Chapter Text
If you have picked up a book called A Series of Unfortunate Events, you might reasonably expect it to contain unfortunate events. The word "reasonable" here means "making sense," which is unusual in the Baudelaire story. You might expect sorrow, despair, villainy, and perhaps a small amount of fungus. You would not expect fortune. I certainly did not.
When I first closed the file concerning the Baudelaire orphans, I assumed their story was finished. Finished, of course, is a word which here means "continuing somewhere beyond my sight." I had accepted that I would never learn what happened to Violet, Klaus, Sunny, and the infant Beatrice after they disappeared into the Great Unknown. I was wrong.
I found more and more evidence involving the Baudelaires, a certain group of triplets, one of which the eldest Baudelaire--Violet--was particularly fond, a certain captain, of which the middle Baudelaire--Klaus--was particularly fond, and a snack of which the youngest Baudelaire--Sunny--was particularly fond.
Violet, ever the inventor, was trying her best to improve the sail with the little materials she had. Sunny, ever the chef, was trying her best to organize what little food they had. Klaus, ever the researcher, was trying his best to read the very few, half empty and torn maps that they had managed to bring along. Beatrice, for a rare moment, was sleeping peacefully on the floor of the boat, laying on a torn sweater they managed to find.
They had been in silence ever since they had left the island. Not uncomfortable silence, but not comfortable either. Klaus had read the same line on the map four times without understanding it. Sunny had reorganized their food three separate times. Violet had been staring at a loose piece of rope for several minutes without inventing anything at all.
Violet would have gotten frustrated with the limited supplies, worried that their troubles would catch up with them soon. But she didn't have to worry. And so she didn't have to be frustrated. She was too exhausted to be frustrated. Instead, she yawned and looked at the sun, which was setting into early evening.
Klaus looked up as well, the look of their first sunset that wasn't burdening was something Klaus thought he would never see again. He looked at his older sister.
"Violet," he said. His voice was hoarse, a word which here means "sounding much older and more frightened than he wished." "I'm worried about running out of supplies."
Violet looked over at him, sighing and taking a break from moving to sit down.
"I don't want to worry about that right now," she replied quietly. "Drink some water, Klaus."
"Violet--"
"Klaus," she interrupted. "Please."
Klaus looked down at the floor, seeing the sleeping baby there. "...How will we take care of Beatrice?"
"The same way we've taken care of ourselves," Violet replied.
"Badly?"
"Successfully."
Sunny stood up from where she was. "What's on map?" she said. She was trying to distract everyone from thinking of terrible things such as having to take care of a baby at age fourteen, sixteen, and two.
Klaus looked at the map he held in his hand. Maps are often comforting objects. They tell you where you are, where you are going, and occasionally where you should stop for lunch. Unfortunately, the map Klaus was holding accomplished none of these tasks. It was torn, faded, and missing several important pieces, much like the Baudelaire orphans themselves.
"I'm not sure," he said. "That's another thing I'm worried about. We have no idea where we are."
Violet looked back from where they came from, although she already knew that she would not see it. And alas, she did not see any sort of land at all. Without looking back, she said, "We don't. We're in uncharted waters."
The phrase "uncharted waters" can mean quite a few things. It could be a chart labeled "Water" but there is nothing on it. It could be water that is uncharted, as in unmapped, or not marked. It could mean that that someone is in an unfamiliar situation. There are two definitions that define the Baudelaire's situation.
Sunny shivered. "Scared," she said.
Klaus nodded, his eyes half closed now as he stared at the map. "I am too."
Violet looked back at the other three.
"We have each other," Violet's voice was so quiet that Klaus almost thought the wind had spoken. "Right now, I feel that's all we need."
None of the Baudelaires had moved for the rest of the sunset. They had sat together in silence, thinking of what Violet had said. They had been separated many times, The Baudelaires had been separated many times before. They had been separated by cages, disguises, waterfalls, villains, misunderstandings, and one particularly suspicious optometrist. If you have siblings, you may know that being separated from them can be unpleasant. If your siblings are the only people you trust, it can be terrifying. Klaus and Sunny realized that having each other was probably the most important thing right now.
Violet stared at the sunset until the sky was dark and the sun was tucked away. Klaus was trying his absolute best not to fall asleep but as time went on he was failing, and Sunny lay next to Beatrice, fully asleep. Violet was wide awake, stuck thinking about everything that had happened to them up until this point.
She was wondering when the next unfortunate thing was going to take place. She was exhausted from running from villains like Count Olaf and Esme Squalor. She was sure her siblings were too, and she was right.
When she looked over to ask Klaus if he had drank any water, she found him laying on the floor of the boat with Sunny and Beatrice. She looked at them for a moment. She sighed and looked back at the waters, then at the sail. Right now, there was nothing Violet could do with her limited materials to make the sail any better.
Violet remained awake throughout the night. This is difficult to do on a boat. It is also difficult to do after surviving countless disasters. It is especially difficult to do while responsible for a baby, a younger sister, an older sail, and an uncertain future. She watched all around her while her siblings slept, looking for any sign of life or land. All that darkness, and she saw nothing but the water they were floating on.
Beatrice was the first to wake. Babies are frequently the first people to wake, particularly when everyone around them desperately wishes to remain asleep. She looked behind her, and the upset one year old had woken up Klaus and Sunny. Violet went over to Beatrice and picked her up.
"What's wrong?" Violet whispered to Beatrice.
"Valka," Beatrice replied. The word "Valka" did not technically mean anything. It might have meant she was hungry. It might have meant she was uncomfortable. It might have meant she was tired of boats. It might have meant all three. Klaus yawned.
"I'm not sure what that means yet," he said. "But I hope I will eventually."
"Land ho?" Sunny asked. The phrase "land ho" is traditionally shouted by sailors when land is spotted in the distance. It is considerably less useful when asked as a question by a toddler on a small boat in the middle of nowhere.
Violet shook her head. "Not yet. I watched all night for anything that might help us. I saw no islands or boats. Just the water."
Klaus stretched. "I'm sorry for leaving you awake. If I hadn't fallen asleep--"
"I'm okay," Violet said, but her voice made it seem like even she was unsure about that.
"Tike," Beatrice said, pointing at the horizon, where the sun was making the sky a beautiful mix of pink and orange. It was strangely beautiful to the Baudelaires.
Klaus blinked. "I don't understand." He looked at where she was pointing. "She's never said that before. What does 'Tike' mean?"
"Tike," Beatrice insisted, insistently pointing at the same spot. Violet also looked to where she was pointing. At first Violet saw nothing but the ocean. Then she noticed a thin shape breaking the surface of the water.
There are a few things that could stick out of the water in the morning. Like a small mountain peak, an island, or even a swimmer on a floaty. But It was too narrow to be an island, too still to be a swimmer, and too deliberate to be driftwood. What the Baudelaires saw was much more nerve-wracking than any other thing could be. What the Baudelaires saw was a periscope, and nobody aboard the tiny boat felt fortunate.