Chapter 9, Things Begin to Come Together, But Probably Not in a Good Way
Disclaimer: Anyone hear the joke about the writer who didn't own what he wrote about? Yeah, I know, it's classic!
A/N: And...welcome to Chapter 9! Here's hoping you had a good week, because I did. I'll try my best not to herald how giddy I am that I was able to actually make the update date this time around, but you know...I did make the update date. Huzzah! So...yeah. Not much else to add particularly. Enjoy the chapter and please remember to review so I know if I'm doing it right.
Chubs was trying to teach Alphonse how to play 'Miss Mary Mack'. It was about midafternoon, and the four subterranean prisoners of the Snow Scouts had by now become well acquainted. Alphonse had suggested to Chubs that his voice might be useful in trying to sway the Council's opinion in his favor. Chubs had considered the possibility, but hadn't given a direct response as of yet.
Also...is this the first ever scene in Chubs's point of view? He's a major character, and we've never had a scene in his POV. At least, I don't think we have,
"Miss Mary...Mack! Mack! Mack!" Chubs sang, as he and Alphonse engaged in the clapping, "All dressed in black! Black! Black! With silver buttons! Buttons! Buttons all down her back! Back! Back!"
Gran Pam was snoring into her bodice, and Isadora was stirring feebly in the corner, "Chubs," she said when the game had gone on for a good long time, non-stop, "Could you please stop it? It's been two hours..."
"Hush, Isadora!" Chubs responded, "I'm about ready to break him..."
"Never!" responded Alphonse, clapping with still more precision, "I can go on all day if I have to!"
"Then we shall!"
They began singing the song in unison. Chubs was barely aware of Isadora rubbing her temples and trying to go to sleep, but he really didn't notice the rest of the world until a rope ladder was unfurled into the pit.
"Hark!" cried a voice. Alphonse stopped clapping at once to look up. Chubs, disappointed, and debating whether or not this game was a victory or a stalemate, looked up with him. Two Scout guardsmen were standing at the rim of the pit, their masked faces looking down.
"I wasn't aware it was dinnertime." remarked Gran Pam, rubbing her eyes blearily, "What's the menu tonight? Cod liver again?" she cackled. Isadora turned a faint shade of green.
"The High Council, and our Snicketian ambassador among them, requests the Snicketian prisoners to be brought before them."
"The ambassador is the one you call 'Sir'." said Alphonse, "Maybe they have figured out your sentence."
"Joy." Isadora stretched, getting to her feet; she extended a hand to Chubs, who accepting it gladly. She said, "I wonder what horrible death my mother has planned for us now."
"Best curb that tongue of yours before the Council, girl." said Gran Pam, "I've learned that my fair share of times in this place."
"Quick, quick, put some life in it!" commanded a guard, "The Council does not like to be kept waiting!"
"Oh, forgive me!" spat Chubs, "Has the Council been sitting in the dirt for two hours? Certainly not."
"Tongue, Chubs." Isadora reminded him, "Curb it."
"Wait a moment!" Chubs was studying Alphonse intently, "You! Guard!"
"Yes?"
"Can't this man come too?"
Alphonse gave Chubs a surprised smile. Chubs smiled cleverly back at him, "He merely wants to present a case before the Council!"
"Oh yes, the Beggar Prince of our clan!" the guardsmen laughed heartily, "That old nursemaid of his likes to delude him into thinking the Age of Glory stills lives."
"Certainly it still lives!" Gran Pam was so fast to stand up that she fell on her knees again, shaking her fists up at the guards, "It lives so long as there are still people loyal to the old ways! To the ways of the Masked Men!"
"We're Snow Scouts now, nursemaid." the guard said slowly, as if talking to a rather slow child, "Like it or not, it's the Snickets that hold rule, and the clans that hold the border." he laughed as if he'd made an excellent joke, "But," the guard considered, "it's always a rich thing when the Beggar Prince begs. Let's see what the Council says for him. Come, you three! Up the ladder!"
Alphonse whooped for joy, shaking Chubs's hand forcefully, "Thank you, sir! Thank you! Oh, you won't regret helping me! You won't regret it!"
"Ah, I know I shan't, old boy. Don't fuss about it." Chubs, knowing it was only correct, allowed the prince to ascend first. He then gestured for Isadora, "Come, darling."
Isadora smiled nervously at him, "I hope you know what you're doing, Chubs."
"Darling, you know I have good ideas. When have they ever done us wrong?"
Isadora bit her lip as if stopping herself from saying something, "You're right, Chubs." She started up the ladder too, and Chubs followed.
"Wait!" cried Gran Pam, "You're not bringing me?"
"The mad old nursemaid can wait in the pit." the guard said, "I'm sure your young friends will tell you of their adventures when they return." he added, maliciously, "If they do."
"Never fear, Gran!" Alphonse called, almost at the top of the ladder, "I'll be back as soon as I've swayed the Council!"
Once they were all standing in the sun, the guards rolled the ladder up again and placed it in a small wooden cabinet inset in the ground near the pit. Chubs made note of this fact just in case.
Alphonse looked very different out in the sun. It could be easily seen how being a prisoner had affected him. His long hair, which had appeared glossy in the dark, was actually quite dry and matted with dirt. His skin, which had appeared healthy enough in the pit, was really sunken and had a sort of gray tinge. It was only his eyes that were unchanged, bright and curious, and drinking in the sunlight, the huts of the village, and the smoke of the campfires.
He laughed out loud, "Ah, so this is what it's like!" he spread his arms wide, "I'd quite forgotten the outside world."
"I'd advise you not to get used to it, Beggar Prince." the guard told him, prodding them forward with his spear, "Now, put a spring in it. We're due."
The Commons House looked much as it had done when Chubs and Isadora had come in yesterday. The tapestries of the Scouts in their hunting regalia still hung on the wall, and the great fire still burned in the pit in the center of the room.
The Council of the Snow Scouts were sitting in a ring around the fire. They also wore the black masks of the guards, though they also wore cloaks of various furs, similar to the one Alice wore as 'Barbara Ross'. Speaking of Barbara Ross, she was given a seat of high honor on the dais above them. She still looked absolutely ridiculous in her furs and horned headpiece. Chubs felt Isadora's grip on his hand tighten when they saw her. He smiled at her reassuringly.
Sir was sitting in a chair just as tiny as he was, next to Alice. His little legs were crossed, and his usual cloud of smoke hung around him, obscuring his face.
"Prisoners of the Snow Scout clan," announced the guards, banging the bases of their spears against the floor, "Prostrate yourselves before the High Council, the Clan Seer, and the Ambassador to Snicket Land."
"Prostrate?" Chubs was surprised, "Well, I guess..." he began to undo his belt. Alphonse hurried to stop him, "Not 'prostate', you idiot, 'prostrate'! Get down."
The three of them went down on their knees before the Council. The one seated directly across the fire, so the flames partially obscured him, raised his hand, "It is good." the others began to echo him, "It is good." "It is good." "It is good." and so on until they'd all had a say. Another councilman said, "Rise now, prisoners."
They did so, Chubs cringing as he saw yet another tear in his trousers. He hadn't changed his clothes in a considerably long time.
"What is the Beggar Prince doing here?" asked a councilman.
"The boy continues to think he holds power over us, milords." one of the guards answered, "He has been asking for very long to have an audience with this Council."
"This is well known." said a councilman, "I suppose if it will silence him, then he may have his say."
"Certainly, it would be good if he was silenced permanently." chuckled Sir in his deep voice. Alphonse grew pale and stiff next to Chubs, but he relaxed when the the Council began laughing with Sir.
"Look at the boy's face!" Sir pointed a stubby finger, "Quite a chieftain he would make!"
"That is so." agreed a councilman, chuckling, "Still, we will get to his say presently. The purpose of this congregation is to inform the Snicketian prisoners of their new sentence." the council, almost as one, turned toward Alice on the dais, waiting patiently for her to say something.
"WE MUST LIVE FOR LOVE!" exclaimed Alice, kicking her feet up in the air and waving her arms above her head, "WHEREVER IT MAY LEAD US...WE'LL STAND ALONE SO HIGH...TILL NOTHING'S IN OUR SKY..."
"Yes!" pronounced Sir, "A good point, Barbara."
"What is he doing?" asked Isadora, a trifle louder than would be best.
"The ambassador has offered to act as the Seer's interpreter." said a councilman, "Does this bother you, girl?"
Isadora opened her mouth, hesitated, and then said, "No. It doesn't."
"But it does," Chubs whispered to her, "I can tell."
"Chubs. Please."
"What does Barbara Ross say, Interpreter?" asked another councilman.
"She declares a sentence of death to be spared on these prisoners."
Isadora's mouth was hanging open so wide, Chubs felt he had to close it for her, "Why would Sir do that?" he asked her, whispering, "I thought he hated us."
Isadora shrugged, but said aloud, "Thank you, Barbara Ross." though Chubs saw she was looking at Sir.
"However," Sir said, uncrossing his legs, "Barbara Ross, in her mercy, also pronounces a sentence...of service."
"Service?" asked Isadora, her smile fading, "What kind?"
"The prisoners will continue to stay in their cell, and will be indebted to serve the members of the Snow Scout clan in whatever capacity they can."
"Who do you think you are speaking to, Sir?" roared Chubs, forgetting all about 'prostration' or 'castration' or whatever the damn phrase was, and springing to his feet, "I am Klaus Baudelaire, better known as Chubs, and I most certainly do not serve! Most certainly not a band of savages!"
Isadora kicked Chubs in the shin, "Chubs! It's a mercy, remember?"
"Oh...yes, Isadora. You're right." to the Council, he said, without much fervor, "Forgive me, gentlemen."
"With a stretch." said a councilman.
"Now," said another, "what does the Beggar Prince have to say?"
Chubs and Isadora moved aside to give Alphonse space enough to feel comfortable. Looking more than a little nervous, he pushed some stray hair from his face {striking Chubs with the sudden mental image of a model in a shampoo commercial} and finally began to speak, his voice clear and smooth.
"My brothers," he said, "it is more than fifty years since Eleazar Snicket and his brood swept into this land...our land, and made it their own. In those years, we have been forced from our pastoral, our ancestral region, and..."
"Are you going to tell us more than history, boy?" chided the councilman who sat across the fire, {Chubs decided he must be more important than the others because of his deep voice} "The longer you speak, the more inclined I am to sentence you to death at long last."
Alphonse faltered at this, his sweaty palms shaking. Beseechingly, he looked at Chubs, who decided it was time for him to step in, "Not that I am at all disposed to offer my own personal opinions on governance in your clan, given my previous deposition toward you all..."
"Hmph." muttered several councilmen.
"...but this fellow does have a good idea about how to make your people, not to mention the people of the other clans that have been scattered about, powerful again, and to depose of the Snickets once and for all."
The head councilman ran a finger along the side of his mask, "Indeed? If he can't actually bring himself to tell us his own plans, I'd say our Beggar Prince is a craven fool as well."
More laughing, among which Sir's was the loudest, "Craven, ha! Yes...yes, indeed...craven he is...Woo, ha, ha!" he slapped his knee, crowing rapturously. Next to him, Alice smiled vacantly, as though she'd just been given a heavy dosage of Ritalin.
The councilmen stared in unison, if that can be done, at Sir. The head councilman said, "Yes. Wasn't it funny. Anyway," he turned back to Alphonse, "State your case, Prince. What is this grand plan our Snicketian friend informs us of?"
"Merely..." Alphonse cleared his throat loudly, placing his hands firmly at his sides, perhaps to stop them shaking so much, "...merely that we cease all this fighting amongst the clans. The Ninipickies were once our closest allies..."
"In the Age of Glory," said a councilman, "But not today, boy. If it weren't for Barbara Ross, we may all have been massacred by them last week."
"GRATUITY!" screeched Alice. Sir patted her hand tenderly.
"We can still mend what has been broken." Alphonse insisted, "If the clans united again, and led a charge on Dirty Bastard, well...the Snickets wouldn't stand a chance."
A portent pause followed. Chubs whispered to Isadora, "I think that did it, don't you?"
Isadora shrugged.
The head councilman said, "I can already tell your final argument, boy." he leaned forward, leering behind his mask, "You fancy yourself a great rider, a great warrior, like your father and your grandfather, and all the rest before him. You imagine that you can lead the clans into battle and defeat the Snickets. And, I know, you want us to install you to the throne of the land yet again, and make everything just as it was in the Age of Glory, is that it, boy?"
Alphonse said, looking for the first time as though he meant business, "I intend to reclaim my birthright; but not for selfish reasons! I intend to restore the old ways..."
"A mere boy cannot restore the old ways." the head councilman stood up, "All these years, we Snow Scouts have lived contently here in the Dandruff Mountains." he walked around the fire to them, his furs trailing on the floor behind him, "The Snickets have not bothered us, though we have indeed felt the burning loss of our former status in this land that was once ours." he stopped moving right before Alphonse, and spoke down to him, "What do you think they would do, with their advanced technology, and their organized national military if a bunch of poverty-stricken clansmen come to attack them on horseback, wielding wooden spears?"
Alphonse said, upright as anything, "It is not in the blood of the Masked Men to quail before a challenge, Councilman. My father would have led a charge had he the chance...it wasn't his fault that the people were too craven to listen to him. My family has never forsaken the ways of the..."
WHOOM!
The fire in the hearth suddenly blossomed upward, illuminating the whole Commons House. Chubs almost fell backward into Isadora, crying, "Jeezum Above!"
The flames seemed to contort and twist in form, finally making a shape that looked very much like...
"A question mark." breathed Isadora, "A giant question mark."
As quickly as it had started, it ended. The flames receded back to their former status as low crackles in the fire pit, but the atmosphere in the room was very changed. As was usual in Chubs's life, everyone but him {and Isadora} seemed to understand what they'd just seen. Members of the Council began muttering to each other; Sir took a deep drag on his cigar, unusually still in his seat; Alphonse had grown quite pale and had begun to look very nervous again; even Alice's eyes were wide, as though she'd finally understood something that had happened.
Chubs was able to catch several whispered words among the Council: "Why now..." "Request a meeting?" "They haven't bothered us in years!" None of it made any sense to him.
He asked Alphonse, "What's going on?" but before the Prince could reply, the Head Councilman, now returned to his seat, told them, "I will have guardsmen escort you back to your cell. You two," he looked at Chubs and Isadora, "will begin your service tomorrow. And as for you," he stared at Alphonse, "I do admire your bravery. Perhaps we will consider your proposal. Later. Now, go."
Chubs didn't quite remember going back to the cell. It was all a rush of being pushed around by the guards, falling over again, being picked up, and then being pushed down the pit {yet again} to find Gran Pam just waking from yet another of her regular naps.
"Wha...what is it now?" she asked wearily, "Have you done it, Ally? Are we going to build an army?"
Alphonse merely shrugged, dusting off his trousers vigorously. Isadora looked from him to Chubs, her expression one of utter perplexity, "Isn't anyone going to tell me what we just saw?"
"The girl loves asking questions." muttered Gran Pam, "All the time, it's 'What is this?' 'Why that?' It's enough to drive an old granny insane..."
"The Great Unknown." Alphonse told Isadora, his voice shaking again, "That's what the symbol was."
Gran Pam gawped at him, "The Great Unknown? You saw it?"
"It appeared in the Commons House fire. I think they were calling a meeting."
Gran Pam was now looking shaky too, "The acolytes of the Great Unknown haven't requested a meeting with us in...I don't even know how long it's been." she added, resentfully, "And when I don't know something about this place, that's a problem, kiddies, believe you me."
"What do you all mean?" Chubs asked, "That was a question mark!"
"Which is also the Great Unknown." said Gran Pam.
"But what is the Great Unknown?" Isadora asked. Gran Pam shook her head, "They don't teach about the clans, and nor do they teach about the Great Unknown." she sighed, "Well, I suppose you'd better hear it from me than those idiots on the Council." she took a deep breath and began, "In the very old times, before even the Age of Glory had started, there were a group of people who lived in the Lowlands, what they now call the Grasslands..."
"Where Prufrock Prep is!" exclaimed Chubs. Isadora gave him a hushing gesture.
"They worshiped a strange sort of deity that looked like a question mark. As a matter of fact, some scholars of the written word claim we modeled question marks off the deity. The point is, this large, menacing creature was said to have existed long before anything else, and created this land in order to have a domain in which to rule. It was called the Great Unknown because the acolytes didn't know a thing about it. Not what it looked like, not what it did, not where it came from. When the Lowlanders split into the various clans, some stuck to worshiping the Great Unknown and others didn't, depending on various details that overall aren't very important at all."
"Did the Snow Sco..." Isadora hastily corrected herself, ",..I mean, the Masked Men still worship it?"
Gran Pam shook her head, "No...no, but they still kept a small respect for it. Whatever it is, they all believed it to have some sort of menacing power, so they didn't want to anger it by turning to new gods or anything of that nature." she spread her hands wide in a 'what can you do?' sort of gesture, "Personally, I think the Great Unknown is about as real as flying rocks."
"But there are no flying rocks!" said Chubs, confused. Isadora sighed despairingly.
"But why would that symbol appear in the fire?" she asked, "I mean, if the Snow Scouts don't worship it..."
"The Great Unknown has a devoted following of acolytes and servants still, even in these so-called 'civilized times'." she snorted, "It isn't so much a religion as it is a madcap cult. Most of the members are filthy rich...and secretive too. And dangerous. Very dangerous. They hold some control over the clans, since they all used to share their beliefs."
"So that symbol..."
"...Was the cult requesting...really, ordering...service." Gran Pam's face darkened, "And that can be no good. No good at all, not a whit."
"We'll find him, Duncan," said Violet determinedly, "I know we will."
They had spent much of the morning traversing the Valley of the Four Deuces, even going into corners of it that Quigley had never shown her.
"Oh, I don't doubt that, Violet," said Duncan, "You're generally good at this sort of thing."
She smiled at him, "What sort of thing?"
"Puzzling things out." he shrugged, not flinching in pain at all this time, "Besides, he must trust you; he wouldn't have gone far."
Was that a double-edged comment? Violet wasn't sure and she wasn't quite prepared to ask Duncan if it was. After all, he had thought he could trust her.
"I think...well," she moved her hand through her tangled hair, "I think he missed out on...well, social skills when he was growing up. We said earlier, Duncan, that we didn't have many friends growing up. But at least there were people. Where would Quigley have learned how to act around kids his age? The closest he would have gotten were adults at the ZYK outpost."
"Well, yes, that's true." consented Duncan, "Still, he knew how to have sex." he blushed, "Sorry, Violet. Sorry, that was my vengeful side talking."
She shook her head, "It's fine, Duncan. I didn't know you had a vengeful side. You've always been...nice and understanding. I never understood that. You have some kind of saintly quality that makes you..."
"It's no saintly quality, Violet. Simply another fault of upbringing."
"I wouldn't call it a fault." she stopped by a crooked elm tree and leaned her back against it, "It's admirable."
Duncan said, smiling sadly, "At Prufrock Prep, all those years Isadora and I lived there, being picked on and bullied by the other children, I had to act the way I do. To teach..." he sighed, closing his eyes, "to teach Isadora that sometimes it is better not to be the volatile one. That you shouldn't let yourself be hurt by what others say. She needed someone to teach her that the world wasn't an entirely horrible place."
When he opened his eyes, there were tears in them, "And that's why I fell in love with you. Even when Carmelita and I were together, I still couldn't help but love the way you were. You knew how to protect Chubs and Sunny." he grinned at her, "Remember when we were all sitting around in the Orphan's Shack, discussing ways to foil Olaf's plot?"
Violet said, "I remember. The five of us: all friends, all working together. Things seemed so much easier back then."
"And more profane." said Duncan, "Remember the sexy party in Olaf's office? And when Chubs and Isadora did the nasty on the rug there?"
Violet was getting into the game, "Oh! And remember how Sunny always used to get drunk on cheap ale?"
"And dreadful Principal Nero and his coke habit..."
"Was that coke?"
"It was never directly specified."
"And Nero always used to have threesomes with Bass and Remora!"
"And Bass was a man in a wig!"
Violet tossed her arms in the air and laughed out loud, luxuriating in the memories, reveling in how much easier things had been for them back then, "And Nero had a thing for Sunny!"
"And there was a dwarf guarding Nero's office!"
They were both laughing so hard now, and Violet was feeling so very happy, that for a moment she forgot that terrible encounter on the beach, that moment when she and Duncan had lashed out at each other.
How could she have ever forgotten how much she loved him? How could she have ever forgotten him, who was not only a lover but her dearest friend?
"Well, come on, Vi." he was standing now, holding out a hand to help her up, "If we expect to find my erstwhile brother, we'd best set off."
Violet took his hand and got up with him. As she was straightening out her dress, her eyes caught a shadowy figure looming beneath a ridge, directly below the shadow of one of the taller mountain peaks.
"What is that?" she asked quietly.
"What's what?"
Violet pointed at the figure, "It looks like some kind of building."
Already she was moving toward it. She turned around, to Duncan, and said, "You okay?"
"It's only that well...doesn't it strike you as a trifle odd, Violet, that there's some kind of...man made structure in this Valley? It might have some sinister purpose, or it might be structurally unstable, and thus would collapse on us the moment we stepped inside."
"No." she realized, cursing herself for being so dense, "How could I have forgotten? Duncan, this valley is where ZYK Headquarters used to be!"
Duncan's eyes widened, and his lips pursed into a surprised whistle, "Oh. Then that must be..."
"I think so." she pointed to the tall peak that towered over the building, "And that must be Mount Fickle-Nickle."
"By Jove." gasped Duncan, "And if that is Mount Fickle Nickle, then at the top must be..."
"Sunny." nodded Violet, "Yeah. Sunny."
"Maybe we should take a closer look." Duncan decided.
So they ventured closer, both enveloped in a tense silence. As they drew nearer, Violet could see that the building was actually a complex of buildings, ringed by what had once been a high stone wall. The wall was now rubble, as were many of the buildings. If you looked close enough at the soil surrounding the site you could make out depressions, frozen into the ground years ago, in the shape of pylon tracks.
Violet felt a terrible wrenching in her heart as she looked at the grim, shadowy buildings rimmed by the late afternoon sun.
"Are you alright, Violet?" Duncan asked softly, his hand going to her arm.
"...Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." she wrapped her free hand around his, "Can you imagine, Duncan? My parents, your Mom...they all walked through these gates, looked out those windows, maybe they even swam in the lake by Quigley's hut. They spent years serving this secret organization and they never told us any of it."
She wasn't sure if she was angry or just sad. This sprawling place, once full of life, was now an empty husk. The more she stood here, with Duncan, in the gates of ZYK HQ, the colder Violet felt.
Then there was also the feeling of being closer to her mother and father than she'd felt in all her life.
This place was what they lived for. Whatever it did, whatever they stood for, my Mom, my Dad, even Alice...they all cared for it more than anything else in the entire world.
Even more, perhaps, than their own children.
After a whole chapter of not being featured in our story, Esme emerged from her room, her golden curls tighter than ever and her blue eyes shining with a fierce determination.
She'd made up her mind. She knew what she would now do.
Confidently, she marched down the corridor, her arms straight at her sides and her focus resting only on what was ahead of her. Down the stairs she went, into the main hall where she saw Tocuna bustling around with a stack of linens.
Pausing, Esme smiled at her old coworker, "Good afternoon, Tocuna."
Tocuna froze as if Esme had pointed a gun at her, "Oh. Hi, Esme."
"What are those sheets for?"
"Olaf's laundry. He insists that I clean anything that still has Kit's taint on it."
Esme rolled her eyes and clucked, "And you're actually listening to him? Come, Tocuna, you and I both know that that's a silly thing to ask."
Tocuna shrugged, "Actually, yes, Esme, it is. But, unfortunately, I have to do what he says."
"Do you really?" Esme had other things to do at the moment, but she had time to share with her old associate, {disregarding, of course, that Esme had used to think Tocuna plain and stupid. She still thought that, but she wouldn't say it to her face} "I didn't. I left Olaf's service."
"Well, yes, Esme, you did." Tocuna consented, "But I'm not like you!"
"What do you mean?"
"Look, sweetie, contrary to popular belief, not every woman in Olaf's crew gets to hop in the sack with him. And, as we both know very well, Olaf likes to show favoritism to women he's been in the sack with."
Esme chuckled, "He didn't show me much favoritism."
"Yes he did. If it had been Flo or me who tried to get away," Tocuna spoke with all bluntness, "he would have killed us. Brutally. And painfully. And then he would have made the rest of the gang watch as he peed on the remains."
Esme paled, "Has he...ever done that before?"
"He says he has, though none of us knows for sure. And even if he hasn't, you know him. Don't you think he'd do it if he wanted to?"
The answer, Esme realized, was a definite yes.
"I'm sorry for you. Isn't there anything I can do..."
"No, Esme. Thanks for offering and everything, but you're in enough trouble as it is." she tittered, "Personally, I think Kit Snicket should be ashamed of herself. She's no less a slut than any other woman in this house, going to Dewey right after she left Olaf. Not that I can blame her for wanting to leave Olaf, but still."
"Thanks for your support, Tocuna." said Esme, "Oh," she reached out a hand to stop Tocuna from going up the stairs, "and have you seen Madame Anwhistle? I'd like to talk to her."
Tocuna grew even paler than she was usually, going as far as to drop the sheets she was carrying on the floor. Esme bent down to help her recollect them, while Tocuna said, flustered, "Oh! Um, well, er...I...um..."
Esme herself was a gifted actress. She could tell that Tocuna was a bad one. Whatever she was trying to hide, she was doing a terrible job of it.
"Esme, dear, what on earth are you doing?"
"Oh, there you are, Madame." Esme straightened herself up again, handing the remaining sheets to Tocuna, who was staring, bug-eyed at Madame Anwhistle.
"Were you looking for me, Esme?" she asked, patting her rock-solid hairdo, "I'm afraid I've other places to be."
Tocuna gasped shrilly, "Oh!" and ran up the stairs, trailing sheets behind her. Esme stared up the stairs, not understanding.
"What's her problem?" she asked.
"From the looks of her, I'd say she has beds to make." Madame Anwhistle looked Esme up and down, "How have you been? I was thinking, since our talk last night, that you wouldn't want to be near me."
"I only want to make a point clear."
"Really? Well, best make it fast. I have a radio conference with Dirty Bastard in just under an hour, and I must prepare for it."
"A radio conference?"
"Yes, dear. As much as you like to paint me as a maniacal villain, I also have a paying job. It turns out there's been a bit of trouble in the Dark Forest, but that isn't your problem."
There was a short silence, in which Madame Anwhistle looked impatiently at Esme.
"Anyway," Esme began, "I just want to make sure it's very clear to you that I have no intention of joining up with you again."
Madame Anwhistle raised her eyebrows, "As if burning the Zimmerie and insulting me to my face wasn't making it clear enough, you feel the need to interrupt me out of nowhere and repeat the same message. I may be old, Esme, but I haven't yet lost my senses. The same can't be said of everyone else in this blasted place." she huffed, "But you understand that much, don't you?"
Esme faltered, "I don't know what you mean."
"Esme, I don't think it's a secret. You're public enemy number one in these parts. Opinion on you varies from indifference to purest hatred going from person to person." she sighed, "I don't understand. Do you value being friendless? Alone? Penniless? At the Palace, we could restore your life to what it was before Olaf took you off. We could make you a hero again. I promise you, Esme...I wouldn't betray you as Olaf and Dewey did."
"Really, Madame Anwhistle? You wouldn't 'betray' me?" this was the last straw, "What about Beatrice? What about her? You tricked me. You kicked me when I was down. You used me to kill one of my closest friends, and you have the nerve," she jabbed a finger in Madame Anwhistle's wrinkled face, causing her to take a reflexive step back, "to say that you're on my side. Well, that's a mighty fine thing to say when not even I know what side I'm on."
"Esme, I don't expect you to understand." Madame Anwhistle had the exasperated look of an older person trying to explain things to the young, "That was a difficult time, and certain things had to be done in order to apprehend a major outlaw."
"Oh, stop it, you know she wasn't guilty!"
"Esme, please!"
"You and Jacob Snicket set her up as a criminal in order to cover up for an atrocity that you both committed!"
"Well, you didn't seem bothered by that 'atrocity' in all those years you lived at the Palace!"
Madame Anwhistle was smiling triumphantly.
After a short pause, Esme said, quietly, "Do you know why Olaf has been hounding the Baudelaire children?"
"Why, for their fortune, so I hear."
"Yes, Madame. For their fortune. Why, do you know?"
Madame Anwhistle looked happily bemused, "I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"You promised him the Baudelaire fortune in return for the murder of Bertrand and Beatrice. I know. He told me everything after I joined with him. After he killed them he went to consult with you and you blatantly refused to pay him. Shortly after, he donned a disguise, assumed a false identity, and began to concoct schemes to get his hands on the money you promised him."
Madame Anwhistle laughed, "Esme, you aren't honestly going to blame me for all the things Olaf has done, are you?"
"I can't say I like those children. As a matter of fact, I kind of hate them. But no one deserves to go through what Olaf has put them through..."
"And what you have helped put them through."
"...I regret everything I did when I was working with Olaf. I don't think you realize how very dehumanizing it is working with a man like him."
"Well, Esme, I think you'll find you're a bit wrong on that. And," she shrugged, "it is exactly Olaf's nature to his employees that I am counting on to help me out of a fix of my own."
Esme scrutinized the old woman, "What are you saying?"
"You'll find out soon enough, my dear." she began to ascend the stairs, saying as she went, "In the meantime, please remember that there will always be a space for you at the Palace."
And Esme was alone.
It had been a stressful day. Aside from her little chat with Dewey that morning, Kit had been preparing for the final dinner of the weekend.
One more dinner. Just one more dinner and then they'll all be gone...
She had something to look forward to, at least. Even Olaf would leave. She would make him, him and all of his associates. He meant nothing to her any longer.
Only Dewey would stay. They would stay together and raise their child. She would be happy. Finally. Happy. And as for that pestilent fool of a brother she had...
"Lemony?" Kit stopped in her tracks, standing in her doorway.
Her pestilent fool of a brother was on his knees in the room Kit and Dewey shared, ransacking her dresser. At the moment Kit walked in, he had his head stuffed up the skirt of one of Kit's childhood pinafores.
"What the hell are you doing in here?"
Lemony got to his feet, stuffing the pinafore into the pocket of his overcoat, "I might as well ask what you're doing here, you wretch."
"This is my room." Kit looked around, going from the dresser to the wardrobe and finding that Lemony had been rummaging through everything. Clothes were scattered all over the place, shoes were lying amongst the covers of the bed, even the curtains hanging over the window had been torn down, "Then again, I suppose that means little to you."
"The Chamber Pot, Kit, I must have it! I am determined that I should have it!" he drew very close to her, staring at her with venom in his eyes, "Do you know what 'determination' means, sister? Do you?"
"Yes, Lemony, I do know what it means. 'Determination' is a word which here describes how determined I am to smack your bloody face in!" she whacked him with what can only be described as a 'rock 'em sock 'em whammy-paloo', sending him sprawling against the nightstand.
"Why do you want the Chamber Pot so badly, Lemony? Why must you harass Dewey so badly about it? He has been the keeper of it for years and he has never once used it to harm anyone else. He is merely protecting it from people who would mistreat it."
People like you, she couldn't help but add, if only to herself.
Lemony struggled upright again, rubbing his face where he'd been punched, "How could you, Kit? How could you betray our family like this?"
Kit scoffed, "Betray the family. Really, Lemony? Really? I was next in line for the throne. Dad selected me specifically!"
"Certainly he did, but were he possessed of the information we learned after his passing..."
"I wasn't lying when I said what I said, Lemony. It's not my fault that you are so easily blinded by everything anyone ever says to you!"
"You know that that Chamber Pot, and it's contents, are the only reason we are here! How can you have forgotten Grandfather's mission? How can you have forgotten the nobility of our cause, Kit!"
"Because it is not noble, Lemony!" Kit said, spreading her arms in desparation, "I don't care what Dad told us when we were little, it's all lies! There was no hot air balloon, there is no 'other land'! That Chamber Pot is very dangerous..."
"I do not refute that, Kit!"
"...it was created, by Dad or by Grandfather, I have no way of knowing, in order to control the people. It is a weapon, Lemony, a weapon! And the only reason you want it is so you can control your people...make them into the slaves Grandfather so desperately wanted!"
Lemony raised his hand as if to strike her. Kit did not flinch, but looked at him with a glare fierce enough to melt butter, "The only reason Dewey holds onto that Chamber Pot is so he can keep..." she snorted, "Your land safe." she shook her head, "I'm no professional, having never served a term of office myself, but...I think he may just be more suited for the throne than you, Lemony."
That may not have been the best thing to say, however satisfied it made Kit feel. Lemony roared with rage and lunged, grabbing at Kit's arm. Breathing deeply, seething with rage, he hissed at her, "You might want to watch out, sister dearest." he shook her roughly, and Kit was now too stunned to cry for help; she'd never seen her brother lose control like this before. He seemed almost...murderous.
He continued, his face shining with sweat and his complexion an uneasy gray color, "You forget that you are exiled from my Land. You are allowed to live only because you are my last living relation." he passed his tongue over his lips, "I might have to contend with sharing a house with Jacques's murderer, a child murderess, and the bloody thief of the Chamber Pot..." he sighed, "But I must confess my dear: I am having second thoughts about leaving this place," his eyes traveled from Kit's wide, horrified eyes, to the great bulge of her belly, "without what is rightfully mine."
He released her arm roughly, letting her sink, trembling, onto the bed.
He concluded, as he made his way to the door, "Your little masked man can keep his stolen goods for now, Kit...but I'm in charge here. And I demand compensation for my losses."
As he left the room, Kit heard him mutter, almost to himself, "Besides, no child should have to be raised an outlaw."
He was gone.
My God, Kit realized, as she began to sob, I was right. Oh my God, I was right!
He wanted her baby. He wanted to steal her child...Dewey's child.
Shoulders heaving, and with tears dripping like raindrops off her face, Kit buried her face in the squashed pillows of the bed, hoping to drown the rest of the world out of existence, hoping to open her eyes and find herself in the mythical Other Land her father had told her about. The land they'd all come from, in a magic hot air balloon, when she and her brothers were just little babies.
Whatever it was like there, Kit was certain it would be better than wasting away in Snicket Land.
Little did she realize, but Kit had yet another eavesdropper, who'd heard every word of her argument with Lemony.
Tocuna, just returned from making Olaf's bed anew, removed herself from the linen closet where she'd been hiding and hurried off to her next engagement.
Madame Anwhistle lowered the microphone of her portable radio and nodded to Horatio Rembrandt the pilot, "Well that's more than passing queer, isn't it, Rembrandt?"
"I s'pose so, milady. I don't quite know what to makes of i'tall."
Madame Anwhistle shook her head, staring at the helicopter's radio through the lenses of her spectacles, "According to the dispatcher at the LSPD, Lieutenant Strauss has been missing for just about a whole day. I find it...most mysterious, to say the least. The sudden disappearance of the only proper witness we have in this Dovecotes case."
She didn't know why she was talking to Rembrandt. She supposed it was because she needed some way to express her thoughts, and her book of notes was rather inconvenient for a public setting such as this.
Still...
"Rembrandt, I'm afraid I have other engagements to honor. Could you please radio the Pinch-in-Your-Eye and tell them that I'm giving the 'go ahead' to launch the investigation." she winked at the simple-minded pilot, "You might want to mention the LSPD filing a missing person's report on old Strauss."
"Certainly, milady."
Lifting the hem of her dress, Madame Anwhistle stepped gracefully out of the helicopter and back into the chateau's courtyard, "It's all about the sensation, Rembrandt, don't you forget it! All about the sensation!"
Rembrandt nodded in an abstract way as he readied to radio the Daily Pinch-in-Your-Eye office in Dirty Bastard.
As Madame Anwhistle reentered the chateau, she concentrated her mind on the most pressing problem at hand, much more grave to her than some assorted murders in a country estate.
The matter, you should know if you've been paying attention the last several chapters, was the impending murder of Lemony Snicket, crowned head of the land.
Not for long, Madame Anwhistle thought to herself as she mounted the stairs, not for very long at all.
She had arranged for the next little meeting of her conference of conspirators to be held in the attic of the house. From what she'd gathered over the weekend, not even Kit had been up here since arriving. Seeing as the construction of this house had been authorized and overseen by Jacob Snicket himself, {who had originally used it as a summer home, Madame Anwhistle remembered fondly} there were probably numerous relics to days gone by holed up in there.
Even better, no one would ever think to look for them there.
The attic steps were concealed behind a door that someone {perhaps one of Jacob's old retainers, or maybe the ghost of Lauren Chip's Ahoy; remember her? Sweet Snicket!} had pushed an antique china cabinet over.
Madame Anwhistle had made sure that the cabinet was sufficiently moved out of the way earlier in the afternoon, and now hoped that her new associates were all waiting patiently for her.
That chubby albino woman almost blew the whole operation on the stairs! she lamented, And in front of Esme, no less.
She'd have to impress the importance of subtlety amongst her new subordinates. It certainly wasn't a skill that they, with their ungainly bodies, strange deformations, and obnoxious behaviors, had mastered under Olaf.
As Madame Anwhistle climbed the attic steps, she began to become aware of a strange, musty smell that hung in the air of the place. It was oddly aromatic and also strangely familiar. The old woman felt sure she'd smelled it before...
As she drew closer to the attic, Madame Anwhistle also became aware of music playing, softly and sonorously, as though on an old record player.
When she reached the top of the stairs to look around the attic, Madame Anwhistle instantly saw what was going on.
The henchfolk were there, certainly, interspersed amongst the stacks of dusty junk and the cobwebby old furniture. It seemed, however, that they'd stumbled upon one of the aforementioned relics of days gone by.
The smoke was coming from a clump of dried leaves being burned in an urn suspended over a rusty bunsen burner. The origins of the leaves were no mystery to Madame Anwhistle.
"Wivelbevel." she muttered, placing a hand over her nose to keep out the intoxicating scent which seemed to have already put the henchcreatures under its spell.
The record on the player continued to spin around and around, playing the soft, haunting tunes of Laura Nyro.
"Desiree...Desiree..."
Fernald and Flo were spread out over an overstuffed settee, making out like nobody's business. Madame Anwhistle watched the play of his hooks through her hair and along her arms and chest and found herself imagining more things for Flo to cover with white powder than her family rash.
"Oh, my darling...most darling Desiree..."
Collette and Kevin were curled up in a preacher's nook under one of the windows. Collette was giggling madly, whispering things like, "I'm sorry we fight so much. It's totally my fault." while tickling his many armpits.
Enya was snoring on a chaise lounge, its giant arms spread drunkenly over its face.
"Desiree..."
Madame Anwhistle took the needle off the record, silencing the music abruptly.
"That's enough!" she announced, "Believe me, I understand the secret pleasures of getting 'wasted' as much as the next girl, but I'm afraid we have work to do."
She switched off the flame beneath the urn, snuffing out the fumes of the mystical leaves that, Jake Snicket had told her, his father Eleazer {or Ezekiel, as some remembered him} had brought with him from his own land.
At once, the gang snapped out of their various highs and looked dazedly around themselves.
"Ew!" Collette executed a triple backflip {actually flipping her back} away from Kevin, "Creep! I thought I told you we were through!"
"Yeah, yeah, say what you like, doll, you know I'm irresistable." Kevin winked creepishly, causing Madame Anwhistle to turn a little green about the gills.
"What's going on?" asked Flo dazedly, "I don't remember a thing since we switched on that flame..."
"Of course you didn't." said Madame Anwhistle nonchalantly, "Among the many treasures the Snickets brought with them from their fabled land beyond the Sea there were powerful hallucinogenic narcotics. I suppose Lemony's father kept them stockpiled in here while he was ruling in the Palace."
She scanned the room for an appropriate place to sit and found a wing-backed armchair patterned with a ghastly purple and orange fabric.
Once she was comfortable and had arranged the others around her, Madame Anwhistle began, "Well, now that you've had your fun..."
"You call it fun," grumbled Enya, "I feel as though someone's peed in my mouth!"
Kevin tried his best to look innocent, prompting Hugo {who's presence I neglected to mention earlier because I'm prone to forget he exists} to roll his eyes and return to scribbling notes for a teleplay in his notebook.
"...we must get back to work with our plan."
"MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" cackled Fernald. Flo stared at him, prompting him to shrug, "I thought, you know...ambience, and all that."
"I am very glad to have recieved Enya's message," she nodded at the large thing of indeterminate gender, referring to the letter she had found slipped under her bedroom door after lunch, "informing me that you have all agreed to abandon your cruel employer Olaf and assist me with taking down the Snicket."
"You make it sound awfully easy," said Flo, not without skepticism, "But do you have any idea how we're going to do it?"
"Well..." Madame Anwhistle paused, "where's your sister?"
"I think she was running errands for Olaf." explained Flo, "Whatever Enya writes in letters, we still have to pretend we're still working for him or I suppose everything is spoiled."
Madame Anwhistle sighed, "Yes, actually I did see her earlier with her arms full of sheets." she shrugged, "At least you have your priorities straight."
"We have priorities?" asked Hugo.
"You have my priorities, little ducks." she explained sweetly, "Or, rather, we share priorities for the time being, in order to better complete the errand I have assigned you."
There was a sudden commotion as Tocuna hurried up the stairs, huffing and puffing like a freight train.
"Ah, Tocuna, at last you grace us with your presence." Madame Anwhistle gestured to a seat, "Please, make yourself comfortable."
Tocuna nodded, though she seemed to be thinking about something completely different, "Have I missed anything?" she asked, taking out a handkerchief to dab at her forehead.
"Nothing important. But, now that we are all here,"
"Finally," muttered Kevin.
"We can begin in earnest. Now I think I've got the basics of our little assasination all worked out. But in order to execute it," she paused to let them admire her pun, but only Enya showed even the slightest hint of getting it, "We'll need a pawn...someone to frame for the murder. Someone far enough removed from our own agendas so as to clear us as suspects, but close enough to Lemony to have a believable motive for killing him." she looked around, "I'm open for suggestions."
Tentatively, Flo raised her hand.
"Yes, dear?"
"Esme." Flo suggested, "I mean, she's still mooning over Dewey...maybe we can make it look like she killed Lemony to keep him from chasing Dewey for the Chamber Pot."
Madame Anwhistle didn't even pause to consider the plan before shaking her head vigorously, "No, no! Esme is out of the question."
"Why?" asked Fernald, maybe a little too sharply.
"I happen to have known Esme Lowersham far longer than any of you," Madame Anwhistle said with a touch of superiority, "She isn't the sort of person who commits murder to win back her ex-boyfriend."
In truth, Madame Anwhistle believed Esme might kill Lemony to get back into Dewey's good graces. It was just important for her that Esme be kept out of this whole assasination mess. She was integral to another part of Madame Anwhistle's schemes.
Suffice it to say, Madame A. hadn't quite given up on Esme returning to Palace life.
It's never to late to take up a mother's mantle, she reflected, even if only as a surrogate mother.
"Olaf?" volunteered Enya, not even bothering to raise its hand, "I'd love to see him get sent off for execution!"
The others chortled along with him, Collette giggling like a schoolgirl for no explicable reason.
"Do you have any plausible reason Olaf would want to kill Lemony, besides the fact that you want him out of your life for good?" asked Madame Anwhistle drily.
Enya said, "Olaf's never made it much of a secret how much he hates crowned heads. He detested Jacob when he was in power,"
Madame Anwhistle felt her hands tighten on the arms of her seat.
"And he hates Lemony even more, probably 'cause they went to school together. You were their teacher, weren't you?"
"Headzykstress, actually," said Madame Anwhistle, "I didn't teach."
"Well, that is a good enough motive, if you ask me," said Flo, "Not to mention that, until recently, Olaf's been going out with Lemony's sister. Maybe he wanted to spite her."
"No." said Tocuna very suddenly, causing Flo to look at her with some alarm, "No. Lemony and Kit hate each other."
"Well, that certainly can't be denied," agreed Madame Anwhistle, "Besides, Olaf would probably suspect he was being framed. He's rather shrewd about matters of this sort, as I'm sure you'll all agree."
Reluctantly, they all gave murmurs of assent, except Tocuna, who looked silently down into her lap. Madame Anwhistle noticed Flo look at her sister worriedly.
"What about Dewey?" said Fernald, breaking the awkward silence, "Like Flo said before: Lemony's bloody obsessed with figuring out where that Chamber Pot of his is. Let's say...Dewey got fed up at last and decided to end His Snicketness."
Flo nodded at her boyfriend, giving him a thumbs up, at which he blushed chummily, causing Madame Anwhistle to feel nausous again.
"You make a good point, Fernald," consented Madame Anwhistle, "Everyone in this house, not to mention just about everyone in Parliament, knows how obsessed Lemony is with recovering the Chamber Pot. What about..." she pondered the situation for a few moments, her finger placed daintily over her lower lip, "Ah! Yes...perfect!"
"What's perfect?" asked Collette.
"Framing Dewey is a ridiculous notion. It just isn't...satisfying enough."
"Satisfying?" said Enya, "What d'yer mean, 'satisfying'?"
"As Press Secretary, my dears, I know a little bit about the kind of story people like to hear. If the ruler of the nation, descended from two generations who have ruled before him, is cut down in his prime by a crazed assassin, only for a new," she batted her eyelashes, "and more capable person to take his place, well...people need to be able to accept the sudden change of routine. They must be assured that there are no other alternatives! That this new person must take the throne in the old ruler's place!"
"What do you mean?" asked Tocuna, hushed.
"There have always been, even in our docile little population, people who wish Kit had taken the throne rather than been exiled. If Lemony is killed, those people will naturally demand that the last remaining Snicket...who is already carrying the next generation of Snickets inside her...take the throne. Thus we have to make sure that no one in Snicket Land will want, or expect, Kit to take the throne at her brother's death."
There was a silence.
"So..." said Flo slowly.
"We must frame Kit!" Madame Anwhistle practically jumped out of her seat, she was so excited. She did, however, stand up and begin pacing the attic frantically, her eyes glued to the creaky old floorboards below her.
"It makes perfect sense!" she went on, "Kit is absolutely devoted to Dewey Plot Twist, who also happens to be the father of her child. Lemony has been pursuing Dewey for years, searching for the Chamber Pot. Not to mention Kit originally being Jacob's pick for the throne!" she paused in her pacing to laugh delightedly, "All those mixed together and it's a wonder Kit hasn't killed her brother yet!"
"And her kid."
They all turned to Tocuna, who had spoken, softly and almost ashamedly.
"What?" asked Flo, "Tocuna, are you alright?"
"I..." Tocuna was sweating again, her hands fidgeting in her lap, "I overheard Kit and...and Lemony. They were..." she gulped, putting a hand over her heart, "they were arguing. Violently."
It was clearly causing her great distress to speak.
"Go on," said Madame Anwhistle breathlessly, "Go on, dear."
"It was...it was about the Chamber Pot. Kit was defending Dewey for protecting it for all these years or...or something and... Then, near the end, Lemony said he would only stop looking for the Chamber Pot if..." she turned even paler than usual and grabbed at Flo's arm to keep her balance, "if Kit gave him the baby."
Flo gasped, "Oh my God." Fernald swore, "The bastard!" and Collette said, "That is...that is just wrong"
Even Madame Anwhistle got the chills. She could only imagine Lemony's anger. And...threatening to take the baby.
Only just this morning, it had been Madame Anwhistle who mentioned the idea to Lemony, and he'd dismissed it as nonsense. Now he seemed to actually think it was an idea worth using, and Kit's worst fears were coming true.
And all because Madame Anwhistle had overheard Kit and Dewey's conversation after breakfast that morning. It was almost as though destiny wanted her to kill Lemony, to get Kit out of the way, to claim the throne as her own.
Tocuna was now sobbing into her hands, and Flo, Fernald, and even Enya were gathered around her, consoling her.
"It...it was so sick!" Tocuna wheezed, "No one...no one should ever be threatened like that! It's...it's her baby, for God's sake!"
"Tocuna';s right," said Flo, looking up from rubbing her sister comfortingly on the back, "Lemony deserves to die, just for that."
The others gave their usual collective grumble of agreement.
"Then it's settled," said Madame Anwhistle softly, "We'll frame Kit for Lemony's murder." she clasped her hands together before her, "For the baby's sake."
They were all so focused on comforting Tocuna that Madame Anwhistle believed they'd forgotten the most important detail of framing Kit.
She would be executed for her brother's murder, and her unborn child with her.
But never mind that for now; Olaf's former henchmen had given her an excellent course of action to pursue, and it was now Madame Anwhistle's duty to pursue it.
She had supplies to gather.
"What I can't wrap my mind around is the 'sex'! I mean, sure you can call it a 'Sex on the Beach', but what does it mean?" Olaf lowered the glass from which he was sipping the aforementioned cocktail and looked at Sunny for elaboration, "I mean, do they want us to have sex on the beach when we're drinking it? It that what it is? Well, then screw you, bartenders!"
He tossed his glass off the verandah {or 'porch', whatever you want to call it} of the chateau and laughed uproariously as it vanished over the ridge and out of sight.
Sunny sipped from her own beverage, enjoying it too much to follow Olaf's lead and throw it off the mountain.
"Toyoshi Makaro Edpissy." she said, which meant, "Nothing beats sitting in the fresh air, sipping a heavily alcholic beverage, and basking in the warmth of each other's company, eh, Olaf?"
"You got that right, babe." said Olaf, winking and making a downright lecherous sound in the back of his throat. You know like when a guy growls in the back of his throat but the growl gets strangled by phlegm halfway out? Yeah, something like that.
"There you are, Olaf!"
Olaf turned around in his seat to behold Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire coming out through the back door to join them on the patio, "Ah, well if it isn't Dummy #1 and Dummy #2! How goes it?"
"That's the best you can do?" sneered Lady Blackwoodshire, "Dummy #1 and Dummy #2?"
"Oh, shut up, I'm barely lucid at this time of day."
"Good to know." said the Lord, leaning against the railing, "We just wanted to inform you that we've contacted all six of the mountain tribes: the Ninipickies, the Wooly Linens, the Snow Scouts, the Frisky Frosties..."
"What was that last one?" Olaf looked up with a keener interest.
"They're the tribe with the explicit sexual needs. I'm sure you'll find them invaluable."
Lady Blackwoodshire continued, "We instructed the tribal leaders in each sect to organize parties and converge on the valley you mentioned. They call it by its traditional name...the Valley of the Four Deuces."
"Deuce!" exclaimed Sunny, clapping her hands. What she meant was, "Finally! An English word that sounds like something I would say normally!"
"That kid is two parts insane and one part stupid." remarked Lady Blackwoodshire, "Anyway, I do hope you're grateful for this service, Olaf. You should know that the power we serve is not something to be abused for such trivial purposes as this."
Lord Blackwoodshire nodded, "It took an awful lot of mettle to invoke it for something like this. Awfully risky, it was."
"What are you saying?" said Olaf, now drinking from a bottle of rum that he'd left next to the deck chair he was sitting in.
"I'm saying, Olaf, that we went out on a big limb to do you this service."
"Because you threatened us." added Lady Blackwoodshire.
"We do sincerely expect that you and those creepy henchmen of yours keep mum about what they heard."
"As we told you before, Olaf," said the Lady tersely, "we, unlike you, have respectable and high-standing positions to uphold in the court. We can't afford such things as murder and child abduction..."
"Not to mention aiding a known fugitive," said the Lord.
"...besmirching our record."
Olaf lowered the bottle, wiggled his unibrow at the Blackwoodshires, and laughed so hard rum came out of his nose and sprayed over Sunny's face.
"Gunk!" which meant, "Well, it wouldn't be the first time he's done this..."
"What's so funny, Olaf?" asked Lady Blackwoodshire menacingly.
"I don't think you two have looked at your record very much recently. Didn't I mention just this morning: the Havindash Horseradish Factory, the Yancy kidnapping, the Gordon-Winkorp affair...which rather neatly mixed arson with trade of illicit substances...and if you want a nice mixture of 'murder and child abduction', you need look no further than the murders of George and Laura Tench and your subsequent babynapping of their rather plain and simpleminded daughter."
Whap!
Lady Blackwoodshire swung the meanest backhand she could manage, knocking Olaf out of the deck chair and onto the planks of the patio.
Sunny gaped, "Hey!" which meant, "Oh, now it is on! It's been a while since I've been badass, anyway!"
She pounced out of her seat and onto Lady Blackwoodshire, biting her on the nose and not letting go.
"OW! Damn baby, get your bloody fangs off of me!"
"See here, Olaf!" bellowed Lord Blackwoodshire, "Call the baby off!"
"That's enough, Sunny." said Olaf, gently plucking Sunny off the Lady's face, "The old cow ain't worth it."
Sunny shrugged, "Spiloski." she grumbled, which meant, "I guess she isn't."
"Very well, then." Olaf consented, extending his hand for the Blackwoodshires to shake. They didn't. Olaf smiled at them and withdrew his hand, "Pleasure doing business with you two. All you need do now is tell me what they find."
"If anything." said Lady Blackwoodshire, patting her now red and slobbery nose, "I still think this whole search is pure bunkum."
The lordly couple returned to the house while Sunny and Olaf poured out some more drinks and went back to lounging in the late afternoon sun.
But, yet again, someone was lurking out of sight, and had heard every word of this previous altercation. On the balcony just above where the Blackwoodshires, Olaf, and Sunny had just had their altercation, Lucy Tench, daughter of George and Laura, had heard everything they said, and was more stunned {and horrified} than she'd ever been before.
A/N: And so ends today's little diversion. It wasn't nearly as long as Chapter 8 which, now that I check, was longer that the entirety of The Queer Academy{that's either a testament to my verbosity or my long-winded rambling skills}. We have some more plot threads begin to reveal themselves, what with ZYK HQ and the Great Unknown and Madame Anwhistle's murder plot, and Lemony being nuts, and the Blackwoodshire's shady histories with regard to Lucy, etc. etc.
So...yeah. Conflict. The savory spices of the soup continue to simmer in harmony and all that other jazz.
Update Coming Next Friday!:)