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“There she comes,” Olaf whispered.
Sure enough, instructor Vanderheyden’s footsteps were approaching from behind. The green wooden floor creaked quietly under her shoes. Beatrice strained to watch her from the corner of her eye as she marched along the middle aisle. She did not like the students to look around once she had entered the classroom. They were supposed to focus.
“When you get up, do it from your knees. That’s how she does it. Stiff as a poker and full of yourself. Should be easy for you, B.”
Beatrice glared at him for only a moment.
“Don’t distract me,” she mouthed. “Watch yourself, O. You’re slumping.”
In fact, Olaf was always slumping in his seat. He did it on purpose to annoy the instructors. When they told him to sit up properly, he shot up smiling and wide-eyed. He would blink rapidly and raise his single eyebrow very high. Beatrice thought it was stupid, so she usually did not pay attention to it. But today, they were on a mission.
Instructor Vanderheyden stood beside her desk and gave the class a slight smile.
“Good morning, associates. Welcome to your first class of the day.”
“Good morning, M.” She wanted them to call her M.
“I hereby call this class to order. We will begin with roll call. B?”
Beatrice got up as swiftly as she could and stepped beside her chair.
“Yes,” she replied, trying to mimic her stern tone.
Instructor Vanderheyden frowned ever so slightly, then nodded. “H?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice kept standing, as did everyone else whose turn it was to answer.
It had been only a week since she had been enrolled in headquarters to finish her training. She had just turned ten and was so excited to be admitted finally. The first thing she did every morning when passing the gates was attach the insignia pin that her tutors had given her as a gift for this occasion, along with a brand-new steel fountain pen and the illustrated encyclopedia of bats.
“We are so proud of you, Beatrice! After reading your file, every headquarters near and far have fought over you.”
She still marveled at how grand everything was: the enormous meeting hall of green wood, the hallways lined with statues of famous volunteers, and most of all, the library.
At first, she had also admired instructor Vanderheyden standing at the head of the room, upright and full of energy, illuminated by the morning light that fell through the high windows. She was delighted that she started her classes like the organization’s meetings. But unlike at the meetings Beatrice had attended with her tutors, the students were supposed to stand at attention during the roll call, and no drinks were being passed around. And she could not care less what they had to say.
“Everyone is accounted for, M,” they said in unison.
“Very good. Let us begin by reciting the pledge.”
“The world is quiet here.”
They sat down along with instructor Vanderheyden. Beatrice watched her closely, how she didn’t seem to move her upper body at all, holding her arms to her side. Olaf and she glanced at each other.
“You’re looking like a robot, O,” she hissed.
“So is she,” he mouthed back.
What she had been looking forward to most had been the Theatrics class. She should have known Olaf would also be there, but she still couldn’t help but wish they’d put him somewhere else. They had not met since they were six years old and under the care of the same tutor. They had been best friends then and dreamed of the stage. They had play acted together, sneaking to the attic when their tutor was asleep. After they had been reassigned, Beatrice had hoped she wouldn’t see him again after the way their time had ended.
“Our matter at hand today is how to have a serious conversation,” instructor Vanderheyden said. “This is one of the most crucial skills you will need to master once you’re in the field. You will represent our organization with your every action and word. So you’ll have to convey the proper confidence, competence, and respect. You need to make clear that you will take charge. The V.F.D. has achieved its greatness by getting things done. Never forget that. Let’s say someone approaches you. What will be the first thing you do? Any ideas? How about you, H? It’s about time you contribute something."
Hector, sitting in the back row, flinched ever so slightly.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, El - I mean, M.”
Hector was younger than most neophytes and rarely spoke up. Beatrice had heard he had joined V.F.D. only a short time ago, which probably explained his strange habits. For instance, he called the instructors “Elders.”
“What did I tell you about looking me in the eye? And get up. When we’re both sitting, you are shorter than me, aren’t you? When having a serious conversation with someone, you must never look up at them.”
“But this is ridiculous to teach children,” said Lemony without raising his hand. “They tend to be shorter than anyone else. What are we supposed to do? Always bring a stool with us?”
Beatrice bit her tongue to stifle a laugh. Lemony’s gift had been red business cards saying, ‘Lemony Snicket, student of rhetoric.’ He was to learn all the tricks of persuading anyone far better than instructor Vanderheyden could ever teach him in Basic Communication class.
“L, you know I won’t stand for speaking up. Go sit in the corner.”
“But-”
“You heard me, L.”
As dignified as he could, Lemony got up and walked toward the back of the classroom. He sat down between the empty desks. In almost every classroom, the last few rows were unoccupied.
“Where is your attention, B?”
Startled, Beatrice turned to find instructor Vanderheyden towering above her desk. She remembered to stand up before responding: “I’m sorry. Please continue, M.”
Olaf glared at her, frowning. She did her best to mimic him.
“What are you frowning at, B?” instructor Vanderheyden asked, frowning.
“Nothing, M. Please continue.”
“Please continue, M,” Olaf repeated, in a very good imitation of her commanding tone.
Hector, who had been tense since Lemony had spoken up, looked at them. Absolute horror flashed across his face.
Instructor Vanderheyden stepped toward them. “I don’t like your tone, children,” she snapped.
I am M, Beatrice thought. I am an instructor, and I am annoyed. So what will I do now?
“I am a volunteer representing the V.F.D.,” she snapped back. “I will not be spoken to this way.”
There were some stifled laughs.
“We’re on a vital operation,” Olaf added.
“Troublemakers, that’s what you are. You will join L in the corner.”
“We’re trying to complete an assignment!”
“What assignment?”
“It’s a secret mission.”
“Very well, I am done with your nonsense for today. It’s out to the hallway with you two. You will spend the rest of the lesson thinking about an apology.”
“Great,” Olaf hissed on their way out. “You’ve ruined it, B. We could have had an entire lesson of studying her closely.”
“We didn’t abandon our roles, did we?” Beatrice protested. “We are supposed to mimic her. We’re not responsible for how she reacts. It’s not my fault if she’s so insufferable she can’t stand her own tone.”
Olaf remained silent. They didn’t talk for the rest of the lesson.
A few hours later, they got a message that the headmaster wanted to see them within the next fifteen minutes.
Beatrice ran across the hallway.
“Hurry up, O! I don’t want to get in even greater trouble because of you!”
“You won’t! We’re early.”
“The headmaster will expect us to be early. Being early is a sign of a noble person. We’ll have to be even earlier to make it count.”
Olaf snorted. They reached the polished wooden door with brass letters simply spelling HEADMASTER and knocked.
“Come in,” said a pleasant voice.
The headmaster’s office was huge and comfortable. The lower halves of the walls were covered with green wooden panels, the upper halves with countless photographs. They were pictures of former neophytes, alone or in groups - countless children posing for the camera.
Headmaster Cole greeted them with a warm smile. Smiling seemed to have left perpetual wrinkles on his cheeks. He looked dignified with his graying hair and his smart, perfect-fitting suit.
“Welcome, associates. Thank you for coming. I wanted to see you before, but there simply wasn’t time. I heard you’ve already managed to get sent out of the classroom.”
“It was a misunderstanding. We- “
“I know,” he laughed. “C always gives this assignment to his new students. Poor M hasn’t been with us long enough to know that. You’re not in trouble. You just might refrain from overdoing it."
He stepped to a sideboard and lifted a steaming teapot from a chafing dish.
“There’s something I’ve wished to speak to you about. How about some Ceylon?”
“Thank you.”
It felt wrong to mimic instructor Vanderheyden’s tone. Beatrice tried to imagine what she would sound like if she wanted to be pleasant.
“Have a seat,” he said, pointing at a small round table with several comfortable-looking armchairs circling it.
“No, thank you,” Olaf replied stiffly. “You should never look up at someone during a serious conversation.”
The headmaster looked up from the cups he had been pouring tea into.
“As I said, I understand the nature of your assignment. But you have a seat when I tell you to have a seat.”
His voice was still pleasant but with a cutting edge to it. Olaf and Beatrice sat down on the armchairs.
“Fantastic.” The headmaster put the teacups on the table before taking a seat himself.
“So, how are the two of you settling in? Do you like our headquarters?”
“Immensely,” Beatrice replied.
“You know, I had to do some persuasion to get both of you here together. C was looking forward to having two promising students at the same time. I had to convince our associates at Dark Avenue that we’d all benefit from having you trained together. Especially since you go quite a way back.”
There was a moment of tense silence. The headquarters at Dark Avenue had not insisted on Olaf, probably.
“How may we help you, headmaster?”
“I would like to tell you a story.” He sipped at his tea. “Did you know that I came into V.F.D. as an orphan? We were harbor workers here in the city, my family and me. We worked at the docks day and night. I never attended school or learned to read or write before I was eight.” The golden buttons on his sleeves were shining in the soft light. “One day, the warehouse we were working in went up in flames. Several barrels of oil had caught fire. The official fire department came far too late. I was one of the lucky few who made it out in time. My parents and my siblings were not.”
Beatrice stared down into her steaming teacup.
“All the Volunteer Fire Department could do was prevent the whole dock from catching fire and collect the surviving children. In the mayhem, no one was paying attention to us. I doubt anyone even realized we were gone afterward. The V.F.D. saved me. Without the organization, I would never have had an education or a future. Not even a life, perhaps. And I am far from being the only one. You’ve met your associate, Hector. Are you familiar with his story?”
Beatrice shook her head.
“He grew up in a secluded village in the hinterlands as the son of a handyman. His prospect in life was to grow up to be a slave for the village Elders like his father. The Elders are known for burning everyone at the stake who disobeys their rules. His father could only appease them by assuring them he’d sent Hector to a home economics school in the city so he’d return as an even better handyman. Needless to say, Hector could never be allowed to visit his father. It would have been far too dangerous.”
Olaf’s face tightened. His eyes were shining bright but empty, staring through the headmaster. His feet tapped restlessly.
“Can you guess why I am telling you this?”
Again, Beatrice shook her head. She didn’t want to hear what would come next.
“So you’ll understand that not everyone has been lucky enough to have a safe home to return to.”
“I never had anything to do with this!” Beatrice shot up. “I- “ she hesitated, glancing at Olaf, waiting if he would say anything. But he was still scowling at the floor. “I knew nothing!”
The headmaster smiled indulgently.
“I know you insisted on that time and time again, B. But the reports say the two of you were as thick as thieves at the time. O must have confided in you that he was planning to run away. You don’t need to say anything. He must have made you promise to keep his secret. And you have. That's a noble trait. I’m not reproaching you. The same goes for you, Olaf. You have never tried to run away ever since, which makes me believe you have learned your lesson. We all make mistakes when we are young. But you have entered the final stage of your neophyte training now. Soon, you will be sent out into the field as apprentices to keep the world quiet. We need to ensure you understand that you must never repeat your mistake. You are to be loyal to the V.F.D. above all else. Have I made myself clear?"
“Yes,” Beatrice replied, imagining she was instructor Vanderheyden.
“Fabulous. How do you like the tea?”
After having been dismissed, they walked down the hallway in silence, occasionally sparing glances at each other.
“So you really never told anyone?” Olaf finally asked. “You never admitted I’d told you?”
“Of course not. It wasn’t my fault they caught you. Do you know how they went at me after you were gone? They wouldn't believe me I didn't know anything. They threatened not to let me visit home again.”
Olaf watched her hesitantly. Beatrice could hold his gaze for the first time since they’d met again.
"Why didn't you tell them the truth? You hated the idea. It wouldn't have been fair."
"Because I promised you, remember? And I trusted you to cover me when you were caught. Because we were still associates."
Olaf grimaced at the last word.
“Friends.”
She felt much lighter as they entered the cafeteria and lined up for lunch. A delicious smell of mushroom cream soup and freshly baked bread filled the air. They sat at one of the neophyte tables near the wall, under the high window, looking out at the courtyard. Neophytes were not allowed to sit with the grown volunteers yet. The rest of the tables were occupied by volunteers operating in the city. Beatrice had never seen so many agents in one place before. Lemony and her liked to watch them and guess what their occupations were. Some had their apprentices with them. She tried to imagine how accomplished they must feel, having graduated and ready to make the world quiet. Sometimes, another volunteer watched them, too, with an intent expression she couldn’t name. They also glanced at the neophytes in the same way.
The headmaster stood up and tapped his glass with his spoon. Everybody turned their heads toward him.
“The world is quiet here,” everyone said in unison. Now they were allowed to start eating.
“What were you doing with Vanderheyden?” Lemony asked between two bites. He was only looking at Beatrice. He and Olaf couldn’t stand each other.
“I am Vanderheyden, L,” she said sternly. “And you’re getting impertinent again. I do hope you won’t be making a practice of it.”
Lemony stared at her wide-eyed, then laughed.
Olaf stood up.
“The way you sit there, slumping, is unbecoming of a volunteer, L.”
Now Lemony’s sister, Kit, burst into laughter, too.
“M, please tell us again, why is it so important not to look up at someone when having a serious conversation?”
“People will not respect you. They will think you are a pathetic little worm. But you are a volunteer.”
“You are to inspire holy terror into the hearts of all villains and cowards. You are to be a beacon for the helpless. Let everyone see how important you are. Look at me! Clearly, I am very important.”
“You can tell from my stiff pose and my haughty voice. I am so much better than you, vermin.”
Everyone around them squealed with laughter. Lemony nearly choked on his food. The laughter spread across the neophyte tables and beyond. Even Hector, after a moment of shock, burst into giggles.
The volunteers turned their heads to see what was going on. The Theatrics instructor beamed at them. A fresh wave of enthusiasm rushed over Beatrice. She stood up.
“Stop laughing, you silly miscreants!”
She and Olaf were both in one role now. His eyes radiated with unrestrained joy, which she remembered from when they were six.
“There’s nothing funny about this!”
Some of the instructors began to chuckle as well. The headmaster frowned slightly but said nothing. Instructor Vanderheyden sat there stone-faced before berating the Theatrics instructor, who waved her off.
“You will be in trouble. Elder M will make you pay,” Hector said.
For now, Beatrice didn’t care. Everything would turn out great.