The Vile Village

by Lemony Snicket

  "It's a bit exciting," Hector agreed, "but it also makes me very skittish. The Council of Elders gets very, very angry when people break the rules. I hate to think what they'd do to me if they found out I was secretly using mechanical devices and reading interesting books."

  "Azzator!" Sunny said, which meant "Don't worry — your secret is safe with us!"

  Hector looked down at her quizzically. "I don't know what 'azzator' means, Sunny," he said, "but I would guess it means 'Don't forget about me!' Violet will use the studio, and Klaus will use the library, but what can we do for you? What do you like to do best?"

  "Bite!" Sunny responded at once, but Hector frowned and took another look around him.

  "Don't say that so loudly, Sunny!" he whispered. "Rule #4,561 clearly states that citizens are not allowed to use their mouths for recreation. If the Council of Elders knew that you liked to bite things for your own enjoyment, I can't imagine what they'd do. I'm sure we can find you some things to bite, but you'll have to do it in secret. Well, here we are."

  Hector led the Baudelaires around one last corner, and the children got their first glimpse of where they would be living. The street they had been walking on simply ended at the turn of the corner, leading them to a place as wide and as flat as the countryside they had crossed that afternoon, with just three shapes standing out on the flat horizon. The first was a large, sturdy-looking house, with a pointed roof and a front porch big enough to contain a picnic table and four wooden chairs. The second was an enormous barn, right next to the house, that hid the studio and library Hector had been talking about. But it was the third shape that caused the Baudelaires to stare.

  The third shape on the horizon was Nevermore Tree, but to simply say it was a tree would be like saying the Pacific Ocean was a body of water, or that Count Olaf was a grumpy person or that the story of Beatrice and myself was just a little bit sad. Nevermore Tree was gargantuan, a word which here means "having attained an inordinate amount of botanical volume," a phrase which here means "it was the biggest tree the Baudelaires had ever seen." Its trunk was so wide that the Baudelaires could have stood behind it, along with an elephant, three horses, and an opera singer, and not have been seen from the other side. Its branches spread out in every direction, like a fan that was taller than the house and wider than the barn, and the tree was made even taller and wider by what was sitting in it. Every last V.F.D. crow was roosting in its branches, adding a thick layer of muttering black shapes to the immense silhouette of the tree. Because the crows had gotten to Hector's house as the crow flies, instead of walking, the birds had arrived long before the Baudelaires, and the air was filled with the quiet rustling sounds of the birds settling in for the evening. A few of the birds had already fallen asleep, and the children could hear a few crow snores as they approached their new home.

  "What do you think?" Hector asked.

  "It's marvelous," Violet said.

  "It's superlative," Klaus said.

  "Ogufod!" Sunny said, which meant "What a lot of crows!"

  "The noises of the crows might sound strange at first," Hector said, leading the way up the steps of the house, "but you'll get used to them before long. I always leave the windows open when I go to bed. The sounds of the crows remind me of the ocean, and I find it very peaceful to listen to them as I drift off to sleep. Speaking of bed, I'm sure you must be very tired. I've prepared three rooms for you upstairs, but if you don't like them you can choose other ones. There's plenty of room in the house. There's even room for the Quagmires to live here, when we find them. It sounds like the five of you would be happy living together, even if you had to do the chores of an entire town."

  "That sounds delightful," Violet said, smiling at Hector. It made the children happy just to think of the two triplets being safe and sound, instead of in Count Olaf's clutches. "Duncan is a journalist, so maybe he could start a newspaper — then V.F.D. wouldn't have to read all of the mistakes in The Daily Punctilio."

  "And Isadora is a poet," Klaus said. "She could write a book of poetry for the library — as long as she didn't write poetry about things that were against the rules."

  Hector started to open the door of his house, but then paused and gave the Baudelaires a strange look. "A poet?" he asked. "What kind of poetry does she write?"

  "Couplets," Violet replied.

  Hector gave the children a look that was even stranger. He put down the Baudelaires' suitcases and reached into the pocket of his overalls. "Couplets?" he asked.

  "Yes," Klaus said. "She likes to write rhyming poems that are two lines long."

  Hector gave the youngsters a look that was one of the strangest they had ever seen, and took his hand out of his pocket to show them a scrap of paper rolled into a tiny scroll. "Like this?" he asked, and unrolled the paper. The Baudelaire orphans had to squint to read it in the dying light of the sunset, and when they read it once they had to read it again, to make sure that the light wasn't playing tricks on them and that they had read what was really there on the scrap of paper, in shaky but familiar handwriting:

  For sapphires we are held in here.

  Only you can end our fear.

  Chapter Four

  The Baudelaire orphans stared at the scrap of paper, and then at Hector, and then at the scrap of paper again. Then they stared at Hector again, and then at the scrap of paper once more and then at Hector once more and then at the scrap of paper once again, and then at Hector once again and then at the scrap of paper one more time. Their mouths were open as if they were about to speak, but the three children could not find the words they wanted to say.

  The expression "a bolt from the blue" describes something so surprising that it makes your head spin, your legs wobble, and your body buzz with astonishment — as if a bolt of lightning suddenly came down from a clear blue sky and struck you at full force. Unless you are a lightbulb, an electrical appliance, or a tree that is tired of standing upright, encountering a bolt from the blue is not a pleasant experience, and for a few minutes the Baudelaires stood on the steps of Hector's house and felt the unpleasant sensations of spinning heads, wobbly legs, and buzzing bodies.

  "My goodness, Baudelaires," Hector said. "I've never seen anyone look so surprised. Here, come in the house and sit down. You look like a bolt of lightning just hit you at full force."

  The Baudelaires followed Hector into his house and down a hallway to the parlor, where they sat down on a couch without a word. "Why don't you sit here for a few minutes," he said. "I'm going to fix you some hot tea. Maybe by the time it's ready you'll be able to talk." He leaned down and handed the scrap of paper to Violet, and gave Sunny a little pat on the head before walking out of the parlor and leaving the children alone. Without speaking, Violet unrolled the paper so the siblings could read the couplet again.

  For sapphires we are held in here. Only you can end our fear.

  "It's her," Klaus said, speaking quietly so Hector wouldn't hear him. "I'm sure of it. Isadora Quagmire wrote this poem."

  "I think so, too," Violet said. "I'm positive it's her handwriting."

  "Blake!" Sunny said, which meant "And the poem is written in Isadora's distinct literary style!"

  "The poem talks about sapphires," Violet said, "and the triplets' parents left behind the famous Quagmire sapphires when they died."

  "Olaf kidnapped them to get ahold of those sapphires," Klaus said. "That must be what it means when it says 'For sapphires we are held in here.'"

  "Peng?" Sunny asked.

  "I don't know how Hector got ahold of this," Violet replied. "Let's ask him."

  "Not so fast," Klaus said. He took the poem from Violet and looked at it again. "Maybe Hector's involved with the kidnapping in some way."

  "I hadn't thought of that," Violet said. "Do you really think so?"

  "I don't know," Klaus said. "He doesn't seem like one of Count Olaf's associates, but sometimes we haven't been able to recognize them."

  "Wryb," Sunny said thoughtfully, which mean
t "That's true."

  "He seems like someone we can trust," Violet said. "He was excited to show us the migration of the crows, and he wanted to hear all about everything that has happened to us. That doesn't sound like a kidnapper, but I suppose there's no way of knowing for sure."

  "Exactly," Klaus said. "There's no way of knowing for sure."

  "The tea's all ready," Hector called from the next room. "If you're up to it, why don't you join me in the kitchen? You can sit at the table while I make the enchiladas."

  The Baudelaires looked at one another, and nodded. "Kay!" Sunny called, and led her siblings into a large and cozy kitchen. The children took seats at a round wooden table, where Hector had placed three steaming mugs of tea, and sat quietly while Hector began to prepare dinner. It is true, of course, that there is no way of knowing for sure whether or not you can trust someone, for the simple reason that circumstances change all of the time. You might know someone for several years, for instance, and trust him completely as your friend, but circumstances could change and he could become very hungry, and before you knew it you could be boiling in a soup pot, because there is no way of knowing for sure. I myself fell in love with a wonderful woman who was so charming and intelligent that I trusted that she would be my bride, but there was no way of knowing for sure, and all too soon circumstances changed and she ended up marrying someone else, all because of something she read in The Daily Punctilio. And no one had to tell the Baudelaire orphans that there was no way of knowing for sure, because before they became orphans, they lived for many years in the care their parents, and trusted their parents to keep on caring for them, but circumstances changed, and now their parents were dead and the children were living with a handyman in a town full of crows. But even though there is no way of knowing for sure, there are often ways to know for pretty sure, and as the three siblings watched Hector work in the kitchen they spotted some of those ways. The tune he hummed as he chopped the ingredients, for instance, was a comforting one, and the Baudelaires could not imagine that a person could hum like that if he were a kidnapper. When he saw that the Baudelaires' tea was still too hot to sip, he walked over to the kitchen and blew on each of their mugs to cool it, and it was hard to believe that someone could be hiding two triplets and cooling three children's tea at the same time. And most comforting of all, Hector didn't pester them with a lot of questions about why they were so surprised and silent. He simply kept quiet and let the Baudelaires wait until they were ready to speak about the scrap of paper he had given them, and the children could not imagine that such a considerate person was involved with Count Olaf in any way whatsoever. There was no way of knowing for sure, of course, but as the Baudelaires watched the handyman place the enchiladas in the oven to bake, they felt as if they knew for pretty sure, and by the time he sat down and joined them at the table they were ready to tell him about the couplet they had read.

  "This poem was written by Isadora Quagmire," Klaus said without preamble, a phrase which here means "almost as soon as Hector sat down."

  "Wow," Hector said. "No wonder you were so surprised. But how can you be sure? Lots of poets write couplets. Ogden Nash, for instance."

  "Ogden Nash doesn't write about sapphires," said Klaus, who had received a biography of Ogden Nash for his seventh birthday. "Isadora does. When the Quagmire parents died, they left behind a fortune in sapphires. That's what she means by 'For sapphires we are held in here.'"

  "Besides," Violet said, "it's Isadora's handwriting and distinct literary style."

  "Well," Hector said, "if you say this poem is by Isadora Quagmire, I believe you."

  "We should call Mr. Poe, and tell him," Klaus said.

  "We can't call him," Hector said. "There are no telephones in V.F.D., because telephones are mechanical devices. The Council of Elders can send a message to him. I'm too skittish to ask them, but you can do so if you wish."

  "Well, before we talk to the Council, we should know a bit more about the couplet," Violet said. "Where did you get ahold of this scrap of paper?"

  "I found it today," Hector said, "beneath the branches of Nevermore Tree. I woke up this morning, and I was just leaving to walk downtown to do the morning chores when I noticed something white among all the black feathers the crows had left behind. It was this scrap of paper, all rolled up in a little scroll. I didn't understand what was written on it, and I needed to get the chores done, so I put it in the pocket of my overalls, and I didn't think of it again until just now, when we were talking about couplets. It's certainly very mysterious. How in the world did one of Isadora's poems end up in my backyard?"

  "Well, poems don't get up and walk by themselves," Violet said. "Isadora must have put it here. She must be someplace nearby."

  Hector shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "You saw for yourself how flat it is around here. You can see everything for miles around, and the only things here on the outskirts of town are the house, the barn, and Nevermore Tree. You're welcome to search the house, but you're not going to find Isadora Quagmire or anyone else, and I always keep the barn locked because I don't want the Council of Elders to find out I'm breaking the rules."

  "Maybe she's in the tree," Klaus said. "It's certainly big enough that Olaf could hide her in the branches."

  "That's true," Violet said. "Last time Olaf was keeping them far below us. Maybe this time they're far above us." She shuddered, thinking of how unpleasant it would be to find yourself trapped in Nevermore Tree's enormous branches, and she pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. "There's only one thing to do," she said. "We'll have to go up and look for them."

  "You're right," Klaus said, and stood up beside her. "Let's go."

  "Gerhit!" Sunny agreed.

  "Hold on a minute," Hector said. "We can't just go climbing up Nevermore Tree."

  "Why not?" Violet said. "We've climbed up a tower and down an elevator shaft. Climbing a tree should be no problem."

  "I'm sure you three are fine climbers," Hector said, "but that's not what I mean." He stood up and walked over to the kitchen window. "Take a look outside," he said. "The sun has completely set. It's not light enough to see a friend of yours up in Nevermore Tree. Besides, the tree is covered in roosting birds. You'll never be able to climb through all of those crows — it'll be a wild-goose chase."

  The Baudelaires looked out the window and saw that Hector was right. The tree was merely an enormous shadow, blurry around the edges where the birds were roosting. The children knew that a climb in such darkness would indeed be a wild-goose chase, a phrase which here means "unlikely to reveal the Quagmires triplets' location." Klaus and Sunny looked at their sister, hoping that she could invent a solution, and were relieved to hear she had thought of something before she could even tie her hair back in a ribbon. "We could climb with flashlights," Violet said. "If you have some tinfoil, an old broom handle, and three rubber bands, I can make a flashlight myself in ten minutes."

  Hector shook his head. "Flashlights would only disturb the crows," he said. "If someone woke you up in the middle of the night and shone a light in your face, you would be very annoyed, and you don't want to be surrounded by thousands of annoyed crows. It's better to wait until morning, when the crows have migrated uptown."

  "We can't wait until morning," Klaus said.

  "We can't wait another second. The last time we found them, we left them alone for a few minutes, and then they were gone again."

  "Ollawmove!" Sunny shrieked, which meant "Olaf could move them at any time!"

  "Well, he can't move them now," Hector pointed out. "It would be just as difficult for him to climb the tree."

  "We have to do something," Violet insisted. "This poem isn't just a couplet — it's a cry for help. Isadora herself says 'Only you can end our fear.' Our friends are frightened, and it's up to us to rescue them."

  Hector took some oven mitts out of the pocket of his overalls, and used them to take the enchiladas out of the oven. "I'll tell you what," he said. "It's a ni
ce evening, and our chicken enchiladas are done. We can sit out on the porch, and eat our dinner, and keep an eye on Nevermore Tree. This area is so flat that even at night you can see for quite a distance, and if Count Olaf approaches — or anybody else, for that matter — we'll see him coming."

  "But Count Olaf might perform his treachery after dinner," Klaus said. "The only way to make sure that nobody approaches the tree is to watch the tree all night."

  "We can take turns sleeping," Violet said, "so that one of us is always awake to keep watch."

  Hector started to shake his head, but then stopped and looked at the children. "Normally I don't approve of children staying up late," he said finally, "unless they are reading a very good book, seeing a wonderful movie, or attending a dinner party with fascinating guests. But this time I suppose we can make an exception. I'll probably fall asleep, but you three can keep watch all night if you wish. Just please don't try to climb Nevermore Tree in the dark. I understand how frustrated you are, and I know that the only thing we can do is wait until morning."

  The Baudelaires looked at one another and sighed. They were so anxious about the Quagmires that they wanted to run right out and climb Nevermore Tree, but they knew in their hearts that Hector was right.

  "I guess you're right, Hector," Violet said. "We can wait until morning."

  "It's the only thing we can do," Klaus agreed.

  "Contraire!" Sunny said, and held up her arms so that Klaus could pick her up. She meant something along the lines of "I can think of something else we can do — hold me up to the window latch!" and her brother did so. Sunny's tiny fingers undid the latch of the window and pushed it open, letting in the cool evening air and the muttering sound of the crows. Then she leaned forward as far as she could and stuck her head out into the night. "Bark!" she cried out as loudly as she could. "Bark!"