"Can we please discuss this matter later," Violet asked, "and call the police now? Maybe Count Olaf can be caught."
"Excellent idea, Violet," Mr. Poe said, although of course he should have thought of this idea earlier himself. "Sir, please take me to your telephone so we can call the authorities."
"Oh, all right," Sir said grumpily. "But remember, this is my last word on the matter. Charles, make me a milkshake. I'm very thirsty."
"Yes, Sir," Charles said, and limped after his partner and Mr. Poe, who were already out of the library. Halfway out the door, however, he stopped and smiled apologetically at the Baudelaires.
"I'm sorry," he said to them. "I'm sorry that I won't be seeing you anymore. But I guess Sir knows best."
"We're sorry too, Charles," Klaus said. "And I'm sorry that I caused you so much trouble."
"It wasn't your fault," Charles said kindly, as Phil limped up behind him.
"What happened?" Phil asked. "I heard breaking glass."
"Count Olaf got away," Violet said, and her heart sank as she realized it was really true. "Shirley was really Count Olaf in disguise, and he got away, just like he always does."
"Well, if you look on the bright side, you're really quite lucky," Phil said, and the orphans gave their optimistic friend a curious look and then looked curiously at one another. Once they had been happy children, so content and pleased with their life that they hadn't even known how happy they were. Then came the terrible fire, and it seemed since then that their lives had scarcely had one bright moment, let alone an entire bright side. From home to home they traveled, encountering misery and wretchedness wherever they went, and now the man who had caused such wretchedness had escaped once more. They certainly didn't feel very lucky.
"What do you mean?" Klaus asked quietly.
"Well, let me think," Phil said, and thought for a moment. In the background, the orphans could hear the dim sounds of Mr. Poe describing Count Olaf to somebody on the telephone. "You're alive," Phil said finally. "That's lucky. And I'm sure we can think of something else."
The three Baudelaire children looked at one another and then at Charles and Phil, the only people in Paltryville who had been kind to them. Although they would not miss the dormitory, or the terrible casseroles, or the back-breaking labor of the mill, the orphans would miss these two kind people. And as the siblings thought about whom they would miss, they thought how much they would have missed one another, if something even worse had happened to them. What if Sunny had lost the swordfight? What if Klaus had remained hypnotized forever? What if Violet had stepped into the path of the saw, instead of Dr. Orwell? The Baude-laires looked at the sunlight, pouring through the shattered window where Count Olaf had escaped, and shuddered to think of what could have happened. Being alive had never seemed lucky before, but as the children considered their terrible time in Sir's care, they were amazed at how many lucky things had actually happened to them.
"It was lucky," Violet admitted quietly, "that Klaus invented something so quickly, even though he's not an inventor."
"It was lucky," Klaus admitted quietly, "that Violet figured out how to end my hypnosis, even though she's not a researcher."
"Croif," Sunny admitted quietly, which meant something like "It was lucky that I could defend us from Dr. Orwell's sword, if I do say so myself."
The children sighed, and gave each other small, hopeful smiles. Count Olaf was on the loose, and would try again to snatch their fortune, but he had not succeeded this time. They were alive, and as they stood together at the broken window, it seemed that the last word on their situation might be "lucky," the word that had caused so much trouble to begin with. The Baudelaire orphans were alive, and it seemed that maybe they had an inordinate amount of luck after all.
LEMONY SNICKET
LEMONY SNICKET grew up near the sea and currently lives beneath it. To his horror and dismay he has no wife or children, only enemies, associates, and the occasional loyal manservant. His trial has been delayed, so he is free to continue researching and writing the tragic tales of the Baudelaire orphans for HarperCollins.
Visit him on the Web at www.harperchildrens.com/lsnicket/ or E-mail to I snicket@harpercollins.com
To My Kind Editor,
Please excuse the torn edges of this note. I am writing to you from inside the shack the Baudelaire orphans were forced to live in while at Prufrock Preparatory School, and I am afraid that some of the crabs tried to snatch my stationery away from me.
On Sunday night, please purchase a ticket for seat 10-J at the Erratic Opera Company's performance of the opera Faute de Mieux. During Act Five, use a sharp knife to rip open the cushion of your seat. There you should find my description of the children's miserable half-semester at boarding school, entitled THE AUSTERE ACADEMY, as well as a cafeteria tray, some of the Baudelaires' handmade staples, and the (worthless) jewel from Coach Genghis's turban. There is also the negative for a photograph of the two Quagmire Triplets, which Mr. Helquist can have developed to help with his illustrations.
Remember, you are my last hope that the tales of the Baudelaire orphans can finally be told to the general public.
With all due respect,
Lemony Snicket
