Disclaimer: A Series of Unfortunate Events is owned by Daniel Handler, not myself. I intend to make no money off of this fanfiction, which is being written purely for the enjoyment of myself and those on the internet who care enough to read my story.
A/N: I've tried my best to retain Snicket's writing style.
I'm very sorry to tell you this, but I cannot fathom why you, reader, hold such a continuing interest in the chronicle of the Baudelaire orphans. I only have forced myself to code sandwiches, hide in refrigerators, and order coffee from tattoo-less waiters in order to honor the memory of my late love, but unless you know anybody close to me, which is unlikely, or somebody who has died, which is very likely, then I must urge you to read no further on into the misery of this book. Within this volume are horrendous descriptions of dinner parties, bloodthirsty lawyers, storms, duels, a suspiciously fresh sandwich, and a return of a villain previously thought to be thoroughly deceased.
The Baudelaires gasped, coughed, and spluttered, going through the same routine that most recently shipwrecked people do. Once they were finished clearing their windpipes of nasty substances, such as mollusks and seaweed, they looked around, hoping to find each other, meeting each other's eyes with relief. The stood up and rubbed the sand out of their bleary, storm-tired eyes and were rather surprised to see where the four of them stood.
"I don't believe it," Klaus said quietly, polishing his glasses and hoping that the saltwater from the storm hadn't ruined them.
"Me neither," replied Violet as she stood staring around them.
"Briny Beach," Sunny whispered as she tugged on Beatrice's arm, helping her stand up.
The orphans marveled at how circular their life seemed to have become, how the beginning of one tragedy was now a beginning once again- although, they hoped, an infinitely more pleasant one.
"Figu," said Beatrice, which her adoptive siblings knew meant something along the lines of "Who is that mysterious figure coming out of the fog toward us?"
Violet and Klaus glanced at each other uneasily. They had had very little news of the world since they had arrived on the island, and were very hesitant to calm themselves with that ridiculous aphorism 'No news is good news'. They knew, quite certainly, that the last time they had been in the city that this very beach bordered, they had been wanted for a long list of treacherous and villainous crimes almost rivaling those of Count Olaf. And so they were silent as the figure approached them out of the fog.
"Hello, Baudelaires," he said, eyeing Beatrice curiously. "I've been waiting for you."
He was wearing a very fine pinstripe suit, and his back was almost impossibly straight, as though some puppeteer had forced him into a human line with invisible marionette strings. They had never seen this person before that they could recall.
"Really, you're very lucky," he continued, although the siblings doubted this very much, "That I've found you. We wouldn't want Count Olaf coming out of hiding suddenly, would we know, Violet, with your eighteenth birthday only six months away?"
The Baudelaires were so shocked to find someone who knew them so well that they momentarily bypassed the good manners that their parents had taught them, and instead of introducing themselves, began to shoot off questions, each more complicated than the first.
"Who are you?
"How do you know us?"
"Are people still chasing us?"
"Jakinta!"
"Children," the man in the pinstripe suit smiled. "Your parents were always very proud of you. Precisely the type to be right on top of things, even if you've been missing for some years. Volunteers disappear often. Then again, so do villains." He leaned in closer to them, reminding them of the way that Count Olaf had leaned in to them over the entrance to his house long, long ago. "My name," he began grandly, "is Victor F. Derilius the Tenth, and I am the city's number one most important lawyer."
The children eyed each other hesitantly. The last time they had heard somebody describe themselves as the most important something, that somebody had turned out to be a villainous girlfriend who threw orphans down elevator shafts and wore fashionable outfits. The pinstripe suit that the man wore struck another cord with the orphans, who were reminded of the uncomfortable time that they had spent at 667 Dark Avenue in the uncomfortable guardianship of Jerome and Esme Squalor. But his initials suggested something entirely different. The older three children had realized that his initials spelt V.F.D., but he could still be a member on either side of the violent schism caused by a single missing piece of a tea set.
"Come," he said, beckoning them to his automobile, which was parked dangerously close to the waters of the ocean. "Before Count Olaf or the authorities catch up with us."
"Jakinta," Beatrice repeated.
"Olaf's dead," Violet translated. She had put her hair up with her waterlogged ribbon, trying to work out what exactly were the confusing circumstances that they had once again become embroiled in.
The man stopped halfway through opening the door of his automobile, opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it as though he had though better of it, and then opened it again. This time, the words escaped his jaws.
"Dead? Well. That's one more argument one." He shut the door, and took a step closer to the three huddling siblings. "Do you know what a lawyer's job is?"
"To implement justice?" Klaus replied.
"To defend people?" Violet asked.
"Punish criminals?" Sunny suggested.
He gave them a small, knowing smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Each of the Baudelaires shivered, and wondered whether it would not be best to turn around and run away from this man as fast as their legs would take them. I am sorry to say to you that the Baudelaires were, on this somewhat stormy day, far too tired to begin to run, and far too fatigued to continue for long. In fact, if I were you, I would put this book down right now, and run as far away from it as your legs can possibly take you, and do not stop for a coded sandwich, or check your refrigerator, or become embroiled in a conversation with a lawyer on your way to the point on the planet that is the farthest place away from this manuscript possible.
"A lawyer's job," he said, with shining eyes that reminded the children of Olaf more and more, "is to argue. I quarreled with Olaf many years ago, and today I have finally found that I have won the argument."
"Just because your opponent is dead doesn't mean that you've won the argument," asserted Klaus, although not quietly enough that the city's number one most important lawyer couldn't hear him. Victor F. Derilius the Tenth raised one eyebrow at Klaus, and uttered the most unnerving thing that the Baudelaires had heard since they had begun their time alone on the island.
"Perhaps," he said, glistening white teeth showing and eyes shining. "Perhaps. Regardless, it is lucky for you four that I found you before the authorities did. It is far more comfortable to reside at the house of an important lawyer than in a jail cell while you are being defended."
"Defended for what?" Klaus asked timidly. Victor gave him an odd look, as if he had been caught by surprise, and began a list that the Baudelaires would like to have never heard again.
"Murder," he began quietly. "Three counts of arson, four counts of resisting arrest, three hundred and seventeen counts of reckless endangerment- that's exactly the number of people who were in the Hotel Denouement that Wednesday- and one count of theft."
"Theft of what?" Sunny asked. "We've never stolen anything."
"Theft," said the lawyer, grinning from ear to ear, "of a sugar bowl."
"Why should we come with you?" Violet demanded.
"Do you always want to hide for the rest of your life?" Victor replied sharply. "If you go to court, I can defend you- absolve you of all the alleged crimes- an associate of mine provided me with an incredible amount of evidence just a few days after the Hotel Denouement burned down. I have already cleared his name, and I am on my way to clearing yours. The only problem," he continued, pausing to take a deep breath, "are the counts of reckless endangerment. There were only five witnesses to the beginning of the hotel fire, and I'm afraid that one of them is also one of the Justices of the High Court."
"But the High Court is corrupt," said Violet despairingly. "They'll lock us away forever."
"Weren't you listening? I've already told you that I'm the city's number one most important lawyer. The man with a beard but no hair, I personally prosecuted, and is now serving a life sentence in a prison far, far away, in a cell that used to be occupied by one of my associates. The woman with hair but no beard, well, Snicket couldn't get her for anything-"
"Snicket?" Sunny asked.
"Yes, Lemony, I think- anyway, the majority vote goes to the third justice, who will be sworn in in a week. I've been preparing for your case for years, Baudelaires. I can absolve you of all your crimes." He smiled as though he had just told a particularly nasty joke.
"We'll be free?"
He nodded.
"We'll have our fortune?"
He nodded again. "When you turn eighteen, Violet, yes."
"All the evil and treachery in the world will cease?"
He turned sadly to Klaus, who had asked the question, and slowly shook his head from side to side. "I'm afraid, my dear young Baudelaire, that there will always be evil and treachery in this world, but I'm hopeful that I can free you of at least a little bit of it. But there's one thing that I'm absolutely certain of," he said as the four children clambered out of safety and into an automobile, "this trial will be absolutely smashing."