'Hux!'' Sunny said, as she stopped crying.
'Let's have some dinner!'' someone shouted from the dining room, and the theater troupe began pounding on the table in strict rhythm, which is an exceedingly rude thing to do.
'We'd better serve the puttanesca,'' Klaus said, 'or who knows what Count Olaf will do to us.''
Violet thought of what the bald man had said, about wrecking her face, and nodded. The two of them looked at the pot of bubbling sauce, which had seemed so cozy while they were making it and now looked like a vat of blood. Then, leaving Sunny behind in the kitchen, they walked into the dining room, Klaus carrying a bowl of the interestingly shaped noodles and Violet carrying the pot of puttanesca sauce and a large ladle with which to serve it. The theater troupe was talking and cackling, drinking again and again from their wine cups and paying no attention to the Baudelaire orphans as they circled the table serving everyone dinner. Violet's right hand ached from holding the heavy ladle. She thought of switching to her left hand, but because she was right-handed she was afraid she might spill the sauce with her left hand, which could enrage Count Olaf again. She stared miserably at Olaf's plate of food and found herself wishing she had bought poison at the market and put it in the puttanesca sauce. Finally, they were through serving, and Klaus and Violet slipped back into the kitchen. They listened to the wild, rough laughter of Count Olaf and his theater troupe, and they picked at their own portions of food, too miserable to eat. Before long, Olaf's friends were pounding on the table in strict rhythm again, and the orphans went out to the dining room to clear the table, and then again to serve the chocolate pudding. By now it was obvious that Count Olaf and his associates had drunk a great deal of wine, and they slouched at the table and spoke much less. Finally, they roused themselves, and trooped back through the kitchen, scarcely glancing at the children on their way out of the house. Count Olaf looked around the room, which was filled with dirty dishes.
'Because you haven't cleaned up yet,'' he said to the orphans, 'I suppose you can be excused from attending tonight's performance. But after cleaning up, you are to go straight to your beds.''
Klaus had been glaring at the floor, trying to hide how upset he was. But at this he could not remain silent. 'You mean our
Members of the theater troupe stopped in their tracks at this outburst, and glanced from Klaus to Count Olaf to see what would happen next. Count Olaf raised his one eyebrow, and his eyes shone bright, but he spoke calmly.
'If you would like another bed,'' he said, 'tomorrow you may go into town and purchase one.''
'You know perfectly well we haven't any money,'' Klaus said.
'Of course you do,'' Count Olaf said, and his voice began to get a little louder. 'You are the inheritors of an enormous fortune.''
'That money,'' Klaus said, remembering what Mr. Poe said, 'is not to be used until Violet is of age.''
Count Olaf's face grew very red. For a moment he said nothing. Then, in one sudden movement, he reached down and struck Klaus across the face. Klaus fell to the floor, his face inches from the eye tattooed on Olaf's ankle. His glasses leaped from his face and skittered into a corner. His left cheek, where Olaf had struck him, felt as if it were on fire. The theater troupe laughed, and a few of them applauded as if Count Olaf had done something very brave instead of something despicable.
'Come on, friends,'' Count Olaf said to his comrades. 'We'll be late for our own performance.''
'If I know you, Olaf,'' said the man with the hook-hands, 'you'll figure out a way to get at that Baudelaire money.''
'We'll see,'' Count Olaf said, but his eyes were shining bright as if he already had an idea. There was another loud boom as the front door shut behind Count Olaf and his terrible friends, and the Baudelaire children were alone in the kitchen. Violet knelt at Klaus's side, giving him a hug to try to make him feel better. Sunny crawled over to his glasses, picked them up, and brought them to him. Klaus began to sob, not so much from the pain but from rage at the terrible situation they were in. Violet and Sunny cried with him, and they continued weeping as they washed the dishes, and as they blew out the candles in the dining room, and as they changed out of their clothes and lay down to go to sleep, Klaus in the bed, Violet on the floor, Sunny on her little cushion of curtains. The moonlight shone through the window, and if anyone had looked into the Baudelaire orphans' bedroom, they would have seen three children crying quietly all night long.
Chapter Five
Unless you have been very, very lucky, you have undoubtedly experienced events in your life that have made you cry. So unless you have been very, very lucky, you know that a good, long session of weeping can often make you feel better, even if your circumstances have not changed one bit. So it was with the Baudelaire orphans. Having cried all night, they rose the next morning feeling as if a weight were off their shoulders. The three children knew, of course, that they were still in a terrible situation, but they thought they might do something to make it better.
The morning's note from Count Olaf ordered them to chop firewood in the backyard, and as Violet and Klaus swung the axe down over each log to break it into smaller pieces, they discussed possible plans of action, while Sunny chewed meditatively on a small piece of wood.
'Clearly,'' Klaus said, fingering the ugly bruise on his face where Olaf had struck him, 'we cannot stay here any longer. I would rather take my chances on the streets than live in this terrible place.''
'But who knows what misfortunes would befall us on the streets?'' Violet pointed out. 'At least here we have a roof over our heads.''
'I wish our parents' money
'And I could have a large inventing studio,'' Violet said wistfully. She swung the axe down and split a log neatly in two. 'Filled with gears and pulleys and wires and an elaborate computer system.''
'And I could have a large library,'' Klaus said, 'as comfortable as Justice Strauss's, but more enormous.''
'Gibbo!'' Sunny shrieked, which appeared to mean 'And I could have lots of things to bite.''
'But in the meantime,'' Violet said, 'we have to do something about our predicament.''
'Perhaps Justice Strauss could adopt us,'' Klaus said. 'She said we were always welcome in her home.''
'But she meant for a visit, or to use her library,'' Violet pointed out. 'She didn't mean
'Perhaps if we explained our situation to her, she would agree to adopt us,'' Klaus said hopefully, but when Violet looked at him she saw that he knew it was of no use. Adoption is an enormous decision, and not likely to happen impulsively. I'm sure you, in your life, have occasionally wished to be raised by different people than the ones who are raising you, but knew in your heart that the chances of this were very slim.
'I think we should go see Mr. Poe,'' Violet said. 'He told us when he dropped us here that we could contact him at the bank if we had any questions.''
'We don't really have a question,'' Klaus said. 'We have a complaint.'' He was thinking of Mr. Poe walking toward them at Briny Beach, with his terrible message. Even though the fire was of course not Mr. Poe's fault, Klaus was reluctant to see Mr. Poe because he was afraid of getting more bad news.
'I can't think of anyone else to contact,'' Violet said. 'Mr. Poe is in charge of our affairs, and I'm sure if he knew how horrid Count Olaf is, he would take us right out of here.''
Klaus pictured Mr. Poe arriving in his car and putting the Baudelaire orphans inside, to go somewhere else, and felt a stirring of hope. Anywhere would be better than here.
'Okay,'' he said. 'Let's get this firewood all chopped and we'll go to the bank.''
Invigorated by their plan, the Baudelaire orphans swung their axes at an amazing speed, and soon enough they were done chopping firewood and ready to go to the bank. They remembered Count Olaf saying he had a map of the city, and they looked thoroughly for it, but they couldn't find any trace of a map, and decided it must be in the tower, where they were forbidden to go. So, without directions of any sort, the Baudelaire children set off for the
