"Hugo!" cried Violet.
"Colette!" cried Klaus.
"Kevin!" cried Sunny.
"Esme!" cried Jerome.
"Why isn't anybody calling out my name?" demanded Carmelita, stomping one of her bright blue boots. She pranced toward Violet, who observed that two of the four long, sharp hooks were missing from the weapon. This sort of observation may be important for a flaneur, but it is dreadful for any reader of this book, who probably does not want to know where the remaining harpoons will end up. "I'm a ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate," she crowed to the oldest Baudelaire, "and you're nothing but a cakesniffer. Call my name or I'll shoot you with this harpoon gun!"
"Carmelita!" Esme said, her silver mouth twisting into an expression of shock. "Don't point that gun at Violet!"
"Esme's right," Count Olaf said. "Don't waste the harpoons. We may need them."
"Yes!" Esme cried. "There's always important work to do before a cocktail party, particularly if you want it to be the innest in the world! We need to put slipcovers on the couches, and hide our associates beneath them! We need to put vases of flowers on the piano and electric eels in the fountain! We need to hang streamers and volunteers from the ceiling! We need to play music, so people can dance, and block the exits, so they can't leave! And most of all, we have to cook in food and prepare in cocktails! Food and drink are the most important aspect of every social occasion, and our in recipes-"
"The most important aspect of every social occasion isn't food and drink!" Dewey interrupted indignantly. "It's conversation!"
"You're the one who should flee!" Justice Strauss said. "Your cocktail party will be canceled, due to the host and hostess being brought to justice by the High Court!"
"You're as foolish as you were when we were neighbors," Count Olaf said. "The High Court can't stop us. V.F.D. can't stop us. Hidden somewhere in this hotel is one of the most deadly fungi in the entire world. When Thursday comes, the fungus will come out of hiding and destroy everyone it touches! At last I'll be free to steal the Baudelaire fortune and perform any other act of treachery that springs to mind!"
"You won't dare unleash the Medusoid Mycelium," Dewey said. "Not while I have the sugar bowl."
"Funny you should mention the sugar bowl," Esme Squalor said, although the Baudelaires could see she didn't think it was funny at all. "That's just what we want to ask you about."
"The sugar bowl?" Count Olaf asked, his eyes shining bright. "Where is it?"
"The freaks will tell you," Esme said.
"It's true, boss," said Hugo. "I may be a mere hunchback, but I saw Carmelita shoot down the crows using the harpoon gun Violet brought her."
Justice Strauss turned to Violet in astonishment. "You gave Carmelita the harpoon gun?" she gasped.
"Well, yes," Violet said. "I had to perform concierge errands as part of my disguise."
"The harpoon gun was supposed to be kept away from villains," the judge said, "not given to them. Why didn't Frank stop you?"
Violet thought back to her unfathomable conversation with Frank. "I think he tried," she said quietly, "but I had to take the harpoon gun up to the roof. What else could I do?"
"I hit two crows!" bragged Carmelita Spats. "That means Countie has to teach me how to spit like a real ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate!"
"Don't worry, darling," Esme said. "He'll teach you. Won't you, Olaf?"
Count Olaf sighed, as if he had better things to do than teach a little girl how to propel saliva out of her mouth. "Yes, Carmelita," he said, "I'll teach you how to spit."
Colette took center stage, a phrase which here means "stepped forward, and twisted her body into an unusual shape." "Even a contortionist like me," she said, her mouth moving beneath her elbow, "could see what happened after Carmelita shot the crows. They fell right onto the birdpaper that Klaus dangled out the window."
"You dangled the birdpaper out the window?" Jerome asked the middle Baudelaire.
"Ernest told me to," Klaus said, finally realizing which manager had spoken to him in the sauna. "I had to obey him as part of my disguise."
"You can't just do what everyone tells you to do," Jerome said.
"What else could I do?" Klaus said.
"When the crows hit the birdpaper," Kevin said, gesturing with one hand and then the other, "they dropped the sugar bowl. I didn't see where it went with either my right eye or my left one, which I'm sad to say are equally strong. But I did see Sunny turn the door of the laundry room into a Vernacularly Fastened Door."
"Aha!" Count Olaf cried. "The sugar bowl must have fallen down the funnel!"
"I still don't see why I had to disguise myself as a washerwoman," Kevin said timidly. "I could have just been a washerperson, and not worn this humiliating wig."
"Or you could have been a noble person," Violet could not help adding, "instead of spying on a brave volunteer."
"What else could I do?" Kevin asked, shrugging both shoulders equally high.
"You could be a volunteer yourself," Klaus said, looking at all of his former carnival coworkers. "All of you could stand with us now, instead of helping Count Olaf with his schemes."
"I could never be a noble person," Hugo said sadly. "I have a hump on my back."
"And I'm a contortionist," Colette said. "Someone who can bend their body into unusual shapes could never be a volunteer."
"V.F.D. would never accept an ambidextrous person," Kevin said. "It's my destiny to be a treacherous person."
"Galimatias!" Sunny cried.
"Nonsense!" Dewey said, who understood at once what Sunny had said. "I'm ambidextrous myself, and I've managed to do something worthwhile with my life. Being treacherous isn't your destiny! It's your choice!"
"I'm glad you feel that way," Esme Squalor said. "You have a choice this very moment, Frank. Tell me where the sugar bowl is, or else!"
"That's not a choice," Dewey said, "and I'm not Frank."
Esme frowned. "Then you have a choice this very moment, Ernest. Tell me where the sugar bowl is, or-"
"Dewey," Sunny said.
Esme blinked at the youngest Baudelaire, who noticed that the villainous woman's eyelashes had also been painted silver. "What?" she asked.
"It's true," Olaf said. "He's the real sub-sub. It turns out he's not legendary, like Verdi."
"Is that so?" Esme Squalor said. "So someone has really been cataloging everything that has happened between us?"
"It's been my life's work," Dewey said. "Eventually, every crucial secret ends up in my catalog."
"Then you know all about the sugar bowl," Esme said, "and what's inside. You know how important that thing was, and how many lives were lost in the quest to find it. You know how difficult it was to find a container that could hold it safely, securely, and attractively. You know what it means to the Baudelaires and what it means to the Snickets." She took one sandaled step closer to Dewey, and stretched out one silver fingernail-the one shaped like an S-until it was almost poking him in the eye. "And you know," she said in a terrible voice, "that it is mine."