Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Quigley, don’t get stuck on the trolley again,”

Quigley Quagmire huffed as he hopped off the rickety trolley that had delivered him and his siblings to the rundown portion of their city. All the buildings in the area had been abandoned long ago, leading to an eerie ghost town that the Quagmire triplets enjoyed exploring whenever they couldn’t be at home. The man driving the trolley peered at the three of them and their picnic basket curiously.

“Are you sure this is where you want to get off?” He asked, “It’s a lovely day - wouldn’t you prefer to go to Briney Beach?”

“Thank you, but no,” The second Quagmire, Isadora, said, “If it were a cloudy day, maybe, but the beach will be packed with people today. This street is perfect for a picnic,”

“Quiet and spooky,” Her brother Duncan added. The trolley driver shrugged.

“It’s your decision,” He said, before driving off. All three Quagmires turned to the road in front of them. 

“It’s odd that Mother and Father sent us away today,” Duncan remarked as they entered a dusty warehouse through a hole in the wall, “It’s unlike them to do that so suddenly,”

“They probably have a meeting,” Isadora said, “I wonder if it’s with that lovely Duchess that came around for dinner last week,”

As she clambered over a collapsed portion of the floor, her brothers exchanged a knowing look over her head but did not say anything.

They made their way to the top floor of the rickety building and Quigely elbowed open a dusty skylight, climbing onto the roof before lending a hand to his siblings. The three of them crossed the roof to a wide set of chimneys, where they sat and Duncan opened the picnic basket, handing out sandwiches. 

“Well, I’ve been meaning to come back here, anyway,” Quigley said, “I never managed to finish marking out this part of the city,” Balancing his sandwich precariously on his knee, he pulled out a purple commonplace book and pencil from his back pocket and peered over the rooftops.

Quigley Quagmire had developed a love for cartography at the age of five. He found a great deal of comfort in pouring over maps and atlases, using them to understand the overcomplicated world around him. And as he had grown and his skills with a pen had improved, he had learned slowly but surely how to replicate those maps and even compose his own. Presently, his notebook was full of half finished sketches of his surroundings, usually complete with a key and sometimes even with colour. He held a thumb up to the horizon, squinting with his tongue out slightly, and began scribbling.

“You’re going to drop that sandwich,” Isadora said, taking a bite out of her own. The oldest Quagmire did not share her brother’s fascination with cartography, but harbored her own tailored joy in writing couplets, two lined poems that rhymed and, in Isadora’s case, were sometimes rude. Her brother Duncan, the youngest, preferred facts over figuratives and wanted to be a journalist. He peered at Quigley’s discarded lunch.

“A fiver says he drops it,” He said to his sister. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not taking that bet,”

“Fair,”

At that minute, the Quagmires felt something hit the chimney and glanced around. A small rock, or perhaps a pebble, had struck the area very close to them, and as they looked down, they saw why. An ant to them, a woman stood on the pavement below, waving erratically at them with another rock in her hand. They looked at each other, none able to hear what she was shouting.

“SORRY?” Duncan shouted back down. The woman yelled again, but it was caught in the wind. Quigley leaned forward over the chimney top, and before Isadora could grab the back of his sweater and pull him back, his sandwich toppled over his lap and flew to the ground.

“Fuck,” He remarked quietly as his siblings smirked at each other, then much louder, “WE’LL COME DOWN,”

They packed up their things - Isadora considered throwing the picnic basket down now that it was empty and hoping the woman would catch it - and Quigley leaned over once more.

“SORRY ABOUT THE SANDWICH,” He shouted, Duncan rolling his eyes and pulling him back.

At the bottom of the warehouse and back onto the street, the Quagmires saw the mystery woman was quite tall, more than any of them, in a tailored suit that looked incredibly out of place against the derelict background. Her blindingly blond hair was styled in a wave over one side of her face and she looked down at the Quagmires as though deciding how to feel about them.

“Hello?” Duncan said, the most polite and outgoing of the three to strangers, “Were you talking to us?”

“Yes,” The woman said, and twisted her mouth into something that the Quagmires assumed was a smile, “I’m here to give you, I’m sorry to say, shocking and devastating news,”

The Quagmires looked amongst themselves. Unsure what to say, they waited for further information.

“That means very sad and life changing,” The woman said.

“We know what devastating means,” Isadora said, “Or, I do,”

“Right, well, unfortunately,” The woman said briskly, “Your parents are dead,”

There are two reasons one can ask to hear a sentence again. One reason can be if they did not hear what was said. Another reason is that the sentence said was something one never expected to hear because it was too horrible to imagine, and something that one’s brain cannot immediately comprehend because they desperately need it to not be true. And as the three Quagmires stood and stared at the strange woman who had delivered them such shocking and devastating news, their minds seemed quite empty in that moment, as they tried to make sense of what was just said.

“Could you…could you repeat that?” Duncan said. The woman sighed and leaned down to their height.

“Your parents,” She said slowly, making agonising eye contact with Duncan, “Are dead. They died in a house fire mere hours ago. I am to take you to your guardian, because I have been placed in charge of your expansive sapphire fortune,”

Isadora dropped the picnic basket. 

“Our parents…are dead?” Quigley repeated in a voice so thin it could have been mist. The woman rolled her eyes and nodded.

“ Yes , and I truly am sorry, but can we get a move on? This street is not the place I ought to be found, as the seventh most important financial advisor in the city - soon to be sixth,”

She set off at a brisk pace down the road and towards the trolley track, leaving the three Quagmires frozen in place, staring at each other. Though they did not know it at the time, that would be how it was for a very, very long time. Three identical children, dwarfed by buildings falling down around them, alone.

***

The woman turned out to be named Esme Gigi Genevive Squalor, the city’s seventh most important financial advisor and the innest woman in the city. Due to the fact that all their possessions had been burned in the fire, the Quagmires were trapped in the back of her limousine, being driven immediately to their new guardian. They had not been given the opportunity to visit their house as Esme had said “There’s nothing to see, and these clothes are brand new,”. She sat in the passenger seat, reapplying the “innest lipstick” while her husband Jerome drove.

“So-” She said between swipes of lipstick, “I am in charge of you all because I am in charge of the Quagmire sapphires, which cannot be used until that one turns eighteen,” She jabbed her free hand backwards at Quigley, who jumped back to avoid being hit.

“Why me?” He asked. Esme glared.

“Because you’re the oldest,”

“Isadora’s the oldest,”

“Is that not you?”

Duncan nudged Isadora, who gave a small wave in the windscreen mirror, “This is Isa,”

“Ah. Right, well, when he turns 18, that’s when you’ll be able to use your fortune,”

“She,”

“Yes, yes,”

The car drove down many roads, in many different parts of the city. They passed the park where they had learned how to ride bikes, and the library where they had taken some of their homeschooling lessons. They passed all these places, and kept going further and further.

“I’m sure your new guardian is going to be absolutely wonderful, Quagmires,” Jerome said after a particularly long silence, “He’s even a count, which should be fun. Do you all know what a count is?”

“It’s a European title of nobility…” Quigley muttered, staring out of the window, his already-eerie eyes widened further as he drank in everything he’d grown up around. Jerome nodded.

“Yes, so he’ll have a wonderful house, surely, with lots of famous friends,” he said, “ And he’s an actor. Isn’t that interesting?”

In truth, none of the Quagmires found that particularly interesting. On a better day, in a different world, Isadora might have asked if he performed the works of Shakespeare or other poetic playwrights, or Duncan might have asked if he could report on one of his plays. But on that gloomy day, in this tragic world, none of the Quagmires had the energy to care. Nestled between her brothers, Isadora drew her knees up to her chin, shielding herself from the world. She hadn’t said anything since they had met Esme. 

“And we’re here!” Jerome pulled up next to a white house, with a matching fence and pink flowers in the garden. Duncan, who was the closest to the sight, peered at it through the window, and felt the slightest glimmer of hope. Jerome got out of the car and opened the back door, offering a hand to each three Quagmires. 

A woman was approaching them, arms full of parcels and bags. She had the wig and robes of a judge, and waved as best she could when she noticed the children on the pavement. Isadora waved back, quietly.

“Why, hello there!” She said.

“You’re Eileen Strauss,” Duncan said. The woman stared for a moment.

“Uh- yes! Hello!” She said, “And who might you be?”

“Duncan Quagmire,” He said, slightly breathlessly, “I adore your journalism pieces,”

Eileen Strauss blushed, “Well, that’s very nice of you to say, dearie, but I left that life behind some time ago. I’m a judge now - Justice Strauss,”

“I remember reading about your appointment,” Duncan said, “The journalism in that article was hardly up to your standard,”

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest?” Justice Strauss said, “Are these your siblings?”

“I’m Quigley,” Quigley said, “And this is Isadora,”

Isadora sometimes got overwhelmed, and lost the ability to speak. This was one such occasion, due to the disastrous route the day had taken, and her brothers knew to fill in for her. She waved again, managing a small smile.

“I’d shake all your hands, but I’m afraid my own are quite full,” Justice Strauss said, “I’ve a bit of an issue with impulse buying for my library - I swear, I don’t even read any of these topics, I don’t know why I bought them!”

“A library?” Duncan asked, at the same time Quigley said, “What kind of topics?”

“Oh yes, and all types,” Justice Strauss said.

“Do you have any on cartography?” Quigley asked, “Or poetry, for Isadora?”

“Most likely!” Justice Strauss said, “I’ve been collecting for years and years. My, you all seem like very well informed children. You must come over and peruse my library soon,”

Duncan’s heart sank to somewhere near his stomach, and in that moment, remembered why he was standing on that road, talking to a journalistic hero of his, “You’re not who we’re staying with?”

“Staying with?” Justice Strauss asked, clearly confused. But at that moment, the sound of Esme’s heels clacking on the concrete interrupted her.

“Children, no, no, of course not,” She said - then, to Justice Strauss, “Sorry about them, they recently became orphans. Esme Gigi Genevive Squalor, seventh most important financial advisor in the city,” She stuck out a hand which Justice Strauss could not take.

“Oh, dear, orphans?” Justice Strauss asked, “That’s just horrible, I am so sorry, Quagmires,”

“So, this isn’t where we’ll live?” Quigley asked, this time to Jerome in the hopes that he’d give a different answer. Esme’s manicured nails dug into his shoulder.

“No, no, darling, that isn’t even slightly in,” She said, “Those roses with that door? God no,” She shivered. Motioning for the children to follow, she gestured behind them to the other side of the road.

“No, no, this is where you’re staying,”

In front of the Quagmires was the most cold and horrible looking house they had ever seen. It looked like it belonged in the rundown street they had been in an hour ago, with the ceiling falling in and dirt piling over dried up plants. Esme ushered them towards the door and - amid rushed goodbyes from Justice Strauss and the Quagmires - pressed a manicured finger against the doorbell, wiping it on a handkerchief afterwards.The door creaked open, and an eye appeared in the crack.

“Hello, hello, hello,” The eye said, and then a body followed as the door opened further. Count Olaf was tall, all bones and skin, with mismatched clothes hanging off his frame. He sneered down at the Quagmires from his impressive height. 

“These are the Quagmires, dear,” Esme said, “Isadora, Quigley, and, uh, Duncan,”

“Ah, yes, of course, come in, come in,” He stepped back to allow the four of them to enter. Inside was even worse, with dusty floors and light leaking in from cracked, grimy windows. The boards creaked as the Quagmires stepped on them, and Duncan shifted, concerned they’d fall through.

“I am Count Olaf, and I shall be your new father,” He said, “My, my, what wonderful children you appear to be,”

“Yes, yes,” Esme said, “But I really must be going,”

“Oh, you won’t stay for a dance ?” Count Olaf asked, and they made the strange eye contact adults do sometimes. But then Esme shook her head.

“No, no, I really must be going,” She repeated, “Ta-ta, Quagmire darlings,” She waved a manicured hand and almost sprinted out of the house, the door clouding up dirt as she slammed it. Olaf fixed his glare to the triplets, suddenly seeming far more intimidating.

“Well…” He said, “Alone at last, Baudelaires,”

The triplets exchanged a glance, “Who?” Quigley asked. Olaf frowned.

“You three,”

“We’re the Quagmires,”

“That’s what I said,”

Quigley opened his mouth to retort, but Duncan elbowed him. Count Olaf grimanced.

“Esme didn’t tell me you were identical,” He said with an air of disgust, “I don’t like triplets. Freaky children,”

Duncan and Quigley frowned at each other. To tell any children that they are freaky is cruel, but to tell one’s new adoptees that they are freaky, right after they learned their parents had burned to death, was just downright confusing. 

“Won’t you say hello to your new father?” Count Olaf said. All three triplets stiffened, and Duncan and Quigley shifted.

“Hello,” They said in unison - Isadora said nothing, which gained Olaf’s full attention.

“Don’t be shy, Duncan,” He said. The others exchanged a glance.

“I’m Duncan,” Duncan said with a small gesture to himself, “That’s Isadora,”

Count Olaf scowled, “That’s what I said,”

“You called her Duncan,” Quigley said. 

Olaf watched the three of them down his pointed nose, shining eye glinting angrily in the dim light, “This is why I hate triplets,” He said, “I can’t trust any of you,”

The Quagmires were shown around the house, each room more derelict than the last, and eventually pointed to the attic where they would be sleeping. There was one bed, with a thin and decaying mattress, and a pile of rocks in the corner, which they were instructed to play with. Amid shocked silence, they were left alone. 

“This is…strange,” Duncan said. Quigley nodded.

“Do you think it’s an elaborate prank by Mother and Father?” He said quietly. The concept pulled at his soul painfully, at the idea that perhaps their parents were alive and well. But then Isadora shook her head, and he sighed, collapsing onto the bed. Isadora sat next to him, and Duncan joined them on Isadora’s other side.

Ironically for a poet, Isadora had not learned how to speak concisely until she was six, and often lost the ability in times of great stress or upset. This was one such moment, and as she sat there on the bed, staring at her shaking hands in her lap, she found there simply wasn’t the option to say what she was thinking, no matter how much she wanted to. Her brothers knew this, and did not press her for her own opinion. They could see it in her eyes, burning with anger, and her shoulders, quivering with fear. Quigley laid his head on her shoulder.

“What are we going to do?” Duncan asked in a small voice. 

***

The next day, they slinked downstairs to find Count Olaf sipping tea at his dining room table. Next to him was a long piece of paper, folded up many times over. When he saw the Quagmires, he stood up and grabbed it.

“Hello, hello, orphans,” he said. Quigley wondered why on earth someone would adopt three orphans and then insist on referring to them as orphans, “How are we this morning?”

“Our parents died in a fire yesterday,” Duncan croaked.

“Very good,” Olaf said, “Now. Do you know what this is?”

He unravelled his long piece of paper and displayed it to the triplets. It was clearly a list.

“A list,” Isadora said, who was less overwhelmed than the day before and could speak in small sentences, often rhymed, which was what happened when she was recovering.

“ Wrong . It’s a list,” Count Olaf said. Quigley glared at him, “A list of chores . I have to go out today and discuss important matterswith my troupe of wonderful theatre proteges, and I want you all to complete this list by the time I have returned,”

“But-” Quigley broke off, staring at the list. It was very, very long, and though he couldn’t read anything from that distance, some of the items on it seemed very complicated.

“No buts! You’re too young for buts,” Olaf said. He shoved the list into the nearest Quagmires’ hands - Duncan - and sauntered off, “Your father expects those to be completed to perfection!”

As the door slammed, all three Quagmires recoiled at the word father .

“He isn’t serious,” Duncan said, “He can’t be serious,”

Isadora held out a hand to take the list of chores, and Duncan handed it over, “Even though he looks insane, he sure knows how to play a cruel game,”

Quigley nodded in agreement, “This is…a lot,”

“Yeah,” Duncan sank into a chair at the table and hunched over himself, fiddling with the hem of his jumper, “...did anyone else wake up today and forget where they were? Forget that…everything yesterday happened?”

Quigley nodded, “I had a nightmare about the fire. When I woke up, my first thought was to find Mother and tell her,”

“I dreamed about the fire too,” Duncan said.

“And me,”

They were quiet for a moment, each reliving their nightly terrors. In a way, it was the last time they’d seen their parents.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Quigley asked softly.

“As far as I see, this is reality,” Isadora muttered in response. Quigley nodded.

“Right, just…checking,”

He stood up and took the list from Isadora, inspecting the first item. Though it took him a while - he was never as fast of a reader as his family - he finally discerned it was to clean the kitchen. He looked up and craned his neck to spy the room next door, which was coated from floor to ceiling in grime, “Right. Job one…clean that entire room,”

***

The days passed by in a slow, miserable haze of grief. Though every instinct willed them to crawl back into bed and feel the only warmth in the house - assuming it was their night to be in the bed, as the three of them alternated sleeping in it - each of the Quagmires continued to get up, get dressed and complete the chores Olaf had set for them. Often, he would have left the house before they awoke, and they simply followed the list he’d put on the table for that day, signing each message off with his ankle tattoo, a drawing of an eye. The jobs took hours on end, often being things like repairing or repainting a dying part of the house, and they rarely had any free time to spare by the time Olaf returned at night and gave them even more jobs. What free time they did have meant nothing, however - there was nothing interesting in the house, and their minds were already far too occupied to make up their own games.

At least they had each other. This was what they reminded themselves as they devised the roster to decide who slept on the bed and who used the curtains they had tugged down from the window. It was what they reminded themselves as they woke up shivering, as they hacked at wooden logs and lugged heavy cleaning materials up stairs, as they dodged roaches in the bathroom and rats in the kitchen. It was rare for one of them to have both of the others out of their sight, and even rarer for all three separated throughout the house. The last time a Quagmire had turned away from their family member, they had gone up in flames, and none of them were willing to take that chance again.

Chapter Text

One day, they came downstairs to the message, “My theatre troupe will be coming for dinner before tonight’s performance. Have dinner ready for all ten of them at seven o’clock. Buy the food, prepare it, set the table, serve dinner, clean up afterwards, and stay out of our way,”. Underneath the regular signature was a small pile of coins, presumably for the food.

“At least he’s given us that,” Isadora grumbled, sliding the coins in her hand. She didn’t think they would be enough.

“Can any of us cook?” Quigley asked, “I can’t cook. I definitely can’t cook,”

“I made soup one time,” Duncan said.

“That was chilled cucumber soup , and it was disgusting,” Isadora countered.

“Well, it’s more than you two have done,”

“I made pancakes that one time,” Isadora said, “They were…fine,”

“Fine, yes, but good?” Duncan said with a grin. Isadora whacked him with the rolled up message.

“We should probably follow a recipe,” Quigley said, “Is there a cookbook in this stupid house?”

“Probably not, seeing as I haven’t seen a single book and we’ve been told to clean every room already,” Isadora said.

There was a knock at the door.

The Quagmires exchanged a glance. Had Olaf returned? No, surely not so soon, and why would he knock in his own house? He didn’t even knock when he entered their bedroom. A visitor, then? Who on earth would want to visit Olaf?

Quigley led his siblings to the dusty, dark front hall, and cracked the door open. On the other side was Justice Strauss. He opened the door fully and she smiled.

“Hello, Quagmires!” She said, her voice the brightest thing they’d experienced in over a week, “I just wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing! I would have come earlier, but there was a big case in the High court and I was swamped,”

“What sort of case was it?” Duncan inquired eagerly. Having had no free time to write in his commonplace book, or even having no material to write about, he was hungry for the opportunity to investigate again.

“Well I can’t fully discuss it, because it’s official business,” Justice Strauss said, “But it involves a poisonous plant and the illegal use of someone’s credit card,”

“My kind of story,” Duncan said with a grin. Justice Strauss smiled back.

“Do you write a lot?” She asked. Duncan, who clearly never expected to have this long of a conversation with his hero, burned red as he basked in her attention.

“Y-Yes, well, I used to, before-” He broke off, cleared his throat, and continued, “I reported on mysteries in my school, as well as competitions, fights, that sort of thing. Teachers didn’t like me, they thought I was nosy,”

“Well, nosy is just another form of curiosity, isn’t it?” Justice Strauss said, and Duncan nearly fainted, “Now, how are you three getting on? Is there anything you all need?”

The Quagmires, in their minds, answered this question differently. Duncan thought We need for you to adopt us instead of Count Olaf . Isadora thought We need to be respected as human beings and treated as such. Quigley thought We need our parents back . But none of them said what they were thinking, because even though Duncan looked up to her, none of them really knew Justice Strauss, and they were worried she would think they were being ungrateful, when they were being anything but.

“Could we borrow a cookbook?” Duncan asked.

“Of course!” Justice Strauss beamed, “Are you learning to cook?”

“Not by choice,” Isadora said, “Count Olaf told us to cook dinner for his theatre troupe tonight, but he doesn’t have any cookbooks. Or good food,”

“Goodness,” Justice Strauss said, “Cooking dinner for an entire theatre troupe seems like a lot to ask of children,”

“Count Olaf is a lot,” Quigley said. Justice Strauss hmm ’d.

“Well, why don’t you come next door to my house?” She asked, “You could find a cook book that pleases you - I have a whole section on it in my library,”

The Quagmires followed her down the depressing steps of Count Olaf’s house, across the neutral pavement that bordered the two properties, and up the well kept path leading to Justice Strauss’ house. When she opened the door and allowed them in, they felt themselves relax as a smell that wasn’t rot and mold filled their nostrils, and a feeling that wasn’t the prickling sensation of being watched blanketed their body. They were led across a hallway and into a spacious room filled floor to ceiling with books. The shelves lined each wall, accompanied with tall ladders reaching the high up tomes, and squishy armchairs sitting next to small reading tables and lamps.

“Woah,” Quigley said.

“Woah is right,” Justice Strauss said with a grin, “The cooking section is here,” 

She directed them to a small section of about fifteen books. Quigley reached for a bright green one and started to flick through, brow furrowed, as his siblings stared up at the impressive collection.

“I also thought this might intrigue you, Duncan,” Justice Strauss said. Duncan flushed and looked over at her. She picked up a large stack of newspaper cut outs and grinned, “These are all my favourite articles I’ve ever written,”

Duncan’s jaw dropped, eyes sparkling, “Oh, wow,” he said eloquently.

Quigley laughed, “Me and Isa will look for a recipe. You go and nerd out,”

Grinning, Duncan walked towards Justice Strauss and the two began discussing her writing. Isadora pulled out another recipe book and settled into an armchair, sinking into the soft fabric, as Quigley sat next to her.

“Alright then,” She said, heaving the large front cover open, “Christ, why are cookbooks always so heavy?”

“So that angry chefs can throw them at people trying to sneak a sip of the soup and get maximum damage,”

“Right, right,”

For a while, the library was mostly quiet. On one side of the room, Justice Strauss and Duncan were engaged in a lively conversation about her old works, working their way through her pile of papers. On the other side, Isadora and Quigley worked their way through their cookbooks, sorting through recipes and trading ideas - “Do you think the market sells fresh coconuts?” “Not unless the coconuts were carried here by an African Swallow,”.

Quigley glanced up at Duncan and Justice Strauss every now and again, and smiled.

He knew he was the least mature out of his siblings. He knew Isadora was the realist, who was careful to never expect too much so she wouldn’t get disappointed, and Duncan was the rationalist, who looked at every detail logically before coming to conclusions. He knew he, unlike his siblings, tended to trust too quickly - one of such being his own heart. But that didn’t mean he cared any less for Isadora and Duncan, or see how much they were struggling. They were all struggling, of course, but Quigley had made a point to clock every little movement. Three days ago, sirens had zoomed past Count Olaf’s house while they were in the front garden weeding. Duncan had followed them with his eyes, like a dog whose ears had perked up, and Quigley had waited for him to reach into his pocket and pull out his commonplace book, making notes on where the police car was going and if there were higher crime rates in its destination. But simply he hadn’t.

Isadora, on the other hand, had simply frozen up at the sound, and only relaxed when Quigley muttered to her that it hadn’t been a fire truck.

So watching Duncan smile and nod excitedly, leafing through articles and eyes lighting up, filled Quigley with a sense of calm. It was something he’d feared he would never see again and as anyone knows, rediscovering something one misses is a very good feeling indeed.

A while later, Justice Strauss motioned to Duncan’s siblings and he nodded in understanding. Leaving him to peruse her papers, he crossed the room and perched on a squashy stool next to Quigley, who looked up from the page he was trying to decipher. 

“Have you found anything good yet?” She asked. Quigley sighed and shook his head.

“Everything in here is either too difficult or has too many ingredients,” He said, “Olaf didn’t give us enough money for half of these recipes,”

Justice Strauss frowned, “Well, how much did he give you?” Quigley dug around in his pocket and pulled out the coins, “Oh, that won’t buy you anything, I’m afraid. I’ll come to the market with you, and help you buy your food,”

“You don’t have to do that,” Quigley said, but Justice Strauss nodded decisively.

“Of course I do! You children are going through an extremely turbulent time, and I should try to help you anyway I can, especially since your guardian doesn’t seem all too willing to do so. Has he left you alone today?”

“He leaves us alone everyday,” Quigley said.

“My…” Justice Strauss said, “I can’t criticise anyone’s parenting skills - I’m no mother - but that seems like an odd choice,”

Quigley paused, wondering if he should tell Justice Strauss everything. He certainly had a lot of evidence, which he knew journalists and judges liked - there were the cuts on his hands from chopping wood, the stiffness of his neck from sleeping on the floor, the pain in his back from scrubbing floors.

“Speaking of which, is your sister quite alright?” Justice Strauss asked. Quigley turned - Isadora had fallen asleep, head resting uncomfortably on the book in her lap.

“She’s had a rough couple of nights,” Quigley explained, carefully bringing her head to rest on the soft arm of her chair and taking her cookbook so it didn’t fall to the floor and wake her up, “We don’t have enough beds in Olaf’s house, so she’s been on the floor for the past two nights. She’s going to sleep in the bed tonight, though,”

“You only have one bed?” Justice Strauss exclaimed quietly - which is quite difficult to do, but she managed it so Isadora could continue sleeping, “That’s horrible! Have you asked Count Olaf for another?”

“He hasn’t given us the opportunity,” Quigley said, “Like I mentioned, he’s out a lot of the time,”

Justice Strauss frowned, concern etching itself in between her eyebrows and kindly eyes, “Quigley, I hope you understand that you can talk to someone if you are not having a good time in your new guardian’s house. Most children in the foster or adoption system have a caretaker who makes sure they’re settling into their new home, what about them?”

“We have that, her name is Esme Squalor,” Quigley said, “-or, rather, she’s our financial advisor. She’s in charge of the Quagmire fortune, which means she’s basically in charge of Isadora, which means she’s basically basically in charge of us. But she doesn’t seem very…”

“Approachable?” Justice Strauss ventured, “Yeah, I got the same idea,”

Quigley nodded.

“Well, I’m always here,” She said, “Please, come to me if you need any help. If you feel like you are in danger, or just need an ear to listen - I hardly leave the house, even with cases,”

“Thank you, Justice Strauss, that means a lot,” Quigley said.

“Is there anything I can do now?” She asked.

“You’re already helping so much, with the money and letting us borrow your books,”

“Nonsense!” She waved a dismissive hand, “I have more than enough money for one person, and what’s the point of a library if it isn’t shared?”

Quigely smiled, “Well…Isadora is a poet, but she hasn’t written anything since we got here. Do you have any good poetry books?”

“Only about fifty,” Justice Strauss said with a grin, “What poets does she like? Percy Shelley, Carol Ann Duffy?”

“A bit earlier - she’s big on Sappho,”

“I see,” Justice Strauss said. She glanced over at Isadora somewhat knowingly, a twinkle in her eye and something mischievous in her smile, “Her fragments can be kind of hard to track down. Not that I don’t have any. What about you? Are you a big reader?”

“Not as much as the others,” Quigley said, “I’m a cartographer,”

“A noble profession indeed - I have atlases you could look at if you’d like. Feel free to take them back to Count Olaf’s house if you wish,” Justice Strauss patted Quigley’s hand, and the warmth at her touch drifted throughout his veins.

***

Justice Strauss ended up being the one to decide on a recipe, and the four of them went into town to buy heavy bags of rice and fresh vegetables to dice up and fry. They also bought eggs, though they planned on giving the spare ones back to Justice Strauss as Count Olaf’s fridge wasn’t trustworthy, and soy sauce, which the Quagmires had never had but Justice Strauss promised them was tasty. Arms laden with paper bags, they waved goodbye to their neighbor on the front steps of Count Olaf’s house.

“Please come and visit my library anytime!” Justice Strauss said, “You are such lovely children, it’s a shame you spend so much time with- inside your house,”

Quigley nodded, “We will, thank you!”

“Would tomorrow work?” Duncan asked excitedly. Justice Strauss nodded.

“Absolutely,”

The Quagmires grinned at each other and waved at their neighbour, before heading inside.

“What a lovely outing,” Isadora said, putting the rice down, “It’s a shame it had to be over,”

“I want Justice Strauss to adopt us,” Duncan said with a sigh. Quigley nodded in solemn agreement.

They got to work on the fried rice. Duncan carefully began chopping vegetables - as the more careful Quagmire, he was the least likely to cut himself - as Quigley and Isadora hunted for a wok in Count Olaf’s disgusting kitchen. It was slightly cleaner now, thanks to their never ending list of chores, but it seemed to attract filth like flies. Which it also attracted. Eventually, to their surprise, they found a wok and put it on the stove. They poured just enough oil in it - not too much, as Justice Strauss had advised. With glee, Quigley discovered he was the only one who knew how to crack or scramble eggs, and refused to stop gloating about it throughout the entire process as he scraped at the mixture with a heavily scrubbed spatula. Duncan rolled his eyes and flicked a cube of carrot at him before pouring the vegetables into the wok. The mixture sizzled delightfully at that, as though thanking them for the extra sustenance. 

Finally, Isadora reached for the rice, but paused.

“We can’t just put raw rice in there right?” she asked, “Doesn’t it have E.Coli in it?”

“I thought that was flour,”

“I thought E.Coli was your old friend from kindergarten,”

“That was Bea Collins,”

They hastily threw the rice in a spare pot and poured about the same amount of water into it, placing it on the stove. To stop it all from burning too much, Quigley alternated between taking the wok off the heat and constantly stirring its contains as the others stared at the rice in the pot, watching it bubble and simmer.

“Didn’t mother and father make rice once?” Duncan asked. Their parents were not terrible cooks, but in Duncan’s memory they had only attempted to make rice once - which was strange, considering how important of a dish it is.

Isadora snorted, “Oh my god, it went everywhere ,”

“I was in the library, and father walked in covered in rice,” Quigley said with a laugh,  “It looked like he had just got married,”

Duncan made a mental note to jot down the question Do you throw cooked or raw rice at the bride and groom? Or groom and groom. Who knows. He didn’t ask it out loud at that moment, though, because he wanted to keep in his grasp the memory of his parents, both their failed dinner and their grins from head to toe, mother shaking her head and suggesting they just go out for the meal. The three of them laughed together.

“I miss them,” Quigley said eventually, when the mirth had died down and their situation dawned on them once more, “They would help us get rid of Count Olaf,”

“We wouldn’t have met Count Olaf if- you know,” Isadora said. She propped herself up on the table and crossed her arms, drawing her knees higher to maintain a center of balance. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Much like the higher the rollercoaster the more heart-wrenching the drop, the laughter from mere moments ago made her emotions bubble to the surface even faster.

Duncan looked down at his feet, scuffing at the dirt with his worn-in shoe, “We can’t do anything about that,” he said quietly. Quigley nodded.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said, “There’s no use yearning for the impossible,”

There is, however, much use yearning for the impossible. Sometimes, the impossible is the only thing to get someone through a bad time, as memories of warmth can be exchanged in place of the real thing. Belief in something you know will not come true can also be an incredible motivator. And sometimes, very rarely, one yearns for something so much, misses their lost loved one to such a degree, and doesn’t even know that across the world their loved one is doing the same thing.

This last instance, however, is not yet relevant.

“How’s the rice looking?” Quigley said instead, not yet seeing the importance of yearning. Duncan peered over the lip of the pot.

“Looks about ready,” he said, “Though I really have no clue,”

Isadora shrugged, “None of us do. Let’s mix it in,”

She propelled herself off the table and heaved the heavy pot over the wok, pouring in the rice with Duncan’s help while Quigley stirred the mixture. They realised too late they probably should have just used the spatula to spoon it in. When the wok seemed to have enough, there was still about half a kilogram of rice in the pot, which Isadora stowed away under the sink, unsure if Olaf would be angry at them for leaving it or not. 

While the rice simmered, the Quagmires finished up making pudding, which they had also bought at the market. It was one of their father’s favourite dishes, the one he made the most often, and as they stirred it they couldn’t help but taste it every now and again and remind themselves of a happier time, a time they still couldn’t entirely fathom was gone.

The front door slammed, “Orphans?” Count Olaf shouted.

Duncan sighed in annoyance, “We’re in the kitchen,”

“I hope you’ve finished dinner,” Olaf said, appearing in the doorway. His shiny eyes wracked through the three Quagmires, “I have my theatre troupe behind me, and we are all very hungry. Where is the roast beef?”

“We didn’t make roast beef,” Isadora said, “We made fried rice,”

“What?” Olaf sputtered, “No roast beef?”

“If you wanted roast beef you should have told us,” Quigley said.

He immediately felt a cold sting of regret as Olaf’s expression shifted from shock at being talked back to into anger at being talked back to. He slowly stalked towards the three of them, looking incredibly menacing and suddenly a lot taller than he usually was. One eyebrow was raised in anger, “In adopting you, I agreed to become your father, and as your father I am not someone to be trifled with. I demand that you serve roast beef to me and my guests,”

“We don’t have roast beef,” Quigley said, raising his voice in anger, “We made fried rice!”

In a flash of his shiny eyes, Olaf reached out and grabbed Quigley by the wrist. He held him up, dragging his feet off the floor, until he hung from Olaf’s grip and their eyes met. The tips of his shoes scuffed the dusty ground, desperately searching for purchase to no avail. 

“What are you doing? Put him down!” Isadora cried. Duncan’s eyes widened in fear and horror, already seeing Quigely’s wrist turn red from the grip.

“Olaf?” Came a shout from the next room, “Where’s Olaf?”

A woman appeared in the kitchen doorway, followed by many other people that Duncan assumed were Olaf’s theatre troupe, and they were some of the oddest people the Quagmires had ever seen. The first woman to appear was incredibly short and had a pale, almost pure white face, with painted red lips. The woman next to her appeared to be her twin, as they looked almost identical. Next to the two of them was a much taller man with hooks for hands, and an even taller man with a very long nose and without a strand of hair on his head. Another person, with droopy eyes and no indication as to their gender, peered around the shoulder of the hook handed man. The group bustled and moved like a singular entity, pulsing with intrigue at the scene in front of them.

“Here he is,” One of the pale faced ladies said.

“What in the world is he doing here?” The other asked. 

“I’m just disciplining these orphans,” Olaf said, holding Quigley slightly higher, “I asked them to make dinner and all they made was some pathetic rice,”

“You can’t go easy on children,” said the hook handed man with a nod, “They have to learn to respect their elders,”

The tall, bald man peered at the Quagmires - when his eyes searched over Isadora she drew in on herself, hunching her shoulders to appear smaller, “Are these those wealthy children you were telling us about?”

“Yes. They are so awful I can scarcely stand to touch them,” With that, he unceremoniously dropped Quigley’s wrist. Quigley hadn’t been expecting it, and so his knees buckled as he fell to the floor, supported by Duncan grabbing him. 

Count Olaf brushed his hands on his filthy waistcoat as though he had been touching something revolting, and turned to his troupe, “Well, enough talk. I suppose we shall eat their dinner, even though it is all wrong. Everyone, follow me to the next room. I shall pour us some wine, and hopefully by the time the brats serve us, we will be too drunk to care if it is roast beef or not,”

Several troupe members cheered and the group began to filter out of the cramped doorway.  With one last searing look at his charges, Olaf led them into the dining room, and no one but the bald man paid the Quagmires any mind. He stayed in the doorway and stared at Isadora.

“You could be a beautiful birdie, without that ugly hair,” He said, grabbing her chin in his rough hand and twisting her head one way as though inspecting her. She writhed against his grip, unable to get free, “You should grow it out, put some decoration in it. Maybe then Olaf will think twice about ruining your pretty little face,”

“Get off her!” Duncan said, seeing the scene in front of him and shoving at the bald man. He only giggled slightly and left the room.

“Are you okay?” Duncan asked Isadora, who found she was trembling slightly. She swallowed and shook out her hands.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” She said, though she didn’t stop the flapping of her hands, up, down, up, down, until she couldn’t feel the bald man’s fingerprints anymore, “He- I mean, we’re identical, so he just- was just doing it to creep me out,”

“Let’s have dinner!” someone shouted from the dining room, and the troupe began banging the table, presumably with their fists, in a strict rhythm. Quigley glared at them through the wall with as much withering anger as he could muster.

“Let’s go - I don’t want to see what happens if Olaf gets angrier,” Isadora said. She thought about what the bald man said, ruining her face, and swallowed hard before picking up a jug of water

The three of them crossed the hall into the dining room and began serving up the meal, Quigley placing the plates and cups down, Isadora filling up the cups and Duncan doling out the rice. The troupe, who did in fact already seem drunk enough to believe they were eating roast beef, paid them no mind, and had no issue with getting in their way. When Isadora approached the bald man, however, her hand began to shake, and she quietly skipped his glass.

“Excuse me, orphan,” Olaf said sharply, “You seem to have forgotten someone,”

He pointed a bony finger at his bald associate, who held up his glass expectantly. Isadora cleared her throat and nodded.

“Right, I’m sorry,” She said quietly, moving to fill his glass up again. The bald man grinned toothily at her, leering, and she prayed her shaking hand wouldn’t spill the water.

The troupe, despite Olaf’s insistence that the food was borderline inedible, ate the fried rice with incredible speed, and the Quagmires quickly replaced it with the pudding. As they drank - barely touching the water glasses - they got louder and rowdier, then more subdued, until finally one by one they slipped out of their chairs to go god knows where. Finally, after the hook handed man murmured something in Olaf’s ear that made him giggle, their new guardian was the only person left in the room aside from the Quagmires.

“Since you haven’t cleared up yet,” he said, hiccuping slightly, “You shall be excused from tonight’s performance. After you clear up you shall go straight to your beds,”

Duncan scoffed, glaring at the floor.

“What was that, orphan?” Olaf asked. His voice had gone dangerously soft, but in his anger, Duncan didn’t notice it.

“You mean our bed ?” He said, "Because you only gave us one bed!”

The hook handed man and several other troupe members froze in the hallway, staring at either Duncan or Olaf. Olaf stood up and raised his eyebrow once more, but his voice was level when he spoke.

“If you want a bed,” He said delicately, “You may go out tomorrow and buy a bed,”

“You know perfectly well we don’t have any money,” Duncan shot back.

“Of course you do - you have your huge inheritance,”

“We can’t use that inheritance until Isadora is eighteen!” Duncan shouted. 

Olaf’s face had gone very red. For a moment, no one said anything, then Olaf’s hand moved so fast it became a blur as it slapped across Duncan’s face. Duncan cried out and fell to the floor, his head cracking sickeningly against the stone tiles as it landed inches from Olaf’s tattoo. His vision swam with dots of black and white as pain exploded from his temple and his cheek. The theatre troupe cheered as though Olaf had done something extraordinary as Duncan’s siblings collapsed to the floor next to him with a shout, seeing if he was okay.

“Come on, friends,” Olaf said, and as Isadora looked up at him she felt as though she might reach out and tackle him, “We’ll be late for our own performance,”

“If I know you, Olaf, you’ll get that fortune,” the hook handed man said appreciatively.

“We’ll see,” Olaf said, his eyes glowing. The door slammed as the disgusting troupe left the house, and the Quagmires were alone again.

Quigley pulled Duncan up so he was sitting, placing one hand lightly against his bruise and pulling it away when Duncan winced sharply. Isadora wrapped her arms around her brother tightly as he began to sob out of rage and pain and grief. Every shuddering breath he took sent another jolt into his cheek, and after a while Isadora untangled herself from him and jumped to her feet when she saw Duncan had a cut on his head from hitting the floor. She returned with an icepack to press against his cheek - though in reality it was a packet of old peas that were more cool than icy - and dotted at the cut with a paper towel, unsure if there were any plasters or band-aids in the house. Quigley in the meantime stayed next to Duncan, still shocked at the scene he had just witnessed. Duncan hunched over himself, clutching his siblings, and the three of them wept.

Chapter Text

The next day, the Quagmires were tasked with chopping firewood, and made their way to the garden to do so in mostly silence, the previous nights’ events still weighing on them. Duncan had barely been able to sleep, the pain from his cheek being too great, even though Isadora had sacrificed her turn on the bed for him. Though the others also hadn’t slept well, they at least were able to go about their day with less pain than their brother, and Isadora felt a twinge of guilt at that.

“Let’s just run away,” Quigley said as he hauled a log across the garden, “Anything is better than here,”

“I thought about that last night, but where would we go?” Isadora said.

“Anywhere. We can live underground. We can escape into the mountains. We can build a hot air balloon and sail away. I don’t know,”

“Something could go terribly wrong,” Duncan said, “At least here our lives aren’t in danger,”

As soon as he said it, he felt a jolt of unease. He wasn’t so sure, suddenly, if what he’d said was correct. 

“What if we asked Justice Strauss to adopt us?” Quigley said, “If we tell her what happened, she’ll definitely help us - she loves you, Duncan, it’ll be easy,”

“Adoption is a big thing,” Duncan said.

“She did say she was here if we needed anything,”

“I think she meant for researching or cooking, not for adoption,”

Quigley huffed and grabbed the axe that was leaning against the side of the house. With one fell swoop, he sliced the log into two uneven halves, and tossed them onto a pile. Woodcutting was a one person job, so Isadora perched on top of the pile, ready to catch Quigley’s misaimed throws, and Duncan sat on an upturned wheelbarrow, scratching into the dirt with a stick. Quigley thought back to his conversation with Justice Strauss.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea!” he said.

“We’re not going to kill Count Olaf, either,” Duncan said. At his words, however, Isadora perked up to look at Quigley, raising her eyebrows to say never say never.

“I’m not thinking that,” Qugiley shot back. A pause, “Okay, well, I’m not not thinking that, but no. Justice Strauss said something about Esme technically being our caregiver, or something. I think she legally has to listen to our concerns,”

“She didn’t seem all that caring when she met us,” Isadora said skeptically. 

“But it’s worth a shot, right?” Quigley said, his voice tinged with slight desperation, “What else can we do?”

“Nothing,” Duncan conceded. 

“I know where she works,” Quigley continued excitedly. Duncan’s acceptance of his plan was spurring him on, “I saw it when I was mapping out the city a few months ago. If we finish chopping the firewood, we can go today,”

Both of her brothers turned to look at Isadora, who didn’t have much faith in the plan but couldn’t resist the hopeful look on their faces, “Alright, let’s get going,” She said, hopping off her perch. Quigley cheered and put the axe in the air unwisely. Isadora took it from him, “I think I’ll take that,”

“Aw,”

Between the three of them, they chopped the rest of the wood at lightning pace and before it was even noon, they had set off on the rickety trolley to the middle of the City. Quigley pointed out the way, his old maps spread out in his mind's eye, and whenever he closed his eyes he could almost picture he was back at his old home, pouring over them and planning his next outing.

The finance sector was busy, with men and women in smart suits bustling past them, occasionally pausing to wonder why three scruffy looking children were wandering around them. Quigley, the most outgoing of the three, stopped a few financial advisors to ask questions, and eventually got pointed in the direction of the shiniest, tallest bank in the neighbourhood. The three stood  at its entrance, staring up.

“It certainly looks like Esme Squalor’s place of employment,” Duncan said.

Inside was quiet, almost silent save for the ticking of typewriters and the clicking of sharp heels. They were in a large, bright hall, everything made of white marble of gold metal. Duncan nudged his siblings and pointed to a large desk with an old man typing. The plaque read Esme Squalor.

They approached the man. He looked up very slowly, as if he had to physically drag himself away from his work, and glared at them all.

“Hello,” Quigley said. The man hissed a shhh at him, making him jump slightly. Quigley cleared his throat and lowered his volume, “Sorry. We’re the Quagmire triplets - Esme is in charge of our fortune,”

The man pulled out a large file and flicked through it, then nodded for Quigley to continue. He made a pinching motion with his fingers, indicating for him to remain quiet.

“We need to talk to her," Quigley said.

The man raised an eyebrow, apparently to ask why.

“Our fortune,” Isadora jumped in, practically whispering, “May be in danger,”

The man nodded and gestured for them to follow him to the door behind him. Instead of knocking, however, he shifted a piece of paper under the door. There was an imperceptible rustle on the other end, and finally Esme was standing in front of them. She was dressed head to toe in a cotton robe, and ushered the Quagmires in without a word, which seemed to be the trend of the building.

The inside of her office was very similar to the hall outside. Her desk was very spacious and a shiny white, with golden legs and trimmings. The walls were a shining marble, but the floor was carpeted with a soft carpet. Esme pointed to the Quagmires’ shoes, and they hesitantly removed them before sitting in the chairs in front of Esme’s desk. There were only two, but Quigley was content to perch on the arm of Isadora’s- he rarely sat normally in a chair anyway.

Esme waved her hand. The Quagmires stayed silent, looking at one another in confusion, and she exasperatedly waved her hand again.

“O-Oh, are we allowed to speak?” Duncan ventured in pure curiosity. Esme nodded.

“Yes, silence is very in at the minute,” She whispered, “But when communicating with others, it is advisable to just mutter,”

“The street outside is very loud,” Quigley pointed out. Esme nodded.

“The poor fools will be very embarrassed in a few hours when the news hits them. What are you doing here, Quagmires? I’m very busy, as the city’s seventh most important financial advisor,”

“We have concerns,” Isadora said, “About Olaf,”

“Olaf? Whatever could your concerns be?” For a moment, a flash of annoyance crossed Esme’s face, quickly plastered over with care.

“Well, he-” Isadora was interrupted, however, by a paper being slid under Esme’s door. She pinched her manicured fingers together - her long nails had been clipped off, presumably to minimise noise - to indicate quiet and crossed the room, stooping to pick up the paper. She nodded tersely and returned to her chair. But she didn’t indicate for Isadora to continue speaking, instead reaching for a form of some kind and scribbling a few notes onto it. She put it into an envelope, sealed it, and slid it back under her door.

“Sorry, but safari decor just became very in on the other side of the city,” she hissed, “Not here, thankfully  - we just painted the gold, that would be a nightmare - but that means there’s a lot of financial work to do. Gosh, I’m so excited I’m raising my voice,” Quigley, who had been craning to hear what she was saying, rolled his eyes.

“What does that entail?” Even though Duncan was the one with the injury, he couldn’t help but investigate when a question appeared.

“Well, I’m an advisor - I must now advise decoration shops and zoos alike to start stocking up and investing, as well as advise the innest critics in the city what to buy,” Esme explained as she sat back down, “They’ll be hammering my door down - figuratively, of course, because otherwise it would make far too much noise - for advise. It is in the name, darling,”

Isadora felt her stomach drop, “Now?” She asked. Esme shh’d her and nodded.

“Yes, why?”

“I mean…we’re already in a meeting,”

“Oh, yes, but this shan’t take long, shall it?”

The Quagmires looked at each other. They had been hoping their meeting would take very long indeed. They had been envisioning Esme nodding solemnly, carefully writing down every evil thing Olaf had done so she could correctly charge him with child abuse later on. Then, she would have carefully looked through other potential guardians for the Quagmires, spending a long time going through each one and seeing if they had horrible friends and if they liked slapping children. Maybe she would have even called Justice Strauss to come in - which would have taken a long time, because she lived on the outskirts of the city - and fill out adoption papers, which would have also taken a while.

As clear as day, the Quagmires saw that would not happen here.

When they didn’t say anything immediately, Esme leaned over her desk and steepled her fingers under her chin as she looked at the triplets, “Orphans, do you know what the word resilience means?”

Duncan nodded.

“It means holding your head down because a bad thing will probably get better,” Esme said with a nod. That was not what it meant, but Duncan supposed it was close enough, “I understand it would take a long time for children to get used to their new home, especially if their previous home was destroyed in a horrible fire, but it is imperative you show resilience and understand that it will get better. Resilience is very in, you know,”

Isadora wanted to shout that she didn’t care if resilience was in or not. She wanted to demand if abuse was in, too. If allowing a disgusting man to physically harm her brother was in, or if allowing his equally disgusting friend to put his hands on her was in. 

At that minute, the door flew open with a very quiet woosh, and a man stood in the doorway. He was quite short and stout, and wore a hastily strapped-on safari hat. He was breathing heavily, like he had run to the bank. Esme stood up.

“Mr Vine!” She said quietly, “Hello - I presume you are here for a consultation?”

Mr Vine nodded and crossed the threshold. Isadora, who was somewhat repulsed by the newcomer, darted out of her seat and the man quickly took his place. Duncan left his chair too, and when he stood up Mr Vine looked up at him.

“What’s up with your face, eh?” He whispered. Duncan looked at Esme and opened his mouth to respond, but she spoke before him.

“Oh, orphans have all kinds of skin maladies,” she said, “It’s an unfortunate consequence of their affliction,”

Mr Vine nodded, “You’re very good to look after them, Mrs Squalor,”

“Well, I do what I can,”

Duncan opened and closed his mouth in shock. He did not have a skin condition - surely anyone could see that. Skin conditions looked very different to bruises from being slapped in the face, or gashes from collapsing against a stone floor, but apparently the morons who fell to Esme’s feet couldn’t tell the difference. Isadora simply took one of each of her brothers’ hands and stormed out of the building.

“I can’t believe that!” She cried when she left the building, finally able to speak at a normal volume, “I cannot believe that!”

Duncan sighed, “We shouldn’t have got our hopes up,”

“But we did, and look what happened!” Isadora kicked a tiny rock into the crowd, falling to sit on the steps in front of the majestic looking bank, “I’m really sorry, Duncan,”

“It’s not about revenge for being hit,” Duncan said, taking a seat next to his sister. Quigley did the same, “I’m sorry, too. I talked you into this, and now we’re back to square one,”

Isadora sighed. Then Quigley sighed. Then Duncan sighed. The three of them felt quite lost.

“Let’s just go back,” Quigley said, “It’s late anyway,”

“We could stop by Justice Strauss’ home?” Isadora offered. She felt bad about her outburst moments ago, and about the disastrous turn of the day, and about Duncan’s injury that still burned angrily on his skin. The proposition, though she also wanted it, was an olive branch - an apology of sorts.

Duncan nodded, “Let’s,”

***

When they knocked on the door, Justice Strauss opened it almost immediately and smiled at the three of them, “Hello, Quagmires! Come in, come in,”

She led them into her house again and they found themselves back in that wonderful library of hers. It was warmer today, and the coziness only offered more juxtaposition from their experience with Count Olaf.

“I was expecting you, so I put aside some books,” Justice Strauss said, showing them a table with piles of tomes and papers, “I’ve got a biography on Nellie Bly here for you, Duncan, since you mentioned it yesterday, and a few newspaper articles written by Ida B. Wells. Quigley, I thought you would be interested in a series of atlasses I came across a few years ago, detailing the geographical change of the country over the past five hundred years?”

Quigley picked up a large book with its corners softened from age. Whatever he found on the first page - though Isadora craned to see, she couldn’t make heads nor tails of it - delighted him, and he grinned at Justice Strauss before taking a seat. Duncan sat next to him, already buried in the biography.

“Isadora, Quigley said you are a poet,” Justice Strauss said. Isadora nodded.

“I write couplets in my spare time,” She said, and didn’t add that she hadn’t written one since the fire.

“Well, would you like to look at Sappho: A New Translation by Mary Barnard?” Justice Strauss asked, holding out the book. Isadora’s eyes lit up.

“I haven’t heard of her translations before,” She said. 

“She’s one of my favourites,” Justice Strauss said, “She does make the subject of Blame Aphrodite into a boy, which-” Isadora grimaced, “-exactly. But overall I think her translations are very true to the original text. I believe one critic said she frees Sappho from the shackles of Victorian purity,”

Isadora grinned, “That’s always been my issue with translations. They put their own narrative on the poet’s intentions. I tried learning ancient greek, but didn’t get very far,”

“Well, it took me almost a decade, so keep at it,” Justice Strauss said with a wink, and Isadora gaped.

“You speak ancient Greek?!”

“Hardly fluently, my dear, but somewhat,”

Isadora found herself speechless for a moment, overcome with awe for her next door neighbour, “Can you adopt us?” She asked in a rush. Justice Strauss laughed and patted her shoulder.

“You’re very sweet, Isadora,” She said. Isadora deflated slightly, “Would you like some tea?”

Gathering herself back up - it was just a spur of the moment request, a joke really - Isadora nodded. Duncan shot his hand up and said, “I’d take some, if it was going?”

Justice Strauss smiled and retreated to the kitchen.

Taking her book with her, Isadora curled up on an armchair near her brothers and opened it to the first page. The foreword of books, especially poetry books, was very important as it set the tone for the entire tome, informing the reader what kind of poems they would be getting themselves into and more importantly how they were translated. Even though Isadora knew most of Sappho’s fragments off by heart, she still dove into the opening lines. It felt like it had been years since she’d read something she wanted to read.

“This is stupid,” Quigley said. Duncan looked up.

“Don’t be rude, she hand picked those out for you,” He scolded, but Quigley shook his head.

“Not these - these are amazing,” He said, “That’s the issue. How is there an absolutely perfect woman living right next door to us, and instead we get adopted by an absolute madman who insists on making our lives hell?”

Isadora glanced up from her own book, which she was scarcely two lines into, “I agree. It’s stupid,”

“Stupid things happen every day,” Duncan said with a sigh, “Like all that safari decoration nonsense at the bank. That’s stupid. Safari decorations are stupid,”

“But this is uber-level stupid,” Quigley insisted, “This is literally the world playing tricks on us, surely. We live so close to a better life, and yet…urgh,” He ran his finger over the lines of the atlas, tracing the tips and curves of the inked mountains. 

“I know what you mean,” Isadora said, “And I bet Mr Rational over here knows it too,” Duncan frowned at the jibe, “It’s like, we can almost touch the alternate universe where this is our life. I mean, we can physically touch it! But it’s just ever so slightly…not,”

Both Isadora and Quigley turned to Duncan, waiting for him to agree with them. He didn’t look at them, instead kept his eyes on the page he clearly wasn’t reading.

“Maybe we could have gone to their funeral if Justice Strauss had adopted us,” He finally said.

To the Quagmire’s knowledge, their parents had not had a funeral. Esme had not mentioned one when they had driven to Count Olaf’s house, and obviously she had not mentioned one when they met her in the city that day. Without any relatives that the Quagmires knew of - except, somehow, Count Olaf himself, though Isadora had decided to herself that he had lied about being related to them - the responsibility may have fallen to their children. But trapped in Count Olaf’s house, with no money and no freedom, they hardly knew what day of the week it was, nevermind who they should invite to a funeral. So no funeral, to their knowledge, had even taken place.

***

The next day was gloomy. All days since their parents’ death, for the Quagmires, had been gloomy, but that is in a metaphorical sense. In a literal sense as well, the day was gloomy, as grey clouds shifted in the sky, threatening to rain. Not rain - drizzle. Rain was refreshing to be in and calming to listen to. Drizzle just made everything a bit colder and darker.

When they came downstairs, they were shocked to see Count Olaf sitting at the table where his chores usually lay. There was no list today, just their guardian’s shiny eyes and shadowy smile watching them from the other side of the room. Duncan felt like a small animal being watched by a much bigger, predatory animal, and shivered.

“Good morning, Quagmires,” Count Olaf said, referring to them with their actual name for what must have been the first time, “I have made you a special breakfast today,”

He pushed along the table a tub of three cupcakes, each with a dollop of frosting and a raspberry on top. The Quagmires looked at each other, then back at the treats skeptically. They didn’t yet touch the cupcakes, not because it is usually unhealthy to eat cake for breakfast, though it was, but because they were sure they were being tricked.

“I got a call from the lovely Esme Squalor yesterday,” Olaf said, “She says you went to see her in her office,”

“We’re sorry she bothered you,” Duncan said. Olaf waved a dismissive hand.

“Nonesense, I’m glad she did,” He said, “Because she informed me that you all are not settling into your new home as much as I’d like. As your new father, this can’t do,”

The Quagmires recoiled at the idea of Count Olaf being their father. The Quagmires’ father was short - the triplets were set to outgrow him by their fourteenth birthday - with fluffy hair that stood up on end and very wide eyes, which they had inherited from him. He was always smiling, and had a way of seeming like he jumped from foot to foot even when he stood still. Count Olaf was none of these things.

“I fear I have been so nervous about my upcoming performance,” Count Olaf continued, “I have come across as slightly standoffish,”

That was not the word Duncan would use, he thought to himself as he pinched the fabric of his trousers. He did this to not say anything that would upset Count Olaf.

“Therefore, to make you feel more at home, I would like you all to participate in my new play. Perhaps if you take part in the work I do, you’ll be less likely to run off complaining to the poor Mrs Squalor,”

“Participate how?” Quigley asked. He wasn’t sure how their skills would fit into a theatrical production. Duncan could probably report on it, giving it some publicity, and maybe Isadora could do some writing for it, though it was probably already written, but there was absolutely no place for cartography on the stage.

“I’m glad you asked, Duncan,” Count Olaf said, “The play is called The Marvellous Marriage, and it is written by the great playwright Al Funcoot. We will only give one performance, this Friday night. It is about a man who is very brave and intelligent, played by me. In the finale, he marries a young and beautiful woman who he loves, in front of a crowd of cheering people. The lovely Justice Strauss will be playing the officiant who marries the happy couple,”

Duncan gritted his teeth, imagining Count Olaf coercing Justice Strauss into being in his play.

“You two boys will be playing audience members,” Olaf said, gesturing to the three of them at large.

“Aren’t we a little short for an adult audience member?” Quigley asked. Count Olaf ignored him.

“What about Isadora?” Duncan inquired, because Isadora herself wasn’t doing it. She felt icy all over, as she realised before he said it what she would be demanded to do.

“No way,” She said to the unsaid order.

“Your charming sister will be playing Al Funcoot’s blushing bride,” Olaf said with a twisting grin that seemed to surpass the boundaries of his face.

“No fucking way!”

“Isa…”

Duncan placed a hand on his sister’s arm, feeling her shiver with rage beside him. She didn’t shake him off, but her glare at Count Olaf didn’t change.

“You’re sick! I’m not going to play your wife, I would rather die!” Isadora kept her voice loud and angry, because then it could drown out the terror. All her tears, all her grief, came pouring out of her in that moment. “You treated us like slaves, and now you expect a store bought cupcake will placate us enough to be in your play?! I hate you, and I hate that we have to live here, and I will never be in whatever garbage you’d pass off as poetry!”

Count Olaf stood up. It took a long time for his full frame to unfurl from his chair, and in those painstaking seconds Isadora felt ice run down her spine in fear. He approached the triplets slowly - Isadora shouldered her brothers behind her, though they didn’t move - and reached out to grab Isadora’s shoulder in a bony hand.

“Do you know the meaning of the phrase…” He began, “...in loco parentis?”

Duncan gulped, recalling its meaning from an article about the use of latin words in the current century, “Acting in the role of a parent,”

“Yes, Quincy, that is correct,” Count Olaf said, “It means I can do whatever I want to, and tell you to do whatever I wish, and you have to do it, because I am your new father. Do you understand me?”

His voice had become chillingly soft, the quietest the triplets had ever heard of him, and Isadora prayed to stay silent as he grabbed her face with his hand.

“So, you and your freakish brother will play the very important audience members of the wedding scene, and your sister-” Count Olaf stood up straight, letting go of Isadora, to examine the trio, “Wait, which one of you is the girl?”

Isadora glared up at him, feeling braver now she was freed, “Me,” She said. Count Olaf grinned.

“Of course,” He said, “You shall play my blushing bride. Of course, we’ll have to make you prettier - none of this citrusy hair. How does that sound?”

Isadora opened her mouth to yell, to curse, maybe to spit. She was a polite girl, relative to some of the people she’d met, but she refused to stand by as something horrible happened. And marrying Count Olaf, even figuratively, was very horrible indeed. But then she felt Duncan beside her, and remembered the red and purple bruise his face still sported. She clenched fists into the fabric of her skirt, and sighed. Anger boiled through her veins.

“Fine,” She said, “We’ll be in your play,”

“Yes what?” Isadora gulped.

“Yes, father,”

“Wonderful,” Count Olaf strode past them, leaving them in the dining room with three untouched cupcakes. Isadora stayed frozen until she heard the front door slam, then quickly wiped at her eyes and raced up the stairs to the room they shared. As she had not slept on it for four nights, Isadora’s eyes ached at the mere notion of laying down on the bed they shared. But she did not flop down and try to sleep, instead racing to the window to ensure that Olaf had indeed left. Then she turned to her brothers.

“We have to go to Justice Strauss’ house,” She said, “We tell her what he did, she’ll do something,”

“Tell her what?” Quigley said, “That he’s invited us to a play and given us cupcakes? That’s not a very strong case - besides, she’s in the show, too,”

“Well obviously not say that, but he hit Duncan!” Isadora gestured to her youngest brother, “We didn’t mention it today, but now we have to! Surely she’ll listen to that! She loves Duncan!”

“She’ll ask Olaf,” Duncan said, wrapping his arms across his chest protectively at the notion, “And then he’ll lie about it, and we’ll get in even more trouble,”

“Well…we should go to her library!” Isadora said, “She has law books! We can find a crime he’s committed and go from there!”

“Isadora, is it possible you’re…overreacting just a bit?” Quigley said. Both his siblings rounded on him in shock, “Well, he was very nice to us today. He said he didn’t want us to feel unwelcome,”

“We don’t feel unwelcome,” Duncan said, “We feel abused,”

“Tormented,” Isadora, the poet, supplied.

“Besides, he HIT me,”

“And he grabbed my face!”

Quigley wrung his hands, “I know, but…shouldn’t we give people the benefit of the doubt?”

“Quigley, we’ve given him weeks of benefits,” Isadora said, “If this was really an olive branch, he’d give us the choice of being in the play. I don’t…I…” Her legs began to shake, and she collapsed on the bed.

“I can’t marry him,” She muttered, “Even figuratively. You heard him, he wants to- to change how I look, and make me look pretty for him, so I look like his bride, I- I can’t-” She gulped for air, and her brothers sat either side of her, as they had that first night. She was silent for so long they assumed she had stopped talking, but then she took a deep breath.

“I’m not- I don’t feel like…like a girl when he looks at me, I feel like a toy. A stupid ragdoll, and he’ll make me into his perfect thing. It’s not- it’s not good, when you’ve spent years building your gender, your you, and someone looks at you like none of that matters. Like you’re not even a person,”

Isadora’s brothers said nothing. To all of the Quagmires - to all the surviving Quagmires - Isadora was of course as much as a girl as their mother had been, but one’s brain is often cruel to them. Quigley hugged his sister tight.

“Alright,” He said, “You’re right, of course you are. He’s up to something, and we should ask Justice Strauss,” Isadora smiled weakly.

Chapter Text

When the Quagmires reappeared on Justice Strauss’ doorstep, the third day in a row, she simply smiled and let them in. With an apology that she was tending to her garden and couldn’t entertain them, she allowed them to settle back into her library and closed the door softly behind her.

“She must have law books, right?” Quigley asked, jumping back up from his seat, “What exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything,” Duncan said, “Laws about theatre, laws about orphans, I don’t know. Something to indicate what he’s trying to do to us,”

“We know what he’s trying,” Isadora added. She was already on the bottom rung of one of the fancy library ladders - having secretly been looking for the opportunity to climb it - and ascended the steps as she spoke, hands grazing the ornate twisting railing, “He’s trying to steal our fortune. The much more pertinent question is how is he going to do it?”

“That’s basically what I said,” Duncan said.

“Ah-hah! Law!” Quigley exclaimed in excitement. Disappointed, Isadora climbed back down the ladder and the three of them congregated around the collection of books. Each was thicker than the last, and Quigley sighed.

“This is going to be difficult,” he said. Duncan, however, took one out with ease.

“We live with this guy - surely it won’t be hard to find something evil he’s done,” he insisted, “Look, I’ll read about inheritance law, you guys look into laws about theatre or adopting or something. Maybe if he committed an adoption-based crime we’ll be taken out of his care before he can even do the play,”

“What does an adoption based crime look like?” Isadora asked, taking another book. Duncan shrugged.

“The past month and a half?” Quigley suggested. Isadora snorted and nodded in agreement.

The three of them began to scan their books. First looking at the table of contents - which is a very good way to discern if a book will be helpful or not - they flicked through the pages, scanning for anything to help them at all. Duncan scanned through line after line about inheriting things, how to inherit them, strange things people have inherited, and more. Isadora read through every single code one had to follow when putting on a play and why one had to follow them, hoping to find one that Count Olaf had broken so that she could figure out why. Quigley, brow furrowed, made his way through the history of adoption. Apparently, there were many famous people who had been adopted, including a Duchess.

Eventually, Isadora sighed and slammed her book closed, “This is a waste of time,” She despaired, “I can’t find anything,”

“We have to keep going,” Duncan implored, “It’s the only way we can try and fight back against…whatever’s coming to us,”

“I know…” Isadora said, “I know, I know. Ugh. I’m going to go outside and help Justice Strauss with her gardening for a while - maybe it will clear my head,”

Leaving her book tidily on the table next to her chair, Isadora stood up, stretched and headed through the library door into the back garden. She had never seen Justice Strauss’ garden, and it took her breath away with how beautiful it was. Tall vines of roses climbed trellises on the fence, bunches of hydrangeas of all different colours lined the edges. There were squares of vegetables - carrots, cabbages, pumpkins - and an apple tree in the far corner. Vibrance overflowed from little pots and tiled rocks.

“Ah, Isadora!” Justice Strauss said. She was kneeling in a patch of tulips, pulling out small weeds, “You know the place,”

Isadora smiled, recognising the Sappho quote. That fragment was about using the beauty of one’s home island to entice people to return and feel the love they had left behind, “This is so beautiful,”

“Thank you, dear! I work very hard on it,” Justice Strauss said, “Would you like to help? I’m afraid I don’t have another set of gloves,”

“It’s okay - I’m used to getting my hands dirty,” Isadora kneeled in the dirt next to Justice Strauss, “What can I do?”

“Could you bring the weeds I pull out to that wheelbarrow over there?” Justice Strauss asked, “Are you allergic to chickweed?”

“Not that I know of,” Isadora said, and took the first batch to the wheelbarrow. When she returned, she sat cross legged on the grass, watching Justice Strauss work and waiting for the pile to grow big enough for her to bring them to their designated spot again. It was slow but peaceful, and the open back door meant she could glance up and catch sight of her siblings whenever she got concerned.

“Are you looking forward to the show?” She asked tentatively. Justice Strauss grinned.

“Oh, yes - I wanted to be an actress when I was younger, but never had the opportunity,” she said. She glanced at Isadora almost guiltily and continued, “I know Count Olaf hasn’t been the nicest man to the three of you, but what harm could a play be? I’ll be there to keep an eye on him, either way,”

Isadora smiled, trying to disguise her skepticism, “Thank you. Is it strange, playing a judge as a judge?”

“Yes, but I suppose you do what you know,” Justice Strauss unearthed a new root and tossed it onto the pile, “Count Olad even asked me to get an official document from city hall,”

“Really going the extra mile, huh,” Isadora mumbled uneasily. She liked Justice Strauss, but it made her uncomfortable to see how normal she found the whole situation, “Count Olaf gave us roles, too,”

“Oh, yes, he told me,” Justice Strauss said, “You must be excited, too,”

“Not exactly…I’m playing his wife,”

“O-oh,” Justice Strauss faltered for a moment. Her fingers slipped and a small cloud of dirt erupted, “That’s, ahem, odd. How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know,” Isadora said, pulling grass up with her fingertips - then she remembered how much care Justice Strauss had put into her garden, and redirected her fingers to the hem of her skirt instead, “It makes me feel kinda icky, but he says I have to,”

Of course, icky was an understatement. It made Isadora’s skin crawl and her stomach turn. It filled her with anger and distrust and horror.

“In the script, do you kiss him?” Justice Strauss’ tone grew more serious, and she looked firmly at Isadora.

“Oh, god no, eugh,” Isadora said, “At least…he didn’t say it did. Eugh. I wouldn’t do it even if it was,”

“Good,” Justice Strauss said, “Well, I suppose if you’re the only person who can play Henrieta…she’s quite a small role,”

“Henrieta? I didn’t know my part had a name,”

“Oh, yes, Count Olaf told me all about it,” Justice Strauss fiddled with her glove for  a second, with a look on her face that Isadora couldn’t place, before saying, “Oh!” 

“Oh?” Isadora repeated.

“I completely forgot I had something for you! Come, come!” She got to her feet and brushed the dirt off her knees before motioning for Isadora to follow her through a side entrance of the house and into the living room. It was squashy and cozy, with a fireplace on one side and a few armchairs on the other. The walls were lined with photos - Justice Strauss as a younger woman, seemingly, with her family or with her friends. 

“I apologise for the mess, I forgot- here it is,” she picked up a book and held it out to Isadora, “I know how hard the last month or so has been for the three of you, and I want to help any way I can. I hope this will inspire you to write more couplets again,”

Isadora took the book from her - it was the Sappho collection she had been reading the day before, “Are you lending this to me?”

“My dear, I am giving it to you,” Justice Strauss said with a soft laugh, “Please,”

Isadora looked down, flustered slightly, “Thank you,”

“Of course. One day you must share your poems with me,”

“I will,”

At that moment, the front door slammed, and they both looked around confused. “Did your brothers leave?” Justice Strauss asked. Isadora frowned.

“I wouldn’t think so,” she said. They slipped out of the living room and back into the garden so as to return to the library, and saw the hook handed man inspecting some flowers.

“Oh, hello!” Justice Strauss said, “Are you here for the Quagmires?”

“Yes,” The hook handed man said, grinning when he saw Isadora. She shoved her book into her pocket, pulse quickening, “Their father wants them back at the house,”

“I’m sorry for keeping them, they’re just such delightful company,” Justice Strauss said. Isadora looked up at her with panicked eyes, desperate to communicate something without saying a word, but she wasn’t looking back. The hook handed man snarled a response that Isadora didn’t hear and grabbed the front of her jumper.

“Now, is that strictly nec-” Justice Strauss’ protests were cut off as Isadora was hauled inside. In the library, Quigley stood shoulder to shoulder with Duncan, who had his arms wrapped around his chest.

“You two. Let’s go,” The hook handed man demanded. They were frogmarched back to Count Olaf’s house without chance for a goodbye, and shoved back into their room, where they were told to “Stay out of trouble for the boss!” before the door was slammed shut.

Quigley rounded on his siblings, “Did anyone find anything?” Isadora shamefully shook her head, but Duncan slid a thick, hardback tome from under his sweater, and she hissed in gratitude. 

“I’m not sure it will help,” He said guiltily, “But it’s on nuptial law. Maybe Count Olaf committed adultery at some point? At least revealing that would distract him from putting on the play,”

Quigley raised his hand.

“Adultery means you cheated on your husband or wife,” Isadora said, “And it’s a crime. It’s worth a shot, Dunc,”

“We’ll take turns reading it,” Quigley said, “That way we can each get a little bit of sleep,” But Duncan shook his head.

“No, I’m the journalist - you two get some sleep,” His siblings immediately spoke up to protest, but he just shook his head harder, “I insist. I’m the lightest sleeper out of all of us anyway. Besides, with my skills, I’ll find something in ten minutes and sleep the rest of the night,”

Quigley smiled at his brother, “My baby brother’s all grown up,” He said, and Duncan swiped at him with the book.

“I’m fifteen minutes younger than you,” he protested. Quigley chuckled, dodging Duncan’s hit and darting to the other side of the room, where Duncan followed.

“You’re both babies,” Isadora remarked.

***

Duncan’s eyes began to cross. The sun was just peeking over the windowsill and, as his siblings slept unpeacefully, he desperately tried to absorb the information he was reading. He felt as though he was reading the same sentence over and over again. He felt as though he was reading the same sentence over and over again. 

He wished, more than anything, that he could figure out a way to get them all out of the play. Even if he found proof of a crime after the affair, the three of them would still live with the bitter taste in their mouths of having to act for Count Olaf. The whole thing seemed so odd to his analytical brain - surely Olaf, who hated them, wouldn’t want them in his production. And why was he so insistent on having Justice Strauss?

As Duncan turned the page, it hit him. 

He raced downstairs, desperate to confront Count Olaf. If he knew that Duncan understood his evil plan, he would give it up, and have to do something else, surely. And as Duncan careened into the kitchen, he saw him, sitting calmly at the table, still adorned with the untouched cupcakes.

“Hello, my bride-to-be,” Olaf said. Duncan grimanced.

“I’m not Isadora,” He said, “And I know what you’re planning to do to Isadora,”

“Oh?” Count Olaf leaned forward. Duncan slammed the book on nuptial law on the table, flicking to the page he’d read some five hours before.

“Where did you get that book?” He said, and for the first time since the Quagmires had met him, seemed genuinely afraid. It made Duncan glow with confidence, and he read aloud;

“The laws of marriage in this community are very simple,” He said, “The requirements are as follows - the presence of a judge, a statement of “I do” by both the bride and the groom, and the signing of the explanatory document in the bride’s own hand,” He turned to Count Olaf with a mixture of pride at what he’d uncovered, and disgust at what it meant, “You’re going to actually marry Isadora!”

“Why would I do that?” Olaf asked, sounding exasperated, “You may feel pride in your freakish identical sister, but I am a very handsome man - I can get any bride I pick, and I would never pick one that looks similar to her scrawny brothers,”

 “Because, then you’ll be able to access our fortune, because a legal husband can use his wife’s finances, due to the inherent misogyny in our political and legal system!”

Count Olaf stood up very, very tall at this proclamation, “Using made up words isn’t going to save you, boy, and this won’t either,”

“It’s not going to work,” Duncan said, refusing to break eye contact. Olaf froze.

“Is the girl not the oldest? Esme told me the girl was the oldest. Is she not the girl? Are you the girl?”

“What? No,” Duncan said, “It’s not going to work because I’m going to go to Justice Strauss, or the police, or both, and you’ll be put away forever!”

“Oh?” Olaf said, “And how will you do that from the inside of a cage, little Quigley?”

The pale faces appeared so fast Duncan couldn’t so much as scream before a bag went over his head.

Chapter Text

The bumpy car ride was coming to an end - the engine grew quieter, the motion got slower. The boy shifted. He hadn’t slept once on the several hour journey, but from the way his forehead was pressed against the window, he also couldn’t see outside. Leaning against him, his sister was able to rest, but hardly peacefully. She tossed and turned, whining at whatever terrors she was seeing. The boy held her closer.

“We’re here! All out, please,” The stout man in the front said, before coughing violently and stepping out of the car. Klaus had only met him a couple of times before, when he had come around to their house for a meeting with his parents, and he’d always disliked how patronizing he was. Now, that dislike simmered into something much more painful.

Klaus stepped out of the car and pulled his sister Sunny into his arms, whose eyes scrunched up before blinking awake. She looked up at Klaus, and he looked back down and tried to smile.

“Welcome to your new home, Baudelaires,” Mr Poe announced.

Klaus stared up at the dark, decrepit school that loomed in front of him, craning his neck to try and see the top of it. The building, much like the ones either side of it, was curved at the top and made entirely of stone, with very little windows dotted across the walls. It reminded him of a grave, and his mind was immediately cast to the three stones that stood like soldiers, without any bodies to keep watch over. In his arms, his baby sister squirmed, trying to get a glance at what he was looking at.

“Sunny, I can’t hold you if you move about so much,” Klaus said, struggling to retain his grip on her, “I’m not strong enough,”

“Jow,” Sunny said, which meant “I’m sorry,”, and nestled her head into the crook of Klaus’ neck instead. As Sunny was only quite little, she could not speak in full sentences, and often used singular words to convey a great deal. Luckily for her, her entire family had quickly picked up on this, and spoke her language fluently while they patiently waited for her to learn a wider vocabulary.

It occurred to Klaus, in that moment, that he was now the only person in the entire world who knew what Sunny was saying.

Mr Poe, the banker in charge of the Baudelaire fortune, coughed into his handkerchief and opened the door in front of them. Mr Poe so far had not been much comfort to the surviving two Baudelaires, and hadn’t even noticed how much Klaus was struggling to hold up his sister, but at least he had put a roof over their heads for the past week and clothes on their back. Klaus knew he had to be grateful for that. 

Mr Poe ushered them all inside, and set off at a bracing pace down a dark and dim hallway. Klaus tried to keep up, but burdened with the weight of his sister, he often fell back. Each time, Mr Poe would wait for him, then continue at the brisk speed as before, leaving him behind once more. After what felt like an age of Mr Poe stopping and starting and Klaus huffing and puffing, they came to a stop next to a door that read VICE PRINCIPAL NERO. Mr Poe knocked, but Klaus could barely hear it over the noise of someone playing violin - terribly. The Baudelaire parents had once said that nothing was worse than someone who could not play the violin, but insisted on doing so anyway. Sunny, whimpering at the noise against her new ears and turning inward to Klaus’ shirt fabric, seemed to agree. Mr Poe knocked again loudly, coughing even louder, and after a while the noise finally stopped and the door finally opened.

“What?” Vice Principal Nero demanded, which Klaus thought was an awfully rude way to greet people. He was very tall, with his wispy hair tied back in three rubber bands, and a tie with purple snails on it. Looking at it, Klaus recalled a fact he’d learned a few months ago, that snails hibernate. Holding Sunny up as well as he could, he thought that sounded quite nice at that moment.

“Hello, sir,” Mr Poe said, seemingly unaware of how rude Vice Principal Nero was being, “I am Arthur Poe, of Mulctuary Money Management, we spoke on the phone,”

Vice Principal Nero glared at him, “You know, it’s very rude to interrupt a genius while he is playing,” He said. Hypocritical - a word which means saying that you have particular moral beliefs but behaving in a way that shows these are not sincere, Klaus thought but did not say.

“Yes, and what lovely playing it was, truly,” Mr Poe said with a big smile, “But I must be getting on, so can I drop these off with you and leave?”

Vice Principal Nero fixed his gaze on the two children in front of him and sneered, “So this is them?”

“Yes - children, say hello to Vice Principal Nero,”

“Hello,” Klaus all but whispered. Sunny said nothing. 

“You’ll have to forgive them, they’re quite shell shocked by the tragic death of their family,” Mr Poe said. He opened his mouth, but paused to cough for a long time before continuing, “This is Klaus, and that is Sunny,”

Vice Principal Nero eyed the two young children for a moment, “That’s it?”

“That’s it,”

“I thought there was another girl,”

“No, just-”

“Sikaw!” Sunny cried, interrupting Mr Poe. Vice Principal Nero made a face of disgust at her.

“Why did that one just make that noise?” He asked. Klaus shifted the weight of Sunny.

“She means, there is another girl,” He translated, “Her name is Violet!”

“Her name is Violet,” Vice Principal Nero repeated in a high pitched and quite silly voice. This is a very horrid thing to do, especially in these circumstances, and made Sunny recoil in anger.

Mr Poe tutted, “Now, Sunny, that isn’t very good grammar, is it? You’ve used the wrong tense. There was another girl whose name was Violet - past tense,” He looked back up at Vice Principal Nero, “She’s young, you must understand. Klaus, I expect you’ll teach your sister the correct English language, as the oldest,”

“I’m not the oldest!” Klaus protested, “Violet is!”

“Now, I expected better of such a well read boy,” Mr Poe shook his head, as Vice Principal Nero opened his mouth to mimic him again, “Past tense, Klaus, past. The correct sentence is either Violet was the oldest or I am the oldest, not a mix of the both,”

Red hot anger boiled in Klaus’s mind, obscuring his vision slightly, at Mr Poe’s condescension- a word which here means suggesting Klaus didn’t know exactly what was going on. A word which here means suggesting that Klaus hadn’t stood on that road, clutching Sunny as tight as he could while he watched the fire roar and scream as it consumed his house. A word which here means, he hadn’t strove to hear a single sound that indicated where his family was, or see a single silhouette to show they were escaping safely. A word which here means he hadn’t felt firefighters rush past him in and out of the building, and hadn’t grabbed each and every one, demanding to know if they’d found his parents or his sister. A word which here means he hadn’t had to be carried, screaming, into a firetruck, while he fought tooth and nail to return to the building and dig through the ashes to find them. When, in fact, Klaus very much had done all of that. He clutched Sunny against his chest, feeling her warm breath and beating heart, the only proof that his family had ever existed at all.

“...Right,” He said bitterly, staring at the grimy floor.

“Hee,” Sunny added quietly, which meant, “Hello,”

***

Klaus sighed with relief, placing Sunny down on a cot of hay and finally giving his arms a small rest. The Orphan Shack was…Klaus’ tired mind couldn’t even find the right synonym, which scared him slightly. Abominable? Foul? Deplorable? Klaus sighed and, sitting next to his infant sister, settled on cold.

Cold and lonely. 

Sunny crawled next to him and placed her head in his lap. Picking off a few strands of hay, Klaus patted her hair down and surveyed his new house. Mould dripped on the walls, crabs bit at his feet, and Klaus was sure the wallpaper would give him a headache after a while. There was a small space in the other corner of the shack, and he could see Violet standing there now - her head would brush against the roof, it was so low. As Klaus watched, she stooped slightly, unravelled her ribbon from her wrist and tied it into her hair. She surveyed the shack, noting its many issues, and opened her mouth to decree her new invention and how it would improve their situation-

She didn’t say anything. Because she was only in Klaus’ brain. And Klaus couldn’t invent anything.

Small hands pressed against Klaus’ cheeks, pushing his glasses up his face and into his hair. He glanced, confused at Sunny, who was using Klaus’ body to support herself to standing and staring at him with a determined look. It was then that he noticed he was crying, and Sunny’s hands were wet with tears she was trying to staunch. He cleared his throat and brushed them away.

“Oh, I-I didn’t know- I’m sorry,” He said, trying desperately to keep his voice steady. Sunny’s eyes shone as she watched him, and she fell into his arms, hugging him as tight as her little arms could muster. Klaus held her close, closer than close, almost squishing her frame as he continued to cry, feeling her small body shake with her own sorrow. 

“Sinkow…” She muttered. Klaus nodded.

“Yeah…” He said, “I miss Violet too, Suns,”

***

Klaus shifted his school bag from one arm to the other, standing on tiptoes to try to see if Sunny was still in work. As he wasn’t allowed in the administrative building, he was forced to wait outside to take Sunny to lunch and to the Orphan Shack and hoped she would be able to crawl her way to the door, but today she was late. Vice Principal Nero’s window, however, was shrouded in a curtain, and he couldn’t see if his sister was still in there. 

“Hello there,” a voice said next to him, and Klaus turned to see a woman watching him. She had a cart of books in front of her, drawing Klaus’ attention immediately, and peered at him through glasses with thicker frames than his, “Do you have an appointment? I’m afraid you’ll be punished if you do,”

“Oh, uh, no,” Klaus said, “I’m waiting for my sister. She works in there,”

The woman notched her head to one side, “Miss Remora? She seems quite a bit older than you,”

“N-no, Sunny Baudelaire,” Klaus said.

“The Baudelaire girl? Why, she’s a baby!”

“Yeah…” Klaus said, “She works for Vice Principal Nero as a receptionist,”

The woman frowned, “Why, that’s just absurd!” She declared, “A baby can’t be a receptionist! She should be in preschool!”

“I know,” Klaus said, “But this school doesn’t have a preschool,”

“Well, that’s certainly not ideal…” The woman said, “Maybe she could work in the library with me? That would mean you wouldn’t have to wait for her outside - what if it was raining?”

“There’s a library?” 

In the past two weeks he had been at Prufrock Preparatory School, Klaus had been in what most would call, upon seeing him, a funk. Of course, it was much, much worse than a funk - it was a cloud that hung over his movements, weighing him down with ashes. But in that moment, his eyes brightened ever so slightly, dispelling some of the dark grey. The woman nodded.

“Yes, I’m the librarian,” She stuck out her hand to Klaus, “Olivia Caliban,”

Klaus shook Miss Caliban’s hand, “Klaus Baudelaire,”

“Baudelaire…” Miss Caliban said, “Now, why does that name sound familiar?”

“We’re the new students,” Klaus said. Then, after a moment in which Miss Caliban clearly didn’t recognise anything he added, slightly quieter, “We live in the Orphan Shack,”

“Oh! Oh…” Miss Caliban said, “Oh, I am truly sorry. I tried to dissuade Vice Principal Nero from putting you in there, but he couldn’t be changed,”

“Which is why I’m not confident you could convince her to relocate Sunny,” Klaus said. Miss Caliban nodded.

“I’m afraid so…well, the least I can do is find her for you, hm?” With that, she abandoned her cart and marched into the building, leaving Klaus before he could even answer. He stood there, frozen for a moment. Then his eyes fell on the cart. It looked like it held about two dozen books, each of different sizes and colours and even shapes. Since his house and family had burned down, Klaus had only read one book, and it was a textbook detailing the different measurements of different things. These books looked like they could actually teach him things. He could research. He reached out a hand to pick up a book- but the door opened again, and Miss Caliban came out holding Sunny.

“Klam,” Sunny said bashfully, which meant, “I got lost in the corridors - I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,”

“It’s okay,” Klaus said as he took her from Miss Caliban, “Thank you, Miss Caliban,”

“No worries!” Miss Caliban said, “I usually come around this building after school anyway, I could pick her up for you if you’d like,”

“That…would be very helpful, thank you,” Klaus said. Miss Caliban nodded.

“Stop by the library whenever you want,” She said as she pushed her cart of books up the steps to the building. She waved behind, and Klaus raised a hand while keeping a good grip on Sunny.

“Sheen,” Sunny said. Klaus nodded.

“She does seem nice,” He said, as she glided into the gloomy building and the doors shut behind her.

***

Klaus sat in the back of Mrs Bass’ class and tried hard to listen to every measurement she recited back to them, writing them all down in his exercise book. Though he found the work incredibly tedious and more than banal, he also found some sort of quiet respite in the work. It was slow and calm and often quiet, and it gave his brain an excuse to focus on one thing and one thing only. These were the few hours a day when he didn’t see his sister’s shadow in the corner of his eye. He still had worries about Sunny, of course, in the back of his mind, but they quietened when he wrote down figure after figure after figure. 

Miss Bass paused in her descriptions of measurements and looked at the clock, “Okay, we’re going to do something fun now,” She said in an almost monotone voice. The class looked up as one unit, “Pair up and guess each other’s heights, then measure the heights and either congratulate or chastise your partner,”

The class was immediately bustling with movement as people hunted down their friends, and Klaus’ stomach sank. It was a well known fact that the Baudelaires were not popular at Prufrock Preparatory School. Their status as recently orphaned individuals isolated them from their peers, and the vile Carmelita Spats had turned each and every one of the student body against them. Even Sunny, who was a baby and realistically couldn’t be hated by anyone.

Klaus watched as the class paired itself up, and as they all settled down to begin their work, one mousy looking boy turned his gaze upon Klaus. He rolled his eyes, muttered to himself and threw himself down in the empty seat next to him. He looked quite small, and Klaus wondered how difficult this task would be.

“Tell me about it, cakesniffer,” The quite small boy said. Klaus pushed up his glasses.

“About my height?” he asked, “I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to do,”

“No, idiot, the fire,” The quite small boy said, and Klaus’ heart weighed slightly heavier, the cloud returning over his veins, “Carmelita said there’s supposed to be three of you,”

“There is three of us,” Klaus insisted. Then he paused for a moment, and looked down at his notebook, “There was three of us,” He amended. 

“Well, go on. Tell me what happened,”

“What is there to say?” Klaus snapped, “Our house burned down, and my parents and sister died. Nothing amazing happened, and no one came to save the day. They’re dead. That’s what happened,”

The boy froze for a second, perhaps unexpecting of Klaus’ outburst. Well, it served him right, Klaus thought. Why did no one have manners? Klaus deserved respect even if he didn’t have parents to teach him about it. 

“What was the other one’s name?” The boy asked after a long silence. Then it was Klaus’ turn to pause in surprise.

“Violet,” he muttered. The boy nodded.

“Like purple,”

“Yes, like purple,”

“What was she like?”

Klaus didn’t know how to deal with this boy, asking question after question, “She’s an inventor,” He said, not meeting his classmate’s gaze.

“How old was she?”

“She’s fifteen,”

“When’s her birthday?”

“February fifth,”

“How-”

“Wait,”

Klaus stared at his notebook, brow furrowed. February fifth, or fourth? He was so sure in the moment that it had been fifth, but now that he thought about it, fourth also sounded plausible. Which one was it? He knew it wasn’t the third, because that was their mother’s birthday, and she used to joke about how grateful she was that it wasn’t on the same day. But could it be the fourth? Or even, now that Klaus delved into it, the sixth? In fact, was he sure at all it was even in February? Yes, no, of course it was in February. 

“What’s up with you?”

“Fourth,” Klaus said quietly, “Her birthday was the fourth of February,”

The rest of the class passed in a blur. Klaus guessed the quite small boy’s height wrong five times, and eventually had to give up. He also got his own height wrong. He was distracted, his mind racing, trying desperately to think up every little detail about his sister that he could. Violet’s birthday was on the fourth of February. Her hair was slightly darker than his. Her eyes were a dark brown. Her least favourite song had been Row Row Row Your Boat. She freckled in the sun. Klaus had been paying such little attention, he would later be surprised to see he’d written anything at all.

After class had finished, he still had an hour until he had to collect Sunny, so he went to the library to clear his mind. If he buried his head in a book, he could calm himself down. Panicking wouldn’t do him anything. Violet would say that. 

He wouldn’t forget her. He wouldn’t.

Suddenly, as he pushed the doors to the library open, a new thought struck him. He had known Violet for twelve years. He had a great deal of ways to remember her, a great deal of experiences to base his image of her for the rest of his life. But Sunny. Sunny was an infant. He’d done a lot of research on babies when he’d first been told he’d have a younger sister, and she almost definitely wouldn’t remember anything that had happened to her before this point. Which meant…

Which meant she wouldn’t remember Violet. At all. 

Miss Caliban was watching him strangely, he realised. She placed her book down carefully, as if loud noises would startle Klaus - perhaps they would - and peered at him.

“Are you okay, Klaus?” She asked. Klaus shook his head slowly, unable to articulate his thoughts. He approached the desk slowly, “What book are you looking for?”

“Actually…” An idea was forming in his mind, slow but sure, solid, “Do you know where the school keeps their blank exercise books?”

***

After handing Sunny over to her brother, Miss Calibran produced a small notebook, much like the ones Klaus used in class, from under her sweater. She winked at him.

“Slipped right in and took it,” She said, “Honestly, they always over order, I could take five more and they’d never know,”

“Thank you,” Klaus on occasion struggled to show his true emotion in his voice, especially when the emotion was gratitude, but he made sure to let Miss Caliban know how thankful he was, “You’ve been a wonderful presence these past months,”

Miss Caliban shook her hand, “I’m not going anywhere, am I? Good luck on this,” 

Sunny twisted her body to watch Klaus suspiciously, “Luck?” She asked, which meant, “Why did Miss Caliban wish you good luck after giving you a stolen notebook?” Klaus grinned at her.

“I’ve got a plan,”

In the Orphan Shack, Klaus produced a pen he’d stolen from his class - this was a good cause to steal, he rationalised - and sat himself next to Sunny. She had a hand in her mouth which she chewed thoughtfully as she watched him open the notebook to the first page, crease it almost obsessively and look up at his baby sister. Then, he wrote the heading VIOLET LAURIE BAUDELAIRE in the neatest letters he could.

The Baudelaire parents had been popular. They had hosted galleries, donated to charity, and attended operas. Klaus was sure there were myriad newspapers to go through to show his little sister - and maybe, in the future, himself - what their parents had been like. But Violet was different. It was Klaus’ responsibility to immortalise her, and immortalise her he would.

“Violet had dark brown eyes and light brown hair,” He said slowly, writing down what he said, “She put her hair up in a ponytail using a ribbon when she wanted to think-”

“Ichball!” Sunny said, which meant, “I remember that - I’m not amnesiac!”

Klaus smiled, “I’m just covering the basics, Sun,” Sunny shrugged and leaned into him, head nested in the crook of his elbow as he continued writing. As he wrote, he read it out loud for his sister to listen to, and for a few moments their disgusting shack began to glow a little bit brighter. Though neither of the remaining Baudelaires were under any illusion that Violet was there with them, her memories were there, and forever would be there, and that would have to do.

Chapter Text

That night, the Quagmires’ dreams were fraught with terrors. Isadora particularly tossed and turned. She saw herself standing in a white dress that was slowly being soaked in blood, standing in front of the Quagmire mansion as it was engulfed in flames. She tried to run inside to pull her family to safety, but the tall bald man held her back with a laughing grin. She heard Quigley and Duncan’s screams, but couldn’t do anything as Justice Strauss smiled and pronounced her Countess Olaf.

She woke up with a muffled scream.

Pulling herself up to her chin, she hunched over her body and rested her head on her knees, hearing the first birdsong of dawn. Her whole body was shaking, and she had to remind herself to breathe. It was just a dream. Just a nightmare.

She looked around the room and wondered how much of it was just in the nightmare.

Next to her, Quigley stirred and blinked himself awake. He looked up at Isadora through his scruffy, bedhead hair and squinted, “Are you okay?” he asked. It was common for one of them to wake up in a panic, so he didn’t seem particularly shocked when Isadora quietly shook her head. He pulled himself up and put his arms around her shoulders.

“It’s okay - we’ll get out of this,” he said. Isadora leaned into his touch and allowed herself to believe him.

The two of them eventually dragged themselves out of bed and slinked downstairs, trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible as they looked for Duncan. Whenever their brother had a particularly bad dream, they knew to find him in the garden, having tiptoed past Count Olaf - but today he wasn’t there.

“Hello, hello, Quagmires,” an icy voice said, “How are we today?”

The Quagmires turned around and saw Count Olaf standing before them, face split in the most spine-shivering grin they’d seen.

Neither responded. Olaf ignored it.

“I thought you ought to know I’ve decided to move the date of our little theatre production,” He continued, “Tonight, in less than eight hours, at nine pm, we shall dine on poetry, gulp down music and engulf drama,”

Quigley glanced out of the window, to the sun. It had risen enough to tell him it was about eight am, and in eight hours it would be six pm. He decided not to tell Count Olaf he’d made a mathematical mistake.

“Well, come on twins, aren’t you excited to perform?” He asked. 

“We’re not twins, we’re triplets,” Isadora said, confused. Even Count Olaf knew there were three of them. But he just shrugged.

“I figured two brats who don’t notice when their brother is gone don’t have a brother at all,” He said, and a cold washed over the two triplets.

“Where is he?” Quigley asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Olaf simply grinned.

Grabbing Isadora’s hand, Quigley rushed back up to their bedroom, where Duncan was not. Then they spun around again and galloped back down the stairs, shouting Duncan’s name and opening doors at random, to no avail. Finally, when they returned to the ground floor, Quigley stepped on something and looked down.

“Nautical Law…” He read aloud. Isadora craned over his shoulder and shook her head.

“Nuptial Law,” She corrected him. They both looked up at Count Olaf, “What did you do to him, you bastard?”

Count Olaf waved a dismissal hand, “So rude - that is no way to treat your future husband,”

“You are not my future husband,”

Count Olaf’s eyes darted to the door to the garden, just for a moment, and it was all Isadora needed to march out of it, dragging Quigley behind her, still clutching the book. “Duncan!” She shouted, whirling in a circle, “Duncan!”

“Isa…” 

“What?”

Quigley pointed up. Up, up, up, to the top of the pointed tower of the house, where a very small birdcage held a medium sized boy. They watched as he squirmed around until he could see them.

“Duncan!” Isadora screamed in fear. His hair was falling over his face, and she saw his hands were tied together, “What the fuck?!”

“Is that a birdcage?!” Quigley exclaimed. Count Olaf had joined them in the garden, and tutted.

“Little girls who do too much reading get put in cages sometimes, twins,” He said, “As your father, I have to teach you this lesson,”

A pause.

“I’M NOT ISADORA, FOR FUCK’S SAKE,” Duncan shouted from the top. Count Olaf rolled his eyes and unclipped a radio attached to his belt.

“Yep, the tape’s come off again…no…yes…I don’t know, tie it around his head? Ugh,” He replaced it on his waist, “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”

“He could die, you sadist!” Quigley shouted. Isadora was too distracted by craning her neck and watching the image of Duncan’s cage being grabbed by hooks and his head roughly slapped with tape to say anything. 

“I have found that little boys who get put in cages will not fall…unless something makes them fall,” Count Olaf bent down to the triplets’ heights, staring into their identical eyes with his shiny ones, “He is completely safe, until something or even someone puts pressure on his little house, and then…” He glanced up to the cage, then whistled low as his eyes traced the journey Duncan’s body would make through the air. He made a small explosion noise as he reached the ground, “No more Quigley,”

“Duncan,” Isadora whispered.

“So I would suggest…” Count Olaf brought out a hand and gripped each Quagmire tightly on a shoulder, his bony hands biting into their skin, “You try your absolute hardest not to damage the good name of Al Funcoot, or perhaps my henchman will be so distressed, he accidentally lets go of your brother. That would be an unfortunate event, now, wouldn’t it?”

Quigley shivered, and Isadora grabbed his hand, tightly. She felt his hand shaking, but he squeezed back, and she gulped.

“Okay…” She said in the smallest voice she’d ever used. Count Olaf stood up straight and clapped his hands.

“Wonderful,” He said, “Now, please return to your room - I shall send a henchperson to make sure you do not get lost before the play tonight, and then you shall soon be reunited with your ugly, freakish brother,”

He grabbed Quigley again and roughly shoved them into the house. Isadora found their feet made their own way up the creaking stairs, across the creaking hall, and into the derelict room, and the door was slammed and locked before they could register it. Isadora collapsed onto the bed and Quigley paced the length of the room.

“How do we get him back?” He asked, “We have to get him back,”

“I know, but if they know we’re trying, he’ll drop him,” Isadora said, and shivered. Their bedroom was directly below the cage - they would see him as he plummeted to the ground. 

“Do you think he’ll actually let him go after the play?” 

Isadora sighed, “I don’t know, Quigley. Maybe? He wants us for the sapphires - if Duncan dies under his control, Esme Squalor will probably move us to a safer guardian,”

“It will be too little too late…” Quigley despaired, “So it’s either get him back and spend the rest of our lives controlled by him, or move on but…lose a triplet?”

“No,” Isadora said, but it wasn’t resolute. It was fatigued. She turned to Quigley, and saw the same on his face, “We’ll get him back. And we’ll escape,”

“What if we kill Count Olaf?” Quigley said, “Do you think his henchpeople would still listen to his orders?”

“They’d probably make a straw Olaf and take turns operating it,” Isadora said, which made her brother laugh, “But the man with hooks for hands would tear it,”

They both chuckled, as a bird collided with their window,

“Huh?” They both stood up, on guard, watching a crow flap its wings to regain balance. It seemed too heavy for its own body, and kept dipping in the sky. Quigley opened the window.

“There’s something on it,” He said. He reached out and grabbed the crow before it could react, and picked up a piece of paper in its talons. It fought against his clutches and he quickly released it again. Going over to Isadora, he unfurled it, handed it over, and listened as his sister read it aloud.

“Tide pools are not often found at Briney Beach, but in beaches with more erosion, they- What?” She flipped the paper over in confusion and sighed, “Okay, starting over,”

“That’s Duncan’s handwriting,” Quigley pointed out. Isadora nodded.

“Justice Strauss. Olaf marry Isa literally 4 sapphs. Dont sign,”

The triplets looked at each other.

“What does that mean?” Quigley asked. Isadora looked back down at the paper, face even paler than usual.

“I think it means…I’m going to actually marry Olaf tonight,” She said, throat hoarse, “I don’t know how, but the play is real,”

“What? There’s no way that’s possible - don’t weddings have all those rules and laws and stuff?” Quigley said. Isadora shook her head.

“I don’t think so. Remember that wedding we went to when we were nine?” she recalled, “We were the only family there outside the brides and officiant, they said I do, signed the paper, then ran away. That’s…that’s exactly what’s happening tonight,”

“No,” Quigley said, “No, no way. There’s got to be something we can do,”

There was a thud at the door, like someone sitting down outside it, and a voice came through the wood, “The boss says I have to stay here,” It was the henchperson of indeterminate gender. There was mumbling of a quieter person talking, possibly one of the pale faced women, “Yeah, he thinks they’re going to try to rescue Quigley,”

Quigley grabbed his sister’s arm. She looked at him, confused, as his eyes sparkled.

“I have a plan,”

***

When the door finally creaked open and the two pale-faced ladies appeared, Quigley and Isadora were sitting calmly on the bed, trying to still their nerves. They held hands tightly, but were separated when each lady took one triplet and pulled them up, harshly, down the stairs and into the car. Quigley, who rarely wore something other than baggy trousers, picked at the hem of his shorts, annoyed at how cold his legs were.

The theatre was drafty, with a few people milling around the front. The Quagmires were shoved unceremoniously into a back entrance and held outside two dressing rooms.

“The girl in that one, the boy in this one, so they don’t collude,” The lady holding Isadora said. She made to place Isadora in the first one, but the other woman stopped her.

“No, no, that’s the girl - put her in this one,”

“No, this is the boy,”

“The boy is in the cage,”

“There’s two boys,”

The bald man appeared, “I thought there were three boys?”

“If there were three boys-”

“-who would be the boss’s bride?”

“Idiot,”

“Imbecile,”

The bald man lumbered away, and one of the pale faced women took out a photo.

“The boss said this would happen,” She said, “Look,”

She pointed at the polaroid, in which Isadora was wearing her hair on the other side of her head to Quigley, and wearing the clothes Quigley was now wearing. Then she shook Quigley, whose hair was opposite to his in the photo, “This is the girl,”

She pushed Quigley into Isadora’s room and shut the door.

Quigley scampered over to the wall that connected him to Isadora and pressed an ear against it. He heard the door open, shut, then knocks on the wall.

--- -.- ..--..

OK?

Quigley sighed in relief and tapped out a response.

--- -.-    ..-

OK - U?

He waited for the answer.

--- -.-

OK

Quigley surveyed the room. It was small and cramped, with a surprisingly beautiful bridal costume in the corner, adorned with a flower crown. There was also a mirror which held a brush, comb, and a bunch of hair clips he remembered from Isadora’s own dressing table back at home. Back at their old home. He shook his hands out to ignore the intrusion of memory.

The door opened, and the second pale faced woman entered. Her wrinkles were set in different ways, which distinguished her from her sister. She grabbed Quigley and sat him roughly in front of the mirror.

“The boss wants his bride to be beautiful,” She said, pulling at his hair and brushing it out.

“What does that - ow- entail?” He said. He tried to sound like Isadora, which was helped by their identical vocal chords.

“First, fixing this hair,” She said. With a copious amount of hairspray, she attacked Quigley’s scalp, who tried desperately not to cough. Then she picked up an array of hair clips and stabbed his skin with them until his hair was piled on top of his head in some kind of official updo. Once she had placed the flowers within it, Quigley had to admit he looked quite something. He wondered why he didn’t put flowers in his hair more often. If he got out of Olaf’s grasp with his siblings - when - he’d work on that.

The woman placed rouge on his cheeks which made him cough more, and tried to elongate his eyelashes with mascara, which he point blank refused. Eventually, she left, and he fell back to the wall to see if he could hear anything. Nothing. He knocked experimentally, and Isadora responded quickly.

OK?

Quigley glanced at himself in the mirror and grinned.

Ull see

When he heard the door opening, Quigley dove for the chair so he wouldn’t be noticed, and the woman returned to place him in his dress. Quigley put his hands up.

“Woah, woah - can’t a girl have some privacy?” He tried to suppress his grin - despite the situation, it all felt rather mischievous. He enjoyed playing Isadora. The pale faced woman frowned.

“Olaf says not to leave you alone,” She said. Quigley shrugged.

“What am I going to do? I’m locked in a room with no windows or ways of getting out. You can stand in front of the door, if you wish,”

The pale faced woman furrowed her brow further, eyebrows lost in folds of flesh, before finally grumbling and leaving, shutting the door behind her. Obediently, Quigley slid into the dress. It was very hot, but it fit him surprisingly well - most likely fitted to Isadora’s measurements - and he couldn’t help but admire himself in the mirror.

Note to self - steal Isadora’s skirts every once in a while.

As he listened to the horrible play happen above him, he spent an arduous two hours waiting by leaning against Isadora’s wall, knocking every now and again to make sure she was still there. His heart raced, knowing that any moment Olaf could realise what had happened and make them swap over; or, worse, drop Duncan. His pulse heightened even further at the memory of his brother, hanging fifty feet in the air, and he knocked against the wall again to know that Isadora was safe. 

Finally, he was pulled out of the room and brought up beside the stage. With the strength of the pale faced woman’s grip, he couldn’t see how many people were in the audience, watching Olaf enunciate every syllable, but he could turn to the side and see Isadora appear next to him in the most ridiculous sailor’s outfit he had ever seen. Her hair was pinned under a white and blue beret-like hat, and she had a handkerchief tied around her collar. She glanced at Quigley and nodded.

“You look pretty,” she remarked. Quigley grinned.

“Thanks - you would hate it,”

“Oh, I know,”

“You look ridiculous,”

“Oh, I know,”

Somehow, the ludicrous nature of the sailor’s outfit cancelled out the fact that Isadora hadn’t worn boyish clothes in some seven years, and instead of making her feel uncomfortable and wrong, simply made her feel stupid. Quigley laughed, and Isadora joined in before the women shushed them. He wished Duncan was there - the sight of Isadora would be one he’d never forget. 

A man in the audience coughed.

“Okay, go, go,” Both pale-faced women hissed, and they pushed the triplets onstage. Isadora took her place next to the other actors playing the audience, and Quigley inched closer to Olaf, a disgusted look on his face.

“Do you, Henrieta K Tinseck, take Al Funcoot, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Isadora held stock still as Quigley - who had been instructed not to speak, thankfully - nodded. Olaf handed him a long quill, and with a shaking hand, he shut his eyes tight and prayed they were right about this plan. Then, in a rush to get it over with, he signed the paper in a jagged motion.

Olaf clapped his hands together, delighted, and turned to the audience with a wide, sinister grin, “Ladies and gentlemen, the show is over. There is no need to continue the play, for its purpose has been served,”

A man coughed and began clapping.

“What?” Another audience member said.

“You see, the laws of marriage in this community are very simple - all they require is an official document signed in the bride’s own hand and the correct words from a judge,” Count Olaf gestured to Justice Strauss, “Thank you, my dear,”

Justice Strauss opened and closed her mouth without making any sound for a moment, “I-I-this is impossible! No!”

“It isn’t impossible - yes,” Count Olaf grabbed Quigley, pulling him to his disgusting side, and Isadora nearly leapt at him, “This lovely girl is my daughter and my wife, and now I have sole control of her fortune,”

“You can’t do that - she’s too young!” Someone shouted. Count Olaf grinned.

“Maybe, but I have given full consent as her legal guardian, and so it is time for our honeymoon,”

Olaf gripped Quigley’s arm, but in that moment the doors to the theatre flew open, and in ran Duncan. Tripping over his feet slightly as he tried to race down the sloped aisle, he clambered onto the stage amid confused mumbles. Count Olaf fixed a look of pure rage upon him as Isadora hugged him tightly.

Behind Duncan came the man with hooks for hands, huffing like he’d sprinted the entire way from the house and covered in soot. His clothes looked burnt, “I’m so sorry boss, but he- and then- it- he’s very fast, boss,”

Quigley took advantage of Olaf’s wrathful distraction and shook his grip off him, “We’re not married,” He said, point-blank. Olaf glared at him.

“Shut it, girl,” 

“That’s not Isadora,” Duncan pointed out simply, looking thoroughly confused, “That’s Quigley,”

“Whuh- don’t try to lie to me, orphan!”

Isadora noticed a pale faced woman take out her photograph as Quigley rolled up his lacy sleeve. Across his arm, starting at his shoulder and ending below his elbow, was a long, thin scar, from when he had fallen out of a tree at ten years old. He’d had to get fifteen stitches and a cast for five months. Isadora displayed her own, bare arm. The pale faced woman passed the photo to Olaf - in it, both children’s arms were clearly shown.

“You-you-you IMBECILES! You got the wrong one!” He moved to slap the woman, but seemed to change his mind and instead rounded on Quigley, grabbing him again, “Well, it doesn’t matter. This one is still my wife- husband- I’M married to him and so I have his fortune!”

Justice Straus raised a timid hand, “Actually, the husband doesn’t have to cede his fortune in a marriage,” 

“Inherent misogyny,” Duncan said, nodding. Olaf had gone a bright shade of red.

“And he’s not even married! Look!” Isadora snatched the marriage certificate out of Olaf’s hands - who turned purple at this infraction - and waved it to Justice Strauss, “He signed my name! That means it’s null and void, right?”

Justice Strauss carefully took the paper out of her hands and inspected it. A grin split across her face, “Isadora, you are entirely correct. This marriage was in fact figurative, not literal,”

Count Olaf spluttered, eyes dilated with rage flitting between Justice Strauss, the Quagmires and his inept henchpeople, “Well- I- These orphans are still my children! I may not be married to any of them, but they are still mine, so I shall take them home now, if you would be so kind!”

He lunged to grab Quigley, but Justice Strauss stood between them, “Absolutely not,” She shoved Count Olaf in his chest and he stumbled backwards. Duncan cheered in Isadora’s arms, “This is absolutely not legal. I shall adopt the Quagmires, and make sure we move far far away from you and this horrible plan! If they are very lucky they should forget about all of this when they are older, and you shall be behind bars!”

Isadora and Duncan looked at each other with incredulous hope, “Will you really?” Isadora asked. She pictured a life away from Count Olaf, in Justice Strauss’ wonderful house, without impossible chores to complete and horrible theatre troupes circling them like vultures. 

“Of course, my darlings,” Justice Strauss said, “I am so sorry I couldn’t have been more help to you - I must make it up to you all now,”

“Uh-bub-bub-” The Quagmires turned around to see an audience member clambering out of her seat. Her platinum blonde hair and tailored dress announced her as Esme, and Isadora’s spirits lifted further. Maybe Justice Strauss could take them in today, “I’m afraid, as the Quagmires’ financial advisor and in charge of their fortune, I cannot allow them to go to a new guardian, not when Count Olaf is still their legal father,”

“But that’s absurd!” A new audience member said. He was short and as he stood up, coughed into a handkerchief, “He’s tried to marry one of them! That’s illegal”

Esme paused, “Technically not,”

“He locked my brother in a cage hanging over the edge of the house!” Quigley shouted into the audience. They mumbled in shock.

Esme paused again, raising an index finger to try and make a point but seeming unable to. She glanced at Olaf, eyebrows having a conversation of their own, before eventually sighing, “Yes, no, that’s fair, I- ugh,”

She shot one more look at Olaf, who shrugged, annoyed, behind the triplets. Quigley had stuck close to Justice Strauss, as if being closer to her would increase the likelihood he could stay. 

The woman sitting next to the coughing man stood up, holding a camera, “I’ve called the police, and my colleagues at the Daily Punctilio! You’ll be on the front page by tomorrow!”

The hook handed man clambered onto the stage - Isadora clutched Duncan closer - and made his way towards Olaf, whose troupe had all congealed around him. He clutched a long rope hanging from the top of the stage, “Triplets,” He hissed, before the lights went out and chaos erupted. Isadora, if possible, held onto Duncan even tighter with one hand, so tight she felt she might snap his bones, and grabbed in the dark with the other until she found the scratchy fabric of Quigley’s wedding dress. She pulled him to her and clutched her brothers tightly.

“I’ll get those sapphires, freaks,” A voice hissed in their ears, and all three stiffened.

The lights came back on - Justice Strauss had found the main switch. The Quagmires looked around, still holding each other, but Count Olaf and his troupe were completely gone. Most of the audience were on their feet, clambering about and squawking among themselves.

The Quagmires exchanged a look.

“What now?” Duncan asked amid the chaos.

Chapter Text

Klaus placed Sunny down on the bench outside Vice Principal Nero’s office and sat down next to her, “What do you think he wants?”

“Debbat,” Sunny said, which meant, “I don’t know,”

“Maybe he’s finally letting us live in a dorm,” Klaus said, “Do you think Mr Poe signed the forms?”

Sunny took a moment to consider, “No,”

“No,”

There was no terrible violin music coming from the office, which concerned Klaus, as the only time Vice Principal Nero didn’t play was when he was absolutely seething with anger. But then the door opened, and three identical children exited, looking thoroughly confused and varying levels of angry. One of them made eye contact with Klaus - however, he couldn’t say anything before Vice Principal Nero was in front of him.

“Well, orphans, how would you like to move into a broom closet?” He asked. Klaus and Sunny looked at each other.

“Brock?” Sunny asked. Vice Principal Nero’s expression contorted into annoyance.

“What my sister is asking is, why are we being moved?” Klaus translated.

“Why are we being moved-” Vice Principal Nero mimicked, “Idiot orphans. Don’t you remember - if new orphans come here, we have to put them in the orphan shack, because that’s where orphans go. But too many orphans in one shack could lead to issues, so we’re putting you two in a broom closet. Happy?”

Klaus was not happy. He hated the Orphan Shack, but it had been their home for the past four months, and he didn’t want to move into a place that would have even less space. But he sensed he didn’t have a choice, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to live with strangers, so he nodded mutely and picked up Sunny.

“Great. It’s down the hall, out of the building, into the building on the left, then a right, left, left, left, up, left, right, down, sideways, diagonal, south and that’s it,” Vice Principal Nero said. Then he slammed the door.

Sunny looked up at her brother dubiously, “Getcha?” She asked, meaning “Did you get that?”

“I think so…” Klaus said, “We’d better get out of this building before Vice Principal Nero remembers we could be punished,”

Sunny nodded.

As they walked, Klaus contemplated the situation, “So, I guess those kids were orphans too, huh,”

“Finash…” Sunny mused, words to the affect of, “I feel bad that they’re going to have to live in that terrible shack,”

“Well, ours might not be better,” Klaus said, taking the first right, “How are we going to fit into a broom closet?”

“Wemack,” Sunny sighed. Klaus shifted his grip on her and shrugged.

“I guess so,”

We’ll make do. 

***

As Klaus walked towards the dining hall later that day, there was already the semi-familiar chant of Cakesniffing orphans in the orphan shack echoing around the high-ceilinged room, which confused him as neither he nor Sunny were in the dining hall, and he doubted they were chanting it preemptively He glanced at Sunny in his hand, who shrugged.

The three children Klaus had seen earlier were standing in the middle of the cafeteria. They clearly wanted to sit down somewhere, but every table was full of jeering students, parroting Carmelita’s chant. Klaus sighed and brought himself and Sunny over to the situation.

“Give it a rest, Carmelita,” He said, exasperated. Carmelita grinned.

“Cakesniffing orphans want to protect their cakesniffing friends?” She asked. Klaus rolled his eyes. Turning away from her, he looked at the children.

“You can sit with us,” He said, and pointed to the empty table he usually shared with Sunny. One of the children nodded; they followed him to the table.

Klaus set Sunny down on the bench and sat down next to her, as the three identical children sat opposite them. Upon further reflection, they were identical in appearances, but not in clothes - one had a much neater collar than the others, and one clutched a dark purple notebook, while the third had a silver bracelet on with small charms. Klaus smiled at them.

“Hello,” He said - they were the first new people he’d encountered since first moving to the school, and already seemed the nicest, “Ignore Carmelita. She’s…not very nice,”

“She’s a froward and unable worm,” The child with the silver bracelet said. The child on their left elbowed them, “I mean, from what I can see right now,”

“Jack,” Sunny said.

“My sister agrees with you,” Klaus translated, “I’m Klaus Baudelaire, and this is my sister Sunny,”

The newcomers smiled and waved, and the child on the far right gestured to themself, “I’m Duncan Quagmire, and this is my sister Isadora, and my brother Quigley - we’re triplets,”

“Hia!” Sunny said as she reached for some lettuce on her plate.

“Welcome to Prufrock Prep,” Klaus said. Duncan smiled.

“Thank you - you’re the first person to say that to us,”

Klaus sighed, “Yeah, that makes sense. So, you’re in the orphan shack now?”

“Yes,” Quigley looked down for a moment, “Our last guardian was…less than adequate. Our parents died in a house fire about a month ago,”

Klaus froze in the act of picking up a fork, “Ours too,” He said quietly, glancing at Sunny. She looked back with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Isadora said, “We know how hard it is to lose your parents. Sunny is lucky she’s got her older brother, right?”

“Yeah - I mean, I’d hope so,” Klaus said. He wasn’t sure if he should mention his other loss, the one that weighed so much heavier, but then Sunny spoke up.

“Aussdio,” she said solemnly, which is difficult to do with a mouthful of lettuce.

“Ausdio?” Quigley asked. Klaus sighs.

“She said I’m not the oldest,” he translated, “Even though everyone says I am. We also lost our sister, Violet. She was fourteen,”

The Quagmires went quiet for a moment, and Klaus worried he’d said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry,” Isadora repeated, and this time she didn’t say any more. What more was there to say?

Sunny clapped her hands together, “Isdaw,” She said suddenly, eliciting the attention of the table. Klaus laughed slightly shakily.

“What does that mean?” Duncan asked.

“She says this is a sad topic to start off with,” Klaus said, “We should probably talk about something lighter,”

“What about hobbies?” Quigley asked, “I’m a cartographer, Duncan’s a journalist and Isadora’s a poet,”

“I do a lot of research,” Klaus said, “I’m very good at languages,”

“Bite!” Sunny cried.

“Sunny likes to bite hard things,”

“Odd for an infant,” Duncan said, “But interesting nonetheless,”

Klaus nodded as he reached for his lunch. The Quagmires all glanced at their plates, which were pointedly devoid of cutlery, and looked at one another dismayed. Quigley tentatively poked his salad.

“We can share cutlery,” Klaus said, handing his fork to Isadora, “If I use my knife, I can spear things to eat them,”

“Enat!” Sunny cried, which meant And I can’t use cutlery anyway! She pushed her knife and fork across the table to Duncan and Quigley, which usually is quite a dangerous thing to do, but was okay this time because Sunny did not have very good arm strength.

“Very inventive,” Duncan remarked. Klaus smiled quietly and stabbed a chunk of tomato. 

***

“And then Esme disappeared,” Quigley said, “Right after Count Olaf did,”

“They didn’t know where to put us without our financial advisor, since our parents' will has since vanished,” Duncan added.

“At least, the bit that talks about where we go,” Isadora said.

“Burned,” Quigley said.

“So we were shoved here - basically into foster care, I suppose,” Duncan concluded, “No one’s been able to find Esme or Count Olaf, so we’re fairly sure we’ll be here until Isadora turns eighteen,”

“Is she the oldest?” Klaus asked. Isadora nodded. In the last few hours, the two Baudelaires had learned how to distinguish between the triplets - Isadora made wide hand gestures when she spoke, Duncan was always fixing his hair so it sat neatly over one eye, and Quigley had a scar that was visible from his uneven collar. Not to mention the way they spoke was radically different. 

“That’s why Olaf tried to marry me,” Isadora said, “And he would have done it, too, if it wasn’t for Quigley’s idea,”

“Ingen!” Sunny cried, which meant Ingenious plan!

“It was all Isadora when it came to freeing Duncan, though,” Quigley said. Klaus and Sunny turned to Isadora, who shrugged.

“I figured the hook handed man would be the only person left in the house after we all left for the theatre, so I threw rocks for Duncan to catch and distract him with,” she said, “When we all left, Duncan threw them at the door so the hook handed man would think Count Olaf had returned, then when he was left unsupervised, he just kicked the cage open,”

“You also told him to use the leftover rice from that time we cooked for the troupe,” Quigley reminded her. Turning to Klaus to explain; “It was really sticky, and there was loads left, so when Duncan was free he managed to trap the hook handed man in a broom closet and jam the hinges with the rice so he couldn’t escape,”

“Was the cage easy to get out of?” Klaus asked, captivated. In his mind, he was in the dreadful garden of the dreadful Count Olaf, watching his new friend escape. 

“That thing was like a million years old,” Duncan said, “And whoever was meant to be captured there should have been a lot smaller. I could just grab the windowsill through the bars so I wouldn’t fall, then kick the bars open,” 

Isadora hugged her brother, “This one nearly wet himself on a rollercoaster, now hear him talk,”

“Isa!”

Four out of the five orphans chuckled, and Duncan crossed his arms and tried to look angry. 

“Violet would have loved that story,” Klaus said, looking at Sunny who nodded, “She would have loved all of you. It’s a- a real shame you guys couldn’t meet her,”

“She sounds incredible,” Duncan said, “I’m sure she’d be super proud of you,”

Klaus blushed at the compliment.

“Ah!”

Duncan brought his feet up to the hay bale he was sitting on, staring at the floor. Crabs were surrounding him, their claws snipping at them, and the other Quagmires quickly followed suit after noticing. Duncan looked, mortified, at Klaus, his expression so comedic he almost laughed. They’d been hosting their conversation in the Orphan Shack, and the Baudelaires had forgotten to mention their old roommates. Quigley stared, half horror and half fascination across his face.

“Blue spotted snapping crabs,” He said, “Why the hell are they here?”

“Wenk,” Sunny said, which meant We don’t know. She and Klaus had already pulled their feet off the ground when they’d sat down as a reflex.

“Welcome to the orphan shack,” Klaus said. He extended a hand, and after a moment Isadora shook it.

Time at Prufrock Prep passed a bit faster, after that. Isadora wound up in Klaus’s class, measuring random things and pretending to be better off for it, while Duncan and Quigley were put into a different class, where they had to take notes on their teacher’s boring life. They took turns picking up Sunny from work, so they were less likely to be without cups to drink, and at lunch they held interesting and animated conversation. The Baudelaire’s broom closet just about fit Klaus and Sunny if they slept very close together, so they spent most of their free time in the Orphan Shack, with feet drawn up to their knees.

It is difficult for a very bad situation to get better. When a heavy fog has settled on a person, clutching at their fabric and refusing to let go, sometimes even the mightiest of blows will not even budge it. It sticks to your hair, clinging to your skin like soot. One would assume, therefore, that when a group of children meet, all with their own individual fog, that it will become unbearable. But it doesn’t - slowly, it dispels it. And though there were always going to be days when Isadora would have to smuggle food out of the cafeteria because Duncan had been simply unable to go to class, and there were always days when Klaus felt like the world would collapse on his shoulders, those days became fewer and fewer and fewer.

***

Klaus was buried in a book - The Complete History of Aquatic Inventions - the solemn ticking of the library timer a metronome in the back of his brain, in time with the words he slipped through. It was a quiet, tedious calm he had come to appreciate, the closest Prufolk Prep came to comfort. The library did actually have a wide range of interesting books, thanks to Miss Caliban, and if it wasn’t for the limited timings, Klaus would happily live with his hands tied behind his back if he could skip class to spend his life within those dimly lit walls, even with the smell of damp. 

“Hello, Quagmire!”

Klaus looked up, a now familiar feeling of contentment curling around his heart as he saw Isadora walk into the library, leading Sunny by the hand. She approached the front desk and smiled at Miss Caliban.

“You know, I’m starting to think you call us by our last name so you don’t mix up our first ones,” She said. 

“I just don’t want to get it wrong,” Miss Caliban conceded, “I’ll get it certain soon, I’m sure of it,”

“I’m sure, too,” Isadora said brightly. She glanced around, and Sunny tugged on her hand after noticing Klaus waving. Isadora grinned and headed his way. After picking Sunny up and placing her on the table, she pulled out a chair and sat down next to Klaus.

“Look who I found in the administrative building,” Isadora said. She made jazz hands at Sunny, who waved, delighted, at her brother.

“Neeaff lin,” She said, meaning Vice Principal Nero gave me the rest of the day off so he can practice violin.

“Well, I’m glad to have you back,” Klaus said. Then he looked at Isadora, “Speaking of you going to the administrative building, how was your meeting? Did he change your name?” Isadora shot him two thumbs up.

“All good and settled,” She said, “Turns out, most kids in this school are under the wrong name - I just had to pretend Deadname Quagmire was my distant cousin who ran away,”

Klaus laughed, “Genius,”

“Thank you. Didn’t you have to do the same thing?”

“I wouldn’t have thought to lie so well,” Klaus said, “I would have just played dumb, I think, and said I don’t know why that’s the name in the files. Maybe if I annoyed Nero enough, he’d change it just to get me to leave,”

“And then take away all food for a week,” Isadora said.

“Yeah, probably. Anyway, my parents put my name change in their will pretty much the moment I came out, so that was pretty helpful. A battle Mr Poe legally had to write,”

Isadora made a face which made Sunny giggle, “I don’t like your Mr Poe,”

“You’ve mentioned,” Klaus said, not unkindly.

“Well, he’s just abandoned you!” Isadora flung her hands in the air for emphasis, “He didn’t get you proper uniforms, he didn’t make sure you were okay after the fire, and he’s super insensitive about Violet!”

“And Esme Squalor is much better?” Klaus smiled coyly to cover the sting at the mention of Violet, “At least our financial advisor knows where we are,”

Isadora shrugged, “She was a dick, yeah, but that’s kind of worked in our favour. If it were for her maybe we would never have met,”

“But she put you with Count Olaf,”

“She couldn’t have known how evil he was,” Isadora said, “Besides, we got out,”

“Hm,” Klaus did not think Esme Squalor should have been forgiven just because Isadora hadn’t actually married Olaf, but he knew that wasn’t his business. Besides, if the roles had been reversed, and he was the one going to Count Olaf’s house, maybe he’d be acting the same way. Sunny, however, did not seem to share the same values.

“Eyachim?” She said, which meant If I see him, should I bite him as hard as possible?

“Sunny!” Klaus said, half aghast and half amused.

“What did she say?”

“Bite!” Sunny cried and chomped down on the air before Klaus could purposefully mistranslate her. Isadora burst out laughing.

“She offered to bite Olaf,” Klaus said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Isadora ruffled Sunny’s hair.

“I love you, Baudelaire the youngest,” She said with a sigh, “You can absolutely bite Count Olaf. Aunt Isa has given you explicit permission,”

“Klaus has not,” Klaus said, which only made Sunny and Isadora laugh harder. Klaus rolled his eyes, but there was no malice behind the action. In reality, he felt lighter than he had in months, in what felt like centuries.

“What has Klaus not done?” A voice asked, and Klaus turned around to see Duncan enter the library. Suppressing a smile at his appearance, he watched Duncan throw himself into the chair opposite Isadora and grinned at Sunny. His usually perfect hair was tousled ever so slightly and he ran a hand through it, settled comfortably at the table.

“Bicaff,” Sunny said.

“He won’t let Sunny main Count Olaf,” Isadora translated. Duncan nodded and pulled out a notebook. All three Quagmires had one, and his was a dark green. Out of his pocket followed a pen, and he scrawled down a note on a busy page.

“Caff = Count Olaf,” He muttered, “Is that correct, Sunny?”

Sunny beamed and nodded.

“So that would make the prefix bi- to mean bite?” Duncan asked. Sunny waved her hand in a gesture of relativism.

“Sometimes,” Klaus supplied, “Depending on the context,”

“Right…” Duncan wrote down a few more words then nodded, snapping his book shut, “I’ll become fluent one day, Suns, mark my words,”

“Bidun,”

“You’re going to bite me?”

“She believes you,”

“Damn it,”

Isadora dramatically covered Sunny’s ears with her hands. Her hand made rings, fashioned from paperclips stolen from Miss Remora’s class, glinted, “Duncan! You would swear to an infant child?” She asked, faux-scandalised. 

“I do apologise, Sunny, Klaus,” Duncan said. Klaus shrugged.

“I’m sure she’s heard worse from Vice Principal Nero,” He said, “You’re okay,”

“And I’m not okay for allowing her to bite Duncan’s kidnapper?” Isadora asked. She grinned at Klaus with something mischievous and slightly indiscernible in her eye, “I see your game, Baudelaire,”

“What game?” Klaus asked. Isadora, however, was too busy raising her eyebrows at Duncan, making him blush, to answer. He looked between the two of them, confused. 

“Eeks?” Sunny asked.

“Sunny would like you to remove your hands from her ears,” Duncan said. Isadora gasped and took them away.

“God, I completely forgot. Sorry, Suns,”

Chapter Text

To say meeting Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire was a wondrous event for the Quagmires would be an understatement.

To say the rest of Prufrock Preparatory School was the same would be a lie.

The first and immediate issue the Quagmires encountered was their dorms - or lack thereof. The Orphan Shack was cramped, cold and disgusting. It had mold dripping down from the ceiling, tacky bright wallpaper with concerning stains, and crabs skittering around at their feet. It had beds made of hay instead of cotton and a door made of a tin sheet instead of wood. At night, the triplets shivered under their scratchy blankets without any insulation or protection from the elements, and during the day the metal walls were almost too hot to touch. While they were sure it would be worse to live in a broom closet - though, they actually hadn’t seen where the Baudelaires were now sleeping, because it was simply absurd to try and fit five people into a cupboard - it certainly wasn’t a very good situation.

Secondly, their classes were boring and - more to the point - useless. Before the fire, the Quagmires had spent half their time being homeschooled by their parents and half their time with tutors in a strange version of private school. They had received extensive education on the arts, sciences, history, geography and mathematics, and what’s more was they had enjoyed it. While none of them particularly looked forward to maths class, Isadora and Duncan loved English class, and Quigley loved geography. At Prufrock, they were only given one class, and no option between which one class they’d be taking. Isadora was stuck memorising the measurements of various objects, while her brothers had to listen to a banana fiend discuss his own, boring life. They had been warned that failing an exam could lead to expulsion, but none of them were very good at listening nonetheless.

The list of issues with their new school went on. The cafeteria was crowded and hostile, the administrative system was abominable, the librarian was mistreated, the rules were cruel and unusual, they had no weekends or holidays. But the worst aspect of the school, by far, went by the name of Carmelita Spats.

“I do have to warn you about something,” Klaus said, a few days into the Quagimire’s life at Prufrock. They were in the library, filling in the space between dinner and their night curfew. Klaus was filling out a sheet of homework from Mrs Bass with Isadora, while Duncan read about the siege of Troy - a recommendation from Klaus - and Quigley balled up paper for Sunny to catch in her teeth, “Or rather, someone,”

Duncan frowned, “Yeah?”

“Carmelita Spats,” Klaus said. Sunny made a noise of disgust, muffled by the paper in her mouth, and Quigley pulled the scrunched up sheet off the point of her teeth.

“Oh, yeah, the redhead in the cafeteria,” Isadora said, “The one that called us cakesniffers. What does that even mean?”

“No one really knows, least of all herself,” Klaus said, “But she’s a lot more than mean chants, trust me,”

“Mashack,” Sunny said.

“What does that mean?” Duncan asked.

“It means when we first got here, she would sometimes barge into the Orphan Shack and tapdance at us,” Klaus said. Isadora snorted, “Okay, it might sound funny, but try going through a day at this school, a week after…a pretty bad event, when you got no sleep and then had a small girl tapdance on metal very close to your face,”

“Kai,”

“While calling you a name you don’t understand,”

“I haven’t really seen her around since that first day,” Quigley said, “If she’s that bad, where is she?”

“She skips a lot, but she’ll appear in class eventually,” Klaus said, “Sorry, she’s in yours and Duncan’s,”

“Score,” Isadora celebrated, while Duncan looked thoroughly disappointed.

***

The judgement day - the day in which Carmelita Spats judged whether or not someone deserved respect - came a few days later. Waiting for class after lunch, Duncan and Quigley were leaning against the wall, mostly being ignored by classmates, when a small girl in a frilly pink dress planted herself in front of them. Despite her short stature, juvenile scowl and smattering of infantile freckles, she looked about their age - and she looked furious.

“Are you those cakesniffing orphans?” she demanded, hands planted on her hips. Duncan and Quigley exchanged a glance of comprehension.

“Yes,” Duncan said, deciding the polite foot forward was the correct one, “We’re in your class. I’m Duncan and this is Quigley. You’re Carmelita, right? We’ve heard a lot about you,”

“Don’t tell me my name! Do you think I’m too stupid to know it?” Carmelita said, “And of course you’ve heard a lot about me. I’m the cutest, prettiest, smartest girl in the whole school. Everyone wants to be me, you two included!”

“Uh-” Quigley said. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be screechy, short, and rude. 

“Uh, uh, are you a blithering idiot?” Carmelita said, “Why are you just standing in the corridor, orphans?”

“We’re in your class,” Duncan repeated, “You can wait with us if you’d like,”

Quigley shot him a terrified glare, and Duncan shrugged back. If this girl had power, then sucking up to her seemed unfortunately the right move. But luckily - because Duncan really didn’t want to wait with Carmelita - the girl sneered.

“Do I want to wait with cakesniffing orphans?” she asked, “No. And if you’re really in my class, I’ll bet it’s because you’re nerdy orphans as well as weepy ones,”

“We can be things that aren’t orphans,” Quigley said, “You know, there are more descriptors of us,”

“What do I care?” Carmelita said, “And descriptor isn’t even a word,”

“Right,” Quigley said. Duncan was losing hope for politeness being a tool in his relationship with his classmate. The conversation seemed to be over, so they both turned away - but Carmelita didn’t like that.

“Aren't there three of you?” she demanded, “I saw three. Or, who knows, you’re all so freakishly identical,”

The sentence was innocent enough, if rude. But suddenly, her squeaky voice sounded wheezy, and Quigley felt as if he was trapped back in Count Olaf’s house, hearing him say the exact same words. The breath felt knocked out of his lungs, as memories flashed by - the troupe leering at Isadora, Duncan being slapped and kidnapped, Olaf’s bony hand around his wrist. His change in demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by Duncan, who shifted slightly closer.

“Yeah, we have a sister,” he said, with a slight tinge of protectionism at bringing up Isadora to this vile girl, “But she’s not in this class,”

“Hm,” Carmelita stuck up her nose, sniffing, “Good. I don’t need three weepy, nerdy orphans in my class - two is already too much,”

“Okay then,” Duncan said. He really wasn’t sure how to act, because Carmelita was clearly expecting a rise out of them, but she wasn’t doing a very good job at trying. Plus, Quigley was still not moving, and Duncan wished they were left alone so he could check up on his brother. 

Carmelita turned to leave, but then stopped and looked back at the two of them, “I don’t hate you because you’re orphans,” she said.

“You’ve an odd way of showing it,” Duncan said.

“I hate you for many reasons,” Carmelita continued, “Like how your hair looks stupid, and how you are in my class,”

She took from behind her back a stick that looked like it just came from the front lawn. Duncan recoiled as small specks of dirt flew from the bark, “Stay out of my way, cakesniffers,” she said, poking Duncan in the chest before stalking off.

“Gross,” Duncan muttered. He brushed his blazer, trying to get the dirt out, before turning to Quigley, “Are you okay?”

Quigley nodded, shaking his hand out as if getting water off them, “Yeah…yeah. I just…didn’t think something like that would affect me, you know?”

“Yeah,” Duncan said, “But it was a pretty bad time. It makes sense we’re not completely okay immediately,”

“Maybe for you,” Quigley said, "I just kind of watched as you and Isa dealt with shit,”

Duncan frowned, “Quigley, you literally nearly married the guy,”

“Not in the way Isadora nearly did. She was the one he…wanted,” At those words, Quigley paused. They’d both seen the way Olaf leered at their sister. The bald man’s hands on her face, the wicked grin of the troupe. The fate they had escaped, they knew, was worse for her.

Quigley glanced at Duncan, “I am fine now, really,”

“Alright,” Duncan said. He smiled, and Quigley smiled back. It seemed genuine.

***

Isadora was eating dinner by the time Duncan and Quigley entered the hall. It was, as it always was, hellish - loud, crowded and hot, with the noxious smell of school food dense in the air. Luckily, their status as orphan social pariahs meant Isadora had snagged a completely empty table for them.

“Hi,” she greeted, “How was English class?”

“That abomination is not English class,” Duncan said, placing his tray down opposite her. He sat, Quigley taking a place next to him.

“Seems about the same to me,” Quigley said with a shrug, just so he could see Duncan glare at him.

“We also met our charming classmate,” Duncan continued. Isadora stabbed a rock hard crouton and raised her eyebrows.

“That Carmelita girl?” she asked. Duncan and Quigley nodded in unison, “Fun. How is she?”

“A nightmare,” Duncan said.

“She kept poking me with a stick, the whole class,” Quigley added.

Isadora frowned, “The teacher didn’t say anything?”

“You’ve seen this school,” Quigley said, “The only way they’d notice a student breaking the rules is if the kid didn’t have parents. Plus, I’m pretty sure she runs this place,”

“She can’t run the school, she’s a student,” Isadora said.

“Not literally, figuratively,” Quigley amended, “She doesn’t wear a uniform, shouts in the corridor, and skips class most of the time. Pretty sweet deal, if it didn’t impact us,”

“Which, unfortunately, it does,” Duncan said.

Something flew over the Quagmires’ heads, and they ducked just in time to miss it. It instead hit a boy entering the dining hall - specifically Klaus, holding Sunny by the hand. The projectile turned out to be a crouton, and Klaus groaned, running his spare hand through his hair and brushing out the crumbs while Carmelita cackled with glee. He noticed the Quagmires and sat next to Isadora.

“We were just telling Isadora how we’ve become acquainted with Miss Spats,” Duncan, who tended to speak in overly fancy sentence structures when discussing something that annoyed him, told Klaus. He nodded in understanding.

“That missile was probably for you, then - Sunny don’t eat that,” Klaus took the crouton that Carmelita had thrown out of Sunny’s hand, which had been dangerously close to her wide opened mouth. She glared at him, thoroughly put out, and Klaus pushed her plate towards him, “Come on, Suns, there’s croutons right there,” 

She folded her arms, unimpressed that Klaus had stopped her from tasting floor.

“What’s her problem, then?” Isadora asked, “Terrible childhood, neglectful parents, deep sated insecurities?”

“We’re not having a good childhood, and we don’t have parents anymore - we’re not like that,” Duncan said.

“As far as I know, no to any of that,” Klaus said, “The only thing anyone will say about her is that she’s either adorable or perfect. If there is something, people are way too scared to say so,”

“Hm,” Isadora said, frustrated, “At least I don’t have to deal with her,”

“Neilamb!” Sunny cried. 

“Sunny isn’t even technically a student, and she still has to deal with her,” Klaus translated. Isadora sighed.

“Fun,” she deadpanned.

After dinner, Sunny began to fall asleep as she was only little, so Klaus bid them goodnight and carried her to their broom closet. Duncan and Quigley made their way to the orphan shack but Isadora, who had left her pencil case in the library, split up from them.

“Hello,” Miss Caliban, the lovely librarian, said, “I’m sorry, but the library is closed now,”

“I know, but I left my pencil case in here - can I just nip in and grab it?” Isadora asked. Miss Caliban opened a drawer and rooted around in it for a moment.

“This pencilcase?” she asked, holding up a small black case. Isadora smiled.

“The one and only,” she said and took it from her, “Thank you,”

“Don’t worry about it - honestly, I’m glad you left it, I like knowing some students actually appreciate this place,” Miss Caliban said. She closed the drawer and followed Isadora out of the library, locking the door when it was shut, “It’s very nice to hear conversations,”

“Does really no other student come into the library?” Isadroa asked. Miss Caliban sighed.

“If they do, it’s certainly not to check out a book,” she said sorrowfully, “Klaus was the first student interested in literature since I started working here,”

The two wandered for a while, as the way they were going was down the same hall, then came to a stop at the fork they would split up at.

“I’m very glad you and your siblings are here, now,” Miss Caliban said softly, “Klaus is a lovely boy, but he was very lonely when he first arrived. You can imagine those months were very difficult for him,”

Isadora nodded. She couldn’t even imagine having to raise a baby at this school, completely alone with no family left. Even in her grief and sorrow, she’d always have Quigley and Duncan to talk to.

“He’s a good friend,” she said, “He breaks up the tedium of my brothers,”

Miss Caliban laughed, “I know how much they mean to you, though,” she said, “I hope you enjoy your time at Prufrock,”

Isadora made a face.

“I hope you enjoy your time in the Prufrock library,” Miss Caliban amended.

“I will,” Isadora said, “Goodnight,”

“Goodnight,”

Once Miss Caliban had turned the corner and disappeared into the campus, Isadora took a right turn and headed down to the Orphan Shack. It was still relatively early in the night, so the muffled sounds of students laughing surrounded her. She wondered what it would be like to go to this school simply because her parents thought it was the right move for her. Would it be more enjoyable, she considered, if her classmates actually made eye contact with her? If she received letters from her mother and father, asking how she was and sending treats to share with her friends? If she hadn’t met Klaus under the worst circumstances possible?

These thoughts lasted all of about ten seconds before someone appeared directly in front of her.

“Which one are you?” Carmelita demanded. Isadora sighed.

“Isadora,” she said. There was a pause, “The girl,”

“Your brothers look more like girls than you,” Carmelita said.

“That’s odd, seeing as we’re identical and the only thing that tells us apart is I’m wearing a skirt and they’re wearing trousers,” Isadora said. She knew Carmelita was trying to insult her, but also knew she wasn’t insulting what she thought she was insulting. Isadora did, sometimes, feel insecure about if she looked enough of a girl or not, but her similarity to her brothers was not the issue - after all, they were identical, and strangely androgynous looking anyway. It was one of the ways they were slightly eerie. She liked that.

“What am I, some kind of creep? I don’t look at other people’s clothes,” she sneered, ”Your uniform looks terrible the way you wear it, by the way,”

“Thanks,” Isadora said monotonously, “Can I leave now?”

“I- you’re such a cakesniffer!” Carmelita said, “You should be grateful I’m even talking to you!”

“Well, I’m not, because you’re being rude,” Isadora said. She side stepped Carmelita and tried to get past, but Carmelita stuck out her foot and Isadora nearly fell flat on her face.

“I say when you stop talking to me!” Carmelita said.

“God, give it a rest,” Despite being tired, Isadora was never the kind of person to let someone else have the last word, “I get you want control, but I’m not going to cause an issue,”

“Yes you are,” Carmelita said, “You don’t understand because you’re a blithering idiot. This school is mine, therefore you are mine,”

Isadora scoffed, “Nice lines, Al Funcoot,”

“I don’t know who that is, because I’m not a cakesniffer!” Carmelita stamped her foot, staring at Isadora, “I can make your life very difficult, orphan. Your orphan boyfriend respects me, because I know he’s too busy crying over his dead, boring, cakesniffing, dead sister,”

Something shifted, “Don’t do that to Klaus,” Isadora said, “That’s horrible,”

“No, it’s necessary,” Carmelita said, “I am the most important, prettiest, cutest, smartest star in this school, and I can do what I want, including talking about your stupid, dead family,”

“You-” Isadora gripped her skirt, “Shut up,”

“Were you in the house when your parents burned? Or did you not even see them die?”

“Shut up,”

“You-”

***

Isadora was in detention.

Well, detention was a stretch. The room that was usually used for detention was being commandeered by boxes as Nero had ordered fifteen violins in the last week, so she was sitting in the far corner of the library, metaphorically chained to a table. Miss Caliban was supervising to make sure she didn’t have any fun. Every now and again, she looked up and peered at Isadora over the frame of her glasses. 

The door to the library opened, and Klaus walked in. Isadora guessed it would be lunch by now - there were no clocks in the library, and she hadn’t been told how long her detention would last. Klaus’ eyes searched the room, confused, before Miss Caliban sighed and gestured to Isadora’s table. Technically, she shouldn’t have allowed anyone to talk to Isadora, but who would check?

“Hello,” Isadira said brightly. Truly, she didn’t care that she was in detention, beyond being a bit hungry and very bored. She was slightly embarrassed, but refused to let it show.

“Hi,” Klaus said slowly. He sat down opposite her, frowning, “Mrs Bass said you were in detention,”

“She would be right,” Isadora said, “Did you tell Duncan and Quigley? They might worry I was stolen or something,”

“Yeah, they know,”

“Were they surprised?”

“Guess,”

Isadora scoffed, “Yeah,”

The room was silent for a moment, before Klaus sighed, “What did you do?”

It was a tiny movement - the freezing of fingers over a keyboard, a slight turn of her head - but Isadora noticed Miss Caliban start paying attention to the conversation, intrigued. She sighed, “I only pushed her over,”

“Isadora,” Klaus said, “You did not hit Carmelita Spats,”

“Correct!” Isadora said, “I pushed her over! She should have had a better center of gravity, seeing as she’s always dancing!”

Miss Caliban laughed suddenly and quietly, and both children turned to look at her. She froze, face red, then turned back to her work, pretending to not have been listening. When Klaus looked back at Isadora, she raised her eyebrows, as if to say if Miss Caliban finds it funny, it was worth it.

“That’s going to come back to bite you,” Klaus said, “Many times over,"

Isadora shrugged, “I don’t care,”

“You should,” Klaus said, “Carmelita is dangerous,”

“Why do people keep saying that? She’s our age,” Isadora huffed, “I don’t know why you let her push you around,”

“I don’t,” Klaus said, “Do you think I do?”

Isadora looked down, mumbling nothingness.

“Huh?”

“Nothing, forget it,”

Klaus watched Isadora, slightly confused, “What did she say?” he asked.

Isadora sighed and accepted defeat, “She said she gave you a hard time…about your sister,”

“Ah,” Now Klaus looked away, though less out of embarrassment and most likely more out of grief, the way he often did when someone brought up the oldest Baudelaire unprompted. Isadora had been at the school a week and a half, and hadn’t heard too much about her - to be perfectly frank, her name escaped her at that moment - but she had been thrown around a couple of times. Sunny mentioned her frequently, it seemed, and teachers had no qualms in bringing her up. Klaus usually went glassy eyed and vacant looking, as though purposefully detaching himself from the conversation.

“Did she?” God, Isadora really would feel like an idiot if Carmelita had lied to get a rise out of her.

“No, she did,” Klaus said, “She found out pretty quickly - I think Nero told her, but whatever - and she kept taunting me with it. She never even met Violet, so obviously anything she said wasn’t very effective as an insult, but I…wasn’t very well equipped emotionally, at the time. Plus, Violet was always very good at defending herself. I guess I hated that she couldn’t anymore,”

“What did Carmelita say?” Isadora asked. Klaus didn’t move, “Sorry. I guess you don’t want to repeat it,”

“Hm,” Klaus said. He looked up at Isadora, taking a couple of tries before managing to continue, “Look. To be honest, you and your brothers are the first people I’ve managed to speak to, properly, since I got here. I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I think all three of you are great. Call it selfish, but I really don’t want you getting yourself expelled. I don’t know where I’d be if it was just me and Sunny again,”

Isadora broke his eye contact, fiddling with her hands and unsure of how to act in the face of such a genuine display of emotion, “Thanks,” she managed, “That means a lot. Do you reckon I might get expelled, then?”

“Not for this,” Klaus said, “But Carmelita is Vice Principal Nero’s favourite. If anyone is going to get you expelled, it’s her,”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Isadora said with a sigh. She had quite a few choice thoughts about the insane level of corruption in her new school, but didn’t voice them, sensing this was the wrong time. Instead, she said nothing. But this wasn’t one of those times when her words welled up inside her throat, blocking any breath or ability to speak - inversely, she simply knew when silence was the best answer. To talk with someone is wonderful, but to be silent with them is to show trust. Klaus, too, seemed to understand this, and folded his hands neatly under his chest, resting on the table.

Isadora hadn’t known Klaus for very long, but she knew he was similar to her. There were obvious connections between the two; the fact that they were in the same class, for example, or the fact that they both had to fight quite hard to be called the right name. But there were also the less obvious connections. The way, a few days ago, Mrs Bass had misused a word, and the two of them had immediately turned to catch the others’ eye. Or the way they stayed now, simply thinking, until Miss Caliban suggested they both went to lunch.

Throughout their lives, the Quagmires had been somewhat separate from the rest of the world, an attribute they blamed their wealth and isolated house placement for. What friends Isadora had made never really saw her as one of their own - and if they did get close, some family board game night or tutor-imposed exam would quickly interrupt any plans she had to hang out with them. But Isadora felt, traitorously so, irrationally so, that if anyone was going to stay, it would be Klaus. That day, she decided she wanted to know him forever. She wanted him to stay.

Chapter Text

Klaus wobbled precariously on the slippery tiles of the school roof, glancing at the Quagmires nervously. In the front, Quigley held Sunny confidently, one arm securely around her middle and one balancing himself on the rocky terrain. Isadora and Duncan looked a bit less steady but certainly better off than Klaus, who was convinced he was about to fall off at every step.

“Slow down a second?” He called out. Duncan turned to look at him and grinned, offering out a hand. Klaus took it but made sure to look indignant all the same, “How often did you all do this?”

“Often,” Duncan said simply, “There was a bunch of broken down houses near where we lived,”

“And you trespassed on them?”

“It’s not trespassing if no one lives there,”

“You must know that’s incorrect,”

Duncan glanced over his shoulder again and shot him another smile, highlighted by the moon. His crooked front tooth, from being hit by a ball when he was younger apparently, grinned as well.

“Hurry up, lovebirds,” Isadora said. She waved the box she was holding over her head, and Klaus realised for the first time the others were quite a way away, the other two Quagmires and his sister sitting as mere shadows on a cluster of chimneys. He felt his face burn at Isadora’s words, but Duncan merely laughed and clambered the rest of the way. 

By the time Klaus had finally reached the others, they had settled a square board on their knees, sporting the alphabet in intricate lettering and the words yes and no. Klaus took his place next to Isadora and took Sunny from Quigley’s lap, watching in confusion. 

“An Ouija board?” He asked.

“A seance,” Isadora answered breathlessly. Klaus frowned.

“Do you…” He didn’t know how to ask if Isadora believed in the undead. It would sound rude no matter which way he phrased it, but he truly saw no purpose in trying to summon the dead. In all his research, he had found no hard proof of any such thing existing. But Isadora looked so excited, and her brothers seemed to either go along with it or believe her as well, “Do you think it will work?”

Isadora shrugged, “Who knows. It’s worked once before,”

Opposite him, Quigley leaned over, “The lights went out because she did it in a storm,”

“It worked!” Isadora shoved Quigley lightly. Sunny shrieked with laughter. 

“Alright, settle down,” Duncan said. He brought out of his pocket something that looked like a guitar pick, with a glass magnifier in the center. He placed it on the board.

Isadora and Quigley placed their fingers on the pick, Klaus following suit after a moment. Sunny reached over, but nearly toppled onto the board. 

“Maybe sit this one out, Suns” Duncan said. Sunny pouted and Quigley laughed.

“Careful - we’ll be summoning you next,” He said, eliciting a glare from his brother.

“Shush,” Isadora said, “Can’t you feel it?”

Klaus could, indeed, feel it - a slight wobble in the pick, growing bigger and bigger every second. Duncan and Quigley fell silent, staring in rapt attention at the board. Klaus wondered how it was happening. Surely either someone was moving the pick themselves, or the wind was pushing it around. 

“Is anyone there?”

Nothing happened for a long time. And then, as they watched, the pick dragged their fingers slowly, ever so slowly, over the board, until it rested over yes. Sunny ooo’d and Isadora squeaked.

“Cool, cool, cool,” she said, “Are you a previous student of Prufrock Preparatory School?”

The pick swung around before settling back on yes. Everyone around Klaus breathed a collective breath of hopeful fear, and even Klaus admitted a chill ran up his spine. Isadora was practically vibrating.

“What is your name?” She whispered breathlessly. The pick slowly travelled upwards, to the list of letters.

“E,” The group recited, Sunny squeaking along with her own rendition of the letters, “L, I,” The pick got slower with each letter, then drew to a halt at the third. The children looked up.

“Eli?” Duncan called out. Isadora shook her head.

“No, no, we must have lost the connection,” She insisted, “Try again,”

She dragged the pick to the center of the board, then asked if the spirit was still there and stared at the board as it said yes.

“Okay, great - what is your name?” She asked, a new tone to her voice. This time, the pick only got as far as El before stopping. It jerked once or twice towards the I but didn’t move off the L. 

“No, no, no,” Isadora muttered. She brought the pick once more to the center, “What. Is. Your name?”

The pick moved differently this time. It first landed on E again, but then drifted slowly to the Z, and then the R. Isadora seemed to brighten up - but like the last few times, it froze up on the third letter. Her eyes turned almost desperate, but Klaus, who had regained his cynicism, was not surprised. 

“I don’t think tonight’s the night, Isa,” Duncan said softly. Sunny put her hand on Isadora’s knee.

“Yeah,” Isadora said, “Yeah, sure, you’re right. Wrong night. I’ll just, uh, pack this up,” She took the board off their knees and shoved it unceremoniously into the box, along with the pick, before immediately starting off across the roof to climb back down. By the time Klaus had thought to ask if she was okay, she was out of sight. He looked to the remaining Quagmires.

“Yeah, this is new,” Quigley said.

***

Klaus woke up from his distressed sleep to knocking on the door. He grumbled as he rose - someone probably wanted some of the cleaning supplies that lived just above his “bed”. But when he opened the door, there was not a disgruntled student or teacher, but two identical children in identical, scratchy pyjamas.

“What’s wrong?” Klaus asked Duncan and Quigley; because there was no way this would be good news, judging by the looks on their faces.

“Have you seen Isadora?” Duncan asked, “She never came back to the Orphan Shack, so we assumed she would come back after us but-”

“But it’s been four hours,” Quigley interrupted, “We’re worried. She might have been- I mean, given our-” He glanced at his brother.

“Something bad could have happened,”

Klaus was pulling on a jumper before Duncan had finished speaking. Sunny stirred at the intrusion, and he picked her up swiftly.

“Whazz?” She asked, meaning what’s happening?

“We have to look for Isadora,” Klaus said briskly, “She’s gone,”

Sunny was awake in an instant, looking at the Quagmires in concern, who nodded. Klaus shut the broom closet door behind him, and the four of them started down the corridor. 

“Puhear,” Sunny said, which meant I can walk - you can put me down.

“No, Sunny, I don’t want- It’s fine,” He couldn’t put Sunny down, not now, not when Isadora was missing and Violet…

Duncan raised his arms questioningly and took Sunny from Klaus. 

“We scanned the yard where our shack is,” Quigley was saying, seemingly oblivious to the interaction next to him, “And the roof where we were before. Nothing at all,”

“Which could be a good thing,” Duncan said, “If we found, like, her bracelet, or her jacket-” He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. 

They reached a fork in the corridor, going three ways. After looking at each other wordlessly, Klaus took the left passage, Quigley the middle and Duncan, still holding Sunny, took the right hall. Klaus tried to tramp down the fear at seeing his sister disappear down the darkness, knowing she was in good hands.

He walked quickly, footsteps making no noise as he darted from one classroom window to another, hoping Isadora would be in every one. There was a heat at his feet, spurring him forward, and his mind, unbidden, flashed images of his nightmares - except where Violet’s charred and disintegrating body usually lay, here it was Isadora. He shook his head. He was being irrational. 

At the end of the hallway was a bright light, spilling across the floor in a white gradient. The cabinet of school pictures and trophies. It was lit 24/7 in a very irresponsible use of Prufrock’s budget, perhaps so sleepwalking students could feel the might of their school at two AM. A figure stood illuminated in front of it, and Klaus broke into a run.

“Isadora?” He called. She turned.

“Klaus?” She said. He stopped right in front of her, almost barrelling into her, and pulled her into a quick hug.

“What- hello?” She said, “What’s happening?”

“Isadora, you disappeared,” Klaus scolded, “We’re all looking for you! We thought something bad might happen!”

“Oh, no,” Isadora said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how late it was,”

“It’s fine,” Klaus said, “We should probably find Duncan and Quigley, and Sunny,”

“Yes, we ought,” Isadora said. Klaus turned to look at the trophy cabinet, wondering what Isadora had been looking at. Despite his contempt for the school, he couldn’t deny it hosted an impressive history; decades upon decades of all sorts of competitions won, from sports to spelling bees. There was also a picture of every graduating year - he presumed the reason the images were so sparse was because not many children graduated from Prufrock Preparatory School. And right in the center shelf was a row of group photos. None of these people were in school uniforms, and they must have been sent to the school after graduation.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“I, um,” Isadora raised her hand and pressed a light finger against the glass, at a school photo, “Visiting Mum and Dad,”

Klaus leaned in closer. Where her finger was on the photo, two people stood. One was a woman with very straight, very dark hair and a few freckles, in a long skirt. Next to her was a man with lighter, fluffy hair and the widest eyes Klaus had ever seen on an adult. They had their arms around each other and grinned at the camera, surrounded by people of similar dispositions. The entire photo looked so unfamiliar in the gloomy context of Prufrock Prep.

“They look just like you guys,” Klaus said. Isadora nodded.

“I found this the other day,” She said, “I haven’t told Quigley or Duncan yet - we didn’t know they came here. Maybe it was in their will for us to stay here if they died. I don’t know,”

The two were silent for a moment as Klaus looked at the photo. He’d never seen an image of the Quagmire parents before. They looked so…alive. Caught laughing into a camera, grinning like their lives would last forever. He wondered how long ago the image was taken. Twenty years, maybe a bit more.

“I thought…since they went to this school, maybe there was a connection,” Isadora said after a while, “Between us and them, still. So I- I thought maybe I could-”

“The seance,” Klaus said. Isadora nodded.

“It was stupid,” She mumbled, “I should have known it wouldn’t have worked,”

“But it did work at the beginning, right?” All of Klaus’ research-backed cynicism fled his body as he found himself suddenly hoping beyond anything that Isadora’s plan had worked, and she had been able to contact her parents, “The pick moved to yes, and then it started spelling out names,”

“That was me!” Isadora despaired, “I thought if I moved it to the first few letters, it would give their spirits time to get a grip on it and do the rest! But every time I stopped moving it, nothing would happen,” She wrapped her arms around herself, looking down at the floor, “They weren’t there. They’re dead…”

Klaus’ arms were around Isadora’s shoulders before he could fully compute what he was doing, and she leaned into his touch. Her hair, so similar to her mothers, lay flat against his cheek. After a while, Isadora brought up a hand and placed it on Klaus’ arm, hugging him back and using him as a support as she leaned against his frame. He realised in that moment he was taller than her - than all the Quagmires, presumably. Not by a lot, but by enough to place his head comfortable on top of hers. He wondered what Violet, always infuriatingly taller than him, would look next to any of them. Gazing at the images, he pictured a different life. A life where they were sent to the school by their parents, not by Mr Poe and Esme Squalor, where they met the Quagmires under different circumstances. Where they all graduated and had their picture put up there with the rest of history, Violet beaming next to him. 

“Did you ever think you’d be here?” Isadora asked, reading Klaus’ thoughts.

“At this school, or at this point in my life?”

“Both, maybe,”

Klaus thought for a moment, “Yes and no,” he said eventually. Isadora huffed, “No, listen. Did I ever think I’d be at this school? No. I’d never even heard of it before now, but according to Mr Poe my parents were very specific about how we had to go here if anything happened to them. But I think a part of me always thought my childhood was impermanent. Did you ever feel like you were being isolated, for some higher cause?”

Isadora nodded, “Yes,” she said, decisive, “We were homeschooled, and I didn’t have a lot of friends outside of the children of my parents’ friends. It made me feel like…”

“Your family was hiding from something?”

“Exactly,”

Neither said anything. They stood in the harsh glow of the cabinet and stared into their own thoughts. 

“Isadora?” A voice suddenly called to their left. They looked at the wall where it had come from.

“Duncan?” Isadora asked.

“Isadora?!” There was a noise of multiple footsteps speeding up, then both Quagmires appeared around a corner. They sprinted down the hall, and this time Isadora ran to catch them up, all three of them colliding in a hug. Sunny shrieked and giggled, trapped in the middle of it all, as Klaus walked to meet them.

“Trouve!” Sunny cried, which meant I found Isadora!, pointing to her. Klaus took her from Duncan and nodded.

“Yes, very well done, Sunny,” He said with a grin. He watched the Quagmires reunite - Duncan and Quigley scold Isadora, Isadora apologise, them hugging again, laughter and maybe a tear or two - and hugged Sunny closer.

“Whass?” She asked, meaning what’s got into you?

“Nothing, nothing,” Klaus said, then- “Sunny, what's in your mouth?”

Sunny quickly took something out of her mouth and held it in her fist, “Not,” she said.

“No, what was it?”

“Not!”

“Was it a crab?”

Sunny shook her head then opened her fist. In her hand was a slightly crooked ring of metal, made from the scraps she was sometimes given to use as staples at her job. 

“Isa,” she said, meaning I made it for Isadora while we were looking for her.

Klaus smiled softly and ruffled her hair, “That’s very sweet, Suns,”

When they heard the whistling of a night janitor coming around the corner, the four of them - plus Sunny in Klaus’ arms - turned and raced down the corridor, running all the way to the orphan shack. Out of breath, they collapsed onto the scratchy beds and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. The relief that had washed through them at finding Isadora still ran through their veins. 

They sat and talked for hours, almost throughout the entire night. They reminisced about past memories, childhood mishaps and injuries, they complained about school and about their wicked teachers. Isadora was delighted with her newest ring and showed it off gayly to her brothers, who told Sunny it was the greatest accessory they’d ever seen. Quigley leaned on Isadora’s shoulder, seemingly afraid to take his eyes off her lest she disappear again, with Klaus, Duncan and Sunny sitting opposite them. Duncan hardly contributed to the conversation, mainly spending his time talking to the youngest Baudelaire and making notes on her speech pattern. Klaus snuck glances at him from time to time. 

Eventually, Duncan passed Sunny back to Klaus, and she began to drop off against his chest. He bid his goodbye and slipped out of the shack softly, so that no one would hear its metallic door slide open and tell them off. He’d taken a few steps when it opened again.

“Klaus, hold up-” Duncan said, catching up to him. He held out a paper notebook, light red, that Klaus immediately recognised as his book of notes on Violet, “You dropped this when we ran from the janitor,”

Klaus took it, “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost it,”

“It’s about Violet, right?” Duncan asked, “I didn’t mean to look, but it fell on an open page,”

“Uh, yes,” Klaus had occasionally voiced his fears to the Quagmires, but never mentioned his anthology of Violet’s life, “Just in case Sunny grows up and doesn’t remember anything,”

Duncan nodded, “That’s a very good idea. Sunny’s very lucky to have you,”

Klaus smiled, “Thank you. I…hope so, at least,”

“What’s it like?” Duncan asked suddenly, “Losing Violet, I mean,”

Taken aback, Klaus didn’t say anything for a moment, opening his mouth slightly to try to form the words. Duncan raised his hands.

“Ah, no, no, sorry, forget it,” He said, “That was, sorry, that was a really shit question. I just…I literally can’t imagine losing Quigley or Isadora, and tonight was the first time I genuinely thought I might. It really scared me. I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,” Klaus said. He looked down at Sunny. She sat comfortably in his arms, so much bigger than when they came to the school and yet so much easier to carry, “It’s like…losing a limb. I knew her my whole life. She was my best friend, and we did nearly everything together. So, knowing now that I’m going to grow up without her…that I’ll never talk to her again, or see her…I don’t think I can describe it,”

Duncan nodded, “I know from first hand experience this means nothing, but I am really, truly sorry,”

“I don’t think it means nothing,” Klaus said, “Not from you,”

“I-” Duncan blushed, “Yeah. You too,”

The shack sat in a courtyard with tall walls, and as they watched, the first slivers of sunrise escaped from the top of them. It cast faint rays of a pale yellow across the cobblestones, running into the dark blue of the dawn sky like ink and dripping down onto every weed and spot of moss. For the first time since he’d moved here, since his life had turned upside down, Klaus thought the school looked quite beautiful. The grey walls lit up ever so slightly, and a bird sang somewhere.

“It’s so pretty,” He said, eyes drawn to the purples and oranges dancing with the clouds.

“Yeah…” Duncan said, “It is, isn’t it?” 

Klaus laughed.

“What?”

“Goodnight, Duncan,”

Duncan looked at the sky, which was lightening by the second, and laughed too, “Yeah, goodnight Klaus,”

He turned away from the dawn, to Duncan. In the brighter light, his hair stood out more pitch black than ever, and his wide eyes glittered in the newborn sunlight. Klaus smiled softly before heading away from the place he somehow called home.

Checking a clock he walked passed, Klaus realised he only had an hour or so before he had to go to class. Not wanting to have to bother the Quagmires by getting them to smuggle food, he didn’t risk sleeping. Instead, he placed the fast asleep Sunny on their bed and sat next to her, trying not to move anything too much as he reached for a pencil and opened his notebook. Tearing out a page, he leaned against the wall and began writing.

Dear Violet,

I miss you. But I think that’s okay. You once said you wish you could invent a way to get rid of grief, when your pet gerbil died. But I think it’s okay that you, or anyone, can’t do that. I do grieve you, and I think I will for the rest of my life. But that also means I’ll remember you for the rest of my life.

Besides, I don’t think I’ve lost you, because of the grief. Sunny reminds me of you every day, and so do the Quagmires. I know I’ve said this before, but I think you’d really, really like them. I wish you could meet them. 

All these letters are starting to sound the same, aren’t they? I was never much of a writer.

Love,

Your brother, forever

Chapter Text

Duncan had decided to go and pick up Sunny from work, because Klaus needed sleep after a few bad nights in a row. He waited outside the building and greeted Miss Caliban with a smile when she came out holding Sunny.

“Hello, Quagmire!” She said, “Duncan, if I’m not mistaken,”

“Yep,” he said, taking Sunny from her. Miss Caliban grinned.

“I told you’d get it eventually,” She said with a wink. Departing for the library building, she waved at the children, and they waved back, Sunny with both hands. Then they began to make their way to the orphan shack. Sunny wriggled restlessly, and Duncan put her down to walk next to him.

“Klaus?” She asked.

“He’s sleeping,” Duncan said, “I thought I’d help him out,”

“Getra,” Sunny said with a giggle. Duncan frowned. 

“Huh?”

“Getra,” She repeated firmly, which of course meant You love himmmm~. After a moment in which he mentally scanned his notes, Duncan gaped at her, blush spreading across his face.

“I-I am helping him because I’m his friend!” He said while Sunny giggled, “You- I don’t- he’s my friend!”

Sunny shrugged, “Lumity,” She said, which meant if you say so.

“I do say so!” Duncan said. That just made the infant giggle harder, and he rolled his eyes as he tried to calm his racing mind.

When they reached the Orphan Shack, Sunny raced inside, and Duncan had half a fear that she would tell everyone what she’d told him - but she just sat next to Klaus, curled into himself on Duncan’s bed, kicking her feet. Isadora looked up from her notebook and Quigley from fixing a hole in his jumper.

“Sunny!” Isadora said, “Hi, baby,”

“Hello!” Sunny said, which made Isadora grin - she’d been helping her learn to say some simple words. Klaus stirred.

“Hey,” He said, sitting up and ruffling Sunny’s hair, “How was school?”

It was a joke between the five of them to refer to Sunny’s job as school, just to pretend there was some sense of normalcy to what she spent her days doing. Sunny stuck her hands out for Klaus to see all the ink stains.

“Lemone,” She said, which meant I was typing, then, “Neran,” which meant Also, Nero gave me homework.

“Homework? You don’t even have class,” Klaus said.

“Agrafe,” She elaborated, meaning He wants me to make my own staples when he runs out.

“That’s ridiculous!” Quigley said, putting down his needle and thread.

“It’s silly enough that she has to be a secretary,” Klaus agreed, “But making her own staples? I’ve never heard of anything so unfair,”

“I thought staples were made in factories,” Duncan said, “Isa, pass me my notebook. I’m sure we stopped making them handmade in the fifteenth century,”

“If you could nick some metal rods tomorrow, Sunny, we could all help you make some,” Isadora said as Dunca flipped through the pages of his commonplace book, “Five is better than one, isn’t it?”

Sunny nodded, then pointed to Isadora’s commonplace notebook, “Ecrit?” She asked.

“A poem about Count Olaf,” She said with a grimace, “I wrote poems about my nightmares to make them less scary when I was younger, and everything about Olaf is a nightmare. I just can’t find words evil enough to describe him,”

“Plus, it must be difficult to find something that rhymes with Olaf,” Quigley said.

“All I can find is rice pilaf,” Isadora said, bringing out a thesaurus she got from Miss Caliban, “It’s a rice, and it’s more of a half rhyme,”

“Maybe you could publish your poems someday,” Klaus said, “Then everyone would know how terrible Count Olaf is,”

“I’ll write newspaper articles about them!” Duncan offered.

“We’d need a printing press,” Isadora said, “I don’t know if anyone owns one of those?”

Sunny looked at Klaus, “Vivent,” She said, which meant Violet could have built one.

Klaus felt the ever so familiar tug on his lungs, “We could rent one,” He said instead to the group, “When Isadora inherits the Quagmire fortune. Then we could get started straight away,”

“We could build a whole business!” Quigley said, “And call it BBQs Incorporated!" He pointed to Klaus, then Sunny, then him and his siblings to indicate what the letters stood for, and they all laughed.

“And call it BBQs Incorporated,” A vile voice said, and Isadora dropped her book in surprise. Luckily, the crabs carried it away before Vice Principal Nero noticed it as he leered in the open doorway of the Orphan Shack. “Well, I’m very sorry to interrupt this very important business meeting,” He said, though he didn’t sound one bit sorry, “The new gym teacher has arrived, and he was interested in meeting our orphan population before my concert tonight. Apparently orphans have very good bone structure or something. Isn’t that right, Coach Genghis?"

A tall skinny man stepped into view, too tall to see his head over the doorway, “Oh, yes,” He said, and crouched to grin at the children. He wore very expensive-looking sneakers and a sports jacket with a whistle on a rope around his neck, and a turban. A turban is usually worn for religious reasons, but the Quagmire triplets took one look at the man and knew he was wearing it for an entirely different reason.

“Oh, yes,” He repeated, “All orphans have perfect legs for running, and I couldn’t wait to see what specimens were waiting for me in this here shack,”

“Children,” Nero instructed, “Get up off your hay and say hello to Coach Genghis,"

“Hello, Coach Genghis," Klaus said.

“Gefidio,” Sunny said.

They both shook Coach Genghis’ hand, then glanced at the Quagmires, who hadn’t moved. The three triplets stared at the new PE teacher, and all remembered different sensations. Quigley remembered a bony hand gripping his so hard it felt like his bones were shattering as he said I do to a sham of a wedding. Isadora remembered the chill of a whispered threat in her ear as she clutched to her siblings in the dark. Duncan remembered the burn of being hit across the face.

“How do you do?” Quigley said, standing up faster than necessary and shaking Coach Genghis’ hand - or rather, Count Olaf’s. Isadora and Duncan looked at each other fearfully before following suit.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Olaf said with a cruel glint in his smile, which said without words that he thought he had convinced all three of them who he was. Duncan felt his hand begin to tremor ever so slightly and gripped it with his other. His eyes began to blur ever so slightly, like he was tired. How? Why? How was Olaf here? Why weren’t they safe?

“What do you think, Coach Genghis," Nero said, “Do any of these orphans have what you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” Olaf said, “The three identical ones are perfect. It’s important to have as many control variables as possible in an experiment, and since they are identical, absolutely all variables will be controlled. I have no need for the baby or the nerd, though. Babies and nerds have notoriously bad running legs,”

“Of course, of course,” Nero said. The two of them began to talk absolute idiocies about Nero’s next concert, and when they went on their way to the auditorium, the five children had no choice but to follow. While Klaus and Sunny went relatively willingly, however, the Quagmires found themselves forcing each and every step, as the notion of following Count Olaf anywhere was one that went against every instinct. When they were seated and Nero’s appalling recital had begun, the Baudelaires leaned over to them.

“What do you think of the new coach?” Klaus asked, “Surely orphans don’t actually have better bone structure than non-orphans,”

“Scraw!” Sunny cried, which was somehow unheard over the music and meant He creeps me out!

“It’s not just his vibe,” Quigley said glumly, “That’s Count Olaf!”

Isadora rounded on him, “I knew you recognised him!”

“What?!” Klaus said. Though people may expect a baby to shout a bit during a very long performance, a teenager ought to know better, so a few students turned to glare at Klaus, who lowered his voice, “That’s Count Olaf?! Did he follow you here?!”

“He must have,” Isadora whispered, though not for the grace of those around her. Her wide eyes were widened further in anger and fear.

“Why don’t you tell Nero?” Klaus said, “He’s inept and incompetent, sure, but he’ll surely throw him out if he finds out who he truly is!”

Sunny nodded, “Sayakmay,” She said, which meant He might not care about your safety, but he’ll care that he lied on his resume. Klaus nodded.

“No, Olaf will find a way to stay,” Quigley said, “Or he’ll use it against us, like he did when we tried to talk to Esmé. If he thinks we’re fooled, we can have time to figure out his plan and stop it,”

“Lirt!” Sunny pointed out.

“We should…look for other people?” Duncan tried to translate.

“Close - look for his henchpeople,” Klaus said. Duncan nodded.

“That’s a good idea,” he said, and Sunny beamed. 

The Baudelaires and the Quagmires didn’t say anything else for the rest of the depressing concert, not even to whisper about how bad it was. They sat facing forward and snuck glances at Coach Genghis - and at each other. Isadora pulled and pulled at the hem of her skirt, and Quigley tapped his foot against the floor for the entire performance. It was only when the entire ordeal had ended for the night that someone said anything - Klaus, placing his hand on Duncan’s arm.

“It’ll be okay,” He said, “We won’t let him get to any of you,”

Duncan nodded, taking a deep breath, “Okay,”

None of them slept that night. All three Quagmires lay awake on their beds of hale, staring at the ceiling and wondering what to do, and what would happen next. Klaus lay awake on his ironing board he had converted into a bed, wondering how he could help his friends. Sunny lay awake in the pile of cleaning towels she had converted into a bed, biting a few hardened sponges and wishing Violet was there. 

The next day, classes seemed to go slower and slower the later into the day it got. Every now and again, Quigley would tap Duncan with his foot, to remind himself that his brother was still there and hadn’t been sprinted away when he hadn’t been looking. And across the corridor, Klaus shot concerned looks at Isadora, who was steadily colouring the margin of her page pitch black with her pencil and never once looked up at Miss Remora. Sunny, all alone in Vice Principal Nero’s office, had to make staples, and couldn’t do anything but hope that the evil man wouldn’t show up.

Lunch was a jumpy affair. At any sound, the Quagmires would sit up and look around, convinced Olaf was around the corner. Klaus and Sunny weren’t much better, but having never experienced the torment he could inflict on a few orphans, they didn’t grasp the full fear that the triplets felt. 

Carmelita had appeared at their table. She held pom poms on her hips and glared at the five of them as though they were something gross. 

“Hello, you cakesniffers,” She said, “I have a message from Coach Genghis. I get to be his Special Messenger because I’m the cutest, prettiest, nicest girl in the whole school,”

“Oh, stop bragging, Carmelita,” Quigley said, who secretly wouldn’t mind being a pretty girl.

“You’re just jealous,” Carmelita said, “Because Coach Genghis likes me more than he likes you,”

“We don’t give a shit about Coach Genghis,” Quigley shot back, which made Carmelita gape, “Just give us the stupid message,”

“Of course parentless orphans have no manners,” She retorted. Isadora mumbled the word tautology under her breath, “You Quagmire triplets are to report to the front lawn immediately after dinner, tonight,”

“After the violin concert?” Duncan asked. 

“Is that after dinner, cakesniffer?” Carmelita said in an extremely rude manner, “No. After dinner,”

“But what about the recital? Do we skip it?” Isadora said.

“Look, that’s the message,” Carmelita, “He said if you don’t show up, you’ll be in big trouble, so if I were you, Isadora-”

“You’re not Isadora, thank god,” Klaus said, “Now go away,”

Carmelita scoffed, “You know, it’s traditional to give a Special Messenger a tip after she has delivered a message,”

“Imach,” Sunny said, which meant Does the tip of my teeth count? And chomped on the air for emphasis. Carmelita, who did not speak baby but could understand when she was being threatened, recoiled.

“You’re just jealous cakesniffers,” She said, and pranced away.

“It’s only lunch,” Klaus said to the Quagmires when Carmelita had left, “Whatever’s happening, we’ve got all day to figure it out,”

They looked gloomily at each other, wondering how much they could figure out from lunch until dinner.

When classes resumed, none of the children paid any mind to the droning demands of their teachers. Isadora and Klaus passed notes to each other debating what Olaf was planning, and though Duncan and Quigley couldn’t do the same due to the nature of their lesson, their minds were still hard at work nonetheless. 

However, by dinner, they hadn’t come up with anything. Duncan and Quigley, having arrived to the hall earlier than Klaus and Isadora, plus Sunny, who had been dropped off by Miss Caliban, gloomily stabbed strands of spaghetti 

“He probably just wants to kidnap us,” Quigley said with a shudder, watching Sunny struggle to spear her spaghetti, “So we’re forced to give up our fortune,”

“But why would he be in disguise?” Duncan asked. He gently took Sunny’s fork from her and twisted the food around it, before handing it back to her. Quigley shook her head.

“You’re right,” He said, “It doesn’t work,”

Just then, Isadora sat down next to Sunny, holding her own tray of food. She glanced around the table and realised what was wrong at the exact same time everyone else did.

“Klaw?” Sunny demanded.

Isadora frowned, “I thought he was here already?” Her brothers shook their heads.

“He’s in your class,” Duncan said, “You didn’t notice him when you left?”

“Well, I did, but he said he was going ahead,” Isadora responded. She twisted her body around to look through the entire cafeteria, as though Klaus had suddenly decided to abandon his sister and friends and sit with other people. Though, of course, he had not, “You don’t think…”

“Olaf doesn’t even know who he is,” Quigley said quickly, “It’s us he wants, not him,”

“But what if he’s using Klaus to get to us?” Duncan said.

“Amminow!” Sunny shrieked, which meant Can you guys not speculate about my brother’s fate so blatantly?

“Sorry, Sunny,” Duncan said, “I’m sure he’s fine. It’s a big school, maybe he got lost?”

All four children went quiet, trying to decide whether they could trick themselves into believing the entirely unbelievable excuse. They were so deep into trying this that they didn’t notice Klaus appear besides them.

“I did something,” He said. All four of them jumped.

“Jesus!” Quigley said, “Klaus, we thought you were dead!”

“We did not think you were dead,” Isadora hurried to say, with a wayward glance at Sunny. Klaus sat down next to Duncan and frowned.

“Why would you think I was dead?” He asked. Quigley waved his hands erratically.

“Because there’s a psychopathic madman loose in this school!” He said. A few students looked at him strangely from other tables, and he lowered his voice, “What did you do?”

“I…” Klaus looked around the table with an ill-disguised grin, “Made a phone call,”

His audience stared at him for a second.

“Okay…” Duncan said, “Could you…elaborate?”

“How is a phone call helping us, Klaus?” Isadora demanded. Quigely raised his hand.

“Let the guy explain, Isa,” He said.

“I called Mr Poe,” Klaus said. When Isadora and Duncan both rolled their eyes, he continued, “I-I know he hasn’t been the most helpful, but this is more than putting the right name in the school system or getting the right school uniform. He was at the marriage! He’s seen him in person, unlike Vice Principal Nero, and he’s seen first hand how horrible he is! If I tell him who Coach Genghis really is, the least he will do is look into it! Surely there’s some evidence of who he is,”

Duncan shrugged, “If you can get him to tell Coach Genghis to take off the turban, his monobrow will be revealed,”

“And if Mr Poe gets him to take off his expensive shoes,” Quigley added, “His ankle tattoo will be revealed,”

Klaus nodded, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you guys, not on my watch,”

“Sachell?” Sunny asked, which meant So, what did you tell Mr Poe?

“I was worried Coach Genghis might be listening,” He said, “So I told him I had missed a concert, and so I had to buy him a bag of sweets, but I had no money. He said he’ll be down here as quick as he can,”

Duncan froze, “But what if something bad happens before then?”

“I…” Klaus looked down at his plate, “We have to hope nothing will,”

Chapter Text

The Quagmires felt as if they were walking through molasses to get to the front lawn, heads reeling with the knowledge that they were willingly returning to the grasp of Count Olaf. When staying in his house, each of them fantasised often about running away - and yet here they were, doing the complete opposite. It was like a dream, a terrible dream where you can’t fully grasp that it isn’t real and keep trying to escape.

“You’re late,” Olaf said when they came into his view. He still used his scratchy, irritating fake voice, so the Quagmires realised he planned to keep the disguise up even around them. He stood with his hands behind his back, as though hiding something, “You were supposed to be here right after dinner,”

“We’re sorry,” Duncan said. He craned his neck to try and see what he was hiding, to no avail.

“Hm. Well, at least we’ll beat some discipline into those orphaned bones of yours,” Coach Genghis said, “Let’s get right to work. Even stupid children like yourselves should remember what I said about orphans having excellent bone structure for running. That’s why you are about to do Special Orphan Running Exercises, or S.O.R.E. for short,”

“Exciting,” Isadora deadpanned, though all she wanted to do was grab Olaf by the neck and strangle him. If not to kill him, at least to wipe the smug smile off his face.

“I’m glad you're so enthusiastic,” Genghis said, “In certain cases, enthusiasm can make up for lack of brainpower,” He took his hands from behind his back, and the three saw that he was holding a large metal can and a long brush. The paint inside the can sloshed and it seemed to be glowing a luminescent white, “Now, before we begin S.O.R.E., we’ll need a track. This is luminous paint, which means it glows in the dark,”

“Interesting,” Quigley said, hoping to hide his desire to stamp on Coach Genghis’ expensive shoes and possibly break his toes.

“For your enthusiasm, you get to be in charge of the brush,” Genghis thrust it at Duncan, who had not spoken, “And you two boys can hold the paint. You need to paint a big circle on the grass so you can see where you run when you start your laps. Go on, what are you waiting for?”

The Quagmires looked at one another. They were in fact waiting for something - for Count Olaf to reveal himself and what on earth he was doing with making them paint a huge circle. His plan, so far, seemed nothing more than slightly irritating for three underathletic children, but that didn’t stop it from being any less suspicious. As they began to run and paint, an uneasiness crept upon the children, a feeling that grew the closer they came to their new gym coach.

“Faster! Bigger! Wider!”

Taking advantage of Olaf’s inability to tell them apart, the Quagmires swapped the two jobs between the three of them, so no one became more tired than the other. Eventually, when they were as far away from Olaf as possible, he waved his arms and blew a whistle.

“Alright! That’s big and wide enough! Finish it where I am!”

While walking to return to Genghis, the three took the opportunity to catch their breath and reconvene.

“What do you think this is all about?” Isadora hissed, “I mean, this won’t hurt us, right?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Duncan said, “I read an article about paint that can cause birth defects, but obviously none of us are pregnant. Maybe it’s just normal poison?”

“If it was, he wouldn’t be having all three of us do it,” Quigley whispered back. Duncan opened his mouth to respond, but they had reached Coach Genghis and had to pretend to be unaware again as he snatched the paint and brush off them.

“That will do, orphans,” He said, “Now, take your marks, and when I blow my whistle, begin running around the circle until I tell you to stop,”

“What?” Isadora said. 

“What?” Coach Genghis said in an irritatingly accurate impression of Vice Principal Nero and a terrible impression of Isadora, “I know you heard me, orphan girl. You’re standing right next to me. Now take your marks, all of you, and begin running as soon as I blow my whistle,”

“But it’s ten pm,” Duncan said, “Isn’t there a school curfew?”

“I’ve got all of that sorted with your Vice Principal,” Genghis said.

“How long will we be running?” Quigley asked. Genghis glared and did not answer, instead blowing his shrill whistle in all of their faces and forcing them to run away. They paced themselves so as to keep up with the indefinite time limit. But what started as one lap became five, and what started as five laps became fifteen. Isadora lost count first, her mind immediately clouded with anger and fear to make room for numbers. Then Quigley lost count simply out of boredom. Duncan, however, kept count the whole time, muttering the new number under his breath whenever they passed Coach Genghis and his infernal whistle and turban. And what started as one lap became two hundred and seventy four.

The sun was beginning to rise when Olaf finally blew his whistle. The Quagmires dragged themselves to the starting line, bodies aching more than they had ever ached before, and almost smiled when they were dismissed to go to bed. Suddenly, stacks of hay had never sounded more cozy, and all three of them fell unconscious the second their bodies hit the bed.

***

Isadora was forcing her eyes open every second of class, which was somehow more arduous than usual. She genuinely considered attaching her eyelids to her eyebrows so she could sleep without being noticed, but when she started breaking apart pieces of tape, Klaus sent her a stern look that clearly indicated he knew what she was doing and didn’t think it a good idea. So Isadora huffed and let her head drop to the table instead.

“That bad, huh?” Klaus asked when class was dismissed. Instead of responding, Isadora whined and put her head on his shoulder, which was mainly for dramatic effect as it offered her no rest while they were walking down a busy corridor.

“I’ll meet you in the cafeteria…” She muttered. Klaus nodded and set off to get Sunny.

Isadora’s footsteps were so slow that, in reality, she met Klaus again at the entrance to the cafeteria, as he had walked across the entire school in the time it took her to go through one building. He smiled at her and linked an arm through hers.

“Come on, you,” He said, “Try not to fall asleep in your salad,”

They sat at their regular table, where Quigley and Duncan already were. They clearly were doing no better than Isadora, with dark circles under their eyes and sluggish movements.

“Bodich!” Sunny cried.

“I’m too tired to decode that,” Duncan said.

“She asked what happened last night,” Klaus said, “You all look exhausted,” In reality, Sunny said something more similar to You three look like death! but Klaus was far too polite to relay that. 

“Running,” Quigley answered. He put his hands on the table for emphasis, as though explaining a very complex system and not a common mode of self transportation, “Just. Running,”

“He made us paint a glowing circle on the floor,” Duncan elaborated, “And then run around it until the sun came up,”

“What?” Klaus said, “But that must have been hours and hours!”

“I’m not good at maths, but it was two hundred and seventy four laps,” Duncan said, “So however long it takes to run around the front lawn two hundred and seventy four times,”

“But…why?” Klaus echoed the question burning in the fatigued minds of the Quagmires.

“Our exact question,” Isadora said as she tried to not fall asleep in her salad.

“Maybe so we’re in so much pain that we just give our sapphires up,” Duncan said. 

“It would work,” Quigley muttered. All three Quagmires were in a lot of pain, as S.O.R.E. wasn’t just a fun acronym for their nightly activity. Their legs ached from running, and their arms ached from the painting, and their heads ached from their lack of sleep.

“Well, I’ll look into remedies for hurting limbs,” Klaus said, “And in the meantime, we have to think of what Count Olaf wants, because I don’t think even Count Olaf would think that plan would work - no offense, Duncan,”

“None taken,” Duncan said, managing a smile despite the fatigue, which made Isadora smirk despite the fatigue.

“Lockib?” Sunny suggested.

“Sunny says maybe the circle is a landing strip,” Klaus said, “Since it’s luminescent, maybe Count Olaf wants to show someone where you three are,”

“But why would we have to do all that running before they turned up?” Isadora asked.

“Plus, clearly nothing did turn up,” Quigley added, gesturing to his un-kidnapped being. Klaus nodded.

“You’re right, it doesn’t add up,” He said, “But we’ll get to the bottom of it nonetheless. I’ll put all my time into trying to find something, and Sunny will help, won’t you, Sunny?”

Sunny nodded resolutely and hugged Isadora, “Yee,” She promised, and Isadora patted her head gratefully.

“I’ll look as well,” Duncan said, “I’m good at investigating things,” As he said that, he tried to suppress a yawn.

“I don’t doubt it for a second, but not today,” Klaus said, “You have to get more rest.”

Quigley, fighting the urge to put his head on the table due to how much it would hurt his back, nodded, “I’ve gotta agree with specs,” He said, and was too tired to apologise for the nickname.

“If we’re lucky, Nero might play something quiet tonight, and we can sleep through that,” Isadora added. But as she said that, it occurred to her just how odd the phrase if we’re lucky sounded to her. Because the Quagmires, recently, had not been very lucky. They had lost their parents and their house. They had been handed over to a maniac that put all their lives in danger. They had been forced to go to a miserable school in which their only solace was two children who had been dealt the same miserable hand. They had been followed by the same maniac and now suffered an entirely new, miserable ordeal. If the Quagmires were lucky, none of this would have happened.

And if the Quagmires were lucky, Carmelita wouldn’t have appeared at their table at that moment.

“Hello, cakesniffers,” She said, “You look terrible. I have another message for you from Coach Genghis. I get to be his Special Messenger again because I’m the cutest, prettiest, nicest little girl in the whole school,”

“If you were really the nicest girl- oh, forget it,” Klaus said, “What’s the message?”

“Well, it’s actually the same one as last time, but I’ll repeat it if you’re too stupid to remember,” Carmelita said, clearing her throat, “The three Quagmire orphans are to report to the front lawn tonight, immediately after dinner,”

“What?” Isadora cried.

“Are you deaf as well as a cakesniffer?” Carmelita asked, “I said-”

“She knows what you said,” Klaus said, “We got it. Please go away,”

“That’s now two tips I am owed,” Carmelita said with her arms crossed, but she flounced away nonetheless.

“Jesus Christ…” Duncan despaired, “How the hell are we supposed to survive another night of that? My legs are on fire as it is,”

“Maybe it’s not the same thing as yesterday,” Quigley said, “Maybe tonight he’ll do something different,”

“Something worse,” Isadora muttered. 

***

Count Olaf did not do something worse that night. He did the exact same thing as the night before - force three children to run all night long, then blow his shrill whistle and demand they leave his sight immediately. Confounded, the Quagmires relayed this information to the Baudelaires the next day, and they wondered what it could all mean. This carried on for a week, and on the seventh day, they felt as though someone had grinded their bones into a dust and left nothing but crumbs remaining.

On this seventh day, they were eating pizza for lunch - initially exciting the children, but becoming quite a disappointment when they realised it was scorching hot, with liquidy tomato sauce and rock hard cheese - when Sunny tugged on Klaus’ jumper. “Jack!” She said, pointing behind him. Klaus and the Quagmires all turned to see what she was looking at - a short man standing at the entrance of the cafeteria, one hand holding a handkerchief to his mouth and the other holding a briefcase.

“Mr Poe!” Klaus said, “I almost forgot I called him!” Immediately, Klaus stood up and made his way to the man - but then stopped and waited for his exhausted friends to catch up.

“Hello there, Klaus, Sunny,” Mr Poe said when they reached him, “How are you enjoying school?”

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about, Mr Poe,” Klaus said, “These are our friends, Isadora, Duncan and Quigley Quagmire,”

The Quagmires waved and tried not to look as tired as they felt. Mr Poe nodded.

“Yes, I remember my wife reporting on your case. Such dreadful news, dreadful,” Then he frowned at Isadora, “Funny, I remember a different name-”

“The Quagmires,” Klaus said firmly, interrupting Mr Poe before he was incredibly rude to Isadora, “Need our help. Can we talk?”

Mr Poe looked about nervously, “Yes, but let’s leave this dreadful cafeteria. I don’t like the way that girl is looking at me,” The children turned around to see Carmelita sitting opposite them, glaring at Mr Poe and holding a lettuce leaf menacingly. Mr Poe shuddered. 

Once the five of them had left the building, Klaus directed Mr Poe to the orphan shack, since it was more equipped to fit six people than the broom closet.

“What a quaint little den you all have built for yourselves,” Mr Poe said. As the children corrected him, he coughed violently into a handkerchief.

“Is he always like this?” Isadora hissed. Klaus nodded solemnly.

“So, what can I help you children with?” Mr Poe said. Klaus took a deep breath and, after a look from his friends, began to speak.

“We’re concerned that the Quagmires aren’t being protected enough after the ordeal they went through,” He said, “You were at the wedding scheme, you saw what happened,”

“Yes, it was dreadful,” Mr Poe said, and the glimmer of hope in the Quagmire’s aching bodies began to grow, “And such an otherwise theatrical talent! Gone to waste, as so many do,”

Duncan frowned, wondering if Olaf’s theatrical pursuits were worth mentioning.

“O-Okay, well, they feel like they are not entirely out of danger,” Klaus said. Mr Poe broke out in fits of coughs once more, holding a hand up to silence the children.

“Klaus, you must learn to let people speak for themselves,” He said, “First your sister, now your friends. Quagmires, please, tell me what is troubling you,”

The Quagmires looked at each other, confused, but the situation seemed too important to tell Mr Poe that Klaus was actually being very helpful, so Quigley spoke up, “We think Count Olaf has followed us here,”

Mr Poe nodded solemnly, but didn’t seem to be as shocked as they would have hoped, “I completely understand,”

“You do?” Isadora asked, who did not have high hopes after hearing about Mr Poe’s many drawbacks.

“Of course,” Mr Poe said, “After times of extreme trauma and distress, it often feels like those memories follow you for a long time. When I was turned down for a promotion a few months ago, I had the very same sensation,”

“No,” Duncan said, “He’s actually followed us, disguised so no one will notice,”

Mr Poe frowned, “This is a very serious accusation,” He said gravely.

“This is a very serious situation,” Duncan said, graver. 

“Quagmires, I understand you have suffered a lot at that man’s hands,” Mr Poe said, “I read all about it in an article by my wife in the Daily Punctillio. I mean, being locked in your room, forced to perform a wedding in a play, it must have been very difficult,”

“He locked me in a birdcage, not a bedroom,” Duncan said.

“He tried to marry one of us in real life, not just the play,” Quigley added.

“Yes, yes,” Mr Poe said with a dismissive hand, “My point is, I understand if you are a bit disoriented after all of that. Children tend to be disoriented, and get facts wrong. Look at Klaus over here - I’ll bet he still forgets that he is the oldest, even now!”

Klaus froze, and Isadora inched closer to him, half for comfort and half for protection as she shot Mr Poe the most withering glare she could manage in her fatigued state.

“This isn’t like that,” Klaus said, choking down the urge to stay quiet, “Violet’s not- Count Olaf is- He’s already forced them to run laps all night for a week, resulting in them being too tired to do anything!”

“What’s this about running laps?”

All five children froze at the unmistakable sound of Count Olaf’s ridiculously disguised voice, and a shadow loomed over the shack’s doorway. He peered into the orphan shack and glared at the five, before noticing Mr Poe and stretching his mouth into a horrifying smile.

“Why, hello, hello,” Coach Genghis said, “It appears you have company, orphans!”

“Hello, Arthur Poe, of Mulctuary Money Management,” Mr Poe said, and held out a hand for Olaf to shake.

“How do you do, I’m the new gym coach, Coach Genghis,” Count Olaf said, “Now, I’ll hope you aren’t here for my little track stars!” He leered at the Quagmires, who shrunk back.

“No, no, not officially, of course,” Mr Poe said, “I’m not in charge of their fortune,”

“What fortune are you in charge of?” Coach Genghis said. The glint in his eye made Isadora’s insides squirm, and she glanced at Klaus, concerned.

“That would be the Baudelaire orphans, Klaus and Sunny,” Mr Poe said, and gestured to them, “I was just talking to them about letting go of old fears,”

“Ah, yes, it’s very important to let go. Why, I’ve never held a grudge in my life,” Genghis said. For the first time since appearing at the school, his eyes were not turned on the Quagmires, but instead stared at the Baudelaires like they were a delicious meal. Isadora had to resist the urge to grab Klaus by the arm, to stop him from being snatched as a wolf would snatch a sheep. Quigley shifted so that Sunny was blocked from Olaf’s sight.

“Exactly,” Mr Poe said, “Speaking of which, I must be letting you all go, dear children, as I have half a banking day to catch up on. I wish you the best, and perhaps to not call unless it is an actual emergency,”

Coach Genghis withdrew himself from the shack so Mr Poe could leave, and took one last savouring look at the orphans before turning his back on them. Mr Poe seemed to be much more interested in him than the children he was in charge of.

“Allow me to walk you to your car,” Coach Genghis said. 

“Oh, why, thank you very much, Mr…” Mr Poe said.

“Coach Genghis,”

“Coach Genghis, of course - such an unusual name,”

“Yes, yes - now, tell me more about your job. How did you come across these Baudelaires?”

“Well, I’m in charge of their enormous fortune, which of course can’t be accessed until the oldest…”

Though they were long out of earshot, the five children in the shack remained quiet for some time, staring at the floor and the crabs swarming around their feet. The room, though they didn’t know it, was incredibly divided on the topic of their decapod friends - Klaus and Quigley saw them as a comfort, a reminder that perhaps they were never as alone as they thought. Isadora, Duncan and Sunny all wished they were gone.

“I’m sorry,” Klaus eventually said, breaking the silence, “I really thought he’d do something,”

“It’s not your fault,” Duncan said. He placed a hand on Klaus’ arm for comfort, “You didn’t make him so…”

“Sluggardised?” 

“Useless?”

Duncan winced at his siblings’ apt descriptions, “Precisely,”

“I let you down,” Klaus said, “I’ll make it up, I swear,”

“Klaus, you didn’t do anything of the sort,” Isadora said, “We’ll figure something out. We did last time, didn’t we?”

“But this time I’m here!” Klaus snapped, “So it has to be different!”

The Quagmires froze in silence at the outburst, and Klaus burned red in embarrassment, clearly having not meant to be so forceful. Sunny frowned.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out at you,” He said, “You’re in a much worse position than I am,” He stood up and brushed some hay off his clothes, “I’ll get out of your hair,”

The four remaining orphans watched as he walked out of the shack, presumably back to his broom closet. Somewhere, the school bell rang, signalling the start of afternoon lessons, but no one paid it much mind

“Happsish,” Sunns suggested.

“Sunny said someone should probably go after him,” Duncan translated, in the absence of Klaus.

“Majam,” Sunny added.

“But she can’t, because she has very small legs,”

“Right, so, I’ll take Sunny back to the administrative building, then me and Quigley can go to class. Three water cups are easily shared between five,” Isadora said. Duncan frowned, confused, and she rolled her eyes fondly, “Someone’s got to go after that wreck of a boy,”

“You’re, like, his best friend,” Duncan said, “Shouldn’t it be you?”

“Be grateful we’re getting you out of class,” Quigley said and shoved his brother out of the shack. Dazed and slightly confused, Duncan set off in a light jog to find Klaus.

He slowed to a brisk walk when his bones reminded him of how he spent his night.

After knocking on a few wrong doors - there were a lot of broom closets in Prufrock Prep, and only one of them actually housed an orphan - Duncan recognised the right one and rapped against the wood a few times, to no response.

“Klaus?” He asked. A beat or two passed, and Klaus opened the door.

“I was sent to fetch you,” Duncan said, though the words felt wooden and false on his lips, “I wanted to see how you were,”

Klaus’ hand stuttered on the door, as though unsure how long the conversation would last, “I’m fine. It’s you guys that should be concerned,”

“Oh, don’t worry, we are,” Duncan said, “But that doesn’t mean we don’t care about our friends anymore,”

“I…” Klaus didn’t meet Duncan’s eye, “Where’s Sunny?”

“Isadora took her back to work,” Duncan said, “We’ll hopefully have three drinking cups at dinner,”

“Sorry I just stropped off…” Klaus said, “That was immature,”

“I think it was deserved,”

“Not really,”

Duncan glanced up and down the quickly emptying hall, “Look, if we both stand out here looking like idiots for much longer, we’ll get in trouble for skipping class. Can I come in?”

Klaus nodded, and reversed back into the closet so Duncan would have room to squeeze in. 

Duncan had never been to the Baudeaire’s broom closet, mostly because there was hardly enough room for the two of them, let alone visitors. Isadora had, however, and she described it as an affront to human rights. Duncan had to agree. The rectangular space housed an ironing board and a bundle of clothes which Duncan assumed Klaus and Sunny used as beds, with hardly enough room to sit down given the shelves installed into the walls on all three sides. They held cleaning supplies that must be dangerous to sleep next to, and Duncan wondered what would happen if they fell on a Baudelaire while they slept. He noticed clothes tucked neatly under the ironing board and a notebook and pen on one pillow - the only indicator as to who slept here. He felt a pang of guilt that the Quagmire’s arrival had downsized the Baudelaires to such a degree.

As he looked for somewhere to sit, he realised the shelves installed at such a height that he had to hunch. Klaus, who was taller than him, must have been living in agony. 

“What’s up?” Duncan asked when he’d shut the closet door. As a journalist, he was often tactful but blunt with his lines of questioning, and rarely danced around the topics at hand. Isadora was one for flowery language, and Quigley preferred a key to each conversation, but Duncan knew how to get to the point.

Klaus recognised this manner of speaking, and reflected it, “I’m angry that my plan with Mr Poe went nowhere,”

“But it wasn’t your fault,”

“But it’s the only thing I could do to help,”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Duncan said, “You’ve done so much to help. You introduced us to the school after we’d escaped living with a maniac, and you showed us kindness. You gave us hope,”

Klaus stared at the floor, “Hope doesn’t keep you from being kidnapped,”

“Maybe not…” Duncan said, “But it makes the time before the kidnapping a bit easier,”

“Do you really see a way out of this?” Klaus asked, “Olaf’s got Nero in his pocket, Mr Poe won’t do anything, and the other students won’t touch any of us with a six foot pole,”

Duncan shrugged, “We got out of stuff before, we’ll do it again. Besides, last time we were alone, now we’re not. You of all people know what a difference being alone makes,”

Klaus hmm’d in the way that indicates one understands and agrees with what has been said, and silence fell between them for a moment. Duncan felt an urge to put his hand out, to comfort him somehow or maybe seek his own comfort, but something stopped him. Something about what it would mean. As a journalist, meaning was very important. It was possible Klaus could define it, somehow.

“I found a picture of her, actually,” Klaus said, and he didn’t need to explain who he meant, “Do you want to see?”

Duncan nodded, and Klaus reached for the notebook on his bed. Opening it at a certain page, he pulled out a picture with faded colours of a girl. Dark, wavy hair, a striking nose, eyes that crinkled at the corners with laughter as she held up a contraption of some sort - who else could this be but Violet Baudelaire?

“Miss Caliban has a bunch of old newspapers, and she let me cut it out of an article about an inventing competition,” Klaus said, which explained the jagged edges of the page.

“She was so pretty,” Duncan said, “She looked just like you,”

Klaus nodded, “A lot of people said that. When we were younger, we pretended we were twins. We wanted to do that with Sunny, too, but it worked a lot less,” They both laughed.

After a moment of quiet once more, Klaus took a deep breath, “I’m panicking because I feel like what I have to offer can’t protect you, and it reminds me of how helpless I was the night my family died,”

“Oh,” Well, at least Duncan’s journalistic instincts appreciated the bluntness, “Right. That’s…reasonable,”

“But I’m also angry, because I shouldn’t feel like this has anything to do with me,” Klaus said, “You guys should be the ones storming off, not me,”

“You know you don’t have to do all this alone,” Duncan said, “You can tell us things. The notebook, the panic. The nightmares?” Klaus nodded, and Duncan shrugged, “Who doesn’t see nightly visions of their family perishing in a house fire, huh?”

Klaus let out a shocked huff of laughter, and Duncan grinned.

“I mean, I can’t exactly talk to Sunny about it,” Klaus said, “I don’t even really know how much she understands about the situation, and maybe if she doesn’t know everything, that’s better,”

Duncan rolled his eyes, “You’re an incredibly smart idiot, you know that?”

“Huh?”

“Us, Baudelaire, you can talk to us about it,” Duncan said. Klaus opened his mouth in an oh of understanding, “We may not understand what it’s like to lose a sibling, let alone an older sister, but we’re all in the same boat now. You’d do good to remember that,”

Klaus smiled, and nodded, “I am a bit of an idiot, aren’t I?”

“A loveable one, but an idiot nonetheless,”

Duncan froze, the meaning of what he said hitting him a second too late, but Klaus didn’t seem to notice. He picked at the hem of his jumper, staring at the intricate knitting with furrowed eyes.

“I am grateful,” He said, “Insanely grateful. I never had too many friends, but you guys have been such a wonder these past few months. And even if Sunny never grows up with Violet, she’ll grow up with you,”

The switch to the definite tense did not go unnoticed by Duncan who, despite his optimism, knew there was a chance they would be separated. But he didn’t bring it up, because the glow of the possibility was too warm to reject.

“We should probably go back to classes,” Klaus said guiltily after a moment. Duncan frowned.

“I mean, we’ve already lost our drinking cups,” He said, “What’s a few more hours later gonna do?”

“Probably something,” Klaus said. They looked at each other for a moment, waiting for the other to break the moment and insist that they actually go to class. When neither did, Klaus slid a pack of playing cards out from under his pillow, “Miss Caliban gave us these. Do you know how to play slam?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re a great teacher,”

For a few hours, Count Olaf didn’t exist. Nothing outside of the cramped walls of the broom closet existed. The pair played cards and laughed and lost and won, and nothing else seemed to matter. And if their hands brushed for longer than is necessary, well, no one was present to corroborate that story. And if the cards eventually went as forgotten as the outside world, only two of them knew.

***

At dinner, Duncan arrived first and sat down next to his siblings. Quigley and Isadora both gave him confused glares, clearly demanding to know what had happened.

“I found Klaus, and we just kinda talked,” Duncan said, “He’s okay now. Just needed a minute,”

“Don’t we all,” Quigley said, swirling the greyish green soup they had for dinner with a spoon and watching it as though it might jump out at him. Isadora seemed slightly less satisfied, eyeing Duncan while he didn’t meet her gaze, but said nothing else on the matter.

Klaus appeared, holding a bowl of soup with Sunny next to him. She tried to wave, but spilled some soup over her bowl and didn’t try again. Isadora reached out and placed her bowl on the table, then picked up the infant to place her on the bench.

“Sorry about earlier,” Klaus said quietly. Isadora waved a dismissive hand - or rather, waved her spoon dismissively, sending a few droplets flying into the air.

“We’ve all broken down at some point,” She said, “You’ve certainly seen me come to a screeching halt. It’s about what happens after, isn’t it?”

“Wise words,”

“I am a poet after all,”

As though they were living in a strange time loop, Carmelita Spats appeared at their table. Quigley’s grin turned into a glare as he noticed her, and the rest of the table sunk into an annoyed silence.

“Hello, cakesniffers,” she began.

“We know about the running, Carmelita, you told us at lunch, like you do every day,” Duncan said, “Is there anything else?”

Carmelita smarted in indignation, “Actually, there is. I am here to deliver a message from that mousy man you were talking to at lunch, Mr Pope,”

“Mr Poe?” Klaus asked.

“I thought you all weren’t deaf, yes, I said Mr Poe,” Carmelita said, “He actually tipped me, so I am doing him a favour and relaying his message. He said he feels sorry for you cakesniffing orphans, so he has decided to try and find someone who can do more help than him,”

“Who?” Isadora demanded. Duncan’s head reeled with the possibilities. The authorities, maybe? Had he actually understood the Quagmires’ pleas and simply put on an act, as they did for Olaf?

“Esme Squalor,” Carmelita said with a grin, then skipped away.