The middle Baudelaire typed the last word into the keyboard, which was “T-O-P-P-L-I-NG,” and then looked at his sisters. “Because the sugar bowl isn’t there,” he said, and pushed open the door.
“What do you mean?” Count Olaf demanded. “Of course the sugar bowl is in there!”
“I’m afraid Olaf is right,” Justice Strauss said. “You heard what Dewey said. When the crows were shot with the harpoon gun, they fell onto the birdpaper and dropped the sugar bowl into the funnel.”
“So it would appear,” Klaus said slyly.
“Enough nonsense!” Count Olaf shouted, waving his harpoon gun in the air and stomping into the laundry room. In just a few moments, however, it was clear that the middle Baudelaire had spoken the truth. The laundry room of the Hotel Denouement was very small, just large enough to hold a few washing and drying machines, some piles of dirty sheets, and a few plastic jugs of what were presumably some extremely flammable chemicals, just as Dewey had said. A metal tube hung over one corner of the ceiling, allowing steam from the machines to float up the tube and outside, but there was no sign that a sugar bowl had fallen through the funnel and dropped out the metal tube to the wooden floor of the laundry room. With a hoarse, angry roar, Count Olaf opened the doors of the washing and drying machines and slammed them closed, and then picked up the piles of dirty sheets and sent them tumbling onto the floor.
“Where is it?” he snarled, drops of spit flying from his furious mouth. “Where’s the sugar bowl?”
“It’s a secret,” Klaus said. “A secret that died with Dewey Denouement.”
Count Olaf turned to face the Baudelaire orphans, who had never seen him look this frightening. His eyes had never gleamed as brightly, and his smile had never been as peccant, a word which here means “so hungry for evil deeds as to be unhealthy.” It was not unlike the face of Dewey had been as he sank into the water, as if the villain’s own wickedness was causing him great pain. “He won’t be the only volunteer who dies today,” he said, in a terrible whisper. “I’ll destroy every soul in his hotel, sugar bowl or no sugar bowl. I’ll unleash the Medusoid Mycelium, and volunteers and villains alike will perish in agony. My comrades have failed me as often as my enemies, and I’m eager to be rid of them. Then I’ll push that boat off the roof, and sail away with—”
“You can’t push that boat off the roof,” Violet said. “It would never survive the fall, due to the force of gravity.”
“I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies,” Olaf muttered.
“I’ll get that boat off the roof,” Violet said calmly, and her siblings looked at her in astonishment. Justice Strauss looked at her in amazement. Even Count Olaf seemed a little puzzled.
“You will?” he asked.
“Certainly,” Violet said. “It’s just like you said, Count Olaf. Every noble person has failed us. Why shouldn’t we help you escape?”
“Violet!” Klaus and Sunny cried, in simultaneous astonishment.
“No!” Justice Strauss cried, in solitary amazement.
Count Olaf still looked puzzled, but gave the eldest Baudelaire a shrug. “O.K.,” he said. “What do you need?”
“A few of those dirty sheets,” Violet said. “I’ll tie them together and make a drag chute, just like I did in the Mortmain Mountains when I stopped the caravan from falling off the mountain.”
“I always wondered how you did that,” Olaf said, looking at the eldest Baudelaire as if he respected her inventing skills. Violet walked into the laundry room and gathered some sheets into her arms, trying to choose the least dirty of the bunch.
“Let’s go to the roof,” she said quietly. Her siblings stepped forward, and each of them put a hand on their sister’s shoulder.
“Why do this?” Sunny asked.
“Sunny’s right,” Klaus said. “Why are you helping Olaf escape?”
The eldest Baudelaire looked at the sheets in her hand, and then at her siblings. “Because he’ll take us with him,” she said.
“Why would I do that?” Olaf asked.
“Because you need more than a one-person crew,” Violet said slyly, “and we need to leave this hotel without being spotted by the authorities.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Olaf said. “Well, you would have ended up in my clutches in any case. Come along.”
“Not yet,” Sunny said. “One more thing.”
Everyone stared at the youngest Baudelaire, who was wearing an expression so unfathomable that even her siblings could not tell what she was thinking. “One more thing?” Count Olaf repeated, staring down at Sunny. “What could that be?”
The two eldest Baudelaires looked at their sister, and felt a cold ripple in their stomachs, as if a stone had somehow been dropped straight into the siblings. It is very difficult to make one’s way in this world without being wicked at one time or another, when the world’s way is so wicked to begin with. When unfathomable situations arose in the lives of the Baudelaires, and they did not know what to do, the children often felt as if they were balancing very delicately on top of something very fragile and very dangerous, and that if they weren’t careful they might fall a very long way into a sea of wickedness. Violet felt this delicate balance when she offered to help Count Olaf escape, even though it meant that she and her siblings could escape, too, and Klaus felt this delicate balance when he helped Olaf unlock the laundry room door, even though the sugar bowl was not to be found inside. And of course, all three Baudelaire orphans felt this delicate balance when they thought about Dewey Denouement, and that terrible instant when the weapon in their hands brought about his death. But as Sunny answered Count Olaf’s question, the clock of the Hotel Denouement struck two Wrong!s, and her siblings wondered if they had lost their balance at last and were tumbling away from all the noble people in the world.
“Burn down hotel,” Sunny said, and all three Baudelaire orphans felt as if they were falling.
CHAPTER
Thirteen
“Ha!” Count Olaf crowed. “This takes the cake!” He was using an expression which here means “I find this especially amusing and outrageous!” although Dewey Denouement’s underwater catalog contains a list of twenty-seven cakes that Olaf has stolen. With a look of treacherous glee he reached down and patted Sunny Baudelaire on the head, using the hand that wasn’t clutching the harpoon gun. “After all this time, the littlest orphan wants to follow in my footsteps!” he cried. “I knew I was a good guardian after all!”
“You’re not a good guardian,” Violet said, “and Sunny’s not an arsonist. My sister doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“Burn down hotel,” Sunny insisted.
“Are you feeling all right, Sunny?” Klaus asked, peering into his sister’s eyes. He was worried that the Medusoid Mycelium, which had threatened the life of the youngest Baudelaire just days ago, was affecting her in some sinister way. Klaus had researched a way to dilute the treacherous fungus, but he wondered now if dilution was not enough.
“I feel fine,” Sunny said. “Burn down hotel.”
“That’s my girl!” Count Olaf cried. “I only wish Carmelita had your spunk! With all the errands I had to do, burning down this hotel hadn’t even occurred to me. But even when you’re very busy, you should always take time for your hobbies.”
“Your hobbies,” Justice Strauss said, “are nothing but villainy, Count Olaf. The Baudelaires may want to join you in wickedness, but I’ll do anything in my power to stop you.”
“There’s nothing in your power,” Olaf sneered. “Your fellow judges are comrades of mine, your fellow volunteers are running around the lobby of this hotel wearing blindfolds, and I have the harpoon gun.”
“I have a comprehensive history of injustice!” Justice Strauss cried. “This book should be good for something!”
The villain did not continue his argument, but merely pointed the weapon at the judge. “You orphans will start the fire here in the laundry room,” he said, “while I mak
e sure Justice Strauss doesn’t stop us.”
“Yes, sir,” Sunny said, and reached for her siblings’ hands.
“No!” Justice Strauss cried.
“Why are you doing this, Sunny?” Violet asked her sister. “You’re going to hurt innocent people!”
“Why are you helping Count Olaf burn down this building?” Klaus cried.
Sunny looked at the laundry room, and then up at her siblings. In silence, she shook her head, as if this were not the time to discuss such matters. “Help me,” she said, and she did not have to say anything more. Although Violet and Klaus found their sister’s actions unfathomable, they followed her into the laundry room as Olaf uttered a succinct laugh of triumph.
“Ha!” Count Olaf cried. “Pay attention, orphans, and I’ll teach you some of my best tricks. First, spread those dirty sheets all over the floor. Then, take those jugs of extremely flammable chemicals and pour them all over the sheets.”
In silence, Violet spread the rest of the sheets over the laundry room’s wooden floor, while Klaus and Sunny walked over to the plastic jugs, opened them, and spilled them all over the sheets. A strong, bitter smell wafted from the laundry room as the children turned to Olaf and asked what was next.
“What is next?” Sunny asked.
“Next is a match and some kindling,” Olaf replied, and reached into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun. “I always carry matches on my person,” he said, “just as my enemies always carry kindling.” He leaned forward and snatched Odious Lusting After Finance out of Justice Strauss’s hands. “This book is good for something,” he said, and tossed it into the center of the dirty sheets, narrowly missing the siblings as they walked into the hallway. Jerome Squalor’s book opened as it landed, and the children saw what looked like a carefully drawn diagram, with arrows and dotted lines and a paragraph of notation underneath. The Baudelaires leaned forward to see if they could read what the injustice expert had written, and caught only the word “passageway” before Olaf lit a match and tossed it expertly onto the page. The paper caught on fire at once, and the book began to burn.
“Oh,” Sunny said quietly, and leaned against her siblings. All three Baudelaires, and the adults standing with them, stared into the laundry room in silence.
The burning of a book is a sad, sad sight, for even though a book is nothing but ink and paper, it feels as if the ideas contained in the book are disappearing as the pages turn to ashes and the cover and binding—which is the term for the stitching and glue that holds the pages together—blacken and curl as the flames do their wicked work. When someone is burning a book, they are showing utter contempt for all of the thinking that produced its ideas, all of the labor that went into its words and sentences, and all of the trouble that befell the author, from the swarm of termites that tried to destroy his notes, to the large boulder that someone rolled onto the illustrator as he sat by the edge of the pond waiting for the delivery of the manuscript. Justice Strauss gazed at the book with a shocked frown, perhaps thinking of Jerome Squalor’s research and all the villains it might have brought to justice. Count Olaf stared at the book with a smug smile, perhaps thinking of all of the other libraries he had destroyed. But you and I know there is no “perhaps” about what the Baudelaire orphans were thinking as they stared at the flames devouring the comprehensive history of injustice. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny were thinking of the fire that took their parents and their home and dropped them into the world to fend for themselves, a phrase which here means “go first from guardian to guardian, and then from desperate situation to desperate situation, trying to survive and solve the mysteries that hung over their heads like smoke.” The Baudelaire orphans were thinking of the first fire that had come into their lives, and wondering if this one would be the last.
“We’d best get away from here,” Count Olaf said, breaking the silence. “In my experience, once the flames reach the chemicals, the fire will spread very quickly. I’m afraid the cocktail party will be canceled, but if we hurry, there’s still time to infect the guests of his hotel with the Medusoid Mycelium before we escape. Ha! To the elevators!”
Twirling the harpoon gun in his hands, the villain strode down the hallway, dragging the judge as he went, and the Baudelaires hurried to follow. When they reached the elevator, the children looked at a sign posted near one of the ornamental vases. The sign was identical to one posted in the lobby, and it is a sign you have probably seen yourself. IN CASE OF FIRE, it said, in fancy script, USE STAIRS. DO NOT USE ELEVATOR.
“Stairs,” Sunny said, pointing at the sign.
“Ignore that,” Olaf said scornfully, punching the button to summon an elevator.
“Dangerous,” Sunny pointed out. “Take the stairs.”
“You may have had the idea to burn down the hotel,” Count Olaf said, “but I’m still the boss, baby! We won’t get to the fungus in time if we take the stairs! We’re taking the elevator!”
“Drat,” Sunny said quietly, and frowned in thought. Violet and Klaus looked at their sister curiously, wondering why a child who didn’t mind setting a hotel on fire would be upset over something like an elevator. But then Sunny gazed up at her siblings with a sly smile, and uttered one word that made everything clear.
“Preludio,” she said, and after a moment her siblings grinned.
“What?” Olaf asked sharply, and punched the button over and over again, which never helps.
“What my sister means,” Violet said, “is that she appreciates the lesson on setting fires,” but that is not what the youngest Baudelaire meant at all. By “Preludio,” her siblings knew, Sunny was referring to the Hotel Preludio, and the weekend vacation the entire Baudelaire family had spent there. As Kit Snicket had mentioned, the Hotel Preludio was a lovely place, and I am happy to report that it is still standing, like a small mercy, and that its ballroom still has its famous chandeliers, which are shaped like enormous jellyfish and move up and down in time to the music that the orchestra plays, and that the bookstore in the lobby still specializes in the work of American novelists of the realist school, and the outdoor swimming pool is still as beautiful as it ever was, its reflection of the hotel windows shimmering whenever anyone dives in to swim laps. But the Baudelaire orphans were not remembering the chandeliers, or the bookstore, or even the swimming pool, where Sunny first learned to blow bubbles. They were remembering a prank their father had taught them, when he was in one of his whimsical moods, that can be played in any elevator. The prank, a word which here means “joke played on someone with whom you are sharing an elevator,” is best played at the moment when you are about to get off the elevator, and your fellow passengers are heading to a higher story. The Baudelaires’ mother had objected to their father teaching them such a prank, as she said it was undignified, but their father had pointed out it was no more undignified than doing magic tricks with dinner rolls, which their mother had done that very morning in the hotel restaurant, and she reluctantly agreed to participate in the prank. This particular moment in the Baudelaires’ lives, of course, was not the best one for a prank, but Violet and Klaus saw immediately what their sister had in mind, and when the sliding doors opened and Count Olaf stomped inside the elevator, the three Baudelaires followed him and immediately pressed every single button. When the Baudelaires’ father had done this after exiting the elevator, it meant that the remaining passenger, a tiresome woman named Eleanora, had been forced to visit every story on the way up to her room, but here in the Hotel Denouement, the prank served a dual purpose, a phrase which here means “enabled the Baudelaires to do two things at once.”
“What are you doing?” Olaf shrieked. “I’ll never reach the Medusoid Mycelium in time to poison everyone!”
“We’ll be able to warn as many people as possible that the building is on fire!” cried Justice Strauss.
“Dual purpose,” Sunny said, and shared a small smile with her siblings as the elevator reached the lobby and opened its doors. The enormous, domed room
was nearly empty, and the Baudelaires could see that everyone had followed the advice of the two wicked judges of the High Court, and were wandering blindfolded around the hotel.
“Fire!” cried Violet immediately, knowing the doors would slide shut in an instant. “Attention everyone! There’s a fire in the hotel! Please leave at once!”
The man with a beard but no hair was standing nearby, with his hand on Jerome Squalor’s shoulder so he could push the injustice expert around. “Fire?” he said, in his strange, hoarse voice. “Good work, Olaf!”
“What do you mean, good work?” demanded Jerome, a frown appearing below his blindfold.
“I meant to say, ‘there’s Olaf!’” the man said hurriedly, pushing Jerome in the direction of the elevator. “Capture him! He needs to be brought to the authorities!”
“Olaf is here?” asked probably Frank, who was feeling his way along the wall along with his brother. “I’m going to capture him!”
“Where are the Baudelaires?” demanded probably Ernest. “I’m going to capture them!”
“In the elevator!” shouted the woman with hair but no beard from across the lobby, but the sliding doors were already closing.
“Call the fire department!” Violet cried desperately.
“Which one?” was the reply, but the children could not tell if it came from Frank or Ernest, and the doors slid shut on this one last glimpse of the villains and volunteers before elevator began its rise to the second story.
“Those judges promised that if I waited until tomorrow I’d see all my enemies destroyed,” Count Olaf grumbled, “and now they’re trying to capture me. I knew they’d fail me some day.”
The Baudelaires did not have time to point out that Olaf had also failed the judges, by planning to poison them, along with everyone else in the lobby, with the Medusoid Mycelium, because the elevator immediately stopped on the second story and opened its doors.
“There’s a fire in the hotel!” Klaus called into the hallway. “Everyone leave at once!”
A Series of Unfortunate Events Collection: Books 1-13 with Bonus Material Page 147