The Enchanted Slope

by ThePlotMurderers

The Baudes and the Quags journey into the mountains in order to reunite their families once and for all. And, of course, along the way we meet a strange new character... Sixth Book in a Series of Queer Events

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8, What do You Say to a Bit of Love Tonight?

Disclaimer: I'd just like to inform you all that in the seven months we've been gone neither I nor PM1 have acquired to rights to A Series of Unfortunate Events. And how have you been?

A/N: Yay! We're not dead! There are probably some apologies in order for those of our loyal fans who are still loyal enough to check in on us from time to time. I've actually had this chapter, and all chapters up to 11 written and complete since about October but between switching Internet connections, college apps, and the ever soul-squashing burden of ordinary life I have not been able to add anything to this stimulating tale.

But now that changes, and I will try my damnedest to get chapters up on a semi-regular schedule on Fridays like in the olden days. Also, because I feel I absolutely must compensate for abandoning you all for this long, this chapter is extremely long and might actually be the longest in Book 6 thus far.

Where we last left out cast of characters... {deep breath} Sunny and Olaf were back together, Kit and Dewey were back together, Esme was abandoned and hated by just about everyone, Madame Anwhistle tried to recruit the henchfolk for help in her schemes, Lord and Lady B have mysterious connections to a certain mysterious question mark, Lucy wasn't doing much of anything, Sir came back, Duncan escaped, Chubs got hit on the head, and Violet totally lost her maidenhead to Quigley.

Wow...aren't we a daytime soap? But that's beside the point. Enjoy, duckies, and feel free to review, they're always appreciated!

---

Madame Anwhistle was working on her book of notes. This is not the same as a notebook but rather a book in which Madame kept a record of all her attempts to overthrow Lemony Snicket. The book itself was short in height but thick in volume. It fit neatly in the inner lining of a suitcase or winter coat, so Madame Anwhistle could always plan for the downfall of the regime, no matter what the weather.

It was some hours before sunrise and the château was, for once, perfectly silent. The only sound to be heard was the scratching of Madame Anwhistle's pen against the pages of the book.

List of Pawns {she was writing}

Giant Creature of Ambiguous Gender: Seems to be leader among group of idiots who work for Olaf. What it does the others will surely emulate. Lure it and thus the others away from Olaf's employ. Promise money or something. It should work.

Elnora Blackwoodshire: Maintains great influence over '?' . Will do whatever I say so long as I promise social pleasures. Easy to manipulate so long as our friendship isn't put into the question. Has stupid husband.

Kit Snicket: Much is still to be had from this woman. Might be possible to tempt with return of throne to her after Lemony dead? What has she to offer? Must consider this. Terrible hostess.

Esme Squalor {real name 'Lowersham'}: Has great potential as a sorceress. Great deal of resentment to throne. Doesn't seem interested in return to the public. Doesn't matter; these things take time.

Ugly girl who is Elnora's stepdaughter: Can't remember her name. Might prove useful in bargain with Elnora and Florine. Don't know for what though.

Dewey Plot Twist: Chamber Pot. Probably brought it with him. Must find it.

Sunny Baudelaire: Romantic influence over Olaf. Apparently last Baudelaire sibling. Turn against Olaf? Shove siblings' death in face? Maybe.

That lady from the boutique who does the nice French twist: She might come calling about that time I forgot to tip her. Best get on her good side soon.

She was about to write more {and I'd have let her because it's fun to write journal entries} but she was jarred from her concentration by a tapping on her window.

Madame Anwhistle looked outside and almost screamed when she saw a figure standing on her balcony, peering at her.

Then, with relief, she realized it was one of the helicopter pilots, {they'd been sleeping in the chopper this whole time, as always} a man named Horatio Rembrandt.

Getting up, she unlatched the window to let the man in.

"What the devil do you want at this damnable hour?" she asked, "And more importantly, would you like something hot to drink? It must be freezing out there."

"No thanks, milady." said Rembrandt, plopping down in a chair by the window, "'Just that a piece of news's come in from the old Bastard."

"What news?" she asked drowsily, "Unless civil war's broken out, I'm not interested."

"Well, it's just that one of the police commanders got herself into a bit of bother in the Dark Forest a couple'a days ago."

Herself? There was only one woman among the Snicketian police commanders.

"What's poor Strauss gotten herself into now?" Madame Anwhistle fetched her reading spectacles from the pocket of her dressing gown and put them on. They made her feel more in charge of things, "She's not dead, is she?"

"No, but she almost did die, so she says. There were a couple more murders involving them children that's supposed to be on the run."

"First of all, why are you talking like that?"

"S'my accent, milady. The author likes borrowing accents from books he's read and applying 'em to characters who aren't as important-like as the other 'uns."

"Second of all, where did this happen? If this goes on the whole nation's population will drop by half before Christmas."

"It 'appened in the Dark Forest, so's Strauss says, in one of 'em grand country 'ouses."

Dear God, it's like Lettie McPhee all over again. Remember Lettie McPhee? Whoa, how far we've come.

"A country house? Whose house? For heaven's sake, Rembrandt, the midnight oil is burning and I do need my sleep."

"The 'ouse Dovecotes. One of 'em villies."

"Oh, you mean Dovecotes villa. I know the place."

The name Dovecotes was in her mind like a name mentioned once, twice, and then no more. As chief adviser Madame Anwhistle knew a good deal about all the estates and country piles in Snicket Land. Dovecotes was a modestly sized estate, with not much property surrounding it, deep in the forest.

"Load of people found dead and that like, including the old geezer who owned the place, can't remember his name as 'twas told me." Rembrandt scowled, "Strauss's favorite deputy was found stabbed in some secret passage or summat."

"Well, that will certainly have people talking. What does Strauss want, revenge?"

"She wants, er, what d'yer call it...closure, like." He shrugged his shoulders, "You're press secretary, marm. They want you to launch some kind er media investigation. To placate people, like."

"Who, exactly, is 'they'?"

"Well, the media folks 'emselves, and who else but them? They always get 'emselves excited when one of these big murder stories present itself. They want to write things in the paper, in 'em gossip magazines, in fortune cookies and the like."

"Do they know who committed the murders?"

"According to Strauss, those little kiddies were on the scene."

"The Baudelaire-Quagmire murderers?" And how odd that the youngest of those children was currently staying here, at Kit Snicket's chateau, in romantic company with the man who lusted after her family fortune.

Had they all been at Dovecotes? Is that why Olaf had run all the way here, to hide from the law? This was all useful information, though Rembrandt—and by extension, the Snicketian public—did not need to know that.

"Yes, but Strauss says, and the police is still lookin' to look into it and what, that it twasn't the kids after all, but some'un else!"

"Who else, for heaven's sake?"

"Some giant snake, or somethin' like. Strauss said it could talk and ever'thing. But not ever'un at the Palace believes her, and that's where they need your help, and such!"

A giant snake...Madame Anwhistle hated snakes as a rule and for more than the obvious reasons. Of course she had always refused to seek therapeutic help with the phobia. What would she say, anyway?

Well, you see, doctor, my daughter's affections were stolen from me by a slimy reptile. I'm sure you've heard this story from a bunch of other people...

"Well, that certainly is a very unbelievable story," Madame Anwhistle said, sniffing, "But Lieutenant Strauss never makes jokes. Arrange a radio conference with her."

"When, milady?"

"At her soonest convenience."

"All well then, milady." He turned and started toward the balcony again.

Before he passed out through the french doors again, Madame Anwhistle remembered, "Oh, and Rembrandt?"

"Aye, milady?"

Madame Anwhistle adjusted her spectacles, "Don't expect this story to be such big press. If I'm correct, Strauss might be exaggerating just a bit much."

"Certainly, milady; whatever you say."

And he was gone. Madame Anwhistle smiled to herself and tucked her journal back into her dressing gown. Placating Rembrandt was easy. He needn't worry about these new developments.

Madame Anwhistle could handle them very easily on her own.

---

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

Her vibrant red high heels clacked in a steady rhythm on the stark white tiles of the Daily Pinch in Your Eye building in Dirty Bastard. Outside the thin square windows that lined the hall she could see and hear the bustle of early morning traffic in the street below.

Okay, Gerry, you can do this. You can do this. You can do this—

She repeated this mantra to herself as she knocked on the door with the placard, MR. JOHNSON, EDITOR IN CHIEF.

"What do you want?" asked a voice from inside.

"It's Geraldine Julienne, sir. From the gossip column."

"And what is your business?"

"I'd like to apply for coverage of the Dovecotes case."

At once the door was opened and Geraldine was admitted into the office of the E.I.C. Mr. Johnson was a tall, broad man with thinning silver hair and beady eyes which were always glaring from behind his comically small eyeglasses.

"Sit down, Geraldine."

He waved his arm dismissively at a chair that stood before his desk. Once they were both seated, Johnson poured a glass of gin for himself and sipped it delicately.

Geraldine privately thought that it was much too early to be drinking, but she didn't want to talk back to the boss. There was too much at stake.

Johnson placed his hands on the desk before him, placed neatly with fingers interlocked.

"We're still awaiting an okay from the Palace to launch a public investigation, Geraldine. These things don't happen fast. Or easily. So far all we've been licensed to publish is a short cover story on the bare facts. Nothing...investigative just yet. And either way," he waved a fat hand through the air, as if flinging a used tissue to the wind, "the case is far too complicated for a reporter of your—er—"

"My what?" Geraldine asked, crossing her legs so that a bit of her frilly lingerie was showing. It never hurt to tease the boss, "Didn't I prove myself with my coverage of the debacle at the Masquerade? That was some of the best on scene reporting I've ever done."

"Yes, but a case of mass murder, intrigue and national affairs weighs differently than a case of kidnapping and riot."

Geraldine's first instinct was to immediately start begging Mr. Johnson for the job. But, she reminded herself, she was a grown woman. She hadn't come this far in life being a beggar and a whiner.

She reached into her mustard yellow handbag and produced a stick of cinnamon flavored gum. Popping it into her mouth she continued to Johnson, "Won't you consider, at least? Once the case is open to investigate, I mean. I know I can't be that bad."

"Geraldine, may I ask why you want to cover this case?""

"Well, that's a silly question to ask." she blurted before she could stop herself, "Like you said, it's a very controversial story. Very dicey, dicey; very risqué. It would be just the thing to get me noticed!"

"The last I checked you had a sizable fan following from your gossip column."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Johnson! Gossip's all good and well but I want to cover news!" she spread her arms wide to accentuate the point, "How am I ever to get a job working for Channel 6 without some real reporting experience?"

"You want to leave the Pinch in Your Eye?"

"Oh! Um—no." Geraldine once again was kicking herself for saying more than she needed. She had to try another plan. If 'ambitious future' and 'loyal worker' met with no success, there really was only one way to go...

She leaned over the desk and grabbed onto Johnson's; tie, tugging it playfully.

"Come on, Mr. Johnson. I know you don't really think so little of me. You're just tired, and stressed. I know what that's like..." she puckered her lips up {she'd been sure to gloss them very brilliantly as a contingency} and drew very close to his face.

"That's enough!" he commanded, pulling away from her, "Enough, enough! Go, just go on your way and don't look back." He stood up, smoothing out his trousers, miffed.

"Okay, fine! If that's how it'll be..."

"Yes, Geraldine, that's how it will be. Now go back to the rec room and...drink coffee or something."

"Maybe I will!"

I'll show him! she thought as she marched out of the office, I'm Geraldine Julienne, intrepid reporter. And Geraldine Julienne, intrepid reporter, doesn't step back from her goals. And I, Geraldine Julienne, intrepid reporter, won't step down from this case! I'll get all the dirt on the Dovecotes affair or my name isn't Geraldine Julienne, intrepid reporter!

She slammed the door behind her.

---

AND NOW BACK TO CHARACTERS YOU RECOGNIZE

Violet felt the sun warming her skin. She stretched her body fully, feeling her legs rubbing up against Quigley's. The hut was suffused with a buttery yellow light. It felt like spring at last.

The boy lying beside her in the reed bed smelled so strongly of earth, of smoke from the campfire, of sawed wood and stone. She never thought those things could smell so good.

There's no going back now, Vi. You've already slept with him, both in the sexual and chaste sense. Now you just have to live with it. Besides, it's not like he's horrible or anything. But I do have to leave here. Eventually.

Yes, eventually; she kept telling herself she had to leave the Valley of the Four Deuces but she never got around to it. Did Quigley feel the same strange attachment to this place as she? Was that why he was so reticent about leaving?

Violet quietly slipped out of bed and clothed herself in the usual dress. Her old clothes, the torn up, sodden dress she'd had on when she arrived, were draped neatly over a slab on which was engraved a map of the Black Forest, the scraggly, mostly dead offshoot of the Dark Forest.

She looked at Quigley's calm, sleeping face, and decided to let him rest a bit more. She felt in the mood for a bit of inventing.

Violet stepped out of the hut, into the rich, grassy glade. The air smelled so sweet, so fresh up here in the mountains. It was paradise here. Her own personal paradise that she got to share with her...

What was Quigley to her? A friend, certainly. A lover...in exact words, yes. But what did that make Duncan?

Your cheating heart will make you pay, and not always in the very best way.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the cobalt surface of the lake. Her hair was growing wild and free, a tangled mess of curls and ringlets. She imagined tying it up with a ribbon now; how silly it would look with all this hair. How did Quigley manage?

She dipped her toes into the water, lay back against the beach, and basked in the light of the sun. She could stay here forever and not want for anything.

She heard slow steps nearby. Quigley must be up and about, looking for her.

"I'm down here." she said quietly, "On the beach."

How nice the sun felt against her face! Though she'd just woken up she was starting to feel tired. The footsteps came to the beach where she was, bringing with them a sound of heavy breathing, of exhaustion.

Violet was somewhere between dreaming and waking now, so she had a bit of a slow reaction to what happened next. She felt a hand run up and down her arm, slowly, as though it couldn't believe what it was touching.

It wasn't Quigley's hand. This hand was softer, leaner. Violet's eyes opened and, yes indeed, she saw Duncan.

"Violet! Violet, it really is you!" he flung his arms around her, kissed her face so many times Violet lost count. Violet still had to catch her breath, to recover herself. She'd convinced herself that she'd be the one to find Duncan again, not the other way around.

She didn't know what to say, how to act, how to tell him, when to tell him...

What would happen when Quigley showed up? How should she tell Duncan about him? All these questions swam at once through Violet's head. She had no idea how to answer any of them. She only knew the dumbstruck breathlessness of Duncan's embrace, of being in his arms again.

"I've been walking through this hellish wilderness all night," he went on, running his hand so tenderly down the nape of her neck, "I couldn't believe it myself when I saw this place. It's a veritable Heaven on Earth, isn't it, my girl?"

He was finally able to stop himself from speaking and look at Violet for a reply. She smiled at him, held his hands in hers.

"Duncan...oh, Duncan, you don't know how happy I am to see you here."

It's not a lie. Still, part of wished she'd had more time to work all this out. She suddenly felt like some kind of adulterous older woman on a popular daytime soap opera.

"Well, touche." his smile faded, though, as he got to his next point, "But I'm afraid I've some grim news."

"What?"

"Chubs and Isadora are currently awaiting execution in some nearby tribal encampment. They've also got my mother, though they think she's some kind of mystic prophet." he shook his head, "The utter folly of the course! Oh, and guess which other fellow from our past is big cheese among these natives?"

The obvious answer sprang to her mind at once, but Duncan surprised her.

"Sir! He's some kind of business associate of theirs, and is now keeping hold of Alice as though she were some kind of prize well won!"

"Whoa. Well...well we'll have to...to go and save them, then." How was she going to do this? Duncan, in his perpetual well-meaning nature, now asked, "But Violet, whatever were you doing just lying out by yourself out here for all these days? And where did you get a hold of those new clothes?"

"I...Duncan..." she realized she had to tell him now if she ever wanted to feel good about herself again, "...this isn't going to be easy to hear but please bear with me."

"I'm all ears." he motioned that they sit side by side on some nearby rocks. This done, Violet said, "I found someone too."

"Who?"

She sighed, "I found your brother."

The silence in the Valley was so thick it could be sliced through with a toothpick.

"You found...er...Quigley? Well, that's marvelous!" Duncan didn't seem in the least perturbed, "Perhaps soon the Quagmires will be a united commodity again! But where is he?"

Violet was about to answer, somehow sneaking in what exactly had happened with Quigley but then, most suddenly, music began playing in the heavens. With that music came a strange, spectral presence. The Valley sometimes seemed a hundred times more beautiful, more alive, more real.

CAN YOU FEEL THE LOVE TONIGHT? {yet another song from The Lion King. I like the story. So what?}

{Beverley Elliott, who you may remember as the Spirit of Love, stands off to the side as Duncan helps Violet up and kisses her full on the lips}

Bev: Can you feel the love tonight?

The peace the evening brings?

The world for once in perfect harmony...

With all its living things.

{Violet and Duncan wade up to their knees into the lake, kicking up water that soaks their hair and sparkles against their clothes.}

Violet: {to herself} So many things to tell him...

But how to make him see...

The truth about our pasts...

Impossible!

He'd turn away from me.

Duncan: {also to himself} She's holding back...

She's hiding.

But what, I can't decide.

Why won't she be the girl I know she is?

The girl I see inside?

{they lock themselves in another embrace and kiss again}

Violet: {thinking, in speaking voice} This is so wrong. This is so wrong. This is so horribly wrong...

Duncan: {ditto} She's certainly very reticent. I wonder if my smell is repellent?

Bev: {singing, aloud} Can you feel the love tonight?

The peace the evening brings?

The world for once in perfect harmony...

With all it's living things!

{we now see Quigley standing on the slope above the other two, watching, forlorn}

Quigley: {speaking} A family reunion, and in the worst of ways,.

{singing}

And if she falls back in love tonight...

It can be assumed...

Her days of peace with me are history...

In short, my life is ruined.

CURTAIN

---

"That's it, my dear!"

"Ugh..." groaned Sunny, forcing herself to open her eyes. She hadn't got a wink of sleep all night, so busy was Olaf in his mad pacing, his mad planning, thinking out contingencies now that it appeared his last scheme had failed.

"Plan?" she asked, sitting up in bed so as to look at the man circling the room.

"Here it is, baby, correct me if I get something wrong!" he began to list things on his fingers, "One: there are people down in the Zebras of Yarrow and Kronkite. They have a campfire. Two: the nearest tribe is several more miles down slope and so there is no reason for a campfire to be where we saw it. Three: your siblings and their youthful but promiscuous sidekicks have a knack for escaping even the toughest of situations. Four: thus, why then should we assume that they would have calmly wasted away in an underground hole in the ground until they died?"

"Goon." which means, "Go on."

"Five: we can assume, with little stretch of the imagination, that the two other Baudes and the two Quags are on their way up here, perhaps to 'rescue'" he made a show of making air quotes with his fingers, "you!"

Well, that all sounded very good and valid. Sunny, however, was still dead set against telling Olaf she'd been communicating with her brother and the Quags. She still had her loyalties to them.

Sunny didn't want a repeat of the Hotel Plot Twist incident, when she'd first turned her back on her family for Olaf. Then, she had been vehemently against them, had done some very horrible things to them...she'd done things that could have killed them.

Never again would she put either her family or Olaf is such a compromising position. What really riled her up was that Olaf was always trying to kill the children, forcing her to go along or not.

At last, she said, "Ubenork." which meant, "I guess you may be right. But...can't it be someone else?"

Olaf shrugged elaborately, "Well, certainly it might be someone else! But who?"

"Share story!" which meant, "But not everyone in Snicket Land has to somehow be related to us and our plans!"

"You'd be quite surprised, my dear little Sunny. You'd be quite surprised."

He bit his lip, sucked it, and then exhaled deeply.

"Let's go down to breakfast. I'll talk to my useless assistants and we'll work from there."

He picked her up, though Sunny insisted, teasingly, that she was able to walk and could, in fact, manage the stairs just by rolling down them as she sometimes liked to do.

They went down to breakfast, Sunny still pondering the question of her family and whether Olaf's presence in her life was a blessing or a curse.

---

"How are things going here, Collette?"

"They're going just as well as they were going last night." Collette flipped an egg with her spatula, tossed the spatula in the air, twisted her arm around her neck, caught the spatula again, and then caught the egg just as it fell from the air, "Breakfast is boring."

Hugo smiled up at the girl, remembering the days when the three of them—himself, Collette, and Kevin—had lived in the cage in the Snicket palace, living year after year off the bodies of the other prisoners. They'd grown a strange paradoxical closeness. They were close because of their long time confined together, close because of the conversation they'd passed to keep from losing their minds. But they'd had to force themselves to make a distance too. An unspoken agreement that if the time came when one of them had to be eaten...that person would be eaten.

And, thankfully, things had never come to that.

"Have you considered Madame Anwhistle's proposition?"

Collette frowned as she added some bacon to the frying pan, adjusting the pink sides with her spatula. She said, "I don't trust her, Hugo. She's just such a conniving, sneaking, treacherous old lady. If she was, like, disagreeing with the Snicket's policies and all that, why did she let her boyfriend Jacob and then his stupid son keep us locked in that prison for all that time? No siree, my friend, we shouldn't trust her."

"But you have to admit, she could provide very well for us if we succeed." Hugo went to a cupboard and took out a stack of dishes, "And Olaf is distrustful too, dolly, don't you forget that. Look at how he stabbed Kit in the back last night. What's more, he's been grumbling about how sick of us he is for days. What do you think he'll do if he doesn't want us around anymore?"

Colette detected a hint of blame in Hugo's words.

And he kinda sorta maybe has a good reason to blame me, too.

"Look, Hugo, I'm sorry I was so eager to abandon the B*tch...Olivia." she corrected herself hastily, "Kevin was getting so sick of hanging around in the Hinterlands and listening to her. And you know, he had a point too, just like you do." she took the eggs out of the pan and gently eased them onto the main serving platter. As she was placing the pork links in to join the bacon she said, "She was keeping secrets from us too. I don't know if she would have betrayed us, but—"

Hugo finished for her, "But we stayed with her because she saved us. And we owed her everything because of that. Because she stood up to Lemony just like Madame Anwhistle wants to." he began folding cloth napkins into conical, party hat shapes, "She just did it in a different way. I think you realize now, dearie, that we were better off with her than anywhere else. At least there we weren't slaves. She knew what it was like to be different, to be an outcast."

He handed Collette a pair of tongs for the meat, "And you know, my dear, part of me thinks that she embraced being a freak."

He picked up the platter, now bedecked with eggs, sausage, and bacon, and took it out to the dining room.

---

Isadora lifted her head from the crook of her arms, where she'd been trying her hardest to block out the noise of the chaos outside. She heard voices crying out. Men saying, "Bring him here, the rat!" "Flay him alive!" "Make his skin into paper!" And other such charming threats.

She didn't know which he they were talking about. Had Duncan gotten away? Had Chubs? Isadora didn't want to waste time pondering the answers; she wanted to find them herself.

It's all my fault. All of it.

It had all started when she agreed to run away from the others to go search for the "Realm of the Serpent" with Duncan. That had ended disastrously, with the only good point being rescuing Alice. Then, Isadora had gotten carried away on the Stream and capsized the boat they'd worked so hard to make, and now...now she was sitting in this underground cell, not even able to feel sunlight, useless to the world.

Useless again.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the compact mirror. The glass was grimy and scratched from all these months of aimless wandering she and the others had been going through. She remembered when she'd first used the spell. She and Duncan had been trapped in the sewer/crypt/secret tunnel beneath Crapshack Manor. She'd sent a message to Violet and the others, alerting them to their presence.

Was Sunny still waiting, trapped in that horrible house on the mountaintop? Was Olaf treating her well? It was so hard to tell with someone like him, whose personal opinions of people changed at the slightest inclination.

And now, as much as she tried, as much as Isadora muttered the incantation, the mirror would not work. She was unable to see Violet, or Sunny...or anyone.

So much for that dream.

When Isadora had discovered Alice's origins as a sorceress, she'd been admittedly hopeful of possessing some power of her own. Maybe the very extent of it had been in that mirror spell. She was about as magical as a piece of toilet paper.

"That is quite a skirmish they fight."

Isadora turned around to regard the shriveled old woman she shared a cell with. She was so short and slight, that when she'd first been tossed into the pit, she hadn't even noticed her. What little hair she had was stark white, though her few teeth were more the color of mottled parchment.

"I guess it is." said Isadora.

"That is good, can't you agree to it?"

"Agree to what?"

"Your friends, they are fighting off my brethren as though they were born warriors1"

Isadora furrowed her brow, "They're talking about executions out there."

The woman shrugged, "But they put up a fight. That's something."

"I don't..."

"No, of course not." she nodded knowingly, "But when you are old, you will know." she sighed deeply, "I have seen much in this land, little girl. I have lived through all three Snickets, and I was born and raised in the time of true glory. When the clans roamed the land freely!"

Isadora folded her legs underneath her, leaned her head against the crumbling mortar of the cell wall. She said, "So you're one of...these people?" she nodded upward, to indicate the Scouts above them.

"I certainly am, and proud. Oh, so proud of my people. Now, who can live under Lemony Snicket and say they are proud of him, eh?" she cackled, "Not many, I think."

"Did the Snow Scouts once rule the whole world?" The details of pre-Snicketian history were not taught in regular schoolhouses, certainly not Prufrock Prep, where Isadora and Duncan had received their primary and {part of} their secondary educations.

"It is sad how our children are forced to forget their pasts." the woman shook her head, "There were once clans, the great roaming houses! The Snow Scouts, though then they were called the Masked Men, were the most powerful of all the clans. They settled in the spot that you now call Dirty Bastard. There was no city then, of course, but pasture...miles of rich pasture. And the sea, which is still there. As much as Lemony Snicket likes destroying things, I think he draws the line at the ocean."

More cackling, this time Isadora had to prompt the woman to go ahead, "And the clans...fought with each other, right?"

"Oh, yes. That is to be expected. The Masked Men tried their very best to keep the peace in the whole nation, but no two of the tribes...there were thirteen in all...could ever seem to agree on anything. Wars were frequent, but they always ended quickly, all thanks to the Masked Men." the nostalgic smile she'd been wearing now slipped from her face, "But that glorious age was ended on the Dark Day."

"When the Snickets came."

"Yes, yes...you don't have to tell me that." tittered the woman, "I know some people regard the story with skepticism now. The youth and their stubbornness! But it is true. On that day, a fierce storm arrived, suddenly and with no warning, in the city of the Masked Men. There was much destruction, and many were killed; much more was damaged. The Great Sea...I do not think there is a moment in all our history when it has been more furious. There were waves so high...and I saw some myself...that they crashed against the rocky bluffs above the shoreline."

She paused, nodded, and adjusted the hem of the sodden rag she wore that, Isadora noted, might have once been a silk nightgown.

"The Snickets came out of that storm, crashed right into the city of the Masked Men. I was a young girl then, not much older than you." she scrutinized Isadora closely, "How old are you?"

"Thirteen, or so." Isadora said after a little thought, "I forgot my actual birthday, but I know I'm around that age."

"Comforting that children can't remember when they were born."

Isadora, insulted, was about to cite youthful indoctrination as the cause of her ignorance, but the woman went on, now talking more to herself than to Isadora.

"Eleazar Snicket, his son Jacob, Jacob's wife, Lime, and her three children; they were tiny then, little newborns. And that family landed right there in the middle of our civilization. It was so wrecked by the storm...the militia had been displaced; the warriors scattered or killed. The High Chieftain, Rhodes of the Plain, had been mortally wounded when the strong winds knocked his warhorse onto him."

Isadora blinked, "Um..."

"Oh, shut up, it was a courageous death! That horse was strong stuff. Unfortunately it died too when a fly landed on its nose and it tried to kick it away." she waved a hand through the air, "Anyway, with all that confusion, and the Masked Men so depleted in power, Eleazar was able to seize control almost effortlessly. I know what they call it now..."

"'The Snicktacular Revolution." Isadora filled in.

"But it wasn't 'Snicktacular' at all. So what, there wasn't any bloodshed? It was still the most cowardly takeover in the history of this land, I don't know about the other ones. The Masked Men had no way of resisting, so weakened were they after that storm. All Eleazar had to do was stake his claim to our land and announce, 'This is mine, peoples!' and so it was."

"And...no one resisted?" asked Isadora, finding it rather hard to believe now that the facts were being told to her, "They all just gave up?"

"The cowards gave up, little girl, not the Masked Men!" the woman was getting very excited now, waving her fist in the air and speaking so fast spit flew out of her mouth, "When the outer clans heard what had happened to the Masked Men, they immediately swore allegiance to the Snickets, abandoning any dignity they had and becoming his boot licking bastards! Which," she added, "might be why they named the capital Dirty Bastard."

"But didn't Eleazar give us electricity, and cars, and trains..."

"Yes, yes, he did all that, and so what?" the woman examined Isadora through narrow eyes, "Those things don't belong here! Those so called 'modern conveniences' are all the trappings of the Snickets' land, not ours. This land isn't Snicket Land. It's our land." she stamped a talon-like old foot into the dust, tears of pride streaming down her face, "Ours! The other clans fell...they deserve what they got for allying with the Snickets! It is us, the Masked Men, who deserve to reclaim our land! We were the only ones that tried to resist!"

"Then why did you run off to the mountains?" Isadora quickly added, "I mean, if you were so keen on fighting back and everything."

For once, the old lady had no reply. She lowered her head and was silent. Shortly, Isadora heard long, practiced snores. Either she was sound asleep, or she was good at faking it.

"Has she finally shut up?"

Isadora had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming. She'd had no idea there was another prisoner in the cell. From a damp, muddy crevice in the side of the pit emerged a young man, maybe nineteen or twenty years old. His hair went down almost to his knees, rich and brown. His eyes were the same color, examining her with bored interest.

"Who...who are you?" Isadora asked, "I didn't..."

"I live in the cell next door."

"Next door?" Isadora echoed, feeling rather stupid, "The cells are all connected?"

"Well, yes. At least, the cells for the less dangerous prisoners. Most of them are Scouts themselves. You aren't," his eyes moved up and down her again, "You're one of those new people. The ones who were supposed to be executed."

"For ridiculous reasons."

"Frankly, I wouldn't know. I haven't been allowed to see the famous new seer, so I can't judge on family resemblance."

"But who are you? Why are you down here?"

He spread his arms wide, beaming brightly, "Alphonse of the Plain! Heir to the chieftainship of the Snow Scouts, formerly the Masked Men."

Isadora was surprised. She adjusted herself so she seemed more respectable, "You're...royalty?"

"The title's pretty much null and void now, with the Snickets ruling in Dirty Bastard." Alphonse shrugged, "Or didn't Gran Pam tell you that?"

Isadora looked out the snoring old woman, "That's her name?"

"Pamela Fitzberry; very loyal, very royal retainer. She was my nanny, and my father's nanny before me."

The moment he ended that sentence, Gran Pam opened her eyes as if she'd never been asleep at all, "You also forget, Ally boy, that I tended the garden plots in the original city of the Masked Men...years ago, that was. Yes, I've been attached to our land's true ruling family longer than anyone else still living."

"But I don't understand," said Isadora.

"There's a lot you don't understand." said Gran Pam, "I believe our conversation made that quite clear."

"Hey, don't knock me for being out of the loop. No one ever wants to tell me anything."

"Forget that, just go on. What don't you understand?"

"If you," she looked at Alphonse, "are the true chief, why are you and your nanny locked up down here? Sir said the Snow Scouts govern themselves..."

"You've answered your own question," Alphonse was smiling sadly, "When Eleazar Snicket took over and began to lay the plans for the city, the Masked Men fled to the wilderness."

"They weren't the only ones." said Gran Pam, "Many members of all the different clans went running; some to the Hinterlands, others to the Grasslands, and others more here, to the Dandruff Mountains.. it's just that the Masked Men were the only clan to leave in its entirety,. Not a single member wanted a part in the Snickets' rule, not after the destruction they'd caused. Now, Ally's grandfather: Twilliam of the Plain, he was the new chieftain after Rhodes' death. He tried his best to hold the Masked Men to their old ways, to assure them that one day they would return to power, but nothing worked. The people grew more and more restless and..." she clapped her hands together, "they killed him in his sleep, and immediately established the self governance, which I suppose would work in theory, but these people lose more and more of their sense every day..."

Alphonse concluded, "My grandmother, Celene, was imprisoned in a cell very much like this one. It was down here that she had my father, Vandicamp."

"It means, 'Great Victory' in the Old Tongue." interjected Gran Pam.

There was a silence after this, in which all Isadora could hear was the marching of the Scout troops overhead. It sounded like they'd finally caught someone. She wondered which it might be: the brother she'd grown up with all her life, or the person she'd poured her whole heart into.

Alphonse continued speaking, "Celene died in captivity some years later, but that only made my father's thirst for vengeance greater. He thought long and hard for months and was at last able to escape."

"Oh, I shall never forget that day." Gran Pam sounded far away and dreamy, "Vandicamp took my hands in his and said, 'Don't worry, Nan, I'll come back for you. See to it Elisa gets through all right—"

"Elisa:" Alphonse filled in, "my mother. She'd been imprisoned for some petty crime; stealing from the marketplace, or something." he smiled at her, "Gran Pam says I got my quick wits from her."

"And you got your stupidity from your father." the old woman laughed bitterly, "The man never came back. Some say he died before he made it out of the mountains. Others say he ran afoul of some ZYK men and was taken in for questioning. Either way, he's gone and likely isn't coming back."

"What happened to your mother?" asked Isadora.

"I had the pleasure of knowing her for about eight years," Alphonse's smile was still present, but it was a faint, flickering thing now, "She became ill, and died."

"Oh, if only the glory days would return!" moaned Gran Pam miserably, "Then you could reign over the whole land, Ally, and push a giant horse on Lemony Snicket, just to show him what it's like!"

"Pam, please..."

"You don't deserve to rot in this hole, boy, not with your blood! You should be riding across the plains and the hills, and the shores of the Great Sea! You should unite the clans; stop this insipid fighting! We have a common enemy, boy! Lemony Snicket must die!"

"Nan!" Alphonse reprimanded her, "How many times must I tell you? I'm planning my rise to power; I just have to fix a meeting with the council."

"Hello. What council?"

Gran Pam cursed loudly and put a hand to her heart. The two younger people turned to observe the grimy figure of Chubs emerging from yet another crevice in the wall.

"Chubs!" Isadora ran forward to embrace him, "Oh, Chubs, why didn't you run?"

"You know why, love." he kissed her gently, "You were still here. A dashing prince never leaves his maiden behind."

"You dare name yourself a prince!" spat Gran Pam, staggering to her feet and almost falling over on arthritic knees, "You, you curdled custard cake, are standing before the true prince of the Snow Scouts, of the clans united, of this whole world you have been raised to call Snicket Land!"

Chubs took off his glasses, squinted at Gran, and put them back on, "Isadora, what is this man doing here?"

"This man is Prince Alphonse of the Plain!" cried Gran Pam, waving her fists in the air, while Alphonse lowered his head in something resembling embarrassment, "And you would do well to address him as such!"

Chubs gawped at Gran, and fell on his knees before her, "I apologize, my Prince! I..."

"Chubs, she means the other one." Isadora pointed to Alphonse, "That is Alphonse of the Plain. She is Gran Pam."

It took a few minutes for Chubs to completely understand that. Then, he went to Alphonse and bowed before him, "Hello, sir. What are you prince of?"

"Long story." said Isadora, "But Chubs, why are you down here?"

"Isn't it obvious, dear? I was caught."

"Yes, I know, but...what are they going to do to us now?"

"Sir showed a small bit of mercy. By mercy, I mean he directed the entire cause of the scuffle at Duncan, who has mercifully,," he allowed himself a chuckle, "gotten away, though where to, I do not know. He then pulled Alice aside and told the Snow Scouts that she was going to deliberate on our fates."

"Hopefully she comes up with something more pleasant than the fire pit this time."

Chubs smiled, "Indeed. Maybe she will instead sing, Born free!" he began shrieking tonelessly, "As free as the wind blows! As free as the grass grows..." he beamed, "You see, then we would be allowed to go free, because that is what the song says."

"Real clever boy, isn't he?" observed Gran Pam.

"Well, all we can do until then is wait." said Isadora, sitting back down, and indicating that Chubs sit near her. She addressed Alphonse, "So, yeah: what council?"

"The clan elders. The ones who gather in the commons house. You may have seen some of them when you were brought before Barbara Ross."

"Yeah." Isadora nodded. Chubs gave her an inquisitive look, but she whispered, "I'll recap later. We've been in focus long enough already."

Alphonse continued, "I have been trying for years to get a meeting with the council, hoping they would reinstate me as chieftain. Then we could at least try to bring the clans together, starting with the Ninipickies..."

"They've always been hard to deal with." said Gran Pam.

"And eventually amassing a whole army. Then we would ride on Dirty Bastard." he sighed, "But that dream gets less and less likely each day."

"It seems to me," Chubs said, tweaking his nose importantly, "and forgive me if I get anything wrong, that what you really need is a good orator! Someone who can speak to sway the millions!"

He stood up again, and began to wave his arms around, "Friends! Snow Scouts! Countrymen! Lend me your..."

"Chubs, for God's sake, sit down." Isadora begged. Chubs did so, "But, really, a good speaker is certain to attract people to your cause."

This gave Alphonse food for thought. He was silent for some time, a finger placed on his lip.

"I think," he said at last, looking hard at Chubs, "that you are quite right about that."

---

Breakfast was passed with little trouble at all, a record for this weekend. After finishing a second helping of potatoes and eggs, {she was eating for two, after all} Kit pushed her chair back from the table, nodded curtly at the others at the table, most of whom weren't even paying attention to her, and left the dining room.

Her stomach was so large and ungainly now, that she had to walk with her hands against the wall in order to keep her back straight. Bad posture, she knew, could be harmful to the child developing within her.

Kit found the one she was looking for in the solarium, that great glass room jutting out of the southern wing of the house. The sun glinted off the glass panels, providing the most comfortable warmth on Mount Fickle-Nickle.

Dewey was standing near the grand piano, a cup of coffee in his hand. He was surveying the clear blue sky outside. There was no bluer sky in all of Snicket Land, not even at the shores of the Sea.

He turned around when he heard her approach, "Hello."

"You weren't at breakfast."

"I doubt I was missed."

"I missed you." she went up alongside him, "Esme also seemed a bit lost without you."

"Really?" he smirked, "What makes you say that?"

"Well, she was already in her seat when I arrived. Her eyes widened to about the size of billiard balls when she saw me coming in alone."

She laughed softly, "Sometimes I pity her. I don't think she quite understands love."

"That might be why she got along so well with Olaf."

Kit looked at his coffee mug, "Where did you get that?"

"Hugo took pity on me. I've been wandering the corridors since six o'clock."

Together, they sat on the wicker sofa, positioned so people could sit and view the statue garden beyond the glass.

Kit said, "Hugo's a dear, even though he doesn't seem to like me very much."

"I remember the first time I saw him. I walked into Lemony's throne room and, lo and behold, I saw Olivia Caliban, her balding sidekick, and Hugo with his friends. That was my last night at the Palace, you know." he sighed deeply, "From there, it was right to the Hotel." he smiled at her, "Where you found me."

Kit smiled at him, took his hand, and pressed it against her stomach.

"Do you feel it?"

He smiled, a smile brighter than she'd seen on him in a long time, "It's moving."

"Any day, Dewey; any day." she placed her hands over his, feeling the twitching of her baby inside, "He's very anxious to meet us both."

"He?" the eyebrow that wasn't hidden behind the mask inched up his face, "It's a boy?"

Kit shrugged, "I don't know. I don't quite mind either way. It's still a baby. Ours, and no one else's." but here she moved his hands off of her, "Well...at least I hope he stays ours."

"What do you mean?" Dewey picked his mug back up from the coffee table and took a tentative sip, "Why wouldn't he stay ours?"

"Dewey, when I said 'any day', I meant it." she looked into his eyes, one of them so clear and comprehending, the other hiding in shadow in the space of his stark white mask, "I think Lemony knows it too. Frankly, I think that's why he and Madame Anwhistle came here."

"To...to steal our baby."

Kit nodded, "I don't think Lemony has any interest in romance. He was always afraid of intimacy." she couldn't stop herself from smiling at the odd memories of her brother fainting at nude photographs in anatomy textbooks back at ZYK Academy, "I think he feels that if he can take my child, it's as good an heir as his baby would be. Besides," she stood up, going back to the glass wall, "he always resented me for being Dad's pick for the throne."

"Is that the real reason he exiled you?"

"One of many." Kit sighed, "Sometimes I wonder how much of what Lemony says is really his own opinion. He has a fondness for listening to whispers."

Dewey nodded, "Say what you will about Esme, but she felt the same way about the Anwhistle woman."

He joined her at the panels. The sunlight was shining brightly on the marble statues, and the snow that was sprinkled on and around them.

"Sometimes I like to imagine what my father would say if he were still here."

"Yes?"

She placed a hand on the glass which, having absorbed the sun's heat, was warm to the touch.

"No matter how much I try, I can't keep from imagining him with Lemony's face."

"Never fear, Kit. I won't let him take our child, and I don't think you'll sit back and let him rip it from your arms, either."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissed her on the forehead. She responded, kissing the hand that he was rubbing against her collarbone.

"I missed your confidence, Dewey."

"And I missed your spirit."

Neither of them were aware that, just behind the doorway, Madame Anwhistle was lurking; and she had heard every word they spoke.

---

Violet had to force herself to break free from the beauty of that moment. She knew there was much that had to be done, and simply dallying with Duncan was going to accomplish nothing. He had to know everything. Things would only become worse for her the longer she waited.

So she led him out of the lake, back to the rocks that rose in a heap on the sand. The sweet, salty wind tasted of everything Violet had learned to love in the Valley of the Four Deuces. It also reminded her of the lie she'd been living here.

"Well," said Duncan, looking so happy, so very innocent that it made her heart throb, "shall we find Quigley?"

"That's...that's what I wanted to tell you about, Duncan."

She sat on the nearest rock. Duncan sat beside her, still smiling, "What's wrong, my girl?"

Violet shook her head, "You know I love you, Duncan; you know that, don't you?"

"Of course I know that, Violet. I've loved you for...well, it seems like years, though it hasn't really been that long."

How those green eyes glinted when he laughed! Violet found herself thinking of Quigley's eyes, so similar in color but, now that she thought of it, they had never glinted. Quigley had lost such youthful exuberance many years ago.

Suddenly she was trembling, her reed dress now seeming nothing more than a thin sheet. How nervous she was; she couldn't do this. She couldn't break his heart like this...

But she had to tell him, lest she end up like Kit Snicket or Esme Squalor, or any of those other women who traded men for men more often than the weather changes its mood.

"Quigley is an amazing person." she began, making herself look straight into the eyes she loved so much, "And he looks so much like you, and a bit like Isadora too. He's survived up here for almost a decade, since the last ZYK outpost fell."

She would state the facts first, then get to the sensitive information. It seemed like the best way to handle this.

Duncan nodded, "I should think he survived this long with little trouble. There is resiliency in the Quagmire blood; just look at Alice!"

Violet smiled with him, "He's strong, and brave, and he knows so many things about how to live with nothing. Without him, I would probably have died in the mountains."

"Then I am indebted to him, as any brother should be." pride shook in his voice.

Oh God...oh God, I can't do this.

But you must, another voice bade her, the more rational part of her brain, you owe it to him.

"Quigley and I...Duncan, Quigley is in love with me."

She waited for a short bit, allowing Duncan's mouth to open slightly, as though he was at a loss for words.

"And I...I accepted his advances."

She could think of no other way to phrase it then that, though it sounded so...so impersonal. Violet felt her breath catch in her lungs. She gripped the edge of the rock with her hand, her eyes still not leaving Duncan, who was silent and unmoving.

"I'm sorry, Duncan. I was weak; and he was so alone." despite herself, she felt tears coming into her words, felt her eyes sting with their promise, "He hasn't spoken to another human being in years. When I washed up from the stream, he couldn't believe it. He brought me here, he saved my life. And...oh, and Duncan..." here they were, the tears, "...he was so angry! He hated Alice for what she did, he didn't even want to hear about you or Isadora. But I helped him. I helped him see differently. Please, Duncan...please, understand."

Duncan stood up and turned to the lake, his hands clasped behind his back. Violet saw they were shaking. His shoulders began to heave. When he finally spoke, his voice was trembling as much as hers had been.

"I remember Prufrock Prep; when Carmelita held my heart. She swore she would love me as long as I lived. And, I suppose I was as yet unused to the world...and how cruel it can be. I believed her words; I convinced myself of her sincerity. Then she betrayed me; she betrayed us all. I swore to myself, in that horrible prison with Isadora, that I would never be deceived by sweet words and kind smiles again." he looked back at her, his face as grim as she'd ever seen it, "But I've been fooled again." he walked a little past her, his fists clenched.

Violet heard a quiet sob.

He said, "What am I, Violet, that I can be so easily tricked? Am I a fool for thinking I can be loved? Am I too much of a child to fall in love? I can expect such a betrayal from Carmelita. She herself was not much inclined to love. But you... Violet, you saved my life when I was shot. But you turn from me the moment I'm gone. And you fell in with my brother."

He was quiet, and Violet heard him try to fight his sorrow. When he asked the next question, he spoke with a calm frankness that made Violet's blood run cold.

"Did he take you?"

"I..."

She got up and began to approach him, holding her hand out as if to take his arm, but she thought better of it and pulled back, "Yes. Yes, Duncan, he did."

Now he went back to face her. Violet had never seen him so upset, "And I suppose you were quite happy he did."

"It's not like that..."

"Don't play me for a fool, Violet!" he now moved back to the shoreline, his fists clenched, "What did I do, Violet? What did I do that made you forget me the moment I was gone?" he kicked a clump of pebbles into the water, "Or was it the opposite? Did you kiss him because he had my face?"

"That's...that's not fair."

"Then what is?" he said bitterly, pacing back and forth, his teeth clenched, "What is fair, Violet? I..." he stopped moving, ran his hands down his face, "I'm sorry. I...I just want an explanation, Violet. If you claim to have such feelings for me, why would you forsake me for the brother I've never known?"

"I won't say it isn't my fault, Duncan, because it is." she sighed, "But there was also Quigley. He was so alone, Duncan, and I don't think he really knew a thing about other people. When he kissed me the first time...he was just as unsure as me. I guess I..." she passed her hand over her eyes, "...I guess I wanted to make him happy. Because I knew how lonely he was. And, in a small way, I understood it. And, Duncan, you and Isadora were alone for all that time at Prufrock Prep. You can understand too. But Quigley's situation was worse than ours. He had no one. And I suppose I was...well, a culture shock."

Again, they did not talk for some time, before Duncan let out a long gasp and wrapped his arms around her, putting his face against her shoulder, "Oh God, Violet, you surprise me more and more as I know you. I can't say I completely understand, but I know now...I know how he must feel." he pulled the hug apart, "We must see him."

"Yeah," said Violet, a smile beginning to emerge, "Yeah. Come on, let's go."

She took his hand, awkwardly. With equal awkwardness, he wrapped his fingers around it. It would take time, Violet knew, to fix everything. But for now, Violet was more thankful than ever that Duncan was forgiving. That was another quality he didn't share with his brother. Quigley was so much more rigid, so much more stern. He wouldn't give second chances. Would he?

Violet told Duncan more about her adventures in the Valley as they climbed the slope back toward the hut. Duncan was interested to hear about Quigley's map making, and his theories about the lands beyond the sea.

He appeared to be so excited, but nervous too. He kept muttering to himself, adjusting his torn, bloodstained shirt.

"Do you think he'll be disappointed?" he asked at one point, as the figure of the stone hut appeared on top of the hill.

"Duncan. Really. He told me just last night that he wouldn't mind seeing you and Isadora again. Believe me, that's a huge improvement from when I first got here."

"Maybe. What if..."

Now they came to the entrance of the hut.

"Quigley?" Violet called.

The cot was empty, the colorful quilt lying folded on top of it. Violet hadn't done that. Quigley's tunic and trousers were also missing from the corner where he kept them folded.

She and Duncan exchanged a look, different emotions playing on their faces at once. Violet went further into the hut, toward where the stone maps were laid against the wall.

"Ow!"

She drew her bare foot back, reeling in pain.

"Are you alright?" Duncan led her to the cot and sat her down, "My dear, you're bleeding."

Violet shook her head, "It's just a little cut. I'll rinse it out in the lake." she got up again and, more carefully this time, went to the map section. There were sharp-edged stone shards on the floor. Violet picked up the on she had stepped on. Etched into it was a rough series of lines and squiggles.

"He shattered one of his maps." she put the piece down and turned to Duncan, "He knows you're here. And he's left."

---

Madame Anwhistle's feet were killing her. The rocky, snowy ground that topped Mount Fickle-Nickle was uneven and murder to her old feet, encased in high heeled boots as they were.

If only they made orthopedic shoes that looked fetching!

She wasn't too old for romance. Her first marriage had ended disastrously, and all she'd gotten from that was a daughter she never saw.

Whatever had happened to Belle? Madame Anwhistle hadn't gotten a letter from her since she'd been elevated to personal adviser. She resented her, probably. They never had gotten along particularly well.

But Ike would know what to do, she thought as she walked along the old, creaky pier, he always knew how to rein her in.

The great, fabulous lake on top of Mount Fickle-Nickle was worth the trip there all by itself. It was almost perpetually coated in the hardest, most silvery ice imaginable. Here, in the late morning sun, it shone like a diamond. Madame Anwhistle was glad for the wide brimmed hat she wore, which kept the brightness from hitting her full on.

He was right where she knew he would be, the thin blades of his skates scratching and slashing their way across the ice. Lemony was still wearing the trailing overcoat he liked, and it somehow wasn't hindering his graceful, dancer-like progress around the lake.

Madame Anwhistle sat on one of the old mooring posts, her rose patterned cloak trailing behind her. She called, "Can His Snicketness spare a moment's gaiety for some words with his councilor?"

Lemony pirouetted, executed a figure eight, and then made his way over to Madame Anwhistle at the jetty, "I always have time for gaiety, you know that. 'Gaiety' is a word which here means..."

"Yes, yes, we know." Madame Anwhistle curled a finger in her direction, "Draw close, Lemony, I bear news."

Lemony removed his felt bowler hat and twirled it around his hand, as though he were a street entertainer, before sitting on the mooring post opposite Madame Anwhistle's.

"What is this news?"

"Early this morning, I was given a message by Rembrandt, one of our pilots."

"Indeed?"

"Apparently, while we've been enjoying this strange little reunion at your sister's..." she looked back at the looming, ominous presence of the chateau, "...secluded hideaway, another murder spree has happened."

"Oh, really?" Lemony reached into his coat and produced a small agenda book, in which his neat handwriting spelled out his various plans and concerns. Madame Anwhistle allowed herself a smile. Lemony was very much like his father.

He said, consulting the book, "Any connection to the Baudelaire-Quagmire murderers? If so, we have the baby right here. She could be brought in for questioning."

Madame Anwhistle had observed that Lemony was most focused on his job when it came to detective work. He was a born detective, a natural investigator. Yet, somehow, he had been unable to come even close to suspecting the truth of his adviser's relationship with him, or her plans against him.

"There is only one witness on hand to tell the story of all this. You remember Lieutenant Strauss, of the LSPD?"

"Oh, yes...yes; the older woman of ambiguous sexual preference."

"Yes, her. Apparently, the whole thing started when she and a small platoon chased a group of criminals into the waste filter pipes. A deputy, Carl Sandbag, was found stabbed to death in a crawlspace. The Baudelaire and Quagmire children were apparently on the scene, as well as..." she whispered, "and here's where it get's very interesting...Olaf himself!"

"Oh, really?" Lemony added, hopefully, "Any sign of Plot Twist?"

"No, Lemony." Madame Anwhistle pursed her lips together, "You should stop harping on about him. Whatever his plans are, they haven't interfered with you yet."

"So these children and Olaf were at the scene of these murders...are they responsible?"

"Strauss says a talking snake did it." Madame Anwhistle shrugged, "As improbable as it may seem, we now have a case of multiple murder, as well as the scandalous activities of one of the victims. Apparently the talking snake was one of many prisoners kept in underground tunnels and subjected to horrible tortures and 'experiments'." she looked meaningfully at him, "Ring any bells?"

"If you're talking about the freaks in the cage..."

"The last three of which are serving us at this weekend house party."

"...that was an entirely different matter. My father had good reason to do that to them."

"I never said he didn't. I knew your father too, Lemony. Don't forget that."

"Certainly I won't."

They looked out at the ice briefly, and the sun playing on it. For a moment, Madame Anwhistle felt sorry that Lemony would have to die. She felt very sorry indeed.

But conquests were conquests, no matter how horrible they made you feel. They still paid off in the end. She knew that.

"The reason I told you all that is because I have arranged a radio press conference with Strauss. It is to be done at her soonest convenience."

"And what will you do after that?"

"I will conduct press arrangements as necessary. Apparently, the Pinch in Your Eye already published a brief summary of the events. I'm sure they'll want to launch an investigation as well."

"Fine."

Madame Anwhistle stood up and brushed the dust off the hem of her cloak, "You know, as I was leaving breakfast this morning, I chanced to catch a bit of conversation."

"Fascinating." he was already strapping his skates back on.

"Your sister was talking to Dewey Plot Twist."

Lemony almost severed his finger on one of the blades, "Where is the Chamber Pot?!"

"No, you dunce, it had nothing to do with that. But it gave me something to think about."

"What?" Lemony had gone right back to being uninterested.

"What are your thoughts about your future niece or nephew?"

"Who?"

"Kit's unborn child."

"Oh. That little creature. 'Fetus' is a word which here means..."

"Your thoughts?"

He put his hat back on, "So what? What do I care if she has to live the rest of her days forcing mashed peas down some crying baby's throat?"

"Well, just that Kit was expressing worries to Dewey..."

"About the Chamber Pot?"

"No! About her baby. She was wondering if you were considering taking the child from her once it is born in order to raise it as your heir."

Lemony opened his mouth a bit and proceeded to gawp at her as though he'd had his brains knocked out from his ears.

"...that...that is ridiculous! Why would she presume something so stupid?"

Madame Anwhistle smiled, "It isn't that farfetched. You believed all women had cooties until the ripe age of seventeen when your father had to force you to listen to him explain everything."

She remembered that day with some fondness, but there would be more time to linger later.

"...well, I won't deny that...I don't much want to get married."

"A pity. Your parents were the most striking couple in all the land."

They were. Damn that woman. Damn her to hell three times over.

Lemony skipped his way back onto the ice and whirled around in a full circle, "I won't deny, though, Aunt Jo...that idea isn't too bad. Make a note: we might just pursue it if worse comes to worse."

He went back to skating around the lake. Madame Anwhistle rolled her eyes, knowing he couldn't see so from that far off. He only called her 'Aunt Jo' when he wanted something. That was a nickname Jacob had imposed once she'd taken a job in the Palace.

And, wasn't it funny? Kit's worries had been for nothing...but now that might very well be worth everything. But, anyway, Madame Anwhistle intended to have wiped Lemony out long before the time came for baby-napping.

Speaking of which, she'd have to schedule another meeting with her secret conspirators.

"Off I go," she began walking back to the chateau, "to plan the next operation."

And who said politics were boring?

---

"Wake up in the morning, I was just in the middle of a dream...Oh. No, that's flat."

It was very hard to play music entirely from memory. Flo adjusted herself on the hard wooden seat of the piano bench in the solarium. Kit and Dewey had been there when she'd come in, but as soon as they saw her, they turned tail and went right out of there.

They probably think I'm a spy for Olaf or something.

She was getting very sick of everyone thinking of her as merely an extension of Olaf's personality. She and the others...Fernald, Tocuna, Enya, even the freaks...were all very much their own people. They had personalities, and goals, and histories, though those were rather miserable.

"...I was kissing Gian-Tino...No." What was that guy's name? Flo racked her brain yet again, to try and recall all the lyrics of Alice Quagmire's favorite song.

She was getting to the chorus now. Good. She remembered that pretty easily.

"Just another manic Monday!" a few accompanying presses of the keys, "I wish it were Sunday...'cause that's my fun day! My I don't have to run day! It's just another..."

And here, Flo experienced a sensation she hadn't felt in some time. Wearily, she took her hands from the keys and pressed them to her head. Suddenly, the whole room was shimmering, going in and out of focus. Flo opened her mouth, tried to get out a scream, but she couldn't make a sound.

It couldn't be happening again, it couldn't! And yet...

She didn't know where she was. Like the last time, she was only able to see certain things, magnified in a great, empty space. Whereas her last vision had been a series of confused images, here only two stood out prominently.

There was a large chain, the links it was forged of whiter than any metal in existence. This chain seemed to have a mind of its own, winding around her, but not in any harmful, dangerous way, as though it were trying to crush her. No, the chain seemed to want to lead her away from some great danger.

The chain snapped in two, suddenly and with no warning, white hot sparks flashing up around her. The second image was another strange one, also colored white and blank. He was a knight in armor, riding astride a—you guessed it—white stallion, his sword held above his head. He made no sound, nor did his horse. The visor of his helm was lifted, and Flo could see a pair of blank, expressionless eyes staring at her.

She couldn't move, she couldn't get out of the way! She would be trampled...

Flo opened her eyes, her head throbbing a beat like a percussive cymbal in a "spring melodies in the park" ensemble.

The sun was higher in the sky now, she could see through the panels of the solarium. How long had she been inert, trapped by whatever strange forces compelled her to have these visions?

"I...I have to tell the others." she resolved to herself, standing up and grabbing onto the piano to steady herself, "They'll know what to do."

Gathering her strength as she went, Flo hurried out of the room, down the corridor, and up the stairs to the second floor. Along the way she glimpsed only one person: young Lucy Tench, who nodded politely to her as she passed the Blackwoodshires' room.

When Flo reached the appropriate door, she knocked insistently upon it.

"'Allo?"

"Fernald, it's Flo." she cleared her throat nervously, "Could I talk to you for a second?"

The door opened, accompanied by the usual sounds of Fernald getting his hooks stuck in the wood and having to wrench them out. He was wearing only some soft pants and a bathrobe.

"Were you asleep?" she asked him, feeling a little guilty.

"Not quite. I just didn't want to get out of bed." he examined her closely, "What's wrong, dearie?"

"Come with me. I want to tell Tocuna too."

So he went to the next door down with her. When Flo knocked on this one, a dull, subdued voice answered, "Who is it?"

"It's Fernald and Flo, Tocuna." Flo picked nervously at the sleeve of her dress, feeling anxious again, "I want to tell you something."

"Come in. It's not locked."

Certainly, the door was unlocked. Flo and Fernald entered. The room where Tocuna slept was also shared by Enya, who slept on the large futon-like thing next to the armoire. Tocuna was reclining in the little bed, sipping very sparingly from a china teacup.

She looked at them with bloodshot, tired eyes, "Hey, sis. Hi, Hooky."

Flo was struck by how disheveled her sister looked, and was only then reminded of the outburst she'd had at dinner last night.

"How have you been feeling?"

"You look terrible, love." Fernald said out loud what Flo was thinking. He had a habit of doing that.

Tocuna put the teacup down at the trestle table next to the bed, "Enya's been taking care of me. It made me some tea, and insisted I sleep in, and everything."

"That was nice of it." Flo sat in the chair adjacent to the bed, "Now, the reason I wanted to speak to you two was..." she paused, not sure how best to say it, "I had another vision."

"What?" asked Fernald, while Tocuna gasped and put a hand over her mouth, "What was it this time?"

"Oh...it was like the one I had in the Hinterlands last time. More weird pictures, and I didn't really understand any of them." she stood up and began moving restlessly about the room, "This time there was a...a chain, like in a dungeon, with metal links..."

"Sounds sexy." muttered Fernald; Flo glared at him.

"Then there was a...a soldier on a horse. And he...he had his sword out, and he looked about ready to kill me but then...then I snapped out of it."

It was quiet for a while. After about a minute had passed Tocuna asked, "Did you have a good breakfast this morning?"

"...What?"

"The doctor on the T.V. says that missing breakfast can lead to strange daydreams and hallucinations. It's even worse if you eat a decadent breakfast, without any whole wheat or pure dairy. Then you get some kind of vengeful diarrhea..."

"Tocuna, I wasn't having hallucinations!" said Flo, sitting on the futon, "Fernald, isn't it true that I had that vision last time?"

"Well, yes, love, but you must admit, everything you saw in that particular vision made no bloody sense." he shrugged, "Neither does this one."

"That's not true!" retorted Flo, feeling rather childish but refusing to step away from her opinion, "I saw...I saw wolves and snakes in that vision! Remember what happened to Reggie?"

Fernald's face fell as he recalled their former associate, Reggie the Bean, formerly Richie the Avocado.

"And as for snakes, look at what happened just a few days ago! That vision may not have made much sense at the time, but it makes plenty of sense now! It was a warning." she took a deep breath to calm her frenzied nerves, "And the vision I had today is probably very similar."

"Maybe you should take a walk in the fresh air, sweetie." Tocuna advised, picking up the cup again, "If your vision was a vision, maybe you'll be able to make some sense of it al fresco, as they say."

Flo opened her mouth to argue, but decided there was no point in it, "Maybe you're right," she consented, already going to the door, "I'll take a little walk around the grounds."

"Shall I come with?" Fernald moved to go to her.

"No. Thank you, Fernald. But I'd rather have time to reflect on my own." she smiled at him, "We'll talk later."

She made a quick stop at their room in order to put on her coat and scarf, and then she was off to explore the place.

She first considered stopping by the frozen lake, but then noticed the statue garden to the south of the house. It was an attractive place, with a little footbridge and clever arrangements of the marble figures. She decided to walk there, and think.

It was quiet out here, and for the first time Flo became aware of how isolated they all were on top of this mountain. If it weren't for everyone in the house constantly squabbling, scheming, and backstabbing the whole area would ring true with the true sound of the mountains: silence. Pure silence.

As Flo was approaching the center of the garden, one particular sculpture caught her eye. She almost fainted on the spot.

It was a statue, like the others, carved in white marble, about a foot taller than her. It was an armored knight, riding astride his steed, his sword held high above his head, as if in salute.

---

Olaf swept grandly into the disused parlor on the third floor, Sunny tottering along behind him. He had elected to wear his finest gray pinstripe suit to this meeting, and had accessorized with a gold chain that stood out quite boldly against his chest hairs.

"Hello, hello, hello." he smiled at all of them, stroking his chin with his long, white fingers. He'd called a meeting among his followers, and now looked around the room to make sure no one was truant.

There was Fernald, leaning against an old grandfather clock, his foot propped up against the wooden base. On the torn, slouching loveseat were Tocuna and Enya, the former looking tired and weary, and the latter chewing on its lip, in deep thought.

Hugo, Collette, and Kevin were all together, as they usually were: grouped up next to the curtained window that kept them in shadow. {Olaf was paranoid about spies climbing the waterspout to eavesdrop through the windowpanes} None of them spoke.

Finally, there were the new invitees: Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire, who sat in twin armchairs by the door, staring coldly at Olaf as he entered.

Sunny {I tricked you, didn't I? You thought this scene was in Olaf's perspective!} cleared her throat, meaning, "There's one missing, Hot Pie."

"You're right, Sour Sweet." Olaf replied; he looked toward Fernald, Tocuna, and Enya, "Where is Pasty Face #1?"

"Why is she number one?" asked Tocuna, affronted, "I'm older!"

"You can say that again." muttered Kevin from the corner. Collette nudged him, "Hey! Be nice."

"Aw, shut up, Collie; you're not my mother."

Collette raised her eyebrows and turned away from him. Sunny thought she heard a mutter of, "I thought we had something."

Kevin didn't reply.

"Flo fancied a walk in the sun." said Fernald, "She's a bit out of sorts, lately."

"I'd say we all are." said Olaf, strutting over to the middle of the room, where he could observe them all at once, simply by revolving slowly on his tiptoes, which he did. Sunny, at a nodded indication from him, sat down in front of an old cello that had been half-eaten by woodworms. Sunny, noting the many bite marks in the instrument, began to add some of her own throughout the conference.

Lady Blackwoodshire demanded of Olaf, "See here now, you balding, hairy, sickly creature. What business do you have with my husband and I? I am quite sick of all this silly beating around the bush!"

"I am also sick of beatings!" cried Olaf, coming over to breathe his foul breath into the Lady's face, "We are already getting along swimmingly!"

"See here!" exclaimed the Lord, "Only I am allowed to intimidate my wife!"

"He's right." said Elnora, "Just get to the point. From what I gather, we're all going home tomorrow, anyway. If there's something you want done up here, there isn't much time to do it."

Olaf's unibrow began wiggling in that strange way Sunny was always fascinated by. It meant he was planning a great speech through which he would narrate his plans.

"Last night," he began, gesticulating masterfully with his arms, "Sunny and I chanced to spot something most intriguing from our bedroom."

"Well, Heebus Bejeebus, isn't this thrilling?" Lady Blackwoodshire took a pair of tweezers from her purse, which she began to apply to some hairs growing from a mole on her cheek. Sunny noted the nearby Collette retch audibly. The Lady finished, "Get on with it, Olaf."

"There is, or are, a person, or persons, unknown camping out in the Zebras of Yarrow and Kronkite." Olaf smiled, "I'm certain that name should sound very familiar to all of you."

"Some kind of Zoo?" offered Kevin.

"No, you octo-armed freak!"

"Classy." said Enya, not meeting Olaf's eye.

"It is the valley where the ZYK Headquarters was."

"Oh, yes. The thing you ran over with a train." Lady Blackwoodshire said, "How do you know people are camping out there?"

"Sunny and I saw smoke rising from the valley. Smoke means fire, isolated smoke means isolated fire, isolated fire means campfire, campfire means camp, camp means people."

"Ooh, ooh!" Collette clapped her hands, "People mean food!"

"I..." Olaf stared dumbly at her before shaking his head clear and continuing, "Well, anyway. The very fact that there are people making camp so very close to our current location suggests..."

"That tourism is going up?" asked Lord Blackwoodshire drily.

"Shut up! It suggests that people are venturing this way, up here, to this house!"

"I thought Kit said there would be no other surprise guests."

"Will you put a sock in it?" spat Olaf at the Lady, "This coincides very well with something I learned in my recent adventures..." he nodded at his three 'classic' associates in the room, and Sunny, "...in the bowels of Dovecotes Villa, in the Dark Forest."

He paused for dramatic effect, "It was there that we came up against the Baudelaire and Quagmire children yet again." he smiled at Sunny, who attempted a smile back, but her teeth were all cluttered with wood chips from the cello.

"It was there that Sunny and I had our heartfelt reunion."

"In which she tried, in high spirits, to bite your hand off." added Enya.

"We've gotten past that roadblock now, you strange abomination!" he looked at Sunny and smiled again. She gave him the 'thumbs up'.

"We also became the victims of the machinations of a rather murderous man: Montgomery Quagmire, the father of the Quagmire children, long presumed dead. He is dead now."

"Is this going anywhere, or are you just going to keep yelling at us?" asked Lady Blackwoodshire.

"In those catacombs beneath the house, we met Alice Quagmire, Monty's also presumed dead wife, who has quite lost her mind. Her children were glad to see her again, though at such loss." he sighed in what he seemed to think was a sympathetic manner. It sounded more like he was a senior citizen with advanced stage bronchitis.

"In Alice's diary, which she gave the children, they learned...and I learned through them...that there is a third Quagmire sibling. They are triplets, not twins."

"How many triplets are there in this place?" asked Fernald incredulously, "The Snickets, the Plot Twists, now these kids..."

"I used to have a twin," said Collette, "but he died after ingesting too much bathroom cleaning solution, she sighed, "He wasn't very bright, poor Colin."

Olaf continued, "His name is Quigley, and he, apparently, was sent to a ZYK outpost at a young age, while his siblings were sent to Prufrock Preparatory School, where their pasts eventually became a hazy blur, and they forgot everything from before they'd come there. Alice wanted one of her children to receive a ZYK education. Of course," he smiled again, "the last outpost fell almost ten years ago. Where has he been since? Is he still alive?"

"Will Maura discover Tyler's betrayal?" asked Tocuna desperately. When they all stared at her, she apologized, "Sorry. I watch too many soap operas."

"If that campfire is any evidence of anything...it could be that he is right down there. Our key to inheriting the Quagmire family fortune, given that Duncan and Isadora starve in the pit where I left them. But," he spun around full circle, propelling his arms like helicopter blades, "There is a second, even more plausible, possibility, which Sunny and I realized just this morning."

"Tweesh." which means, "Actually, you kinda figured it all out. I was too tired, and you never gave me that foot massage I asked for."

Olaf went on, so excited was he, "The Baudelaire orphans, and Quagmire half-orphans, of which two of each were left, with several others, in that underground prison, are extremely clever, and prone to finding their way out of numerous sticky situations. Maybe, even without the benefit of Sunny's excellent teeth..."

Sunny, flattered, smiled. Her gums were bleeding, not for the first time, from all the wood she'd just bitten. Hugo caught this from the corner of his eye, and kind of swooned against Kevin, who pushed him upright again.

"...they were able to devise a way out of there. Then, of course, they would want to pursue us all... except you people, you weren't there." he indicated the freaks and the Blackwoodshires, "to this chateau."

"Which you stupidly told them the location of, am I right?" asked Lady Blackwoodshire acidly.

"How was I to know they had brains?"

Lady Blackwoodshire shrugged, and took a man's pocket watch from her dress, which she examined, "Come on, Olaf. Y&R starts soon, and I don't want to miss the Newman wedding."

"Another one?" asked Tocuna, with interest. Lady Blackwoodshire nodded vaguely in her direction. Olaf rolled his eyes and persisted.

"If these children, Alice Quagmire, and maybe some of the others who were there, are coming up here, they have two goals that I can fathom. One, to find Quigley, if he is still alive and in the Dandruff Mountains. And two, the more accessible one: storming us here at our stronghold to steal Sunny from us." he smiled at her again. Sunny batted her eyes back at him.

"Aren't you holding her against her will?" asked Lord Blackwoodshire.

"Not anymore! We've reached an understanding!"

Sunny nodded in agreement. Olaf was pleased by that.

"But what do you want us to do, Olaf, if they really are so close already?" asked Fernald, "Remember, they're wanted criminals, and Lemony Snicket himself is staying here with us."

"That's true enough." said Lady Blackwoodshire, "I can't see why you'd want our help at all. Remember, Olaf: we're members of Parliament. We, unlike you, can't afford to overstep the boundaries of the law."

"Oh, don't sit atop your high horse, woman!" said Olaf, "If you think I invited you and your husband here without being familiar with your careers, you're loonier than Alice Quagmire."

"If, by 'our careers'," said the Lord slowly, and angrily, "you mean our careers in the House of Commons..."

"Don't play dumb!" Olaf stamped his foot on the old carpet, kicking up a clod of dust that made Sunny's eyes water, "ZYK isn't the only secret organization in this country, I know that very well. What should I bring up first, milord? The Rydberg murders, the Hewitt murders, the Yancy kidnapping, the torching of the Havindash Horseradish Factory...what about the Tench murders? I'm sure your little Lucy girl would love to hear that story."

Lady Blackwoodshire gasped sharply, and Lord Blackwoodshire shot to his feet, punching Olaf squarely in the jaw. Olaf fell over into Fernald, knocking over the grandfather clock, which fell on the loveseat, causing Enya and Tocuna to jump off in shock, and barrel into the freaks by the window. Sunny observed all this with small interest.

Olaf righted himself, brushing the small trickle of blood from his lip as if it were nothing. To Lord Blackwoodshire he said, importantly, "I know more about you then you'd care me to know, milord. Or should I say, 'The Man With Beard, But No Hair'? And his wife..." he stared at the pale Lady, who was shaking with fury, "'The Woman With Hair, But No Beard'."

"She's got a mustache, though." observed Kevin. No one paid him heed.

"You two may pretend to be the highest in high standing society, but I know better. I know what you really do. I don't know why you do it, but I know what you serve. And I know I need that kind of power to get what I want. And you two will help me get what I want, lest I tell someone important all I know. Including, perhaps, the little girl in your care, who you pretend is so insignificant."

There was a very long silence, in which everyone looked expectantly at the Blackwoodshires. Sunny didn't have a clue what Olaf was talking about, and she didn't think the other henchfolk did either.

The Blackwoodshires shared in a hasty, whispered discussion. When they were finished, Lord Blackwoodshire asked, in a measured tone, "What would you have us do?"

"I know you have an influence over these mountain tribes." Olaf answered, "You have connections placed in each one of them. Is that so?"

Reluctantly, Florine Blackwoodshire answered, "It is."

"Then contact these contacts." Olaf was back to being grandiose, his sense of victory permeating the air, "I want warriors from all the tribes sent to the Zebras of Yarrow and Kronkite. I will have those children caught."

"And if it isn't the children?" asked the Lady, her fists clenched, "What happens then?"

"Then the warriors may kill them." Olaf applauded, skipping around the room, "Ooh, see how good it is to comply, milord and milady?" he sat on the loveseat, but it snapped in two after all the strain, causing him to hit the floor. Weakly, he said, "I think I deserve that."

"You do." said Elnora, "But we will do as you say." she looked around at all of them, "So long as nothing we've said here leaves this room."

"You have my word." said Olaf, "I can trust my associates to keep their mouths shut."

He bowed the Blackwoodshires out of the room. Once they were gone, Enya approached Olaf and asked, "Really?"

"'Really', what?"

"You can trust us to keep our mouths shut, eh? Without asking if we will, of course."

"Do you intend to go blabbering? To whom?" Olaf was sounding very flippant, as he went over to Sunny and picked her up, "Last I checked you work for me."

"No." said Enya harshly, "We do not work for you. We're your slaves. No pay, no lodgings, constantly traveling the country, constantly getting caught in dangerous situations... Now you're putting the work onto those Blackwoodshires! What are we to do beside sit patiently and clean up after you?"

"Are you asking for more work? That can be arranged."

"I don't ask for more work, Olaf! I," and it looked at the other henchfolk around the room, "and they as well, are asking to be treated as equals!"

"But you're not my equals, Enya. You know the pecking order around here. I'm at the top. My girl," he kissed Sunny's forehead, causing her to blush, feeling uncomfortable in the tense situation, "Is just below me, and only takes orders from me. The rest of you are at the bottom, and must work amongst yourselves taking orders from, yes, me."

Enya, seething, turned around and stormed out of the room. Tocuna and Fernald ran right out after it, the freaks following a bit behind.

"Forget them, my love." Olaf told Sunny, "I think it's time I get you that massage."

They left too.

---

Tocuna, Fernald, and the freaks finally caught up with Enya at the end of the second floor corridor.

"Enya!" Tocuna called to it, "Enya, what has gotten into you? That was very dangerous, yelling at Olaf like that..."

"What's going on?" they turned around to see Flo coming up the stairs to them, "Why are you all standing out here?"

"Enya yelled at Olaf." Tocuna told her, forgetting to ask how her sister's walk had gone, "They're both very upset."

"No! That's it." Enya told them all with finality, "That's it."

"What's it?" asked Fernald.

"We're done with Olaf." it crossed it's arms, "It's Madame Anwhistle we answer to now."

Collette gasped, "You mean..."

"Yes. We're going to kill the Snicket."

---

A/N: Ooh, the plot's taking so many twists and turns I feel I might get nauseous! I immensely enjoyed writing this chapter, and the ones following it, probably because I've grown a liking for complicated plot threads ever since discovering the Game of Thrones books.

Oh, also...there's a special new treat thingy on our profile page! I have taken pains to add a 'favorite Queer Events character' poll where you...yes, you...can vote for...well, you know. I tried to include everyone of some importance from all installments so far, and I included a nifty 'Other' selection in case you prefer someone like...say, Lettie McPhee or Mr. Starloff.

Have a good week!

Update Coming {fingers crossed} Next Friday!:)