by Jon Scieszka
Surely, the baby agreed, or so I imagined. It startled me out of the story a bit, and I looked around the library for a moment, frightened once more of this baby and wondering what was going to happen. I turned the page and kept reading.
The young girl, whose name was Rona, hatched a plan. First, she found a long vine and stretched it out between two trees, just a few centimeters off the ground. The trees were growing up on the edge of a high cliff, and below the cliff was the churning sea, where Rona thought the crab belonged. Once her trap was set, she journeyed out to the cave where the crab lived and threw sticks into the mouth of the cave until the terrible creature was awake and angry. Clattering over rocks, the crab chased Rona as she ran toward the two trees at the edge of the cliff. The crab was gaining on Rona, closer and closer—and when I read this part, I held the baby closer to me, so it would not be frightened—and several times Rona thought she might stumble and be pinched to death. But she managed to elude the crab and ran to the edge of the cliff with it just behind her, clawing at her heels. She leaped off the cliff, grabbing on to the vine so she would not fall into the sea, and the crab ran right after her without looking carefully, and as the book put it, was suspended in the sky, its many legs and claws all wiggling upward, so for a moment, it looked like a castle in the air, before it fell with an enormous cannonball splash. Rona managed to climb back up the cliff, grinning with pride over her accomplishment, and ran back to tell the village what had happened, and when she told them, they threw a party in her honor and called her a hero.
You might have thought that this was the end of the story. I would have been happy to end it there, now that the baby was quiet and warm in my arms. It seemed happy, and that made me happy, too. But not long after, the emperor came to town with his enormous retinue, which I explained to the baby was a word for advisers and guards and slaves who were carrying the emperor’s vast treasure. The emperor had taken an interest in amazing creatures and had heard a rumor about a large crab that lived near the village. He was prepared to offer a great heap of jewels and other valuables if they helped capture the crab for his collection.
Well, of course, the village no longer had a crab nearby, but the villagers were so greedy and eager to get their hands on the treasure that they offered the emperor something else instead: a young and beautiful bride. This, of course, was Rona, but Rona was not interested in marrying the emperor. For one thing, she didn’t know him very well. She had never even seem him until he had come to town, for although the village had a statue of the emperor, the crab had clawed it up so much over the years that it looked more like a chubby flagpole than a person. But mostly, Rona was not interested in getting married at all, at least not right then, to the emperor or anyone else. She was only thirteen, after all, and fresh from her hero-making adventure. She wanted to see what would happen next.
Despite her protestations, Rona was packed up immediately and taken by the emperor’s retinue to the palace and married to him in a matter of days, while the villagers celebrated with the heap of jewels the emperor had left behind as a reward—or perhaps “payment” was the better word, I murmured to the baby—for this young and beautiful bride. She had to marry him. She had to.
Life with the emperor was even more unpleasant than Rona had anticipated. The emperor was very loud and boring, and he already had a whole pack of wives who had turned into very boring people themselves, probably from being holed up in the emperor’s palace for so long. Rona couldn’t stand it. She asked again and again to go home, but the emperor, seeming to hardly listen to her, again and again refused.
One afternoon, wandering miserably around the palace, she found the answer to her problems: a long bell pull, which is a cord attached to a bell to ring for servants or snacks. It was thin and stretched easily and reminded Rona of the vine that had made her a hero. That night, while everyone in the palace was very asleep, she took the bell pull and stretched it out between two lamps as tall as trees, and right then, a noise startled me out of the book, and I looked up at a man standing outside the library window, pointing at me and shouting. Through the thick glass I could not hear what it was he was shouting, but in moments he had hurried into the library to keep shouting at me. His loud and panicky voice was such a shock in the library, where, of course, it was supposed to be quiet, that at first I could not hear exactly what it was the man was saying, particularly once the baby started wailing. This upset me, and by the time the police arrived, it was hysterical.
I was not handcuffed at the police station, but I was placed in a room with one tiny window, way up top near the ceiling, and a heavy table with uncomfortable chairs and a door they slammed so loudly I did not even get up to check if it was locked. That was as good as handcuffs at keeping me still. I sat in the room for a little while with my heart pounding. The police had taken the baby away, of course, and my arms did not know what to do with themselves after holding it for so long. Even so, I was still frightened of the baby. I was no longer frightened about what might happen to it. I was frightened about what might happen to me because it had fallen into my care.
Sure enough, when the police inspector came in—tall and cross-looking, with her hair in one long braid down her back—the first thing she said to me was “You’re in a heap of trouble.”
“I know it.”
“Tell me your name.”
“Lemony Snicket,” I said, although I’d already told her my name, just as I’d told the shouting man and the wrong librarian and the other police officers, the ones who’d arrested me.
“Why did you steal a baby, Lemony Snicket?”
“I didn’t steal it. I told you this. Someone asked me to watch their baby.”
The inspector sat down across from me with her hands folded. In the pocket of her uniform was a small handsome notebook and a skinny pen, but she didn’t take them out, as if my story were so false and useless there was no sense writing it down. “You’re a villain, do you know that, Snicket? Only a villain takes a baby that does not belong to him.”
“A woman asked me to take care of it.”
“So you say. What did this woman look like?”
“I told you this already. I told you the whole story.”
“Tell me again.”
“Just a woman. She had stains on her coat, and she was pushing a baby carriage. She asked me to hold her baby while she went to get napkins or a towel.”
“Do you know, Lemony Snicket, that two police officers went to the home of the man who runs the tea shop at that particular park? And that the man remembers no such woman? He remembers you well enough, though. He told us that you told him you weren’t a babysitter.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I was just watching the baby for a minute, because the woman asked me to. But then she never came back.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re a hero? Because a hero wouldn’t have hid in the library with his face behind a book. A hero would have recognized this very important baby and made sure he was returned safely.”
“Important?” I asked.
“Very important,” the police inspector said, but I didn’t understand. In one sense, of course, all babies are important, at least to somebody. But no particular baby is really more important than any of the other babies, so I didn’t know what the inspector meant until she told me.
“That baby,” she said, “is the emperor of Cramiton.”
I blinked back at her.
“‘Emperor’ means ‘king.’”
“I know what the word means,” I said, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The baby is the emperor of Cramiton,” the inspector repeated. “It’s a tiny region some kilometers away. He won’t be crowned until he turns thirteen, but in the meantime he’s being cared for in a wonderful palace. A few days ago he went missing. His photograph was in all the newspapers, with an enormous reward for his safe return.”
“I haven’t purchased a newspaper recently,” I said, thinking of the
coins in my coat pocket.
“Well, you should,” the inspector said crossly. “A child in danger is a terrifying emergency, although you’re probably too young to understand that. Lucky for you, while you were hiding the emperor in the library, a man happened by and spotted you both through the window. He recognized the emperor immediately and will soon receive the reward. He’s a hero, Lemony Snicket, whereas you are a kidnapper and a villain, and you’ll be behind bars by sunrise.”
“But I had no idea who the baby was,” I said. “The woman just handed it to me.”
The inspector smiled then, but it was a sharp smile, the kind an alligator must have when a swimmer gets into the water. “You were heard,” she said triumphantly, “calling the baby ‘Your Highness.’ The police commissioner’s daughter was bicycling through the park and heard you with her own recently pierced ears. She told her mother all about it as soon as she got home, so the police were already looking for you when that hero spotted you in the library. She’s a hero, too, that brave and observant girl.”
“I just called the baby ‘Your Highness’ because of the way it was dressed.”
The inspector stood up. “He is dressed that way,” she said, emphasizing “he” to tell me how wrong I was, “because he is the emperor. Stay here, Snicket, until the jailer arrives to take you away.”
She marched out of the room, clattering the door shut behind her. I heard her footsteps as she tramped down the hall, and I sighed in my seat. In many ways I felt the same as I did at the beginning of this story, on the bench in the park. I was frightened about what would happen to me, and once again I could not figure out what to do. I wondered if Rona would know.
I have troubles of my own, I imagined her saying. Her voice was less gurgly than I had imagined the baby’s.
“I know,” I replied. “Right before that man started shouting at me, it seemed like you were about to trick the emperor to his death, just as you did with the giant crab.”
What’s wrong with that? she asked me in the empty room. It must have been late at night by now. The tiny window was just a deep black square, a moonless night sky.
“Well,” I said, “killing a menacing crab made you a hero. But killing your husband, even if he’s boring and you never wanted to marry him, seems like something else.”
You think I’m a villain?
“You could run away,” I said, “instead of killing the emperor.”
You could have gone to the police, Rona did not point out, instead of the library. Maybe you’re the villain, Lemony Snicket.
“Maybe I am,” I said miserably. “Everybody certainly seems to think so.”
Everyone thought I was a hero, Rona said imaginarily, until the emperor came to town.
“Our stories are very similar,” I said.
I pictured Rona shrugging at me. There had been an illustration of her in the library book, a fierce-looking girl with short hair and glasses that made her eyes look even sharper, so I could easily picture her thoughtful shrug. The trouble is, I imagined her saying, my story’s in a book, and yours is right here in the world.
I shrugged back at her, but my shrug was sadder. She was right, so I cut short our imaginary conversation and lay my head down on the table. I lay there for quite some time. It did not make for a comfortable pillow, but it was more comfortable than I’d expected to find that night. The library was long closed by now, and the park, dark and dangerous. The shopkeeper was probably home in bed, and the cook had likely closed up his restaurant without even noticing my coat, which I knew I would never see again. The police commissioner’s daughter was probably asleep with a smile on her face, having been called a hero just for seeing me in the park, and the man who had seen me through the window was probably celebrating his reward, and hopefully someone was taking proper care of the baby emperor. I did not know where the woman was, the woman who had given me the baby and the heap of trouble I was in. I tried to imagine, but I could only picture her in the park, pushing the baby carriage away from me, with the sound of crying fading away, and this made me sit up straight. I could not tell how long I had been asleep, but I was wide-awake now. I had figured something out. It made me feel less like a villain the more I sat and thought about it.
The crying was coming from inside the baby carriage. But the baby the woman handed me was silent and staring. There were two babies. I didn’t know what it meant, but it was something to think about, a story more interesting than my own miserable one.
The police inspector came back while I was still thinking. She had something with her, and I saw almost immediately it was the baby in its purple robe. The hat was gone, and it was not difficult to see why. The police inspector was being very careless with the baby, plunking it down on the table right in front of me even though it could not sit up by itself. It began to topple almost immediately, so I reached out to steady the baby and then put it in my lap for safekeeping, although I was surprised the inspector would let me touch the baby if it was supposed to be so important. She cleared that all up at once.
“This,” she said, flicking one hand out to gesture at the baby, “is not the emperor.”
I looked at the baby in my lap. It looked back at me crossly. What do you want?
“We checked,” the inspector said. “It has a similar face and the same hair. It’s wearing the emperor’s clothes. But it’s not the emperor.” She sat down sternly and fiddled with her braid. “It’s a girl, for instance,” she said, and then stared so hard at me that I knew it was my turn to talk.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
The inspector snorted rudely. “Am I sure it’s a girl?”
“Are you sure about all of it?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
“So I’m not in a heap of trouble anymore?”
“I guess not,” she said. “And that man won’t be getting a reward.”
“So he’s not a hero anymore?”
“That’s beside the point,” the inspector said, using a phrase that here means she didn’t want to talk about it with me. “The real emperor is still missing. And, of course, we’ve got to look for this woman you told us about and give her back this baby.”
“Weren’t you looking for her already?”
“No,” the inspector admitted sourly. “We thought you were a villain so we didn’t believe a word you said. Do me a favor, Snicket, and watch this baby for a minute while we look for its mother.”
“Her mother,” I said, but the inspector had already stalked out the door, not even bothering to close it all the way, the way she had when I was still a villain. I was alone with this baby, for the second time in just a few hours. “Well, Your Highness,” I said to the baby, “I guess I’m not a villain anymore.”
I guess not, the baby agreed in my imagination. And you don’t have to call me “Your Highness.”
“But I like calling you ‘Your Highness,’ Your Highness.”
Someone might hear you, the baby didn’t say, and you’d be in trouble all over again.
“I wonder if the commissioner’s daughter is still a hero,” I said, thinking of the girl on the bicycle.
She didn’t really do anything wrong, the baby said.
“Neither did I,” I said.
Well, you could have taken me to the police instead of going to the library.
“You ended up with the police, anyway,” I pointed out, “and they weren’t helpful.”
Well, they’re going to find my mother.
“Your mother,” I said, “if she really is your mother, is a kidnapper. She had the real emperor in her baby carriage and dressed you in his clothing. She left you with me to throw the police off her trail.”
Is that true?
I blinked at the baby. “Yes,” I said, “but I didn’t figure it out until I explained it to you.”
Am I a hero for helping you figure it out?
“Maybe,” I said, “and maybe I’m a hero for what I’m doing now.”
Why are we leaving? Wher
e are we going?
“I’m not going to have the police place you in the care of a kidnapper,” I whispered to the baby as I walked quietly out of the police station. Nobody took much notice of me, now that I wasn’t a villain.
If you take me with you, aren’t you a kidnapper yourself?
“I don’t know,” I said once I was outside. It was chilly out, and I held the baby as close as a coat as I began to walk. “Rona, what do you think?”
Rona shrugged thoughtfully again, at least in my mind. Some people will think you’re a hero, and some people will think you’re a villain.
“You could say that about anyone,” I said.
Does it matter what people say? Or is it more important what you think of your own actions?
I wasn’t sure if the baby said this, or Rona, even though, of course, I was sure nobody had said it, and none of us said anything more until I walked up the library steps. It was sunrise, and the place was just opening. The good librarian was there, unlocking the door and watching me approach with the baby, and I guess you know the rest of the story, because as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, the baby was you, and now you’re around thirteen, just the age I was when you were left with me in the park. You know that the real emperor was found, just a few days later, and that the woman was sent to jail for kidnapping and that she never mentioned you, to the police or to anyone else. Maybe she knew you were being raised by a kindly librarian and didn’t want the police interfering, or maybe she was too selfish to even think of you. Maybe she wasn’t your mother after all, and you were yet another baby she’d kidnapped. In any case she seems pretty villainous, although the librarian seems to have been a kindly mother to you, so maybe the woman was a hero for helping you get raised by someone so kind. I’m sure I don’t know. I moved out of that city that very afternoon, for reasons that have nothing to do with this story, and so I haven’t seen you since that day, although I hear you are an interesting and curious person. Certainly you have had an interesting and curious childhood, and you are the hero of that childhood and of your own story. I don’t know what I am in this story. It’s hard enough to decide what I am—hero or villain or something else—in my own story, let alone yours. Besides, you can decide for yourself, just as I decided things for myself and just as Rona did, in that other story I read to you so long ago. I wish we hadn’t been interrupted on that terrible night. As with all good stories, I would have liked to know what happened next.