“We’re mountain travelers,” Violet called from the entrance. “We lost our way and ran into a swarm of snow gnats. Please let us rest here for a moment, while the smell of smoke scares them away, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Absolutely not!” replied Carmelita, who sounded even nastier than usual. “This is where the Snow Scouts are camping, on their way to celebrate False Spring and crown me queen. We don’t want any cakesniffers spoiling our fun.”
“Now, now, Carmelita,” said the voice of the grown man. “Snow Scouts are supposed to be accommodating, remember? It’s part of the Snow Scout Alphabet Pledge. And it would be very accommodating of us to offer these strangers the shelter of our cave.”
“I don’t want to be accommodating,” Carmelita said. “I’m the False Spring Queen, so I get to do whatever I want.”
“You’re not the False Spring Queen yet, Carmelita,” came the patient voice of a young boy. “Not until we dance around the Springpole. Do come in, travelers, and sit by the fire. We’re happy to accommodate you.”
“That’s the spirit, kid,” said the voice of the grown man. “Come on, Snow Scouts, let’s all say the Snow Scout Alphabet Pledge together.”
Instantly the cave echoed with the sound of many voices speaking in perfect unison, a phrase which here means “reciting a list of very odd words at the very same time.” “Snow Scouts,” recited the Snow Scouts, “are accommodating, basic, calm, darling, emblematic, frisky, grinning, human, innocent, jumping, kept, limited, meek, nap-loving, official, pretty, quarantined, recent, scheduled, tidy, understandable, victorious, wholesome, xylophone, young, and zippered—every morning, every afternoon, every night, and all day long!”
The two Baudelaires looked at one another in confusion. Like many pledges, the Snow Scout Alphabet Pledge had not made much sense, and Violet and Klaus tried to imagine how a scout could be “calm” and “meek” at the same time as being “frisky” and “jumping,” or how all these children could avoid being “young” or “human,” even if they wanted to. They couldn’t figure out why the pledge suggested being all these things “every morning,” “every afternoon,” and “every night,” and then added “all day long,” or why the word “xylophone” appeared in the pledge at all. But they did not have much time to wonder, because when the pledge was over, the Snow Scouts all took a big breath and made a long, airy sound, as if they were imitating the wind outside, and this seemed even more strange.
“That’s my favorite part,” said the voice of the grown man, when the sound faded away. “There’s nothing like ending the Snow Scout Alphabet Pledge with a snowy sound. Now approach, travelers, so we can get a look at you.”
“Let’s keep the coat over our faces,” Klaus whispered to his sister. “Carmelita might recognize us.”
“And the other scouts have probably seen our pictures in The Daily Punctilio,” Violet said, and ducked her head underneath the coat. The Daily Punctilio was a newspaper that had published a story blaming the three Baudelaires for Jacques Snicket’s murder. The story was utter nonsense, of course, but it seemed that everyone in the world had believed it and was searching for the Baudelaires to put them in jail. As the two siblings walked toward the voices of the Snow Scouts, however, they realized that they weren’t the only ones concealing their faces.
The back of the cave was like a large, circular room, with very high ceilings and craggy walls of rock that flickered in the orange light of the flames. Seated in a circle around the fire were fifteen or twenty people, all looking up at the two Baudelaires. Through the fabric of the coat, the children could see that one person was much taller than the others—this was probably Bruce—and was wearing an ugly plaid coat and holding a large cigar. On the opposite side of the circle was someone wearing a thick wool sweater with several large pockets, and the rest of the Snow Scouts were wearing bright white uniforms with enormous zippers down the front and emblems of snowflakes, in all different sizes and shapes, along the long, puffy sleeves. On the back of the uniforms, the Baudelaires could see the words of the Snow Scout Alphabet Pledge printed in large pink letters, and on the top of everyone’s heads were white headbands with tiny plastic snowflakes sticking out of the top in all directions and the word “Brr!” written in icy script. But Violet and Klaus weren’t looking at the plastic flurries of snow on the Snow Scouts’ heads, or the accommodating, basic, calm, darling, emblematic, frisky, grinning, human, innocent, jumping, kept, limited, meek, nap-loving, official, pretty, quarantined, recent, scheduled, tidy, understandable, victorious, wholesome, xylophone, young, and zippered uniforms that most everyone was wearing. They were looking at the dark, round masks that were covering the scouts’ faces. The masks were covered in tiny holes, much like masks worn for fencing, a sport in which people swordfight for fun rather than for honor or in order to rescue a writer who has been taped to the wall. But in the flickering light of the cave, the Baudelaires could not see the holes, and it looked like the faces of Bruce and the Snow Scouts had vanished, leaving a dark and empty hole above their necks.
“You cakesniffers look ridiculous,” said one of the scouts, and the Baudelaires knew at once which masked figure was Carmelita Spats. “Your faces are all covered up.”
“We’re meek,” Violet said, thinking quickly. “In fact, we’re so meek that we hardly ever show our faces.”
“Then you’ll fit in just fine,” said Bruce from behind his mask. “The name’s Bruce, but you can call me Uncle Bruce, although I’m almost certainly not your real uncle. Welcome to the Snow Scouts, travelers, where all of us are meek. In fact, we’re accommodating, basic, calm…”
The other Snow Scouts all joined in the pledge, and the two elder Baudelaires stood through another rendition of the absurd list, while the scout in the sweater stood up and stepped toward them. “We have some spare masks over there,” he murmured quietly, and gestured toward a large pile of equipment, stacked beside a very long wooden pole. “They’ll keep the snow gnats away when you go back outside. Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” Violet replied, as the scouts promised to be kept, limited, and meek. She and her brother quickly grabbed masks and put them on underneath the coat, so that by the time the scouts vowed to be xylophone, young, and zippered, they looked as faceless as everyone else in the cave.
“That was fun, kids,” said Bruce, as the snowy sound faded and the pledge was over. “Now why don’t you two join the Snow Scouts? We’re an organization for young people to have fun and learn new things. Right now we’re on a Snow Scout Hike. We’re going to hike all the way up to Mount Fraught in order to celebrate False Spring.”
“What’s False Spring?” Violet asked, sitting down between her brother and the sweatered scout.
“Anybody who’s not a cakesniffer knows what False Spring is,” Carmelita said in a scornful voice. “It’s when the weather gets unusually warm before getting very cold again. We celebrate it with a fancy dance where we spin around and around the Springpole.” She pointed to the wooden pole, and the Baudelaires noticed that the Snow Scouts all wore bright white mittens, each emblazoned with an S. “When the dance is over, we choose the best Snow Scout and crown her the False Spring Queen. This time, it’s me. In fact, it’s always me.”
“That’s because Uncle Bruce is really your uncle,” said one of the other Snow Scouts.
“No, it’s not,” Carmelita insisted. “It’s because I’m the most accommodating, basic, calm, darling, emblematic, frisky, grinning, human, innocent, jumping, kept, limited, meek, nap-loving, official, pretty, quarantined, recent, scheduled, tidy, understandable, victorious, wholesome, xylophone, young, and zippered.”
“How can anyone be ‘xylophone’?” Klaus couldn’t help asking. “‘Xylophone’ isn’t even an adjective.”
“Uncle Bruce couldn’t think of another word that began with X,” explained the sweatered Snow Scout, in a tone of voice indicating that he thought this wasn’t a very good excuse.
“How about ‘xe
nial’?” Klaus suggested. “It’s a word that means—”
“You can’t change the words of the Snow Scout Alphabet Pledge,” Bruce interrupted, moving his cigar toward his face as if he were going to try to smoke it through the mask. “The whole point of the Snow Scouts is that you do the same thing over and over. We celebrate False Spring over and over, on Mount Fraught, at the source of the Stricken Stream. My niece Carmelita Spats is False Spring Queen, over and over. And over and over, we stop here in this cave for Snow Scout Story Time.”
“I read that the caves of the Mortmain Mountains contained hibernating animals,” Klaus said. “Are you sure it’s safe to stop here?”
The Snow Scout who was wearing a sweater instead of a uniform turned his head quickly to the Baudelaires, as if he was going to speak, but Bruce answered first. “It’s safe now, kid,” he said. “Years ago, apparently these mountains were crawling with bears. The bears were so intelligent that they were trained as soldiers. But they disappeared and no one knows why.”
“Not bears,” the scout in the sweater said, so quietly that the two Baudelaires had to lean in to hear him. “Lions lived in these caves. And they weren’t soldiers. The lions were detectives—volunteer feline detectives.” He turned so his mask was facing the two siblings, and the children knew he must be staring at them through the holes. “Volunteer Feline Detectives,” he said again, and the Baudelaires almost gasped.
“Did you say—” Violet said, but the sweatered Snow Scout shook his head as if it was not safe to talk. Violet looked at her brother and then at the scout, wishing she could see both of their faces behind their masks. The initials of “Volunteer Feline Detectives,” of course, spelled “V.F.D.,” the name of the organization they were looking for. But were these initials a coincidence, as they had seemed to be so many times? Or was this mysterious scout giving them some sort of signal?
“I don’t know what you kids are muttering about,” Bruce said, “but stop it this instant. It’s not time for conversation. It’s Snow Scout Story Time, when one Snow Scout tells a story to the other Snow Scouts. Then we’ll all eat marshmallows until we feel sick and go to sleep on a heap of blankets, just like we do every year. Why don’t our new scouts tell the first story?”
“I should tell the first story,” whined Carmelita. “After all, I’m the False Spring Queen.”
“But I’m sure the travelers will have a wonderful story to tell,” the sweatered scout said. “I’d love to hear a Very Fascinating Drama.”
Klaus saw his sister raise her hands to her head and smiled. He knew Violet had instinctively begun to tie her hair up in a ribbon to help her think, but it was impossible to do so with a mask on. Both the Baudelaire minds were racing to figure out a way to communicate with this mysterious scout, and the children were so lost in thought that they scarcely heard Carmelita Spats insulting them.
“Stop sitting around, cakesniffers,” Carmelita said. “If you’re going to tell us a story, get started.”
“I’m sorry for the delay,” Violet said, choosing her words as carefully as she could. “We haven’t had a Very Fun Day, so it’s difficult to think of a good story.”
“I didn’t realize this was a sad occasion,” said the sweatered scout.
“Oh, yes,” Klaus said. “We’ve had nothing to eat all day except for some Vinegar-Flavored Doughnuts.”
“And then there were the snow gnats,” Violet said. “They behaved like Violent Frozen Dragonflies.”
“When they form an arrow,” Klaus said, “they’re more like a Voracious Fierce Dragon.”
“Or a Vain Fat Dictator, I imagine,” the scout in the sweater said, and gave the Baudelaires a masked nod as if he had received their message.
“This is the most boring story I have ever heard,” Carmelita Spats said. “Uncle Bruce, tell these two that they’re both cakesniffers.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be very accommodating to say so,” Bruce said, “but I must admit that the story you were telling was a little dull, kids. When Snow Scouts tell stories, they skip everything boring and only tell the interesting parts. That way, the story can be as accommodating, basic, calm, darling, emblematic, frisky, grinning, human, innocent, jumping, kept, limited, meek, nap-loving, official, pretty, quarantined, recent, scheduled, tidy, understandable, victorious, wholesome, xylophone, young, and zippered as possible.”
“I’ll show these cakesniffers how to tell an interesting story,” Carmelita said. “Once upon a time, I woke up and looked in the mirror, and there I saw the prettiest, smartest, most darling girl in the whole wide world. I put on a lovely pink dress to make myself look even prettier, and I skipped off to school where my teacher told me I looked more adorable than anyone she had ever seen in her entire life, and she gave me a lollipop as a special present…”
At this point, I will take a page from someone’s book, a phrase which here means “adopt an idea used by somebody else.” If, for instance, a man told you that the best way to write thank-you notes is to reward yourself with a cookie every time you finished one, you might take a page from his book, and have a plate of cookies nearby after your birthday or some other gift-giving occasion. If a girl told you that the best way to sneak out of the house late at night is to make sure everyone else is sound asleep, you might take a page from her book and mix a sleeping potion into everyone else’s afterdinner coffee before climbing down the ivy that grows outside your bedroom window. And if you have been reading this miserable story, then the next time you find yourself in a similar situation, you might take a page from The Slippery Slope and use a combination of sticky substances and a drag chute to slow down a racing caravan, and then retrieve several articles of heavy clothing in order to protect yourself from the cold, and find a cave full of Snow Scouts gathered around a fire when the snow gnats begin to swarm.
But I will be taking a page from Bruce’s book, when he suggested that a storyteller only tell the interesting parts of the story and skip everything boring. Certainly the two elder Baudelaires wished they could skip this boring part of their own story, as they were very eager to leave the cave and resume their search for their sister. But Violet and Klaus knew that they shouldn’t leave the cave until they could talk to the mysterious boy in the sweater, and that they couldn’t talk to the mysterious boy in the sweater in front of Bruce and the other Snow Scouts, and so they sat by the fire as Carmelita Spats talked on and on about how pretty and smart and darling she was and how everyone she met told her that she was unbelievably adorable. Although the Baudelaires had to sit through these tedious portions of their story, there is no reason for you to do so, and so I will skip ahead, past the tiresome details of Carmelita’s endless story, and the senseless pledge that Bruce made everyone say several more times, and the all-marshmallow meal that the scouts shared with the two siblings. I will skip how irksome it was for Violet and Klaus to turn away from the scouts, quickly lift their masks, and pop marshmallows into their mouths before covering their faces again so they would not be recognized. After their long, tiring journey, the children would have preferred a more substantial supper and a less complicated way of eating it, but the siblings could not skip these parts of their story, so they had to wait for the evening to pass and for all the other Snow Scouts to feel sick and arrange blankets into a large heap beside the Springpole. Even when Bruce led the Snow Scouts in one more alphabet pledge as a way of saying good night, Violet and Klaus dared not get up and talk to the sweatered scout for fear of being overheard, and they had to wait for hours, too curious and anxious to sleep, as the fire died down and the cave echoed with the sounds of Snow Scout snoring. But I will take a page from the book of the Snow Scout leader, and skip ahead to the next interesting thing that happened, which was very, very late at night, when so many interesting parts of stories happen and so many people miss them because they are asleep in their beds, or hiding in the broom closet of a mustard factory, disguised as a dustpan to fool the night watchwoman.
It was very late a
t night—in fact one might say that it was the darkest part of this dark day—and it was so late that the Baudelaires had almost given up on staying awake, particularly after such an exhausting day, but just as the two siblings were beginning to fall asleep, they each felt a hand touch them on the shoulder, and they quickly sat up and found themselves looking into the masked face of the sweatered scout.
“Come with me, Baudelaires,” the boy said in a very quiet voice. “I know a shortcut to the headquarters,” and this was an interesting part of the story indeed.
CHAPTER
Five
When you have many questions on your mind, and you suddenly have an opportunity to ask them, the questions tend to crowd together and trip over one another, much like passengers on a crowded train when it reaches a popular station. With Bruce and the Snow Scouts asleep, the two elder Baudelaires finally had an opportunity to talk with the mysterious scout in the sweater, but everything they wanted to ask seemed hopelessly entangled.
“How—” Violet started, but the question “How did you know we were the Baudelaires?” stumbled against the question “Who are you?” and fell back against the questions “Are you a member of V.F.D.?” and “What does V.F.D. stand for?”
“Do—” Klaus said, but the question “Do you know where our sister is?” tripped over the question “Do you know if one of our parents is alive?” which was already struggling with “How can we get to the headquarters?” and “Will my sisters and I ever find a safe place to live without constantly being threatened by Count Olaf and his troupe as they hatch plan after plan to steal the Baudelaire fortune?” although the middle Baudelaire knew that his last question was unlikely to be answered at all.
“I’m sure you have lots of questions,” the boy whispered, “but we can’t talk here. Bruce is a light sleeper, and he’s caused V.F.D. enough trouble already without learning another of our secrets. I promise all your questions will be answered, but first we’ve got to get to the headquarters. Come with me.”
A Series of Unfortunate Events Box: The Complete Wreck Page 103
