A/N: Ah, I feel so loved with all of the nice reviews. Just a pointer, but I really hope all of you reading have read up to the Grim Grotto, otherwise you might think I'm brilliant for making a lot of this VFD code stuff up. I'm not LOL. Thanks for reading!
Chapter the Third
For hours, Quigley and Kit worked on replacing and rewiring the system of telegrams. Kit described that the telegrams were like a string of Christmas lights: if one bulb is burnt out, then it affects all the rest of the lights. Kit explained, although she wasn't exactly sure, that the only way the telegrams were destroyed was if a V.F.D. member came in before Jacques and wrecked the wires.
"It's happened before," Kit said from under a telegram device, "Not exactly with telegrams, but with members from one side going to the other. They remain as spies until they are discovered as frauds, and sadly, it's usually going from our side to the other."
Quigley pulled a mangled wire from out of a telegram, "I just don't understand why anyone would want to change sides to join Olaf."
"Neither do I," Kit said solemnly.
They worked non-stop for the rest of the day until Kit called for a break. There was a small cabinet and fridge farther down the room along with a little table and a shelf of books. The entire abode was cramped and low but cozy in a strange, mechanical way.
"Fixing all of these telegrams will take days," Quigley said before taking another spoonful of his soup Kit had found and heated up.
"Yes, I know. It's tedious work but it's vital that we get it done," Kit explained, paging through a book while she ate.
"But time is limited, isn't it?" Quigley said.
"What do you mean?" Kit asked. She looked questionably troubled.
"Well, other than finding the Baudelaires, we need to get to the Hotel Denouncement by Thursday, right?" Quigley started.
"Quigley, how did you find out about that?" Kit asked austerely.
"On the Mortmain Mountains with Count Olaf's troupe. They said it was the last safe place for the V.F.D," Quigley explained.
"Count Olaf knew of this?" Kit looked worried.
Quigley dropped his spoon, "You don't think it could be a trap, do you? That's where the Baudelaires are heading! They can't go there!"
Kit's face became distressed, "I'd like to be in doubt of it, but now I'm just not sure."
Quigley ate his soup uneasily. His hand shook as he thought of Violet, Klaus, and Sunny somehow arriving at the Hotel alone, only to find Olaf and those two horrible, nameless people: the man with a beard but no hair, and the woman with hair but no beard. He had a terrible urge to work frantically on the telegrams but he was tired and still hungry. They ate in silence.
Kit studied her book and Quigley sat there, chewing. "What are you looking for?" Kit looked up. "I mean, I've learned that when most volunteers read, it's for information."
Kit smiled, "You're absolutely right." She held up her book and it read: The Best of Emily Dickinson.
"It's another book on poems," Quigley said, almost to himself, "What is there to find in poems?"
"Much," Kit said still reading, and Quigley realized it was another one of those times where he would have to wait and see later.
Time seemed to pass much faster, especially when Quigley needed much more time. He worked endlessly for the rest of the night and well into the morning. When Kit awoke, she found him asleep on top of another telegram he had fixed.
Food was slowly running out in the cabinets. Kit explained that members usually don't stay at the control room for days and so Quigley snacked on crackers for breakfast, although he was starving.
For nearly an hour, Quigley worked on the last telegram, making sure he readjusted every wire exactly right. He plugged in the last wire and stood back.
"Nothing's happening," Quigley muttered softly.
"Hmm?" Kit replied behind her books.
"The last telegram is fixed and nothing's happening," Quigley said louder and Kit came over.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! I'm absolutely sure," Quigley retorted. He took the wire out again and stuck it back in. Nothing.
"Everything's on. The power switch, all of the devices… It doesn't make any sense," Kit said bleakly.
Quigley strolled absentmindedly throughout the room back and forth. That meant that one of them wasn't fixed correctly. All of that hard work and he had to recheck them again. It could be any one of them…
He started back at the first one he repaired and re-plugged the wires and switched on the buttons. The telegrams remained broken. Quigley moved to the next one.
"Quigley, if we redo them all, we'll run out of time," Kit said, standing stiffly calm.
"But there's no other way! We might miss receiving a telegram from Violet or Klaus or Duncan or—or…" Quigley said weakly behind a telegram. The wires were fixed and still nothing happened. If only Klaus was here to read up on mechanics or Violet to invent something… The telegram seemed to stare at him mockingly. He stepped back frustrated and kicked it hard before sitting down.
"Per—perhaps we can…" Quigley started but he was out of ideas.
"Perhaps we can finally send a telegram," Kit finished confidently and Quigley looked up.
The telegram he had kicked was buzzing faintly and a tiny red light in front started to flicker. The light flashed dimly and then as if all of the telegrams were waking up, they started to buzz and finally, all of the lights down the numerous rows blinked green.
"They're on! We---!" Quigley shouted and then all of the sudden, rolls of paper were rolling out of the slits of the receiving telegrams and covered the floor.
"We have a lot of catching up to do," Kit said, picking up the sheets of paper and reading them. A smile escaped her lips as she read one and turned it over for Quigley to see.
"Aye, I think we found them," she grinned. It read:
TO: THE VOLUNTEER FACTUAL DISPATCH CONTROLCENTER
FROM: CAPTAIN WIDDERSHINS—QUEEQUEG
AYE URGENT MESSAGE STOP. AYE PLEASE SEND DISPATCH STOP. WE HAVENT RECEIVED REPLIES IN WEEKS AYE STOP. VERY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ STOP. AYE BAUDELAIRE CHILDREN VIOLET KLAUS AND SUNNY FOUND AND ON BOARD STOP. AYE WE SEARCH FOR THE SUGAR BOWL DAY AND NIGHT AND WILL NOT STOP STOP. AYE RESPOND PLEASE STOP.
"Widdershins…" Quigley mumbled but Kit was already striding across the room picking up dispatches.
"Most of these are repeated messages wondering if their telegrams are operating right or not," Kit said as she threw them away. She took a stack of books off the little shelf by the refrigerator and plopped them down on the table. "Now we can work."
Quigley snapped up from his thoughts and sat down with her, the telegram still in his hand. Kit opened up a book, the same book of Lewis Carroll poems she was reading in the café when Quigley first met her, and turned the book towards him. Inside was a piece of paper with a copy of one of Carroll's poems written on it. Quigley unfolded it and read it aloud:
"'O Oysters, come and walk with us!'
The Walrus did beseech
'A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the (briny beach) > (movie theatre)'"
"It's called a Verse Fluctuation Declaration," Kit explained, "It's a code we use with poems to send an important message by replacing the certain words we want to say with different ones. Now that the telegrams are working, we can put this code into work. I've been looking for another poem for days to tell them exactly where, so I need your help."
Quigley studied the poem and looked up hopefully, "We're meeting the Baudelaires on Briny Beach?"
"Exactly."
---
It was past noon and Kit and Quigley were still looking through poetry books. After a while, the words seemed to blend together and not make any sense at all as Quigley skimmed the pages.
Longfellow, Wilde, Frost… his head was spinning with poems and he was just about sick of them all together. Yet, he had no choice; he had to find that poem for the Verse Fluctuation to work. Kit was roaming the room, looking through the cupboards.
"The food has completely run out," Kit declared. Quigley groaned. His stomach was growling louder than his thoughts. He flipped through the books aimlessly. Suddenly, a word caught his eye: violet…
"I thought that there was another supply of food in here," Kit said as she peered throughout the corners of the room but Quigley didn't hear a word she was saying. He looked at the cover of the book he was reading: The Waste Land by T.S. Elliot. The poem went like so…
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upwards from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting.
Strange, but it'll work, Quigley thought triumphantly as he copied the poem hastily onto the paper with the first poem written on it. He changed 'taxi' and 'waiting' to 'pony' and 'party' but as he read it over again, he found himself changing 'violet' to 'pink'. She'll know I'll be thinking of her, Quigley thought fondly.
Kit came back to the working table. "We need to get some food fast… any luck?"
Quigley looked up. "What? Oh right, I found one."
"You did? Why didn't you say so earlier!?" Kit said astounded, but she looked thrilled. She grabbed his book. "Elliot? Hmm, not a big fan of him but I'm surprised I didn't look through his more thoroughly. Well, good. Fantastic job, Quigley. Now, I must go."
"Go?" Quigley asked abruptly as she searched for her coat.
"Yes, to the Baudelaires… and for food of course," Kit said vaguely as she checked her watch. She picked up both the Elliot and Carroll books with her.
"But what about the poem and… and the telegram?" Quigley said following her around the room.
"Yes, what about it? You know how to send telegrams, correct?" Kit smiled as Quigley nodded. His father had taught him and his siblings when they were young and they always sent messages to each other by tapping through the walls.
"Good. Send a telegram to the Queequeg informing them that we are in desperate need of the Baudelaires. Specify that we need them tomorrow, Tuesday. I'll send food here through a member," she continued, "Don't let anyone in unless they give you the password. The world is quiet here," she whispered.
"You're coming back after you've gotten the Baudelaires… right?" Quigley asked.
"Yes, once I've retrieved them I will, but first I must send a message to someone concerning the sugar bowl," Kit clarified and she went for the door.
"Kit, why is everyone looking for the sugar bowl? Quigley asked modestly.
Kit sighed, "I'm not sure where to begin, Quigley. There are many reasons why; the sugar bowl is a complicated thing. But I'm in a hurry, I will explain later… oh yes, send a copy of the telegram to J.S. Will you remember that?" Kit asked and Quigley stopped stunned.
"J. S.? The Baudelaires and I saw those initials in the headquarters. Who do they belong t---?" Quigley asked but she opened the door.
"Quigley, I really must go! I'll tell you tomorrow," Kit said halfway out the door.
"Kit…!"
She came back in with a pitying look, "I know what you're thinking. This isn't going to be like what happened with Jacques. I'll be seeing you tomorrow with the Baudelaires," she assured and then winked, "Don't forget what he told you. 'Make time---'"
"---'to change time'. I know," Quigley said with a half-hearted smile and she closed the door.
The afternoon became dark and Quigley sat in front of a sending telegram. He had sent nearly half the message so far, making sure his Morse code was correct. He only hoped that the Baudelaires would be able to figure out the code in the poems. Finally, he finished tapping out the message and sent a copy to J.S., still unsure who he or she was. The light flashed green to reassure him that it was sent and he waited.
Quigley could feel himself drifting to sleep right when a tinny, booming knock came from the door. Quigley snapped up and ran to it.
"Password?"
"The world is quiet here."
Quigley cautiously opened the door; a grinning man with his collar turned up stood there with food in his hands. Quigley thanked him and closed the door, and found there was a basket of fruit and vegetables and beef jerky from Kit. He ate as fast as his mouth could chew.
The rusty clock on the wall read past midnight as Quigley forced himself to stay awake, chewing insipidly on a carrot. He had a strange fear of falling asleep and missing the Baudelaires arrival. The telegrams buzzed dully for hours.
Beep. Beep. Bzzzz.
Quigley looked up from table where his head was lying.
Beeeeep. Shzzz.
He staggered over to the blinking telegram with heavy feet. It continued to beep and fizzle until a slip of thin paper fell into his hands. A volunteer factual dispatch…
TO: THE VOLUNTEEG FACTUAL DISPATCH CONTROLCENTEG
HELP HELP HELP PLEASE STOP. FATAL EMEGRENCY STOP…
Quigley stopped for a split second. There were so many errors… something seemed vaguely familiar about it…
STGANDED AT EAST POINT OF THE MOGTMAIN MOUNTAINS STOP. HOT AIG BALLOON ACCIDENT STOP. PLEASE SEND HELP FAST STOP.
Hot air balloon… Quigley held the telegram with shaking hands. Now he knew the errors… all of the R's and G's were switched. It was his brother's worst Morse code habit…
FROM: DUNCAN QUARMIGE
