Violet awoke with a start. Her sweaty hands gripped the sheets. A nightmare had surged through her REM sleep, and she was near tears.
Violet jumped out of bed and quickly dashed to her door, her heart still pounding from the night terror. She cracked open the door and put her ear against the opening: talking and laughing came from the downstairs living area. Violet sighed, knowing that she might be scolded for being up that late. Her parents had thrown a grown-up party that she and six-year-old Klaus were not allowed to attend. She had been disappointed when she first heard that. She was eight and she felt as though she was old enough to be with grown-ups. It had irked her until she fell asleep.
Violet carefully weighed her options. She desperately wanted comfort from her parents, and she did want a glass of water, but she would get in trouble.
She opened the door and decided to go downstairs. As she stepped out into the dark upstairs hallway, a grown-up nearly ran into her and she stumbled.
"Oh!" the man cried, stepping back in shock.
Violet looked up to the towering man above her. Though it was dark, she could still see that the man had a distinct unibrow.
"I'm sorry, sir," Violet apologized as she looked down at her chilly feet on the hard floor.
The man chuckled. "I'm the one who should be sorry! I need to watch where I'm going in case I accidentally trample a young woman like you."
Violet grinned slightly at the man's jesting.
"I suppose you must be the famous Miss Violet Baudelaire," the man said. "The clever inventor of the Baudelaires as Beatrice and Bertrand says."
Violet looked up to the man at the mention of her name. "I am, sir," she replied.
The man smiled and took a knee. "Well, Miss Violet, it is a wonderful pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I am Count Olaf." The man gave his arm a dramatic flourish as he took Violet's hand and bowed at the waist. He glanced up. "You know what a 'count' is, don't you?"
Violet nodded. "Yes, of course, sir."
"Smart girl," Count Olaf commented. "But, I must ask: what is a smart girl like you doing up at this hour?" He gave Violet a fake scandalized expression. "You're not sneaking, are you?"
Violet straightened herself. "Oh, no, sir. I'm not sneaking!"
Count Olaf raised one side of his brow.
"I had a nightmare," Violet mumbled. "And I needed a glass of water."
"Say no more, Violet Baudelaire," Count Olaf said as he stood tall again. "For I am your knight in shining armor. I will get you a glass of water if it is the last thing I do." Count Olaf took off downstairs before Violet could protest.
As she watched his descending figure, Violet smiled. Normally, her parents' friends were rather boring and only talked about spyglasses or fire departments; this man was interesting and lively. There was, however, something dark about Count Olaf that Violet could not identify. She was not scared of whatever it was. He reminded her of a geyser pool, which was something Klaus had recently been reading about: the deeper geyser pools get, the more brilliant their colors become.
Violet padded to the staircase and sat on the top step. She pulled her knees to her chest underneath her long nightgown to keep herself warm. Violet watched for Count Olaf, and she saw the silhouettes of many of her parents' friends cast on the floor from the parlor. The muffled cocktail chatter was soothing to her, as it reinforced to her that there were people in the house with her.
Finally, Count Olaf made his way from the party to the stairs and began to ascend with a glass of water in hand. He caught Violet's eye on the way up and smiled brightly. When he got close enough, he stopped and held out the glass for Violet to take.
"The spoils of war for one Miss Violet Baudelaire," Count Olaf said dramatically.
Violet laughed and took the glass. "Thank you, my good sir," she replied in his same manner of humor. She took a sip. "Will you sit with me for a little while?"
Count Olaf gave a conciliatory grin. "I'm afraid I cannot. I must leave soon so that I will get up early. I'm leaving with my acting troupe on a European tour tomorrow morning," he replied.
Violet sat up. "You're an actor?" she asked excitedly.
Count Olaf's chest puffed out a bit. "I'm more than an actor—I'm an impresario."
For once, Violet did not know what the word meant. Count Olaf picked up on this. "An impresario is someone who also arranges productions and directs plays."
"Will you be doing a show here?" Violet asked.
"At the end of my tour, unfortunately for you. You won't get to see my tremendous talent. You'll have to wait," Count Olaf said with a smirk.
"Thank you for the water," Violet said again.
Count Olaf smiled genuinely. "Of course, Violet. Good night." He turned and went back downstairs again.
Violet stood, her water still in hand. When Count Olaf reached the ground level, he gazed back up to Violet and gave a small bow. Violet giggled quietly and waved at him. He disappeared back into the party crowd, and Violet spun around to return to bed.
As Violet finished her water and tucked herself back into bed, her mind drifted to Count Olaf. He was rather dashing and came off as the type of man who absolutely would be an actor. She was sad that she wouldn't be able to see him again anytime soon, but, as Violet's eyes fluttered closed in sleep, she wondered if she would ever have the privilege of watching him perform.
Upon the return of this distant memory, Violet's eyes shot open. She had met Count Olaf before, but only once.
Violet looked over to her sleeping brother, who, along with herself, was on the floor since Mr. Poe's sons didn't wish to share their beds.
"Klaus!" she whispered. She rolled over and began to shake his arm gently. "Klaus!" she hissed again.
Klaus groggily opened his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly. He slapped the floor beside him to feel for his glasses. He found them and put them on.
"Count Olaf from the play tonight," Violet started.
"What about him?"
Violet smiled in the dark. "He knew our parents!"
Klaus cocked his head. "Really?"
Violet nodded. "Yes! I remember meeting him at one of their parties years ago!"
Klaus' brow furrowed in thought. "You'd think our parents would have told us if they knew an actor famous enough to do a tour," Klaus responded. "I read in the playbill that he just finished a European tour of his play."
"Do you think Mr. Poe would let us go back tomorrow to see Count Olaf?" Violet asked her brother.
"I don't know," he said. "He might not want to pay for more tickets, and we can't really pay for anymore."
"No." Violet shook her head. "Just to go backstage and find him and talk to him. No money involved."
Klaus sighed. "Maybe. We'll have to make it clear that he won't have to pay for anything."
Violet smiled. "Sounds fair." She and her brother both settled back down into their pillows and went back to sleep.
As Olaf read over his lines once more for his performance that evening, his concentration kept breaking as he remembered Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire. He recalled the petty schism that had threatened his relationships with every one of his friends but had also cost him his engagement. Those were bitter memories that Olaf tried to drown with a fine wine or robust whiskey.
As he nursed his glass of wine that afternoon, his heart grew heavy. He had just recently heard from European volunteers that the Baudelaire couple had perished in a pointless and preventable (and possibly ironic) house fire. Olaf wondered what would become of the Baudelaire children.
As for where the children were, he was certain that he had seen the Baudelaire daughter at one of his inaugural nights in that theatre. If it was indeed Violet, he had to marvel at how she had grown to look so much like her mother (who was beautiful in her own right, as Olaf had always thought). There were hardly any residual traits of Bertrand's.
Olaf smirked. He had always figured that Beatrice's eldest child was the product of a final dalliance between her and the enigmatic, insufferable Lemony Snicket. Of course, Olaf had no way to prove his theory, but he prided himself on being able to detect and sometimes attract impropriety.
A knock on his dressing room door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," he shouted, looking up from the script he wasn't really reading anymore.
A fumbling clacking sound scratched at the doorknob and the door flung open. The hook-handed man stood in the doorway, grinning ear to ear.
"You have some fans who want your autograph, boss!" the hook-handed man said.
Olaf perked up and stood. "Where?"
"I told them to wait for you in the lobby. That all right?"
"Yes, yes, of course," Olaf replied. He looked in the mirror to examine himself. He shed his dressing gown and threw on some real trousers that he hoped were clean. He smoothed out his shirt and followed his colleague to the theatre lobby.
Standing alone in the middle of the grand space were a boy and a girl. The boy held the hand of a tiny baby who looked as though she were just learning to stand on her own. At the sight of the girl, Olaf's eyes widened. Could she be the same girl he saw on the front row the night before?
Olaf clapped his hands together. "Hello, hello, hello, young theatre-goers!" he called to the children. They spun around to face Olaf as he approached them. It indeed was the same girl, though, upon closer inspection, he became more uncertain about whether or not she was Beatrice's daughter. "I heard you were looking for me." Olaf smirked and held out his hand in front of the children for either of them to take. The boy accepted. "Count Olaf, impresario."
"My name is Klaus." The boy turned to look at the girl. "We were wondering if we could get an autograph and maybe speak with you."
Olaf chuckled. "Well, you're halfway through with what you came for: we're already speaking." Olaf winked and produced a pen and playbill from his pocket. He began to write a message on the front. "Did you see the play last night?" he asked without looking up.
"Oh, yes. We did. It was rather enjoyable," Klaus replied.
"Bahtoo," the baby babbled.
The girl spoke up. "What Sunny means is that even though the plot had been done before, the execution of the story and the characterization of the protagonists were exemplary."
Olaf paused for a moment and eyed the baby known as Sunny. He gestured his pen towards her. "Aspiring theatre critic, is she?"
The girl shrugged, giving a hint of a smile. "She knows what she likes."
Olaf drew his attention back to the playbill. "So, I know Klaus." He pointed the pen at Klaus. "I know Sunny, but I'm afraid I don't have your name, my dear." Olaf looked at the girl and grinned.
"My name is Violet," she said. "Violet Baudelaire."
So he was right. Olaf swallowed, his expression going blank. "Baudelaire?" he repeated.
"Yes, sir," Klaus said. "And we think you knew our parents."
Olaf nodded slightly. "And what were their names?"
"Bertrand and Beatrice," Violet replied.
Before Olaf could even respond, a man burst through the lobby doors. The man removed his hat and opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, horrendous coughing spewed from him.
When the fit was over, he sniffed and spoke: "Children, it's time to go. I believe you have taken enough of this gentleman's time. Arthur Poe," he introduced. Olaf replied with his name. Mr. Poe nodded once and smiled politely at Olaf. "He was kind enough to give you an autograph for free!" Mr. Poe's face suddenly morphed from politeness to slight fear. "It is free, isn't it?"
Olaf glanced to the children and then back to Mr. Poe. "Yes, of course it is!" Olaf scribbled quickly onto the playbill and then handed it to the Baudelaires. "I was just finishing their autograph."
Violet and Klaus glanced at each other, disappointed.
Mr. Poe beamed. "Wonderful!" He let out a single cough. "Now, thank him for being so kind and generous to you orphans."
"Thank you for giving us your autograph, Count Olaf," Violet said mechanically.
Olaf lifted one side of his brow. He winked at the siblings. His face suddenly twisted in concern. "Orphans?" he asked Mr. Poe.
Mr. Poe's eyes widened. "Oh, yes. It was terribly tragic. Their parents died in a fire that destroyed their home. Tell him, Baudelaires."
Klaus wrinkled his nose. "Our parents died in a fire that destroyed our home," he said.
Mr. Poe sighed wistfully. "Isn't that just unfortunate?"
Olaf nodded. "It is! So unfortunate, in fact, that my troupe and I would like to treat these orphans to a special preview of our new play with a discussion afterwards!" Olaf nodded towards the Baudelaires, who perked up.
"Really! Isn't that something, children! I knew your lives couldn't continue to be a downward spiral!" Mr. Poe elated.
"Yes, that would be wonderful!" Violet said. "We could talk about all sorts of things, couldn't we, Count Olaf?"
He nodded. "Anything you like. Even your parents, if you wished," Olaf replied.
Klaus turned to Mr. Poe. "Could we do it tomorrow?"
Mr. Poe laughed modestly. "I'm sure Mr. Olaf here has a show tomorrow night."
"Actually," Klaus interrupted. "Theatres are dark on Mondays. Dark means—"
"—Having no light, but, in this context, it means that nothing is performed or staged," Violet finished, her eyes meeting Olaf's gaze. Impressed, he cocked one side of his brow and mouthed, "Clever orphan."
"Well, then, I suppose if it's all right with Mr. Olaf—"
"Tomorrow night it is!" Olaf exclaimed. "Would 6:00 be suitable?"
Mr. Poe cringed and sucked in air through his teeth. "Oh, dear. Unfortunately, 6:00 is when my family eats dinner. I'm afraid I would be unable to transport the orphans here."
"The orphans can take a taxi. We're in a safe area and the theatre isn't too far from your home, Mr. Poe," Violet interjected. "We'll be all right."
"Then I suppose it's settled. Tomorrow night at 6:00, we shall entertain the Baudelaire orphans," Olaf said with a bow.
Mr. Poe ushered the Baudelaire children to the lobby entrance to leave. As they left, Violet turned back and smiled at Olaf. "Thank you," she mouthed.
Once again, Olaf winked and bowed his head towards her. When they were all outside, Olaf turned back to head to his dressing room again.