Chapter 7, In Which the Subplot and the Main Plot Become so Hopelessly Entangled That We Can No Longer Tell Which is Which

Disclaimer: It seems that, whenever I do a clever disclaimer, I end up not updating for half a year. Let's...let's just suffice it to say that I don't own A Series of Unfortunate Events. Wow. Sometimes it is just easier to say it like it is.

A/N: Hi, guys and girls! Yes, I know...you probably all want to talk turns killing me since it's now been over a year since Book 6 was started and we're still smack dab in the middle of the story. Well, here's the good news. Besides this being Chapter 7, I have the other chappies up through number 10 already written, and I hope to have the last three finished before too long. It's just been a bit hectic at home what with college applications and all that. {the ominous approach of real life is just TERRIFYING!:O}

Suffice it to say, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter and, on behalf of Plot Murderer #1 and myself, we wish you all a happy rest of your summer.

The guards came for them at midnight. Isadora, Duncan, and Chubs found themselves being hauled out of the hole in the ground and led through the silent city of the Snow Scouts.

"What is to become of us now?" Chubs wondered.

"Your execution, knave!" barked one of the guards, jabbing his spear in the small of Chubs' back. The brilliant boy Baudelaire yelped rather loudly and placed his hands on the spot.

"May we at least be informed why you're burning us on a pyre like...like sacrificial sausages?"

Isadora squeezed his hand to shut him up. It didn't work.

"No, really. I demand an answer, you savage!"

The guard's blank, masked face, leered close to Chubs, "You are to be executed for trespassing on Snow Scout soil, for insulting the Snow Scout people, and for bringing dishonor on the great seer Barbara Ross!"

"I hope you do realize," said Duncan, "That 'Barbara Ross' is, in reality, mother to Isadora and I!"

"Nonsense! The great seer Barbara Ross is too wise, too powerful, to have borne children such as you!"

Isadora whispered to the boys, "I'm still not getting this. What exactly is 'wise' and 'powerful' about Alice?"

"Perhaps she has been sleeping with the Snow Scouts to curry favor with them." suggested Chubs. Isadora gagged and Duncan reddened with embarrassment saying, "Well...now, my boy, that's a bit far, don't you think?"

"How's your wound?" Isadora asked him as they were led to a large stone arena of sorts on the edge of the village.

"Not too bad, actually." Duncan felt the spot and cringed only slightly, "I might soon be able to execute some 'hurls' and 'cartwheels'."

Isadora nodded though at this point she wasn't really listening to him, as something else demanded her attention.

They were standing now in a circular complex with high stone walls that seemed to be carved from the slopes of the mountains themselves. Solid benches jutted out of the sides of the ring, carved out of the walls that were carved out of the mountain. Sitting on these benches were dozens of Snow Scouts: men, women and children, some wearing masks but more going naked faced.

Naked faced? Try using that one in everyday conversation.

In the center of the great stadium was a shallow pit filled with the gray, dry soil of the mountain regions as well as chunks of gritty black dust.

"That's a fire pit." Chubs informed them quietly, "Wood fire, to be precise. We'll cook like summer steaks."

A platform stood above the pit. On the platform were two grand chairs made of a bronze-looking metal. In one chair sat Alice, still clad in her ridiculous 'Barbara Ross' attire. In the chair next to her was someone our heroes were not expecting to see.

"Are these the prisoners brought to stand judgment?" the someone said in a deep, carrying voice.

"My word!" gasped Chubs, bowing his head a bit in respect, "Hello, Sir."

Violet opened her eyes, her head feeling considerably more level. She was lying in Quigley's little hut, spread out on on the bed which was {like everything else in this place} woven out of reeds and rushes from the stream.

The first thing she noticed was that she was naked. And then she remembered what had transpired earlier, leading to this nakedness.

And I thought I'd promised to stay away from the 'horny teenager' thing. For some reason that had always been Chubs' job with Isadora.

I'm the oldest of three siblings and yet both of them have had sex multiple times before me. That certainly couldn't be a good sign for them or for her.

She saw her dress was neatly folded and placed in the corner. Had Quigley done that? Well, of course he must have. No one else lived here.

She heard footsteps in the grass outside. Wrapping herself in Quigley's reed blanket Violet proceeded, barefoot, out into the cool night. She saw him walking, with soft steps, around the hut, a big stick in his hand. He was tracing pictures in the earth.

"Hi." she greeted him, pushing her hair {which had a very strong, sensual smell to it} away from her face so he could see her smile.

What do you say to your lover after having sex? Thank you certainly wouldn't suffice and Violet doubted something like You got another one in you, tiger? would float very well with either of them.

Oh, wouldn't Carmelita Spats love to be here now, she thought. After all, Quigley was really the mirror image of Duncan, albeit sexier in that 'rugged and adventurous' kind of way. But Carmelita was traipsing around the country with those two charming boys from the other dimension.

Violet hoped she never saw her again.

Quigley looked up to her and grinned. He had pretty decent teeth for someone who'd lived alone in the wilderness for a decade. Fish and greens must be good for dental, then. Violet made a mental note to tell Chubs about this, if she ever saw him again. He'd wanted for a long time to fix his teeth, which of late had been the color of old paper.

He, Quigley that is, leaned the stick against the hut and went over to her.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, that smile—so much like Duncan's, but at the same time more...more confident, somehow—lighting up his face. He put a hand in her hair and let a few strands of it slip through his fingers, "You seemed pretty tired after the—um—after the thing we did."

Violet smiled, she was afraid a bit sheepishly, "I slept very well, thanks."

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked suddenly.

"To eat? No thanks, I'm fine."

"Oh. It's just that I thought...I thought people did that after...relations and things."

Did they? Violet didn't know. She'd never thought it appropriate to ask Chubs or Isadora about their bedroom activities and as for Sunny...Violet rarely even referred to Sunny and Olaf's relationship for fear of bringing her lunch up her throat.

"If you want we could go to the lake and catch some salmon; make our own 'relations dinner'."

Quigley beamed, "Great idea!" he picked up the stick and tossed it through the doorway into the hut, "I was just sketching plans for another map." he pointed in an offhand way at the patterns in the dirt which Violet could see, with some attention, resembled contours in a geology textbook.

"A map of what?" she asked, fetching her dress from the hut and pulling it over her shoulders. {what did modesty matter in the present company, anyway?}

"A map of the outer lands." said Quigley as they began to make their way to the lake, "You know: the world beyond the Great Sea."

"Oh. But how do you know what the outer lands look like?" she quickly added, "I mean, no one's ever been there and come back."

"Well, it's a speculative map!" they were walking down the pebble strewn bed toward the lake, "I personally believe there are a bunch of islands out there in the sea."

"You mean like Cape Bugaboo?" ventured Violet, referring to a popular vacation resort off the coast of Dirty Bastard.

"Farther than Cape Bugaboo." Quigley was undoing his tunic, sucking in air, "Much farther. The place where, for instance, Eleazar Snicket came from with his family three generations ago."

"Oh, you mean the mysterious heavenly perch from which our ruling family claims to have descended." Violet chuckled letting her toes burrow under the pebbles, savoring the cold smoothness of them against her skin, "I always thought that whole 'magical hot air balloon' thing was a big fat lie."

Quigley shrugged, "Nevertheless, one day I'd like to find out the truth behind it."

Without further ado, he got a running start and dove head first into the lake. Violet shrieked a bit at the suddenness of it all, and at the cold spray of freshwater that splashed up to her. She waited, silent, for about a minute, her eyes never wavering from the big underwater blur she assumed was Quigley.

When her friend/lover/fellow castaway resurfaced, he held in his hands a wriggling Swervy Salmon which he tossed to Violet who caught it at once but almost dropped it due to the slippery, clammy feeling of its scaly flesh.

"You have to squeeze it 'till it stops moving." Quigley informed her before disappearing under the water again.

Violet was reluctant to carry out these orders and was wondering how Quigley could possibly refer to the act of killing an animal so casually. Then she realized he must have come close to starving more than once in his early days, out here all alone after the collapse of the ZYK HQ.

So she held the salmon until it passed away. When she was sure it was dead she murmured a quick "Thanks for being our dinner." to it and placed it in her lap.

Quigley quickly returned with another fish which he brought to the surface and killed in less than a minute.

"Now," he said, shaking the water out of his long locks, "Do you want to eat here on the beach or at the hut?"

Violet didn't have to think for a very long time. Looking up at the stars in the sky and their light reflected in the shores of the lake, she answered, "Here's fine."

So Quigley set about gathering driftwood to make a cooking fire. He produced a small stone arrowhead from a pocket of his tunic and handed it to Violet.

"You don't mind skinning the fish, do you?"

"Oh! Um...No. I don't mind at all."

She did but she didn't want to further humiliate herself. It actually wasn't a hard job, just a bit messy and a bit more smelly. While they were both pursuing their duties Violet said, "You know, I could help you make some fishing rods. It's easier and safer."

"That would be a nice gesture, Violet, but I couldn't get used to something like that." He dropped a heap of dry twigs on the ground before her, "I've been doing this for too long."

He eyed the fish which Violet had so painstakingly skinned.

"You didn't do too badly." he said with approval, "Let me just help you finish."

She was only too glad to let him take the fish from her and sheer off the last scales. She asked him, "What you said earlier...about finding out where the Snickets come from..."

"What about it?"

"I thought you never wanted to leave here."

"Wrong, though I can see where you got the misconception from." He handed her two pieces of flint, also from his tunic, "You can make a fire, can't you?"

"Of course." She'd done it many times in her inventing pursuits. While Violet rubbed the stones neatly against each other, hoping to give birth to a spark, Quigley continued.

"I didn't want to go back into Snicket Land. Back into that hive mind, that collective bustle of sheep all kowtowing before that stupid figurehead in the Palace. The Great Sea, and the lands beyond it, are completely different things. Haven't you ever looked at the world you live in, that you've grown up in, and thought that there must be more?"

Violet smiled as a spark came forth from the flint and lit the heap of firewood ablaze. She placed the cold fish flesh on a stone tablet and held it over the fire. {Quigley showed her how to settle it on two larger sticks so she didn't have to bend over the fire the whole time}

She said, "I have thought about it; I think everyone has. But unlike most people I've gotten...some kind of proof."

Quigley's eyes lit up, "Proof? What do you mean?"

"Only a week or so ago I met these two brothers. They had some kind of...weird amnesia; could only remember little pieces of their lives. They had funny names too. I thought about it and it seems to make sense that they come from another place. I don't know if it's the same place as the Snickets or if it's over the Sea at all. But it's far away, that's certain."

Quigley was definitely interested, "And what happened to these brothers?"

"They went off to see the Snicket. I tried to convince them otherwise but...maybe if your theory is right, that Lemony and his family do come from another land...maybe it was the best thing to do."

She sighed and they were quiet for a little bit, with only the crackle of the fire and the comforting smell of cooking salmon to entertain them.

Then Quigley said, "You're not like the others. At least not the ones I've known."

"What?" Violet was caught off guard, her mind returning quickly back to the present, "What others?"

"I know my exposure to other people has been...pretty limited...but I feel you're different from them. You're not just some drone working away in the hive, caring for nothing but to get your work done. The people I knew in ZYK were like that. They lived to serve the higher ups, who lived to serve the higher ups, and so on and so forth going on to whoever was the Highest Up. I never did figure it out. From what I gathered the 'normal' people, the people in Dirty Bastard and other places were like that too, only they listened to their own higher ups who deferred to the Snickets. But you aren't like that. You're very much your own."

"Thank you," said Violet, "But I think I'm more stubborn than unique or independent. When my parents were..." she paused. She'd been about to say 'alive', but she remembered the story of her Aunt Olivia and the story of the murderous snake Howard. Her father might still be alive though there wasn't much she could do about it now, "...when they were around I barely ever listened to them. I was a pain, probably. My mother had her own problems, hosting society dinners and that kind of thing. She worked for ZYK too, but I only found that out recently. And my dad was a pushover anyway. The only people I've really had to take care of were my siblings." she sighed again, smiling in a well, that's the way of the world sort of way at Quigley, "But they have their own plans, you know? They grew up...way too fast."

It was strange to hear herself saying that. As though she was the mother of Chubs and Sunny, not their sister. But it was true. Sunny wasn't even three and she had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who was...well...Olaf. And Chubs was living the life of a vicarious millionaire, traveling the world—albeit as an outlaw—on the arm of a beautiful woman he slept with on a regular basis.

Suddenly Violet felt very old; very old indeed.

"I'm sure you're a marvelous sister." Quigley assured her, "I never did get much of a chance to be a marvelous brother. I don't know if I'd leap at the opportunity if it presented itself, though. From what you say Duncan and Isadora have gotten on pretty well without me."

Violet nodded, "I guess you could say that. I still think they'd love to meet you."

And then Quigley surprised her.

"Maybe. Eventually. Not now, though." he tossed some sand on the fire, snuffing it out, "Now we have a late dinner to enjoy."

And they did enjoy it.

With the 'dancing' portion of the evening done the 'dinner' part began. It was just as bad, if not worse, than dinner the first night.

Olaf and Sunny sat together with the latter perched on a worn copy of the Encyclopedia Snickanica so she could reach the dish of creamed corn Colette had prepared just for her. Olaf made a point of chewing very loudly and saying things like, "This truly is the happiest day of my life! Indeed, there is nothing I want more than this absolute happiness!"

The Blackwoodshires remained at their end of the table. The Lady, Elnora if you need reminding, was looking covertly at Madame Anwhistle, pondering over their earlier discussion. The Lord, Florine, was more concerned with eating the roast horned buffalo that graced the platter before him. Occasionally he would bark an order to Lucy; something like, "Fetch me my oyster fork!" {he used the tool to pick his teeth} or, "Rub my shoulders!"

Lucy carried out the demands in her usual silent way, obedient as a dog. None of the other guests had really taken a measure of this girl. There wasn't much to her from their approximation.

Madame Anwhistle and Lemony were still at their places. Madame was not eating, but ponderously looking at different people in the room. First her eyes would settle on Elnora Blackwoodshire, then on Enya, then on Fernald, then on Kevin, then on Kit, and then on Esme.

She was thinking, in her sharp, analytic mind, how best to use each of these people to further her own ends. Next to her, Lemony was humming to himself as he heartily consumed his shank of meat. He had little worries at this point in time and was thinking mainly about tomorrow, when he intended to go skating.

Kit and Dewey sat at the head of the table. Kit did not even touch her food, instead sitting with her hand on her belly and her eyes on the mountain landscape outside. Sometimes she would put her other hand on Dewey's and smile at him, maybe a tad indulgently. She was more reassured by his presence than she was threatened by everyone else.

Dewey caressed Kit's arm, but the action was more mechanical than anything else. He was staring at Esme who was alone at the extreme end of the table, eating slowly and morosely. How could she have betrayed him so? How could she probe his mind, his most private thoughts? She was nothing but an air-head trying to play the game of a family woman, a master criminal, a society dame all at once. How could he ever have loved her?

Esme herself was ridden both by guilt and anger. Guilt at what she'd done to Dewey and anger at what Dewey had done to her. Could it be more obvious that as soon as she and Dewey broke it off, he appeared arm in arm with Kit, dancing like sex-crazed teenagers?

She sawed through her leg of meat and swallowed a morsel, chewing it with distaste. She no longer wanted to eat anything made in Kit's kitchen.

Finally the stress could be tolerated no longer. Tocuna jumped out of her seat like a shot and screamed, "WHY CAN'T WE JUST SIT DOWN AND HAVE A NORMAL MEAL TOGETHER? THIS ISN'T A SOAP OPERA, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"

Her head in her hands, she ran out of the room bawling all the way. Flo stood up next, "I'll go calm her down."

Enya countered that, "As will I. She needs a good slap upside the face if she's to recover."

They both left. Madame Anwhistle stood up next, spreading her arms wide and announcing, "Excellent dinner, Kit. My digestion will be delighting in throes of ecstasy for some time yet." She practically marched out of the room but as she did her hand brushed up almost imperceptibly against the back of Esme's neck.

The message was made clear to her. Since the others in the room were making a fuss over clearing the plates Esme picked up her evening bag and hurried out of the dining room. She met Madame Anwhistle in a small parlor just off the smoking room.

"What do you want?" she asked the moment the door was closed. Madame Anwhistle smoothed some creases out of her black gown and said, "Only a chance to speak with my old protege. Maybe, I thought to myself, I could get a chance to redeem you. To bring you back to the light and the public that so adores you."

"The public has nothing I want and I have nothing they want, Madame. I refuse to get tangled up in any more controversies. I think I've had more than enough."

"Yes, you always do seem intent on 'avoiding controversy'. It never does seem to work though, does it? No, my dear. Your problem comes entirely out of the company you keep. Think back to your school days: you were always palling around with that absolute fiend the Wicked B*tch of the West! A good thing that's over—"

"She was my friend."

"Oh? Yes, I know she was. That is precisely my point. You keep running into trouble by 'hanging with the wrong crowd' as the younger generation ostensibly puts it. Olivia Caliban, Count Olaf, Dewey Plot Twist...face it, my dear. You were most safe, most comfortable, most trouble-free when you were living with me at the palace. Come home, dear. I miss you so. Lemony's absolutely bonkers. He'll drive me to drink, let me tell you." she smiled hopefully, her wrinkled face looking suddenly much younger, "Don't worry about your criminal past. The whole of Snicket Land thinks you've been kidnapped by Dewey Plot Twist. I am the Press Secretary, dear, you must remember. All I have to do is spread some story about how we saved you from his secluded hideaway in the Dandruff Mountains and brought you back to Dirty Bastard. No harm will come to anyone."

"Madame Anwhistle, it's not like I don't appreciate your gesture, I just don't take it seriously. You deceived me before, and when you did deceive me I ended up losing a very dear friend of mine."

Beatrice's face flashed through her mind. Beatrice, her old school companion and mother of the children Olaf so wanted to kill.

Esme went on, moving around the small room, coming to rest at a spot by the window.

"If this is all a ploy to get your precious book of magic back I'm afraid I can't help you." she looked out at the snowy landscape and hoped her lie sounded genuine, "I burned it this morning."

"Burned it?" Madame Anwhistle's voice was at once very grave, "You burned the Zimmerie?"

"Yes, Madame. That book has brought nothing but bad fortune to myself, to Olivia, to Dewey, to everyone I have ever cared about. And, considering what Jacob Snicket did when it was in his care I really didn't want to see it fall into the hands of his idiot son."

Madame Anwhistle stood up and came to Esme at the window.

"It would have taken much mettle to even consider burning such an ancient, such a powerful source of arcana." she said, her tone measured, "As such, I shan't lose my temper. This act only proves you are just the type of person I need at my side. Esme, please, come home with me. You are, indeed, the closest thing to a daughter I've ever had."

"If I am your daughter, Madame Anwhistle, you must be a very poor mother. Good night to you."

She left the room before the old woman could pursue her.

"And this," said Olaf, making a grand flourish with his arms, "is where you'll be sleeping from now on!" With much twirling around and 'oohing' Olaf showed Sunny the master bedroom. It was very nice surely, with a grand four poster bed, {the curtains were only slightly moth eaten} a mahogany wardrobe and dresser, and a balcony overlooking the statue garden.

"What of Kit?" asked Sunny as she was struggling to climb up onto the bed. Olaf laughed, picking her up and depositing her with surprising gentleness among the fluffy cushions.

"I'm sure she'll be sleeping in ol' Plot Twist's room from now on! That's how it should be though; the woman moving in with the man..." he wiggled his unibrow suggestively, causing Sunny to chortle.

"Really showed them."

"We sure did, my dear. We sure did."

He took off Dewey's military tunic and sniffed it, "Ew! These thing needs a wash." he tossed it across the room, aiming for the dirty clothes hamper. Instead it hit a framed photograph of Kit, knocking it down and breaking the glass that covered it. Neither of them noticed.

"Hey, baby," said Olaf as he applied his nightly moisturizing lotion, "What d'you say I show you the view?" he nodded his head over to the balcony doors.

"Sure!"

He picked her up and lead her onto the little balcony. The night air was cold and dry at this altitude. The mountains didn't seem to know it was April. In Olaf's arms Sunny felt she could look over the whole of Snicket Land and not worry about falling.

To the south, which the balcony faced, the Dandruff Mountains grew progressively lower and lower until they reached the sprawling wilderness of the Hinterlands. Sunny remembered her Aunt Olivia with whom she'd been so recently introduced and whom she might never see again. She didn't want to mention Olivia to Olaf though. Her name might easily just get him to thinking about Esme. To the east of the Hinterlands Sunny could make out the deeper green hills of the Dark Forest, the lush woodland under which she and her siblings had wandered just three or four days ago. A lot had happened since then, however short a time it was. She'd been kidnapped by Olaf and separated from Violet, from Chubs, from Isadora and poor, wounded Duncan.

Now she and Olaf were together yet again, hopefully for good. Her siblings had escaped, even though Violet's location was mysteriously unaccounted for at the moment. As for the many others who'd been down there with them...Sunny really couldn't care less.

She could only hope. But Sunny knew, even in her little baby heart, that in the end it would all come down to a choice. Her family...or Olaf. And she didn't really know, at present, which one she would choose over the other.

"What that?" asked Sunny once her stream of thought reached its end. She was pointing at a tongue of smoke rising from a crook between two nearby peaks, "Wacky tribe?"

"Hmm..." mused Olaf, "There are some native tribes that live in these mountains, but they are much farther down than here. Let me get my spyglass."

He set Sunny down in a wicker deck chair, went back into the bedroom and returned a little later carrying a pair of bright brass binoculars.

Looking through them he studied the area from which the smoke was coming.

"There seems to be some kind of green spot down below. A valley of some kind..." he considered for a moment, "You know, Sunny, I think that could be the Zebras of Yarrow and Kronkite. It's the place where the old ZYK headquarters used to be.

Oh, yes. Sunny remembered hearing about that place. Olaf had destroyed it with a runaway train eighteen years ago, turning ZYK from a powerful organization to the hardscrabble group it was today.

"It is located just below Mount Fickle-Nickle." Olaf went on, "But I wonder...why in the name of all things that exist is there smoke coming up from there? Smoke, you know, means fire. And that's just a little bit of smoke which suggests a campfire. And a campfire suggests—"

"Peeps!"

"Correct!" Olaf's brow crinkled up, "Humanity has returned to the site of ZYK HQ..."

His mind was working at ten times its normal speed, so about ten kilometers per hour. Sunny was a smart baby, indeed, smarter than some adults. She was beginning to see what Olaf was thinking about.

Were they coming now? Chubs, and Isadora, and Duncan? Were they venturing up here, to rescue her? Sunny didn't want to know the answer. She wasn't sure what she herself wanted.

Lucy, always looking to make herself useful, volunteered herself to help wash the plates from dinner. Colette, the strange stretchable woman was glad to have help and entertained Lucy with a series of desultory comments about her life.

"It was a pretty good time, you know." she was saying as she used a scouring pad to rid a dish of a nasty gravy stain, "I used to live in the Palace. My Mom and Dad were totes important people in those days."

"Oh? What did they do?" asked Lucy politely as she drizzled some more soap on a sponge.

"My dad was Head Servant and my mom was Head Cook." she sighed wistfully, "Those were really good days, you wouldn't believe. Too bad it all went straight to hell once the old hag got involved."

"What old hag?"

"Madame Loony Bird who's staying with us. You know who I'm talking about."

"Oh, Madame Anwhistle? My stepmother's been good friends with her since before I could remember."

"That probably isn't a good sign, then. That old woman likes to cause trouble. You know, I spent a good portion of my teenage years locked in a cage in the Snicket's throne room. You hear some pretty disturbing shizzy-wizzy that way."

"Like what?"

Colette considered, "How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Too young. I'd jeopardize your innocence."

"My innocence has been through worse, believe me."

Growing up with Mother and Father Blackwoodshire, yes, Lucy's innocence had been through much worse.

Colette sighed and put a cheese grater in the rack to dry, "Okay, I'll tell you, but not a single word of this to anyone else. Almost no one knows this little tidbit and with the company we're keeping right now we could both lose our heads if this gets out."

"My lips are sealed." It wouldn't be the first time.

Colette leaned close to Lucy and whispered, "Josephine Anwhistle totally used to have sex with Jake Snicket. Lemony knows nothing about this, I don't think he knows half the stuff the old lady does behind his back. She's using him like...like some kind of puppet thingy!"

"Wow." gasped Lucy, "Thanks...for telling me."

"No sweat, kiddy. I was kinda like you once."

"You were?"

"Sure. Us kitchen maids have to stick together, don't they?"

Lucy grinned, "They sure do."

The three prisoners looked up at the two thrones. Alice grinned at them, singing softly to herself. Isadora still couldn't comprehend how in the world her mother's lunatic mannerisms had branded her a seer and prophet to these supposedly intelligent mountain dwellers.

Nor could Isadora comprehend the reason that their old acquaintance Sir, of all people, was sitting in what appeared to be the place of honor, smoking his ever present cigar, his face constantly masked by a cloud of smoke.

Well, it was Sir who gave us that clue about where Mom and Dad were. It had been a very vague clue, but they had found their parents, just not in the way they'd hoped. According to Alice's journal, which she'd kept when she was still sane, she and Sir had worked out negotiations for supplies of the nymph lumber Sir produced which Alice then gave to ZYK.

And now that you've been given that expository reminder of where we stand, let us proceed.

"Well, mark my words! So it is you." Sir puffed on the cigar, chuckling in that booming voice of his, "You know, when Alice first turned up out of nowhere, speaking madness and singing old pop music I thought to myself 'I wonder if those children managed to set her free from old Montgomery?' And then I read this..."

From the pocket of his peacock patterned smoking jacket he withdrew a copy of The Daily Pinch in Your Eye. On the front page, clearly visible to the three of them, there was a picture of a very familiar villa and the headline: MURDER AT COUNTRY HOUSE...AGAIN.

"I shall read the subtitle for your benefit."

"How can he read when the smoke blocks his eyes?" wondered Duncan quietly. Chubs opened his mouth to offer an answer but Isadora shushed him, her eyes going toward Sir who was reading.

"Yesterday evening a young woman was found dead in the notable villa, Dovecotes. Police Lieutenant Laura Strauss offered a testimonial to a series of underground tunnels beneath the house, which have now been flooded—"

Sir set the paper down and crossed his little legs, "It goes on to mention the murder of a popular Deputy and the apparent involvement of the Baudelaire-Quagmire murderers." he sighed deeply, "You children just can't stop getting yourselves into trouble, can you?"

He was waiting for one of them to say something. Chubs figured he might as well, "May we ask what you're doing up in this barren old place, presiding over this group of duffers?"

There was an angry stir in the benches, with various Scouts screaming insults and slurs to the children. Sir said, "They don't take kindly to such talk. Their race is a proud one and they have reason to be so."

"Why?" asked Isadora, "I've never heard of them."

"With good reason. The Snow Scouts are descendents of the original rulers of this nation before the Snickets arrived with their heaping load of baggage. I am not exactly their chief, but their representative in the business world. They govern themselves, and to great effect, I might add. I am honored among them as they are honored in my presence. It's a nice kind of balance I find very comfortable. I was merely staying here to discuss lumber trade when...Barbara Ross, or Alice Quagmire if you prefer, surfaced from the Swervy Stream and helped the Snow Scouts conquer the Ninipickies of the North who have been threatening war for some time." though they could not see it, the children could detect the smile in his voice, "There has been much celebrating here."

"Why do you let them call Alice a prophet?" Isadora lowered her voice a notch so as not to provoke the Snow Scouts in the stands, "You know very well that she's just a normal...deranged person!"

"My dear Isabella..."

"Isadora."

"...I am saving your mother's life. The Snow Scouts are a wise people but their traditions are based very heavily off divination and spiritualism. If Alice was not presumed to have the 'All-Seeing Eye' or however you call it she'd have been burned on a pyre just like you're about to be now."

"But I don't understand!" complained Chubs, "If Alice didn't 'see' the victory with the ninny-nannies, or whatever, how did she end up guessing it so?"

"Oh, but haven't you read Alice's journal? She's a witch, very apt at magical spells. She probably had some prophetic vision on coming to this place. I hear that sort of thing happens to many with the Gift. I did, however, vouch for Alice's prophetic talent, saving her from being executed. Since then she's become a revered idol."

"This is all too much..." sighed Isadora, "Are you really going to let them kill us?"

"Well, it's not my decision to make." Sir shrugged, "I certainly can't convince them that you're of any use as I know for a fact that you're not, none of you, no sir."

Duncan giggled; Isadora rolled her eyes.

"Besides," Sir went on, "Alice has other uses, not just to the Snow Scouts but to me."

"TONIGHT, THE NIGHT BELONGS TO LOVERS!" bellowed Alice quite out of the blue, singing in a high and uneven tone as she always did.

Isadora felt the blood run from her face, "Oh...oh that is disgusting. That is so gross. That...that is horrible—"

"Don't be jealous of your mother, girl. One day your time will come."

"SOMEDAY, LOVE WILL FIND YOU—" Alice seemed to agree.

"Sucks to you, it already has!" Chubs retorted, "Now, I refuse to be treated in this abominable way any longer. Either you kill us now or stop slinging verbal abuse at us!"

"You make a good point, boy." Sir exclaimed to the guards, "Light the braziers! Prepare the sacrifice!"

Chubs promptly swooned, falling into Isadora's arms. Duncan turned to her, "Never fear, sister. I have a plan."

"Oh, I'm sure you do." she muttered.

By this point the fire pit had been lit {rhymes are fun} and a good blaze was burning. Alice began stamping her feet again and pumping her fists in the air, exclaiming, "DO YOU BELIEVE IN LIFE AFTER LOVE?"

"Yes, I do!" Duncan bolted as fast as he could away from the guards {who had been distracted by Alice's performance} and joined his mother and Sir on the platform, "Take it away, Mother!"

"I CAN FEEL SOMETHING INSIDE ME SAY—"

"I really don't think you're strong enough..." Duncan waved his arms in the air, "EVERYBODY!"

The Snow Scouts began dancing in their places, singing along with Duncan and Alice. Isadora didn't really know what to do in all this confusion. Chubs was just beginning to become aware again in her arms.

"Are we...are we dead?" he asked feebly.

"No, Chubs, we're not dead, but we might be in a little bit. Come on, I think Duncan's trying to make a diversion so we can get away!"

"Oh! Good. But what will Duncan do?"

"I'm trying to figure that out." she took him by the hand and led him through the crowd of confused Scouts, some singing and dancing, others darting around like minnows in a pond, unsure of what to do and completely unaware of the two young people moving in their midst.

They were almost out of the arena when Chubs cried, "But of course!"

"What is it?"

"I know what to do!"

He proceeded to exclaim in a loud voice...

SAVAGES {from Pocahontas}

Chubs: SAVAGES!

{this catches everyone's attention. Immediately the Scouts forget all about Duncan's distraction and begin seeking out Chubs}

Isadora: {speaking} And what does that accomplish?

Chubs: It gives Duncan enough time to get away, darling.

{singing}

Savages!

Savages!

Barely even human!

Sir: CATCH THE FAT ONE!

Chubs: Savages!

Savages!

Alice: I CAN COUNT TO FOUR!

Sir: RAVAGE THEM!

RAVAGE THEM!

Duncan: What?

Scouts: WE MUST SING SOME MORE!

{A group of guards makes to seize Chubs and Isadora. Duncan, hoping to aide in their escape, sprints toward them only for the pain in his chest to catch up with him. He falls on his knees, teeth gnashed and breath short. The guards round on him, hoping to get him out of the way first}

Sir: Finish him!

Finish him!

He'll go down easy!

Alice: Fruitcake!

Fruitcake!

Isadora: My God, he's gonna die!

{thinking on her feet she picks a stone up from the ground and hurls it at the back of a guard's head, knocking him out}

Scouts: Treachery!

Treachery!

Oliver Twist: MAY I HAVE SOME MORE?

Sir: Go away!

{Oliver obliges. The scouts now grab Isadora and begin dragging her away}

Chubs: {speaking to himself} Now I am faced with a dilemma! To whom do I go? My dear Isadora, in the hands of the Snow Scouts, or my brother in all but blood Duncan, who lies hurt on the ground? I will sing an aria to the effect of my decision...

{as he is clearing his throat for his big solo, one of the guards coshes him on the head with a rubber ball encased in a sock. Chubs is out cold instantly and dragged off after Isadora. Sir, still standing on the platform near the thrones, looks around}

Sir: Where did the other Quagmire go?

{Alice raises her hand}

Alice: PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR, SIR, YES, SIR!

Sir: No, I meant the other Quagmire. The boy with the competence level of a two-year-old sea sponge.

Alice: LET'S TRIP THE NIGHT FANTASTIC!

Sir: Well, I...

{sighs}

Very well. How can I say no to you?

{they begin slow dancing to light Muzak. In the background, we the audience can see Duncan hobbling into the distance, looking lost and unsure of what to do}

CURTAIN

A/N: For some reason, I am stupidly proud of my version of the 'Savages' song. You kinda have to listen to the song beforehand to get all the jokes, but whatevs. Also...yes! Sir is back in the story and is apparently the closest thing to a love interest Alice Quagmire has at the moment. Do they have some odd history together, or did I just want to add another creepy relationship to this series?

Also, Violet just did the nasty with Quigley! I understand that her storyline is quickly turning into an abridged sequence from General Hospital, but I promise, her emotional turmoil on who she should choose is eating her alive.

And the adults are still scheming and plotting as ever. I love writing them at their manipulative best, especially mean old Madame A.

Well, I guess that's all for today.

Update coming...whenever I can find the time for it!;)