The End

by Lemony Snicket

  "You two start picking apples," Violet said, walking to the periscope. "I want to check on Kit Snicket. The flooding of the coastal shelf must have begun by now, and she must be terrified."

  "I hope she avoided the Medusoid Mycelium," Klaus said. "I hate to think of what that would do to her child."

  " Phearst," Sunny said, which meant something like, "We should rescue her promptly."

  "The islanders are in worse shape than Kit," Klaus said. "We should go to Ishmael’s tent first, and then go rescue Kit."

  Violet peered through the periscope and frowned. "We shouldn't go to Ishmael's tent," she said. "We need to fill that stockpot with apples and get to the coastal shelf as quickly as we can."

  "What do you mean?" Klaus said.

  "They're leaving," Violet said, and I'm sorry to say it was true. Through the periscope, the eldest Baudelaire could see the shape of the outrigger and the figures of its poisoned passengers, who were pushing it along the coastal shelf toward the library raft where Kit Snicket still lay. The three children each peered through the periscope, and then looked at one another. They knew they should be hurrying, but for a moment none of the Baudelaires could move, as if they were unwilling to travel any farther in their sad history, or see one more part of their story come to an end.

  If you have read this far in the chronicle of the Baudelaire orphans—and I certainly hope you have not—then you know we have reached the thirteenth chapter of the thirteenth volume in this sad history, and so you know the end is near, even though this chapter is so lengthy that you might never reach the end of it. But perhaps you do not yet know what the end really means. "The end" is a phrase which refers to the completion of a story, or the final moment of some accomplishment, such as a secret errand, or a great deal of research, and indeed this thirteenth volume marks the completion of my investigation into the Baudelaire case, which required much research, a great many secret errands, and the accomplishments of a number of my comrades, from a trolley driver to a botanical hybridization expert, with many, many typewriter repair people in between. But it cannot be said that The End contains the end of the Baudelaires' story, any more than The Bad Beginning contained its beginning. The children's story began long before that terrible day on Briny Beach, but there would have to be another volume to chronicle when the Baudelaires were born, and when their parents married, and who was playing the violin in the candlelit restaurant when the Baudelaire parents first laid eyes on one another, and what was hidden inside that violin, and the childhood of the man who orphaned the girl who put it there, and even then it could not be said that the Baudelaires' story had not begun, because you would still need to know about certain tea party held in a penthouse suite, and the baker who made the scones served at the tea party, and the baker's assistant who smuggled the secret ingredient into the scone batter through a very narrow drainpipe, and how a crafty volunteer created the illusion of a fire in the kitchen simply by wearing a certain dress and jumping around, and even then the beginning of the story would be as far away as the shipwreck that left the Baudelaire parents as castaways on the coastal shelf is far away from the outrigger on which the islanders would depart. One could say, in fact, that no story really has a beginning, and that no story really has an end, as all of the world's stories are as jumbled as the items in the arboretum, with their details and secrets all heaped together so that the whole story, from beginning to end, depends on how you look at it. We might even say that the world is always in medias res — a Latin phrase which means "in the midst of things" or "in the middle of a narrative" — and that it is impossible to solve any mystery, or find the root of any trouble, and so The End is really the middle of the story, as many people in this history will live long past the close of Chapter Thirteen, or even the beginning of the story, as a new child arrives in the world at the chapter's close. But one cannot sit in the midst of things forever. Eventually one must face that the end is near, and the end of The End is quite near indeed, so if I were you I would not read the end of The End, as it contains the end of a notorious villain but also the end of a brave and noble sibling, and the end of the colonists' stay on the island, as they sail off the end of the coastal shelf. The end of The End contains all these ends, and that does not depend on how you look at it, so it might be best for you to stop looking at The End before the end of The End arrives, and to stop reading The End before you read the end, as the stories that end in The End that began in The Bad Beginning are beginning to end now.

  The Baudelaires hurriedly filled their stock-pot with apples and ran to the coastal shelf, hurrying over the brae as quickly as they could. It was past lunchtime, and the waters of the sea were already flooding the shelf, so the water was much deeper than it had been since the children's arrival. Violet and Klaus had to hold the stockpot high in the air, and Sunny and the Incredibly Deadly Viper climbed up on the elder Baudelaires' shoulders to ride along with the bitter apples. The children could see Kit Snicket on the horizon, still lying on the library raft as the waters rose to soak the first few layers of books, and alongside the strange cube was the outrigger. As they drew closer, they saw that the islanders had stopped pushing the boat and were climbing aboard, pausing from time to time to cough, while at the head of the outrigger was the figure of Ishmael, seated in his clay chair, gazing at his poisoned colonists and watching the children approach.

  "Stop!" Violet cried, when they were close enough to be heard. "We've discovered a way to dilute the poison!"

  "Baudelaires!" came the faint cry of Kit high atop the library raft. "Thank goodness you're here! I think I'm going into labor!"

  As I'm sure you know, «labor» is the term for the process by which a woman gives birth, and it is a Herculean task, a phrase which here means "something you would rather not do on a library raft floating on a flooding coastal shelf." Sunny could see, from her stockpot perch, Kit holding her belly and giving the youngest Baudelaire a painful grimace.

  "We'll help you," Violet promised, "but we need to get these apples to the islanders."

  "They won't take them!" Kit said. "I tried to tell them how the poison could be diluted, but they insist on leaving!"

  "No one's forcing them," said Ishmael calmly. "I merely suggested that the island was no longer a safe place, and that we should set sail for another one."

  "You and the Baudelaires are the ones who got us into this mess," came the drowsy voice of Mr. Pitcairn, thick with fungus and coconut cordial, "but Ishmael is going to get us out."

  "This island used to be a safe place," said Professor Fletcher, "far from the treachery of the world. But since you've arrived it's become dangerous and complicated."

  "That's not our fault," Klaus said, walking closer and closer to the outrigger as the water continued to rise. "You can't live far from the treachery of the world, because eventually the treachery will wash up on your shores."

  "Exactly," said Alonso, who yawned. "You washed up and spoiled the island forever."

  "So we're leaving it to you," said Ariel, who coughed violently. "You can have this dangerous place. We're going to sail to safety."

  "Safe here!" Sunny cried, holding up an apple.

  "You've poisoned us enough," said Erewhon, and the islanders wheezed in agreement "We don't want to hear any more of your treacherous ideas."

  "But you were ready to mutiny," Violet said. "You didn't want to take Ishmael's suggestions."

  "That was before the Medusoid Mycelium arrived," Finn said hoarsely. "He's been here the longest, so he knows how to keep us safe. At his suggestion, we all drank quite a bit of cordial while he figured out the root of the trouble." She paused to catch her breath as the sinister fungus continued to grow. "And the root of the trouble, Baudelaires, is you."

  By now the children had reached the outrigger, and they looked up at Ishmael, who raised his eyebrows and stared back at the frantic Baudelaires. "Why are you doing this?" Klaus asked the facilitator. "You know we're not the root of the problem."

 
; " In medias res!"Sunny cried.

  "Sunny's right," Violet said. "The Medusoid Mycelium was around before we were born, and our parents prepared for its arrival by adding horseradish to the roots of the apple tree."

  "If they don't eat these bitter apples," Klaus pleaded, "they'll come to a bitter end. Tell the islanders the whole story, Ishmael, so they can save themselves."

  "The whole story?" Ishmael said, and leaned down from his chair so he could talk to the Baudelaires without the others hearing. "If I told the islanders the whole story, I wouldn't be keeping them safe from the world's terrible secrets. They almost learned the whole story this morning, and began to mutiny over breakfast. If they knew all these island's secrets there'd be a schism in no time at all."

  "Better a schism than a death," Violet said.

  Ishmael shook his head, and fingered the wild strands of his woolly beard. "No one is going to die," he said. "This outrigger can take us to a beach near Lousy Lane, where we can travel to a horseradish factory."

  "You don't have time for such a long voyage," Klaus said.

  "I think we do," Ishmael said. "Even without a compass, I think I can get us to a safe place."

  "You need a moral compass," Violet said. "The spores of the Medusoid Mycelium can kill within the hour. The entire colony could be poisoned, and even if you make it to shore, the fungus could spread to anyone you meet. You're not keeping anyone safe. You're endangering the whole world, just to keep a few of your secrets. That's not parenting! That's horrid and wrong!"

  "I guess it depends on how you look at it," Ishmael said. "Good-bye, Baudelaires." He sat up straight and called out to the wheezing islanders. "I suggest you start rowing," he said, and the colonists reached their arms into the water and began to paddle the outrigger away from the children. The Baudelaires hung on to the side of the boat, and called to the islander who had first found them on the coastal shelf.

  "Friday!" Sunny cried. "Take apple!"

  "Don't succumb topeer pressure," Violet begged.

  Friday turned to face the children, and the siblings could see she was terribly frightened. Klaus quickly grabbed an apple from the stock-pot, and the young girl leaned out of the boat to touch his hand.

  "I'm sorry to leave you behind, Baudelaires," she said, "but I must go with my family. I’ve already lost my father, and I couldn't stand to lose anyone else."

  "But your father—" Klaus started to say, but Mrs. Caliban gave him a terrible look and pulled her daughter away from the edge of the outrigger.

  "Don't rock the boat," she said. "Come here and drink your cordial."

  "Your mother is right, Friday," Ishmael said firmly. "You should respect your parent's wishes. It's more than the Baudelaires ever did."

  "We are respecting our parents' wishes," Violet said, hoisting the apples as high as she could. "They didn't want to shelter us from the world's treacheries. They wanted us to survive them."

  Ishmael put his hand on the stockpot of apples. "What do your parents know," he asked, "about surviving?" and with one firm, cruel gesture the old orphan pushed against the stock-pot, and the outrigger moved out of the children's grasp. Violet and Klaus tried to take another step closer to the islanders, but the water had risen too far, and the Baudelaire feet slipped off the surface of the coastal shelf, and the siblings found themselves swimming. The stockpot tipped, and Sunny gave a small shriek and climbed down to Violet's shoulders as several apples from the pot dropped into the water with a splash. At the sound of the splash, the Baudelaires remembered the apple core that Ishmael had dropped, and realized why the facilitator was so calm in the face of the deadly fungus, and why his voice was the only one of the islanders' that wasn't clogged with stalks and caps.

  "We have to go after them," Violet said. "We may be their only chance!"

  "We can't go after them," Klaus said, still holding the apple. "We have to help Kit."

  "Split up," Sunny said, staring after the departing outrigger.

  Klaus shook his head. "All of us need to stay if we're going to help Kit give birth." He gazed at the islanders and listened to the wheezing and coughing coming from the boat fashioned from wild grasses and the limbs of trees. "They made their decision," he said finally.

  " Kontiki," Sunny said. She meant something along the lines of, "There's no way they'll survive the journey," but the youngest Baudelaire was wrong. There was a way. There was a way to bring the islanders a single apple that they could share, each taking a bite of the precious bitter fruit that might tide them over—the phrase "tide them over," as you probably know, means "help deal with a difficult situation" — until they reached someplace or someone who could help them, just as the three Baudelaires shared an apple in the secret space where their parents had enabled them to survive one of the most deadly unfortunate events ever to wash up on the island's shores. Whoever brought the apple to the islanders, of course, would need to swim very stealthily to the outrigger, and it would help if they were quite small and slender, so they might escape the watchful eye of the outrigger's facilitator. The Baudelaires would not notice the disappearance of the Incredibly Deadly Viper for quite some time, as they would be focused on helping Kit, and so they could never say for sure what happened to the snake, and my research into the reptile's story is incomplete, so I do not know what other chapters occurred in its history, as Ink, as some prefer to call the snake, slithered from one place to the next, sometimes taking shelter from the treachery of the world and sometimes committing treacherous acts of its own—a history not unlike that of the Baudelaire orphans, which some have called little more than the register of crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind. Unless you have investigated the islanders' case yourself, there is no way of knowing what happened to them as they sailed away from the colony that had been their home. But there was a way they could have survived their journey, a way that may seem fantastic, but is no less fantastic than three children helping a woman give birth. The Baudelaires hurried to the library raft, and lifted Sunny and the stockpot to the top of the raft where Kit lay, so the youngest Baudelaire could hold the wheezing woman's gloved hand and the bitter apples could dilute the poison inside her as Violet and Klaus pushed the raft back toward shore. "Have an apple," Sunny offered, but Kit shook her head.

  "I can't," she said.

  "But you've been poisoned," Violet said. "You must have caught a spore or two from the islanders as they floated by."

  "The apples will harm the baby," Kit said. "There's something in the hybrid that's bad for people who haven't been born yet. That's why your mother never tasted one of her own bitter apples. She was pregnant with you, Violet." One of Kit's gloved hands drifted down over the top of the raft and patted the hair of the eldest Baudelaire. "I hope I'm half as good a mother as yours was, Violet," she said.

  "You will be," Klaus said.

  "I don't know," Kit said. "I was supposed to help you children on that day when you finally reached Briny Beach. I wanted nothing more than to take you away in my taxi to someplace safe. Instead, I threw you into a world of treachery at the Hotel Denouement. And I wanted nothing more than to reunite you with your friends the Quagmires. Instead, I left them behind." She uttered a wheezy sigh, and fell silent.

  Violet continued to guide the raft toward the island, and noticed for the first time that her hands were pushing against the spine of a book whose title she recognized from the library Aunt Josephine kept underneath her bed— Ivan Lachrymose— Lake Explorer—while her brother was pushing against Mushroom Minutiae, a book that had been part of Fiona's mycological library. "What happened?" she asked, trying to imagine what strange events would have brought these books to these shores.

  "I failed you," Kit said sadly, and coughed. "Quigley managed to reach the self-sustaining hot air mobile home, just as I hoped he would, and helped his siblings and Hector catch the treacherous eagles in an enormous net, while I met Captain Widdershins and his stepchildren."

  "Fernald and Fiona?" Klaus said, referring t
o the hook-handed man who had once worked for Count Olaf, and the young woman who had broken his heart. "But they betrayed him—and us."

  "The captain had forgiven the failures of those he had loved," Kit said, "as I hope you will forgive mine, Baudelaires. We made a desperate attempt to repair the Queequeg and reach the Quagmires as their aerial battle continued, and arrived just in time to see the balloons of the self-sustaining hot air mobile home pop under the cruel beaks of the escaping eagles. They tumbled down to the surface of the sea, and crashed into the Queequeg. In moments we were all castaways, treading water in the midst of all the items that survived the wreck." She was silent for a moment. "Fiona was so desperate to reach you, Klaus," she said. "She wanted you to forgive her as well."

  "Did she—" Klaus could not bear to finish his question. "I mean, what happened next?"

  "I don't know," Kit admitted. "From the depths of the sea a mysterious figure approached— almost like a question mark, rising out of the water."

  "We saw that on a radar screen," Violet remembered. "Captain Widdershins refused to tell us what it was."

  "My brother used to call it 'The Great Unknown,'" Kit said, clasping her belly as the baby kicked violently. "I was terrified, Baudelaires. Quickly I fashioned a Vaporetto of Favorite Detritus, as I'd been trained to do."

  "' Vaporetto'?"Sunny asked.

  "It's an Italian term for 'boat,'" Kit said. "It was one of many Italian phrases Monty taught me. A Vaporetto of Favorite Detritus is a way of saving yourself and your favorite things at the same time. I gathered all the books in reach that I enjoyed, tossing the boring ones into the sea, but everyone else wanted to take their chances with the great unknown. I begged the others to climb aboard as the question mark approached, but only Ink managed to reach me. The others…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment Kit did nothing but wheeze. "In an instant they were gone—either swallowed up or rescued by that mysterious thing."

  "You don't know what happened to them?" Klaus asked.