The Vile Village

Chapter Nine

There are not very many people in the world who enjoy delivering bad news, but I'm sorry to say that Mrs. Morrow was one of them. When she caught sight of the Baudelaire orphans gathered around Jacques, she rushed across the courtyard to tell them the details.

"Wait until The Daily Punctilio hears about this!" she said enthusiastically, and pointed at Jacques with a sleeve of her robe. "Before he could be burned at the stake Count Omar was murdered mysteriously in his jail cell."

"Count Olaf'," corrected Violet automatically.

"So you're finally admitting that you know who he is!" she cried triumphantly.

"We don't know who he is!" Klaus insisted, picking up his baby sister, who was quietly beginning to cry. "We only know that he is an innocent man!"

Officer Luciana clunked forward, and the crowd of townspeople and Elders parted to let her walk right up to the children. "I don't think this is a matter for children to discuss," she said, and raised her white-gloved hands in the air to get the crowd's attention.

"Citizens of V.F.D.," she said grandly, "I locked Count Olaf in the uptown jail last night, and when I arrived here in the morning he had been killed. I have the only key to the jail, so his death is quite a mystery."

"A mystery!" Mrs. Morrow said excitedly, as the townspeople murmured behind her. "What a thrill, to be hearing about a mystery!"

"Shoart!" Sunny said tearfully. She meant something like "A dead man is not a thrill!" but only her siblings were listening to her.

"You will all be happy to know that the famous Detective Dupin has agreed to investigate this murder," Officer Luciana continued. "He is inside the uptown jail right now, examining the scene of the crime."

"The famous Detective Dupin!" Mr. Lesko said. "Just imagine!"

"I've never heard of him," said a nearby Elder.

"Me neither," Mr. Lesko admitted, "but I'm sure he's very famous."

"What happened?" Violet asked, trying not to look at the white sheet on the ground. "How was Jacques killed? Why wasn't anybody guarding him? How could someone have gotten into his cell if you locked it?"

Luciana turned around and faced Violet who could see her own astonished reflection in the policewoman's shiny helmet. "As I said before," Luciana said again, "I don't think this is a matter for children to discuss. Perhaps that man in overalls should take you children to a playground instead of a murder scene."

"Or downtown, to do the morning chores," another Elder said, his crow hat nodding. "Hector, take the orphans away."

"Not so fast," called a voice from the doorway of the uptown jail. It was a voice, I'm sorry to say, that the Baudelaire orphans recognized in an instant. The voice was wheezy, and scratchy, and it had a sinister smile to it, as if the person talking were telling a joke. But it was not a voice that made the children want to laugh at a punch line. It was a voice the children recognized from all of the places they had traveled since their parents had died, and a voice the children knew from all their most displeasing nightmares. It was the voice of Count Olaf.

The children's hearts sank, and they turned to see Olaf standing in the doorway of the jail, wearing another one of his absurd disguises. He was wearing a turquoise blazer that was so brightly colored that it made the Baudelaires squint, and a pair of silver pants decorated with tiny mirrors that glinted in the morning sun. A pair of enormous sunglasses covered the entire upper half of his face, hiding his one eyebrow and his shiny, shiny eyes. On his feet were a pair of bright green plastic shoes with yellow plastic lightning bolts sticking out of them, covering his ankle and hiding his tattoo. But most unpleasant of all was the fact that Olaf was wearing no shirt, only a thick gold chain with a detective's badge in the center of it. The Baudelaires could see his pale and hairy chest peeking out at them, and it added an extra layer of unpleasantness to their fear.

"It's just not cool," Count Olaf said, snapping his fingers to emphasize the word "cool", "to dismiss suspects from the scene of the crime until Detective Dupin gives the O.K."

"But surely the orphans aren't suspects " one of the Elders said. "They're only children after all."

"It's just not cool," Count Olaf said, snapping his fingers again, "to disagree with Detective Dupin."

"I agree," Officer Luciana said, and gave Olaf a big lipstick smile as he stepped through the doorway. "Now let's get down to business, Dupin. Do you have any important information?"

"We have some important information," Klaus said boldly. "This man is not Detective Dupin." There were a few gasps from the crowd. "He's Count Olaf."

"You mean Count Omar," Mrs. Morrow said.

"We mean Olaf," Violet said, and then turned so that she was looking Count Olaf right in the sunglasses. "Those sunglasses may be hiding your eyebrow, and those shoes may be hiding your tattoo, but you can't hide your identity. You're Count Olaf, and you've kidnapped the Quagmire triplets and murdered Jacques."

"Who in the world is Jacques?" asked an Elder. "I'm confused."

"It's not cool," Olaf said with a snap, "to be confused, so let me see if I can help you." He pointed at himself with a flourish. "I am the famous Detective Dupin. I am wearing these plastic shoes and sunglasses because they're cool. Count Olaf is the name of the man who was murdered last night, and these three children . . ." — here Olaf paused to make sure everyone was listening — "are responsible for the crime."

"Don't be ridiculous, Olaf," Klaus said disgustedly.

Olaf smiled nastily at all three Baudelaires. "You are making a mistake when you call me Count Olaf," he said, "and if you continue to call me that, you will see exactly how big a mistake you are making." Detective Dupin turned and looked up to address the crowd. "Of course the biggest mistake these children have made is thinking they can get away with murder."

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. "I never trusted those kids," Mrs. Morrow said. "They didn't do a very good job when they trimmed my hedges."

"Show them the evidence," Officer Luciana said, and Detective Dupin snapped his fingers.

"It's not cool," he said, "to accuse people of murder without any evidence, but luckily I found some." He reached into the pocket of his blazer and brought out a long pink ribbon decorated with plastic daisies. "I found this right outside Count Olaf's jail cell," he said. "It's a ribbon — the exact kind of ribbon that Violet Baudelaire uses to tie up her hair."

The townspeople gasped, and Violet turned to see that the citizens of V.F.D. were looking at her with suspicion and fear, which are not pleasant ways to be looked at. "That's not my ribbon!" Violet cried, taking her own hair ribbon of her pocket. "My hair ribbon is right here!"

"How can we tell?" an Elder asked with a frown. "All hair ribbons look alike."

"They don't look alike!" Klaus said. "The one found at the murder scene is fancy and pink. My sister prefers plain ribbons, and she hates the color pink!"

"And inside the cell," Detective Dupin continued, as if Klaus had not spoken, "I found this." He held up a small circle made of glass. "This is one of the lenses in Klaus's glasses."

"But my glasses aren't missing any lenses!" Klaus cried, as everyone turned to look at him in suspicion and fear. He took his glasses off and showed them to the crowd. "You can see for yourself."

"Just because you have replaced your ribbon and your lenses," Officer Luciana said, "doesn't mean you're not murderers."

"Actually, they're not murderers," Detective Dupin said. "They're accomplices." He leaned forward so he was right in the Baudelaires' faces, and the children could smell his sour breath as he continued talking. "You orphans are not smart enough to know what the word 'accomplice' means, but it means 'helper of murderers.'"

"We know what the word 'accomplice' means," Klaus said. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the four toothmarks on Count Olaf's body," Detective Dupin said, with a snap of his fingers. "There's only one person uncool enough to bite people to death, and that's Sunny Baudelaire."

"It's true that her teeth are sharp," another member of the Council said. "I noticed that when she served my hot fudge sundae."

"Our sister didn't bite anyone to death," Violet said indignantly, a word which here means "in defense of an innocent baby." "Detective Dupin is lying!"

"It's not cool to accuse me of lying," Dupin replied. "Instead of accusing other people of things, why don't you three children tell us where you were last night?"

"We were at Hector's house," Klaus said. "He'll tell you himself." The middle Baudelaire stood up on tiptoe and called out over the crowd. "Hector! Tell everyone that we were with you!"

The citizens looked this way and that, the crow hats of the Elders bobbing as they listened for a word from Hector. But no word came. The three children waited for a moment in the tense silence, thinking that surely Hector would overcome his skittishness in order to save them. But the handyman was quiet. The only sounds the children could hear was the splashing of Fowl Fountain and the muttering of the roosting crows.

"Hector sometimes gets skittish in front of crowds," Violet explained, "but it's true. I spent the night working in his studio, and Klaus was reading in the secret library, and — "

"Enough nonsense!" Officer Luciana said "Do you really expect us to believe that our fine handyman is building mechanical devices and has a secret library? Next I suppose you'll say that he's building things out of feathers!"

"It's bad enough that you killed Count Olaf," an Elder said, "but now you're trying to frame Hector for other crimes! I say that V.F.D. no longer serve as guardian for such terrible orphans!"

"Hear, hear!" cried several voices scattered in the crowd, just as the children had planned to do themselves.

"I will send a message to Mr. Poe right away," the Elder continued, "and the banker will come and remove them in a few days."

"A few days is too long to wait!" Mrs. Morrow said, and several citizens cheered in agreement. "These children need to be taken care of as quickly as possible."

"I say that we burn them at the stake!" cried Mr. Lesko, who stepped forward to wag his finger at the children. "Rule #201 clearly says no murdering!"

"But we didn't murder anyone!" Violet cried. "A ribbon, a lens, and some bite marks aren't enough evidence to accuse someone of murder!"

"It's enough evidence for me!" an Elder cried. "We already have the torches — let's burn them right now!"

"Hold on a moment," another Elder said. "We can't simply burn people at the stake whenever we want!" The Baudelaires looked at one another, relieved that one citizen seemed immune to mob psychology. "I have a very important appointment in ten minutes," the Elder continued. "So it's too late to do it now. How about tonight, after dinner?"

"That's no good," said another member of the Council. "I'm having a dinner party then. How about tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes," someone said from the crowd. "Right after lunch! That's a perfect time!"

"Hear, hear!" Mr. Lesko cried.

"Hear, hear!" Mrs. Morrow cried.

"Glaji!" Sunny cried.

"Hector, help us!" Violet called. "Please tell these people that we're not murderers!"

"I told you before," Detective Dupin said, smiling beneath his sunglasses. "Only Sunny is a murderer. You two are accomplices, and I will put you all in jail where you belong." Dupin grabbed Violet's and Klaus's wrists with one scraggly hand, and leaned down to scoop up Sunny with the other. "See you tomorrow afternoon for the burning at the stake!" he called out to the rest of the crowd, and dragged the struggling Baudelaires through the door of the uptown jail. The children stumbled into a dim, grim hallway, listening to the faint sounds of the mob cheering as the door slammed behind them.

"I'm putting you in the Deluxe Cell,"

Dupin said. "It's the dirtiest one." He marched them down a dark hallway with many twists and turns, and the Baudelaires could see rows and rows of cells with their heavy doors hanging open. The only light in the jail came from tiny barred windows placed in each cell, but the children saw that every cell was empty and each one looked dirtier than the rest.

"You'll be the one in jail before long, Olaf," Klaus said, hoping he sounded much more certain than he felt. "You'll never get away with this."

"My name is Detective Dupin," said Detective Dupin, "and my only concern is bringing you three criminals to justice."

"But if you burn us at the stake," Violet said quickly, "you'll never get your hands on the Baudelaire fortune."

Dupin rounded the last corner of the hallway, and pushed the Baudelaires into a small damp cell with only a small wooden bench as furniture. By the light of the barred window the siblings could see that the cell was quite filthy, as Dupin had promised. The detective reached out to pull the door closed, but with his sunglasses on it was too dark to see the door handle, so he had to throw off all pretense — a phrase which here means "take off part of his disguise for a moment" — and remove his sunglasses. As much as the children hated Dupin's ridiculous disguise, it was worse to see their enemy's one eyebrow, and the shiny, shiny eyes that had been haunting them for so long.

"Don't worry," he said in his wheezy voice. "You won't be burned at the stake — not all of you, at least. Tomorrow afternoon, one of you will make a miraculous escape — if you consider being smuggled out of V.F.D. by one of my assistants to be an escape. The other two will burn at the stake as planned. You bratty orphans are too stupid to realize it, but a genius like me knows that it may take a village to raise a child, but it only takes one child to inherit a fortune." The villain laughed a loud and rude laugh, and began to shut the door of the cell. "But I don't want to be cruel," he said, smiling to indicate that he really wanted to be as cruel as possible. "I'll let you three decide who gets the honor of spending the rest of their puny life with me, and who gets to burn at the stake. I'll be back at lunchtime for your decision."

The Baudelaire orphans listened to the wheezy giggle of their enemy as he slammed the cell door and walked back down the hallway in his plastic shoes, and felt a sinking feeling in their stomachs, where the huevos rancheros Hector had made for them last night were still being digested. When something is being digested, of course, it is getting smaller and smaller as the body uses up all of the nutrients inside the food, but it didn't feel that way to the three children. The youngsters did not feel as if the small potatoes they had eaten for dinner were getting smaller. The Baudelaire orphans huddled together in the dim light and listened to the laughter echo against the walls of the uptown jail, and wondered just how large the potatoes of their lives would grow.