Chapter Text
“Now, Baudelaires,” Mr. Poe said as his car jostled down the street, “I know you wanted very much to stay in the village of fowl devotees, but I’m afraid the village people were no longer interested in taking in three children. But rest assured, your next guardian has sworn up and down that he wants nothing more than to care for you.”
“No offense, Mr. Poe,” said Violet, not meaning it, “but a few of our guardians have said that.”
“The last one said that too, and she threw us down an elevator shaft,” said Klaus, hastily putting his arm in front of Sunny as they turned a sharp corner. The youngest of the Baudelaires, Sunny was nestled carefully between her two siblings. This wasn’t exactly safe, but Mr. Poe had not considered the fact that Sunny might need a car seat.
“Yes,” hummed Mr. Poe, “I still have no clue why on earth she did that. Quite an odd woman.”
“ Obav! ” cried Sunny indignantly, which meant something like ‘she did that because she’s a villain who works with Count Olaf!’ Mr. Poe frowned and looked at the Baudelaires in the windshield mirror.
“Well, I haven’t a clue what ‘obav’ means, but I do know that this next guardian is very promising! And there are other children in the house! Won’t it be nice to have someone to talk to other than adults for once?” The Baudelaires all looked at each other doubtfully. It certainly did sound nice to have someone their age to talk to, but they had had kids their age. The Quagmires, who had been kidnapped by Count Olaf and their previous guardian, a villainous woman named Esme Squalor, had still not been rescued, and the Baudelaires weren’t too keen on making new friends until their old ones had been returned safe and sound. But the Baudelaires all knew Mr. Poe would find such a statement overdramatic, so they said nothing.
Mr. Poe turned sharply around another corner (and both Violet and Klaus reached to stop their baby sister from tumbling out of her seat,) mumbling something to himself about nearly missing that turn. He had pulled onto another street lined with oak trees. It was quite a nice street. There were a few other houses dotted along the path. Most of them looked very similar, all washed-out brick, white fences, and blossoming gardens. They reminded the Baudelaires of the house of someone who had not been their guardian, but the Baudelaires sorely wished had been. It was an odd, nostalgic feeling. It felt like a very long time ago that this had all started. At the end of the street, Mr. Poe pulled onto a driveway that was much longer than the others on the street. It was secluded from the rest of the way, hidden by foliage, and lined with trees. The gravelly road led up to a gate, at which Mr. Poe stopped the car and instructed the children to get out.
“Well, that’s odd,” Mr. Poe said and tilted his head as he approached the gate. “I don’t suppose this is unlocked-”
“Can I help you?” Both Mr. Poe and the Baudelaires startled at the sudden presence of another voice. All eyes turned to look at the source. It was a boy. He looked to be about Violet’s age, or at least not much older. He was sitting under a tree in the yard on a sky-blue quilt, there was a sketchbook propped open in his lap and a set of watercolor paints beside him (not on the blanket, of course.) He stood and set his sketchbook aside, then approached the gate.
“Ah, hello there,” Mr. Poe said, smiling at the boy, who did not smile back. “My name is Mr. Poe, I’m here to drop off the Baudelaires.” The boy’s brow furrowed slightly, as though he’d been told something unpleasant.
“Oh, right, Uncle Nick said you’d be by today.” Mr. Poe blinked at the boy.
“Uncle Nick? I must have the wrong house because I’m looking for Nicholas Benedict.” The Baudelaires looked at each other once again. They’d already gathered that Uncle Nick was Mr. Benedict.
“Uncle Nick is Mr. Benedict,” the boy said, unlatching the gate’s lock and pulling it open for them. Mr. Poe ushered the children in and the boy smiled at them. “You must be the Baudelaires.”
“Yes, we are,” Violet said, “I’m Violet, and these are my siblings Klaus and Sunny.” The boy held out a hand and the Baudelaires and Mr. Poe each took turns shaking it (Sunny grabbed his finger and shook that instead, because her hands were too small for a proper handshake.)
“I’m SQ, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Mr. Poe tilted his head at SQ.
“What an interesting name, it’s just letters.” SQ frowned and looked at Mr. Poe.
“All names are just letters. Mine happens to only be two.” SQ said matter-of-factly, a phrase which here means ‘with a tone that made it clear he didn’t want to discuss his name anymore.’ Then he gathered his paints and sketchbook and made a beckoning motion with his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you to the house.” He started down the path that cut across the lawn and led to the house. The house itself was quite large, it sat on a slightly hilled portion of the yard. The first floor was lined with cobbled stone and the second was with a dark wood that matched the roof, intersected by squares of lighter wood. The Baudelaires scanned the house carefully, taking in every detail that they could, should they need to come up with a plan later. Which, I am terribly sorry to say, they would. But not quite yet.
SQ led them up to the porch. It was covered in an overhang and stretched across the front of the house. There was a round wooden table on the spacey front porch with two wicker chairs. On the table was a chessboard. The pieces were scattered about, appearing to have been abandoned mid-game. The front doors, which SQ went to push open, were made of the same dark wood as the roof and the second floor. There was a large knocker on the front, made of the same brass as the doorknobs. Though the knob of the door appeared to be much more tarnished from use than the knocker. SQ stepped inside, leaving the door hanging wide open so the Baudelaires and Mr. Poe could peer inside. From what the children could see, the house had some very interesting décor choices. The walls were covered in green plaid and spotted with paintings. The front hall was crammed with boots and coats. It seemed there were a few more kids than the Baudelaires had been expecting.
“Uncle Nick,” SQ called, now standing in the hallway with one hand cupped around his mouth like a megaphone, “the Baudelaires are here!” After a moment, a voice sounded from another part of the house, not far from the front hall.
“Oh, excellent! Is Mr. Poe here as well?” The voice called. It was a male voice. Presumably belonging to Mr. Benedict. SQ called back a confirmation, and the voice sounded once again. “Perfect, would you bring them in here, my dear?”
“Sure thing!” SQ called back once again, then turned back to the Baudelaires and Mr. Poe. He blinked, seeming perplexed that they were still standing outside. “Come on in! Mr. Benedict is in the kitchen, probably making tea. Do you guys like tea? I hope so, we drink it a lot here. Oh, and shoes need to be off, there’s a shoe rack there,” the Baudelaires and Mr. Poe quickly set about taking their shoes off
“We do,” Violet said, helping Sunny out of her shoes after having taken off her own, “our parents drank tea a lot.” SQ grinned at her and motioned for them to follow him once again. The kitchen was not too far away, but on the way there, the Baudelaire children spotted at least three bookshelves that were crammed with books, several paintings by a woman named Violet Hopefield, and more green plaid than they’d seen in their entire life. Then, they came to the kitchen. It was the first place in the house the Baudelaires had seen that was not decked out in plaid, and it was a nice break from the pattern.
The kitchen walls were a soft blue. The tile floor was cold, even through their socks, and in the middle of the room was a small-ish wooden table with several chairs. There were currently four people in the kitchen. A very tall man, a woman with dark skin and darker hair, a woman dressed entirely in yellow, and a man dressed in the same green plaid that was all over the house. The man in plaid smiled at them as they entered.
“Ah, Baudelaires! It’s very good to see you. Let me make sure I’ve got this right- Violet, Klaus, and Sunny, correct?” He said, pointing to each Baudelaire as he said their name. The Baudelaires nodded, and the man clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. “Wonderful! I’m Mr. Benedict, it’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” Klaus said, “but, we heard a boy calling you Uncle Nick earlier.”
“Hm? Oh! SQ, yes, that’s because I am his uncle. But if you three would like to call me that, I wouldn’t mind at all.” The Baudelaires glanced between each other once more. Mr. Benedict seemed nice, but they’d met a few adults who had been nice until they’d decided it was convenient for them not to be. I’m afraid to say adults like this are quite common. Many adults only enjoy being nice when it gets them something, and nowadays there is always something someone wants, and many will go to very terrible lengths to get the things they want. Someone might go to drastic measures to get back a sugar bowl, for instance, or the cure for a poison that had been unknowingly given to them in their morning tea. Or someone might go to terrible lengths to get control. There are many things to want and many people to want them. And many people will do many terrible things. And some will even love to do them, the way adults love to disregard children. Mr. Benedict, thankfully, was not one of these adults. In fact, he was a very pleasant, very kind, and, most importantly, a very competent adult. Unfortunately, the Baudelaires did not know this yet.
“Mr. Benedict, good to see you again,” Mr. Poe said before the Baudelaires had a chance to speak again, “I’m just here to drop off the Baudelaires, then I have to be going.”
“You won’t stay for tea?” Mr. Benedict asked, sounding genuinely disheartened that Mr. Poe would not stay to chat, “I figured we would discuss the children settling in, allergies, health issues, anything else I might need to know.”
Despite themselves, the Baudelaires did feel a small inkling of hope. So far, Mr. Benedict did seem genuinely interested in taking care of them. None of their other guardians had asked about medical issues or their allergies.
“Oh, I’m afraid not,” Mr. Poe said, “I’ve got very important business to attend to at Mulctuary Money Management, so I have little time to waste.” Mr. Benedict’s brow furrowed, no doubt wondering what could be more important than ensuring the children’s wellbeing. He made a noise of consideration.
“Well, then, I suppose I’ll go over it with the Baudelaires themselves,” he said, then looked at the children, “if you’re willing, of course. I imagine you may be tired from the trip. It can wait if need be.” Mr. Poe clapped his hands together and patted the older Baudelaires both on the shoulder.
“Perfect! I will be on my way then. Now, remember, Baudelaires, if you need me at any time you can contact me at Mulctuary Money Management.” With that, he bid the rest of the kitchen goodbye and left, leaving the Baudelaires standing awkwardly in the entryway of the kitchen.
“Come sit, you must be tired.” Mr. Benedict beckoned them into the kitchen, and they did as they were told, getting a better look at the kitchen as they did. It was quite roomy, likely to accommodate the size of the household. Violet thought about all the pairs of shoes she’d seen, Klaus of all the coats on the rack, and Sunny of the noise they could hear from upstairs- the thudding of many feet and laughter of several voices. Mr. Poe had said there were other children, but he had never specified how many. Mr. Benedict sat down himself, in a chair across from the Baudelaires. Over his shoulder, Violet could see SQ climbing onto the counter to get to a cupboard too high for him to reach- only to promptly be lifted down by the tall man, who opened the cupboard for him and pulled out a box of teabags.
“If you’re wondering about allergies, we’re allergic to peppermints. And we don’t have any medical issues, we’re perfectly healthy.” Violet said, and Mr. Benedict nodded at her as he folded his hands politely in front of him.
“Good to know! That means we can discuss the more pressing matter at hand,” the Baudelaires looked at each other, uncertain. They had quite a few ‘pressing matters' to deal with, it would be difficult to choose where to start if Mr. Benedict had questions. Thankfully, the Baudelaires would not have to worry about questions, because Mr. Benedict continued, “Mr. Poe informed me of the situation with Count Olaf. He told me that you were ‘under the impression’ that this man is following you. But I want to hear from you about this, dears, not Mr. Poe, and I promise you that I- and every other adult in this house- will listen.”
When something happens enough times, you begin to feel naturally suspicious of anything that contradicts your experience thus far. If you are fed bad food one too many times, for instance, you may be suspicious of anyone offering you a meal. So, when Mr. Benedict told the Baudelaires that he would well and truly listen, they weren’t completely convinced. There had been more than one adult who’d sworn to listen, only to entirely misinterpret what the Baudelaires had to say, or entirely assume they were making things up (despite that the Baudelaires were typically very honest children.) Even their Uncle Monty, who the Baudelaires loved very much, had not really listened to them. They shared another doubtful look (this was something they were becoming quite accustomed to doing,) and Violet cleared her throat.
“We ended up in Count Olaf’s care because of a mistake made by Mr. Poe. It wasn't until he put together a plot to marry me and steal our fortune that we were removed from it." Violet could see the adults all bristle slightly at her words. "But even once we were out of his care, he followed us everywhere. It didn’t matter where we went or who we were with, he always found us.” Mr. Benedict’s face became sympathetic and sad, and it was so undoubtedly genuine that it shocked the Baudelaires. “We’ve lost a lot of people because of him, but no one has listened, or cared enough to take proper measurements. Our last guardian even turned out to work for him.”
“Yes, Esme Squalor,” Mr. Benedict hummed, brow furrowing again in a thoughtful manner, “I heard about her in the paper. Quite a character.”
“Vil!” Sunny babbled, which meant something along the lines of ‘Character? She’s evil!’ Violet watched SQ, who had taken to leaning against the counter, look at Sunny curiously.
“What my sister means is that Esme Squalor is a very cruel woman.”
“Well, she must be,” one of the women piped up. It was the taller of the two, the redhead who was dressed entirely in yellow, giving the Baudelaires a distinct impression of a pencil, “if she teamed up with such a… wicked man as Count Olaf.” The tone in which the woman said ‘wicked’ gave all three children the idea that she had wanted to say a much unkinder word but found it to be inappropriate in the presence of children. For this very same reason, I will not inform you of what she had meant to say, and leave it to your imaginations.
“Baudelaires,” Mr. Benedict said, “I know that adults are likely last on your list of people to trust right now, and I completely understand, but I assure you that everyone in this kitchen has only your best interests in mind.”
“Speaking of,” said the shorter woman, “I don’t believe we ever introduced ourselves.” Mr. Benedict’s eyebrows raised as if just realizing this.
“That’s very true! Terribly sorry, I got ahead of myself,” he laughed sheepishly, then introduced each adult. The tall man was named Milligan, the short woman was Rhonda, and the woman entirely dressed in yellow was Number Two (if the Baudelaires had questions about her name, they kept them to themselves.) SQ announced that he had already introduced himself to the Baudelaires, and had no need to repeat himself.
“There are a few other adults in the house- the Washingtons and the Perumals, but you’ll meet them in a little while. Now that we’re properly introduced, I want you to know, my dears, that we will take every precaution to keep you safe.” The Baudelaires grew doubtful once again. There had been many ‘precautions’ taken in the past, typically enacted by the children themselves or by authorities who were, for lack of a nicer phrasing, blatantly incompetent.
“We appreciate that very much, Mr. Benedict,” Klaus said, “but Count Olaf is usually in disguise when he shows up. He may be difficult to spot.” Mr. Benedict tapped his nose and pointed at Klaus. “That’s very true! I was informed of that- well, sort of, I had to figure a few things out myself- and I promise you that all of us are quite familiar with disguises. And, if I remember this correctly, you three know exactly how to spot Count Olaf. So, if you suspect anything at all, you come straight to us. We have an entire plan should he try to darken our doorstep.” Mr. Benedict gestured to Number Two, Rhonda, and himself “If he shows his face, we will escort you and the other children out of the house and keep an eye on you until Milligan can deal with Count Olaf. We would take you down to the safe room, and wait for the all-clear from Milligan.”
“You have a safe room?” Violet asked, disbelieving- a word which here means, ‘having a difficult time understanding why Mr. Benedict’s house would need a safe room before their arrival.’
“We do,” Milligan said, “we’ve had trouble with wicked men in the past ourselves. So, we’re well equipped to deal with something like this.” SQ, who was standing beside Milligan, turned his head away and became very interested in staring at the tile floor. Violet could easily believe him, in this case. Milligan was quite tall and, as she had seen when he’d picked up SQ as if he weighed nothing more than a stray cat, quite strong. Though her mind could not help but wander to Count Olaf’s henchperson of indeterminate gender, a rather large and intimidating person, Milligan was not anywhere near as scary. There was an air to the way he held himself that made him immediately more approachable. And it was helped by the gentle look he cast at SQ.
“Adu?” Sunny asked, which meant something like, “you have experience with Count Olaf?”
“Not with Count Olaf,” SQ said, and the Baudelaires all looked at him. Sunny was hardly a toddler, which meant she spoke in a series of babbles that most would find indecipherable. Only the Baudelaires, who had known Sunny her whole life so far, understood a word of what she said. Though people like Uncle Monty, Jerome, and various other well-meaning guardians had tried to understand her, they had all failed in some way or another. Mr. Poe had never even bothered to try. So to have SQ so easily understand her was quite refreshing. Perhaps he’d had experience with babies like Sunny. But the Baudelaires did not press him for answers, as SQ’s face was going quite red under their gaze already. He cleared his throat, “it was someone else. But that’s a very long and complicated story.”
“That it is, my dear,” Mr. Benedict said, then, possibly wanting to change the subject, “which we will be happy to tell at a later time. For now, I imagine you three are eager to get settled in, yes?” Mr. Benedict was right. It had been a long drive from the city, most of it spent staring out the window, boring themselves sick and tired. Mr. Poe had not allowed them to crack a window open when Klaus became carsick, as he was inclined to do. By the time they’d arrived, all three Baudelaires were eager to collapse into whatever bed awaited them.
“We’d like that very much,” Klaus said, “it was a very long drive.” Mr. Benedict smiled, eyes crinkling sincerely, and stood. He looked at SQ, who eagerly straightened from where he had been leaning against the kitchen counter.
“SQ, would you like to show the children around? I’m sure the rest of the kids are eager to meet the Baudelaires. Just, be sure they don’t overwhelm them.” SQ nodded dutifully and beckoned the Baudelaires to follow him. They did exactly that and he led them out of the kitchen, back towards the entrance of the house. Directly by the door was a staircase that the children had somehow missed before. But seeing it now, they realized this was because the stairs were carpeted in a green color that made it blend right in with the plaid walls. SQ led them right up the stairs.
The carpeted stairs creaked beneath their feet, and on the wall near the bottom of the stairs was a clock that did not tick. Violet made a mental note to ask Mr. Benedict about fixing that. If she was going to be in this house, she figured she might as well make the best of it before the inevitable. As a bonus, it would keep her mind off of her anxieties. Everyone has anxieties at some point in their life. Whether it be about school, or a play, or a poison dart in your friend's pocket, we’ve all felt anxious about something before. When we are anxious, the thing most people turn to is a distraction. The Baudelaires' anxieties, of course, were all centered around Count Olaf, and for good reason. Violet found, however, that inventing and other mechanical projects took her mind off of whatever terrible schemes they might be subjected to, easing her anxieties. Klaus found the same refuge in busying himself with a book, and Sunny with biting whatever hard objects she had at her disposal. Klaus also found comfort in asking questions about the people and things around him. So, as they went up the stairs, he broached something he’d been wondering.
“Is your name really just SQ?” Klaus asked before he could think better of it. SQ had seemed irritated when Mr. Poe commented on his name earlier. But perhaps that had partially been about who he was talking to, because SQ looked over his shoulder at him, but he didn’t seem upset to be asked about his name. In fact, he smiled and shook his head.
“It’s short for Shepard Quaid, but I didn’t feel like explaining that to Mr. Poe. I didn’t really think he’d understand why someone would prefer to go by their initials, rather than their full name.” SQ said, then led them the rest of the way up the stairs. The Baudelaires took the time to take in their surroundings as they bounded up the last few steps. The walls of the stairway were the same green plaid as everywhere else. Though the pattern seemed to finally end once they were upstairs.
The stairs had led them to a hallway. The walls were a light, gentle green, and several photos hung on the wall along the hallway. They were mostly children and the adults the Baudelaires had seen in the kitchen, as well as two sets of adults they did not recognize. Among the kids were SQ, two blonde girls- one considerably shorter, and one with a bucket attached to her side- a bald, spectacled boy, and a boy who looked entirely average- in a good way, of course. Violet thought he looked very kind.
“Otto!” Sunny asked, which meant something along the lines of ‘who are those children in the photos?’ SQ paused and looked at the photos on the wall.
“Oh, that’s the Society. You’ll meet them in a moment.” He said. Violet opened her mouth to ask a question, but just as she did, a voice called from above them.
"Who are you talking to down there, SQ?"
All four kids looked up at the ceiling to see a vent grate be lifted and set aside, and a girl popped into view. As they watched her climb down, the Baudelaires could not help the feeling that they may actually like it here. The Baudelaires marvelled as the girl brushed some dust from her clothing. It was the blonde, ponytailed girl from the photo, bucket and all. She took in the sight of them, then stuck out her hand.
"Kate Wetherall, nice to meet you! You must be the Baudelaires."