A Series of Unfortunate Events Collection: Books 1-13 with Bonus Material

by Lemony Snicket

  “Gregor Anwhistle?” Violet asked. “He’s the man who founded the research center. Who was writing to him?”

  “A woman named Kit,” Fiona said. “I think it’s Kit Snicket—Jacques’s sister.”

  “Of course,” Klaus said. “Your stepfather said she was a noble woman who helped build the Queequeg.”

  “According to her letter,” Fiona said, “Gregor Anwhistle was involved in something called a ‘schism.’ What’s that?”

  “It was a big conflict within V.F.D.,” Klaus said. “Quigley told us a little bit about it.”

  “Everybody chose sides,” Violet recalled, “and now the organization is in chaos. Which side was Gregor on?”

  “I don’t know,” Fiona said, frowning. “Some of this letter is in code, and some of it was in water. I can’t understand all of it, but it sounds like Gregor was involved with something called Volatile Fungus Deportation.”

  “‘Volatile’ means ‘unstable,’ or ‘likely to cause trouble,’” Klaus said. “‘Fungus,’ of course, means ‘mushrooms,’ and ‘deportation’ means ‘moving something from one place to another.’ Who was moving unstable mushrooms?”

  “V.F.D.,” Fiona replied. “During the schism, Gregor thought the Medusoid Mycelium might be useful.”

  “The Medusoid Mycelium?” Violet said, looking nervously at the silent, gray mushrooms that still lined the entrance to the small, tiled room, their black splotches looking particularly eerie in the dim light. “I can’t imagine thinking that such deadly things could be useful.”

  “Listen to what Kit wrote about it,” Fiona said. “‘The poisonous fungus you insist on cultivating in the grotto will bring grim consequences for all of us. Our factory at Lousy Lane can provide some dilution of the mycelium’s destructive respiratory capabilities, and you assure me that the mycelium grows best in small, enclosed spaces, but this is of little comfort. One mistake, Gregor, and your entire facility would have to be abandoned. Please, do not become the thing you dread most by adopting the destructive tactic of our most villainous enemies: playing with fire.’”

  Klaus was busily copying Kit Snicket’s letter into his commonplace book. “Gregor was growing those mushrooms,” he said, “to use on enemies of V.F.D.”

  “He was going to poison people?” Violet asked.

  “Villainous people,” Fiona replied, “but Kit Snicket thought that using poisonous mushrooms was equally villainous. They were working on a way to weaken the poison, in a factory on Lousy Lane. But the writer of this letter still thought that Volatile Fungus Deportation was too dangerous, and she warned Gregor that if he wasn’t careful, the mycelium would poison the entire research center.”

  “And now the center is gone,” Violet said, “and the mycelium remains. Something went very wrong, right here where we’re sitting.”

  “I still don’t understand it,” Klaus said. “Was Gregor a villain?”

  “I think he was volatile,” Fiona said, “like the Medusoid Mycelium. And the writer of this letter says that if you cultivate something volatile, then you’re playing with fire.”

  Violet shuddered, stopped eating her pesto lo mein, and put down the fishbowl. “Playing with fire,” of course, is an expression that refers to any dangerous or risky activity, such as writing a letter to a volatile person, or journeying through a dark cave filled with a poisonous fungus in order to search for an object that was taken away quite some time before, and the Baudelaires did not like to think about the fire they were playing with, or the fires that had already been played with in this damp and mysterious room. For a moment, nobody spoke, and the Baudelaires gazed at the stalks and caps of the deadly mushrooms, wondering what had gone wrong with Anwhistle Aquatics. They wondered how the schism began. And they wondered about all of the mysterious and villainous things that seemed to surround the three orphans, drawing closer and closer as their woeful lives went on and on, and if such mysteries would ever be solved and if such villains ever defeated.

  “Wane,” Sunny said suddenly, and the children saw it was true. The crowd of mushrooms seemed to be just a bit smaller, and here and there they saw a stalk and cap disappear back into the sand, as if the poisonous fungus had decided to implement an alternate strategy, a phrase which here means “would terrorize the Baudelaires in another way.”

  “Sunny’s right,” Klaus said with relief. “The Medusoid Mycelium is waning. Soon it’ll be safe enough to return to the Queequeg.”

  “It must be a fairly short cycle,” Fiona said, making a note in her commonplace book. “How long do you think we’ve been here?”

  “All night, at least,” Violet said, unfolding the sheet of newspaper Sunny had found. “It’s lucky we found all these materials, otherwise we would have been quite bored.”

  “My brother always had a deck of cards with him,” Fiona remembered, “in case he was stuck in a boring situation. He invented this card game called Fernald’s Folly, and we used to play it together whenever we had a long wait.”

  “Fernald?” Violet asked. “Was that your brother’s name?”

  “Yes,” Fiona said. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was just curious,” she said, hurriedly tucking the newspaper into the pocket of her uniform. There was just enough room to slip it next to the tin of wasabi.

  “Aren’t you going to tell us what was in the newspaper?” Klaus asked. “I saw the headline said V.F.D.”

  “I didn’t learn anything,” Violet said. “The article was too blurred to read.”

  “Hmmm,” Sunny said, and gave her sister a sly look. The youngest Baudelaire had known Violet since she was born, of course, and found it quite easy to tell when she was lying. Violet looked back at Sunny, and then at Klaus, and shook her head, very, very slightly.

  “Why don’t we get ready to go?” the eldest Baudelaire suggested. “By the time we pack up these documents and put on our diving helmets, the fungus will have waned completely.”

  “You’re right,” Fiona said. “Here, Sunny, I’ll help you get into your helmet. It’s the least I can do after you cooked such a delicious meal.”

  “Shivalrush,” Sunny said, which meant “That’s very kind of you,” and although Fiona had not known Sunny very long, she understood what the youngest Baudelaire had said, more or less, and smiled at all three of the Baudelaire siblings. As the four volunteers suited up—a phrase which here means “prepared their helmets for an underwater journey”—the Baudelaire children felt as if Fiona fit them like a glove—as a friend, or possibly something more. It felt as if Fiona and the Baudelaires were part of the same team, or the same organization, trying to solve the same mysteries and defeat the same villains. It felt that way to the two younger Baudelaires, anyway. Only Violet felt as if their friendship were more volatile, as if Fiona fit her like the wrong glove, or as if their friendship had a tiny flaw—a flaw that might turn into a schism. As Violet put the diving helmet over her head, and made sure that the zipper of the uniform was zipped tight over the portrait of Herman Melville, she heard the slight rustle of the newspaper clipping in her pocket and frowned. She kept frowning as the last of the mushrooms disappeared into the sand, and the four children stepped carefully back into the icy dark water. Because they were traveling against the tide, the volunteers had decided to hold hands, so they would not lose track of one another as they returned to the Queequeg, and as their dark journey began, Violet thought of the dangerous and risky secret concealed in her pocket and realized, as Klaus led the way back to the submarine, with Fiona holding Klaus’s hand, and Violet holding Fiona’s, and Sunny, curled in her helmet, tucked tightly under Violet’s arm, that even while swimming in the icy depths of the ocean, the Baudelaires were playing with fire. The sinister information in the newspaper clipping was like a tiny spore, blossoming in the small, enclosed space of Violet’s pocket—like a spore of the deadly Medusoid Mycelium, which at that very moment was blossoming in the small, enclosed space of a diving helmet worn by one of the Baudelaire orphans.
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  CHAPTER

  Eight

  The water cycle consists of three phenomena: evaporation, precipitation, and collection, three phenomena known collectively as the three phenomena of what is referred to as “the water cycle.” The second of these phenomena—precipitation—is the process by which vapor turns into water and falls as rain, something you might notice during a rainfall or by going outdoors on a rainy morning, afternoon, evening, or night. This falling water you notice is known as “rain,” which is the result of the phenomenon of precipitation, one of the three phenomena that comprise the water cycle. Of these three phenomena, precipitation is regarded as the second one, particularly if a list of the three phenomena places precipitation in the middle, or second, spot on the list. “Precipitation” is quite simply a term for the transformation of vapor into water, which then falls as rain—something you might encounter if you were to step outside during a rainstorm. Rain consists of water, which was formerly vapor but underwent the process known as “precipitation,” one of the three phenomena in the water cycle, and by now this tedious description must have put you back to sleep, so you may avoid the gruesome details of my account of Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire as they made their way through the Gorgonian Grotto back to the Queequeg.

  The Baudelaire orphans knew that something was wrong the moment they arrived at the submarine, knocked on the metal hatch, and heard no answer from the captain inside. It had been a dark and cold journey back through the cave, made all the more difficult by the fact that they were swimming against the tide, rather than letting the current carry them along. Klaus, who was leading the way, swept one arm in front of him from side to side, fearful that he would miss the Queequeg altogether, or brush his hand against something sinister lurking in the cavern. Fiona trembled throughout the entire journey, and Violet could feel her nervous fingers twitching as she held her hand. And Sunny tried not to panic inside her diving helmet, as her siblings’ swim made her bounce up and down in the blackness. The youngest Baudelaire could not see a single light through the small round window in her helmet, but as with all of the Baudelaires, she concentrated on arriving safely, and the thought of returning to the Queequeg felt like a small light glowing in the gloom of the grotto. Soon, the Baudelaires thought, they would hear the booming “Aye!” of Captain Widdershins as he welcomed them back from their mission. Perhaps Phil would have cooked them a nice hot meal, even without the culinary assistance of Sunny. And perhaps the telegram device would have received another Volunteer Factual Dispatch, one that might help them find the sugar bowl so their entire journey would not have been a fool’s errand. But when Klaus led them to the hatch, they found no sign that anyone aboard the Queequeg was welcoming them.

  After knocking for several minutes, the worried children had to open the hatch by themselves, a difficult task in the dark, and enter the passageway, quickly closing the hatch behind them. They grew more worried as they discovered that nobody had activated the hatch, so quite a bit of water flowed into the passageway and poured down to the room in which the Baudelaires had first met Captain Widdershins. They could hear the water splashing on the submarine floor as they began their climb down, and strained to hear the captain shouting “Aye! What a mess!” or “Aye! The valve is broken!” or even something optimistic from Phil, like “Look on the bright side—it’s like having a wading pool!”

  “Captain Widdershins?” Violet called, her voice muffled through her helmet.

  “Stepfather?” Fiona called, her voice muffled through hers.

  “Phil?” Klaus called.

  “Crew?” Sunny called.

  Nobody answered these calls, and nobody commented on the water from the passageway, and when the volunteers reached the end of the passageway and lowered themselves into the small, dim room, they found nobody there to meet them.

  “Stepfather?” Fiona called again, but they heard only the movement of the water as it settled into a large puddle on the floor. Without bothering to take off their helmets, the four children splashed through the water and hurried down the hallway, past the plaque with the captain’s personal philosophy engraved on it, until they reached the Main Hall. The room was just as enormous as ever, of course, with all of the bewildering pipes, panels, and warning signs, although it seemed as if the place had been tidied up a bit, and there was now a tiny bit of decoration near the wooden table where the Baudelaires had eaten Sunny’s chowder and planned their journey through the Gorgonian Grotto. Tied to three chairs were small blue balloons that hovered in the air, and each balloon had a letter printed on its surface in thick, black ink. The first balloon read “V,” the second read “F,” and only someone as dim as an underwater cave would be surprised to hear that the third read “D.”

  “V.F.D.,” Violet said. “Do you think it’s a code?”

  “I’m not interested in codes at the moment,” Fiona said, her voice tense and echoey inside her helmet. “I want to find my crewmates. Look around, everyone.”

  The Baudelaires looked around the room, but it seemed as empty and lonely as the grotto. Without the enormous presence of Captain Widdershins—“enormous presence” is a phrase which here means “large physical size, combined with a vibrant personality and loud voice”—the Main Hall seemed utterly deserted.

  “Maybe they’re in the kitchen,” Klaus said, although it sounded like he didn’t believe it himself, “or napping in the barracks.”

  “They wouldn’t have napped,” Violet said. “They said they’d be watching us the entire time.”

  Fiona took a step toward the door to the kitchen, but then stopped and looked at the wooden table. “Their helmets are gone,” she said. “Both Phil and my stepfather were keeping their diving helmets on the table, in case of an emergency.” She ran her hand along the table, as if she could make the helmets reappear. “They’re gone,” she said. “They’ve left the Queequeg.”

  “I can’t believe that,” Klaus said, shaking his head. “They knew we were traveling through the grotto. They wouldn’t abandon their fellow volunteers.”

  “Maybe they thought we weren’t coming back,” Fiona said.

  “No,” Violet said, pointing to a panel on the wall. “They could see us. We were tiny green dots on the sonar detector.”

  The children looked at the sonar panel, hoping to see dots that might represent their missing crewmates. “They must have had a very good reason to leave,” Fiona said.

  “What reason could there be?” Klaus said. “No matter what occurred, they would have waited for us.”

  “No,” Fiona said. Sadly, she removed her diving helmet, and the middle Baudelaire saw she had tears in her eyes. “No matter what occurred,” she said, “my stepfather wouldn’t have hesitated. He or she who hesitates is…”

  “Lost,” Klaus finished for her, and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Maybe they didn’t go of their own volition,” Violet said, using a phrase which here means “by choice.” “Maybe somebody took them.”

  “Took the crew away,” Klaus said, “and left behind three balloons?”

  “It’s a mystery,” Violet said, “but I’m sure it’s one we can solve. Let’s just take off our helmets, and we can get to work.”

  Klaus nodded, and removed his diving helmet, putting it down on the floor next to Fiona’s. Violet removed hers, and then went to open the tiny door of Sunny’s helmet, so the youngest Baudelaire could uncurl herself from the small, enclosed space and join her siblings. But Fiona grabbed Violet’s hand before it reached the helmet, and stopped her, pointing through the small round window in Sunny’s helmet.

  There are many things in this world that are difficult to see. An ice cube in a glass of water, for instance, might pass unnoticed, particularly if the ice cube is small, and the glass of water is ten miles in diameter. A short woman might be difficult to see on a crowded city street, particularly if she has disguised herself as a mailbox, and people keep putting letters in her mouth. And a small, ceramic bowl, with a
tight-fitting lid to keep something important inside, might be difficult to find in the laundry room of an enormous hotel, particularly if there were a terrible villain nearby, making you feel nervous and distracted. But there are also things that are difficult to see not because of the size of their surroundings, or a clever disguise, or a treacherous person with a book of matches in his pocket and a fiendish plot in his brain, but because the things are so upsetting to look at, so distressing to believe, that it is as if your eyes refuse to see what is right in front of them. You can glance into a mirror, and not see how old you are growing, or how unattractive your hairstyle has become, until someone kindly points those things out to you. You can gaze upon a place you once lived, and not see how terribly the building has changed, or how sinister the neighborhood has become, until you walk a few paces to an ice-cream store and notice that your favorite flavor has been discontinued. And you can stare into the small, round window of a diving helmet, as Violet and Klaus did at that moment, and not see the stalks and caps of a terrible gray fungus growing poisonously on the glass, until someone utters its scientific name in a horrified whisper. “It’s the Medusoid Mycelium,” Fiona said, and the two elder Baudelaires blinked and saw that it was so.

  “Oh no,” Violet murmured. “Oh no!”

  “Get her out!” Klaus cried. “Get Sunny out at once, or she’ll be poisoned!”

  “No!” Fiona said, and snatched the helmet away from the siblings. She put it down on the table as if it were a tureen, a word which here means “a wide, deep dish used for serving stew or soup, instead of a small, terrified girl curled up in a piece of deep-sea equipment.” “The diving helmet can serve as quarantine. If we open it, the fungus will spread. The entire submarine could become a field of mushrooms.”

  “We can’t leave our sister in there!” Violet cried. “The spores will poison her!”

  “She’s probably been poisoned already,” Fiona said quietly. “In a small, enclosed space like that helmet, there’s no way she could escape.”