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"Hurt her?" Count Olaf asked, his eyes shining bright beneath his one scraggly eyebrow. "Hurt Triangle Eyes? Why would I hurt a clever girl like that? Tee hee troupe member!" With one of his tiresome dramatic gestures, Count Olaf pointed behind him, and Esmé clapped the tentacles of her outfit as two people appeared in the porthole. One was the hook-handed man, who looked as wicked as he ever had. And the other was Fiona, who looked slightly different. One difference was the expression on her face, which looked resigned, a word which here means "as if the mycologist had given up entirely on defeating Count Olaf." But the other difference was printed on the slippery-looking uniform she was wearing, right in the center.
"No," Klaus said quietly, as he stared at his friend.
"No," Violet said firmly, and looked at Klaus.
"No!" Sunny said angrily, and bared her teeth as Fiona stepped through the porthole and stood beside Count Olaf on the wooden table.
Her boot brushed against the poetry books Violet and Klaus had taken from the sideboard, including books by Lewis Carroll and T. S. Eliot. There are some who say that the poetry of Lewis Carroll is too whimsical, a word which here means "full of comic nonsense," and other people complain that T. S. Eliot's poetry is too opaque, which refers to something that is unnecessarily complicated. But while everyone may not agree on the poets represented on the wooden table, every noble reader in the world agrees that the poet represented on Fiona's uniform was a writer of limited skill, who wrote awkward, tedious poetry on hopelessly sentimental topics.
"Yes," Fiona said quietly, and the Baudelaire orphans looked up at the portrait of Edgar Guest, smiling on the front of her uniform, and felt the tables turn once more.
Chapter Thirteen
The water cycle consists of three phenomena – evaporation, precipitation, and collection – and collection, the third of these phenomena, is the third of the phenomena that make up what is generally known as "the water cycle." This phenomenon, known as "collection," is the process of the gathering of water in the oceans, lakes, rivers, ponds, reservoirs, and puddles of the world, so that it will eventually go through the phenomena of evaporation and precipitation, thus beginning the water cycle all over again. It is a tedious thing for a reader to find in a book, of course, and I hope that my descriptions of the water cycle have bored you enough that you have put this book down long ago, and will not read Chapter Thirteen of The Grim Grotto any more than the Baudelaire orphans will ever read Chapter "Thirty-Nine of Mushroom Minutiae, no matter how crucial such a chapter might be. But however tedious the water cycle is to readers, it must be very tedious indeed to the drops of water who must participate in the cycle over and over again. Occasionally, when I pause while writing my chronicle of the Baudelaire orphans, and my eyes and back turn upward from my desk to look out at the evening sky – the purple color of which explains the expression "the violet hour" – I imagine myself as a drop of water, especially if it is raining, or if my desk is floating in a reservoir. I think of how ghastly it would feel to be yanked away from my comrades, when we were gathered in a lake or puddle, and forced into the sky through the process of evaporation. I think how terrible it would feel to be chased out of a cloud by the process of precipitation, and tumble to the earth like a sugar bowl. And I think of how heartbroken I would feel to gather once more in a body of water and feel, during the process of collection, that I had reached the last safe place, only to have the tables turn, and evaporate into the sky once more as the tedious cycle started all over again. It is awful to contemplate this sort of life, in which one would always be forced into motion by a variety of mysterious and powerful forces, never staying anywhere for long, never finding a safe place one could call home, never able to turn the tables for very long, just as the Baudelaire orphans found it awful to contemplate their own lives as Fiona betrayed them, as so many of their companions had betrayed them before, just when it seemed they might break out of the tedious cycle of unfortunate events in which they found themselves trapped.
"Tell them, Triangle Eyes," Count Olaf said with a wicked smile. "Tell the Baudelaires that you've joined up with me."
"It's true," Fiona said, but behind her triangular glasses her eyes were downcast, a word which here means "looking sadly at the floor." "Count Olaf said that if I helped him destroy the last safe place, he'd help me find my stepfather."
"But Count Olaf and your stepfather are enemies!" Violet cried. "They're on opposite sides of the schism."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Esmé Squalor said, her suction cups dragging along the floor as she stepped through the broken porthole. "After all, Captain Widdershins abandoned you. Maybe he's decided volunteers are out – and we're in."
"My brother, my stepfather, and I could be together again," Fiona said quietly. "Don't you understand, Baudelaires?"
"Of course they don't understand!" Count Olaf cried. "Ha ha half-wits! Those brats spend their lives reading books instead of chasing after fortunes! Now, let's remove all the valuables from the Queequeg and we'll lock the orphans up in the brig!"
"You won't get away from us this time!" the hook-handed man said, taking the tagliatelle grande from behind his back and whirling the noodle in the air.
"We didn't get away from you last time," Klaus said. "You helped us sneak over here, to save Sunny. You said you wanted to come with us when we escaped in the Queequeg and joined V.F.D. at the last safe place."
"V.F.D.," the hook-handed man sneered. With one scornful flick of his hook he popped one of the balloons Phil had used to decorate the Main Hall for Violet's birthday. "All those silly volunteers with their precious libraries and complicated codes – they're fools, every last one of them. I don't want to sit around reading idiotic books! He who hesitates is lost!"
"Or she," Fiona said. "Aye!"
"Yes," Count Olaf said, "let's not hesitate a moment longer, Hooky. Let's tour this submarine and steal anything we want!"
"I want to come, too!" Esmé said. "I need a new fashionable outfit!"
"Of course, boss," the hook-handed man said, walking toward the door of the Main Hall. "Follow me."
"No, you follow me!" Count Olaf said, pushing ahead of him. "I'm in charge!"
"But Countie," Carmelita whined, jumping off the wooden table and twirling around awkwardly. "I want to go first because I'm a tap-dancing ballerina fairy princess veterinarian!"
"Of course you get to go first, precious," Esmé said. "You get whatever your adorable little heart desires, right Olaf?" "I guess so," Olaf muttered.
"And tell Triangle Eyes to stay here and guard the orphans," Carmelita said. "I don't want her to take all the good stuff for herself."
"Guard the orphans, Triangle Eyes," Count Olaf said. "Although I don't think you orphans really need to be guarded. After all, there's nowhere for you to go! Tee hee traction!"
"Giggle giggle gaudy!" Carmelita cried, leading the way out of the Main Hall.
"Ha ha hair trigger!" Esmé screamed, following her.
"Tee hee tonsillectomy!" Count Olaf shrieked, walking behind his girlfriend.
"I also find this amusing!" the hook-handed man yelled, and slammed the door behind him, leaving the Baudelaires alone with Fiona.
"Traitor," Sunny said.
"Sunny's right," Violet said. "Don't do this, Fiona. There's still time to change your mind, and stay on the noble side of the schism."
"We received a Volunteer Factual Dispatch," Klaus said, holding up the telegram. " V.F.D. is in desperate need of our services for a most urgent matter. We're meeting the volunteers at Briny Beach. You could come with us, Fiona."
"Greenhut!" Sunny cried. She meant something like, "You could be of enormous help," but Fiona didn't even wait for a translation.
"You wouldn't abandon your sister," the mycologist said. "Aye! You risked your lives to save Sunny. How can you ask me to abandon my brother?"
"Your brother is a wicked person," Violet said.
"People aren't either wicked or noble," Fiona said. "Th
ey're like chef's salads."
Klaus picked up the photograph from the table and handed it to Fiona. "This doesn't look like a chef's salad to me," he said. "It looks like a family. Is this what your family would have you do, Fiona? Send three children to the brig, while you help a villain in his treacherous schemes?"
Fiona looked at the picture, and blinked back tears behind her triangular glasses. "My family is lost," she said. "Aye! My mother is dead. Aye! My father moved away. Aye! My stepfather has abandoned me. Aye! My brother may not be as wonderful as you Baudelaires, but he is the only family I have. Aye! I'm staying with him. Aye!"
"Stay with him if you must," Violet said, "but let us go."
"Rendezvous," Sunny said.
"Take us to Briny Beach," Klaus translated. "We might be on opposite sides of the schism, Fiona, but that doesn't mean we can't help one another."
Fiona sighed, and looked first at the Baudelaires and then at the photograph of her family. "I could turn my back," she said, "instead of guarding you."
"And we could take the Queequeg," Violet said, "and escape."
Fiona frowned, and put the photograph back down on the table. "If I let you go to Briny Beach," she said, "what will you do for me?"
"I'll teach you how to repair submarines," Violet said, gesturing to the telegram device. "You could restore the Queequeg to its former glory."
"I don't need the Queequeg anymore," Fiona said. "Aye! I'm part of the crew of the Carmelita."
"I'll give you my commonplace book," Klaus said, holding out his dark blue notebook. "It's full of important secrets."
"Count Olaf knows more secrets than you'll ever learn," Fiona replied.
"Mmph!" The children looked down and saw Sunny, who had slipped away while the others were talking, and was now walking unsteadily back through the door marked KITCHEN, dragging her diving helmet.
"Don't touch that, Sunny!" Violet cried. "There's a very dangerous fungus in there, and we don't have any more antidote!"
