprenticeship, some of which he would very much like to forget.

He dropped the plate and caught up with Violet and Sunny, who were approaching the employee exit and main entrance into the museum. It looked deserted, empty, as it should be, but something felt off to Lemony, more intense than the feelings of apprehension and uneasiness that had followed him around all night.

The girls looked back at him, frowning, and he jogged to catch up, not even noticing that he had stopped to think.

It was nothing. This feeling had to be. So much had already gone wrong tonight, and in his life as a whole, that the odds of it happening again, right when he expected it, were slim to none. It was impossible. Their plan would go perfectly.

Lemony thought that and immediately regretted it, hearing a door slam shut and a familiar voice call out. After all these years, he should have known better, much better than that. 

Now he had a childhood friend to deal with.

Kellar stared suspiciously at the three strangers, two young girls and a man.

“Excuse me, but what are you doing back here?” he asked. The trio didn’t look like partygoers to him, at least not the kind that would attend the upscale one that the museum was throwing, but he could never be certain. Perhaps they had just gotten lost, after all. 

“We’re…” The man began, looking rather nervous, almost if he knew he wasn’t supposed to be back here.

“We’re looking for the bathroom!” the girl said. She looked about fifteen or so, and was holding a baby in her arms.

“The bathrooms are clearly marked and can be found inside the museum.” he told them.

She shrugged. “Whoopsies.”

The baby then shrieked something to her that Kellar couldn’t quite hear, but she seemed to understand it, and asked him where he was heading.

“The new exhibit,” he said vaguely, trying to get them to leave him alone. The girl and baby were nice enough, although they had an attitude about them that was annoying as a busy employee but he could respect as a person, a certain lack of respect for adults that reminded him of when he was younger. But there was something about the man… He’d barely said a single word but he gave Kellar a bad feeling, like something stuck in his throat, or a certain seaside town without a sea. 

Kellar just wanted to get rid of the group entirely.

Somehow they had ended up following him through the back hallways, as apparently they were heading to the same room he was, just his luck, he supposed, and the relentless questions were making his pounding headache even worse. 

If his sister were here, she would likely tell him to call in and go home, but seeing as she was sick with the flu, (Which she most likely gave to him) Kellar didn’t think she deserved an opinion in the matter and decided to stick it out with this annoying family for a few more minutes, as they were quickly approaching the Room of Ill-advised Artifacts, where the Sugar Bowl was soon to be displayed.

When the group entered the Room of Ill-advised Artifacts, Kellar was surprised to note that it was not empty, as he had expected, and instead contained two individuals, a man and a woman, who upon their arrival, enveloped the children in a quick hug and immediately began talking.

“It isn’t here,” the woman said frantically.

“What do you mean, ‘it isn’t here?” the girl asked.

“We mean, it isn’t here,” the second man said, the one who was in the room when Kellar entered. “I asked the guests, security, everyone. The exhibit isn’t going to be revealed until later, publicly, in front of everyone.”

She cursed, and Kellar felt as if the box in his hands gained ten pounds.

He had to get out of here. None of this was right.

He slowly tried to step back into the shadows but was noticed by the woman, who’s eyes met his.

“L,” she asked the man, the first one from the hall. “Who’s your friend here?”

Lemony sighed. “His name’s Kellar,” he said, his eyes settling onto the box that Kellar held in his hands, with the Sugar Bowl tucked inside, “And that’s the wrong question.”

Chapter Text

It was cold near the top of the tower. Deathly cold.

As the wind rocked her cage, high up above the ground, Isadora shivered, feeling the nighttime chill.

Her hands were tucked at her sides, and she was trying her hardest not to shiver, wanting to keep the cage from rocking any more than it was already.

She hated how cold it was, and even thinking about the height just made her sick, but there was something worse about all this, something crueler than her worst fear. Hope.

From where she was captured she could see everything, the lights of the city, cars racing by on the nearby street, and Justice Strauss, cozied up by the fire in her library. 

How warm that fire must be.

Even in the dim light, Isadora could see her fingertips turning a nasty shade of purple, and assumed the same was happening to her lips as well.

From inside the house she could hear the shouts of Olaf and his henchpeople, drunkenly celebrating their newly acquired wealth.

She scoffed. She was still alive, and her sapphires were safely out of their hands. For now, and forever. Or at least they would be once she got down from here.

Over the noise of the wind she heard something. A hoot, a holler, something animalistic and wild, lurking somewhere below. 

What was that noise? Isadora thought. It didn’t make sense for animals to be out at this time of year, in the middle of winter. They should be hibernating, or down south, where it’s warm. 

Well, whatever it was, she hoped it would notice the racket that Count Olaf was making, and maybe decide he looked like a tasty snack. That would surely solve some problems.

 Her focus was turned away from the noise as she heard footsteps from inside the tower room, and watched as the hook-handed man climbed up the stairs.

He pulled a chair up to the window, and looked out at her, curled up tightly in the middle of her cage.

Even though Count Olaf had picked a larger one, the cage was still small and cramped, and Isadora, even scrunched together, was still touching the frozen bars in three separate places.

“Come to watch me freeze to death?” she spat.

The hook-handed man frowned. “Not exactly, no.”

“Then what are you here for then,” she asked. “I’m guessing it’s not to let me out?”

“I’m not going to let you out.” he said, slowly reaching off to the side to grab a blanket.

“What’s that?” Isadora wondered. “Come to taunt me?”

The hook-handed man only looked at her sadly, and passed the blanket through the bars.

She quickly folded it around herself and looked up at him, staring.

“Why?” she said. “Why give this to me?”

He stiffened. “Boss’s orders. Wouldn’t want you freezing to death.”

She almost laughed at that. 

“He wouldn’t give two shits if I fell, let alone froze.”

The hook-handed man ignored her statement, and began to leave, mumbling something she couldn’t quite make out.

Back in her cage, Isadora was feeling much better. The blanket was a little ratty and full of holes, but it was better than nothing, and she was glad that he had brought it around, no matter how vile he was.

Isadora snuggled up in the blanket, covering her whole body in it to protect from the cold. As the night went on, the temperatures continued to plummet, and soon the blanket was almost useless against the freezing winds that would blow through, chilling her to the bone.

Isadora pulled herself together for the umpteenth time, the blanket rubbing harshly against her hair, a staticky mess, and knocked something loose.

She picked up the hairpin and smiled. She had forgotten that she was wearing it, but miraculously, her mother’s hairpin was still with her, the three pink rhinestones interact over the ruined prongs.

Isadora, with nothing else to do, took a closer look at the clip itself, and feeling around, her fingers rubbing against something that had once belonged to her mother.

As she examined the pin, a piece below came loose and broke off, and one of the two prongs gave way, leaving a bent and blackened piece of metal in her hand.

She stared at it in shock, tears rising to meet her eyes. That was the last thing she had of her home, of her parents, and it had broken. She broke it.

Her mother used to break things as well, but with her, it always ended up alright. Penny always found a use for her broken pieces. Vases turned into mosaics, ripped books into kindling, and little metal bits into lockpicks for their games.

Isadora sat up, and shrugged off the blanket, her two metal pieces resting in her hands. Lockpicks… She could do that.

Grabbing the padlock in one hand, Isadora stuck the pin inside it, and twisted it around, waiting to hear it pop open. Nothing.

She had never been the best at lockpicking, even though it was a skill she used often while playing extreme hide and seek with her family. At their house, the Quagmires took hide and seek very seriously. They would lock themselves inside closets, hide inside washing machines and dryers, and once Quigley hid in an attic they didn’t even knew they had for five hours before he was found. There was an inside joke in her family that there were actually four of them, and that she had another sibling still waiting to be found somewhere. 

Thinking about the ruined state of her house, Isadora sighed. She guessed she had lost them too.

After a few minutes of struggling with the lock, it finally burst open, the door swinging open and leaving her exposed. She really did not think this through.

During the process of picking the lock, Isadora had forgotten that she was three stories above the ground, and that the cage was the only thing stopping her from falling.

Isadora held onto the bars, her knuckles turning white, doing anything to keep from falling out. 

Now was not a good time to be afraid of heights.

“I’m not going to fall,” she whispered. “I’m not going to fall,”

The cage began to rock.

“I’m going to fall, I’m going to fall, I’m going to hit the ground and become a pile of goo and end up evaporating and going back up into the air, oh no, oh please, I’m going to fall.” she repeated this and phrases like this frantically for the better part of a minute.

She had to stop this. She had to close the door. That was going to make her fall.

Reaching out cautiously, she leaned forward, trying to get a hold of the door, her movement giving the cage a large shake.

Isadora whimpered, and leaned back against the far wall.

She had to close this door. If she didn’t and Olaf found she had opened it, she would be in much worse trouble than a fall to her death.

Isadora took a few deep breaths, the cold air burning her lungs.

With her eyes firmly closed, she reached out to grab the door, hanging onto the bars for dear life when the cage started to shake yet again.

With the door held closed by her hand, Isadora pulled the lock out of her pocket and snapped it shut, locking herself inside once more.

She knew she could get out when the time called for it, but she couldn’t do that until she was safe on the ground, something that required a plan, preferable one that didn’t involve plummeting three stories.

Slipping her commonplace book out of her pocket, Isadora began to brainstorm ideas, slipping into couplets as she went.

A rope of blankets, curtains too/could bring me down there, back to you

She frowned. That would rip easily, and how would she get them?

With a grappling hook, I could climb/back down to the ground in time.

She didn’t like that one either. Where would they get a grappling hook anyways? None of them were inventors.

With a longer rope, or a pulley found/my triplet, Duncan, could lower me down.

A pulley! Could that work? 

They could make one out of rope of some sort, and loop it over the peg her cage was being held on. Then Klaus and Duncan could use it to lower her down. They could do it! 

As Isadora came upon this revelation, she shook with joy, giving the cage it’s most violent shake yet. Her hand on a single sheet of paper in her notebook, the movement caused Isadora to rip the page out, the wind carrying it down to the ground.

“My couplet!” she screamed.

Quickly she wrote another one to fill the space of the first, careful not to forget her poem.

Isadora looked down to see if she could spot her first poem, a slip of paper among the piles of wood. Someone was sure to find it, and her plan with it. She only hoped it would be Duncan and not Olaf.

The next morning Olaf assigned Duncan and Klaus to wood duty again, probably to taunt the boys with his victory over them, and the shape of Isadora above, just out of reach.

They worked uneventfully for about three hours, with Klaus moving from one side of the yard to the other, as Duncan carried wood and stared sadly up at his sister. 

He had tried calling her name multiple times, but she was too high up to hear, and that made him feel even more alone. 

Duncan had never done anything without his triplets before, and he was beginning to learn that it wasn’t a pleasant experience. 

As he rested on a pile of wood, looking at Isadora for the thirteenth time this morning, Duncan felt something strange against his hand, a slip of paper, no wider than a ribbon, with a jagged edge, as if it was torn, not ripped.

His heart jerked when he recognized the handwriting. Isadora.

“Klaus, come look at this!” he called.

“ What is it?”

“It's a couplet, one of Isadora’s. Listen.”

Duncan held up the couplet and began to read. 

“With a longer rope, or a pulley found/my triplet, Duncan, could lower me down”

“What does that mean?” Klaus asked.

Duncan smiled. “Isadora is telling us how to save her.”

After doing a quick check for Olaf, with his car thankfully not in the driveway, the boys sprung to action, sneaking past a sleeping henchperson to find a rope long enough to work, tucked away in a supply closet they hoped Olaf wouldn’t notice.

Hiding behind a wood pile, the boys got to work, using a knot that Klaus knew to fashion a rope that could work as a pulley. 

Once the rope was done, and they were sure they were not being watched, the boys set their plan into action, throwing the rope up towards Isadora.

Their throw failed immediately, the end that was supposed to reach Isadora falling down a few feet in the air.

“It’s too light,” Klaus said, running over to grab a broken umbrella, and quickly tying it to the end of the rope. 

“This should work better,” he told Duncan.

Duncan smiled and took it from him, tossing the rope up into the air and into Isadora’s cage. It was a perfect throw.

Isadora woke up with a thunk, as something hard fell into her lap, a rock, tied to the ends of a rope, the exact thing she needed.

Looking down, she saw Duncan below her, hanging on to the end of the line, waving frantically. She waved back and tied the knot to the top of her cage, looping the rest of the rope through the peg above. 

This would either work, or she would die. Hopefully, the former, although as she looked down at the drop, she found the latter more likely.

Holding on for dear life, Isadora waited for her cage to begin to fall, finally opening her eyes and relaxing her grip in confusion, only to pull tight again as she went into a free fall, hurtling towards the ground.

“Pull it, pull it!” Duncan screamed as he watched his sister fall before him, the rope going slack in his arms.

“We need to pull tighter!”

Klaus quickly moved behind him, and with the two boys combined strength, they were able to slow the cage seven or eight feet from the ground.

Isadora screamed the whole way down, and for a little bit longer afterwards. It was a miracle that it didn’t wake the sleeping henchperson inside, but finally, once she was on solid ground, she dared open her eyes, only to find herself seeing her brother.

“Duncan!” she yelled, lacing her fingers through his.

“Isadora!” he replied.

She reached into her pocket for the broken pin, and with her brother’s help, unlocked the cage in moments.

With the door open safely, she leapt out, immediately enveloped in a fierce hug.

“I thought you were going to die,” Duncan whispered.

Isadora gave him a squeeze. “Me too.”

They heard a noise and noticed Klaus standing off to the side.

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

Isadora smiled at him and simply said, “Now we get help.”

She gave them a mischievous grin and ran over to the nearest woodpile, picking up a log and throwing it into the cage.

“What are you doing?” Klaus asked.

She threw another log into the cage. “Decoy, so Olaf doesn’t realize I’m gone.”

They nodded and helped her add more logs.

After they had amassed what the group considered a good amount of firewood, Isadora shrugged off her blanket and laid it over the planks, hiding them from view.

“This should do the trick,” she said, picking up the rope and starting to lift the cage, now filled with wood. After a few minutes, their decoy was in place properly, looking just like a trapped Isadora.

“You said we were getting help?” Klaus asked.

Isadora nodded. “An adult, someone in charge. Someone who can take us away from Count Olaf once and for all.”

Klaus nodded. “So you mean Mr. P-”

“Justice Strauss!” Duncan interrupted.

“Huh?” Klaus said.

“We need to get Justice Strauss!” Duncan said. “She’s all of those things, and she has a really great library, and garden, and kitchen, and house in general, oh and she’s nice, and-”

“Ms. Strauss is really nice,” Klaus said. “But how can she help us?”

Duncan gave him a look. “She’s on the High Court.”

“The what?”

Isadora sighed. This was taking too long, and she wanted to get out of this house as quickly as possible.

“Well then, we’re going to see Justice Strauss!” she announced.

It took exactly three knocks for Justice Strauss to come to the door.

“Why hello children!” Justice Strauss smiled, “I’m glad to see you here.”

“Hello to you too, Justice Strauss,” Duncan said. “Mind if we come inside?”

She nodded and they stepped inside, following her into the kitchen.

The children sat down at the table as Justice Strauss flitted about, grabbing ingredients out of the cupboards.

“Justice Strauss?” Isadora asked. 

“One moment, please!” she said, laying four glasses down on the table.

“There’s something we have to tell you.”

She smiled, and ran over to the fridge, pulling out a heavy pitcher of iced tea.

“The weather has been strange recently,” Justice Strauss said, slowly pouring tea into each of their glasses.

“Yes, we need to-”

“Why just last night the wind was howling up something fierce,” she continued. “It kept me up for hours.”

“We didn’t sleep well last night either,” Klaus broke in. “But that wasn’t because of the wind, it was because of Count Ol-”

“You didn’t hear the wind?” Justice Strauss asked. “It was coming from your direction.”

“I was a little busy shouting for help,” Isadora mumbled.

“So you did hear it!” Justice Strauss exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” Klaus asked.

“The wind! It sounded like it was yelling for help, the silly thing.”

“The wind… was yelling for help?” Duncan asked.

“Exactly! For about four hours, it did that, ‘Help! Help! I’ve been locked up here! Help, it’s so cold!’ It was the strangest thing, I’ve never heard anything like that.”

Isadora fumed. She knew exactly what Justice Strauss heard, and it was most definitely not the wind.

“You heard someone screaming for four hours and did nothing?” she asked her.

Justice Strauss laughed. “I didn’t do nothing ,” she said, “No one can ever do nothing , because they are always doing something ,”

Isadora had to restrain herself from hurting the older woman.

“You know,” Justice Strauss sighed. “My mother always used to say that. ‘There’s nothing outside, it’s just the wind, Jane!’ And guess what? She was right! There is nothing outside! Nothing but the wind.”

Justice Strauss looked around for a minute and realized that she had talked over the children.

“I’m so sorry!” she said, “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

Isadora stood up and pushed in her chair with a harsh squeak.

“Goodbye Justice Strauss,” she said sadly, and left the room.

Justice Strauss was confused, and got more so as Duncan and Klaus also told her goodbye, each giving her a quick hug and a sad glance as they followed Isadora out.

As the three children walked down her driveway, Justice Strauss shouted after them, desperate for answers.

“Where are you going, Quagmires?” she called.

Duncan turned around and smiled at her sadly. 

“Somewhere better.”

Chapter Text

“The Wrong Question?” Beatrice asked, smiling when her eyes landed on the box as well. “The Wrong Question, indeed.”

Kellar panicked and made a break for it, only making it a few steps before he stumbled, the box crashing to the ground in front of him with a sharp thump.

“No!” he shouted, reaching for it, when Violet, handing Sunny off to her father, bent down and picked it up.

“Do you think he broke it?” she asked her mother. “That was a loud crash.”

Beatrice smiled and shook her head. “That’s not something we have to worry about. These kinds of things don’t just break.”

“Kay?” Sunny asked. “What is it?”

Bertrand patted his daughter’s head.

“It's something very important, Sunny,” he said. “Something that will make all of this worth it.”

She didn’t understand but nodded her head anyway.

“Let’s open it up!” Violet cheered, pulling at a corner of the box.

“Nope, I don’t think so,” Beatrice said, taking the box out of her daughter’s hands and giving it to Lemony.

“Hey!” Violet shouted. “That was mine!”

“Actually, I think it’s mine,” Kellar groaned as he stood up, and made a play for the box.

He lunged forward, trying to grab it out of Lemony’s hands, but failed to catch it, and ended up knocking it back to the floor.

Beatrice sighed.

“Can we please stop dropping the box?” she asked. 

“Why?” Violet asked, bitter that she wasn’t allowed to hold the box herself. “Like you said, it won’t break.”

“The object won’t break, but the box will.” Beatrice told her.

“So then what’s the object?” Violet tried.

Beatrice just gave her an annoyed look before walking over to Lemony and Kellar, who were currently fighting over the box, ripping one side open and spilling packing all over the floor..

She looked at the two men, equally matched, and the box between them, that was quickly being torn apart.

She sighed, and began to move towards them, avoiding the hazards their fight had made, and swooping in to take the box from both of them. There. That was better, wasn’t it?

With the box securely in her grasp, Beatrice informed the others that they had to move, and left Lemony inside to deal with his friend Kellar.

Lemony silently removed his backpack, and dropped it in the corner, motioning for Kellar to sit down.

Kellar rolled his eyes, but with no choice in the matter he took a seat. Aggressively.

“Do you ever just do normal shit?” he asked Lemony.

“What do you mean?” Lemony said, pulling a long rope out of his backpack.

“Like, do you ever just do normal shit, like take a walk or something?” Kellar explained. “Or do you just commit felonies?”

Lemony said nothing, and began to tie Kellar up.

“I went to a dance once,” he whispered.

Kellar nodded. Anything to delay him, get security on the case. He couldn’t believe this was happening again, for a third time. People in his life really had a tendency to be absolute shit. 

“I mean,” Lemony continued. “I wouldn’t call it normal, more like… normal-adjacent.”

“Normal adjacent?”

“Normal-adjacent. Well, only if you take out the attempted murder and manhunt, but that wasn’t my fault.”

He paused for a moment.

“Okay it mostly wasn’t my fault.”

Kellar turned his head to look at Lemony, who was now tying his hands together.

“What the actual fuck is your life?” he asked.

Lemony shrugged.

“It’s not that bad,”

“Not that bad?” Kellar snapped. “You fucking killed a man when you were thirteen years old!” 

“He was a bad person,” Lemony said. “And besides, I didn’t kill him, I only gave him a push in the right direction.”

Kellar snorted.

“You are impossible to be around,” he said.

Lemony looked him in the eyes.

“You didn’t use to think so.”

“Yeah, well that was before I saw you murder someone with my own two eyes.”

“I said before, technically I didn’t kill him.”

“ Technically, it doesn’t matter, ” Kellar replied. “I still saw a man get killed. Murdered. Right in front of me.” 

“You weren’t the only one,” Lemony whispered.

He finished the last knot and packed up his stuff, taking his backpack and leaving the room.

“Goodbye Kellar.” he said sadly.

Kellar gave him a hateful look in return.

Ornette couldn’t find Kellar anywhere.

She had left the alcove after her talk with Helena, not wanting to be late meeting her brother-in-law before the exhibit opened. He had told her to meet him by his desk, and had taken care that she knew exactly where to go and what time to meet him there. 

So it was strange when two minutes before their meeting, Kellar wasn’t there. She waited at his desk for an additional five minutes, getting aggravated as more time went by.

Kellar was usually a prompt person, and while she knew he was working tonight, he was the one who invited her, who licked the location. It was annoying, another bad thing happening for her tonight. 

Whatever, she thought, standing up and exiting the offices. She would see him later, at the exhibit opening, the one he was currently making her late for. Now she would have to take the employee hallways and hope she didn’t get caught. Great job, Kellar. Real brotherly.

Ornette slowed to a casual walk as she neared the Room of Ill-Advised Artifacts, and took on a few deep breaths, readying herself to step back into the crowd, and bear the crushing noise that the partygoers produced.

She really hated crowds.

As she prepared herself to enter the main hall, Ornette heard another noise, yells, coming from the interior of the exhibit.

“HELP! HELP!” Kellar screamed.

Ornette ran into the exhibit to find the restrained Kellar, and began to untie him immediately.

“What happened?” she asked. “Why are you tied up?”

“Lemony Snicket is here, and he’s robbing the fucking museum!” Kellar shouted.

Ornette stared at him for a second.

“Lemony Snicket?”

“Yeah!” Kellar screamed. “We have to go stop him!”

“We what?” Ornette said as she jogged down the hall after Kellar. 

The two of them raced down the hallways, trying to catch up with the thieves, Ornette peppering Kellar with questions as they went.

“Let me get this straight, she said. “Lemony Snicket is robbing the museum.”

Kellar looked at her and nodded, but she wasn’t done.

“And you’re sure it’s him?”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s him,” Kellar snapped. “He tied me to a fucking chair!”

“Wow, okay,” Ornette said.

After a moment she kept talking. 

“But, it's Lemony, he has to have a reason.”

Kellar sighed and slowed to look at her.

“That’s what we thought last time.” he said, sadly.

“And look how that turned out.”

In the silence following that statement, Kellar and Ornette heard voices coming from up ahead.

“Our exit should be near here,” a man said.

Ornette looked over at Kellar, who had stiffened at the sound of his voice.

It was Lemony. He was really here. This was actually happening. 

With Ornette now in front, the duo peeked from out around the corner, spotting Lemony and the other thieves in standing in the office area.

“Kellar,” she whispered.  “Is there a way we can get in front of them, a shortcut, maybe?”

He nodded, and led her to the side.

Sunny was bored. 

The fight and actual theft part of their trip had been exciting enough, but after that, all they had done was walk, her least favorite thing to do. She really thought breaking the law would require less walking.

She didn’t even get to play with the stolen stuff! She knew her mom would never let her touch it, but it would still be nice to take a look instead of keeping it locked up in that broken old cardboard box.

Having given up hope to see the stolen item, Sunny reached into her front pocket and began quietly nibbling on her disk, which she had stashed there earlier.

After a few more minutes of navigating the back of the museum, their surroundings began to become more familiar, a sign that they were nearing the exit back into the sewers.

With the exit in sight, Sunny was handed over to Violet, who immediately broke into a run for the doors, turning the final corner in a sprint, crashing into a person standing there.

She went down quickly, Sunny slipping out of her arms and into those of the other person, who had put them out to slow her fall. 

“What the-'' Sunny heard, as she looked up to meet the gaze of someone who was definitely not Violet Baudelaire.

They disentangled themselves in moments, Ornette passing Sunny back to Violet before the rest of the group made it around the corner.

Lemony’s eyes narrowed as he spotted Kellar.

“You need to give us the box,” Kellar said. “It belongs to the museum.”

“It belonged to someone else before them,” Beatrice said. 

Kellar looked at her incredulously.

“Yeah, of course it did, that’s how museums work.”

Beatrice turned to look at Lemony.

“Are all your friends like this?”

He shrugged.

“Pretty much.”

“First off,” Kellar said, taking a step forward. “I’m not his friend, and second, give us the box. Now.”

“Please.” Ornette added.

“Please?” Kellar asked her. “They stole it!”

Ornette shrugged.

“My uncles taught me to always ask nicely first.”

He stared at her for a second.

“We had very different childhoods.”

Beatrice sighed and began to pace back and forth a little bit, the movement hindered by the lbox she was holding.

Itching to use her hands, she gave the box to Bertrand, now empty-handed after he had passed Sunny off to Violet.

Her pacing stopped abruptly, and gesturing to Kellar and Ornette, Beatrice asked, “Who the hell even are you two?”

“Well, I’m Ornette, and this is Ke-”

“No, I didn’t mean your names,” she clarified, “Although it's a pleasure to see you again Ornette.”

Lemony looked confused. How did Beatrice know Ornette?

“Thank you, Helena.” Ornette smiled. “It’s a pleasure to see you again as well.”

“Oh, my name isn’t Helena,” Beatrice frowned. “But I’m glad you remembered!”

“I’m sorry,” Kellar inturrupted. “But what the fuck is actually happening right now?”

The others nodded and agreed.

Ornette shrugged. 

“Just being polite.”

Beatrice nodded. 

“It’s common courtesy. Not that you would know anything about that.”

“You tied me to a fucking chair!” Kellar yelled. “So sorry that I’m not trying to socialize at the moment.”

“Your loss.”

Kellar groaned in frustration.

“Just give us the fucking box and we’ll get out of here!” he cried. “Please!”

Beatrice simply sighed, returning back to business mode.

“We need it. I would give it to you if I could, but it's too important for that, and it staying in the museum won’t help anybody.”

Kellar would not hear it.

“It’s not going to help anyone outside either!” he screeched. “It’s just some shitty old bow-”

Kellar sunk to the ground, unconscious, Ornette standing over him with a metal pencil cup in hand, one that she had taken from the office room and more recently, hit him over the head with.

“Thank you,” Lemony said.

Ornette dropped the cup and watched as it clattered to the floor.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she whispered.

She looked down at the ripped box.

“Is that thing really going to help people, make a difference?”

Lemony nodded.

“It will help,” he said. “Not a lot, but enough.”

“I hope you got what you came for,” Ornette sighed, stepping aside for them to pass. “Because you won’t be coming back.”

They nodded and entered the tunnels, leaving her out in the hall with the unconscious Kellar.

Ornette groaned.

“What the hell am I going to tell him when he wakes up?”

Violet didn’t miss the sewers.

They were too warm and enclosed, and every time she saw the water, she remembered how it felt, warm on her ankles.

But now she was relieved to be here. Being here meant success, it meant survival, and most of all it meant a secret item hidden inside the beat up cardboard box her father now carried. A secret item she was dying to see.

Once the large door and exit was in sight, Violet took the box from her father and began to open it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Beatrice snapped, grabbing her wrist. She sounded angry, but for a moment Violet thought she heard something else in her voice. Panic. Fear. But that was ridiculous. Her mother was Beatrice Baudelaire, and she wasn’t afraid of anything.
I’m opening it,” Violet replied.

“I can see that.”

“I mean,” VIolet said, “I’m taking it out. The box is bulky and broken, not to mention suspicious, and it would be easier just to hide it on one of us.” 

Beatrice considered the idea for a moment.

“Deal. But I’ll hide it.”

Violet shrugged. She would be able to see it either way, however briefly.

Beatrice slowly began to open up the box, stepping back in shock as she pulled away the packing.”

“What’s wrong?” Bertrand asked, taking a step forward to look inside.

“That- It can’t-” Beatrice mumbled.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “We’ll figure it out, find another way.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Violet noticed Lemony staring at her parents strangely as they embraced, an unknown expression printed vividly across his face.

 Violet ignored it, and stepped up to get a peek into the box, her mother too distracted to stop her.

Violet soon learned what it was that had stunned Beatrice.

For hidden under layers of packing and busted cardboard, lay the artifact, broken into five large porcelain shards. 

Her chest constricted. It wasn’t just some artifact. It was the blood bowl.

Only there was no blood. In fact, from the looks of it, there was nothing inside it at all.

“I thought Mom said it couldn’t break,” Violet whispered.

“It can’t” Lemony said confidently, having moved to stand next to her. “It shouldn’t. Not this easily.”

Violet let out a dry laugh.

“Well, it did.”

He smiled.

“I can see that.”

She placed her hand in the box, turning over the shards absentmindedly.

Her eyes widened as she noticed something printed on one of the pieces. It was the largest one, the fragment that once made up the bottom of the bowl.

“Come look at this!” Violet called.

Beatrice walked over slowly, holding tight to Bertrand with one hand, and picking up the shard with the other.

“Professional Replica, Property of the Museum of Items,” she read.

“Takay?” Sunny asked, looking up from her biting. “What’s a replica?”

It took a minute for anyone to respond, before Bertrand explained, “A replica is something that is made to look like something else, often items of value or importance.”

“He means it’s useless,” Violet said bluntly. “We failed.”

“Oh.”

“A replica explains why it broke,” Beatrice thought aloud, as she began to pace back and forth, her arms gesturing as she spoke.

“Beatrice-” Bertrand cut in. “I don’t think there’s anything more we can-”

“It doesn’t make sense! Think about it! Why would the museum pretend to have an item they didn’t own? Why lie about it? Why make-,” she gestured to the replica. “-This!”

“Dol?” Sunny suggested, meaning, “Maybe they did it for money?”

“That was a rhetorical question,” Violet whispered to her.

“No,” Lemony said, joining the conversation. “It makes sense. If they were low on income, a big new exhibit would certainly draw a lot of visitors.” 

Bertrand shook his head. “This is all conjecture, we have no evidence to suggest-”

“And,” Lemony interrupted him, continuing on his previous thought. “It would be even better for them if they played up the theft, talking about Kit and how she disappeared on her way to prison.”

Violet was lost now. 

“Who’s Kit?”

“My older sister,” Lemony explained. “She tried to steal it the first time.”

“Oh, okay.”

Throughout his whole theory, Beatrice was nodding enthusiastically.

“An easy and simple way to make money,” she said. “All they would need is a placeholder, a replica if you will.”

They all started suspiciously at the box.

After a moment Bertrand broke the silence. 

“Even if we believe all this about the museum is remotely true, then where would the real item be? The Sugar Bowl?”

Violet was surprised to hear her father mention the blood bowl so directly. From what he said it made her think his friend Lemony knew about it too. And he called it the Sugar Bowl? This was interesting, she had to take her chances and try to learn more while they were telling her things.

“So the real bowl was stolen, right? By Kit, the sister. So why not just ask her about it, where it is?”

“That’s not really an option,” Lemony said. ”But if she didn’t have it when the police found her, and the museum didn’t have it, then she must have hidden it somewhere good, somewhere that they couldn’t find it for years.”

Beatrice stopped pacing.

“Somewhere like a hidden tunnel?”

Lemony nodded.

Over the course of the next hour. They dug through the sand on their side of the door, finding no trace of the real sugar bowl.

“We have to admit it,” Bertrand said, “It’s not here, it's been too long, and VFD wouldn’t let something that valuable just stay here, not with how bad they wanted it.”

Violet met eyes with Sunny over the mention of the mysterious VFD. Their parents were giving up so much here, this was their chance to find out more. They just had to say something. Something that would really make them talk.

“You know what?” Violet said, drawing the attention of the adults. “VFD is the worst. They should go fuck themselves.”

A tense silence fell over the group.

“I found something!” Lemony called. “I think I found it.”

The response to Violet’s comment momentarily delayed, but not forgotten, the group rushed over to where Lemony was digging to see what he had found.

“What is that?” Violet cringed.

Lemony was holding up his discovery, a grimy putrid dish, weathered down almost beyond recognition. Almost.

“That’s it…” Bertrand whispered in shock. He never thought that it could really be here. Who would?

Beatrice stepped forward and took it from Lemony’s hand, wincing in discomfort.

“It’s slimy,” she said, “and gross. But it may be what we need.”

She quickly turned it upside down and began to shake, plants and mold coming out of the bowl, along with more sand than anyone thought possible. 

Beatrice shook it harder, as more dirt came out, and then finally, nothing.

She flipped it back over and looked inside. More nothing.

“I don’t understand!” she said. “This is the real one, something has to be here.

Then from a few feet away, Violet noticed something.

“Did you find a lid with it?” she asked Lemony.

“No, I-”

His eyes lit up.

“You think it might be with the lid?”

“Worth a shot.”

They continued to comb the museum side of the sewers, their searching sped up by the discovery of the bowl.

“Nothing over here!”

“Nothing here either!”

Each nothing brought the group’s spirits lower and lower, until there was a shout from the far side of the tunnel, bordering the big door they would have to pass through later.

“I think there’s something over here!” Bertrand shouted.

“You found it?” Beatrice replied.

“Not it, something!”

She stood up. 

“Good enough for me.”

They raced over to where Bertrand was, right before the door.

“What is it?” Lemony asked.

“It,” Bertrand said, bending down to the floor. “Is a grate.”

“It’s great?” Violet asked.

“ A grate.”

“What does a grate have to do with any of this, then?” Violet asked.

“If the lid fell into the water,” Bertrand explained. “Then it could be carried to the other side of the door, into the main tunnels.”

Beatrice ran over to the lock of the door, a keypad like the one on the other side, and began typing in phrases.

“Name of the young woman in Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities? ” she asked.

“Lucie Manette,” Lemony answered.

She typed it in.

“Author of the first novel?”

“Lady Murasaki Shikibu.” Bertrand supplied that one.

“And the last one is ‘Who Invented the First Practical Automobile?’” 

Beatrice turned to Violet. 

“Any ideas?”

“Why would I know?” she asked.

“Violet...” Beatrice said.

She sighed.

“Karl Friedrich Benz.”

“Thank you.”

Beatrice typed it in and the door opened with a click.

“Those were different questions than when we came in,” Violet heard Lemony remark behind her.

“Look at the bottom of the stream!” Bertrand told them as they entered the other part of the tunnels. “The lid would have sunk under the sand.”

As Violet watched her parents and their friend wade into the warm water, she decided to sit this one out, plopping down next to Sunny on the bank.

Sunny was biting on something next to her, although that wasn’t very unusual for her.

“How was your day, Sunshine?” Violet asked her sister.

Sunny took her toy out of her mouth and sighed.

“Bore,”

“It was boring?” Violet was surprised. “I wouldn’t call all that boring!”

Sunny shrugged. “Cam,” she said, meaning “There was lots of walking.”

Violet looked like she was about to say something more on it, but instead just told her, “To each their own.”

After a few minutes of watching her parents search, and laughing when their mother pushed their father into the water, Violet turned back to Sunny.

“So what’re you biting on?” she asked.

Sunny didn’t answer her.

“So polite,” Violet muttered, preparing to attack.

Lunging forward, she pulled Sunny’s toy out of her mouth, her face turning white when she realized what it was. 

A white lump, malformed and weathered away as the bowl had been, but cleaner, almost sanitary. With the dirt scraped away, Violet noticed how similar it looked to a lid, when you pretended not to see the hundreds of bite marks scarred along the surface. 

How long had she had this? It looked more than a few minutes. It even was clean!

Now clean, there was no denying what it was. The Sugar Bowl. The lid. A secret. And Sunny had had it the whole time.

“Mom?” Violet said awkwardly.

“What?”

“I think I found it.”

Chapter Text

Duncan, Klaus and Isadora walked down the street in silence, the houses of Count Olaf and Justice Strauss becoming farther behind them as they continued onwards.

As they turned another corner, Klaus stopped, Isadora crashing into him from behind.

“Hey! What was-”

“Where do we go now?” Klaus’s voice cracked.

Duncan and Isadora looked at him, noticing that he had been crying silently.

“Klaus…” Duncan comforted, giving the crying boy a hug.

Isadora rubbed her eyes, blinking away tears. Someone needed to hold them together. Especially now.

“We’re going to the bank.” she told them. 

“The bank?” Klaus mumbled. “With Mr. Poe?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not going to the bank,” Duncan said, pulling away from Klaus and turning towards both him and Isadora.

“We’re not?”

Duncan looked them both in the eyes.

“No we’re not.”

He took a step forward, grabbing onto both of their hands.

“I meant what I said to Justice Strauss. We’re going somewhere better. The bank is not better. Mr. Poe wouldn’t believe us, I think we all know that. He thinks we’re twins, Isadora, and he didn’t hear a word Klaus said to him! He would just pick us up and bring us back to Olaf.”

“But it’s his job,” Klaus said. He got just as frustrated with Mr. Poe as the rest of them, but surely he wouldn’t mess up something this important. Surely he would keep them safe.

Duncan looked at him sadly.

“Adults aren’t always good at their job. Think about Justice Strauss. She’s a judge, and she can’t even notice when crimes are being committed right in front of her.

“But Justice Strauss-”

“Sometimes adults just don’t listen!” Duncan yelled. “It doesn’t matter how nice they are, or how much they care about us, they don’t listen, and we get hurt anyways.”

Klaus was stunned into silence at his outburst.

Isadora gave Duncan a squeeze on the shoulder and began to speak.

“Duncan’s right,” she said. “Justice Strauss- she cared about us and still did nothing. Mr. Poe doesn’t even do the first part.”

Klaus had stopped crying now, although he was still on the edge of tears.

“So where do we go, then?”

“Somewhere better,” Duncan answered.

“And where is that?”

Isadora stepped in now.

“Somewhere far away from the city,” her eyes spotted a produce truck unloading nearby, and she read the location on the side. “Somewhere like Lousy Lane.”

“Lousy Lane?” Klaus asked. “Where’s that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”

More than anything else, it smelled like horseradish. 

Out of all the trucks in the world, out of all the things it could grow, it had to be horseradish.

Their secret ride to Lousy Lane was absolutely full of it, and Klaus thought he would never get the smell out of his nose. 

“It could be worse,” Duncan said, meeting his eyes. “We could still be at Count Olaf’s.”

They had recently escaped the house of the nefarious Count, only barely rescuing Isadora from the cage he had locked her in, at the very top of his tower. It was a horrible place, and Klaus was glad to be gone, even if he didn’t know exactly where he was going.

“We know where we’re going!” Isadora said, as if she read his mind.

“How did you…”

“You had a panicked look on your face, I just assumed.”

Klaus was in fact beginning to panic. They had stowed away in the back of a produce truck- the most illegal thing he had done in his life, besides running away from home, of course. Oh wait! He ran away. Now he had that to worry about too.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Duncan said, looking over. “I’m sure Lousy Lane will be great!”

Klaus looked at him. “It’s called Lousy Lane.”

“Maybe it’s a misnomer,” Duncan suggested. “You know, Iceland, Greenland?”

Klaus did in fact not know, evident by the look on his face.

“A misnomer is a very wrong name,” Duncan explained. “You name something the opposite of what it is as a form of irony.”

“Like naming your dog Cat?” Klaus asked.

“I guess that could be one.”

“What about-”

The truck suddenly lurched to a stop, Isadora being knocked into a large pile of horseradish stacked nearby.

“Gross fucking-” she sputtered, spitting an entire root out of her mouth. “You do not want to know how that tastes, blech!”

Duncan stared at her in shock. 

“Isa, your neck…”

The crash had folded over her turtleneck, revealing a large purple ring of bruises, shaped vaguely in the shape of a hand.

“It’s nothing,” she winced, flipping her shirt back up so that it covered them. “We need to get going, before the driver looks back here.”

The three children clambered out of the truck, and began to walk down Lousy Lane, no particular destination in mind.

They had walked about a half a mile when Duncan tried speaking to his sister again.

“Isadora, I-”

He was interrupted by a loud friendly voice from the other side of the road.

“I was wondering when you three would show up!” a man called.

He was dressed in dark colored clothes with a straw hat and a curly mustache that almost looked like a snake.

“I’ve been expecting you for days!”

“I’m sorry sir,” Klaus called out to him, “But I think you have us confused for someone else!”

The man shook his head and laughed. “You are the Baudelaires, I believe! Why, I could recognize that face of yours anywhere, you look just like your mother Beatrice!”

Klaus was stunned. This man actually knew his name. And he knew his mother! But how? She had never mentioned him.

Klaus and the Quagmires approached the strange man, and noticed a pair of shears on the ground, which he must have dropped after spotting them.

“What were you…” Isadora said.

The man followed her gaze to the shears.

“Oh, just cutting the hedges!” he smiled. “I’ve almost got this one to look like a snake.”

“A snake?” Duncan asked.

“Of course!” the man laughed. “I’m a Herpetologist, I study snakes.”

Klaus smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry to be rude,” he said. “But who exactly are you?”

“Of course!” the man said. “You probably didn’t recognize me! I’m Dr. Montgomery Montgomery, but you can just call me Monty, or Uncle Monty if you prefer.”

“Monty-” Isadora began.

“One second, Violet!” Monty called. “There’s just one more leaf left on this hedge.”

He picked up the shears and slowly snipped a branch.

“Now, what were you saying?”

“My name isn’t Violet,” Isadora said, watching Klaus stiffen with the second mention of his dead sister’s name. “My name is Isadora Quagmire, and this is my triplet, Duncan.”

Duncan waved.

“I don’t understand,” Monty said, putting his shears back down. “If you aren’t Violet and Sunny Baudelaire then where are-”

Klaus looked at him, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Uncle Monty,” he began, “My sisters are dead. They perished in the fire that destroyed my home.”

Monty just stared at him. “Oh.”

Klaus nodded.

“My boy-” Monty was on him in an instant, enveloping Klaus in a hug that the Quagmires soon joined.

“Our triplet Quigley died too,” Duncan whispered as he was being hugged.

“And our last guardian, Olaf, he hurt us,” Isadora told Monty. “He hurt me.”

Monty pulled them closer at the mention of Olaf’s name, only releasing after a long pause.

“That’s horrible children, we should probably head inside and straighten this while we have something to eat.”

They nodded.

“We would like that a lot,” Klaus said.

Monty’s house was a refreshing change from the disgusting trash heap that was the home of Count Olaf.

It was full of decorations from places he had visited in his studies, and there were pictures of reptiles everywhere, no doubt a result of his career and passion.

Uncle Monty set them down at a nice coffee table in the living room, with strange little crocodiles drawn on the sides. He quickly told them the history behind it, that he had brought it back from a town quite nearby, where he was investigating the life cycle of a species of reptile unique to that area. It was quite interesting, but apparently he had to leave before he could investigate much further, the people not that friendly to herpetologists and others of the environmental science sort.

After a few minutes of him talking and the children listening, Monty rushed out of the room, claiming to have left a cake in the oven.

“He seems nice,” Duncan said after Monty had left.

Isadora smiled softly. “He does, although I still don’t understand how he was expecting us.”

“Well, he wasn’t expecting us, per say,” Klaus whispered.

The children sat for about two minutes in silence, much longer than it should have taken to finish a cake in the next room over.

“I hope Uncle Monty’s alright,” Klaus said, standing up and beginning to walk around the room.

The Quagmires looked at each other nervously.

“He has to be alright,” Duncan said. “Probably just had some trouble taking the cake out of the oven.”

“How can you have trouble taking cake out of the oven?” Isadora whispered to him.

Duncan looked at her. “As if you’ve ever used an oven before.”

“I made pasta!”

“Pasta doesn’t use an oven, Isadora.”

“Well what does it use then, Duncan? A flamethrower?”

“No, it-”

Klaus made a distressed noise from the other side of the room.

“Are you okay?”

“What’s wrong?”

The Quagmire triplets stood up and rushed to his side, noticing what he had been so upset by.

“Why are you looking at that painting?” Isadora asked, confused.

Klaus had been staring up at a picture on Monty’s wall, of him in a forest somewhere, looking out through a spyglass.

“We’ve seen this before,” he choked out.

“I have never seen that jungle before in my entire life.”

“Not the jungle,” Klaus said, pulling something out of his pocket. “Look!”

Isadora and Duncan’s faces paled as they noticed what Klaus was holding.

It was the spyglass, the one from their houses, and it matched up exactly with the one Uncle Monty held in the painting.

“The spyglass…” Duncan whispered. “I forgot about that.”

Klaus nodded.

“We all did.”

They stared at the painting in silence for a minute or so, letting it all soak in. First the Quagmires, then the Baudelaires, now Uncle Monty?

Why would they all have this spyglass?

“I guess secret sailing obsessions are all the rage,” Duncan whispered.

Klaus gestured at the painting, hanging in the main room for all to see.

“I’d hardly qualify this as secret.”

They quieted down again, before Isadora spoke up.

“Some secrets are hidden best in plain sight.”

The three children were started away from the painting by the sound of Monty whistling in the next room over, and they rushed to their seats, just as he entered the room.

“Cake, anyone?” He offered, carrying four plates, two in each hand.

The children said thank you and began to eat their cake, Isadora waiting for Monty to take a bite of his before starting hers.

“Why bambini, I had the most interesting phone call with Mr. Poe just now,” he said through bites of cake.

“Bambini?” Klaus asked.

“Mr. Poe?” Isadora said.

Monty nodded.

“‘Bambini’ means children in Italian.”

“And Mr. Poe?” Isadora prompted.

“Yes, Mr. Poe,” Monty said. “Apparently there was some mistake with the bank, and you three were sent to the wrong guardian, or rather, someone who should not have been your guardian in the first place. No matter what Mr. Poe says about the matter, I stand by the fact that you three should have never gone to that dreadful man in the first place.”

“So that means we can stay here?” Duncan asked. “With you?”

“Provided that Mr. Poe finds everything all right when he visits at the end of the week.”

They children turned to each other and smiled. They wouldn’t have to go back to Count Olaf! They could stay here with Uncle Monty! It was like a dream come true. 

With this revelation and Monty’s tasty coconut cake, Count Olaf and the unfortunate events they had experienced with him seemed very very far away, and it would be. For the next four days of course. But more on that later.

The three children soon finished their cake, and Monty left to take the plates into the kitchen, leaving them alone yet again.

“What do you think Mr. Poe will say?” Duncan asked.

“Probably something stupid,” Isadora mumbled under her breath.

“Of course it’s going to be stupid,” Klaus said, “It’s Mr. Poe. But even he has to understand that Uncle Monty is so much better than Count Olaf.”

“I still don’t think we can completely trust Monty,” Isadora told them, switching the topic of conversation.

“Why? He’s nice.” Duncan said.

“He seems nice. There's a difference.”

Duncan snorted. “What, do you think he’s going to suddenly go crazy and lock us in a well or something? He gave us cake. He’s fine. We’re fine.”

Isadora only shook her head.

“Believe what you want. But I’m keeping an eye out. Something just feels wrong about all of this. It can't be a coincidence that he had the same spyglass our parents had.”

“I still don’t see the connection between our parents and the spyglass,” Klaus thought aloud, his eyes straying over to the painting on the far wall. “What could it mean?”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Duncan suggested. “It could just be a coincidence, maybe they all really were interested in sailing.”

“What’s the deal with the whole sailing thing?” Isadora asked. “Where did that even come from?”

“It was a joke we made back at our house,” Duncan told her. “When we found our half of the spyglass.” 

“At first we thought it was something to do with boats, navigation and the like.” Klaus added.

“And?” she prompted.

“And then we found the other half.” Klaus pulled the spyglass out of his pocket now, laying it flat on the table.

They stared at the spyglass for a second or two, it's physical presence making it all so real. Klaus had forgotten how burnt it was, and his hand had a dark smear from where he had held it earlier.

“Are we sure it’s a spyglass?” Isadora asked finally.

“What else could it be?” Duncan said, picking it up and holding it to his face.

“I spy with my little eye…” he swung the spyglass around quickly. “Something intelligent!”

In his haste to turn towards Klaus, the lens cap of the spyglass had flown open, drawing attention to the design on it.

“Let me see that,” Klaus said, taking it from Duncan.

Isadora paled behind him.

“Is that what I-”

“Is that what?” Duncan asked.

Klaus looked at the two triplets, and nodded solemnly.

“You’re right,” Isadora whispered. “It’s all connected.”

“What’s connected?” Duncan cried. “What’s wrong.”

Isadora took the spyglass out of Klaus’ hands, and flipped it around so the lens cap pointed at Duncan.

“This is,” she said. “ He is.”

Duncan nodded, his eyes never leaving the shape on the lens cap, an eye design, one that was all too familiar.

Chapter Text

Violet watched as the city faded into the distance, the skyline almost invisible against the early morning sunlight breaking in through the compartment window.

She couldn’t believe that all that had happened in one night. Everything after the sewers was a blur, a waking dream, as she followed her parents and their friend out of the tunnels and onto this train.

The past night had been a mess. She was tired and drowsy, Sunny snoring in her arms, but Violet couldn’t slow her brain down enough to actually fall asleep.

Her parents had tried to rob a museum. She had helped them, and for what? A pretty bowl broken in a box, one that happened to be fake. Only there was a real one. One different from the first one, the one she had found at her house, the one filled to the brim with blood. And all of this, was encased in some sort of secrecy, one her mother wouldn’t break, mixed in with mentions of the mysterious VFD.

She just wanted answers. She wanted to know why her parents had the bowl, why they robbed a museum, why they had to take her away from her little brother.

Right now more than ever she missed her brother.

If Klaus were here now he would probably tell her to think it through, be rational. But her brother wasn’t the best at following his own advice. He had accidentally told their parents more things than she could count, not that she blamed him. It just gave her an excuse to ignore everything he said, and make a strategy of her own. One that had to work.

Violet quickly excused herself from the car and went out searching for her parents’ friend, Snicket. She would simply ask him what was going on, seeing as he didn’t really seem to grasp the whole “Don’t tell Violet” thing yet. It was easy. Simple. It was a wonder Klaus didn’t come up with it first.

Lemony Snicket was in the dining car, drinking tea in the same booth he had sat in years before, only now he was alone, no Ellington Feint in sight. 

The Thistle of the Valley hadn’t changed much since he was last on it, back when he was apprenticed in Stain’d-by-the-Sea. It still had the same sized compartments, the same windows that couldn’t open from the outside, and the same words painted on the side of the locomotive, only now they were faded and worn off.  He wondered if the jail cells were the same too.

Lemony shook the last thought off and continued with what he was thinking before.

He didn’t know why he had suggested Stain’d-by-the-Sea. When they had stood next to each other at the train station early this morning, Beatrice on his left and Bertrand on his right, it had just come to him, the memories of his time there brought back by his recent encounter with Kellar Haines and Ornette Lost.

If those two were any indication, then the people there would not be happy to see him, but still he was drawn to the town, two opposite forces attracting.

They had needed a safe place to lay low for a while, wait for the media to quiet down about the museum, and Stain’d-by-the-Sea was one of those two things, and no one else had offered any better solutions.

He was startled by a quick tap on his shoulder, Violet Baudelaire, entering the car and sliding into the seat across from him.

Beatrice’s daughter looked at him intently, staring into his eyes before whispering, “Do you think you could tell me something?”

He leaned back and pinched his eyebrows in thought. That was certainly not the question he was expecting.

“What do you want me to tell you?” he answered cryptically.

She already knew what she wanted to say.

“I want you to tell me the truth.”

Lemony almost laughed at that. The truth? He had learned from experience that there was more to the truth than what met the eye.

Violet stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“Who’s truth would you like to know?” he asked her.

She sighed. “My sister and I are tired, Lemony , and it would be helpful if you answered our question in a way that actually made sense.”

Lemony frowned and noticed Sunny there as well, drowsily leaning on Violet beneath the table.

She wasn’t finished.

“I want to know the truth,” she said, “About all of it. This bowl, VFD, everything.”

He considered it. 

“It would take a long time to learn the truth about everything.”

Violet turned to the window and smiled.

“It’s only trees for miles and miles. I’ve got the time.”

“Those aren’t trees.”

She turned around quickly.

“Of course those are trees. What else would they be? Broccoli?”

He took a sip of his tea.

“Seaweed. Seaweed and Kelp, miles of it, all as tall as a house.”

She snorted. “How have I not heard of this, then? I think I would know if there was a huge forest made of seaweed right outside the city.”

Lemony smiled.

“You would think. But most people have to see to believe.”

She looked out the window again and mumbled, “Well I’m seeing and still not believing.”

Violet shook her head, changing the topic back to their previous conversation.

“You’re not distracting me with this” she said finally. “I need to know what’s going on. And you’re the only one who will tell me.”

“Who says I’ll tell you?”

She rolled her eyes.

“How about common fucking decency? Now, what do you know about the blood bowl?”

Lemony looked confused. He wasn’t fazed by the cursing of course, but blood bowl? 

He voiced his confusion aloud and Violet snorted.

“Listen, Thicket,” she said. “I know you know what it is. Mom and Dad obviously wouldn’t keep secrets from you. You’re their friend.”

Lemony almost smiled. He was their friend, more than that even. At least he used to be.

But honestly, he knew nothing about this “blood bowl” or whatever she was talking about. It almost made him wonder if Beatrice and Bertrand were keeping secrets from him, if they didn’t trust him.

Violet stared up at him expectantly.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah, and I totally believe you.”

He frowned.

“Why would I lie?”

“My mom probably put you up to it or something, I don’t know.”

“And when would Beatrice have told me this?”

Violet sneered.

“Don’t try to poke holes in my logic. That’s just rude.”

“I’m just saying that your facts don’t line up. That’s all.”

She rolled her eyes and picked up Sunny, beginning to leave the car.

“I expected this baby stuff from them, you know,” she said, turning back to face him. “But not from you. You seemed cooler than that. But I guess I thought wrong.”

Lemony was hurt by her statement, but more distressed by the idea that Beatrice and Bertrand could be hiding things.

They probably just forgot to tell him, that’s all. They wouldn’t purposely withhold something. But still it grated against him, and if it was big enough for Violet to know, then he should have been told it, right?

It was probably just a misunderstanding, he would go ask them now.

When Lemony approached their car, Beatrice was staring out the window, Bertrand sitting down next to her, and the girls nowhere to be seen.

“It looks just like I remember,” Beatrice said as he entered.

Lemony moved next to her.

“You’ve been the the Clusterous Forest?”

She let out a small smile.

“Once. When I was younger.”

“How young?” Bertrand asked.

“Before I met you.”

“And me?” Lemony added.

Beatrice laughed.

“I knew you. I’ve known you my whole life.”

He laughed too. 

“Just checking.”

She turned away from the window and sat down as well, Lemony following so it was just the three of them, next to each other.

They just sat there in silence for a few minutes, Lemony no longer caring about the secrets, their knees touching in the small compartment, remembering when they were younger and that had happened all the time.

He missed them.

On the other side of Beatrice, he watched as Bertrand lowered his head onto her shoulder, a small smile on both of their faces.

He wanted that too. To be with them, like he used to be.

Slowly, daringly, he lowered his head onto her as well, asking a silent question to them both.

At the touch of his head, she tensed a moment, as if making a decision.

After seven and a half long seconds, (he counted) Beatrice let out a long sigh and relaxed, both men leaning against her as the kelp flashed past outside.

It was a nice moment, the nicest one Lemony had had in fifteen years, and he wished he could stay there, savor it for longer, but he had questions, ones that only the two of them could answer.

He lifted his head of Beatrice’s shoulder and turned to look at them.

“Violet asked me something a few minutes ago and I wondered if you could elaborate.”

Beatrice looked at him, her eyes lit with concern.

“What did she say?”

“She talked about a blood bowl.”

Beatrice took a deep breath and put her head between her knees.

“Violet… She’s just so… inquisitive.”

Lemony smiled at that. 

“She is. You two should be proud.”

Bertrand met his eyes.

“We are. So proud, but Beatrice just-”

“Beatrice just wants her daughter to stop prying,” Beatrice mumbled from between her knees.

“I don’t know if it counts as prying if-”

“It counts as prying if I don’t want her to know.”

“I’m sorry,” Lemony interrupted. “But how much does she know? About everything.”

“Nothing,” Bertrand said. “But then-”

“But then she started cussing out VFD,” Beatrice choked out. “So I really don’t have a fucking clue.”

Bertrand motioned to his wife. 

“And then that.”

Lemony nodded.

“So, what exactly is this blood bowl she mentioned?”

Beatrice sat up and looked at him tiredly.

“It’s her nickname for the sugar bowl.”

“All of them?”

She shook her head.

“Just one. The one at our house.”

“You had one at your house?”

Bertrand nodded. “In Beatrice’s desk. Violet found it right before our house burned down.”

Lemony looked at her.

“You had a sugar bowl in your desk? That’s a horrible spot.”

“That’s what I said!” Bertrand exclaimed.

“It was the last place they would think to look!” she explained.

“It’s your desk!”

Beatrice sighed. 

“Okay, just... Bertrand, tell him why she calls it that.”

“The Blood Bowl?”

“Yes the blood bowl!”

Beatrice shook her head.

“Sorry, I’m just tired, I haven't slept yet.”

They nodded. It had been a long night, and so far Sunny was the only one of them who had taken a nap.

“We understand. Now, the blood bowl?”

Bertrand looked at him.

“It’s very literal. You see, the sugar bowl she found was full of um… blood.”

“Blood?”

He scratched his head. “Yeah…”

Lemony was shocked. 

“Why would- how did- who’s?”

Beatrice looked at his face.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s not like I killed anyone.”

Lemony and Bertrand stared at her awkwardly.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” she shouted. “I didn’t kill anyone this time. Better?”

A knock on the door startled them as Violet slid into the compartment holding Sunny, who had now awoken from her nap.

“Violet can you get out of here?” Beatrice groaned. “The adults are talking.”

“Ugh fuck you,” Violet mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” Bertrand asked.

“The conductor says we’re approaching the town and should watch as we pull in,” she said sweetly.

“Vee!” Sunny shrieked, pointing out the window. 

The kelp of the clusterous forest had started to fade away, revealing a large abandoned looking building a few miles away.

Lemony’s stomach twisted into knots at the sight of Wade Academy. It looked the same as he remembered, only a little more decrepit. 

Maybe it was a bad idea to come back here, he thought. Who knows what has happened here in the past thirty years?

The Thistle slowly chugged past Wade Academy, the school fading out of view as they got their first view of Stain’d-by-the-Sea.

It had changed since Lemony had seen it last. It still wasn’t big or even prosperous, but it looked stable enough, construction projects visible even from this distance, a large change from the floundering state he remembered..

He smiled softly. It looked like Cleo had really done it.

Lemony reached out, grabbing onto Bertrand’s shoulder as the train went over a bump.

“What the hell was that?” Violet asked.

“Golga!” Sunny told her, motioning to the bridge they had transitioned to.

A bridge? Lemony didn’t remember a bridge here.

Moving closer to the window, his breath caught when he saw what was below it.

Water. Blue, clean, water. 

It wasn’t an entire oceanful, but it looked enough to be a large lake, surrounding the small town, now an island.

“Cleo Knight, ladies and gentlemen,” he whispered in awe. 

The train shook again as they made it back onto land, passing right next to the lighthouse.

Lemony felt even more unsettled thinking about Moxie. 

They hadn’t exactly parted on good terms, and the prospect of recognition was suddenly all too strong. It was a bad idea to come here. Someone spotting him? It was unthinkable. There had to be another option.

Before his plan was just to stay at another inn, maybe the Lost Arms, but with this new prospect he would have to come up with another plan, and fast.

Why hadn’t he thought this through?

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the roof of a dilapidated home breaking out from over the skyline.

Could it really still be standing after all this time? And still be empty?

It was. Lemony quickly whispered something to Beatrice and Bertrand, cementing their plan.

Once the train pulled to a stop at Stain’d Station, they would sneak out the back and through town, not stopping until they got to their hideout.

The Sallis Mansion.

Chapter Text

With the sound of humming coming from the kitchen, Klaus quickly grabbed the spyglass from Duncan and stuffed it in his pockets, moments before Monty returned.

“I’ve been thinking, bambini,” the herpetologist said. “You three seem trustworthy. Do you think you could keep a secret?”

Duncan turned to the others and made a face.

“The Spyglass?” he mouthed.

Klaus and Isadora only looked puzzled. 

Duncan realized that he would have to be the one to say something.

“We’re very trustworthy Uncle Monty!” he smiled. “You can tell us anything.”

This made Monty laugh.

“Of course, of course. What a silly question. Now, who wants to see where the magic happens?”

They followed Monty into a small hallway, stopping in front of a large door completely covered in locks..

“This,” Monty said proudly, “is my advanced security system.”

The children looked at each other. Advanced seemed to barely cover it.

“It’s very impressive,” Klaus told him.

Monty smiled. “It does look that way, doesn’t it? But let me show you a little trick.”

“Is this your ‘secret?’” Isadora asked.

He laughed. “Not quite. Part of it.”

Monty turned to them. 

“Watch this.”

He slowly pushed on the door, sliding it open without stopping to touch any of the locks.

“You bought a bunch of locks but set them up to be useless?” Klaus asked.

“Exactly!” Monty exclaimed. “All to protect my reptile room.”

It was then that Klaus and the Quagmires got their first view of the reptile room. 

The room was bright, each surface covered in reptiles of every shape and size, croaking and chirping as they entered.

“It’s…” Duncan whispered.

“Beautiful…” Klaus finished.

A loud laugh from behind them made them turn around, to find Isadora with a Flying Iguana resting on her forehead, tangled in her long dark hair.

“Now Confetti,” Monty said, coming over to disentangle the lizard. “What did we say about launching ourself at strangers in an attempt to make friends?”

The Iguana chirped sadly.

“It’s okay Dr. Mont-”

“Uncle Monty or Monty, please.”

“It’s okay, Monty,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

Confetti chirped again, taking off and landing on Monty’s head now instead.

He laughed. “Confetti likes to do that sometimes. You do, don’t you girl?”

Confetti chirped again.

They laughed.

After a few moments, Confetti flew off to another part of the room and Monty started talking.

“As a Herpetologist, I have found species from all over the world, like Confetti here, who I found on the fourteenth island of the Galapagos.”

“The Galapagos?” Klaus asked.

“Islands of the coast of Ecuador,” Duncan whispered. “Quigley had a map of them he kept in his room. The walls in there used to be coated with them. Maps, that is. Not the Galapagos.”

He smiled softly. “Although they were his favorite group of tropical islands.”

Klaus nodded.

“That’s strange,” they heard Monty remark from a few feet away.

“What’s wrong?” Isadora asked him.

“This cage is unlocked.”

“What was in it?” Klaus asked. 

“My newest discovery, of course,” he smiled. “I call it the Incredibly Deadly Viper!”

“And you said it’s LOOSE?!” Duncan shrieked.

Monty chuckled. “It’ll turn up somewhere, I’m sure. Everything should be fine as long as it doesn’t bite you.”

“What happens if it bites you?” Klaus asked fearfully.

“Well, what do you think? It’s called the Incredibly Deadly Viper, after all.” Monty remarked.

Isadora knew it. She fucking knew it. This man was insane. He had just told them that there was a dangerous and deadly snake on the loose and he was just standing there. Laughing.

She was going to kill him.

“You think this is funny?” she screamed. “We could die! It could be anywhere!”

Monty smiled again. “It’s probably not anywhere, Isadora,” he said. “Odds are that it’s been contained to this room.”

“And that’s somehow better!?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to them!”

“I’m more worried it’ll do something to us!”

“Ink, do something to you? That’s-”

“I see it! It’s over there!” Duncan shouted, pointing behind Monty, where a large black snake had appeared and was slithering towards them.

Klaus, Duncan, and Isadora backed up, pressing themselves against the wall, as far away as they could get from the deadly snake.

“Uncle Monty, run!” Klaus shouted.

“He’s fucking insane. He’s completely delusional,” Isadora whispered as Monty shot them a thumbs up and began to walk towards the snake.

“There you are Inky! I was wondering where you got off too. I’d like you to meet the-”

At that moment the Incredibly Deadly Viper lunged forward, sinking his fangs into Monty’s hand, which he had reached out to pet the snake.

“NO!” the children called out, as Monty turned to look at them.

“Uncle Monty?” Duncan asked slowly.

The man opened his mouth as if to speak before collapsing onto the floor and beginning to shake as if he was seizing. 

They screamed louder as Monty began to seize harder, before going deathly still.

“Uncle Monty…” Klaus whispered.

“He’s dead… he’s fucking dead…” Isadora mumbled.

The door to the reptile room was slammed open, revealing an unfamiliar man.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” he exclaimed.

“Gustav!” Monty exclaimed, sitting up and turning to look at him. “I’d like you to meet Klaus Baudelaire, and his friends Duncan and Isadora Quagmire.”

“You’re ALIVE?” Duncan shouted.

“Of course I am,” Monty told him.

“How did- Why would-”

Gustav sighed and walked over to Monty, helping him off the ground.

“I thought we agreed that you were going to stop doing this to random strangers.”

“They’re not strangers,” Monty protested. “Klaus and the Quagmires are going to stay with us.”

Gustav gave him a look. 

“Still, that’s a horrible first impression.”

He turned towards the children, still pressed to the wall.

“Children I am so sorry,” Gustav apologized. “Monty gets excited sometimes and goes too far.”

“So he’s not going to die?” Klaus asked skeptically.

“No. The snake he was bit by is perfectly harmless.”

“It’s called the Incredibly Deadly Viper!” Isadora said.

“It’s a misnomer!” Monty chimed in. “Ink here is actually very friendly. They bite as a sign of affection.”

Ink bit Monty again.

“See! Nothing. I’m fine!”

“But why would you name it that if it wasn’t deadly?” Klaus asked.

“It’s a joke, of course!” Monty said. 

“Trick.” Gustav corrected. “A joke implies that it’s funny to multiple people.”

“I don’t think it’s funny at all,” Isadora huffed. “I think pretending to die is cruel.”

Gustav looked at Monty incredulously.

“You pretended to die?”

“It was for dramatic effect!”

“Dramatic irony more likely.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the herpetologist, figure it out.”

“Excuse me?” Isadora asked. “Do you think you two could stop bickering and tell me who exactly you-” she pointed at Gustav. “Are?”

“This is Gustav, my partner.”

“Assistant.”

“Yes, assistant.”

“And can you explain this trick?”

“The Herpetological Society-” Monty began.

“Uptight lizard doctors,” Gustav interrupted.

“Yes, them.” Monty said. “So the Herpetological Society is always making fun of my name, ‘Hello Hello There Dr. Montgomery Montgomery,’ things like that.”

“So he thought he would get back at them,” Gustav explained..

“I would gather them to reveal my latest discovery, called the Incredibly Deadly Viper. Only when I got on stage, would I reveal that the viper had escaped!”

“In short, he would do what he just did now, making you think there was a deadly snake on the loose.” Gustav said. “Only the dying part is new.”

“It was improvisation!” Monty told him.

Gustav sighed and smiled. 

“This acting thing has really gotten to your head lately.”

“Acting thing?” Duncan asked.

“Gustav here directs movies,” Monty explained. “He’s very good.”

Gustav smiled. 

“You’re just saying that.”

“What kind of movies?” Klaus asked.

“All types. Your mother has acted in a few of my earlier ones.”

“My mother?”

Gustav nodded.

“I can show them to you sometime.”

“I would like that very much,” Klaus whispered.

“So what are you working on now?” Duncan said.

“Now? I’m working on a film called A Snake in the Grass ,” 

“Which I’m in!” Monty exclaimed.

Gustav laughed.

“Yes, you have a small role,” he said. “But the real star is Ink here.”

“Ink is in the movie?”

“Of course! It’s almost done, and I only have a few scenes left to shoot, but you are welcome to help me with it.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have that much experience with-”

“Nonsense!” Monty smiled. “You can spend your time here with Gustav and his movies and helping me with my research in the reptile room.”

Klaus smiled. Research. He had a good feeling about this.

The next two days were the best ones they had had in awhile.

Klaus and the Quagmires woke up to a nice hot breakfast made by Monty, then headed over to the reptile room for the rest of the morning. 

While in the reptile room, Klaus liked to hang out by the books. He would help Monty with his journals, checking the herpetologists’s cramped scrawl against the information from the volumes on the shelf. He hadn’t had that much fun in ages. On the morning of the first day, Klaus found himself down a rabbit hole researching the Mamba du Mal, one of the most poisonous snakes in the world.

By the second day, Isadora had found a comfy corner and brought out her notebook, writing more poetry than she had in weeks. In the safety of Monty’s house she was finally able to let loose in the first time since the fire, her fingers constantly stained with ink from her pen and her face stained with tears that had been kept in far too long. 

Her writing hurt, but it also felt good. The responsibility lifted off her, she could let some of it out, making new couplets curled up in the reptile room, Monty’s Broken-Hearted Crocodile resting by her feet.

Duncan spent his mornings in the reptile room as well, but he never really had a set task. He would run around, discovering all sorts of things while hanging out with Monty’s creatures. In those two days Confetti barely left his side, swooping down to rest on his face as he tried to count the number of colors Monty’s chameleon could change, or learn which reptile was the fastest in a footrace.

In the afternoons they would head out to the yard with Ink, helping Gustav with his movie, which was being filmed in part at the house. 

Gustav’s film was strange. The children didn’t want to say anything, but it was like nothing they had seen before. The plot was flimsy, to say the least, and bells would go off randomly, the children not knowing where or why the noise was coming from.

They also liked to sit on the lawn, eating lunch from a picnic basket, Monty and sometimes Gustav joining them. 

On the second day, they had one of these picnics, Gustav coming over from his movie set to sit on the grass with them and eat.

“So I’ve been thinking about my latest movie,” he said.

“What about it?” Klaus asked.

“I finish it this afternoon,” he told them. “And I think I might be able to have the local cinema show it later tomorrow, a sort of premiere, if you will.”

“You’ve never done that before,” Monty remarked.

“I know,” Gustav said. “But I’d like you to come. All of you.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out five tickets.

“I had the ticketer make these as soon as I found out for certain. The best seats in the house.”

“We-” Isadora said. “Thank you.”

He smiled.

“It’s nothing, really.”

But they knew it wasn’t just nothing.

That night as they settled into their beds, Klaus whispered to the others quietly.

“I like it here.” he said.

Duncan nodded. “Me too.”

There was a silence.

“Isadora?” Duncan asked.

She smiled, in the dark where they couldn’t see.

“It’s nice. They’re nice.” 

She thought about the first day they had met, with Monty and Ink in the reptile room. 

“Odd… but nice.”

“I feel…” Klaus started. “I feel that I could live here. That this could be home.”

Isadora nodded.

“It could never, ever measure up to our homes, of course, our real homes, but Monty… Gustav… they care.”

They all thought about the two men, how they had brought them into their home, their lives, so easily, as if it was nothing. 

They wouldn’t say it, but they were also thinking of Olaf, and how he had treated them, how he had mocked them, yelled at them, hurt them. 

They care, they thought. They really care.  

The next morning Duncan woke up in darkness, his vision clouded in shades of gray.

“Huh?” he mumbled groggily. 

That was strange. The shutters were always open. It was just one of those kind things that Monty did for them, coming in early, pulling back the blinds, so they would wake up as the sun rose.

But that morning they woke up in darkness.

“Isadora? Klaus!” Duncan called out frantically, convinced for a minute that he was dreaming.

“What?” Klaus groaned, reaching out to the end table to put on his glasses.

“Duncan, what is it?”

“Do you notice anything strange?” he asked.

Klaus looked around.

“No…”

“It’s dark!”

“Duncan, did you wake us up just to tell us that it’s dark?” Isadora asked him. 

“Yes, but-”

She groaned and flopped back down on her bed, wrapping a pillow around her head.

“Hear me out!” he called. “When has it ever been dark?”

She looked at him.

“During the nighttime?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I do?”

“Wait-” Klaus interrupted. “He has a point.”

“He does?” Isadora asked.

“I do?” Duncan echoed. “I mean, yes of course I do.”

“Think about it,” Klaus said. “Monty always opens the blinds in the morning before we wake up. Only, they aren’t open now.”

Isadora sat up, her interest piqued.

“So you think that means anything?”

“Let’s find out.”

The three children tiptoed down the stairs, the house almost unnaturally quiet.

“Gustav?” Isadora called out.

“Monty?”

A sob came from the kitchen.

“In here, bambini!”

“Uncle Monty…” Duncan asked. “What’s wrong?”

The herpetologist was sitting at the coffee table, drinking a glass of what looked like alcohol, instead of his morning coffee.

His face was puffy from crying and his voice hoarse.

“Uncle Monty, where’s Gustav?” Isadora asked.

Monty let out another sob.

“I’m sorry children, I didn’t want you to see me like this. Gustav… he’s not here.”

“Wh- Where is he?” Klaus whispered.

“I’m not sure,” Monty admitted. “I- I received a letter dropped off to the front door this morning, and it-”

He took a drink from his glass.

“It said that he, erm, he was resigning. Effective immediately.”

“Did he say why?” Duncan asked.

Monty shook his head.

“No reason. Nothing.”

“That doesn’t- How long have you been working together?” Klaus asked.

Monty looked at him.

“Much too long. Children, I-”

“What is it?”

“I think something might have happened to him.”

“Something bad.”

Chapter Text

“This place is a dump,” Violet said as they came into view of the old Sallis Mansion.

Sunny agreed.

“Cerra,” she said, pointing to a sign hidden next to the gate.

“Foreclosed,” Violet read. “That’s nice. Why are we staying here again?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Beatrice said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Violet almost snorted. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” she quoted to Sunny. “That’s rich coming from her.”

Sunny looked at Violet and made a noise of acknowledgement. She didn’t know what was going on with Violet and their mother, and she didn’t want to find out. It would be better not to get involved with their drama.

They approached the gate, swiftly breaking the lock and slipping inside.

The Sallis Mansion was large, with a spacious green on either side of the path, riddled with fountains and benches and the like.

“Reen!” Sunny said, smiling. “It looks like the park!”

Bertrand smiled.

“It does, doesn’t it? Maybe we can find some toys inside.”

“I don’t know if there will be anything like that,” Lemony told them.

“A child hasn’t lived here for a while, since before I came here, maybe longer.”

“So who was the person who lived here?” Beatrice asked.

“The original owner? An old woman named Dot Sallis. But she left during the town’s decline. An actress named Dame Sally Murphy lived here a while, before her boss tied her up in the basement and flooded it as a trap for me and my friend, who tried to free her only to find that she was in league with him.”

“That didn’t happen,” Violet laughed.

He frowned. “Of course it did.”

“Yeah, right.”

They circled the building, finding an open window and slipping through, entering 

something that looked like a library.

It was the same as Lemony remembered, the shelves bare and almost devoid of books, 

Hangfire not bothering to take them with him when he removed his haphazard decorations from the home.

Besides that, though, it looked entirely different.

The mansion was moldy and smelled damp, and critters had found their way in through 

the broken window. What furniture that remained (which was little to none) had scratch 

marks and was ripped in places, stuffing falling out. 

He cringed. This was going to be interesting.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Violet quoted yet again. 

Beatrice glared.

“We’re going to need some supplies,” she said to Bertrand and Lemony.

“Lots of them,” Bertrand agreed. “We can go into town later, get the essentials.”

“Actually,” Lemony said. “I don;t know if that is a good idea. We could be recognized, all three of us.”

“Shit,” Beatrice mumbled. “Maybe if we find a disguise, we could-”

“Guys,” Violet said. “We’ve done this before. You sent me and Sunny to get groceries, remember? This’ll be fine, we can go, just in and out.”

They frowned reluctantly.

“Remember what happened last time?” Bertrand prompted.

Violet sighed,

“I promise we won't cause trouble by talking to strangers, okay. Just let us get out of here already. This place is gross.”

The adults sighed, and handed them a wad of cash, as well as a list of the things they would need to buy. It was long, and would probably take them all day.

“Well,” Violet said, pushing on the gate. “Let’s go shopping.”

“You would think Mom would be a little more specific about which foods to get,” Violet remarked.

They were inside the local grocery store, Partial Foods, trying to get the first item on their list, which just so happened to be food.

“Se,” Sunny agreed, meaning “I know, but this way we get to choose what to get!”

Violet smiled.

“I didn’t think of that.”

“So Sun,” she said, turning down an aisle. “What do you want to eat?”

For the next half hour or so, Violet and Sunny navigated the aisles of Partial Foods, picking out various sweets and hard, crunchable items for the two girls. By then their cart was bursting, and there was only one more item they wanted, carrots for Sunny.

Violet pushed the cart towards the produce section, giving a small smile to the only employee in the store as they passed, a girl about two years older than Violet, with her strawberry blonde hair tied back in a low bun.

She was talking with another customer, an old lady, and didn’t smile back when Violet met her eyes.

Well, that’s rude, she thought.

“Rots!” Sunny shrieked, picking up a bag of carrots. “Rots, rots, rots!”

Violet laughed, putting the girl out of her mind.

“I think this is the most baby-like I’ve ever seen you,” she remarked.

Sunny glared at her.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way ,” Violet quickly added. “Besides, I think we have room for one more thing in the cart, how about some honeydew?”

Sunny made a disgusted face.

“Porq?” she groaned. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“What do you mean?” Violet said, grabbing a melon and trying to put it in the cart.

Sunny moved, blocking the melon and shaking her head.

“No.”

Violet sighed.

“Can you give me one solid reason why we shouldn’t get this?”

Sunny nodded.

“Roadster,” she said. “It’s green shit.”

Violet fake gasped.

“How dare you, Sunshine Theodora Baudelaire call honeydew melons green shit?”

Sunny grinned.

“Green shit.”

Violet stumbled backwards dramatically, coming closer to the pile of melons, shaped like a pyramid towering over the store.

“Take. That. Back.” she whispered.

Sunny banged her fists on the side of the cart.

“Green shit! Green shit! Green shit!”

“Lies…” Violet mumbled. “Treachery… In fact, I think you’re hiding something… a conspiracy if you will…”

Sunny was barely keeping it together, shaking with laughter.

“Kay?” she asked. “What is it?”

Violet took a deep breath.

“I think… that YOU are the real green shit!”

Sunny shrieked, rolling around giggling as Violet came towards her, arms spread out.

“I’m going to get you, you little green piece of shit!” she yelled.

“Never!” Sunny cheered.

“Graaaaah!!” Violet came at her, lifting her out of the cart and twirling her in the air.

“I’ve got you now, Sunny! How does it feel like to be a gree-”

At that moment, Violet, not watching where she was going, crashed into the tower of melons, scattering dozens all over the floor.

“Shit,” Violet mumbled, trying to put them all back. “Shit, shit shit shit.”

Violet felt a hard on her shoulder and stiffened.

“THIEF! THIEF!” Someone shouted out from behind her. “This boy is stealing my melons!”

The grocer girl was there in an instant.

“Aunt Polly,” she said calmly, taking the old woman’s hand off Violet’s shoulder. “There is no boy, that was years ago. Why don’t you go into the back to calm down.”

“I won’t calm down until you get that thief!” Aunt Polly said to her. “He can’t get away again.”

“And he won’t,” the grocer said. “We’ll get him, I promise.”

Violet watched as the old lady walked away, giving her an angry look as she passed by.

“Thanks for that,” Violet said. “I don’t know what I would have-”

The grocer girl’s calm demeanor faded.

“Don’t play games with me,” she snapped. “I know you took a melon without paying for it and I want it back.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Violet asked.

The girl rolled her eyes.

“There are always exactly seventy melons in that stack. Now there is sixty-eight. Are you trying to tell me that’s a coincidence?”

Violet looked at the melons spread across the store.

“How did you count them that fast?”

The girl frowned even more, something Violet didn’t think was even possible.

“It’s what I do. Now, the melon?”

Violet stood up, gesturing to herself.

“Does it look like I have two melons stashed on me?”

“Not two. One.”

Violet looked at her.

“You said two were missing?”

“They are. You stole one, my sister stole the other.”

“Why the fuck would your sister steal your own stuff?” Violet asked.

“Green shit?” Sunny asked, meaning, “Why would anyone steal a fucking melon?”

Violet gave Sunny a look, being the only one to understand her comment.

The girl was speaking again.

“There are supposed to be seventy melons here. My sister stole one this morning because she likes to piss me off and thinks it's funny to have sixty-nine of them-”

Violet and Sunny stifled a giggle.

“Nice.”

She rolled her eyes.

“And now there are sixty-eight here, which means that one is missing.”

“And you think we took it?”

She gave Violet a look.

“We didn’t! In fact, I’m offended that you would think that we could steal anything.”

“Lam,” Sunny mumbled. “We’re literally on the run for stealing something right now.”

Violet gave her a pointed look and shushed her.

“Are you talking with the baby?” the grocer girl asked.

“Yeah, you got a problem with it?” Violet said.

“Depends. Is she a thief too?”

Violet rolled her eyes.

“Listen lady-”

“I’m sixteen.”

“Whatever. Now listen, I didn’t steal any of your green shit, can you just let us pay and leave?”

She stared at them one last time, as if to check for any sign of stolen goods.

“Fine. That’s 223.60”

Violet made a face.

“Um. Wow. That’s a lot.”

The grocer narrowed her eyes.

“You can pay for that, yes?”

Violet turned to Sunny and mouthed, “Can we pay for that?”

Sunny shook her head in disappointment and pulled out a fat stack of cash, handing Violet three hundred dollar bills.

“Three hundred dollar bills?” she whispered. “She already thinks we’re suspicious enough!”

Sunny shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“It is too your problem!”

“Excuse me?” the grocer asked. “I’d like to be paid now.”

“Oh, yeah sorry,” Violet said, handing her the cash.

She rang them up, Violet now close enough to get a look at her nametag. 

Petunia, she thought. Horrible time meeting you.

From the look Petunia gave them as they left the store, Violet thought the girl would agree.

They exited the store, waiting outside on the sidewalk.

“Where to next?” Violet asked, before being interrupted by the grumbling of her stomach.

She laughed. 

“I guess that answers it. You want some lunch?”

Sunny nodded enthusiastically, pointing at the closest restaurant, a diner called Hungry’s.

Violet smiled.

“Nice pick.”

The bell jingled as they walked in, everyone in the diner turning to stare at them.

“This isn’t awkward at all,” Violet whispered to her sister.

The onlookers gradually lost interest as they took two seats at the counter, a man sliding in front of them to take their order.

“Hi there, I’m Jake Knight, the owner and chef here, what can I get you two?” he said.

“We...um,”

“You can take your time, menus might help though.”

He reached out and grabbed two menus from a stack and handed them to them.

“Thanks,” Violet said.

“Grac!” Sunny shrieked.

Jake smiled. 

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, what would you like to eat?”

The Baudelaires quickly ordered, and watched as Jake prepared their food in front of them, smiling as he did so.

“Rika?” Sunny asked, as Jake sprinkled a bit of red dust over their pans.

“Paprika?” Jake guessed. “You want to know why I’m adding paprika? It’s part of the recipe, of course, a little bit of spice I like to throw in there for flair.”

Sunny smiled and nodded, before scrunching up her face in thought.

“Cayenne?” she suggested. 

“Cayenne pepper?” Jake smiled. “I like that, good idea.”

He sprinkled some on their food and held out his spoon, giving them each a taste.

“Perfecto!” Sunny cried.

He grinned.

“Perfecto indeed.”

“Sunny,” Violet said. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook. When did you learn?” 

She shrugged.

“Someone had to.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Jake said. “But did you say your name was Sunny? I think that’s a fine name.”

Sunny smiled, while Violet’s blood turned cold.

She had let her name slip. The name of her baby sister, the one person she should be keeping safe. She had told this strange man, someone they didn’t even know, her sister’s real name. 

She had fucked up. Big time.

“Mon,” Sunny whispered, elbowing Violet in the ribs and snapping her out of her panic induced spell.

“Huh?”

“Mon,” she repeated. “He asked what your name was.”

“My name?” Violet said.

Sunny nodded.

She started to panic. She couldn’t tell him her real name, a teenager named Violet and a baby named Sunny could be traced easily enough, with the right type of investigative journalist. She would have to make something up, another name. And fast.

“My name…” Violet said, a little too loudly. “My name is Pumpkin Spice.”

Sunny shrieked with laughter, eliciting a few stares. 

“Pumsi!” she screamed. “Pumpkin Spice!”

“You shut the fuck up,” Violet hissed. “We do not need this right now.”

“Pumsi…” she whispered.

What the fuck was that? Violet thought. Pumpkin Spice? Who the hell names their child Pumpkin Spice? No one, that’s who. Sunny would never let her hear the end of this. Never. She just hoped that her sister wouldn’t breathe a word of this to anyone else, especially Klaus.

Klaus. For the first time since leaving home, Violet wished that Klaus wasn’t here, if only to save her the embarrassment of his reaction to “Pumpkin Spice”. 

Now, that would be torture.

“So Sunny,” Jake said. “Miss Spice,”

Violet cringed inwardly.

“I hope you two enjoyed your meal.”

Sunny nodded vigorously.

“Cayenne!”

He laughed.

“That was a good call on your part there. Miss Spice?”

“Huh?”

“Did you like it?”

“Oh, yes! We… um have to be going now but-”

“Jake?” a voice asked. “Who’s this?”

“Oh! Sunny, Miss Spice, I would like to introduce you to my extremely intelligent and wonderful wife, Cleo Knight.

A woman stepped out from the shadows, around Jake’s age, slightly older, with short blond hair and large circular glasses. She blinked furiously as the light hit her eyes.

“So dear,” Jake said. “How are you liking the sunlight?”

She smiled. 

“Too bright.”

He laughed. 

“I think you’re too bright.”

She blushed.

“Cleo is the best chemist in Stain’d-by-the-Sea,” Jake explained. “Recently she’s been researching bioluminescent substances, and whether or not they can function as a replacement for things like lanterns and some lights.”

Cleo nodded.

“It’s very fascinating. The compound I’m focusing on at the moment actually comes from large worms that live so deep underwater that they spend their entire lives without sunlight. This makes their light so dim that I have to surround myself in complete darkness to examine it properly.”

“That sounds very interesting,” Violet interrupted. “But my sister and I should probably get going, errands to run, things to do, et cetera.”

“Well, you could always-” Jake began to say, stopping when Violet rushed out of the store holding Sunny.

“Huh.”

“What did you say their names were again?” Cleo whispered to him.

“Sunny,” he said. “Sunny and Pumpkin Spice.”

Cleo snorted.

“There’s no way that’s a real name, right?”

“Oh definitely not. They’re up to something for sure.”

“Whew, finally,” Violet said moments after they rushed out of the restaurant. “It was getting kind of awkward in there.”

“Kay?” Sunny asked. “Why? I was having a good time.”

Violet smiled.

“Of course you were Miss Chef. Meanwhile, I was dying.”

“Oh,” Sunny gasped. “Because of the Pumpkin Spice thing.”

“Breathe another word of that and I will strangle you with my own two hands,” Violet threatened.

Sunny smiled and whispered, “Pumsi,”

“Well,” Violet laughed, “I guess I have to kill you now.”

“Fera!” Sunny shrieked sarcastically. “I’m so scared!”

“You should-”

“Excuse me?” a woman said, as Violet and Sunny passed by. “Are you two aware about the possible disappearance of Lake Splotch?”

Sunny looked up at Violet.

“Lake Splotch?” she mouthed.

The woman saw that and kept talking.

“Lake Splotch is an economic stabilizer for the area, increasing our tourism industry and helping Stain’d-by-the-Sea maintain a good economy. If Lake Splotch disappears, as some believe it will without the proper intervention, it would do untold damage upon the area, both economically and physically, as a result of flood damages.”

“That sounds terrible,” Violet said. “So what exactly is Lake Splotch?”

The woman looked at them strangely.

“Lake Splotch is our Lake. It surrounds the entire island. You must have passed over it coming into town. I assume you’re tourists, correct?”

“Um... yes, we are tourists,” Violet stammered. “And you are?”

The woman smiled, and pulled a business card out of the rim of her bowler hat.

“Moxie Mallahan,” it read. “The News.”

“Well,” Violet said. “The News. Is that the News, Ms. Mallahan?”

“Moxie,” the reporter corrected. “And not all of it.”

She handed Violet a newspaper from her bag and walked off, stepping inside Hungry’s, and immediately starting up what seemed to be a conversation with Jake and Cleo.

Sunny pinched Violet’s shoulder, drawing her attention down to the paper.

“Dis?” her sister asked. “What is it?”

“A newspaper,” Violet replied. “The Stain’d Lighthouse.”

As Violet and Sunny headed farther away from the center of town, and closer to the older neighborhoods, as well as the Sallis Mansion, Violet asked her sister a question.

“How much money do we have left?” she said.

Sunny pulled out two large stacks of hundred dollar bills.

“How do we even have that much?” Violet gasped.

Sunny shrugged.

“Taters?” she suggested. “Maybe it's part of our fortune?”

Violet shook her head.

“No way. Knowing Mom and Dad it's probably stolen or counterfeit or some shit.”

She smiled.

“Either way, it gives us some spending money. Want to buy some books?”

Sunny grinned and the two raced off, looking for the nearest bookshop, one that happened to be called Books. 

The first thing Violet and Sunny noticed about Books, however, wasn’t its very literal name, but instead the state of its storefront window. 

This window was broken, a large gap in the middle of it, with pieces of glass littering the ground.

“What happened here?” Violet murmured as they neared the store, noticing books strewn out among the broken glass.

“That’s a good question,” a woman said, peeking her head out from inside.

She had very curly hair and dark skin, and was a good few inches taller than Violet, making her a tall woman, as Violet was of slightly above average height..

“My name is Florence Smith,” she said. “I run this store, and I can tell you exactly what 

happened, or more precisely, who happened.”

“You know who did this?” Violet asked.

Florence laughed.

“Oh yes, and when I get my hands on those two, I’m gonna…” 

She screamed in frustration.

“The audacity! To throw a brick through my window? It’s unheard of! I was throwing 

bricks through windows long before they were born, and with more style too. Why, they didn’t even bother to leave a note! The youth these days have no respect for proper crime.”

She looked over Violet and Sunny.

“No offense, of course.”

Violet nodded.

“No we get it. You want the criminals to respect you by doing it well.”

Florence smiled.

“Exactly. I knew I liked you two. There are three things I believe need to be in place to 

have a proper criminal, three simple things that I live by.”

“Which are?”

She smirked.

“Be gay, do crime, and most of all, have style.”

Violet smiled.

“Honorable tenants.”

“Indeed.”

“So what?” Violet asked. “Your vandals not gay enough?”

Florence snorted.

“Hardly, although they’re nowhere near as gay as my gang was back in the day. No they 

lack something almost as essential. Style, flair, creativity. Throwing a brick through a window? That’s old news, I was doing that better than they are twenty five years ago. No, now you require something more. An agenda, a purpose, a motif.”

Violet frowned.

“Noted. And yours?”

“My agenda?” she smiled. “Have you ever heard of the Mitchum Family?”

They shook their heads.

“The Mitchums are the police in this town. They’re really old, and completely useless too. Their son, Stew, was the most annoying person to ever live in this town, and that’s saying a lot. He got arrested a few years back but has a daughter that still lives here, one of the girls that broke my window.”

Before Violet could reply another woman came rushing into the shop, her light 

blond hair twisted up into sweaty knots by the miner’s helmet she wore.

This, however, was not the most remarkable thing about this woman, which would have to be the pickaxe she carried, coated, along with her hands, in a sticky green goop.

“Holy shit,” she gasped, doubling over from exertion. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week. I’m not kidding Flor, it set off the police siren and everything!”

“The siren?” Florence gigged. “Did you see their faces when they saw it?”

The woman nodded. 

“It was better than we had even imagined. Honeydew juices streaming down the windshield, bits of melon in every possible place you can imagine. At one point they turned their windshield wipers on, and it just made it worse, smearing the juices around so you couldn’t even see inside. I think this one makes the top ten for sure.”

She and Florence high fived, then quickly kissed.

“I’m sorry,” Violet said, “But who exactly are you?”

“Violet, my wife Marguerite,” Florence explained. “Marguerite, the girl I’m explaining crime to.”

Marguerite nodded. 

“M’kay cool, nice to meet you.”

Sunny waved at her.

Marguerite turned to Florence.

“Want to go into the back and fu- I mean make out?”

Florence grinned.

“Hell fucking yeah. Violet, you can take any of the books on the ground outside, if you want.”

“Thank you!” Violet called to the women. “One last question though, did you ever learn who the second vandal was?”

“Oh shit, yeah,” Florence said. “One of the Partial twins, the loud one, not the mean one.”

“I have no clue who the Partial twins are,” Violet reminded her.

“They run the grocery store, the mean one hoards the melons like gold,” she said.

Violet nodded. 

“Oh. Her.”

The two women disappeared into the back and Violet exited the store, quickly picking up a few books from the destruction, one for her, another for Sunny.

“So,” she said, walking back towards the Mansion, groceries in hand. “I guess we know who stole that second melon.”

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, ‘something bad might have happened to him?’” Klaus asked.

Monty gestured to the phone sitting next to him.

“I’ve been making calls all morning. The train station, his sister, no one’s seen him.”

“That doesn’t mean something horrible ha-” Klaus began.

A ring echoed through the house, interrupting him.

“What was that?” Duncan asked.

“I think it was the doorbell,” Isadora said.

“Tell them to go away,” Monty moaned. “I don’t want to talk to whoever it is right now.”

Klaus pulled Isadora and Duncan off to the side.

“Do you think it’s Mr. Poe? Uncle Monty said he was coming sometime this week.”

Duncan looked at the door anxiously. 

“I hope not. With Uncle Monty acting like this, I don’t know what Mr. Poe will do. For all we know, he could put us back with-” he shuddered. “Olaf.”

Isadora glared at the door.

“That’s never going to fucking happen while I’m alive.”

With Isadora in the lead, the three children approached the door. 

There was no window, so they couldn’t see on the other side, but the three 

children were almost certain it was the banker. I mean, who else could it be?

“How are you doing, Mr. Poe?” Isadora began to say, opening the door.

She paused mid sentence when she met eyes with the man on the other side, 

attempting to slam it closed.

Count Olaf grabbed a knife off his belt, jamming it to block the door from closing.

“How am I doing?’ he laughed. “Why, I’m about to become quite fortunate. ” 

Isadora said nothing, backing up into Klaus and Duncan.

“Leave us alone!” Klaus shouted.

“What are you even doing here?” Duncan asked.

He laughed again, pulling the knife out of the door frame and twanging it with his finger.

“That’s a very good question, Dandruff. You see, we have some unfinished business to 

get down to, one involving some very shiny sapphires.”

“Why do all of this just for money? What did we ever do to you to deserve this?” Klaus

cried.

Olaf stared at him for a moment, knife paused midair.

“What did you do to me? That’s the wrong question. I think you really should be asking

what I can get from you? ”

Isadora unfroze then, beginning to scream.

“Uncle Monty! Uncle Monty please come quick!” she shouted.

“Isadora…” Duncan whispered. “I don’t think he can hear us.”

Olaf smiled.

“Maybe he’ll be able to hear you if you scream louder,” he suggested, twirling his knife. “I 

can help with that.”

Klaus tugged on Isadora’s and Duncan’s sleeves, pulling them away from the door and

into the parlor, Olaf right behind them, knife in hand.

“Looking for help?” Olaf taunted, slipping into the worst Italian accent that the children 

had heard in their lives. “But a-why would you need-a help with-a Stephano?”

“Stephano?” they mumbled, looking at each other in confusion.

Olaf sighed.

“It’s-a my disguise-a!”

“Your what?”

“My disguise.”

They shook their heads.

“I’m gonna pretend to be Monty’s assistant to steal your sapphires,” he explained.

Klaus looked at him strangely, before saying, “Monty already has an assistant.”

Olaf smiled.

“I think you’ll find that is no longer a problem.”

Isadora lunged at him, but was barely held back by the boys.

“He has a knife, Isa!” Duncan cried.

“I don’t care!” she yelled. “What did you do to Gustav, you bitch!”

“Monty!” Klaus screamed. “Monty, please you have to hear this!”

Olaf stood there, waiting a few seconds, smiling.

When Monty didn’t show up he began to speak again.

“You know children,” he said. “I don’t think he can hear you. Which means that he can’t 

hear how you confused his poor-a assistant a-Stephano for your kind and generous old guardian, Count Olaf.”

“You’re Count Olaf, not Stephano! And you weren’t kind or generous in the slightest.” Duncan said.

“You are very old though,” Isadora added.

“And-” Olaf continued, staring menacingly at the two triplets. “Then he probably couldn’t hear how Stephano, so distressed and confused at being called the wrong name, dropped his large and very sharp knife, cutting off three of the little crybaby boy’s fingers.”

Duncan shivered, reflexively making fists with his fingers.

“You wouldn’t,” Isadora whispered.

“Are you sure?” Olaf replied.

“Isadora, Duncan,” Klaus said, whispering in their ears. “On the count of three we’re going to run to the Reptile Room, and lock ourselves inside.”

“But the locks don’t work!” Isadora whispered back.

Klaus looked at Olaf.

“He doesn’t know that.”

She nodded, and shifted position towards the hall where the room was kept.

“One, Two, Three! ”

They dashed out of the parlor, brushing past a stunned Olaf, who quickly came to his senses and began to chase them again, down into the hallway where the door to the reptile room was located. 

With Isadora and Duncan standing guard, Klaus quickly pretended to type in a combination, before flinging the door open and slamming it shut behind them.

They pressed their backs against the door as Olaf pushed and shoved on it, barely keeping it closed. This continued on for about a minute or so more before he suddenly stopped.

“Do you think he’s gone?” Duncan asked.

Klaus looked at the door uncertainly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “He could just be standing there waiting.”

“Well, I’m not going to wait around to find out,” Isaadora said, stealing a chair from the nearby desk and propping it up under the doorknob.

“I say we barricade him out.”

The three children grabbed all the heavy items they could find, carrying, dragging, and sliding them in front of the door.

“I think that’s all of them,” Duncan said finally, after a few moments of pause.

Isadora nodded.

“Good. We should be safe in here.”

The triplets noticed Klaus staring at the exit in dismay.

“Klaus?” they asked. “What is it?”

The boy turned towards them and gave them a panicked look.

“We forgot Monty.”

Almost immediately after stacking them, the children unstacked the items they had placed around the door, and rushed back out into the hallway, which was eerily silent.

“Monty?” Isadora shouted.

“Uncle Monty, are you okay?”

“Count Olaf?” Duncan called.

Isadora gave him a look.

“What, we want to know where he is too,”

“Children? Children, is that you?” a voice called from the other room.

“Uncle Monty!” They yelled, running towards the sound.

“Uncle Monty, thank goodness you’re alright! We thought Count Olaf had gotten you!”

“Count Olaf?” Monty said, appearing before them, his mood greatly changed, with a smile solidly plastered on his face. “Why would Count Olaf be here? No, I would like you to meet my new assistant Stephano.”

“a-Hello, I am a-Stephano,” Olaf said in his horrible accent.

“We already know who you are,” Klaus said, “You’re Count-”

He stopped when Olaf brought out his knife, moving it threateningly behind Monty’s back so the message was clear. Talk, and he dies.

“He’s Count Who, bambini?” Monty asked in that same all too cheerful tone.

“He should be an ac count able assistant,” Duncan interrupted, his eyes set on the knife in Olaf’s hand.

“Although I personally think it’s much too soon for you to get another assistant. Maybe Gustav will come back, who knows.”

Olaf almost laughed at that, dragging his finger across his neck in a sharp movement, the children barely containing their rage at his death.

Monty smiled sadly.

“I don’t know if that will ever happen, my boy. But life must go on! That’s why we’re in luck that Stephano here should show up right before our trip.”

“Our trip?” Isadora asked. “”Where are we going?”

“Why, Peru of course!,” Monty said, “I just got a telegram from an associate of mine telling me that there was a spot all opened up for us four on a reptile expedition.”

“And a-Stephano is a-coming with!” Olaf cheered.

“Exactly!” Monty exclaimed. “We’re set to leave tomorrow afternoon, right after Mr. Poe’s visit.

Olaf nodded vigorously.

“Yes, children a-go to a foreign country where a-policia cannot-a track them as easily!”

The children met each other's eyes.

“Uncle Monty,” Duncan said, “It might be a good idea to postpone the trip for a while, do 

it later, when there isn’t so much going on.”

Isadora nodded.

“Exactly. We can wait a while, after you’ve fired-” she does an imitation, “a-Stephano,”

Monty narrowed his eyes.

“Fire Stephano? I know he’s nowhere as nice as Gustav was to you three, but I would 

think that you could try to be kind to him, as a favor to me.”

Olaf nodded his head again, moving the knife slightly so they could see it better.

“Yes, yes, be nice to a-Stephano please. We wouldn’t want the young-a children 

a-hurting his feelings.”

Klaus glared at him.

“Of course not. If we were to hurt Stephano we would do much more than that.”

Olaf gave him another look but Monty just laughed, grabbing his coat off a nearby chair.

“Well, I need to go to the store to pick up a few things for our trip, so you all have a good 

time sta-”

“No!” Isadora shouted. “No, we want to go with you. To the store.”

Klaus and Duncan nodded, making statements of agreement.

Olaf scowled.

“We will all go to the-a store-a eh? Buy everything-a we need for the a-trip.”

The kids glared at Olaf while Monty grabbed his keys off the wall, and they all filed out into the driveway, the kids sitting in the back of Monty’s car while Olaf was in the front.

Monty drove them to a group of stores, somewhat like a mall, and began to divvy up the tasks.

“Stephano, you can go to the sporting goods store for the canoe-”

“And bring-a ze children with-a me of course,” Olaf nodded.

“Actually,” Monty said instead, “I thought the children could go with me, pick up some food.”

“But-” Stephano began.

“We’d love that Uncle Monty,” Duncan jumped in. 

Olaf muttered a few things under his breath before sulking off towards his other store, the kids sticking their tongues out at him as he turned.

“Uncle Monty? We think you should fire Stephano,” Klaus said, turning quickly towards his guardian the second Olaf had left.

Isadora and Duncan nodded their heads in agreement.

“Stephano is a horrible man,” she said.

“In fact,” Duncan continued. “His name isn’t Stephano at all! It’s-”

Monty made a small noise, and they noticed that he wasn’t paying attention to them, but instead to the prices for large packs of rice and other basic foods.

“Uncle Monty?” Isadora asked.

He jumped.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

She groaned as Klaus and Duncan began to finish her sentence.

“We did actually. Uncle Monty, there’s something that you need to know about-”

“Are those canned peaches buy one, get one free?”

Much to the children's chagrin, throughout the rest of the shopping trip they barely managed to get a word in, much less one about Stephano.

The entire time Monty was flighty and distracted, jumping from one thing to the next with almost fervent energy. He didn’t stop moving for a second, or anywhere close to long enough for the children to tell him about Stephano.

By the end of their shopping trip, Klaus and the Quagmires were at their last straw, and on the edge of screaming “Stephano is Count Olaf!” aloud to the entire store. 

For weeks after their time with Monty had ended, the trio had wondered if things would have ended differently if they had screamed that aloud, or made a big fuss, but the fact of the matter is, they hadn’t done either of those things and they never would. Instead they got into the checkout line with a promise to tell Monty after he finished paying.

“That will be 186.50,” the woman behind the counter said, after scanning all of Monty’s supplies.

He laughed, grabbing his wallet out of his pocket.

“Of course, of course, I-”

“Are you okay sir?” the lady asked.

“Uncle Monty?” Klaus whispered.

Monty’s head was tilted towards his wallet, a devastated expression on his face.

“I-” his voice cracked. “I forgot these were in here.”

Monty lifted up four tickets. Movie tickets. Gustav’s movie tickets.

He looked like he had been struck, just standing there, holding the tickets, frozen.

“Uncle Monty?” Duncan prompted.”Why don’t you hand us the wallet and we can finish paying while you sit down right there?”

The man slowly nodded, the tickets clutched in his hand, the knuckles white.

Klaus and Isadora worked on paying the cashier while Duncan led Monty over to a nearby bench.

“Uncle Monty?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

The man shook his head.

“No, I- No. But I shouldn’t be losing it like this, I’m the adult and-”

“It’s okay for you to be sad,” Duncan replied. “He was your best friend, you knew him for years.”

Monty smiled sadly. 

“I just love him, so, so much, and miss him even more.”

Duncan nodded.

“It’s been less than a day but I’m just so worried. And with the premiere and you three… why would he leave?”.

“I’m almost certain he’s dead.”

Duncan wished he could comfort Monty about that, tell him that Gustav was alive and well, just missing and that they would find him. But with what Olaf said earlier… he couldn’t lie to him.

“You might be right,” he said instead. “But there might be a way to honor his memory, to prevent more-”

“Honor his memory…” Monty mumbled. “The movie! We could go to his movie! All of us, Me, you, your sister, Klaus, and Stephano.”

Duncan cringed inwardly. He was going to say “There might be a way to prevent more death,” and expose Count Olaf, not get stuck with him for two hours in a darkened room.

Then he had an idea.

“Uncle Monty?” Duncan asked. “But how can we invite Stephano to the movies with us, if he doesn’t have a ticket? And wouldn’t Gustav only want the people he invited to be there?”

Duncan felt bad about using Gustav to manipulate Monty, but he honestly thought the man wouldn’t want Olaf in his theater, especially after killing him.

Monty thought for a moment. 

“An excellent point Duncan, I’m afraid he will have to see another film. I just don’t feel comfortable leaving him at home alone with my reptiles.”

But you’re fine leaving him alone with us, a voice in Duncan’s head said. He frowned and tried to ignore it. Monty cared about them, it was obvious. He was trying so hard to keep it together for them. All of this was just his mind running around in circles, lying to him. Monty cared.

With the creation of a plan, Monty seemed much more at ease and like his usual self, calmer than earlier and more engaged than he was that morning.

After a few more moments, Klaus and Isadora finished their payment and came to sit on the bench as well, all three of them sitting next to their Uncle Monty and dreading the moment when Olaf would return with the canoe and attach it to the roof of the car.

That moment came all too soon.

Chapter Text

“We’re back!” Violet called, as she and Sunny slipped through the window and into the Sallis Mansion yet again.

“Yum!” Sunny cheered. “And we brought food!”

They set their shopping bags on the ground as the adults entered, looking it over to make sure they had gotten enough.

“This should last us a few days,” Bertrand remarked hopefully. “Good job girls, I’m glad you were listening earlier.”

Violet and Sunny shared a glance. They had broken pretty much every rule that they had been told before going out, but they weren’t about to let their dad know that, especially when he thought they had actually done well .

“Yep!” Violet smiled quickly, before trying to rush out of the library and to her room.

Oh wait, her room. That would be important. 

“Hey Dad?” she asked. “Which one is my room?”

Beatrice looked up from the bags they had brought.

“We aren't going to be doing rooms here,” she told her. “This house is old and it could be dangerous.”

Violet scoffed.

“And the stuff we’ve done already wasn’t?”

Her mother ignored that. 

“If you’re looking for something to do,” Lemony added somewhat helpfully. “You could always go down to the basement, check the state of it.”

She smirked.

“And find proof of your whole ‘flooding/hostage adventure’ thing that totally for sure isn’t made up?”

“Exactly.”

“We’ll pass.” 

Violet lifted up the last bag, the one she and Sunny had filled with the books from Florence’s.

“I think we’ll just find a spot and read.”

Violet and Sunny did exactly that. Once their parents had cleared out the library, they went back inside, curling up on a bench with a ratty blanket and a ripped throw pillow they had found upstairs. 

“See, this is much better than going into a dark, damp, and bug-filled basement!” she exclaimed after a while.

Sunny shrugged.

“Sant,” she mumbled, “Better maybe, but not more interesting.”

Violet set down her book.

“So you want to go down there?”

Sunny nodded.

“Instead of reading where it’s nice and warm and not disgusting?”

She nodded again, smiling now that she knew she had gotten her way.

Violet sighed.

“Fine, but if there’s a ghost or murderer or something down there you’re the one who’s getting killed first.”

“Bala,” Sunny shrieked. “That sounds fair.”

The entrance to the basement of the Sallis mansion looked as you would imagine all entrances to creepy basements that had been abandoned for decades. Dark, scary, and absolutely fucking disgusting.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Violet asked Sunny. “There’s like a billion other things we could be doing right now that couldn’t kill us.”

“God,” Sunny laughed. “As if anything could kill me.”

The first few steps were creaky and loud, but as Violet and Sunny descended it got quieter, darker, coldler. The two girls felt like they were entering the mouth of a massive cave, rather than a simple basement.

“Do you have the flashlight?” Violet asked Sunny when they reached the bottom.

Sunny smiled. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

“Give me the flashlight, Sunny.”

The baby gave it to her.

It didn’t turn on.

Violet flipped the switch to the flashlight a few more times, cursing when it didn’t emit even a sliver of light.

Then she shook it. Nothing.

“Sunny,” Violet sighed. “Can you give me the fucking batteries, please?”

Sunny giggled, handing them over.

“It’s like you want to be eaten by a ghost down here.”

With the flashlight now working properly, the girls were able to get a clear view of the basement, and it was even worse than they had imagined. 

Any object that hadn’t been nailed down to the floor was knocked over and damaged, from entire doors to chairs, all coated in a thick layer of dust.

At some point animals had broken in, ripping up all remaining cushions and shitting on the floor, making dozens of little nests, and a big one that Violet assumed was created by raccoons.

These things, however, weren’t even the most noticeable thing about the basement of the Sallis Mansion. That would have to be the smell.

There was mold everywhere it could possibly fit, so much so that the entire space smelled wet and rotten. The walls had water stains on them that went as high as her waist, and circled the entire room. Besides the obvious water damage, there were signs of a struggle, obvious signs, things that couldn’t have been caused by animals.

There was a metal chair near the worst of the flood damage, rope surrounding it, rope that had been cut, not bitten. 

Violet frowned

“He wasn’t lying.”

“Pork?” Sunny asked. “Why would he be?’

Violet shrugged.

“It just seemed too crazy. But I guess it’s all crazy really, when you think about it. And it all really happened anyways.”

Sunny gave her a confused look.

“You don’t get it, Sun,” Violet explained. “But this , the running, the fire, the museum, it's all so fucking weird! It doesn’t fit, it doesn’t compute, It’s like I’m a whole new person and you’re a whole new person and everything before it feels so weird and distant like a dream but it’s not a dream because I have a brother and I miss him and I want to be with him right now, reading books and annoying each other rather than staying in this damp fucking basement for another fucking second and the sad thing is that not all of me wants that because this is the coolest thing to happen to me and the most exciting but also the most painful because we’re dead, Sunny, we’re dead!”

Sunny pulled closer to Violet, embracing her as she tried to comfort and calm her sister.

Violet hugged Sunny back, and began to whisper something.

“Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if we really did die, if this is some sort of hallucination or fever dream or I’m just dead and that’s why I feel so wrong. Because I know it’s wrong. It’s wrong for me to miss my brother so much and to also be having fun, but it’s also wrong because I don’t know what’s going on, I never know what’s going on and how can I even know what to do when mom won’t even fucking tell me what’s happening? She thinks that because I'm a child, because I’m her child , then she gets to know things for me, make choices for me, but it’s all bullshit! I don’t understand anything! I don’t get why we have to be over here, and Klaus has to be over there, with that Montgomery dude mom said he went to. I don’t understand anything and I’m tired of the secrets and I’m tired of her, and one day I just think I’m going to blow up and scream, just yell and cry and beg for her to listen to me, to treat me as a person, not a fucking child. I just want a choice in all of this, not even that, just an explanation! I just want-”

Violet stopped her tirade after a bite from Sunny, who had been trying to help her all through Violet’s confession.

She had no clue her sister was feeling that way, so confused, and angry. I mean sure, she knew that she was unhappy with their mom and that she wanted to understand some things, but not like that. That was something different.

In the silence following the end of Violet’s speech, the two girls heard a noise from upstairs, a shout, followed by another similar shout.

They exchanged looks, before taking off running towards the stairs. Something was happening.

Moxie Mallahan prided herself on her investigative skills.

From a young age she had always been good at locating secrets, knowing where to look for things. Actually getting to the information was a bit harder, but those kinds of things were like bubbles of air, trapped beneath the surface of a pond. After enough time they would rise up, breaking free with a pop.

The two girls walking around town earlier? They were a pop just waiting to happen.

Moxie had been suspicious of them immediately. 

They obviously weren’t townsfolk, not with their scant knowledge of the area, and they weren’t tourists either, not by the large amount of food they were carrying. That put them in the middle, and the middle was suspicious. 

Especially when they were ringing all the bells of her worst nightmare. 

Intelligent children being independent and walking alone through town wouldn’t have been suspicious to any other person, wouldn’t have scared any other person, but her. 

And she was scared, dreading the moments that came next if her suspicions were correct. She knew that the Volunteers wouldn’t leave Stain’d alone forever. 

Her mind had to stop doing these things. A million thoughts, a million worst case scenarios were rushing through her mind faster and faster, as she practically ran away from the children and into Hungry’s.

And it kept getting worse.

Apparently the kids had just left Jake and Cleo’s, and there they had set off even more alarms, acting panicked and giving away horrendously fake names.

It was proof she wasn’t crazy. This was really happening. And it was her fucking job as a journalist to find the truth..

Although maybe waiting a bit would have helped.

She was crouched down in the bushes outside the Sallis Mansion, where she had followed the children to earlier. She had no clue how many people were inside but from her prior experience it wouldn’t be more than three, the two children and their adult “chaperone.” 

Admittedly, she didn’t have much of a plan besides “go inside and tell them that they're not welcome here” but it was good enough, and if she needed to she could ask some others for help rousting them. Either way, Stain’d-by-the-Sea was a cult free zone. They had learned their lesson years ago.

And now it was time for Moxie to teach these people theirs.

She moved out of the shadows, sticking close to the wall as she neared the window she had seen the girls slip in through about an hour ago. 

She clambered in, landing in a barren library of some sort, one she vaguely remembered from her excursion here when she was younger. 

This was really not going to be pleasant.

She quietly began to stalk the house, looking for anyone to talk to (she couldn’t just yell for people to come find her, that could make them run)

While waiting outside she didn’t fully grasp how awkward this would be, but it was too late now, she just-

As Moxie turned around the corner, she crashed into someone, a man she didn’t recognize, knocking them both (and his glasses) to the floor.

“Here you go,” she began to say, handing his glasses back to him, before she remembered what she was here to do.

He began to thank her as well, before also remembering where he was, his eyes widening as he started to yell.

“Beatrice! L-”

“Wait!” she said, scrambling to her feet before him. “I’ve come to tell you something.”

He looked at her oddly before she continued.

“I’ve come to say that I saw your apprentices in town earlier, and that you, and them, can’t be here. This town isn’t involved with any of your secret shit. You need to take them and leave.”

Bertrand stared at her in confusion. Apprentices? Secret shit? Then it hit him. This lady thought they were part of VFD.

“I’m here, what’s wrong?” Beatrice asked, racing around the corner.

The intruder’s eyes widened as she appeared, it looked like she wasn’t expecting so many of them.

“You-” Moxie stammered, before regaining some semblance of composure. “Your people aren’t welcome here.”

Bertrand and Beatrice shared a look. They had no fucking clue what this lady was talking about, or rather, too many clues.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more clear on why we need to leave,” Beatrice said. “We’re problematic for a lot of reasons.”

“You organization,” she tried again. “Isn’t allowed in Stain’d-by-the-Sea, and won’t be anytime soon.”

Beatrice and Bertrand shared a laugh.

“You misunderstand, we aren’t part of that organization, at least, not anymore. So this town being free of them? Not a problem. In fact, it’s more like the opposite.”

She paused for a moment, almost considering.

“What’s with the children?” Moxie asked finally.

They were about to reply when they heard a sound from behind them, in the stairway to the basement.

“Ow, fuck! You’re pulling my hair!”

“Crite!”

“You don’t need a better view, and besides, I can’t see anything either!”

Beatrice sighed and kicked open the door the girls were hiding behind.

“Ask them yourself.”

Violet and Sunny guiltily looked up at the adults, Sunny’s tiny fists wrapped around huge chunks of Violet’s hair, in a sort of Remy the Rat style thing..

“Um… Hey guys,” Violet said awkwardly. “What’s up?”

“This lady wanted to know why you were being suspicious in town earlier today,” Bertrand answered.

“Lady? Oh! You mean Ms. Mallahan!”

“Sorry, who?” Beatrice asked.

“She means me,” Moxie answered.

“How do you even know this lady?” Bertrand asked. “Wasn’t the one thing we told you not to talk to strangers?”

Violet paused for a moment.

“On second thought, you did say that, yes.”

Beatrice sighed.

“How many other people did you talk to?”

‘One, two,-”

“Seven!” Sunny answered.

“Seven? How did you even… Just, nevermind. Can you tell Ms. Mallahan that you two aren’t apprentices trying to do… whatever she thinks you’re going to do?”

“Murder,” Lemony whispered, finally entering the room. “Among other things.”

Moxie stiffened.

“Snicket.”

“Hi Moxie. What’s the news?”

She gave him a pointed look, ignoring the question.

“I never thought you’d dare to set foot here again.”

“Wait, you knew you weren’t welcome here when you-”

“Beatrice, please.” Bertrand said, putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s important right now.”

“Important my ass.”

“Shh! Sunny can hear!”

“You’re dead,” Moxie told him. “You have been for fifteen years.”

Lemony smiled sadly. 

“It didn’t take, I'm afraid.”

She gave him a look.

“I guess karma isn’t real, then.”

Lemony looked almost hurt.

“I didn’t- he wasn’t- He was a bad person Moxie, and in the end I didn’t…”

She didn’t look convinced.

“It’s still murder. It’s still evil.”

He sighed.

“You’ve always seen things print in black and white.”

“I own a newspaper.”

He laughed. 

“Yes, you do. I read it once. Quite good.”

They met each other’s eyes.

“So Moxie Mallahan, what are you going to do next?”

Her mouth moved into a determined line as she formulated a plan.

“The right thing.”

“Which would be?”

“Asking for help.”

“Help?” Violet interrupted.

Moxie nodded.

“I’m going to need you all to come with me.”

Chapter Text

They eat dinner before heading to the movies.

It’s nothing fancy, just some Chinese ordered in so they wouldn’t have to pay for overpriced concessions, but Olaf took this as an opportunity, a time to make threats before the children would get to be alone with Monty in the theatre.

As soon as they all sat down at the table, Olaf’s knife was out, nicking their legs just out of Monty’s sight. First went Duncan, then Isadora, then Klaus winced as Olaf dragged the blade across his skin, just enough to hurt, but not bad enough for a noticeable mark.

“Are you okay over there?” Monty asked, mouth full of fried rice.

The knife pressed deeper into Klaus’s leg, until he was almost certain it had drawn blood.

He put on a strained smile and shook his head.

“It’s nothing, just scared by a fly, that’s all.”

Olaf nodded, taking some pressure off the knife.

“Back in a-Italy we had a saying about the fly-a,”

Isadora rolled her eyes at the horrible accent.

“Is it ‘you catch more flies with honey, than with vinegar?’”

“What? No. It’s A fly is never as fast as the-a fly swatter.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Klaus said. “Flies are actually very fast, it normally takes a few tries to catch them, at the least.”

Olaf met his eyes and smiled, the boy's eyes widening as he realized that he was meant to be the fly in that analogy.

“Well, with all this talk of flies, it might be time for us to fly as well!” Monty laughed, in the strained manner he had put on since Gustav disappeared.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Isadora said. “Don’t you agree, Stephano? We really ought to get going.”

Olaf shot her a dark glance before smiling.

“Of course, Isabella,”

“Isadora,”

“In fact, I may-a accompany you to a-the theatre.”

“Oh, Stephano, you’re too kind,” Isadora replied. “But we probably don’t want to leave the reptiles alone for too long, right guys?”

“Yeah,” Klaus added. “With the trip to the store earlier, it’s already been a lot for them.”

Duncan nodded, trying to think of something to add.

“Confetti has separation anxiety!”

“What the fuck is a Confetti-” Olaf started before noticing Monty staring at him. “I mean, of course-a, I would love to a-help this Consweaty of yours. In fact, maybe they could a-join us at the movies.”

Monty nodded. 

“That sounds like a great idea, I had no idea Confetti was having problems, you children are so observant. Duncan, why don’t you go grab them from the Reptile Room?”

Duncan met eyes with his sister, who nodded ever so slightly. They would be fine, he was just leaving for a few seconds.

They just had to get through the car ride, then they would have time alone with Monty. He would learn about Olaf, and they would vacation in Peru while he rotted in jail for his crimes. 

It would all work out, it had to. He didn’t know if he could survive having Olaf as a guardian again.

The reptile room was dark when he entered.

“Confetti?” he called out.

He was answered by a series of hisses and croaks, as well as his own echo, but no telltale flap of wings upon his head.

“Confetti?” he called out again weakly.

“Confetti, are you there?”

He stuck his hand out, feeling around for the switch. 

With the lights on, he could see all the animals in their homes, save for Ink, who was curled up on the floor by an open cabinet.

“Ink?” Duncan called, “Ink what are you doing over there? I-”

His heart stopped as Ink slithered to the side, revealing what they were hiding.

Confetti.

Confetti was laying there on the floor, next to the venom cabinet, two large holes piercing their stomach.

“ Confetti! ” Duncan yelled, rushing to their side. “Confetti please, don’t be dead, please, Confetti!”

Confetti didn’t stir.

Duncan began to cry as Ink curled up next to him, comforting him.

Confetti was dead. Worse, Confetti was murdered.

There were two holes in their stomach, like the fangs of a snake, but Duncan knew the snakes here, they wouldn’t do anything like this. There was only one man he knew capable of this unbiased cruelty.

Olaf.

Olaf killed Confetti and he didn’t even know their fucking name!

He was a monster.

He killed Confetti, and almost certainly Gustav, and hurt Isadora and- and-

And Duncan was going to make sure that they got justice. 

Gently picking up Confetti’s body, Duncan placed them inside their cage, pulling a loose scrap of fabric over them as a blanket, or shroud of sorts. They were going to get a proper burial when they got back, he swore it.

But now he had to go to the movies and lie his ass off.

It was almost impossible to sit next to Olaf on the way to the theatre.

He had told the group some excuse about how Confetti was sleeping and he didn’t want to wake her up, pretending that she was still alive.

It hurt him to fib to his sister and best friend, because that’s what Klaus was now, his best friend, but Duncan knew them, and if Isadora found out what Olaf did she would launch herself at the man in a second, probably wrecking the car in the process.

No. He would wait until they got to the theatre, until they were alone.

He would break their hearts then.

They had to stop at the ticket booth before they could go in.

It was occupied by an older man, who talked with Monty through the speaker in his booth.

“A Sebald, eh?” he said when he saw the tickets. “Were these purchased with the Verified Film Discount?”

Klaus and Isadora shared a suspicious glance. A weird question to ask, but it was probably nothing.

Monty let out a hollow laugh.

“I don’t think so, Victor. We’ll just have to wait and see I guess.”

The ticketeer nodded, and waved them through, leaving Stephano to order tickets on his own.

The children hung back for a few seconds to make sure Olaf was truly in a different movie.

“One seat for A Snake in the Grass,” they could hear him say.

The ticketeer hummed for a moment in thought before replying.

“I’m sorry, the premiere for A Snake in the Grass is by reservation early. If you don’t have a ticket, you’ll have to see something else.”

Olaf cursed, and the children giggled. 

“What other movies are there?” Olaf mumbled.

“Our only other feature at this time is The Littlest Elf 2: Adventures in Fairyland. Would you like a ticket for that?”

He cursed again and forked over some cash as Klaus lost it inside.

“He- He’s-” he tried to choke out over his laughter.

“I know!” Isadora said, before devolving into laughter as well “But you have to stop- we have to-”

Duncan forced a small smile as he caught up with Monty. He didn’t think he could smile right now, much less laugh.

He needed to tell them. He would, once they were in the theatre. He had to. It wouldn’t be right to stay silent any longer.

Klaus and Isadora followed behind, letting out another giggle as they watched Olaf stumble into Theatre One, where his movie was being shown.

Duncan just kept up with Monty, following behind him as they entered Theatre Two.

“We should be in row F, the middle five- er, four seats.”

He nodded, following behind his guardian.

“Are we early?” Klaus asked, as they took their seats.

Monty shook his head.

“No, we should be just about on time, why?”

He gestured to the empty theatre.

“There's no one else here.”

Monty pulled the tickets out, looking them over.

“That can't be right,” he mumbled.

“How many people live near here anyways?” Isadora rationalized. “I'm sure the others are just a little late, even though we may be one of the only ones here.”

They nodded. That made perfect sense, the others were just a bit late.

The others weren't late.

In fact, by the time the previews ended, they were still the only ones in the theatre, leaving them alone to see the final creation of their dead friend and guardian.

The movie started out in a field of grass, soft music speeding up as Ink appeared, slithering towards the camera.

Duncan let himself smile the smallest of bits.

This was good, he could get through this. They would watch Ink flounder around in the weeds for a bit and then he would tell them about Confetti, and then Olaf.

He was going to be okay.

And then he saw Gustav.

Ink was crawling in front of the camera now, towards a tent which Duncan recognized as the one they had set up in Monty's backyard days earlier.

The set looked nothing like the place he remembered. As if by magic, Gustav had created a place miles away from civilization from a simple backyard, much less one that reeked of horseradish all hours of the day. It was talent, plain and simple. From the way they had angled the camera, to lights he knew were hidden above, it was undeniable that Gustav was skilled.

As Ink drew closer to the tent, Duncan saw more movement, that of a person.

His heart clenched.

Gustav.

Gustav didn't turn until the last possible second, right after Ink let out a scripted hiss.

He jumped, swinging around, and he felt everyone's hearts stop as they saw his face.

Ever in character, Gustav let out an undignified shriek as he jumped back like a cartoon, turning tail for the edge of the woods, where Duncan knew Monty would be waiting.

Monty.

Duncan turned towards the man on his left, seeing how he was holding together.

Monty's eyes were red, his knuckles white, as he gripped onto his armrests with everything he had.

The man was moments away from falling apart.

Duncan placed a hand on his arm as the scene continued, a frantic Gustav running face first into Monty’s character, who was quickly emerging from the woods.

Gustav fell down, and he heard Monty, his Monty, gasp quietly as he helped the man up onscreen.

“Hey,” Duncan whispered. “It’s okay. Do you want to leave?”

Monty met his eyes, wet with tears.

“No, Gust- He wanted us to be here. I’ll be fine.”

Duncan nodded, not believing a single word he said.

The film continued on as Monty cried, a story about two herpetologists and their comedic encounters with a rare snake. It was lighthearted, and funny, but Monty was the only one who reacted, his empty laughter echoing throughout the theatre, an eerie version of an already unnerving sound.

It was everything Monty would have loved in a movie, Duncan realized, so perfect it was almost if it was made for him alone. Everything his Uncle enjoyed in the world, Snakes and jokes and Gustav, but twisted by the grief still fresh in their minds. 

The movie continued on like that, Monty and Gustav’s characters trying to capture Ink (and failing miserable each time), to the point where about halfway through, the snake had turned on them, now harassing the two herpetologists.

It reminded Duncan of a cartoon that Quigley and Isadora used to like when they were younger, one about a rat and a kitten who kept fighting without end. He had never liked it much, thought the constant violence boring and repetitive, although maybe that was because the network seemed to always play the same episode over and over, he wasn’t sure. 

But they liked it, forcing him to sit next to them on the couch and watch it with them every Saturday morning on the little old television their father had gotten them one day.

But Quigley was dead now, as well as their father, and that little television had burnt to ash, just like the rest of his home.

He really should just try to get through this movie. After that they could tell Monty about Olaf and everything would be okay. He had to believe that.

Duncan sat there as Ink continued harassing the two men, at one point holding two knives at the same time, one in his mouth, the other with his tail, all while chasing them through the woods. By the time the climax started, he had practically zoned out, barely noticing as all the reptiles of the reptile room came onscreen, as part of Ink’s animal army.

“Look, it’s Confetti!” Isadora whispered in his ear, as his heart stilled.

“How did she know? He didn’t tell her about the body yet, and-”

His gaze rested on the screen.

Oh.

Confetti flew across Monty’s backyard in the movie, landing on Monty’s head with a chirp.

“You should have brought them,” Isadora said. “I bet she would be excited to see herself onscreen.”

He swallowed.

“Yeah.”

His sister put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a concerned look. 

“Hey, are you okay? You’ve been acting strange ever since we left.”

He faked a smile and nodded.

“Yeah, I’m just going to step out for a moment, get some air, y’know?.”

She nodded.

“Come back soon, the movie’s almost over and we need to talk to Monty.”

He needed to talk to all of them.

Duncan faked another smile and left, pointedly avoiding Klaus’s concerned glance as he walked by. 

He was going to do it, he was going to tell them. It was going to be okay, he just needed some space to build up the courage before facing them.

The door to theatre two fell open, and he blinked at the blinding lights.

“Having trouble seeing, Daffodil?” a voice said from somewhere nearby. “Maybe you should be the one I keep calling Glasses.”

Duncan froze, heart pounding as Olaf slid behind him, cutting off his escape back into the theatre.

“What?” he said, picking at his dirty fingernails. “Movie not good? Sebald was always too pretentious for my tastes, if we’re being honest.”

Duncan glared at him.

“The movie’s fine. And Gustav’s good at what he does.”

Olaf smirked.

“I believe you mean was,” he said. “I made sure of that, don’t you remember?”

 “You’re evil.” Duncan whispered. “You killed Gustav, then Confetti, and for what? Our Sapphires? Well you’re never going to get your hands on them, not while we’re still alive.”

He froze as Olaf whispered in his ear.

“ Who said anything about you living?”

Duncan shoved him away, beginning to run down the hallway towards the exit.

“You’re sick! You’re repulsive! You’re going to rot in jail for all you’ve done!”

“I’d quiet down if I were you,” Olaf said following him slowly, “You’re going to attract attention.”

Duncan was at his wit’s end now. He made it to the main hallway, and ran up to the snack counter, where there was a single employee, back turned, making popcorn.

“Good!” he called. “I want attention. Help, help! This man threatened me! He’s a murderer and a”

“And an arsonist?” the hook-handed man finished, turning around, a large tub of popcorn in his hooks.

“Or do you mean a liar?” the bald man said, entering the lobby from behind.

“He’s also an impostor,” one of the white faced women said. 

“And a thief.” the other added.

“I thought he was an actor,” the henchperson of indeterminate gender muttered as they too entered the lobby and began to surround Duncan.

“I am all of those things, and more!” Olaf cried.

A circle of henchpeople dressed as employees closed in on Duncan, trapping him there.

“What did you do to the people who work here?” he whispered after a moment. “Did you kill them too?”

Olaf laughed.

“This one thinks we killed the staff!”

The henchpeople paused.

“But Boss, we did kill the staff,” the hook handed man whispered.

Olaf glared at him. 

“We killed the old man, I don’t think one person counts as staff.”

“Technically, any number of people can be staff members, as long as they work at the establishment in question,” the henchperson added helpfully.

Olaf glared at them.

“So we did kill the fucking staff! Fine!”

“Not fine!” Duncan yelled. “Very not fine! You murdered an old man, one who had done nothing against you, for no reason! You’re despicable, and a bad person!”

“ You’re despicable, and a bad person!” Olaf mocked in a nasally voice. “Oh, please! Victor wasn’t innocent, he was just as guilty as the rest of them!”

“The rest of who?”

Olaf gave him a look.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Duncan would like to know, but he wasn’t about to tell Olaf that. In fact, right now he wanted nothing more than to get out of here, and go running back to the theatre and the people he loved.

“You’re going to go to prison,” he said instead. “All of you.”

The hook handed man scoffed.

“Sure, kid.”

Duncan looked up at him.

“Yes, I’m sure. Because I’m going to go back into that theatre, and we’re going to tell Uncle Monty everything, about Olaf and the rest of you. Then when we leave here tonight, he’s going to go to the police, and get you all arrested. And while you sit there, rotting in jail for the rest of your lives, however long they may be, we’re going to be vacationing in Peru with the tickets Monty bought before all of this started.”

Olaf walked closer.

“Peru, eh? Is that what you think is going to happen to you, sitting on the beach every day, drinking Piña Coladas in the sun?”

Duncan gave him a look. Did this man know a singular thing about the nation of Peru?

But Olaf wasn’t finished.

“You think that with us gone, everything is going to be all sunshine and rainbows for the little Quagmires? You think that you’ll spend all day with your dear old Uncle Monty, looking at snakes and turtles and whatever the fuck he studies? You’ve got another thing coming.”

Duncan took a step forward as well.

“What do you know, you’re the real problem here! With you gone we can do anything we want, and we’ll never get hurt again!”

Olaf laughed.

“Sounds delightful. Very Fucking Delightful, indeed.”

He was close enough now to Duncan, close enough to reach out and touch him, which he did, his hand hovering so close to the boy’s face that he could see the dirt caked under his fingernails, a clay so red he wondered if it was really dirt.

Duncan cringed, scared Olaf would slap him again, as he had done the night of the dinner, but was only met with a hard flick, and a shove against his shoulder as he was pushed down the hall back towards the theatre.

“Go on then,” Olaf said, “Go back to your Uncle Monty, tell him everything.”

Duncan gave him a strange look. Was this some sort of trap? Either way, he was glad to go, and started walking back down the hall towards his family.

“Oh!” Olaf hollered. “I almost forgot!”

Duncan cringed. What did he want now?

“Tell your sister that she should cover up a bit better, those big bruises don’t do any favors for her little neck.”

The room went still.

“If I were her I’d want to invest in a scarf of some sort, or maybe even a choker. Who knows what the future can hold, don’t you agree? ”

Duncan barely stopped himself from flinging himself at the man right there. If he was like Isadora, or even Klaus, he probably would have, but he was Duncan, and so he stayed still, the blood pumping through his veins a deafening drumbeat.

Duncan looked up, his eyes meeting Olaf’s for the final time that night.

“I will, and while we’re on the subject, you could do with some jewelry yourself. Metal Bracelets, I heard, are quite in style where you’re heading.”

Olaf sneered, but Duncan barely saw it as he had already turned around, the doors of Theatre Two slamming shut behind him as he slumped down on the other side and began to cry.

Holy shit.

Did he just do that?

Standing up to Olaf alone, yelling at him while surrounded by his goons… it was like he was a completely different person, someone more like Isadora, like Quigley.

Quigley would be more useful than I am right now, his mind whispered.

Duncan shook it off.

You’re lying , he thought back. You don’t actually think that. Look at what you just did! If anything, Quigley would be proud of you for all you’ve done! Running away from home, hitchhiking on the back of a strange truck, standing up to Olaf, all of it! Well, he would be for the first ten seconds or so, after that he would beat Olaf’s ass to a pulp, but still! You. Did. Good.

He repeated that thought over and over, until Isadora and Klaus had started exiting the theatre, Monty sobbing a few steps behind them as he clutched tight to something in his left hand.

You. Did. Good.

They didn’t get a chance to tell Monty about Olaf that night. For years afterward, the three children would wonder if that would have changed anything, if they could have stopped what was coming, but deep down they knew that it wouldn’t. Their Uncle was too distressed to listen, sobbing even louder than before as he reached under his seat for the package that came along with the message encoded in the bells that marked the end of Gustav’s movie.

Chapter Text

The first place Moxie took them was to the diner.

The sign on the door was flipped closed, but that didn’t stop her, as she led them to take a seat at the counter.

“Stay here,” she told them, moving behind the bar. “I’m going to find Jake and Cleo, and if you move, the whole town will be after you.”

The second after Moxie left, Beatrice turned to Lemony.

“ What the hell, Lem?” she hissed.

The man groaned, and folded his head in his hands.

“I didn’t think they’d find us here.”

“ They? Well now they’re talking about a mob in the streets!”

Bertrand put a hand on both of their shoulders. 

“She’s probably just exaggerating. Although I think we’re all wondering what you did exactly to get this kind of treatment.”

Lemony sat up, staring off into the distance.

“It’s a long story.”

Beatrice snorted.

“Descriptive.”

“Like you give us details on the things you’ve done.”

“The things I’ve done? Half the time you were right there with me!”

“Guys, how about we-” Bertrand tried to interject.

“ What?” they both snapped.

He flinched.

“We’ve got an audience.”

The adults turned to see a group of people staring at them from the doorway to the back.

“Jake. Cleo.” Lemony said quietly.

Cleo smirked, crossing her arms. 

“So it’s true.”

He lifted his hands sarcastically.

“Lemony Snicket, at your service.”

The man, Jake, kept staring.

“I thought you hated that book.”

Snicket shrugged.

“You thought a lot of things.”

Jake gave him a soft smile.

“Still do. We should get heading to the library.”

“They rebuilt it?”

“Better than the original.”

Lemony gave him a soft smile back.

“Then it’ll be nice to see it.”

Not waiting for a cue to move, Moxie brushed past, almost knocking Snicket off his stool as she passed.

“Make sure the kids come too,” she said, the door of Hungry’s slamming shut behind her.

“Well Ms. Spice,” Jake said, giving Violet a look. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Ms. Spice?” her father mouthed at her.

Violet winced.

“You don’t want to know.”

They walked silently across town, no one saying a word under the weight of Moxie’s frustration, as well as the difficulty of matching her pace.

Finally, she stopped, in front of an old building, which Lemony recognized as the old library/police station, before turning around to look at the group, a familiar expression on her face.

“Listen up,” she said, looking the way she did when he forgot her at the library during his search for Cleo. “I had Jake round up some people that knew you, and we’re going to decide what to do with you and your friends, okay Snicket?”

Lemony nodded slowly, not really sure of what he thought of the idea. He had left Stain’d pretty quickly after the uh.. Incident and never really stayed around to see anyone’s reaction. It would be interesting, however unpleasant, and as long as his enemies didn’t get wind of this meeting, they should be fine. Hopefully.

He was startled back to attention by the feeling of metal in his hands and the sound of arguing.

“Are you insane?” Beatrice shouted. “You can’t do this, you have no legal right! This- this is kidnapping!”

“When have your people ever cared about the law?” Moxie scoffed. “And kidnapping? You’re accusing me of kidnapping? Why don’t you-”

“Stop!” he shouted.

They turned to look at Lemony.

“ What?”

He sighed.

“Will someone please tell me why I’m handcuffed?”

Moxie straightened up.

“It’s to keep you from escaping.”

He gave her a look.

“Really? Handcuffs? Where the fuck did you even get handcuffs?”

“That’s actually a good question,” Cleo added. “Where did you get handcuffs and would that same source also be able to get someone other things along those lines… something like a gun?”

Jake turned to look at his wife.

“Cleo, honey. I love you, but honestly, why the fuck would you ever need a gun?”

She shrugged.

“Chemistry.”

“How does that have anything to do with-”