Chapter Twelve
It is a curious thing, but as one travels the world getting older and older, it appears that happiness is easier to get used to than despair. The second time you have a root beer float, for instance, your happiness at sipping the delicious concoction may be not quite as enormous as when you first had a root beer float, and the twelfth time your happiness may be still less enormous, until root beer floats begin to offer you very little happiness at all, because you have become used to the taste of vanilla ice cream and root beer mixed together. However, the second time you find a thumbtack in your root beer float, your despair is much greater than the first time, when you dismissed the thumbtack as a freak accident rather than part of the scheme of the soda jerk, a phrase which here means "ice cream shop employee who is trying to injure your tongue," and by the twelfth time you find a thumbtack your despair is even greater still, until you can hardly utter the phrase "root beer float" without bursting into tears. It is almost as if happiness is an acquired taste, like coconut cordial or ceviche, to which you can eventually become accustomed, but despair is something surprising each time you encounter it. As the glass shattered in the tent, the Baudelaire orphans stood and stared at the standing figure of Ishmael, but even as they felt the Medusoid Mycelium drift into their bodies, each tiny spore feeling like the footstep of an ant walking down their throats, they could not believe that their own story could contain such despair once more, or that such a terrible thing had happened.
"What happened?" Friday cried. "I heard glass breaking!"
"Never mind the breaking glass," Erewhon said. "I feel something in my throat, like a tiny seed!"
"Never mind your seedy throat," Finn said. "I see Ishmael standing up on his own two feet!"
Count Olaf cackled from the white sand where he lay. With one dramatic gesture he yanked the harpoon out of the mess of broken helmet and tattered dress at his stomach, and threw it at Ishmael’s clay feet. "The sound you heard was the shattering of a diving helmet," he sneered. "The seeds you feel in your throats are the spores of the Medusoid Mycelium, and the man standing on his own two feet is the one who has slaughtered you all!"
"The Medusoid Mycelium?" Ishmael repeated in astonishment, as the islanders gasped again."On these shores? It can't be! I've spent my life trying to keep the island forever safe from that terrible fungus!"
"Nothing's safe forever, thank goodness," Count Olaf said, "and you of all people should know that eventually everything washes up on these shores. The Baudelaire family has finally returned to this island after you threw them off years ago, and they brought the Medusoid Mycelium with them."
Ishmael's eyes widened, and he jumped off the edge of the sleigh to stand and confront the Baudelaire orphans. As his feet landed on the ground, the clay cracked and fell away, and the children could see that the facilitator had a tattoo of an eye on his left ankle, just as Count Olaf had said. "You brought the Medusoid Mycelium?" he asked. "You had a deadly fungus with you all this time, and you kept it a secret from us?"
"You're a fine one to talk about keeping secrets!" Alonso said. "Look at your healthy feet, Ishmael! Your dishonesty is the root of the trouble!"
"It's the mutineers who are the root of the trouble!" cried Ariel. "If they hadn't let Count Olaf out of the cage, this never would have happened!"
"It depends on how you look at it," Professor Fletcher said. "In my opinion, all of us are the root of the trouble. If we hadn't put Count Olaf in the cage, he never would have threatened us!"
"We're the root of the trouble because we failed to find the diving helmet," Ferdinand said. "If we'd retrieved it while storm scavenging, the sheep would have dragged it to the arboretum and we would have been safe!"
" Omerosis the root of the trouble," Dr. Kurtz said, pointing at the young boy. "He's the one who gave Ishmael the harpoon gun instead of dumping it in the arboretum!"
"It's Count Olaf who's the root of the trouble!" cried Larsen. "He's the one who brought the fungus into the tent!"
"I'm not the root of the trouble," Count Olaf snarled, and then paused to cough loudly before continuing. "I'm the king of the island!"
"It doesn't matter whether you're king or not," Violet said. "You've breathed in the fungus like everyone else."
"Violet's right," Klaus said. "We don't have time to stand here arguing." Even without his commonplace book, Klaus could recite a poem about the fungus that was first recited to him by Fiona shortly before she had broken his heart. "A single spore has such grim power /That you may die within the hour," he said. "If we don't quit our fighting and work together, we'll all end up dead."
The tent was filled with ululation, a word which here means "the sound of panicking islanders."
"Dead?" Madame Nordoff shrieked. "Nobody said the fungus was deadly! I thought we were merely being threatened with forbidden food!"
"I didn't stay on this island to die!" cried Ms. Marlow. "I could have died at home!"
"Nobody is going to die," Ishmael announced to the crowd.
"It depends on how you look at it," Rabbi Bligh said. "Eventually we're all going to die."
"Not if you follow my suggestions," Ishmael insisted. "Now first, I suggest that everyone take a nice, long drink from their seashells. The cordial will chase the fungus from your throats."
"No, it won't!" Violet cried. "Fermented coconut milk has no effect on the Medusoid Mycelium!"
"That may be so," Ishmael said, "but at least we'll all feel a bit calmer."
"You mean drowsy and inactive," Klaus corrected. "The cordial is an opiate."
"There's nothing wrong with cordiality," Ishmael said. "I suggest we all spend a few minutes discussing our situation in a cordial manner. We can decide what the root of the problem is, and come up with a solution at our leisure."
"That does sound reasonable," Calypso admitted.
" Trahisondes clercs!" Sunny cried, which meant "You're forgetting about the quick-acting poison in the fungus!"
"Sunny's right," Klaus said. "We need to find a solution now, not sit around talking about it over beverages!"
"The solution is in the arboretum," Violet said, "and in the secret space under the roots of the apple tree."
"Secret space?" Sherman said. "What secret space?"
"There's a library down there," Klaus said, as the crowd murmured in surprise, "cataloging all of the objects that have washed ashore and all the stories those objects tell."
"And kitchen," Sunny added."Maybe horseradish." "Horseradish is the one way to dilute the poison," Violet explained, and recited the rest of the poem the children had heard aboard the Queequeg. "Is dilution simple? But of course I! Just one small dose of root of horse."She looked around the tent at the frightened faces of the islanders. "The kitchen beneath the apple tree might have horseradish," she said. "We can save ourselves if we hurry."
"They're lying," Ishmael said. "There's nothing in the arboretum but junk, and there's nothing underneath the tree but dirt. The Baudelaires are trying to trick you."
"We're not trying to trick anyone," Klaus said. "We're trying to save everyone."
"The Baudelaires knew the Medusoid Mycelium was here," Ishmael pointed out, "and they never told us. You can't trust them, but you can trust me, and I suggest we all sit and sip our cordials."