A Series of Unfortunate Events 7 - The Vile Village

     “Where can we go?” Duncan cried. “We can't hide anywhere around here. The citizens will spot us in a second.”

     “We're trapped,” Klaus said, his voice hoarse with panic.

     “Vireo!” Sunny cried, which meant “Let's run — or, in my case, crawl — as fast as we can!”

     “We'll never run fast enough,” Violet said, pointing behind them. “Look.”

     The youngsters turned around, and saw the entire Village of Fowl Devotees, marching together in a huge group. They had rounded the last corner and were now heading straight toward the five children, their footsteps as loud as a roll of thunder. But the youngsters did not feel as if it was thunder that was rolling toward them. As hundreds of fierce and angry citizens approached, it felt more like the rolling of an enormous root vegetable. It felt like a root vegetable that could crush all of the reptiles in Uncle Monty's collection in five seconds flat, or one that could soak up every drop of water of Lake Lachrymose in an instant. The approaching crowd felt like a root vegetable that made every tree in the Finite Forest look like a tiny twig, made the huge lasagna served at the Prufrock Preparatory School cafeteria look like a light snack, and made the skyscraper at 667 Dark Avenue look like a dollhouse made for midget children to play with, a root vegetable so tremendous in size that it would win every first-place ribbon in every starchy farm crop competition in every state and county fair in the entire world from now until the end of time. The march of the torch-wielding mob, eager to capture Violet and Klaus and Sunny and Duncan and Isadora and burn each one of them at the stake, felt like the largest potato the Baudelaire orphans and the Quagmire triplets had ever encountered.

a scowling below the visor of her helmet as she led the way in her shiny black boots. In one white-gloved hand she was clutching something covered in a blanket, and with the other hand she was pointing at the terrified children.

     “There they are!” Officer Luciana cried, pointing her white-gloved finger at the five terrified children. “They have nowhere else to go!”

     “She's right!” Klaus cried. “There's no way to escape!”

     “Machina!” Sunny shrieked.

     “There's no sign of deus ex machina, Sunny,” Violet said, her eyes filling with tears. “I don't think anything helpful will arrive unexpectedly.”

     “Machina!” Sunny insisted, and pointed at the sky. The children took their eyes off the approaching mob and looked up, and there was the greatest example of deus ex machine they had ever seen. Floating just over the children's heads was the superlative sight of the self- sustaining hot air mobile home. Although the invention had been quite marvelous to look at in Hector's studio, it was truly wondrous now that it was actually being put to use, and even the angry citizens of V.F.D. stopped chasing the children for a moment, just so they could stare at this amazing sight. The self-sustaining hot air mobile home was enormous, as if an entire cottage had somehow detached itself from its neighborhood and was wandering around the sky. The twelve baskets were all connected and floating together like a group of rafts, with all of the tubes, pipes, and wires twisted around them like a huge piece of knitting. Above the baskets were dozens of balloons in varying shades of green. Fully inflated, they looked like a floating crop of crisp, ripe apples glistening in the last light of the afternoon. The mechanical devices were working at full force, with flashing lights, spinning gears, ringing bells, dripping faucets, whirring pulleys, and a hundred other gadgets all going at once, but miraculously, the entire self-sustaining hot air mobile home was as silent as a cloud. As the invention sailed toward the ground, the only sound that could be heard was Hector's triumphant shout.

     “Here I am!” the handyman called from the control basket. “And here it is, like a bolt from the blue! Violet, your improvements are working perfectly. Climb aboard, and we'll escape from this wretched place.” He flicked a bright yellow switch, and a long ladder made of rope began to unfurl down to where the children were standing. “Because my invention is self-sustaining,” he explained, “it isn't designed to come back down to the ground, so you'll have to climb up this ladder.”

     Duncan caught the end of the ladder and held it for Isadora to climb up. “I'm Duncan Quagmire,” he said quickly, “and this is my sister, Isadora.”

     “Yes, the Baudelaires have told me all about you,” Hector said. “I'm glad you're coming along. Like all mechanical devices, the self-sustaining hot air mobile home actually needs several people to keep it running.”

     “Aha!” cried Mr. Lesko, as Isadora hurriedly climbed the ladder with Duncan right behind her. The mob had stopped staring at the deus ex machina and was now marching once again toward the children. “I knew it was a mechanical device! All those buttons and gears can't fool me!”

     “Why, Hector!” an Elder said. “Rule #67 clearly states that no citizen is allowed to build or use any mechanical devices.”

     “Burn him at the stake, too!” cried Mrs. Morrow. “Somebody get extra kindling!”

     Hector took a deep breath, and then called down to the mob without a trace of skittishness in his voice. “Nobody's going to be burned at the stake,” he said firmly, as Isadora reached the top of the ladder and joined Hector in the control basket. “Burning people at the stake is a repulsive thing to do!”

     “What's repulsive is your behavior,” an Elder replied. “The children have murdered Count Olaf, and you have built a mechanical device. You have both broken very important rules!”

     “I don't want to live in a place with so many rules,” Hector replied in a quiet voice, “or a place with so many crows. I'm floating away from here, and I'm taking these five children with me. The Baudelaires and the Quagmires have had a horrible time since their parents died. The Village of Fowl Devotees ought to be taking care of them, instead of accusing them of things and chasing them through the streets.”

     “But who's going to do our chores?” an Elder asked. “The Snack Hut is still full of dirty dishes from our hot fudge sundaes.”

     “You should do your own chores,” the handyman said, as he leaned over to lift Duncan aboard his invention, “or take turns doing them according to a fair schedule. The aphorism is 'It takes a village to raise a child,' not 'Three children should clean up after a village.' Baudelaires, climb aboard. Let's leave these terrible people behind us.”

     The Baudelaires smiled at one another, and began climbing up the rope ladder. Violet went first, her hands clutching the scratchy rope as tightly as she could, and Klaus and Sunny followed closely behind. Hector turned a knob, and the mobile home rose up higher just as the crowd reached the end of the ladder. “They're getting away!” another Elder called, her crow-shaped hat bobbing with frustration. She jumped up to try to grab the edge of the ladder, but Hector had maneuvered his invention too high for her to reach. “The rulebreakers are getting away! Officer Luciana, do something!”

     “I'll do something, all right,” Officer Luciana said with a snarl, and tossed away the blanket she had been holding. From halfway down the ladder, the three climbing Baudelaires looked down and saw a large, wicked-looking object in Luciana's hands, with a bright red trigger and four long, sharp hooks. “You're not the only one with a mechanical device!” she called up to Hector. “This is a harpoon gun that my boyfriend bought for me. It fires four hooked harpoons, which are long spears perfect for popping balloons.”

     “Oh no!” Hector said, looking down at the climbing children.

     “Raise the self-sustaining hot air mobile home, Hector!” Violet called. “We'll keep climbing!”

     “Our Chief of Police is using a mechanical device?” Mrs. Morrow asked in astonishment. “That means she's breaking Rule #67, too.”

     “Officers of the law are allowed to break rules,” Luciana said, aiming the harpoon gun in Hector's direction. “Besides, this is an emergency. We need to get those murderers down from there.” Members of the mob looked at one another in confusion, but Luciana merely gave them a lipsticked smile, and pressed the harpoon gun's trigger with a sharp click! followed by a swoosh! as one of the hooked harpoons flew out of the gun straight toward Hector's invention. The handyman managed to manuever the self-sustaining hot air mobile home so the harpoon did not hit a balloon, but it struck a metal tank on the side of one of the baskets, making a large hole.

     “Drat!” Hector said, as a purplish liquid began to pour out of the hole. “That's my supply of cranberry juice! Baudelaires, hurry up! If she causes any serious damage, we're all doomed!”

     “We're coming as fast as we can!” Klaus cried, but as Hector moved his invention even higher in the air, the rope ladder was shaking so much that the Baudelaires could not move very fast at all.

     Click! Swoosh! Another harpoon flew through the air and landed in the sixth basket, sending a cloud of brown dust fluttering to the ground, followed by some thin metal tubes. “She hit our supply of whole wheat flour,” Hector cried, “and our box of extra batteries!”

     “I'll hit a balloon with this one!” Officer Luciana called. “Then you'll fall to the ground, where we can burn you at the stake!”

     “Officer Luciana,” said one of the Council of Elders in the crowd, “I don't think you should break the rules in order to capture people who have broken the rules. It doesn't make sense.”

     “Hear, hear!” called out a townsperson from the opposite side of the crowd. “Why don't you put down the harpoon gun, and we'll walk over to Town Hall and have a council meeting.”

     “It's not cool,” called out a voice, “to have meetings!” There was a rumble, as if another large potato had arrived, and the crowd parted to reveal Detective Dupin, riding through the mob on a motorcycle painted turquoise to match his blazer. Below his sunglasses was a grin of triumph, and his bare chest swelled with pride.

     “Detective Dupin is using a mechanical device too?” an Elder asked. “We can't burn everyone at the stake!”

     “Dupin isn't a citizen,” another member of the Council pointed out, “so he's not breaking Rule #67.”

     “But he's riding through a crowd of people,” Mr. Lesko said, “and he's not wearing a helmet. He's not showing good judgment, that's for sure.”

     Detective Dupin ignored Mr. Lesko's lecture about motorcycle safety and pulled to a stop beside Officer Luciana. “It's cool to be late,” he said, and snapped his fingers. “I was buying today's edition of The Daily Punctilio.”

     “You shouldn't be buying newspapers,” said an Elder, shaking his crow hat in disapproval. “You should be catching criminals.”

     “Hear, hear!” said several voices in agreement, but the crowd was beginning to look uncertain. It is hard work to be fierce all afternoon, and as the situation grew more complicated, the citizens of V.F.D. seemed a bit less bloodthirsty. A few townspeople even lowered their torches, which had been heavy to hold up all this time.

     But Detective Dupin ignored this change in V.F.D.'s mob psychology. “Leave me alone, you crow-hatted fool,” he said to the Elder, and snapped his fingers. “It's cool to fire away, Officer Luciana.”

     “It certainly is,” Luciana said, and looked up into the sky to aim the harpoon gun again. But the self-sustaining hot air mobile home was no longer alone in the sky. In all the commotion, no one had noticed that the afternoon was over, and the V.F.D. crows had left their downtown roost to fly in circles before migrating to Nevermore Tree to spend the night as usual. Now the crows were arriving, thousands and thousands of them, and in seconds the evening sky was covered in black, muttering birds. Officer Luciana could not see Hector and his invention. Hector could not see the Baudelaires. And the Baudelaires could not see anything. The rope ladder was right in the path of the migrating crows, and the three children were absolutely surrounded by the birds of V.F.D. The wings of the crows rustled against the children, and their feathers became tangled in the ladder, and all the three siblings could do was hang on for dear life.

     “Baudelaires!” Hector called down. “Hang on for dear life! I'm going to fly even higher, over the crows!”

     “No!” Sunny cried, which meant something like, “I'm not sure that's the wisest plan — we won't survive a fall from such a height!” but Hector couldn't hear her over another click! and swoosh! from Luciana's harpoon gun. The Baudelaires felt the rope ladder jerk sharply in their hands, and then twist dizzily in the crow-filled air. From up in the control basket, the Quagmire triplets looked down and caught a glimpse, through the migrating crows, of some very bad news.

     “The harpoon hit the ladder!” Isadora called down to her friends in despair. “The rope is coming unraveled!”

     It was true. As the crows began to settle in at Nevermore Tree, the Baudelaires could see more clearly, and they stared up at the ladder in horror. The harpoon was sticking out of one of the ladder's thick ropes, which was slowly uncurling around the hook. It reminded Violet of a time when she was much younger, and had begged her mother to braid her hair so she could look like a famous inventor she had seen in a magazine. Despite her mother's best efforts, the braids had not held their shape, and had come unraveled almost as soon as she had tied their ends with ribbons. Violet's hair had slowly spun out of the braid, just as the strands of rope were spinning out of the ladder now.

     “Climb faster!” Duncan screamed down. “Climb faster!”

     “No,” Violet said quietly, and then said it again so her siblings could hear. More and more crows were taking their places in the tree, and Klaus and Sunny could see Violet's grim face as she looked down at them in despair. “No.” The eldest Baudelaire took another look at the unraveling rope and saw that they couldn't possibly climb up to the basket of Hector's self-sustaining hot air mobile home. It was just as impossible as her mother ever braiding her hair again. “We can't do it,” she said. “If we keep trying to climb up, we'll fall to our deaths. We have to climb down.”

     “But — ” Klaus said.

     “No,” Violet said, and one tear rolled down her cheek. “We won't make it, Klaus.”

     “Yoil!” Sunny said.

     “No,” Violet said again, and looked her siblings in the eye. The three Baudelaires shared a moment of frustration and despair that they could not follow their friends, and then, without another word, they began climbing down the unraveling ladder, through the murder of crows still migrating to Nevermore Tree. When the Baudelaires climbed down nine rungs, the rope unbraided completely and dropped the children onto the flat landscape, unhappy but unharmed.

     “Hector, maneuver your invention back down!” Isadora called. Her voice sounded a bit faint from so far away. “Duncan and I can lean out of the basket and make a human ladder! There's still time to retrieve them!”

     “I can't,” Hector said sadly, gazing down at the Baudelaires, who were standing up and untangling themselves from the fallen ladder, as Detective Dupin began to stride toward them in his plastic shoes. “It's not designed to return to the ground.”

     “There must be a way!” Duncan cried, but the self-sustaining hot air mobile home only floated farther away.

     “We could try to climb Nevermore Tree,” Klaus said, “and jump into the control basket from its highest branches.”

     Violet shook her head. “The tree is already half covered in crows,” she said, “and Hector's invention is flying too high.” She looked up in the sky and cupped her hands to her mouth so her voice could travel all the way up to her friends. “We can't reach you now!” she cried. “We'll try to catch up with you later!”

     Isadora's voice came back so faintly that the Baudelaires could scarcely hear it over the muttering of the crows, who were still settling themselves in Nevermore Tree. “How can you catch up with us later,” she called, “in the middle of the air?”

     “I don't know!” Violet admitted. “But we'll find a way, I promise you!”

     “In the meantime,” Duncan called back, “take these!” The Baudelaires could see the triplet holding his dark green notebook, and Isadora holding hers, over the side of the basket. “This is all the information we have about Count Olaf's evil plan, and the secret of V.F.D., and Jacques Snicket's murder!” His voice was as trembly as it was faint, and the three siblings knew their friend was crying. “It's the least we can do!” he called.

     “Take our notebooks, Baudelaires!” Isadora called, “and maybe someday we'll meet again!”

     The Quagmire triplets dropped their notebooks out of the self-sustaining hot air mobile home, and called out “Good-bye!” to the Baudelaires, but their farewell was drowned out by the sound of another click! and another swoosh! as Officer Luciana fired one last harpoon. After so much practice, I'm sorry to say, her aim had improved, and the hook hit exactly what Luciana hoped it would. The sharp spear sailed through the air and hit not one but both Quagmire notebooks. There was a loud ripping noise, and then the air was filled with sheets of paper, tossing this way and that in the rustling wind made by the flying crows. The Quagmires yelled in frustration, and called one last thing down to their friends, but Hector's invention had flown too high for the Baudelaires to hear it all.

     “. . . volunteer . . .” the children heard dimly, and then the self-sustaining hot air balloon floated too high for the orphans to hear anything more.

     “Tesper!” Sunny cried, which meant “Let's try to gather up as many pages of the notebooks as we can!”

     “If 'Tesper' means 'All is lost,' then that baby isn't so stupid after all,” said Detective Dupin, who had reached the Baudelaires. He opened his blazer, exposing more of his pale and hairy chest, and took a rolled-up newspaper out of an inside pocket, looking down at the children as if they were three bugs he was about to squash. “I thought you'd want to see The Daily Punctilio” he said, and unrolled the newspaper to show them the headline. “baudelaire orphans at large!” it read, using a phrase which here means “not in jail.” Below the headline were three drawings, one of each sibling's face.

     Detective Dupin removed his sunglasses so he could read the newspaper in the fading light. “Authorities are trying to capture Veronica, Klyde, and Susie Baudelaire,” he read out loud, “who escaped from the uptown jail of the Village of Fowl Devotees, where they were imprisoned for the murder of Count Omar.” He gave the children a nasty smile and threw The Daily Punctilio down on the ground. “Some names are wrong, of course,” he said, “but everybody makes mistakes. Tomorrow, of course, there will be another special edition, and I'll make sure that The Daily Punctilio gets every detail correct in the story about Detective Dupin's supercool capture of the notorious Baudelaires.”

     Dupin leaned down to the children, so close that they could smell the egg salad sandwich he'd apparently eaten for lunch. “Of course,” he said, in a quiet voice so only the siblings could hear him, “one Baudelaire will escape at the last minute, and live with me until the fortune is mine. The question is, which Baudelaire will that be? You still haven't let me know your decision.”

     “We're not going to entertain that notion, Olaf,” Violet said bitterly.

     “Oh no!” an Elder cried, and pointed out at the flat horizon. By the light of the sunset, the Baudelaires could see a small, slender shape sticking out of the ground, while the Quagmire pages fluttered by. It was the last harpoon Luciana had fired, and it had hit something else after destroying the Quagmire notebooks. There, pinned to the ground, was one of the V.F.D. crows, opening its mouth in pain.

     “You harmed a crow!” Mrs. Morrow said in horror, pointing at Officer Luciana. “That's Rule #1! That's the most important rule of all!”

     “Oh, it's just a stupid bird,” Detective Dupin said, turning to face the horrified citizens.

     “A stupid bird?” an Elder repeated, his crow hat trembling in anger. “A stupid bird?' Detective Dupin, this is the Village of Fowl Devotees, and — ”

     “Wait a minute!” interrupted a voice from the crowd. “Look, everyone! He has only one eyebrow!”

     Detective Dupin, who had removed his sunglasses to read the paper, reached into the pocket of his blazer and put them back on again. “Lots of people have one eyebrow,” he said, but the crowd paid no attention as mob psychology began to take hold again.

     “Let's make him take off his shoes,” Mr. Lesko called, and an Elder knelt down to grab one of Dupin's feet. “If he has a tattoo, let's burn him at the stake!”

     “Hear, hear!” a group of citizens agreed.

     “Now, wait just a minute!” Officer Luciana said, putting down the harpoon gun and looking at Dupin in concern.

     “And let's burn Officer Luciana, too!” Mrs. Morrow said. “She wounded a crow!”

     “We don't want all these torches to go to waste!” cried an Elder.

     “Hear, hear!”

     Detective Dupin opened his mouth to speak, and the children could see he was thinking frantically of something to say that would fool V.F.D.'s citizens. But then he simply closed his mouth, and with a flick of his foot, kicked the Elder who was holding on to his shoe. As the mob gasped, the Elder's crow-shaped hat fell off as she rolled to the ground, still clutching Dupin's plastic shoe.

     “It's the tattoo!” one of the Verhoogens cried, pointing at the eye on Detective Dupin's — or, more properly, Count Olaf's — left ankle. With a roar, Olaf ran back to his motorcycle and, with another roar, he started the engine. “Hop aboard, Esmé!” he called out to Officer Luciana. The Chief removed her motorcycle helmet with a smile, and the Baudelaires saw that it was indeed Esmé Squalor.

     “It's Esmé Squalor!” an Elder cried. “She used to be the city's sixth most successful financial advisor, but now she works with Count Olaf!”

     “I heard the two of them are dating!” Mrs. Morrow said in horror.

     “We are dating!” Esmé cried in triumph. She climbed aboard Olaf's motorcycle and tossed her helmet to the ground, showing that she cared no more about motorcycle safety than she did about the welfare of crows.

     “So long, Baudelaires!” Count Olaf called, zooming through the angry crowd. “I'll find you again, if the authorities don't find you first!”

     Esmé cackled as the motorcycle roared off across the flat landscape at more than twice the legal speed limit, so within moments the motorcycle was as tiny a speck on the horizon as the self-sustaining hot air mobile home was in the sky. The mob stared after the two villains in disappointment.

     “We'll never catch up to them,” an Elder said with a frown. “Not without any mechanical devices.”

    “Never mind about that,” another Elder replied. “We have more important things to attend to. Hurry, everyone! Rush this crow to the V.F.D. vet!”

     The Baudelaires looked at one another in astonishment as the citizens of V.F.D. carefully unpinned the crow and began to carry it back into town. “What should we do?” Violet asked. She was talking to her siblings, but a member of the Council of Elders overheard and turned back to answer her. “Stay right here,” he said. “Count Olaf and that dishonest girlfriend of his may have escaped, but you three are still criminals. We'll burn you at the stake as soon as this crow has received proper medical attention.”

     The Elder ran after the crow-carrying mob, and in a few seconds the children were alone on the flat landscape with only the shuffling papers of the Quagmire notebooks for company. “Let's gather these up,” Klaus said, stooping down to pick up one badly ripped page. “They're our only hope of discovering the secret of V.F.D.” “And of defeating Count Olaf,” Violet agreed, walking over to where a small stack of pages had blown together.

     “Phelon!” Sunny said, scrambling after one that seemed to have a map scrawled on it. She meant “And of proving that we're not murderers!” and the children paused to look at The Daily Punctilio, which still lay on the ground. Their own faces stared back at them, below the headline “baudelaire orphans at large!” but the children did not feel at large. The Baudelaires felt as small as could be, standing alone on the bare outskirts of V.F.D., chasing down the few pages of the Quagmire notebooks that were not gone forever. Violet managed to grab six pages, and Klaus managed to grab seven, and Sunny managed to grab nine, but many of the recovered pages were ripped, or blank, or all crumpled from the wind.

     “We'll study them later,” Violet said, gathering the pages together and tying them in a bundle with her hair ribbon. “In the meantime, we have to get out of here before the mob returns.”

     “But where will we go?” Klaus asked.

     “Burb,” Sunny said, which meant “Anywhere, as long as it's out of town.”

     “Who will take care of us out there?” Klaus said, looking out on the flat horizon.

     “Nobody,” Violet said. “We'll have to take care of ourselves. We'll have to be selfsustaining.”

     “Like the hot air mobile home,” Klaus said, “that could travel and survive all by itself.”

     “Like me,” Sunny said, and abruptly stood up. Violet and Klaus gasped in surprise as their baby sister took her first wobbly steps, and then walked closely beside her, ready to catch her if she fell.

     But she didn't fall. Sunny took a few more self-sustaining steps, and then the three Baudelaires stood together, casting long shadows across the horizon in the dying light of the sunset. They looked up to see a tiny dot in the sky, far far away, where the Quagmire triplets would live in safety with Hector. They looked out at the landscape, where Count Olaf had ridden off with Esmé Squalor, to find his associates and cook up another scheme. They looked back at Nevermore Tree, where the V.F.D. crows were muttering together for their evening roost, and then they looked out at the world, where families everywhere would soon be reading all about the three siblings in the special edition of The Daily Punctilio. It seemed to the Baudelaires that every creature in the world was being taken care of by others — every creature except for themselves. But the children, of course, could care for one another, as they had been caring for one another since that terrible day at the beach. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny looked at one another and took a deep breath, gathering up all their courage to face all the bolts from the blue that they guessed — and, I'm sorry to say, guessed correctly — lay ahead of them, and then the self-sustaining Baudelaire orphans took their first steps away from town and toward the last few rays of the setting sun.

TO MY KIND EDITOR,

PLEASE EXCUSE THE WORD STOP AT THE END OF EVERY SENTENCE STOP. TELEGRAMS ARE THE QUICKEST WAY TO DELIVER A MESSAGE FROM LAST CHANCE GENERAL STORE, AND IN A TELEGRAM, STOP IS THE WAY TO SIGNAL WHEN A SENTENCE STOPS STOP.

THE NEXT TIME YOU ARE INVITED TO A PARTY, WEAR YOUR THIRD NICEST SUIT AND PRETEND TO NOTICE A SPOT STOP THE NEXT DAY, TAKE THE SUIT TO THE DRY CLEANERS FOR CLEANING STOP. WHEN YOU COME TO PICK IT UP, YOU WILL RECEIVE INSTEAD A SHOPPING BAG CONTAINING MY ENTIRE ACCOUNT OF THE BAUDELAIRE CHILDREN'S EXPERIENCES IN THIS AREA ENTITLED “THE HOSTILE HOSPITAL” ALONG WITH AN INTERCOM SPEAKER, ONE OF THE LAMPS MISTAKENLY DELIVERED TO HAL, AND A HEART-SHAPED BALLOON THAT HAS POPPED STOP. I WILL ALSO INCLUDE A SKETCH OF THE KEY TO THE LIBRARY OF RECORDS, SO THAT MR. HELQUIST CAN ILLUSTRATE IT PROPERLY STOP REMEMBER, YOU ABE MY LAST HOPE THAT THE TALES OF THE BAUDELAIRE ORPHANS CAN FINALLY BE TOLD TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC STOP.

WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, LEMONY SNICKET PS YOUR SUIT WILL BE MAILED TO YOU LATER STOP.