Series of Unfortunate Events: The Grim Grotto (13 page)

can't believe you're here!" "You?" Klaus asked, gazing at the banker in astonishment. "You're the one we're supposed to meet?" "I guess so," Mr. Poe said, frowning and taking a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "I received a message saying that you'd be here at Briny Beach today." "Who sent the message?" Klaus asked. Mr. Poe coughed once more, and then shrugged his shoulders wearily. The children noticed that he looked quite a bit older than the last time they had seen him, and wondered how much older they looked themselves. "The message is signed J.S.," Mr. Poe said. "I assume that it's that reporter from The Daily Punctilio, Geraldine Julienne. How in the world did you get here? Where in the world have you been? I must admit, Baudelaires, I had given up all hope of ever finding you again! It was a shame to think that the Baudelaire fortune would just sit in the bank, gathering interest and dust! Well, never mind that now. You'd better come with me, my car's parked nearby. You have a great deal of explaining to do." "No," Violet said. "No?" Mr. Poe said in amazement, and coughed violently into his handkerchief. "Of course you do! You've been missing for a very long time, children! It was very inconsiderate of you to run away without telling me where you were, particularly when you've been accused of murder, arson, kidnapping, and some assorted misdemeanors! We're going to get right in my car, and I'll drive you to the police station, and..." "No," Violet said again, and reached into the pocket of her uniform. She held up the telegram to her siblings and read: "At the pink hour when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a pony throbbing party... "That's what's in the telegram." She paused, and scanned the horizon of the beach. Something caught her eye, and she gave her siblings a faint smile. "The real poem," she said, "goes like this: "At the violet hour when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting." "Verse Fluctuation Declaration," Klaus said. "Code," Sunny said. "What are you talking about?" Mr. Poe demanded. "What is going on?" "The missing words," Violet said to her siblings, as if the coughing banker had not spoken, "are 'violet,' 'taxi,' and 'waiting.' We're not supposed to go with Mr. Poe. We're supposed to get into a taxi." She pointed across the beach, and the children could see, scarcely visible in the fog, a yellow car parked at a nearby curb. The Baudelaires nodded, and Violet turned to address the banker at last. "We can't go with you," Violet said. "There's something else we need to do." "Don't be absurd!" Mr. Poe sputtered. "I don't know where you've been, or how you got here, or why you're wearing a picture of Santa Claus on your shirts, but..." "It's Herman Melville," Klaus said. "Goodbye, Mr. Poe." "You are coming with me, young man!" Mr. Poe ordered. "Sayonara," Sunny said, and the three Baudelaires walked quickly across the beach, leaving the hanker coughing in astonishment. "Wait!" he ordered, when he put his handkerchief away. "Come back here, Baudelaires! You're children! You're youngsters! You're orphans!" Mr. Poe's voice grew fainter and fainter as the children made their way across the sand. "What do you think the word 'violet' means?" Klaus murmured to his sister. "The taxi isn't purple." "More code," Sunny guessed. "Maybe," Violet said. "Or maybe Quigley just wanted to write my name." "Baudelaires!" Mr. Poe's voice was almost inaudible, as if the Baudelaires had only dreamed he was there on the beach. "Do you think he's in the taxi, waiting for us?" Klaus asked. "I hope so," Violet said, and broke into a run. Her siblings hurried behind her as she ran across the sand, her boots showering sand with each step. "Quigley," she said quietly, almost to herself, and then she said it louder. "Quigley! Quigley!" At last the Baudelaires reached the taxi, but the windows of the car were tinted, a word which here means "darkened, so the children could not see who was inside." "Quigley?" Violet asked, and flung open the door, but the children 's friend was not inside the taxi. In the driver's seat was a woman the Baudelaires had never seen before, dressed in a long, black coat buttoned up all the way to her chin. On her hands were a pair of white cotton gloves, and in her lap were two slim books, probably to keep her company while she waited. The woman looked startled when the door opened, but when she spied the children she nodded politely, and gave them a very slight smile, as if she were not a stranger at all, also not a friend. The smile she gave them was one you might give to an associate, or another member of an organization to which you belong. "Hello, Baudelaires," she said, and gave the children a small wave. "Climb aboard." The Baudelaires looked at one another cautiously. They knew, of course, that one should never get into the car of a stranger, but they also knew that such rules do not necessarily apply in taxis, when the driver is almost always a stranger. Besides, when the woman had lifted her hand to wave, the children had spied the name of the books she had been reading to pass the time. There were two books of verse: The Walrus and the Carpenter, and Other Poems, by Lewis Carroll, and The Waste Land, by T. S. Eliot. Perhaps if one of the books had been by Edgar Guest, the children might have turned around and run back to Mr. Poe, but it is rare in this world to find someone who appreciates good poetry, and the children allowed themselves to hesitate. "Who are you?" Violet asked, finally. The woman blinked, and then gave the children her slight smile once more, as if she had expected the Baudelaires to answer the question themselves. "I'm Kit Snicket," she said, and the Baudelaire orphans climbed aboard, turning the tables of their lives and breaking their unfortunate cycle for the very first time.

LEMONY SNICKET has received several citations for bravery in the face of evil and several more for caution, when bravery might have proven to be more trouble than it was worth. He was last seen by witnesses who proved to be unreliable and/or of a particularly suspicious nature. In his spare time he hides all traces of his actions.

Dear Reader, Unless you are a slug, a sea anemone, or mildew, you probably prefer not to be damp. You might also prefer not to read this book, in which the Baudelaire siblings encounter an unpleasant amount of dampness as they descend into the depths of despair, underwater. In fact, the horrors they encounter are too numerous to list, and you wouldn't want me even to mention the worst of it, which includes mushrooms, a desperate search for something lost, a mechanical monster, a distressing message from a lost friend, and tap dancing. As a dedicated author who has pledged to keep recording the depressing story of the Baudelaires, I must continue to delve deep into the cavernous depths of the orphans lives. You, on the other hand, may delve into some happier book in order to keep your eyes and your spirits from being dampened.