“I don’t need to sleep on it,” Kevin said.
“Me neither,” Colette said. “I can decide right now.”
“Yes,” Hugo agreed. “I want to join Count Olaf.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Esmé said. “Maybe you can convince your coworkers to join you in joining me joining him.” She looked scornfully at the three children as she opened the door to the caravan. The hinterlands sunset was long over, and there was not a trace of blue light falling on the carnival. “Think about this, Beverly and Elliot, and Chabo, too,” she said. “It just might be a wicked thing, throwing Madame Lulu into a pit full of carnivorous lions.” Esmé took a step outside, and it was so dark that Olaf’s girlfriend looked like a ghost in a long, white gown and a fake extra head. “But if you don’t join us, where can you possibly go?” she asked. The Baudelaire orphans had no answer for Esmé Squalor’s terrible question, but Esmé answered it herself, with a long, wicked laugh. “If you don’t choose the wicked thing, what in the world will you do?” she asked, and disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER
Nine
The curious thing about being told to sleep on it—a phrase which here means, as I’m sure you know, “to go to bed thinking about something and reach a conclusion in the morning”—is that you usually can’t. If you are thinking over a dilemma, you are likely to toss and turn all night long, thinking over terrible things that can happen and trying to imagine what in the world you can do about it, and these circumstances are unlikely to result in any sleeping at all. Just last night, I was troubled by a decision involving an eyedropper, a greedy night watchman, and a tray of individual custards, and this morning I am so tired that I can scarcely type these worfs.
And so it was with the Baudelaire orphans that night, after Esmé Squalor had told them to sleep on it, and decide the next morning whether or not to throw Madame Lulu to the lions and join Count Olaf’s troupe. The children, of course, had no intention of becoming part of a band of villains, or tossing anyone into a deadly pit. But Esmé had also asked them what in the world they would do if they decided not to join Olaf, and this was the question that kept them tossing and turning in their hammocks, which are particularly uncomfortable places to toss and turn. The Baudelaires hoped that instead of joining Count Olaf, they would travel through the hinterlands in a motorized roller-coaster cart of Violet’s invention, accompanied by Madame Lulu, in her undisguised identity of Olivia, along with the archival library from underneath the table of the fortune-telling tent, in the hopes of finding one of the Baudelaire parents alive and well at the V.F.D. headquarters in the Mortmain Mountains. But this plan seemed so complicated that the children worried over all that could go wrong and spoil the whole thing. Violet thought about the lightning device that she planned to turn into a fan belt, and worried that there wouldn’t be sufficient torque to make the carts move the way they needed to. Klaus worried that the archival library wouldn’t contain specific directions to the headquarters, and they would get lost in the mountains, which were rumored to be enormous, confusing, and filled with wild animals. Sunny worried that they might not find enough to eat in the hinterlands. And all three Baudelaires worried that Madame Lulu would not keep her promise, and would reveal the orphans’ disguise when Count Olaf asked about them the next morning. The siblings worried about these things all night, and although in my case the dessert chef managed to find my hotel room and knock on my window just before dawn, the Baudelaire orphans found that when morning came and they were done sleeping on it, they hadn’t reached any other conclusion but that their plan was risky, and the only one they could think of.
As the first rays of the sun shone through the window onto the potted plants, the Baudelaires quietly lowered themselves out of their hammocks. Hugo, Colette, and Kevin had announced that they were ready to join Count Olaf’s troupe and didn’t need to sleep on it, and as so often happens with people who have nothing to sleep on, the children’s coworkers were sleeping soundly and did not awaken as the siblings left the caravan to get to work on their plan.
Count Olaf and his troupe had dug the lions’ pit alongside the ruined roller coaster, so close that the children had to walk along its edge to reach the ivy-covered carts. The pit was not very deep, although its walls were just high enough that nobody could climb out if they were thrown inside, and it was not very large, so all the lions were as crowded together as they had been in the trailer. Like the Baudelaires’ coworkers, the lions must not have had much to sleep on, and they were still dozing in the morning sun. Sound asleep, the lions did not look particularly ferocious. Some of their manes were all tangled, as if no one had brushed them for a long time, and sometimes one of their legs twitched, as if they were dreaming of better days. On their backs and bellies were several nasty scars from the whippings Count Olaf had given them, which made the Baudelaires sore just looking at them, and most of the lions were very, very thin, as if they had not eaten a good meal in quite some time.
“I feel sorry for them,” Violet said, looking at one lion who was so skinny that all of its ribs were visible. “If Madame Lulu was right, these lions were once noble creatures, and now look how miserably Count Olaf has treated them.”
“They look lonely,” Klaus said, squinting down into the pit with a sad frown. “Maybe they’re orphans, too.”
“But maybe they have a surviving parent,” Violet said, “somewhere in the Mortmain Mountains.”
“Edasurc,” Sunny said, which meant something like, “Maybe someday we can rescue these lions.”
“For now, let’s rescue ourselves,” Violet said with a sigh. “Klaus, let’s see if we can untangle the ivy from this cart in front. We’ll probably need two carts, one for passengers and one for the archival library, so Sunny, see if you can get the ivy off that other one.”
“Easy,” said Sunny, pointing to her teeth.
“All the caravans are on wheels,” Klaus said. “Would it be easier to hitch up one of the caravans to the lightning device?”
“A caravan is too big,” Violet replied. “If you wanted to move a caravan, you’d have to attach it to an automobile, or several horses. We’ll be lucky if I can rebuild the carts’ engines. Madame Lulu said that they were rusted away.”
“It seems like we’re hitching our hopes to a risky plan,” Klaus said, tearing away at a few strands of ivy with the one arm he could use. “But I suppose it’s no more risky than plenty of other things we’ve done, like stealing a sailboat.”
“Or climbing up an elevator shaft,” Violet said.
“Whaque,” Sunny said, with her mouth full of plants, and her siblings knew she meant something along the lines of, “Or pretending to be surgeons.”
“Actually,” Violet said, “maybe this plan isn’t so risky after all. Look at the axles on this cart.”
“Axles?” Klaus asked.
“The rods that hold the wheels in place,” she explained, pointing to the bottom of the cart. “They’re in perfect condition. That’s good news, because we need these wheels to carry us a long way.” The eldest Baudelaire looked up from her work and gazed out at the horizon. To the east, the sun was rising, and soon its rays would reflect off the mirrors positioned in the fortune-telling tent, but to the north, she could see the Mortmain Mountains rising up in odd, square shapes, more like a staircase than a mountain range, with patches of snow on the higher places, and the top steps covered in a thick, gray fog. “It’ll take a long time to get up there,” she said, “and it doesn’t look like there are a lot of repair shops on the way.”
“I wonder what we’ll find up there,” Klaus said. “I’ve never been to the headquarters of something.”
“Neither have I,” Violet said. “Here, Klaus, lean down with me so I can look at the engine of this cart.”
“If we knew more about V.F.D.,” Klaus said, “we might know what to expect. How does the engine look?”
“Not too bad,” Violet said. “Some of these pistons are completely rusted
away, but I think I can replace them with these latches on the sides of the cart, and the lightning device will provide a fan belt. But we’ll need something else—something like twine, or wire, to help connect the two carts.”
“Ivy?” Sunny asked.
“Good idea, Sunny,” Violet said. “The stems of the ivy feel solid enough. If you’ll pluck the leaves off a few strands, you’d be a big help.”
“What can I do?” Klaus asked.
“Help me turn the cart over,” Violet said, “but watch where you put your feet. We don’t want you falling into the pit.”
“I don’t want anyone falling into the pit,” Klaus said. “You don’t think the others will throw Madame Lulu to the lions, do you?”
“Not if we get this done in time,” Violet said grimly. “See if you can help me bend the latch so it fits into that notch, Klaus. No, no—the other way. I just hope Esmé doesn’t have them throw somebody else in when we all escape.”
“She probably will,” Klaus said, struggling with the latch. “I can’t understand why Hugo, Colette, and Kevin want to join up with people who do such things.”
“I guess they’re just happy that anybody’s treating them like normal people,” Violet said, and glanced into the pit. One of the lions yawned, stretched its paws, and opened one sleepy eye, but seemed uninterested in the three children working nearby. “Maybe that’s why the hook-handed man works for Count Olaf, or the bald man with the long nose. Maybe when they tried to work someplace else, everyone laughed at them.”
“Or maybe they just like committing crimes,” Klaus said.
“That’s a possibility, too,” Violet said, and then frowned at the bottom of the cart. “I wish I had Mother’s tool kit,” she said. “She had this tiny wrench I always admired, and it would be just perfect for this job.”
“She’d probably be a better help than I am,” Klaus said. “I can’t make head or tail of what you’re doing.”
“You’re doing fine,” Violet said, “particularly if you consider that we’re sharing a shirt. How are those ivy stems coming, Sunny?”
“Lesoint,” Sunny replied, which meant “I’m nearly done.”
“Good work,” Violet said, peering at the sun. “I’m not sure how much time we have. Count Olaf is probably inside the fortune-telling tent by now, asking the crystal ball about our whereabouts. I hope Madame Lulu keeps her promise, and doesn’t give him what he wants. Will you hand me that piece of metal on the ground, Klaus? It looks like it used to be part of the tracks, but I’m going to use it to make a steering device.”
“I wish Madame Lulu could give us what we want,” Klaus said, handing the piece to his sister. “I wish we could find out if one of our parents survived the fire, without wandering around a mountain range.”
“Me, too,” Violet said, “and even then we might not find them. They could be down here looking for us.”
“Remember the train station?” Klaus said, and Violet nodded.
“Esoobac,” Sunny asked, handing over the ivy stems. By “Esoobac,” she meant something like, “I don’t remember,” although there was no way she could have, as the youngest Baudelaire hadn’t been born at the time her siblings were remembering. The Baudelaire family had decided to go away for the weekend to a vineyard, a word which here means “a sort of farm where people grow grapes used in wine.” This vineyard was famous for having grapes that smelled delicious, and it was very pleasant to picnic in the fields, while the fragrance drifted in the air and the vineyard’s famous donkeys, who helped carry bushels of grapes at harvesttime, slept in the shade of the grapevines. To reach the vineyard, the Baudelaires had to take not one train but two, transferring at a busy station not far from Paltryville, and on the day that Violet and Klaus were remembering, the children had been separated from their parents in the rush of the transferring crowd. Violet and Klaus, who were quite young, decided to search for their parents in the row of shops just outside the station, and soon the local shoemaker, blacksmith, chimney sweep, and computer technician were all helping the two frightened children look for their mother and father. Soon enough the Baudelaire family was reunited, but the children’s father had taught them a serious lesson. “If you lose us,” he said, “stay put.”
“Yes,” their mother agreed. “Don’t go wandering around looking for us. We’ll come and find you.”
At the time, Violet and Klaus had solemnly agreed, but times had changed. When the Baudelaire parents had said “If you lose us,” they were referring to times when the children might lose sight of them in a crowd, as they had at the train station that day, where I had lunch just a few weeks ago and talked to the shoemaker’s son about what had happened. They were not referring to the way the Baudelaires had lost them now, in a deadly fire that it seemed had claimed at least one of their lives. There are times to stay put, and what you want will come to you, and there are times to go out into the world and find such a thing for yourself. Like the Baudelaire orphans, I have found myself in places where staying put would be dangerously foolish, and foolishly dangerous. I have stood in a department store, and seen something written on a price tag that told me I had to leave at once, but in different clothing. I have sat in an airport, and heard something over the loudspeaker that told me I had to leave later that day, but on a different flight. And I have stood alongside the roller coaster at Caligari Carnival, and known what the Baudelaires could not possibly have known that quiet morning. I have looked at the carts, all melted together and covered in ash, and I have gazed into the pit dug by Count Olaf and his henchmen and seen all the burnt bones lying in a heap, and I have picked through the bits of mirror and crystal where the fortune-telling tent once stood, and all this research has told me the same thing, and if somehow I could slip back in time, as easily as I could slip out of the disguise I am in now, I would walk to the edge of that pit and tell the Baudelaire orphans the results of my findings. But of course I cannot. I can only fulfill my sacred duty and type this story as best I can, down to the last worf.
“Worf,” Sunny said, when the Baudelaires had finished telling her about the train station. By “worf,” she meant something along the lines of, “I don’t think we should stay put. I think we should leave right now.”
“We can’t leave yet,” Violet said. “The steering device is ready, and the carts are firmly attached to one another, but without a fan belt, the engine won’t work. We’d better go to the fortune-telling tent and dismantle the lightning device.”
“Olaf?” Sunny asked.
“Let’s hope that Madame Lulu has sent him on his way,” Violet said, “otherwise we’ll be cutting it close. We have to finish our invention before the show begins, otherwise everyone will see us get in the carts and leave.”
There was a faint growl from the pit, and the children saw that most of the lions were awake and looking around crankily at their surroundings. Some of them were trying to pace around their cramped quarters, but they only managed to get in the way of other lions, which only made them crankier.
“Those lions look hungry,” Klaus said. “I wonder if it’s almost show time.”
“Aklec,” Sunny said, which meant “Let’s move out,” and the Baudelaires moved out, walking away from the roller coaster and toward the fortune-telling tent. As the children walked through the carnival, they saw that quite a few visitors had already arrived, and some of them giggled at the siblings as they made their way.
“Look!” one man said, pointing at the Baudelaires with a sneer. “Freaks! Let’s be sure to go to the lion show later—one of them might get eaten.”
“Oh, I hope so,” said his companion. “I didn’t come all the way out here to the hinterlands for nothing.”
“The woman at the ticket booth told me that a journalist from The Daily Punctilio is here to report on who gets devoured,” said another man, who was wearing a CALIGARI CARNIVAL T-shirt he had apparently purchased at the gift caravan.
“The Daily Punctilio!” cried the woman who was
with him. “How exciting! I’ve been reading about those Baudelaire murderers for weeks. I just love violence!”
“Who doesn’t?” the man replied. “Especially when it’s combined with sloppy eating.”
Just as the Baudelaires reached the fortune- telling tent, a man stepped in front of them and blocked their way. The children looked up at the pimples on his chin and recognized him as the very rude member of the audience at the House of Freaks.
“Why, look who’s here,” he said. “It’s Chabo the Wolf Baby, and Beverly and Elliot, the two-headed freak.”
“It’s very nice to see you again,” Violet said quickly. She tried to walk around him, but he grabbed the shirt she was sharing with her brother, and she had to stop so he wouldn’t tear the shirt and reveal their disguise.
“What about your other head?” the pimpled man asked sarcastically. “Doesn’t he think it’s nice to see me?”
“Of course,” Klaus said, “but we’re in a bit of a hurry, so if you’ll excuse us…”
“I don’t excuse freaks,” the man said. “There’s no excuse for them. Why don’t you wear a sack over one of your heads, so you look normal?”
“Grr!” Sunny said, baring her teeth at the man’s knees.
“Please leave us alone, sir,” Violet said. “Chabo is very protective of us, and might bite you if you get too close.”
“I bet Chabo’s no match for a bunch of ferocious lions,” the man said. “I can’t wait until the show, and neither can my mother.”
“That’s right, dear,” said a woman who was standing nearby. She stepped forward to give the pimpled man a big kiss, and the Baudelaires noticed that pimples seemed to run in the family. “What time does the show start, freaks?”
“The show starts right now!”
A Series of Unfortunate Events Box: The Complete Wreck Page 95
