Chapter 6, Be Prepared for A Hell of a Lot of Surprises
Disclaimer: OMG. It's Friday, we're updating...isn't that incredible?
A/N: As said above...holy smoke, I've managed to update less than a week after the last chapter! The best part is..I loved writing this chapter. Oh, and have you, dear reader, noticed my sparkly new avatar? I made it myself. It probably shows. I just thought that it would be a fun thing to do. I'm also thinking of finally updating the Plot Murderer profile page and adding some polls or something. Well, happy 2013 to all of you, our dedicated fanbase. I know you're there because i just discovered that cool 'view graph thing' on the profile. I was shocked at how many people have actually read these stories! And, without sounding like a needy, starving artist who feeds on other people's opinions...I would like a review or two, per favore? I just like getting critiques. It helps the imagination. But, what am I doing? Get along and read, read, read!
Enjoy your trip to Snicket Land.
Esme lay, face down, on her bed, while Dewey softly massaged her back. It was by now, late afternoon, and the smell of dinner being prepared wafted through the chateau.
"It's so good of you, Dewey..." Esme sighed, "You don't know how hard it is to be around them all again!"
"No, no, Esme." Dewey said in a voice that was not-all-there, "I understand. I simply wanted to honor Kit's invitation. I figured she had something important to say."
"Oh, no, no, Dewey. Kit never has anything important to say. She just likes manipulating this whole affair; we're just spices in an elaborate seasoning prepared for her benefit."
"Where did you get that one from?" Dewey said perplexedly.
Esme shrugged, "You pick things up from Olaf's people."
There was another long silence. Esme was feeling very relaxed now, and very brave. She decided to ask, yet again, the signature question of Dewey and Esme Part II.
"Dewey, darling, won't you please tell me where you got your...?"
"No."
And that settled that. Esme settled back into her reverie, where a thought came to her, perhaps sent by the lovely muse of plot devices.
She had a book of magic hidden in this very room. What was stopping her from using it to get the secret out of Dewey.
Oh, but that would be very low, surely? Esme thought; then again, Dewey had it coming to him. And, if the spell worked well, he wouldn't even remember the process.
They couldn't keep keeping secrets in their relationship! That very thing had destroyed their relationship {and would-be marriage} last time.
"Kit, my dear, you're a wonder at party-planning." Lady Blackwoodshire remarked, though continually telling herself that her parties were something to die for.
The two women were sitting on an indoor balcony overlooking the chateau's huge ballroom, where Olaf's associates were hurrying about with supplies for the dance party that was to take place in the evening.
"Well, thank you, Lady Blackwoodshire." said Kit, staring somewhere into the distance, "But, you see, I haven't had much training."
"But at Josephine's school, certainly? Back in those halcyon days of ZYK?"
Kit shrugged; she didn't seem to be listening much to what Lady Blackwoodshire was saying. This annoyed the Lady very much, and she excused herself.
As she crossed the main hall, she was confronted by Lucy.
"Afternoon, dear, I haven't seen you all day." Lady Blackwoodshire narrowed her gaze, "Did you do the laundry as I asked?"
"The washing machine broke down during the rinse cycle." said Lucy, in her usual timid voice.
"Pity. Well, we could always have the monkey man fix it." Lady Blackwoodshire normally would have put Lucy herself on the task, but as this wasn't the family house, the point seemed moot.
"Mother, I'd actually like to ask you a question."
"Oh?" Lucy didn't usually ask questions. Very rarely there was one about her parents, but that was pretty much it.
"Well, go on then, girl, out with it. I have to get dressed for dancing tonight."
"My parents..."
Oh, here it was again.
"Dead, my dear, dead. You know this story."
"No, no." Lucy shook her head, "I don't want to know how they died. I want to know...are they alive?"
Lady Blackwoodshire raised her eyebrows, "Wherever did you get that idea?"
"A dream I had."
"Well, you must have been eating those wonder-inducing mushrooms. I told you they were only for your father."
"You're right...it's silly of me. It's just...the dream seemed so real."
"A lot of things seem real when they aren't. Take Kit Snicket's breasts for instance..."
But Lucy had already moved on. Lady Blackwoodshire suppressed a shiver.
After all these years...how could it all come up now?
A single note had been slipped under the door of each of Olaf's associates. They found these notes in the time when they were meant to be dressing for dinner.
Come to the lounge in the south wing. What transpires there will be most beneficial to you.
And so, the associates banded together on finding they had received similar notes, and went together to the south lounge.
There were the classic gang: Fernald, Flo, Tocuna and Enya, as well as the new-age folks: Hugo, Kevin and Collette.
"What do you reckon it's all about?" Fernald asked Enya, who replied with a, "Probably Olaf with another stupid murder plot."
"I'm getting damn tired of people turning up dead everywhere." said Flo, "It's getting to be very routine."
"Ooh, I hope it's a vacation!" Colette clapped her hands excitedly, "It's getting so boring just hanging out in this house."
Kevin said, "He's probably just looking for some kind of excuse to lay one of us off."
"Oh no!" moaned Tocuna, "And I was getting so close to retirement!"
"You're thirty-eight." Flo pointed out drily.
"Oh. Right."
Now they came to the south lounge, a dark and dusty room that clearly had been disused for a long time.
And, standing in this room, was not Count Olaf, as they had been expecting.
IT WAS JOSEPHINE ANWHISTLE!
Too much?
Anyway, the elderly woman was already dressed for dancing in a chic black chiffon dress. She had let her white hair down around her shoulders in ringlets, and had nixed her spectacles for the evening.
When she saw them, she smiled.
"Ah, yes. You've come."
"Oh God, she's gonna arrest us!" gasped Fernald, who tried to turn tail and run off. But Madame Anwhistle stopped them from leaving.
"No, no. I am not going to have you put away. This get together is of an entirely friendly nature. I have called you here only to help you, and to have you, in return, help me."
"What's this all about, woman?" asked Enya gruffly, "Why would you need our help?"
"We have something in common you know. We are both mistreated by our employers."
"Oh, I see where this is going..." Flo sighed.
"I have served the Snicket family for an entire generation and some more. And yet, I get nothing in return but more heaps of work. Yes, I am chief adviser of the nation, but that job offers surprisingly few perks." she clasped her hands together in front of her, "You have been serving Count Olaf for various lengths of time; some for almost the entirety of his career. You have aided him in heists and murder schemes, and tasks of espionage, but have you ever really gotten anything in return?"
"No." replied Enya at once, "No, we have not. We rarely even have a roof over our heads, the way things usually are."
"And that's why I am asking your help, in return for my help to you." Madame Anwhistle's smiled was small and hopeful; probably the kind she had once given to students as headzykstress of ZYK Academy.
"What would you have us do?" asked Hugo, speaking for the first time in a while.
"Simple, simple. You must join together with me to help me..." she paused dramatically and tossed her white curls, "Kill the Snicket."
There was a rush of confusion amongst the henchfolk.
"Yes," Madame Anwhistle went on, "I know, it sounds very difficult, but I assure you, with the sources I shall provide you with, you will find murdering Lemony painfully easy. You see, I can't kill him myself because I am the closest to him. I am the first they will look into in the police investigation. But, if the Snicket is dead, and his only surviving relation is exiled to the wilderness, the chief adviser is the one slated to fill the throne." she grinned, "Do you see what I'm getting at?"
There were slow nods and murmurs, but many of the group seemed unsure still.
Collette for one, raised her hand unusually high and asked, "But...it can't be Snicket Land without Snickets."
"Exactly." said Madame Anwhistle approvingly, "It won't be Snicket Land. It will have a much better, less conceited name than the one Ezekiel Snicket gave it two generations ago."
"And what would we get in return?" asked Fernald shrewdly.
"You will get your pick of luxuries. Whether it be a seat in the new Parliament {complete with an apartment in the palace} or a small fortune to set up a residence of your own in the countryside. You'll never have to see Olaf again!"
They looked pretty happy about that prospect.
"So, my friends?" Madame Anwhistle concluded, "What do you say?"
The henchfolk conferred amongst themselves for a few moments. At last, Enya raised its head and said, "We accept."
Madame Anwhistle beamed, "Marvelous!"
BE PREPARED {from The Lion King}
Madame Anwhistle: I know that you're powers of retention, are as wet as Olaf's backside.
{she winces at Fernald picking his nose with his hook}
But thick as you are...
Pay attention!
{she thuds a dozing Collette on the head}
My words are a matter of pride.
{she stares at Kevin, who is staring raptly at her own bosom}
It's clear from your vacant expressions...
that the lights are not all on upstairs.
But we're talking Snickets and successions...
{she strokes Tocuna's cheek in an off-putting manner}
Even you can't be caught unawares!
Tocuna: Thank you.
Madame Anwhistle: I know.
{she begins doing a wild dance rather inappropriate for a woman of her age and station}
So prepare for the chance of a lifetime...
Be prepared for sensational news!
A shining new era is tiptoeing nearer...
Flo: And where do we feature?
Madame Anwhistle: {taking her face in her hand} Just listen to teacher.
I know it sounds sordid...
But you'll be rewarded!
When at last I am given my dues!
An injustice...
Enya: Hah,
Madame Anwhistle: ...deliciously squared...
Be prepared!
Tocuna: {speaking} I'm sorry. I still don't get it. How are we going to pull this of?
Madame Anwhistle: In time, my dear, in time.
{singing}
Of course, quid pro quo, you're expected to take on certain duties, of course.
The future is littered with prizes...
And though I may be the queen.
The point that I must empathize is...
Kevin: DEAR GOD, YOU SMELL LOVELY!
Madame Anwhistle: So, prepare for the coup of the century!
Be prepared for the murkiest sky!
Meticulous planning..,
Tenacious manning...
The taste of denial is simply why I'll be queen undisputed...
Respected, saluted, and seen for the wonder I am!
All: BE PREPARED!
Yes our teats and ambitions are bared...
BE PREPARED!
{wild dance party and...}
Tocuna: Well, that was fun.
CURTAIN
"Never fear. We've been in worse spots before."
Isadora looked wearily around the damp hole in the ground they were being kept in. The way to the outside was blocked by a metal grate that looked at least four decades old.
To Chubs, who had just spoken, she said, "Chubs, what can possibly be worse than being burned alive?"
Chubs considered. At length, he said, "Being forced to eat a nylon bag of spotted dick."
Both Quags opened their mouths in horror.
Chubs looked confused, "What? It's a rather ghastly pudding."
Duncan sighed, "I wouldn't mind some spotted dick at the moment. I feel half-starved."
As if in answer to his plea, a Snow Scout knelt over the grate and dumped a small bag through the slits.
"Your dinner."
He was gone in the next second.
Chubs eagerly opened the bag and withdrew their meal. It was a small tureen of pease pudding.
"What..." Isadora crinkled her nose in disgust, "What is that?"
"Pease pudding. Mother used to make it for us when she was in a hurry." Chubs looked from Duncan to Isadora, "Don't you know the rhyme?"
"No, but you don't have to—"
Too late.
"Pease pudding hot!" Chubs began in a sing-song voice, "Pease pudding cold! Pease pudding in the pot, five days old!"
Duncan examined the congealed mass in the tureen, "I'd wager that's a bit more than five days, old boy."
"Well, we have to eat, don't we?" Chubs took a single wooden spoon from the bag, "I suppose we must share a utensil."
Isadora said, "Chubs, we share an awful lot, but I really think I draw the line on saliva."
"But what about that magical evening at the Hotel Plot Twist where we kissed passionately and engaged in a furious bout of tongue wrestling?"
Isadora blushed brighter than Christmas.
Duncan was confused, "That's not canon."
"It's part of the Expanded Universe that exists in the author's head."
"I wish the author could release these Expanded Universe articles to the public!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" Chubs laughed, "Ridiculous, Duncan! It's not a proper story unless the author withholds information from his readers."
"Can we please stop destroying the fourth wall now?" asked Isadora.
"Whatever you like, darling."
And they dined.
Sunset was the best time of day in the Valley of the Four Deuces. Violet had spent the last two, or three, or maybe four sunsets here sitting on the ridge above the lake, watching the mix of yellow and orange and rich indigo waltzing in he sky, as the shadows around her lengthened to make way for the oncoming night.
Quigley had weaved her a quilt out of the soft willow branches that grew over the lake. Violet had done her part by showing him which berries he could use to dye the quilt varied colors. It was a pretty thing now, though Chubs would probably pronounce it 'garish' on the spot, because it used the color red in a shocking hue that her brother would immediately associate with 'the blood of the emrods', whatever that was.
It was peaceful here. The kind of place where one could forget everything that had ever happened to them.
"I knew I'd find you here."
Violet turned and saw Quigley making his way up to her. She patted the grass near her, "Sit down. Please."
He obliged her. They watched the horizon together.
"What is the world like?" he asked her, "Beyond the mountains?"
It wasn't the first time he had asked her, more like the third or fourth. But each time Violet told him new things about the world, so he was content.
"Well, Quigley, the world out there is a dangerous place. Dangerous but beautiful," she winced at her poetics. She was starting to sound like a prose instructor she'd had back in primary school.
"As beautiful as this place?"
Violet considered, "It depends. I've seen a lot of it, you know. The big city, and the wilderness, and the forest, and the grasslands...and each part is beautiful to look at. But it's sad too. Very sad. Desolate almost, but full of life."
She sighed, "Wow. I did not know I could sound like that."
"It's the Valley. The peace here can unlock the very deepest corners of your soul." he put a hand on her shoulder, "The soul is where beauty lies. Or at least the power to recognize beauty. Ah—" he was silent for a few minutes, and then stood up suddenly, "I suddenly have the desire to break wind. Excuse me."
He hurried off.
Well that ruined the beauty of the moment. She thought to herself. Or had it? For some reason, even a boy having to fart was made equal to eternal paradise in this place.
Weird.
Violet was brought to a new subject of contemplation. Her family and friends. Sunny was hopefully still alright. Presumably Olaf still believed them all dead and was keeping the youngest Baudelaire safe as part of his usual grand scheme. The others...Chubs, Duncan and Isadora—
Violet didn't know what had become of them when the boat had overturned. She could only hope they were okay.
Hope, hope, hope. That was the word of the day, wasn't it? She felt in the wrong, being blissfully inactive for the past few days. It wasn't fair to them. To the people she had devoted so much of herself too.
But Quigley needed her here with him. She was all he had, and he wasn't ready to leave with her. Violet didn't know if he'd ever be ready for that.
So she felt obligated to stay with him. That, and it seemed he was weaving some tight, sensual spell around her, drawing her near to him with every word he spoke, with every movement he made. They had gone rapidly past the 'hate each other' stage to the 'friendship' stage, and now seemed to be experiencing the 'belligerent sexual tension' stage.
Violet had never had to deal with sexual tension before, and she highly doubted Quigley had. Violet and Duncan had always been very open about their feelings for each other. Certainly they had never progressed to the 'sex' in sexual, but they had been happy.
And then Violet was forced to wonder...was she betraying Duncan?
Quigley was his long-lost brother. The relation Duncan and Isadora had forgotten existed due to the mechanization of their well-meaning but slightly unhinged mother.
That was it. Violet had to make a decision here and now. Would she continue to loiter here, whiling away the hours with Quigley, or would she take action, take Quigley back into the world, and reunite her family?
Violet decided she would think about it further as she sought out Quigley. Surely he had relieved himself by now.
She got up, brushed out the pleats in the dress of reeds Quigley had woven for her, and began to make her way to the little hut where Quigley kept his maps.
It shouldn't be too hard to discuss this with him. They were on reasonable enough terms now, surely, that they could act like decent adults.
She found him walking his way back to her.
"Violet." he said, surprised, "You've left the ridge." his brow furrowed, "Is something the matter?"
She meant to come right out and say it but she was frozen in her tracks by the sight of him in the moonlight. The sun had long since departed behind the western peaks, and in it's place was a clear spring night.
Something overcame her in that quietness. She opened her mouth, "I...I came here to—to tell you...t-to ask...ask you—"
Oh heaven's above, she was swooning! She felt so much lighter on her feet, the world around her swaying. How is it that just looking at him had such an effect on her?
Suddenly, she found herself being held in his arms. And then, as if to make the whole thing more perfect, Quigley opened his mouth and began to sing.
This isn't a Disney song either, but it fits the general spirit of Disney. Also it's a beautiful piece of music.
ONLY LOVE {from The Scarlet Pimpernel}
Quigley: I see...you try to turn away.
{he helps Violet to her feet}
I hear...the words you want to say.
Violet: {speaking} Oh, thank God—
Quigley: {singing} I feel...how much you need to hide—
What's happening inside you tonight.
Violet: {speaking} Good, because I have a lot to tell you—
Quigley: Come near—
My eyes one moment more—
Our eyes are different than before—
Violet: {speaking} No. Your eyes are still green.
{pause}
Gorgeously green.
Quigley: {singing} This night...so beautiful and strange—
This night begins to change who we are—
Violet: {speaking} Quigley—
Quigley: {singing} Don't turn away it's only love!
Violet: {speaking} Oh, Jeezum Crow.
Quigley: {singing} Quietly coming through you—
Whispering through you—
{they wrap their arms around each other, held tenderly in each other's gaze}
Quigley: Take my hand...it's only love.
{he kisses her hand gently}
Quigley: Let it come through you slowly—
Don't be afraid, it's only love—
{they kiss}
CURTAIN
Esme figured it was now or never. Everyone was still getting ready to dinner. She had ample time to cast the spell on Dewey, discover what she needed to know, and then pretend it had never happened.
As much to give her inspiration as to entice Dewey to her, Esme had put on her neglige and had spritzed herself with lavender oil.
Dewey emerged from the toilet, dressed for dinner, with that ridiculous mask of his covering those mysterious scars. Well, that wouldn't be mysterious for very long.
When he saw how she was dressed, he paused, "Esme! You're not dressed."
"I figured we had time for a little...something, something...before we go to the ballroom." she whispered delicately in his ear, "I'm not wearing underwear."
"Disgusting! Esme, for heaven's sake, they'll hear us!"
Oh. She hadn't thought of that.
"You're absolutely sure? Because I am in the mood."
"I am very sure. I've been embarrassed enough today."
He started to leave, but Esme hurried to him and took his hands in hers.
"Sorry, sorry...about that." she spoke very carefully, "I didn't mean to sound like a trollop."
Huh. Reverse psychology did work.
At once they were lying, him on top of her, on the bed.
"Wait! Wait!" she panted as he attempted to remove his trousers, "W-we're only rated T!"
That was the incantation. It worked too. Dewey went slack jawed, staring at her in a vapid trance.
"Now, Dewey...I'm going to ask you some questions. Is that alright?"
He nodded slowly.
"Good. Where did you get your scars?"
Dramatic background music played at an extremely high frequency, and—
"Do you suppose this will go well?"
Kit was standing at her vanity mirror, putting some finishing touches on her makeup.
"It's just that we're hosting this gang of backstabbing, murdering, thieving wretches and I can't help feeling that putting them all in the same room after what happened last night—"
"I AM THE PHANTOM OF THE HOTEL!"
Kit rolled her eyes to see Olaf capering around the room wrapped in a sheet with half a paper plate taped to his face.
"Really, that is so immature it isn't even funny."
"It is to me." said Olaf smugly, "Say, Kitty.."
"Don't call me that—"
"...we ought to put some time aside between looking for that old bat Alice to find that Chamber Pot. I bet Plot Twist keeps it in right in his personal quarters!"
"Olaf, I'm telling you now, if you bother Dewey at all this weekend, I'll have your blood for sausages."
"Oh yes?" Olaf draped himself over the bed and stroked his abdomen, "My blood is most delicious."
That was it. Kit left the room.
I'm sure you're very glad that you didn't have to wait very long for this next scene. No sooner had Esme asked the question did she find herself transported to the inner recesses of Dewey's mind. Well, she wasn't physically present, merely a subconsciously conjured version of her that had been transported into Dewey's brain.
And now that that logical fallacy has been overcome...
The projection around Esme was that of a damp, cold cavern with a lake. The spot under the Hotel Plot Twist where Dewey had hidden in the months between his flight from the public eye and the destruction of the hotel.
Esme sat herself comfortably in a chintz armchair that stood near a tea trolly. Eventually Dewey would show up, or else this scene wouldn't be in his memory.
And here he was, sliding down the chute that Esme knew connected to the hotel's laundry room. He was not wearing his mask, and Esme saw, for the first time in so long, the beautiful face she had fallen in love with.
Dewey looked around the cavern, heaved a heavy sigh, and walked toward the tea set where Esme was sitting. At first, she worried that he had seen her, but she reminded herself that that was completely impossible since...
"ARGH!"
Dewey had sat in the chair she was sitting. Since Esme wasn't actually present., his rump sank through her legs onto the seat, and Esme was treated to a hideous view of Dewey's brain and vital organs.
She jumped to her feet and assumed a position near the trolly so she could properly watch what Dewey did next, which was this:
He moved a pot cover from a tray on the trolly, revealing none other than...the marvelous, sensational, oh-so-secretive Chamber Pot.
Esme leaned forward with anticipation, knowing that what she saw now would forever change the way she looked at Dewey.
But Esme felt she must have missed something. She was only aware of Dewey opening the Chamber Pot {might she get to see what was inside?} and suddenly, there was the sound of Dewey screaming in terror but not the sight.
Esme suddenly found herself lying on the bed again, Dewey on top of her, kissing her as if intent to suck out all the oxygen in her lungs.
"Oh my God." Esme panted, slowly pushing Dewey off her, "T rating, dear. Remember?" but she said it with only half the feeling she wished it had,
"Is...is something wrong, Esme?"
"No. No." Esme looked into his eyes, "Dewey. I—I'm sorry. For bothering you about your scars. I...understand it must be a very...difficult subject for you."
She went for his mask and removed it carefully, setting it aside on the sheets beside them.
Dewey flinched, as if unused to going about 'naked faced'. But he didn't complain. He asked, "Why the sudden change of heart?"
"Um—just promise me one thing, Dewey."
"Name it."
"Destroy the Chamber Pot. Destroy it."
Dewey looked completely surprised by this request. He slowly picked himself up and got to his feet. His eyes moved slowly around the room, until, entirely by chance, they came to rest on the Zimmerie lying on the dresser.
His eyes widened in sudden realization.
And then the bell rang for dinner.
Madame Anwhistle knew a distraught woman when she saw one. She had been forced to deal with so many in her time as headzykstress.
Thus, when Kit Snicket entered the ballroom {exquisitely prepared for dinner and dancing by Hugo, Colette and Kevin}, looking like she was drowning in that black maternity gown of her hers, and flushed with tears that would not emerge, Madame Anwhistle knew she could learn some important information.
That, ladies and gentlemen, was a run on sentence. Beware of them.
The only other guests currently in the ballroom were Lemony, who was double dipping wafers into the guacamole and eating them with relish, and Lucy Tench, who looked absolutely out of place without the Blackwoodshires around to make her life hell.
Madame Anwhistle hoped that Olaf's associates were honest in their wishes to help with her proposed coup. She hadn't yet planned out all the steps, but it would be wise to get as much done here at the chateau as possible, while they were away from the prying eyes of the media.
The media which, indeed, Madame Anwhistle controlled. But only to some extent, considering her Press Secretary duties had been largely abandoned in favor of her Personal Adviser ones in recent years.
She went over to Kit and, like a teacher going to an upset student, began with a, "You're pregnant dear, so I know it can't be the monthly curse."
Kit turned around to face Madame Anwhistle and said, slowly, "...What?"
"I see you are trying not to cry. What is wrong? You can tell me dear, I shan't treat you any the worse for it."
"Oh. You want to know what's wrong, Madame?"
"I would much appreciate that, yes."
"Everything's wrong!" Kit threw her hands in the air, "And I know I shouldn't get upset or I run the risk of killing my baby, but..." she groaned, "Everyone's just being so insufferable!"
"By 'everyone' I assume you mean Olaf."
Kit opened her mouth to say something, changed her mind, and said something completely different instead, "It is Olaf. I...I thought I could change him, you know."
Madame Anwhistle nodded in the way that a wise older woman would when listening to the inner thought of a troubled younger woman. Kit was opening up to her fairly easily. People tended to do that around her. She had an aura of friendliness around her.
Not to mention a great figure for her age, but that was beside the point.
Kit went on, "But no! I'm nothing but...but property to him! Can you believe it? Can you honestly believe it? After all I went through to track him down again. After all I sacrificed to actually come back to this place!" She waved her hands expressively around the ballroom, indicating the whole chateau.
"I hate him. I hate him and I hate having to listen to him! He's sick and twisted and evil and—"
She broke off and stifled a sob with her hand. Madame Anwhistle patted her former pupil's arm comfortingly.
If Kit was angry at Olaf...well that could very well help out in the long run.
"There, there, my dear, my darling, my child." said Madame Anwhistle, roughly reminded of when she had said the same words to her real child. The traitor. She hoped she never had to see her again.
"All happens for the best. Maybe fate is telling you, in her special way, that the time is come to move on and—"
"'Eavesdropping' is a word which here means—"
"Lemony!" said Madame Anwhistle harshly, instantly spotting the Snicket hiding behind a pillar, "Can't you show your sister some respect?"
"She is no family of mine!"
"It's alright, Madame." said Kit, gathering her skirts, "I have to see that dinner is finished anyway."
She left. Lemony went to his adviser and offered her a biscuit that had already been dunked in hot cocoa and bitten several times.
"Would you like one? They're ripping good."
Madame Anwhistle rolled her eyes and went to the other side of the room.
As Kit was going down the hall, she found herself crashing headlong into someone.
"Oh! Oh..." she grabbed onto a nearby Classical sculpture—that clashed heavily with the style of the house—to steady herself. And then she noticed who it was.
"Sorry...Kit." he quickly adjusted the mask on his face, as it was coming loose, "I was lost in my own thoughts."
They stood in the hall, staring at each other for a minute or two, and then Kit could bear it no longer. She fell into his arms and began to weep.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry—" she hiccuped loudly and quickly straightened up, "I shouldn't have gone to him, I should have gone back to you. I left you alone—I ruined everything!"
Dewey hushed her by placing his hand on the baby bump, "Don't. The baby gets upset as you do. We don't want any harm to come to it."
This was the first Dewey had directly referenced the baby since he had been here. Kit said, "You know what Olaf calls my...our child? He calls it 'Dewey Spawn', as if you're the devil come to kill us all. He doesn't understand how important being pregnant is to me."
Dewey waited a bit to speak, "Esme has betrayed me. She has betrayed my trust. She has done something I didn't believe she was capable of."
"Esme?" Kit chuckled drily, "Esme's capable of a lot. She has so many faces. Always willing to sell her soul to whoever requires it at the time. The government, the public, Olaf...you. We have something in common," she sighed, "We were both used in some stupid 'rebound effect' romance like a pair of...of sixteen year old children! Esme and Olaf each used us. Can you believe I was fooled into thinking Olaf would come back to me?"
"He'd have been mad not to choose you."
"Yes, because I helped him escape the police in the Hinterlands. At the risk, I remind you, of being arrested myself and executed."
"The house is full of more criminals than you can shake a stick at." Dewey smiled, "I'm sorry I didn't come to you. Part of me wanted to resolve things with Esme Squalor. Look how that turned out."
"Well, maybe now, things will be different. Maybe we can wait until all these people are gone. And I'll get rid of Olaf somehow...and we can raise a child together here. In my ancestral home." she sighed, "Let's take this slow, okay? I don't want to pull the rebound card and end up looking as stupid as Olaf must have when he came to me."
"You'd have thought our hostess would be here to announce the start of 'dinner and dancing'." Lady Blackwoodshire was not impressed with the quality of the food on the sideboard, nor with the orchestra, which was composed of Olaf's henchmen, none of whom the Lady supposed could play any instruments. Except each other.
Ew.
Lord Blackwoodshire was twirling the stem of a champagne glass between two fingers and humming snatches of HMS: Pinafore to himself. Lady Blackwoodshire rolled her eyes and waved Madame Anwhistle over.
"Josephine, dear. How are you faring?"
"Hush, hush, Elnora." Madame Anwhistle whispered the Lady's first name, surprising her somewhat. The adviser looked at Lord Blackwoodshire and said, "Excuse us, please." before pulling Lady Elnora Blackwoodshire, Esquire {try saying that five times fast} into a nook under the stairs to the ballroom terrace.
"We must talk business and we must talk it now. Why did Count Olaf invite you and your husband here?"
Lady Blackwoodshire smiled drily, "Oh, that's what the secrecy's all about? You needn't fear, Josephine, I shan't betray your interests. I have no idea why that effeminate idiot wanted Florine and I here."
"Hm. Then I suppose you don't have any allegiance to Olaf as yet?"
"Certainly not. If you've an offer, Florine and I will be glad to take it."
"I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime. Get ready for this sensational news—"
"Have you gotten hitched at last?"
"No." Madame Anwhistle drew herself up very primly and said, "I have indoctrinated Olaf's gang of misfit followers, who are going to help me overthrow Lemony Snicket. And possibly his sister."
Lady Blackwoodshire {or are we allowed to call her 'Elnora', now? Well, I'm going to call her Elnora} raised her eyebrows.
"You don't say, Jo? Well that's certainly a much more lucrative business than whatever Olaf has planned. I suppose you'd like the help of a high standing peeress, such as myself."
"It's not because of your social position, Elnora, it's because of certain other resources you have up your sleeve."
"And what, pray tell, are these resources?"
"Don't kid with me, dear." Madame Anwhistle whispered as quietly as she could while still being heard, "The Great Unknown."
Sunny was drowning in her dress. Literally. The thing was three sizes too big, though Enya had given her a pair of scissors with which to do some tailoring.
Sunny found her teeth to be a more ready tool in helping her out of this task.
"Sucks!" she gagged, hacking some lint and fabric out of her lungs.
"Zedekiah!" she grumbled to herself, meaning, "I'm through with men! Olaf especially. I won't let him get the better of me tonight!"
"That's what you know, dear."
Sunny screamed herself nearly out of her skin. She turned around to behold a stout, matronly woman with a round face and pleasant blue eyes.
"Who you?"
"I'm the spirit of love and happiness, darling."
"Oh." which meant, "So, what are you selling?"
"You may call me Beverley Elliott."
"Wad ya want?"
"I have come to change your destiny, as well as those of the others in this house tonight." she shook her head mournfully, "The world we live in is so devoid of love these days."
"Hah!" which meant, "Tell me about it, sister!"
"Sunny, you must return to Wibbledear."
"Who?"
Beverley Elliott cocked a brow, "You didn't know? That's Count Olaf's first name. He hasn't gone by it in years, so don't mention it to his face."
"Whoa." which meant, "No wonder he's so antisocial. But why do I have to go back to him?"
"Because he needs you, Sunny. He needs you to help him heal. He is a very confused, misguided, and moronic man."
"Totes." which meant, "Yeah, I know. The man's half out of his mind."
"Kit Snicket is, as we speak, learning the error of her ways in choosing Olaf and is returning to Dewey Plot Twist."
"Ooh!" which meant, "New gossip! Tres scandalous, darling!"
"You must help Olaf realize the truth: that you and he were made for each other! That all his other sexual pursuits are deeply unhealthy."
"Unhealthy?" which meant, "I'm two, lady! Ain't that a bit weird?"
"Not by my standards. I've seen much worse. But please, consider what I'm saying. You'll have a chance to reignite the spark tonight at the dance. Choose wisely."
And then she was gone, all in an instant.
"Coolio—" breathed Sunny.
But, she realized, what would she do, and how would she do it?
"And a one and a two and a one, two, three—"
The henchfolk struck up the music. By music, we refer to a tinny, shrieky, generally unpleasant sound created by—
1. Fernald strumming a cello with his hooks, causing the strings to bend and scratch each other in terrible ways.
2. Enya slamming its hands on the timpani {a kind of large drum} without any rhythm and creating a dissonant cacophony
3. Flo and Tocuna working the tambourine and triangle respectively. Actually, they weren't that bad, but the pleasant tinkling sounds were drowned out by the other instruments
The freaks had wanted to join, or at least Collete had, but they had been assigned 'buffet duty'. And, either way, we have more important things to discuss than Hugo's awful cooking.
Lemony extended his hand to Madame Anwhistle, "Shall we dance?"
To which Madame Anwhistle replied, kindly, "Up yours."
Lemony nodded, this being a usual exchange had at state dinner parties.
"I do love this song, though." said Lemony wistfully.
Said song was this...
"When I wake—" chorused Enya, mascara drizzling down its face, "My deepest inclinations betray my worst intentions and I need—"
"Need!" chorused Flo and Tocuna.
"—To blow my bloody brains out, Good Lord this revolver smells like trout—"
Fernald joined in, "If only we could go gavotte!"
They all joined in, "Someday!"
"What the hell is this rubbish?" whispered Lady Blackwoodshire to her husband.
"It's New Age Punk mixed with hit Country." replied the man, "I believe Count Olaf wrote it himself."
And it showed.
"Sometimes I cannot get about without the ladies giving a shout—"
The white-faced duo: "Bloody hell, good sir, you're hot!"
"My life is oh so miserable!"
That ended the first number. Lemony was in tears, blowing his nose into a handkerchief.
"So...so very touching!" he sobbed, "A tale of forbidden love, darkest passions, and incest!"
Madame Anwhistle gave him a strange look before going to help herself to some crab legs at the buffet.
Esme stood alone in the corner, trying not to make her appearance too public. She was more than embarrassed about what had transpired earlier. She felt she really had let Dewey down terribly. She had betrayed the trust he had put so implicitly in her. The very trust she herself had wanted so much from him.
Well, it wouldn't be the first time she acted like a hypocrite. She just wished that Chamber Pot would be destroyed. Whatever was kept inside it had the power to burn the flesh from a man's face. Half the face, technically speaking, but that was still unspeakably horrid. And, though she had seen it only as though in a dream, Esme knew she would never forget the scream Dewey had issued when he opened the Chamber Pot.
How terrible...how awful to see such uncontrolled horror and pain come from him, whom she had always thought so composed and calculated! She had only seen him very angry once, not too long ago. That morning, in the Hinterlands, when she had first pulled away that mask to see his scars.
He had been fury incarnate.
Dewey was right now standing across the room, practically blending in with the woodwork. Esme couldn't bring herself to go to him. As much as she wanted to apologize, she knew he would reject it at this point. And he had every reason to.
But where was the other man from her past? Surely he would be at Kit's side...
A collective gasp went around the room. At once, everyone's eyes were turned up to the balcony, on which Sunny Baudelaire had just appeared, clad in a dress of pure silk, the color of newly turned lilac leaves.
Olaf had appeared on the landing below her, wearing knee-high marching boots and black and gold brocaded military fatigues.
Good Lord! Those were Dewey's fatigues, from his short stint as Captain of the Guard. He brought them everywhere he went, as a reminder of the life he could have lived.
And Sunny's green dress...it could only be a gown of Kit's, trimmed expertly down to size with the aid of the infant's teeth!
And suddenly, as if on cue, the band struck up a second number, and Tocuna began to sing.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST {from, obviously, Beauty and the Beast}
{Sunny begins descending the stairs, to take Olaf's hand}
Tocuna: Tale as old as time...
True as it can be...
Barely even friends...
Then somebody bends...
Flo: Unexpectedly!
{Sunny and Olaf have reached the floor, and begun to dance, the only couple there}
Kit: The audacity! The...the nerve!
Madame Anwhistle: Dear me, girl, they're making a mockery of your entire life!
{she sips some Port}
Madame Anwhistle: And doing a bang-on job of it, too.
Tocuna: Certain as the sun...
Rising in the east.
Tale as old as time...
Song as old as rhyme...
Beauty and the beast.
Kit: That's it! I refuse to just stand on the sidelines watching this!
{she goes to Dewey, an understanding passes between them, and...the song changes, as does the mood, as Kit and Dewey begin to dance}
WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO {as sung by the Queen of Disco 'Donna Summer'}
Tocuna: What would I have to do...
To get you to notice me too?
Olaf: {to Sunny, of the band} The traitors! Whose side are they on, anyway?
Sunny: Zanfriedi! {don't fret! We'll out dance them...Sunlaf style!}
Flo: Do I wait in line?
One in a million admiring eyes?
Take an airplane way up high...
And write my name across the sky?
Both Ladies: I just want to let you know...
When I get my hands on you I won't let go?
Kit: Well..,here goes nothing.
{she executes a pregnant woman split. The crowd applauds}
Both Ladies: THIS TIME I KNOW IT'S FOR REAL!
Lady Blackwoodshire: I am not about to be shown up by that hussy! Come on, husband!
{they join in. again, the song changes}
THE COCONUT SONG {as sung by Danny Kaye}
Fernald: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts—
Here they are a-standing in a row—
Kit: What the hell is that?
Fernald: Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head...
It's fine to know—
Olaf throws a bottle at him, knocking him out.
Olaf: STOP OVERIDING ME!
CURTAIN
A/N: And that's that. A healthy helping of plot twists, new developments, secrets revealed, and all that other good stuff. If you're wondering where 'Beverely Elliott' came from, the name is derived from a singer/actress who I admire. You can Google her, if you're interested. Now, though I hope I can be this lucky with the update again, I can't make any guarantees either, so I'll leave off by bidding you my heartfelt goodbyes and entreating you to please review. {puppy-dog eyes}
Toodles.:)