A Series of Unfortunate Events 5 - The Austere Academy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

C H A P T E R

Four

     If you have walked into a museum recently- whether you did so to attend an art exhibition in to escape from the police-you may have noticed a type of painting known as a triptych. A triptych has three panels, with something different painted on each of the panels. For instance, my friend Professor Reed made a triptych for me, and he painted fire on one panel, a typewriter on another, and the face of a beautiful, intelligent woman on the third. The triptych is entitled What Happened to Beatrice and I cannot look upon it without weeping.

     I am a writer, and not a painter, but if I were to try and paint a triptych entitled The Baudelaire Orphans' Miserable Experiences at Prufrock Prep, I would paint Mr. Remora on one panel, Mrs. Bass on another, and a box of staples on the third, and the results would make me so sad that between the Beatrice triptych and the Baudelaire triptych I would scarcely stop weeping all day.

     Mr. Remora was Violet's teacher, and he was so terrible that Violet thought that she'd almost rather stay in the Orphans Shack all morning and eat her meals with her hands tied behind her back rather than hurry to Room One and learn from such a wretched man. Mr. Remora had a dark and thick mustache, as if somebody had chopped off a gorilla's thumb and stuck it above Mr. Remora's lip, and also like a gorilla, Mr. Remora was constantly eating bananas. Bananas are a fairly delicious fruit and contain a healthy amount of potassium, but after watching Mr. Remora shove banana after banana into his mouth, dropping banana peels on the floor and smearing banana pulp on his chin and in his mustache, Violet never wanted to see another banana again. In between bites of banana, Mr. Remora would tell stories, and the children would write the stories down in notebooks, and every so often there would be a test. The stories were very short, and there were a whole lot of them on every conceivable subject. “One day I went to the store to purchase a carton of milk,” Mr. Remora would say, chewing on a banana. “When I got home, I poured the milk into a glass and drank it. Then I watched television. The end.” Or: “One after noon a man named Edward got into a green truck and drove to a farm. The farm had geese and cows. The end.” Mr. Remora would tell story after story, and eat banana after banana, and it would get more and more difficult for Violet to pay attention. To make things better, Duncan sat next to Violet, and they would pass notes to one another on particularly boring days. But to make things worse, Carmelita Spats sat right behind Violet, and every few minutes she would lean forward and poke Violet with a stick she had found on the lawn. “Orphan,” she would whisper and poke Violet with the stick, and Violet would lose her concentration and forget to write down some detail of Mr. Remora's latest story.

     Across the hall in Room Two was Klaus's teacher Mrs. Bass, whose black hair was so long and messy that she also vaguely resembled a gorilla. Mrs. Bass was a poor teacher, a phrase which here does not mean “a teacher who doesn't have a lot of money” but “a teacher who is obsessed with the metric system.” The metric system, you probably know, is the system by which the majority of the world measures things. Just as it is perfectly all right to eat a banana or two, it is perfectly all right to be interested in measuring things. Klaus could remember a time, when he was about eight years old, when he had measured the width of all the doorways in the Baudelaire mansion when he was bored one rainy afternoon. But rain or shine, all Mrs. Bass wanted to do was measure things and write down the measurements on the chalkboard. Each morning, she would walk into Room Two carrying a bag full of ordinary objects-a frying pan, a picture frame, the skeleton of a cat-and place an object on each student's desk. “Measure!” Mrs. Bass would shout, and everybody would take out their rulers and measure whatever it was that their teacher had put on their desks. They would call out the measurements to Mrs. Bass, who would write them on the board and then have everybody switch objects. The class would continue on in this way for the entire morning, and Klaus would feel his eyes glaze over-the phrase “glaze over” here means “ache slightly out of boredom.” Across the room, Isadora Quagmire's eyes were glazing over too, and occasionally the two of them would look at one another and stick their tongues out as if to say, Mrs. Bass is terribly boring, isn't she?

     But Sunny, instead of going into a classroom, had to work in the administrative building, and I must say that her situation was perhaps the worst in the entire triptych. As Vice Principal Nero's secretary, Sunny had numerous duties assigned to her that were simply impossible for a baby to perform. For instance, she was in charge of answering the telephone, but people who called Vice Principal Nero did not always know that “Seltepia!” was Sunny's way of saying “Good morning, this is Vice Principal Nero's office, how may I help you?” By the second day Nero was furious at her for confusing so many of his business associates. In addition, Sunny was in charge of typing, stapling, and mailing all of Vice Principal Nero's letters, which meant she had to work a typewriter, a stapler, and stamps, all of which were designed for adult use. Unlike many babies, Sunny had some experience in hard work-after all, she and her siblings had worked for some time at the Lucky Smells Lumbermill-but this equipment was simply inappropriate for such l i n y fingers. Sunny could scarcely move the typewriter's keys, and even when she could she did not know how to spell most of the words Nero dictated. She had never used a stapler before, so she sometimes stapled her fingers by mistake, which hurt quite a bit. And occasionally one of the stamps would stick to her tongue and wouldn't come off.

     In most schools, no matter how miserable, the students have a chance to recuperate during the weekend, when they can rest and play instead of attending wretched classes, and the Baudelaire orphans looked forward to taking a break from looking at bananas, rulers, and secretarial supplies. So they were quite distressed one Friday when the Quagmires informed them that Prufrock Prep did not have weekends. Saturday and Sunday were regular schooldays, supposedly in keeping with the school's motto. This rule did not really make any sense-it is, after all, just as easy to remember you will die when you are relaxing as when you are in school-but that was the way things were, so the Baudelaires could never remember exactly what day it was, so repetitive was their schedule. So I am sorry to say that I cannot tell you what day it was when Sunny noticed that the staple supply was running low, but I can tell you that Nero informed her that because she had wasted so much time learning to be a secretary he would not buy any more when they ran out. Instead Sunny would have to make staples herself, out of some skinny metal rods Nero kept in a drawer.

     “That's ridiculous!” Violet cried when Sunny told her of Nero's latest demand. It was after dinner, and the Baudelaire orphans were in the Orphans Shack with the Quagmire triplets, sprinkling salt at the ceiling. Violet had found some pieces of metal behind the cafeteria and had fashioned five pairs of noisy shoes: three for the Baudelaires and two for the Quagmires so the crabs wouldn't bother them when they visited the Orphans Shack. The problem of the tan fungus, however, was yet to be solved. With Duncan 's help, Klaus had found a book on fungus in the library and had read that salt might make this particular fungus shrivel up. The Quagmires had distracted some of the masked cafeteria workers by dropping their trays on the ground, and while Nero yelled at them for making a mess, the Baudelaires had slipped three saltshakers into their pockets. Now, in the brief recess after dinner, the five children were sitting on bales of hay, trying to toss salt onto the fungus and talking about their day.

     “It certainly is ridiculous,” Klaus agreed. “It's silly enough that Sunny has to be a secretary, but making her own staples? I've never heard of anything so unfair.”

     “I think staples are made in factories,” Duncan said, pausing to flip through his green notebook to see if he had any notes on the matter. “I don't think people have made staples by hand since the fifteenth century.”

     “If you could snitch some of the skinny metal rods, Sunny,” Isadora said, “we could all help make the staples after dinnertime. If five of us worked together, it would be much less trouble. And speaking of trouble, I'm working on a poem about Count Olaf, but I'm not sure I know words that are terrible enough to describe him.”

     “And I imagine it's difficult to find words that rhyme with 'Olaf,'” Violet said.

     “It is difficult,” Isadora admitted. “All I can think of so far is 'pilaf,' which is a kind of rice dish. And that's more a half-rhyme, anyway.”

     “Maybe someday you'll be able to publish your poem about Count Olaf,” Klaus said, “and everyone will know how horrible he is.”

     “And I'll write a newspaper article all about him,” Duncan volunteered.

     “I think I could build a printing press myself,” Violet said. “Maybe when I come of age, I can use some of the Baudelaire fortune to buy the materials I would need.”

     “Could we print books, too?” Klaus asked.

     Violet smiled. She knew her brother was thinking of a whole library they could print for themselves. “Books, too,” she said.

     “The Baudelaire fortune?” Duncan asked. “Did your parents leave behind a fortune, too? Our parents owned the famous Quagmire sapphires, which were unharmed in the fire. When we come of age, those precious jewels will belong to us. We could start our printing business together.”

     “That's a wonderful idea!” Violet cried. “We could call it Quagmire- Baudelaire Incorporated.”

     “We could call it Quagmire-Baudelaire Incorporated!” The children were so surprised to hear the sneering voice of Vice Principal Nero that they dropped their saltshakers on the ground. Instantly, the tiny crabs in the Orphans Shack picked them up and scurried away with them before Nero could notice. “I'm sorry to interrupt you in the middle of your important business meeting,” he said, although the youngsters could see that the vice principal wasn't sorry one bit. “The new gym teacher has arrived, and he was interested in meeting our orphan population before my concert began. Apparently orphans have excellent bone structure or something. Isn't that what you said, Coach Genghis?”

     “Oh yes,” said a tall, skinny man, who stepped forward to reveal himself to the children. The man was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, such as any gym teacher might wear. On his feet were some expensive-looking running shoes with very high tops, and around his neck was a shiny silver whistle. Wrapped around the top of his head was a length of cloth secured in place with a shiny red jewel. Such things are called turbans and are worn by some people for religious reasons, but Violet, Klaus, and Sunny took one look at this man and knew that he was wearing a turban for an entirely different reason.

     “Oh yes,” the man said again. “All orphans have perfect legs for running, and I couldn't wait to see what specimens were waiting for me here in the shack.”

     “Children,” Nero said, “get up off of your hay and say hello to Coach Genghis.”

     “Hello, Coach Genghis,” Duncan said.

     “Hello, Coach Genghis,” Isadora said.

     The Quagmire triplets each shook Coach Genghis's bony hand and then turned and gave the Baudelaires a confused look. They were clearly surprised to see the three siblings still sitting on the hay and staring up at Coach Genghis rather than obeying Nero's orders. But had I been there in the Orphans Shack, I most certainly would not have been surprised, and I would bet What Happened to Beatrice, my prized triptych, that had you been there you would not have been surprised, either. Because you have probably guessed, as the Baudelaires guessed, why the man who was calling himself Coach Genghis was wearing a turban. A turban covers people's hair, which can alter their appearance quite a bit, and if the turban is arranged so that it hangs down rather low, as this one did, the folds of cloth can even cover the eyebrows-or in this case, eyebrow-of the person wearing it. But it cannot cover someone's shiny, shiny eyes, or the greedy and sinister look that somebody might have in their eyes when the person looks down at three relatively helpless children.

     What the man who called himself Coach Genghis had said about all orphans having perfect legs for running was utter nonsense, of course, but as the Baudelaires looked up at their new gym teacher, they wished that it weren't nonsense. As the man who called himself Coach * Genghis looked back at them with his shiny, shiny eyes, the Baudelaire orphans wished more than anything that their legs could carry them far, far away from the man who was really Count Olaf.

 

end up drowning simply because somebody else thought of it first.

      This is why, when Violet stood up from the hay and said, “How do you do, Coach Genghis?” Klaus and Sunny were reluctant to follow suit. It was inconceivable to the younger Baudelaires that their sister had not recognized Count Olaf, and that she hadn't leaped to her feet and informed Vice Principal Nero what was going on. For a moment, Klaus and Sunny even considered that Violet had been hypnotized, as Klaus had been back when the Baudelaire orphans were living in Paltryville. But Violet's eyes did not look any wider than they did normally, nor did she say “How do you do, Coach Genghis?” in the dazed tone of voice Klaus had used when he had been under hypnosis.

     But although they were puzzled, the younger Baudelaires trusted their sister absolutely. She had managed to avoid marrying Count Olaf when it had seemed like it would be inevitable, a word which here means “a lifetime of horror and woe.” She had made a lockpick when they'd needed one in a hurry, and had used her inventing skills to help them escape from some very hungry leeches. So even though they could not think what the reason was, Klaus and Sunny knew that Violet must have had a good reason to greet Count Olaf politely rather than reveal him instantly, and so, after a pause, they followed suit.

     “How do you do, Coach Genghis?” Klaus said.

     “Gefidio!” Sunny shrieked.

     “It's a pleasure to meet you,” Coach Genghis said, and smirked. The Baudelaires could tell he thought he had fooled them completely and was very pleased with himself.

     “What do you think, Coach Genghis?” Vice Principal Nero asked. “Do any of these orphans have the legs you're looking for?”

     Coach Genghis scratched his turban and looked down at the children as if they were an all-you-can-eat salad bar instead of five orphans. “Oh yes,” he said in the wheezy voice the Baudelaires still heard in their nightmares. With his bony hands, he pointed first at Violet, then at Klaus, and lastly at Sunny.

     “These three children here are just what I'm looking for, all right. I have no use for these twins, however.”

     “Neither do I,” Nero said, not bothering to point out that the Quagmires were triplets. He then looked at his watch. “Well, it's time for my concert. Follow me to the auditorium, all of you, unless you are in the mood to buy me a bag of candy.”

     The Baudelaire orphans hoped never to buy their vice principal a gift of any sort, let alone a bag of candy, which the children loved and hadn't eaten in a very long time, so they followed Nero out of the Orphans Shack and across the lawn to the auditorium. The Quagmires followed suit, staring up at the gravestone buildings, which looked even spookier in the moonlight.

     “This evening,” Nero said, “I will be playing a violin sonata I wrote myself. It only lasts about a half hour, but I will play it twelve times in a row.”

     “Oh, good,” Coach Genghis said. “If I may say so, Vice Principal Nero, I am an enormous fan of your music. Your concerts were one of the main reasons I wanted to work here at Prufrock Prep.”

     “Well, it's good to hear that,” Nero said. “It's difficult to find people who appreciate me as the genius I am.”

     “I know the feeling,” Coach Genghis said. “I'm the finest gym teacher the world has ever seen, and yet there hasn't even been one parade in my honor.”

     “Shocking,” Nero said, shaking his head.

     The Baudelaires and the Quagmires, who were walking behind the adults, looked at one another in disgust at the braggy conversation they were overhearing, but they didn't dare speak to one another until they arrived at the auditorium, taking seats as far away as possible from Carmelita Spats and her loathsome friends.

     There is one, and only one, advantage to somebody who cannot play the violin insisting on doing so anyway, and the advantage is that they often play so loudly that they cannot hear if the audience is having a conversation. It is extremely rude, of course, for an audience to talk during a concert performance, but when the performance is a wretched one, and lasts six hours, such rudeness can be forgiven. So it was that evening, for after introducing himself with a brief, braggy speech, Vice Principal Nero stood on the stage of the auditorium and began playing his sonata for the first time.

     When you listen to a piece of classical music, it is often amusing to try and guess what inspired the composer to write those particular notes. Sometimes a composer will be inspired by nature and will write a symphony imitating the sounds of birds and trees. Other times a composer will be inspired by the city and will write a concerto imitating the sounds of traffic and sidewalks. In the case of this sonata, Nero had apparently been inspired by somebody beating up a cat, because the music was loud and screechy and made it quite easy to talk during the performance. As Nero sawed away at his violin, the students of Prufrock Prep began to talk amongst themselves. The Baudelaires even noticed Mr. Remora and Mrs. Bass, who were supposed to be figuring out which students owed Nero bags of candy, giggling and sharing a banana in the back row. Only Coach Genghis, who was sitting in the center of the very front row, seemed to be paying any attention to the music.

     “Our new gym teacher looks creepy,” Isadora said.

     “That's for sure,” Duncan agreed. “It's that sneaky look in his eye.”

     “That sneaky look,” Violet said, taking a sneaky look herself to make sure Coach Genghis wasn't listening in, “is because he's not really Coach Genghis. He's not really any coach. He's Count Olaf in disguise.”

     “I knew you recognized him!” Klaus said.

     “Count Olaf?” Duncan said. “How awful! How did he follow you here?”

     “Stewak,” Sunny said glumly.

     “My sister means something like 'He follows us everywhere,'” Violet explained, “and she's right. But it doesn't matter how he found us. The point is that he's here and that he undoubtedly has a scheme to snatch our fortune.”

     “But why did you pretend not to recognize him?” Klaus asked.

     “Yes,” Isadora said. “If you told Vice Principal Nero that he was really Count Olaf, then Nero could throw the cakesniffer out of here, if you'll pardon my language.”

     Violet shook her head to indicate that she disagreed with Isadora and that she didn't mind about “cakesniffer.” “Olaf's too clever for that,” she said. “I knew that if I tried to tell Nero that he wasn't really a gym teacher, he would manage to wiggle out of it, just as he did with Aunt Josephine and Uncle Monty and everybody else.”

     “That's good thinking,” Klaus admitted.

     “Plus, if Olaf thinks that he's fooled us, it might give us some more time to figure out exactly what he's up to.”

     “Lirt!” Sunny pointed out.

     “My sister means that we can see if any of his assistants are around,” Violet translated. “That's a good point, Sunny. I hadn't thought of that.”

     “Count Olaf has assistants?” Isadora asked. “That's not fair. He's bad enough without people helping him.”

     “His assistants are as bad as he is,” Klaus said. “There are two powder-faced women who forced us to be in his play. There's a hook-handed man who helped Olaf murder our Uncle Monty.”

     “And the bald man who bossed us around at the lumbermill, don't forget him,” Violet added.

     “Aeginu!” Sunny said, which meant something like “And the assistant that looks like neither a man nor a woman.”

     “What does 'aeginu' mean?” Duncan asked, taking out his notebook. “I'm going to write down all these details about Olaf and his troupe.”

     “Why?” Violet asked.

     “Why?” Isadora repeated. “Because we're going to help you, that's why! You don't think we'd just sit here while you tried to escape from Olaf's clutches, would you?”

     “But Count Olaf is very dangerous,” Klaus said. “If you try and help us, you'll be risking your lives.”

     “Never mind about that,” Duncan said, although I am sorry to tell you that the Quagmire triplets should have minded about that. They should have minded very much. Duncan and Isadora were very brave and caring to try and help the Baudelaire orphans, but bravery often demands a price. By “price” I do not mean something along the lines of five dollars. I mean a much, much bigger price, a price so dreadful that I cannot speak of it now but must return to the scene I am writing at this moment.

     “Never mind about that,” Duncan said. “What we need is a plan. Now, we need to prove to Nero that Coach Genghis is really Count Olaf. How can we do that?”

     “Nero has that computer,” Violet said thoughtfully. “He showed us a little picture of Olaf on the screen, remember?”

     “Yes,” Klaus said, shaking his head. “He told us that the advanced computer system would keep Olaf away. So much for computers.”

     Sunny nodded her head in agreement, and Violet picked her up and put her on her lap. Nero had reached a particularly shrieky section of his sonata, and the children had to lean forward to one another in order to continue their conversation. “If we go and see Nero first thing tomorrow morning,” Violet said, “we can talk to him alone, without Olaf butting in. We'll ask him to use the computer. Nero might not believe us, but the computer should be able to convince him to at least investigate Coach Genghis.”

     “Maybe Nero will make him take off the turban,” Isadora said, “revealing Olaf's only eyebrow.”

     “Or take off those expensive-looking running shoes,” Klaus said, “revealing Olaf's tattoo.”

     “But if you talk to Nero,” Duncan said, “then Coach Genghis will know that you're suspicious.”

     “That's why we'll have to be extra careful,” Violet said. “We want Nero to find out about Olaf, without Olaf finding out about us.”

     “And in the meantime,” Duncan said, “Isadora and I will do some investigating ourselves. Perhaps we can spot one of these assistants you've described.”

     “That would be very useful,” Violet said, “if you're sure about wanting to help us.”

     “Say no more about it,” Duncan said and patted Violet's hand. And they said no more about it. They didn't say another word about Count Olaf for the rest of Nero's sonata, or while he performed it the second time, or the third time, or the fourth time, or the fifth time, or even the sixth time, by which time it was very, very late at night. The Baudelaire orphans and the Quagmire triplets merely sat in a companionable comfort, a phrase which here means many things, all of them happy even though it is quite difficult to be happy while hearing a terrible sonata performed over and over by a man who cannot play the violin, while attending an atrocious boarding school with an evil man sitting nearby undoubtedly planning something dreadful. But happy moments came rarely and unexpectedly in the Baudelaires' lives, and the three siblings had learned to accept them. Duncan kept his hand on Violet's and talked to her about terrible concerts he had attended back when the Quagmire parents were alive, and she was happy to hear his stories. Isadora began working on a poem about libraries and showed Klaus what she had written in her notebook, and Klaus was happy to offer suggestions. And Sunny snuggled down in Violet's lap and chewed on the armrest of her seat, happy to bite something that was so sturdy.

     I'm sure you would know, even if I didn't tell you, that things were about to get much worse for the Baudelaires, but I will end this chapter with this moment of companionable comfort rather than skip ahead to the unpleasant events of the next morning, or the terrible trials of the days that followed, or the horrific crime that marked the end of the Baudelaires' time at Prufrock Prep. These things happened, of course, and there is no use pretending they didn't. But for now let us ignore the terrible sonata, the dreadul teachers, the nasty, teasing students, and the even more wretched things that will be happening soon enough. Let us enjoy this brief moment of comfort, as the Baudelaires enjoyed it in the company of the Quagmire triplets and, in Sunny's case, an armrest. Let us enjoy, at the end of this chapter, the last happy moment any of these children would have for a long, long time.

 

by the building containing the auditorium, you would not hear the scrapings and shriekings of Vice Principal Nero playing the violin. If you went and stood beneath the arch, looking up at the black letters spelling out the name of the school and its austere-a word which here means “stern and severe”-motto, you would hear nothing but the swish of the breeze through the brown and patchy grass.

     In short, if you went and visited Prufrock Preparatory School today, the academy would look more or less as it did when the Baudelaires woke up early the next morning and walked to the administrative building to talk to Nero about Coach Genghis. The three children were so anxious to talk to him that they got up especially early, and as they walked across the lawn it felt as if everyone else at Prufrock Prep had slipped away in the middle of the night, leaving the orphans alone amongst the tombstone-shaped buildings. It was an eerie feeling, which is why Violet and Sunny were surprised when Klaus broke the silence by laughing suddenly.

     “What are you snickering at?” Violet asked.

     “I just realized something,” Klaus said. “We're going to the administrative building without an appointment. We'll have to eat our meals without silverware.”

     “There's nothing funny about that!” Violet said. “What if they serve oatmeal for breakfast? We'll have to scoop it up with our hands.”

     “Oot,” Sunny said, which meant “Trust me, it's not that difficult,” and at that the Baudelaire sisters joined their brother in laughter. It was not funny, of course, that Nero enforced such terrible punishments, but the idea of eating oatmeal with their hands gave all three siblings the giggles.

     “Or fried eggs!” Violet said. “What if they serve runny fried eggs?”

     “Or pancakes, covered in syrup!” Klaus said.

     “Soup!” Sunny shrieked, and they all broke out in laughter again.

     “Remember the picnic?” Violet said. “We were going to Rutabaga River for a picnic, and Father was so excited about the meal he made that he forgot to pack silverware!”

     “Of course I remember,” Klaus said. "We had to eat all that sweet-and-sour shrimp with our hands.

     “Sticky!” Sunny said, holding her hands up.

     “It sure was,” Violet agreed. “Afterward, we went to wash our hands in the river, and we found a perfect place to try the fishing rod I made.”

     “And I picked blackberries with Mother,” Klaus said.

     “Eroos,” Sunny said, which meant something like “And I bit rocks.”

     The children stopped laughing now as they remembered that afternoon, which hadn't been so very long ago but felt like it had happened in the distant, distant past. After the fire, the children had known their parents were dead, of course, but it had felt like they had merely gone away somewhere and would be back before long. Now, remembering the way the sunlight had shone on the water of Rutabaga River and the laughter of their parents as they'd made a mess of themselves eating the sweet-and-sour shrimp, the picnic seemed so far away that they knew their parents were never coming back.

     “Maybe we'll go back there,” Violet said quietly. “Maybe someday we can visit the river again, and catch fish and pick blackberries.”

     “Maybe we can,” Klaus said, but the Baudelaires all knew that even if someday they went back to Rutabaga River -which they never did, by the way that it would not be the same. “Maybe we can, but in the meantime we've got to talk to Nero. Come on, here's the administrative building.”

     The Baudelaires sighed and walked into the building, surrendering the use of Prufrock Prep's silverware. They climbed the stairs to the ninth floor and knocked on Nero's door, surprised that they could not hear him practicing the violin. “Come in if you must,” Nero said, and the orphans walked in. Nero had his back to the door, looking at his reflection in the window as he tied a rubber band around one of his pigtails. When he was finished, he held both hands up in the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, Vice Principal Nero!” he announced, and the children began applauding obediently. Nero whirled around.

     “I only expected to hear one person clapping,” he said sternly. “Violet and Klaus, you're not allowed up here. You know that.”

     “I beg your pardon, sir,” Violet said, “but all three of us have something very important we need to discuss with you.”

     “All three of us have something very important we need to discuss with you,” Nero replied in his usual nasty way. “It must be important for you to sacrifice your silverware privileges. Well, well, out with it. I have a lot of rehearsing to do for my next concert, so don't waste my time.”

     “This won't take long,” Klaus promised. He paused before continuing, which is a good thing to do if you're choosing your words very, very carefully. “We are concerned,” he continued, choosing his words very, very carefully, “that Count Olaf may have somehow managed to get to Prufrock Prep.”

     “Nonsense,” Nero said. “Now go away and let me practice the violin.”

     “But it might not be nonsense,” Violet said. “Olaf is a master of disguise. He could be right under our very noses and we wouldn't know it.”

    “The only thing under my nose,” Nero said, “is my mouth, which is telling you to leave.”

     “Count Olaf could be Mr. Remora,” Klaus said. “Or Mrs. Bass.”

     “Mr. Remora and Mrs. Bass have taught at this school for more than forty seven years,” Nero said dismissively. “I would know if one of them were in disguise.”

     “What about the people who work at the cafeteria?” Violet asked. “They're always wearing those metal masks.”

     “Those are for safety, not for disguises,” Nero said. “You brats have some very silly ideas. Next you'll be saying that Count Olaf has disguised himself as your boyfriend, what's-his-name, the triplet.”

     Violet blushed. “Duncan Quagmire is not my boyfriend,” she said, “and he's not Count Olaf, either.”

     But Nero was too busy making idiotic jokes to listen. “Who knows?” he asked, and then laughed again. “Hee hee hee. Maybe he's disguised himself as Carmelita Spats.”

     “Or me!” came a voice from the doorway. The Baudelaires whirled around and saw Coach Genghis standing there with a red rose in his hand and a fierce look in his eye.

     “Or you!” Nero said. “Hee hee hee. Imagine this Olaf fellow pretending to be the finest gym teacher in the country.”

     Klaus looked at Coach Genghis and thought of all the trouble he had caused, whether he was pretending to be Uncle Monty's assistant Stefano, or Captain Sham, or Shirley, or any of the other phony names he had used. Klaus wanted desperately to say “You are Count Olaf!” but he knew that if the Baudelaires pretended that Coach Genghis was fooling them, they had a better chance of revealing his plan, whatever it was. So he bit his tongue, a phrase which here means that he simply kept quiet. He did not actually bite his tongue, but opened his mouth and laughed. “That would be funny!” he lied. “Imagine if you were really Count Olaf! Wouldn't that be funny, Coach Genghis? That would mean that your turban would really be a disguise!”

     “My turban?” Coach Genghis said. His fierce look melted away as he realized-incorrectly, of course-that Klaus was joking. “A disguise? Ho ho ho!”

     “Hee hee hee!” Nero laughed.

     Violet and Sunny both saw at once what Klaus was doing, and they followed suit. “Oh yes, Genghis,” Violet cried, as if she were joking, “take your turban off and show us the one eyebrow you are hiding! Ha ha ha!”

     “You three children are really quite funny!” Nero cried. “You're like three professional comedians!”

     “Volasocks!” Sunny shrieked, showing all four teeth in a fake smile.

     “Oh yes,” Klaus said. “Sunny is right! If you were really Olaf in disguise, then your running shoes would be covering your tattoo!”

     “Hee hee hee!” Nero said. “You children are like three clowns!”

     “Ho ho ho!” Count Olaf said.

      “Ha ha ha!” Violet said, who was beginning to feel queasy from faking all this laughter. Looking up at Genghis, and smiling so hard that her teeth ached, she stood on tiptoe and tried to reach his turban. “I'm going to rip this off,” she said, as if she were still joking, “and show off your one eyebrow!”

     “Hee hee hee!” Nero said, shaking his pigtails in laughter. “You're like three trained monkeys!”

     Klaus crouched down to the ground and grabbed one of Genghis's feet.

    “And I'm going to rip your shoes off,” he said, as if he were still joking, “and show off your tattoo!”

     “Hee hee hee!” Nero said. “You're like three-”

     The Baudelaires didn't get to hear what they were three of, because Coach Genghis stuck out both of his arms, catching Klaus with one hand and Violet with the other. “Ho ho ho!” he said, and then abruptly stopped laughing. “Of course,” he said in a tone of voice that was suddenly serious, “I can't take off my running shoes, because I've been exercising and my feet smell, and I can't take off my turban for religious reasons.”

     “Hee hee-” Nero stopped giggling and became very serious himself.

     “Oh, Coach Genghis,” he said, “we wouldn't ask you to violate your religious beliefs, and I certainly don't want your feet stinking up my office.”

     Violet struggled to reach the turban and Klaus struggled to remove one of the evil coach's shoes, but Genghis held them both tight.

     “Drat!” Sunny shrieked.

     “Joke time is over!” Nero announced. “Thank you for brightening up my morning, children. Good-bye, and enjoy your breakfast without silverware! Now, Coach Genghis, what can I do for you?”

     “Well, Nero,” Genghis said, “I just wanted to give you this rose-a small gift of congratulations for the wonderful concert you gave us last night!”

     “Oh, thank you,” Nero said, taking the rose out of Genghis's hand and giving it a good smell. “I was wonderful, wasn't I?”

     “You were perfection!” Genghis said. “The first time you played your sonata, I was deeply moved. The second time, I had tears in my eyes. The third time, I was sobbing. The fourth time, I had an uncontrollable emotional attack. The fifth time-”

     The Baudelaires did not hear about the fifth time because Nero's door swung shut behind them. They looked at one another in dismay. The Baudelaires had come very close to revealing Coach Genghis's disguise, but close was not enough. They trudged silently out of the administrative building and over to the cafe-teria. Evidently, Nero had already called the metal-masked cafeteria workers, because when Violet and Klaus reached the end of the line, the workers refused to hand them any silverware. Prufrock Prep was not serving oatmeal for breakfast, but Violet and Klaus knew that eating scrambled eggs with their hands was not going to be very pleasant.

     “Oh, don't worry about that,” Isadora said when the children slid glumly into seats beside the Quagmires. “Here, Klaus and I will take turns with my silverware, and you can share with Duncan , Violet. Tell us how everything went in Nero's office.”

     “Not very well,” Violet admitted. “Coach Genghis got there right after we did, and we didn't want him to see that we knew who he really was.”

     Isadora pulled her notebook out of her pocket and read out loud to her friends.

     "It would be a stroke of luck

     if Coach Genghis were hit by a truck, "

     she read. “That's my latest poem. I know it's not that helpful, but I thought you might like to hear it anyway.”

     “I did like hearing it,” Klaus said. “And it certainly would be a stroke of luck if that happened. But I wouldn't bet on it.”

     “Well, we'll think of another plan,” Duncan said, handing Violet his fork.

     “I hope so,” Violet said. “Count Olaf doesn't usually wait very long to put his evil schemes into action.”

     “Kosbal!” Sunny shrieked.

     “Does Sunny mean 'I have a plan'?” Isadora asked. “I'm trying to get the hang of her way of talking.”

     “I think she means something more like 'Here comes Carmelita Spats,'” Klaus said, pointing across the cafeteria. Sure enough, Carmelita Spats was walking toward their table with a big, smug smile on her face.

     “Hello, you cakesniffers,” she said. “I have a message for you from Coach Genghis. I get to be his Special Messenger because I'm the cutest, prettiest, nicest girl in the whole school.”

     “Oh, stop bragging, Carmelita,” Duncan said.

     “You're just jealous,” Carmelita replied, “because Coach Genghis likes me best instead of you.”

     “I couldn't care less about Coach Genghis,” Duncan said. “Just deliver your message and leave us alone.”

     “The message is this,” Carmelita said. “The three Baudelaire orphans are to report to the front lawn tonight, immediately after dinner.”

     “After dinner?” Violet said. “But after dinner we're supposed to go to Nero's violin recital.”

     “That's the message,” Carmelita insisted. “He said that if you don't show up you'll be in big trouble, so if I were you, Violet-”

     “You aren't Violet, thank goodness,” Duncan interrupted. It is not very polite to interrupt a person, of course, but sometimes if the person is very unpleasant you can hardly stop yourself. “Thank you for your message. Good-bye.”

     “It is traditional,” Carmelita said, “to give a Special Messenger a tip after she has delivered a message.”

     “If you don't leave us alone,” Isadora said, “you're going to get a headful of scrambled eggs as a tip.”

     “You're just a jealous cakesniffer,” Carmelita sneered, but she left the Baudelaires and Quagmires alone.

     “Don't worry,” Duncan said when he was sure Carmelita couldn't hear him. “It's still morning. We have all day to figure out what to do. Here, have another spoonful of eggs, Violet.”

     “No, thank you,” Violet said. “I don't have much of an appetite.” And it was true. None of the Baudelaires had an appetite. Scrambled eggs had never been the siblings' favorite dish, particularly Sunny, who much preferred food she could really sink her teeth into, but their lack of appetite had nothing to do with the eggs. It had to do with Coach Genghis, of course, and the message that he had sent to them. It had to do with the thought of meeting him on the lawn, after dinner, all alone. Duncan was right tha t it was still morning, and that they had all day to figure out what to do. But it did not feel like morning. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny sat in the cafeteria, not taking another bite of their breakfast, and it felt like the sun had already set. It felt like night had already fallen, and that Coach Genghis was already waiting for them. It was only morning, and the Baudelaire orphans already felt like they were in his clutches.

 

     The Baudelaire orphans' schoolday was particularly austere, a word which here means that Mr. Remora's stories were particularly boring, Mrs. Bass's obsession with the metric system was particularly irritating, and Nero's administrative demands were particularly difficult, but Violet, Klaus, and Sunny did not really notice. Violet sat at her schooldesk, and anybody who did not know Violet would have thought that she was paying close attention, because her hair was tied up in a ribbon to keep it out of her eyes. But Violet's thoughts were far, far away from the dull tales Mr. Remora was telling. She had tied her hair up, of course, to help focus her keen inventing brain on the problem that was facing the Baudelaires, and she didn't want to waste an ounce of her attention on the rambling, banana-eating man in the front of the room.

     Mrs. Bass had brought in a box of pencils for her class and was having them figure out if one of them was any longer or shorter than the rest. And if Mrs. Bass weren't so busy pacing around the room shouting “Measure!” she might have looked at Klaus and thought that perhaps he shared her obsession with measurement, because his eyes were sharply focused as if he were concentrating. But Klaus was spending the morning on autopilot, a word which here means “measuring pencils without really thinking about them.” As he placed pencil after pencil next to his ruler, he was thinking of books he had read that might be helpful for their situation.

     And if Vice Principal Nero had stopped practicing his violin and looked in on his infant secretary, he would have guessed that Sunny was working very hard, mailing letters he had dictated to various candy companies complaining about their candy quality. But even though Sunny was typing, stapling, and stamping as quickly as she could, her mind was not on secretarial supplies but on the appointment she and her siblings had with Coach Genghis that evening, and what they could do about it.

     The Quagmires were curiously absent from lunch, so the Baudelaires were really forced to eat with their hands this time, but as they picked up handfuls of spaghetti and tried to eat them as neatly as possible the three children were thinking so hard that they barely spoke. They knew, almost without discussing the matter, that none of them had been able to guess Coach Genghis's plan, and that they hadn't figured out a way to avoid their appointment with him on the lawn, an appointment that drew closer and closer with every handful of lunch. The Baudelaires passed the afternoon in more or less the same way, ignoring Mr. Remora's stories, Mrs. Bass's pencils, and the diminishing supply of staples, and even during gym period-one of Carmelita's bratty friends informed them that Genghis would start teaching the next day, but in the meantime they were to run around as usual-the three children raced around the lawn in utter silence, devoting all of their brainpower to thinking about their situation.

     The Baudelaires had been so very quiet, and thinking so very hard, that when the Quagmires sat down across from them at dinnertime and said in unison, “We've solved your problem,” it was more of a startle than a relief.

     “Goodness,” Violet said. “You startled me.”

     “I thought you'd be relieved,” Duncan said. “Didn't you hear us? We said we've solved your problem.”

     “We're startled and relieved,” Klaus said. “What do you mean, you've solved our problem? My sisters and I have been thinking about it all day, and we've gotten nowhere. We don't know what Coach Genghis is up to, although we're sure he's up to something. And we don't know how we can avoid meeting him after dinner, although we're sure that he'll do something terrible if we do.”

     “At first I thought he might simply be planning to kidnap us,” Violet said, “but he wouldn't have to be in disguise to do that.”

     “And at first I thought we should call Mr. Poe after all,” Klaus said, “and tell him what's going on. But if Count Olaf can fool an advanced computer, he'll surely be able to fool an average banker.”

     “Toricia!” Sunny said in agreement.

     “Duncan and I have been thinking about it all day, too,” Isadora said. “I filled up five and a half pages of my notebook writing down possible ideas, and Duncan filled up three.”

     “I write smaller,” Duncan explained, handing his fork to Violet so she could take her turn at the meat loaf they were having for dinner.

     “Right before lunch, we compared notes,” Isadora continued, “and the two of us had the same idea. So we sneaked away and put our plan into action.”

     “That's why we weren't at lunch,” Duncan explained. “You'll notice that there are puddles of beverages on our tray instead of glasses.”

     “Well, you can share our glasses,” Klaus said, handing his to Isadora, “just like you're letting us share your silverware. But what is your plan? What did you put into action?”

 

 

     Duncan and Isadora looked at one another, smiled, and leaned in close to the Baudelaires so they could be sure no one would overhear.

     “We propped open the back door of the auditorium,” Duncan said. He and Isadora smiled triumphantly and leaned back in their chairs. The Baudelaires did not feel triumphant. They felt confused. They did not want to insult their friends, who had broken the rules and sacrificed their drinking glasses just to help them, but they were unable to see how propping open the back door of the auditorium was a solution to the trouble in which they found themselves.

     “I'm sorry,” Violet said after a pause. “I don't understand how propping open the back door of the auditorium solves our problem.”

     “Don't you see?” Isadora asked. “We're going to sit in the back of the auditorium tonight, and as soon as Nero begins his concert, we will tiptoe out and sneak over to the front lawn. That way we can keep an eye on you and Coach Genghis. If anything fishy happens, we will run back to the concert and alert Vice Principal Nero.”

     “It's the perfect plan, don't you think?” Duncan asked. “I'm rather proud of my sister and me, if I do say so myself.”

     The Baudelaire children looked at one another doubtfully. They didn't want to disappoint their friends or criticize the plan that the Quagmire triplets had cooked up, particularly since the Baudelaires hadn't cooked up any plan themselves. But Count Olaf was so evil and so clever that the three siblings couldn't help but think that propping a door open and sneaking out to spy on him was not much of a defense against his treachery.

     “We appreciate you trying to solve our problem,” Klaus said gently, “but Count Olaf is an extremely treacherous person. He always has something up his sleeve. I wouldn't want you to get into any danger on our behalf.”

     “Don't talk nonsense,” Isadora said firmly, taking a sip from Violet's glass. “You're the ones in danger, and it's up to us to help you. And we're not frightened of Olaf. I'm confident this plan is a good one.”

     The Baudelaires looked at one another again. It was very brave of the Quagmire triplets not to be frightened of Olaf and to be so confident about their plan. But the three siblings could not help but wonder if the Quagmires should be so brave. Olaf was such a wretched man that it seemed wise to be frightened of him, and he had defeated so many of the Baudelaires' plans that it seemed a little foolish to be so confident about this one. But the children were so appreciative of their friends' efforts that they said nothing more about the matter. In the years to come, the Baudelaire orphans would regret this, this time when they said nothing more about the matter, but in the meantime they merely finished their dinner with the Quagmires, passing silverware and drinking glasses back and forth and trying to talk about other things. They discussed other projects they might do to improve the Orphans Shack, and what other matters they might research in the library, and what they could do about Sunny's problem with the staples, which were running out quite rapidly, and before they knew it dinner was over. The Quagmires hurried off to the violin recital, promising to sneak out as quickly as they could, and the Baudelaires walked out of the cafeteria and over to the front lawn.