A Series of Unfortunate Events 2- The Reptile Room

     “I think we should just wait for Uncle Monty to come back, and tell him what has happened,” Violet said. “He'll believe us. If we tell him about the tattoo, he'll at least ask Stephano for an explanation.” Violet's tone of voice when she said “Stephano” indicated her utter scorn for Olaf's disguise.

     “Are you sure?” Klaus said. “After all, Uncle Monty is the one who hired Stephano” Klaus's tone of voice when he said “Stephano” indicated that he shared his sister's feelings. “For all we know, Uncle Monty and Stephano have planned something together.”

     “Minda!” Sunny shrieked, which probably meant something like “Don't be ridiculous, Klaus!”

     Violet shook her head. “Sunny's right. I can't believe that Uncle Monty would be in cahoots with Olaf. He's been so kind and generous to us, and besides, if they were working together, Olaf wouldn't insist on using a different name.”

     “That's true,” Klaus said thoughtfully. “So we wait for Uncle Monty.”

     “We wait,” Violet agreed.

     “Tojoo,” Sunny said solemnly, and the siblings looked at one another glumly.

     Waiting is one of life's hardships. It is hard enough to wait for chocolate cream pie while burnt roast beef is still on your plate. It is plenty difficult to wait for Halloween when the tedious month of September is still ahead of you. But to wait for one's adopted uncle to come home while a greedy and violent man is upstairs was one of the worst waits the Baudelaires had ever experienced. To get their mind off it, they tried to continue with their work, but the children were too anxious to get anything done. Violet tried to fix a hinged door on one of the traps, but all she could concentrate on was the knot of worry in her stomach. Klaus tried to read about protecting oneself from thorny Peruvian plants, but thoughts of Stephano kept clouding his brain. And Sunny tried to bite rope, but she had a cold chill of fear running through her teeth and she soon gave up. She didn't even feel like playing with the Incredibly Deadly Viper. So the Baudelaires spent the rest of the afternoon sitting silently in the Reptile Room, looking out the window for Uncle Monty's jeep and listening to the occasional noise from upstairs. They didn't even want to think about what Stephano might be unpacking.

     Finally, as the snake-shaped hedges began to cast long, skinny shadows in the setting sun, the three children heard an approaching engine, and the jeep pulled up. A large canoe was strapped to the roof of the jeep, and the backseat was piled with Monty's purchases. Uncle Monty got out, struggling under the weight of several shopping bags, and saw the children through the glass walls of the Reptile Room. He smiled at them. They smiled back, and in that instant when they smiled was created another moment of regret for them. Had they not paused to smile at Monty but instead gone dashing out to the car, they might have had a brief moment alone with him. But by the time they reached the entry hall, he was already talking to Stephano.

     “I didn't know what kind of toothbrush you preferred,” Uncle Monty was saying apologetically, “so I got you one with extra-firm bristles because that's the kind I like. Peruvian food tends to be sticky, so you need to have at least one extra toothbrush whenever you go there.”

     “Extra-firm bristles are fine with me,” Stephano said, speaking to Uncle Monty but looking at the orphans with his shiny, shiny eyes. “Shall I carry in the canoe?”

     “Yes, but my goodness, you can't carry it all by yourself,” Uncle Monty said. “Klaus, please help Stephano, will you?”

     “Uncle Monty,” Violet said, “we have something very important to tell you.”

     “I'm all ears,” Uncle Monty said, “but first let me show you the wasp repellent I picked up. I'm so glad Klaus read up on the insect situation in Peru , because the other repellents I have would have been no use at all.” Uncle Monty rooted through one of the bags on his arm as the children waited impatiently for him to finish. “This one contains a chemical called—”

     “Uncle Monty,” Klaus said, “what we have to tell you really can't wait.”

     “Klaus,” Uncle Monty said, his eyebrows rising in surprise, “it's not polite to interrupt when your uncle is talking. Now, please help Stephano with the canoe, and we'll talk about anything you want in a few moments.”

     Klaus sighed, but followed Stephano out the open door. Violet watched them walking toward the jeep as Uncle Monty put down the shopping hags and faced her. “I can't remember what I was saying about the repellent,” he said, a little crossly. “I hate losing my train of thought.”

     “What we have to tell you,” Violet began, but she stopped when something caught her eye. Monty was facing away from the door, so he couldn't see what Stephano was doing, but Violet saw Stephano stop at the snake-shaped hedges, reach into his coat pocket, and take out the long knife. Its blade caught the light of the setting sun and it glowed brightly, like a lighthouse. As you probably know, lighthouses serve as warning signals, telling ships where the shore is so they don't run into it. The shining knife was a warning, too.

     Klaus looked at the knife, and then at Stephano, and then at Violet. Violet looked at Klaus, and then at Stephano, and then at Monty. Sunny looked at everyone. Only Monty didn't notice what was going on, so intent was he on remembering whatever he was babbling about wasp repellent. “What we have to tell you,” Violet began again, but she couldn't continue. Stephano didn't say a word. He didn't have to. Violet knew that if she breathed one word about his true identity, Stephano would hurt her brother, right there at the snake-shaped hedges. Without saying a word, the nemesis of the Baudelaire orphans had sent a very clear warning.

 

C H A P T E R

Five

 

That night felt like the longest and most terrible the Baudelaire orphans had ever had, and they'd had plenty. There was one night, shortly after Sunny was born, that all three children had a horrible flu, and tossed and turned in the grasp of a terrible fever, while their father tried to soothe them all at once, placing cold washcloths on their sweaty brows. The night after their parents had been killed, the three children had stayed at Mr. Poe's house, and had stayed up all night, too miserable and confused to even try to sleep. And of course, they had spent many a long and terrible night while living with Count Olaf.

     But this particular night seemed worse. From the moment of Monty's arrival until bedtime, Stephano kept the children under his constant surveillance, a phrase which here means “kept watching them so they couldn't possibly talk to Uncle Monty alone and reveal that he was really Count Olaf,” and Uncle Monty was too preoccupied to think that anything unusual was going on. When they brought in the rest of Uncle Monty's purchases, Stephano carried bags with only one hand, keeping the other one in his coat pocket where the long knife was hidden, but Uncle Monty was too excited about all the new supplies to ask about it. When they went into the kitchen to prepare dinner, Stephano smiled menacingly at the children as he sliced mushrooms, but Uncle Monty was too busy making sure the stroganoff sauce didn't boil to even notice that Stephano was using his own threatening knife for the chopping. Over dinner, Stephano told funny stories and praised Monty's scientific work, and Uncle Monty was so flattered he didn't even think to guess that Stephano was holding a knife under the table, rubbing the blade gently against Violet's knee for the entire meal. And when Uncle Monty announced that he would spend the evening showing his new assistant around the Reptile Room, he was too eager to realize that the Baudelaires simply went up to bed without a word.

For the first time, having individual bedrooms seemed like a hardship rather than a luxury, for without one another's company the orphans felt even more lonely and helpless. Violet stared at the paper tacked to her wall and tried to imagine what Stephano was planning. Klaus sat in his large cushioned chair and turned on his brass reading lamp but was too worried to even open a book. Sunny stared at her hard objects but didn't bite a single one of them.

     All three children thought of walking down the hall to Uncle Monty's room and waking him up to tell him what was wrong. But to get to his bedroom, they would have to walk past the room in which Stephano was staying, and all night long Stephano kept watch in a chair placed in front of his open door. When the orphans opened their doors to peer down the dark hallway, they saw Stephano's pale, shaved head, which seemed to be floating above his body in the darkness. And they could see his knife, which Stephano was moving slowly like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. Back and forth it went, back and forth, glinting in the dim light, and the sight was so fearsome they didn't dare try walking down the hallway.

     Finally, the light in the house turned the pale blue-gray of early dawn, and the Baudelaire children walked blearily down the stairs to breakfast, tired and achy from their sleepless night. They sat around the table where they had eaten cake on their first morning at the house, and picked listlessly at their food. For the first time since their arrival at Uncle Monty's, they were not eager to enter the Reptile Room and begin the day's work.

     “I suppose we have to go in now,” Violet said finally, putting aside her scarcely nibbled toast. “I'm sure Uncle Monty has already started working, and is expecting us.”

     “And I'm sure that Stephano is there, too,” Klaus said, staring glumly into his cereal bowl. “We'll never get a chance to tell Uncle Monty what we know about him.”

     “Yinga,” Sunny said sadly, dropping her untouched raw carrot to the floor.

     “If only Uncle Monty knew what we know,” Violet said, “and Stephano knew that he knew what we know. But Uncle Monty doesn't know what we know, and Stephano knows that he doesn't know what we know.”

     “I know,” Klaus said.

     “I know you know,” Violet said, “but what we don't know is what Count Olaf—I mean Stephano—is really up to. He's after our fortune, certainly, but how can he get it if we're under Uncle Monty's care?”

     “Maybe he's just going to wait until you're of age, and then steal the fortune,” Klaus said.

     “Four years is a long time to wait,” Violet said. The three orphans were quiet, as each remembered where they had been four years ago. Violet had been ten, and had worn her hair very short. She remembered that sometime around her tenth birthday she had invented a new kind of pencil sharpener. Klaus had been about eight, and he remembered how interested he had been in comets, reading all the astronomy books his parents had in their library. Sunny, of course, had not been born four years ago, and she sat and tried to remember what that was like. Very dark, she thought, with nothing to bite. For all three youngsters, four years did seem like a very long time.

     “Come on, come on, you are moving very slowly this morning,” Uncle Monty said, bursting into the room. His face seemed even brighter than usual, and he was holding a small bunch of folded papers in one hand. “Stephano has only worked here one day, and he's already in the Reptile Room. In fact, he was up before I was—I ran into him on my way down the stairs. He's an eager beaver. But you three— you're moving like the Hungarian Sloth Snake, whose top speed is half an inch per hour! We have lots to do today, and I'd like to catch the six o'clock showing of Zombies in the Snow tonight, so let's try to hurry, hurry, hurry.”

     Violet looked at Uncle Monty, and realized that this might be their only opportunity to talk to him alone, without Stephano around, but he seemed so wound up they weren't sure if he would listen to them. “Speaking of Stephano,” she said timidly, “we'd like to talk to you about him.”

     Uncle Monty's eyes widened, and he looked around him as if there were spies in the room before leaning in to whisper to the children. “I'd like to talk to you, too,” he said. “I have my suspicions about Stephano, and I'd like to discuss them with you.”

     The Baudelaire orphans looked at one another in relief. “You do?” Klaus said.

     “Of course,” Uncle Monty said. “Last night I began to get very suspicious about this new assistant of mine. There's something a little spooky about him, and I—” Uncle Monty looked around again, and began speaking even softer, so the children had to hold their breaths to hear him. “And I think we should discuss it outside. Shall we?” The children nodded in agreement, and rose from the table. Leaving their dirty breakfast dishes behind, which is not a good thing to do in general but perfectly acceptable in the face of an emergency, they walked with Uncle Monty to the front entryway, past the painting of two snakes entwined together, out the front door, and onto the lawn, as if they wanted to talk to the snake-shaped hedges instead of to one another.

     “I don't mean to be vainglorious,” Uncle Monty began, using a word which here means “braggy,” “but I really am one of the most widely respected herpetologists in the world.”

     Klaus blinked. It was an unexpected beginning for the conversation. “Of course you are,” he said, “but—”

     “And because of this, I'm sad to say,” Uncle Monty continued, as if he had not heard, “many people are jealous of me.”

      “I'm sure that's true,” Violet said, puzzled.

     “And when people are jealous,” Uncle Monty said, shaking his head, “they will do anything. They will do crazy things. When I was getting my herpetology degree, my roommate was so envious of a new toad I had discovered that he stole and ate my only specimen. I had to X-ray his stomach, and use the X-rays rather than the toad in my presentation. And something tells me we may have a similar situation here.”

     What was Uncle Monty talking about?

     “I'm afraid I don't quite follow you,” Klaus said, which is the polite way of saying “What are you talking about, Uncle Monty?”

     “Last night, after you went to bed, Stephano asked me a few too many questions about all the snakes and about my upcoming expedition. And do you know why?”

     “I think so,” Violet began, but Uncle Monty interrupted her.

     “It is because this man who is calling himself Stephano,” he said, “is really a member of the Herpetological Society, and he is here to try and find the Incredibly Deadly Viper so he can preempt my presentation. Do you three know what the word 'preempt' means?”

     “No,” Violet said, “but—”

     “It means that I think this Stephano is going to steal my snake,” Uncle Monty said, “and present it to the Herpetological Society. Because it is a new species, there's no way I can prove I discovered it. Before we know it, the Incredibly Deadly Viper will be called the Stephano Snake, or something dreadful like that. And if he's planning that, just think what he will do to our Peruvian expedition. Each toad we catch, each venom sample we put into a test tube, each snake interview we record— every scrap of work we do—will fall into the hands of this Herpetological Society spy.”

     “He's not a Herpetological Society spy,” Klaus said impatiently, “he's Count Olaf!”

     “I know just what you mean!” Uncle Monty said excitedly. “This sort of behavior is indeed as dastardly as that terrible man's. That is why I'm doing this.” He raised one hand and waved the folded papers in the air. “As you know,” he said, “tomorrow we are leaving for Peru . These are our tickets for the five o'clock voyage on the Prospero, a fine ship that will take us across the sea to South America. There's a ticket for me, one for Violet, one for Klaus, one for Stephano, but not one for Sunny because we're going to hide her in a suitcase to save money.”

     “Deepo!”

     “I'm kidding about that. But I'm not kidding about this.” Uncle Monty, his face flushed with excitement, took one of the folded papers and began ripping it into tiny pieces. “This is Stephano's ticket. He's not going to Peru with us after all. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to tell him that he needs to stay here and look after my specimens instead. That way we can run a successful expedition in peace.”

     “But Uncle Monty—” Klaus said.

     “How many times must I remind you it's not polite to interrupt?” Uncle Monty interrupted, shaking his head. “In any case, I know what you're worried about. You're worried what will happen if he stays here alone with the Incredibly Deadly Viper. But don't worry. The Viper will join us on the expedition, traveling in one of our snake carrying cases. I don't know why you're looking so glum, Sunny. I thought you'd be happy to have the Viper's company. So don't look so worried, bambini. As you can see, your Uncle Monty has the situation in hand.”

     When somebody is a little bit wrong—say, when a waiter puts nonfat milk in your espresso macchiato, instead of lowfat milk—it is often quite easy to explain to them how and why they are wrong. But if somebody is surpassingly wrong—say, when a waiter bites your nose instead of taking your order—you can often be so surprised that you are unable to say anything at all. Paralyzed by how wrong the waiter is, your mouth would hang slightly open and your eyes would blink over and over, but you would be unable to say a word. This is what the Baudelaire children did. Uncle Monty was so wrong about Stephano, in thinking he was a herpetological spy rather than Count Olaf, that the three siblings could scarcely think of a way to tell him so.

     “Come now, my dears,” Uncle Monty said. “We've wasted enough of the morning on talk. We have to—ow !” He interrupted himself with a cry of surprise and pain, and fell to the ground.

     “Uncle Monty!” Klaus cried. The Baudelaire children saw that a large, shiny object was on top of him, and realized a moment later what the object was: it was the heavy brass reading lamp, the one standing next to the large cushioned chair in Klaus's room.

     “Ow!” Uncle Monty said again, pulling the lamp off him. “That really hurt. My shoulder may be sprained. It's a good thing it didn't land on my head, or it really could have done some damage.”

     “But where did it come from?” Violet asked.

     “It must have fallen from the window,” Uncle Monty said, pointing up to where Klaus's room was. “Whose room is that? Klaus, I believe it is yours. You must be more careful. You can't dangle heavy objects out the window like that. Look what almost happened.”

      “But that lamp wasn't anywhere near my window,” Klaus said. “I keep it in the alcove, so I can read in that large chair.”

     “Really, Klaus,” Uncle Monty said, standing up and handing him the lamp. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that the lamp danced over to the window and leaped onto my shoulder? Please put this back in your room, in a safe place, and we'll say no more about it.”

     “But—” Klaus said, but his older sister interrupted him.

     “I'll help you, Klaus,” Violet said. “We'll find a place for it where it's safe.”

     “Well, don't be too long,” Uncle Monty said, rubbing his shoulder. “We'll see you in the Reptile Room. Come, Sunny.”

     Walking through the entry hall, the four parted ways at the stairs, with Uncle Monty and Sunny going to the enormous door of the Reptile Room, and Violet and Klaus carrying the heavy brass lamp up to Klaus's room.

     “You know very well'' Klaus hissed to his sister, ”that I was not careless with this lamp."

     “Of course I know that,” Violet whispered. “But there's no use trying to explain that to Uncle Monty. He thinks Stephano is a herpetological spy. You know as well as I do that Stephano was responsible for this.”

     “How clever of you to figure that out,” said a voice at the top of the stairs, and Violet and Klaus were so surprised they almost dropped the lamp. It was Stephano, or, if you prefer, it was Count Olaf. It was the bad guy. “But then, you've always been clever children,” he continued. “A little too clever for my taste, but you won't be around for long, so I'm not troubled by it.”

     “You're not very clever yourself,” Klaus said fiercely. “This heavy brass lamp almost hit us, but if anything happens to my sisters or me, you'll never get your hands on the Baudelaire fortune.”

     “Dear me, dear me,” Stephano said, his grimy teeth showing as he smiled. “If I wanted to harm you, orphan, your blood would already be pouring down these stairs like a waterfall. No, I'm not going to harm a hair on any Baudelaire head—not here in this house. You needn't be afraid of me, little ones, until we find ourselves in a location where crimes are more difficult to trace.”

     “And where would that be?” Violet asked. “We plan to stay right here until we grow up.”

     “Really?” Stephano said, in that sneaky, sneaky voice. “Why, I had the impression we were leaving the country tomorrow.”

     “Uncle Monty tore up your ticket,” Klaus replied triumphantly. “He was suspicious of you, so he changed his plans and now you're not going with us.”

     Stephano's smile turned into a scowl, and his stained teeth seemed to grow bigger. His eyes grew so shiny that it hurt Violet and Klaus to look at them. “I wouldn't rely on that,” he said, in a terrible, terrible voice. “Even the best plans can change if there's an accident.” He pointed one spiky finger at the brass reading lamp. “And accidents happen all the time.”

 

C H A P T E R

Six

Bad circumstances have a way of ruining things that would otherwise be pleasant. So it was with the Baudelaire orphans and the movie Zombies in the Snow. All afternoon, the three children had sat and worried in the Reptile Room, under the mocking stare of Stephano and the oblivious— the word “oblivious” here means “not aware that Stephano was really Count Olaf and thus being in a great deal of danger”—chatter of Uncle Monty. So by the time it was evening, the siblings were in no mood for cinematic entertainment. Uncle Monty's jeep was really too small to hold him, Stephano and the three orphans, so Klaus and Violet shared a seat, and poor Sunny had to sit on Stephano's filthy lap, but the Baudelaires were too preoccupied to even notice their discomfort.

     The children sat all in a row at the multiplex, with Uncle Monty to one side, while Stephano sat in the middle and hogged the popcorn. But the children were too anxious to eat any snacks, and too busy trying to figure out what Stephano planned to do to enjoy Zombies in the Snow, which was a fine film. When the zombies first rose out of the snowbanks surrounding the tiny Alpine fishing village, Violet tried to imagine a way in which Stephano could get aboard the Prospero without a ticket and accompany them to Peru . When the town fathers constructed a barrier of sturdy oak, only to have the zombies chomp their way through it, Klaus was concerned with exactly what Stephano had meant when he spoke about accidents. And when Gerta, the little milkmaid, made friends with the zombies and asked them to please stop eating the villagers, Sunny, who was of course scarcely old enough to comprehend the orphans' situation, tried to think up a way to defeat Stephano's plans, whatever they were. In the final scene of the movie, the zombies and villagers celebrated May Day together, but the three Baudelaire orphans were too nervous and afraid to enjoy themselves one bit. On the way home, Uncle Monty tried to talk to the silent, worried children sitting in the back, but they hardly said a word in reply and eventually he fell silent.

     When the jeep pulled up to the snake-shaped hedges, the Baudelaire children dashed out and ran to the front door without even saying good night to their puzzled guardian. With heavy hearts they climbed the stairs to their bedrooms, but when they reached their doors they could not bear to part.

     “Could we all spend the night in the same room?” Klaus asked Violet timidly. “Last night I felt as if I were in a jail cell, worrying all by myself.”

     “Me too,” Violet admitted. “Since we're not going to sleep, we might as well not sleep in the same place.”

     “Tikko,” Sunny agreed, and followed her siblings into Violet's room. Violet looked around the bedroom and remembered how excited she had been to move into it just a short while ago. Now, the enormous window with the view of the snake-shaped hedges seemed depressing rather than inspiring, and the blank pages tacked to her wall, rather than being convenient, seemed only to remind her of how anxious she was.

     “I see you haven't worked much on your inventions,” Klaus said gently. “I haven't been reading at all. When Count Olaf is around, it sure puts a damper on the imagination.”

     “Not always,” Violet pointed out. “When we lived with him, you read all about nuptial law to find out about his plan, and I invented a grappling hook to put a stop to it.”

     “In this situation, though,” Klaus said glumly, “we don't even know what Count Olaf is up to. How can we formulate a plan if we don't know his plan?”

     “Well, let's try to hash this out,” Violet said, using an expression which here means “talk about something at length until we completely understand it.” “Count Olaf, calling himself Stephano, has come to this house in disguise and is obviously after the Baudelaire fortune.”

     “And,” Klaus continued, “once he gets his hands on it, he plans to kill us.”

     “Tadu,” Sunny murmured solemnly, which probably meant something along the lines of “It's a loathsome situation in which we find ourselves.”

     “However,” Violet said, “if he harms us, there's no way he can get to our fortune. That's why he tried to marry me last time.”

     “Thank God that didn't work,” Klaus said, shivering. “Then Count Olaf would be my brother-in-law. But this time he's not planning to marry you. He said something about an accident.”

     “And about heading to a location where crimes are more difficult to trace,” Violet said, remembering his words. “That must mean Peru . But Stephano isn't going to Peru . Uncle Monty tore up his ticket.”

     “Doog!” Sunny shrieked, in a generic cry of frustration, and pounded her little fist on the floor. The word “generic” here means “when one is unable to think of anything else to say,” and Sunny was not alone in this. Violet and Klaus were of course too old to say things like “Doog!” but they wished they weren't. They wished they could figure out Count Olaf's plan. They wished their situation didn't seem as mysterious and hopeless as it did, and they wished they were young enough to simply shriek “Doog!” and pound their fists on the floor. And most of all, of course, they wished that their parents were alive and that the Baudelaires were all safe in the home where they had been born.

     And as fervently as the Baudelaire orphans wished their circumstances were different, I wish that I could somehow change the circumstances of this story for you. Even as I sit here, safe as can be and so very far from Count Olaf, I can scarcely bear to write another word. Perhaps it would be best if you shut this book right now and never read the rest of this horrifying story. You can imagine, if you wish, that an hour later, the Baudelaire orphans suddenly figured out what Stephano was up to and were able to save Uncle Monty's life. You can picture the police arriving with all their flashing lights and sirens, and dragging Stephano away to jail for the rest of his life. You can pretend, even though it is not so, that the Baudelaires are living happily with Uncle Monty to this day. Or best of all, you can conjure up the illusion that the Baudelaire parents have not been killed, and that the terrible fire and Count Olaf and Uncle Monty and all the other unfortunate events are nothing more than a dream, a figment of the imagination.

     But this story is not a happy one, and I am not happy to tell you that the Baudelaire

orphans sat dumbly in Violet's room—the word “dumbly” here means “without speaking,” rather than “in a stupid way”—for the rest of the night. Had someone peeped through the bedroom window as the morning sun rose, they would have seen the three children huddled together on the bed, their eyes wide open and dark with worry. But nobody peeped through the window. Somebody knocked on the door, four loud knocks as if something were being nailed shut.

     The children blinked and looked at one another. “Who is it?” Klaus called out, his voice crackly from being silent so long.

     Instead of an answer, whoever it was simply turned the knob and the door swung slowly open. There stood Stephano, with his clothes all rumpled and his eyes shining brighter than they ever had before.

     “Good morning,” he said. “It's time to leave for Peru . There is just room for three orphans and myself in the jeep, so get a move on.”

     “We told you yesterday that you weren't going,” Violet said. She hoped her voice sounded braver than she felt.

     “It is your Uncle Monty who isn't going,” Stephano said, and raised the part of his forehead where his eyebrow should have been.

     “Don't be ridiculous,” Klaus said. “Uncle Monty wouldn't miss this expedition for the world.”

     “Ask him,” Stephano said, and the Baudelaires saw a familiar expression on his face. His mouth scarcely moved, but his eyes were shining as if he'd just told a joke. “Why don't you ask him? He's down in the Reptile Room.”

     “We will ask him,” Violet said. “Uncle Monty has no intention of letting you take us to Peru alone.” She rose from the bed, took the hands of her siblings, and walked quickly past Stephano who was smirking in the doorway. “We will ask him,” Violet said again, and Stephano gave a little bow as the children walked out of the room.

     The hallway was strangely quiet, and blank as the eyes of a skull. “Uncle Monty?” Violet called, at the end of the hallway. Nobody answered.

     Aside from a few creaks on the steps, the whole house was eerily quiet, as if it had been deserted for many years. “Uncle Monty?” Klaus called, at the bottom of the stairs. They heard nothing.

     Standing on tiptoe, Violet opened the enormous door of the Reptile Room and for a moment, the orphans stared into the room as if hypnotized, entranced by the odd blue light which the sunrise made as it shone through the glass ceiling and walls. In the dim glow, they could see only silhouettes of the various reptiles as they moved around in their cages, or slept, curled into shapeless dark masses.

     Their footsteps echoing off the glimmering walls, the three siblings walked through the Reptile Room, toward the far end, where Uncle Monty's library lay waiting for them. Even though the dark room felt mysterious and strange, it was a comforting mystery, and a safe strangeness. They remembered Uncle Monty's promise: that if they took time to learn the facts, no harm would come to them here in the Reptile Room. However, you and I remember that Uncle Monty's promise was laden with dramatic irony, and now, here in the early-morning gloom of the Reptile Room, that irony was going to come to fruition, a phrase which here means “the Baudelaires were finally to learn of it.” For just as they reached the books, the three siblings could see a large, shadowy mass huddled in the far corner. Nervously, Klaus switched on one of the reading lamps to get a better look.

     The shadowy mass was Uncle Monty. His mouth was slightly agape, as if he were surprised, and his eyes were wide open, but he didn't appear to see them. His face, usually so rosy, was very, very pale, and under his left eye were two small holes, right in a line, the sort of mark made by the two fangs of a snake.

     “Divo soom?” Sunny asked, and tugged at his pants leg. Uncle Monty did not move. As he had promised, no harm had come to the Baudelaire orphans in the Reptile Room, but great harm had come to Uncle Monty.

C H A P T E R

Seven

“ My , my, my, my, my,” said a voice from behind them, and the Baudelaire orphans turned to find Stephano standing there, the black suitcase with the shiny silver padlock in his hands and a look of brummagem surprise on his face. “Brummagem” is such a rare word for “fake” that even Klaus didn't know what it meant, but the children did not have to be told that Stephano was pretending to be surprised. “What a terrible accident has happened here. Snakebite. Whoever discovers this will be most upset.”

     “You—” Violet began to say, but her throat fluttered, as if the fact of Uncle Monty's death were food that tasted terrible. “You—” she said again.

     Stephano took no notice. “Of course, after they discover that Dr. Montgomery is dead, they'll wonder what became of those repulsive orphans he had lying around the house. But they'll be long gone. Speaking of which, it's time to leave. The Prospero sails at five o'clock from Hazy Harbor and I'd like to be the first passenger aboard. That way I'll have time for a bottle of wine before lunch.”

     “How could you?” Klaus whispered hoarsely. He couldn't take his eyes off Uncle Monty's pale, pale face. “How could you do this? How could you murder him?”

     “Why, Klaus, I'm surprised,” Stephano said, and walked over to Uncle Monty's body. “A smarty-pants boy like you should be able to figure out that your chubby old uncle died from snakebite, not from murder. Look at those teeth marks. Look at his pale, pale face. Look at these staring eyes.”

     “Stop it!” Violet said. “Don't talk like that!”

     “You're right!” Stephano said. “There's no time for chitchat! We have a ship to catch! Let's move!”

     “We're not going anywhere with you,” Klaus said. His face was pinched with the effort of focusing on their predicament rather than going to pieces. “We will stay here until the police come.”

     “And how do you suppose the police will know to come?” Stephano said.

      “We will call them,” Klaus said, in what he hoped was a firm tone of voice, and began to walk toward the door.

     Stephano dropped his suitcase, the shiny silver padlock making a clattering sound as it hit the marble floor. He took a few steps and blocked Klaus's way, his eyes wide and red with fury. “I am so tired,” Stephano snarled, “of having to explain everything to you. You're supposed to be so very smart, and yet you always seem to forget about this!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the jagged knife. “This is my knife. It is very sharp and very eager to hurt you— almost as eager as I am. If you don't do what I say, you will suffer bodily harm. Is that clear enough for you? Now, get in the damn jeep.”

     It is, as you know, very, very rude and usually unnecessary to use profanity, but the Baudelaire orphans were too terrified to point this out to Stephano. Taking a last look at their poor Uncle Monty, the three children followed Stephano to the door of the Reptile Room to get in the damn jeep. To add insult to injury—a phrase which here means “forcing somebody to do an unpleasant task when they're already very upset”— Stephano forced Violet to carry his suitcase out of the house, but she was too lost in her own thoughts to care. She was remembering the last conversation she and her siblings had had with Uncle Monty, and thinking with a cold rush of shame that it hadn't really been a conversation at all. You will recall, of course, that on the ride home from seeing Zombies in the Snow, the children had been so worried about Stephano that they hadn't said a word to Uncle Monty, and that when the jeep had arrived at the house, the Baudelaire orphans had dashed upstairs to hash out the situation, without even saying good night to the man who now lay dead under a sheet in the Reptile Room. As the youngsters reached the jeep, Violet tried to remember if they had even thanked him for taking them to the movies, but the night was all a blur. She thought that she, Klaus, and Sunny had probably said “Thank you, Uncle Monty,” when they were standing together at the ticket booth, but she couldn't be sure. Stephano opened the door of the jeep and gestured with the knife, ushering Klaus and Sunny into the tiny backseat and Violet, the black suitcase heavy on her lap, into the front seat beside him. The orphans had a brief hope that the engine would not start when Stephano turned the key in the ignition, but this was a futile hope. Uncle Monty took good care of his jeep, and it started right up.

     Violet, Klaus, and Sunny looked behind them as Stephano began to drive alongside the snake-shaped hedges. At the sight of the Reptile Room, which Uncle Monty had filled so carefully with his specimens and in which he was now a sort of specimen himself, the weight of the Baudelaires' despair was too much for them and they quietly began to cry. It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things. The Baudelaire orphans were crying not only for their Uncle Monty, but for their own parents, and this dark and curious feeling of falling that accompanies any great loss.

     What was to happen to them? Stephano had heartlessly slaughtered the man who was supposed to be watching over the Baudelaires, and now they were all alone. What would Stephano do to them? He was supposed to be left behind when they went to Peru , and now he would be leaving with them on the Prospero. And what terrible things would happen in Peru ? Would anybody rescue them there? Would Stephano get his hands on the fortune? And what would happen to the three children afterward? These are frightening questions, and if you are thinking about such matters, they require your full attention, and the orphans were so immersed in thinking about them that they didn't realize that Stephano was about to collide with another automobile until the moment of impact.

     There was a horrible tearing sound of metal and glass as a black car crashed into Uncle Monty's jeep, throwing the children to the floor with a jarring thump that felt as though it left the Baudelaire stomachs up on the seat. The black suitcase lurched into Violet's shoulder and then forward into the windshield, which immediately cracked in a dozen places so it looked like a spiderweb. Stephano gave a cry of surprise and turned the steering wheel this way and that, but the two vehicles were locked together and, with another thump, veered off the road into a small pile of mud. It is a rare occurrence when a car accident can be called a stroke of good fortune, but that was most certainly the case here. With the snake-shaped hedges still clearly visible behind them, the Baudelaires' journey toward Hazy Harbor had stopped.

     Stephano gave another sharp cry, this one of rage. “Blasted furnaces of hell!” he shouted, as Violet rubbed her shoulder to make sure she wasn't seriously hurt. Klaus and Sunny got up cautiously from the jeep floor and looked out the cracked windshield. There appeared to be only one person in the other car, but it was hard to tell, as that vehicle had clearly suffered much more damage than Monty's jeep. Its entire front had pleated itself together, like an accordion, and one hubcap was spinning noisily on the pavement of Lousy Lane , making blurry circles as if it were a giant coin somebody had dropped. The driver was dressed in gray and making a rough hacking sound as he opened the crumpled door of the car and struggled his way out. He made the hacking sound again, and then reached into a pocket of his suit and pulled out a white handkerchief.

     “It's Mr. Poe!” Klaus cried.

     It was Mr. Poe, coughing away as usual, and the children were so delighted to see him that they found themselves smiling despite their horrible circumstances. “Mr. Poe! Mr. Poe!” Violet cried, reaching around Stephano's suitcase to open the passenger door.

     Stephano reached out an arm and grabbed her sore shoulder, turning his head slowly so that each child saw his shiny eyes. “This changes nothing!” he hissed at them. “This is a bit of luck for you, but it is your last. The three of you will be back in this car with me and heading toward Hazy Harbor in time to catch the Prospero, I promise you.”

     “We'll see about that,” Violet replied, opening the door and sliding out from beneath the suitcase. Klaus opened his door and followed her, carrying Sunny. “Mr. Poe! Mr. Poe!”

     “Violet?” Mr. Poe asked. “Violet Baudelaire? Is that you?”

     “Yes, Mr. Poe,” Violet said. “It's all of us, and we're so grateful you ran into us like this.”

     “Well, I wouldn't say that,” Mr. Poe said. “This was clearly the other driver's fault. You ran into me.”

     “How dare you!” Stephano shouted, and got out of the car himself, wrinkling his nose at the smell of horseradish that filled the air. He stomped over to where Mr. Poe was standing, but halfway there the children saw his face change from one of pure rage to one of brummagem confusion and sadness. “I'm sorry,” he said, in a high, fluttery voice. “This whole thing is my fault. I'm so distressed by what has happened that I wasn't paying any attention to the rules of the road. I hope you're not hurt, Mr. Foe.”

     “It's Poe” Mr. Poe said. “My name is Poe. I'm not hurt. Luckily, it looks like nobody was hurt. I wish the same could be said for my car. But who are you and what are you doing with the Baudelaire children?”

     “I'll tell you who he is,” Klaus said. “He's—”

     “Please, Klaus,” Mr. Poe admonished a word which here means “reprimanded Klaus even though he was interrupting for a very good reason.” “It is not polite to interrupt.”

     “My name is Stephano,” Stephano said, shaking Mr. Poe's hand. “I am—I mean I was— Dr. Montgomery's assistant.”

     “What do you mean was?” Mr. Poe asked sternly. “Were you fired?”

     “No. Dr. Montgomery—oh, excuse me—” Stephano turned away and pretended to dab at his eyes as if he were too sad to continue. Facing away from Mr. Poe, he gave the orphans a big wink before continuing. “I'm sorry to tell you there's been a horrible accident, Mr. Doe. Dr. Montgomery is dead.”

     “Poe,” Mr. Poe said. “He's dead? That's terrible. What has happened?”

     “I don't know,” Stephano said. “It looks like snakebite to me, but I don't know anything about snakes. That's why I was going into town, to get a doctor. The children seemed too upset to be left alone.”

     “He's not taking us to get a doctor!” Klaus shouted. “He's taking us to Peru !”

     “You see what I mean?” Stephano said to Mr. Poe, patting Klaus's head. “The children are obviously very distressed. Dr. Montgomery was going to take them to Peru today.”

     “Yes, I know,” Mr. Poe said. “That's why I hurried over here this morning, to finally bring them their luggage. Klaus, I know you're confused and upset over this accident, but please try to understand that if Dr. Montgomery is really dead, the expedition is canceled.”

     “But Mr. Poe—” Klaus said indignantly.

     “Please,” Mr. Poe said. “This is a matter for adults to discuss, Klaus. Clearly, a doctor needs to be called.”

     “Well, why don't you drive on up to the house,” Stephano said, “and I'll take the children and find a doctor.”

     “José!” Sunny shrieked, which probably meant something like “No way!”

     “Why don't we all go to the house,” Mr. Poe said, “and call for a doctor?”

     Stephano blinked, and for a second his face grew angry again before he was able to calm himself and answer smoothly. “Of course,” he said. “I should have called earlier. Obviously I'm not thinking as clearly as you. Here, children, get back in the jeep, and Mr. Poe will follow us.”

     “We're not getting back in that car with you,” Klaus said firmly.

     “Please, Klaus,” Mr. Poe said. “Try to understand. There's been a serious accident. All other discussions will have to be put aside. The only trouble is, I'm not sure my car will start. It's very smashed up.”

     “Try the ignition,” Stephano said. Mr. Poe nodded, and walked back to his car. He sat in the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine made a rough, wet noise—it sounded quite a bit like Mr. Poe's coughs—but it did not start.

     “I'm afraid the engine is quite dead,” Mr. Poe called out.

     “And before long,” Stephano muttered to the children, “you will be too.”

     “I'm sorry,” Mr. Poe said. “I couldn't hear you.”

     Stephano smiled. “I said, that's too bad. Well, why don't I take the orphans back to the house, and you walk behind us? There isn't room for everyone.”

     Mr. Poe frowned. “But the children's suitcases are here. I don't want to leave them unattended. Why don't we put the luggage into your car, and the children and I will walk back to the house?”

     Stephano frowned. “Well, one of the children should ride with me, so I won't get lost.”

     Mr. Poe smiled. “But you can see the house from here. You won't get lost.”

     “Stephano doesn't want us to be alone with you,” Violet said, finally speaking up. She had been waiting for the proper moment to make her case. “He's afraid that we'll tell you who he really is, and what he's really up to.”

     “What's she talking about?” Mr. Poe asked Stephano.

     “I have no idea, Mr. Toe,” Stephano replied, shaking his head and looking at Violet

fiercely .

     Violet took a deep breath. “This man is not Stephano,” she said, pointing at him. “He's Count Olaf, and he's here to take us away.”

     “Who am I?” Stephano asked. “What am I doing?”

     Mr. Poe looked Stephano up and down, and then shook his head. “Forgive the children,” he said. “They are very upset. Count Olaf is a terrible man who tried to steal their money, and the youngsters are very frightened of him.”

     “Do I look like this Count Olaf?” Stephano asked, his eyes shining.

     “No, you don't,” Mr. Poe said. “Count Olaf had one long eyebrow, and a cleanshaven face. You have a beard, and if you don't mind my saying so, no eyebrows at all.”

     “He shaved his eyebrow,” Violet said, “and grew a beard. Anyone can see that.”

     “And he has the tattoo!” Klaus cried. “The eye tattoo, on his ankle! Look at the tattoo!”

     Mr. Poe looked at Stephano, and shrugged apologetically. “I'm sorry to ask you this,” he said, “but the children seem so upset, and before we discuss anything further I'd like to set their minds at ease. Would you mind showing me your ankle?”

     “I'd be happy to,” Stephano said, giving the children a toothy smile. “Right or left?”

     Klaus closed his eyes and thought for a second. “Left,” he said.

     Stephano placed his left foot on the bumper of Uncle Monty's jeep. Looking at the Baudelaire orphans with his shiny, shiny eyes, he began to raise the leg of his stained striped pants. Violet, Klaus, Sunny, and Mr. Poe all kept their eyes on Stephano's ankle. The pant leg went up, like a curtain rising to begin a play. But there was no tattoo of an eye to be seen. The Baudelaire orphans stared at a patch of smooth skin, as blank and pale as poor Uncle Monty's face.

 

 

C H A P T E R

Eight

While the jeep sputtered ahead of them, the Baudelaire orphans trudged back toward Uncle Monty's house, the scent of horseradish in their nostrils and a feeling of frustration in their hearts. It is very unnerving to be proven wrong, particularly when you are really right and the person who is really wrong is the one who is proving you wrong and proving himself, wrongly, right. Right?

     “I don't know how he got rid of his tattoo,” Klaus said stubbornly to Mr. Poe, who was coughing into his handkerchief, “but that's definitely Count Olaf.”

     “Klaus,” Mr. Poe said, when he had stopped coughing, “this is getting very tiresome, going over this again and again. We have just seen Stephano's unblemished ankle. 'Unblemished' means—”