The moments that follow that peculiar encounter with the even more peculiar man are wrought with silence. Lemony and Violet stand in a daze, each ensnared by their concerns, and make to leave the dingy bar. Vague sounds from their surroundings rise in an unintelligible jumble and die in projected quietude, but when Lemony turns the rusted door handle and they are met with a gush of wind, they blink and shiver, and are thus retrieved into the outside world.
They distance themselves from the loitering people and walk on frosted cobblestone and under the warm light of icicle-adorned street lanterns. The sun is already setting, having done away with the short winter day, and the air gradually grows more frigid.
"Mr. Snicket," says Violet, arms encircling her frame and her visage solemn. "What now?"
Lemony looks at her from beneath heavy lids and sighs. "I have an answer," he says slowly. "But I suspect it's not the one you wish to hear."
Then, she turns to him fully, forcing the two of them to halt their steps. Though she is shorter and smaller in stature, she levels him with a decided look that demands attention, and he knows at once that he will yield to her command.
"I think we should go," she deadpans. "The sooner the better."
Yet he makes the attempt to dissuade her all the same.
"Violet," he begins, and his voice is a soft, sympathetic imploration for her to consider his words, though he sees how she at once stands taller, ever so ready to press forth. "You want to find Sunny and Beatrice, I know you do. But we have no way of knowing that that man's word is to be taken as truth. You saw how much an unsavory person he was; do you truly wish to venture off in an unguaranteed trip to an unknown territory and risk veering off the right track?"
She is silent for a second, shaking her head once in a small turn. "But we have no right track, Mr. Snicket." Raising the piece of paper to his line of sight with icy, blue-tinted fingers, she continues, "This is the only track we have. And I fear the wait and the stagnation much more than any possible risk."
The writer's lips curve upward at one corner as he appraises her. "I never pegged you for a daredevil, Miss Baudelaire."
When her rigid stance becomes lax and her features soften yet again, he knows she realized that she has won; that he never hoped to win to begin with.
"Well," she starts, a subtle smile forming on her own lips. "It's much like a scientific experiment. When you wish to test a hypothesis in an unfamiliar system, you disturb its balance. Either you succeed at conducting the test, or you fail but end up understanding the system a bit more."
"So that the next time you try," he quietly adds, and the grimness of his visage seems to have given way for a much lighter replacement, "your chances at success are larger."
Violet's brown eyes gleam in satisfaction and she nods once. They resume their walk again, though her gait becomes less downtrodden; a purpose and an excitement spurring her forward. Imagination imposes dread, much like anticipation entices urgency, and deliberate footfalls morph into long strides, which only lengthen as she begins to run. Lemony grips his briefcase tighter and hastens his steps so that he keeps in tow, albeit lagging a bit behind.
She reaches the hideout first, barging in and making straight towards the library where she knows her brother will be. Klaus looks up, startled, from the book in his hands. He begins to form a sentence, but she is much quicker.
"Klaus," she breathes, her chest rising and falling at the exertion. "We have a lead."
"A lead—?"
"They're in a town called Venus—It's somewhere in the south." She is out of breath, marching towards him when he doesn't move forward. "We leave now."
Klaus blinks, brow furrowed, and shakes his head at the abruptness of it all. "Wait, Violet. I found these books—"
"We can trust him." Her voice is calm and ascertained; a subtextual wish to relay some of that trust to her rightfully suspicious brother.
But he is reluctant, shifting to the side with a leather-bound book in his grip, which he raises in demonstration. "You might want to hear this first—"
"Klaus—"
And at that moment, Lemony arrives at the door, panting and disheveled, but all in all composed. Klaus is quick to hide the book under his coat, which lies on the chair beside him.
"Baudelaires," says the writer, looking at the two siblings. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Violet answers quickly, just in time for Tesla to fly and settle on her shoulder. She then turns to Klaus with a silent look of entreatment.
A leaden silence, then, "… Yes."
Lemony nods slowly, his lips drawn in a grim line. "Then I shall call for a carriage." And he leaves promptly.
Klaus turns to look at his sister, but she is already heading out and he has not but to follow her, pocketing the book and hoping dearly that they will not regret this; that should misfortune befall them again, they would be as fortunate as they have been in escaping it.
The carriage bears the VFD insignia, but that comes as no surprise. The siblings sit next to each other with Lemony facing Violet, and they are on their way to the train station. They arrive after a mere few minutes have elapsed, and find that the station buzzes with activity even at night, with steam rising from the smokestack of trains that come and leave. Lemony buys the tickets, and they are escorted to their carriage.
Violet looks out the window, at the man with the smoke-smeared face who coughs out the burden of his agitated lungs, and she frowns contemplatively.
Her brother notes this, and with a small, sad smile, he says, "Remember that design you made of the self-cleaning smokebox?"
She matches his smile with one of her own, though it is much more forlorn. "It burned down alongside our house. Many of my designs did."
"Perhaps…" he begins, "you could make new ones. They'll likely be even better than the first ones."
"Perhaps."
They share a look, knowing fully well that whatever attempt they make at normalcy is surreal and synthesized.
Lemony seems to realize this as well, and he clears his throat softly, gaze downturned.
A long whistle resounds throughout the station, and their journey begins.
The deep drone of the engine inclines Klaus to close his eyes and rest, while Lemony takes out his typewriter to unburden his soul through relayed accounts, the pads of his fingers falling in vehement strikes against the keys. Violet gazes at the changing scenery outside her window, absently caressing Tesla's soft feathers.
Though the night is leaden in its darkness, bursts of light coming from faraway lanterns occur at gradually-widening intervals. The spread of silence is almost eerie, Violet muses. She has grown accustomed to chaos, to whispered schemes and desperate prayers; and the sobriety that accompanies maturity, along with that peculiar contradiction of defiant resignation, threatens to engulf her whole.
She allows herself to drift off for passing moments throughout the night, always waking shortly after recurrent bouts of sleep, until the early rays of sunlight burn against her lids. The frost at the window has thawed, and the air is no longer numbingly cold. She looks outside to see that the scenery has markedly changed. The crowded buildings of a city in the prime of its industrialization are nowhere to be seen; instead, there is only one large desert and skeletons of trees rising in rebellion from cracked soil. A murder of crows files by on its migratory journey, and she is instantly reminded of a village whose citizens sought to burn her and her siblings at the stake.
"Don't worry," comes the timely interruption to her thoughts. She turns to Lemony, who in turn regards her with shrewd—albeit very weary—eyes. "Venus is further down the road, far away from that place."
Violet swallows. "So that really was…?"
"The Village of Fowl Devotees?" he says darkly, "Yes."
It is a name that brings back awful recollections to them both, but Violet's are laced not only with pain, but also with guilt. She still remembers Jacques' murder, and silently wonders if Lemony blames her for it as she does herself.
Her gaze is downturned and her shoulders are stiff, but when he clears his throat, she looks up and sees that he himself is rather uncomfortable. He shifts and shuffles for a bit, a hand digging into his pocket.
"I uhm…" he begins and clears his throat again. "I bought something at the train station. It's… for you." He extends his arm to give his gift, and from his hand dangles a black, satin ribbon. "It's thoughtless of me not to have done it earlier on, I know."
Surprise parades itself on her visage for a few moments, but it quickly clears and gives way for a beam to manifest—it's her first genuine smile in a while. She takes it, feeling its smooth texture between thumb and index, and notes that it is of a better quality than any of her previous ones.
"Mr. Snicket…" she voices gratefully, appraising it one last time before looking up at him, even though he refuses to meet her eyes. "Thank you," she says with a grin.
He nods quickly and mutters, "It's not something substantial, really."
"But it is," she counters. "It… might be odd, but it really clears my thought process and helps me conceptualize. The last few months, I felt a bit alienated from myself. It's been so long since I was able to just… tie my hair up and think of an invention." She gives a small laugh here, and his lips strain in a smile. "So truly, thank you."
It takes him a while to answer, but eventually, he voices a whispered, "You're welcome," and the utterance is undeniably emotive, quiet though it may be.
Violet ties the ribbon around her wrist, just in time for Klaus to stir and open his sleep-ridden eyes.
"Are we almost there…?" he mumbles, straightening his sitting position and rubbing his eyes.
"We arrive just before dusk," says Lemony.
And the remainder of their travel is passed mostly through silence. They have breakfast and a midday meal, and each of them spends their time either writing, reading, or simply thinking.
At four o'clock, the train slows down to a halt. "That's us," says Lemony, and they are all eager to stretch their legs and exchange recycled air for an intake of a wintry, albeit fresh, breeze. A porter offers to help them with their luggage, but they decline, noting that they have none.
The three of them walk through an expanse of a desolate field whose green grass is dark and pallid, scalded by a sun that peeks from in-between clusters of dark clouds and frozen by gusts of wind that pass by abruptly. There are many plantations, but the crops are dry and withered with lack of care. Abandoned sheds are littered here and there, their wooden foundations bared and faded, trembling with every passing gush and threatening to crumble.
It is a forlorn sight, and a feeling akin to melancholy settles in their chests. A skirt flutters wildly in the wind, and a hat is held tightly in place lest it flies away—the trek is long and wearisome, but at last, they reach a sign that reads WELCOME TO VENUS - POPULATION 1665, and they stand before it, staring at the inscription.
"The paint has dried long ago," notes Klaus with a frown, "and it's rather dusty. There can't still be 1665 people living here."
"I would hesitate to speak with such certainty, Klaus," mumbles Lemony. "I haven't been here before, but I have heard my fair share of stories about this town."
"The population count doesn't really matter," interjects Violet distantly, looking at the two arrow signs that point in different directions. "The town seems to be split into two sections."
And indeed, the sign pointing to the right reads VESPER, and the one pointing to the left reads LUCIFER.
She frowns contemplatively. "Vesper and Lucifer?"
"These are names for the planet Venus as it is observed during different times of the day," explains Klaus, though he is no less confused, "Vesper means the evening star, and Lucifer here means the morning star."
"Well… which way should we go?"
And as though to provide an answer, Tesla sets flight in an abrupt motion, heading to the right—down the road whose cobblestones are white and whose hedges are trimmed to resemble a succession of crosses.
The two Baudelaires share a look with each other and with the uneasy writer, and the three of them follow the path laid by the raven.
The houses are small and humble, but they give the appearance of homeliness, austere though it may be. Impressions of warm lights can be spied from behind closed windows and curtains, and it is then that the lack of life in the streets becomes eerie; quietude looms oppressively, interrupted only by the occasional swing of a rocking chair or the bark of a dog.
"Where is everyone?" questions Violet as she scans the neighborhood for a human presence.
"Perhaps," says Lemony in a faraway tone, his sight falling onto an inn at the end of the street, "we should check there." He gestures towards the place with a nod.
The inn must have been constructed at least a century ago, if its decor is an indication at all. Its central chandelier is lit by candles, whose flames shiver at the lack of insulation inside the building. The curtains are dark and heavy, and there are flower pots placed at the reception desk, with calla lilies and roses that seem to have died very long ago.
"There's no one here either," sighs Klaus in mild frustration.
"There sure is," comes a nasal voice from the direction of a corridor, and an old woman emerges, hair held in a tight bun and scrawny form clad with a black dress and a dirtied apron, onto which she wipes her hands. She looks at them with a large smile that conflicts with the suspicion blatant in her eyes. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Yes," says Lemony, standing before her as she moves to reclaim her place behind the desk. "Could you tell us where the local church is located?"
And the smile on her face slowly wanes, leaving a wrinkly and dark visage. "The church? We have no church 'round here."
"That's not quite possible," interjects Klaus. "The Christian overtones are hard to miss, and even if there were none, it's unlikely for a town not to have a church."
She thins her lips and releases an exhale, but plasters a smile onto her face again. "Well of course we have a church," she says, saccharine sweet, "but it's not for the outsiders to go in, desecrating all that we hold sacred. You understand, don't you, dearie boy?"
"Of course," says Violet politely. "We don't wish to disturb any of the churchgoers or the customs around here, but it's likely that two family members reside there for the time being, and we simply wish to see them."
"Reside there?" laughs the woman. "Sweetie, no one resides in the church other than Father Michaelis. I think you got your information wrong, so why don't you all be on your way? We don't want no outsiders infringing on our peace."
Lemony scans her with calculating eyes, aware that the gazes of his two companions are on him. Eventually, he says, "We think we would like to stay here for a few days."
She raises an eyebrow, her grin uneasy. "Stay?"
"Yes," he confirms. "We'd like to check in, please."
Her dismay is hard to miss, regardless of the facade she wears, and the cheer she exudes in her response rings in sharp contrast with the blatant hostility. "Well alrighty then! How many rooms?"
"Three."
The woman places their keys on the table, and each takes one.
"You'll need to fill this out, sir," she says, sliding a document towards Lemony.
He scribbles the needed information hastily onto the paper. "Thank you, Miss…"
"Gertrude Solomon. Call me Gertie, though."
With a tight smile and a nod, he says, "Thank you, Miss Solomon. Come on, Baudelaires."
"Now hold on just a sec," says Gertrude, and the three of them turn towards her. "Those are no clothes to be worn 'round here."
They frown in confusion when she disappears behind a door, appearing again with neatly folded clothing.
"Here you all go. Change quick before anyone sees you."
And without an argument, they abide. Violet dresses in a white blouse whose collar bears a black cross on each side, and a black, sleeveless dress, buttoned at the top and down to the midsection. Klaus wears a matching blouse, but with black trousers and suspenders. Lemony sports a string tie fastened around the collar of his blouse, with a black vest and jacket. His new hat fails to obscure his visage as the old one, but he wears it nonetheless.
The appraise each other's attire quietly, giving half smiles at how seamlessly they now fit the aesthetic of the town.
"Should we take a little tour?" suggests Violet.
And the two men agree. The golden rays of the setting sun give the town a distinct feeling; it is one of unspoken mysteries that lie in front of the eye and are obscured by their palpability. A few townspeople note their presence, and despite their new guise, they still stand out. The gazes follow them with no abashment, distrustful and suspicious, but the three ignore them as best they can.
The strum of a guitar resounds all around them, accompanied by a singing voice, "When the last light warms the rocks and the rattlesnakes unfold," drones a man, meeting their eyes with a lazy grin when they turn to look at him.
"Mountain cats will come," continues the woman sitting beside him, her smile even more perturbing, "to drag away your bones."
"Come…" mumbles Lemony, a hand on each their shoulders as he guides them away, their eyes still glued to the singing ensemble.
"And rise with me forever, across the silent sand, and the stars will be your eyes, and the wind will be my hand."
Well, here it is. Sorry for the long wait—I myself thought I would never update this, but as it happens, I love the characters and the atmosphere; the mystery and the freedom I have to explore moral questions and societal constructs. Establishing Venus is so much fun. I get to pay homage to the southern gothic genre, and it is one that I love dearly.
The song at the end is called Far From Any Road by The Handsome Family.
Feedback is always much appreciated! It does inspire me to go on.