The Grim Grotto

word 'lousy,' meaning 'bad,' and this definition of 'lousy' has described many things in my history of the Baudelaire orphans, from the sinister smells of Lousy Lane, along which the children traveled long ago, to their lousy journey up and down the Mortmain Mountains in search of the V.F.D. headquarters. There is the medical definition of the word 'lousy,' meaning 'infested with lice,' and this definition of 'lousy' has not appeared in my work at all, although as Count Olaf's hygiene gets worse and worse I may find occasion to use it. And then there is a somewhat obscure definition of the word 'lousy,' meaning 'abundantly supplied,' the way Count Olaf is lousy with treacherous plans, or the Queequeg is lousy with metal pipes, or the entire world is lousy with unfathomable secrets, and it is this definition that the Baudelaire orphans pondered, as they huddled with Fiona underneath the mysterious floorlamps of the Gorgonian Grotto, and watched more and more mushrooms sprout from the sand.

As their surroundings became lousy with the Medusoid Mycelium, the children thought of all the other things in their lives with which they were abundantly supplied. The children's lives were lousy with mystery, from the mysteries of V.F.D. to the mysteries of their own futures, with each mystery crowding the others like the stalks and caps of the poisonous fungi. Their lives were lousy with danger, from the dangers they had encountered above mountains and underneath buildings, to the dangers they had faced inside the city and out in the hinterlands, from the dangers of villainous people to the dangers of kind people who did not know any better. And their lives were lousy with lousiness, from terrible people to horrible meals, from terrifying locations to horrifying circumstances, and from dreadful inconveniences to inconvenient dreads, so that it seemed that their lives would always be lousy, lousy with lousy days and lousy with lousy nights, even if all of the lousy things with which their lives were lousy became less lousy, and less lousy with lousiness, over the lousy course of each lousy- with-lousiness moment, and with each new lousy mushroom, the cave lousier and lousier with lousiness, it was almost too much for the Baudelaire orphans to hear.

'Lousy,' Sunny said.

'This is not good news,' Klaus agreed. 'Fiona, do you think we've been poisoned already?'

'No,' Fiona said firmly. 'The spores shouldn't reach us here. As long as we stay here at the far end of the cavern, and the mushrooms don't advance any further, we should be safe.'

'It looks like they've stopped advancing,' Violet said, pointing at the line of gray mushrooms, and the other volunteers saw that she was right. There were still new mushrooms popping up, but the fungus didn't seem to be getting any closer to the four children.

'I guess the mycelium has only grown that far,' Fiona said. 'We're very lucky.'

'I don't feel very lucky,' Klaus said. 'I feel trapped. How will we get out of here?'

'There's only one way,' Violet said. 'The only path back to the Queequeg leads through those mushrooms.'

'If we go through the mushrooms,' Fiona said, 'we'll most likely be poisoned. One spore could easily slip through our suits.'

'Antidote?' Sunny asked.

'I might find the recipe for a cure,' Fiona replied, 'someplace in my mycological library. But we don't want to take that chance. We'll have to exit another way.'

For a moment, all four children looked up, into the blackness of the passage above their heads. Violet frowned, and put one hand on the damp and slippery tiles of the wall. With the other hand she reached into the waterproof pocket of her uniform, and drew out a ribbon to tie up her hair.

'Can we go out that way?' Klaus asked. 'Can you invent something to help us climb up that passageway?'

'Tingamebob,' Sunny said, which meant 'There's plenty of materials here in the sand.'

'Materials aren't the problem,' Violet said, and peered up into the blackness. 'We're far below the surface of the water. It must be miles and miles to the surface. Even the best climbing device would wear out over the journey, and if it did we'd fall all the way down.'

'But someone must use that passageway, Klaus said. 'Otherwise it wouldn't have been built.'

'It doesn't matter,' Fiona said. 'We can't go out that way. We need to get to the Queequeg. Otherwise, my stepfather will wonder what's become of us. Eventually he'd put on his diving helmet and go investigate...'

'And the tide would carry him right into the poisonous fungus,' Klaus finished. 'Fiona's right. Even if we could climb all the way up, it'd be the wrong way to go.'

'But what else can we do?' Violet said, her voice rising. 'We can't spend the rest of our lives in this miserable place!'

Fiona looked at the mushrooms and sighed. 'Mushroom Minutiae said that this fungus waxes and wanes. Right now it's waxing. We'll have to wait until it wanes again, and then run quickly over the sand and swim back down to the submarine.'

'But how long will it be until it starts waning?' Klaus said. 'I don't know,' Fiona admitted. 'It could be just a few minutes, or a few hours. It could even be a few days.'

'A few days?' Violet said. 'In a few days your stepfather will give up on us! In a few days we'll miss the V.F.D. gathering! We can't wait a few days!'

'It's our only choice,' Klaus said, putting a comforting hand on Violet's shoulder. 'We can wait until the mushrooms disappear, or we can find ourselves poisoned.'

'That's not a choice at all,' Violet replied bitterly.

'It's a Hobson's choice,' Klaus said. 'Remember?'

The eldest Baudelaire looked down at her brother and gave him a small smile. 'Of Course I remember,' she said.

'Mamasan,' Sunny said. Her siblings looked down at her, and Violet picked her up in her arms.

'Who's Hobson?' Fiona asked. 'What was his choice?'

Klaus smiled. 'Thomas Hobson lived in Britain in the seventeenth century,' he said. 'He was in charge of a stable, and according to legend, he always told his customers they had a choice: they could take the horse closest to the door, or no horse at all.'

'That's not really a choice,' Fiona said.

Violet smiled. 'Precisely,' she said. 'A Hobson 's choice is something that's not a choice at all. It's an expression our mother used to use. She'd say, 'I'll give you a Hobson's choice, Violet – you can clean your room or I will stand in the doorway and sing your least favorite song over and over.' ' Fiona grinned. 'What was your least favorite song?' she asked.

' 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat,' ' Violet said. 'I hate the part about life being but a dream.'

'She'd offer me the Hobson's choice of doing the dishes or reading the poetry of Edgar Guest,' Klaus said. 'He's my absolute least favorite poet.'

'Bath or pink dress,' Sunny said.

'Did your mother always joke around like that?' Fiona asked. 'Mine used to get awfully mad if I didn't clean my room.'

'Our mother would get mad, too,' Klaus said. 'Remember, Violet, when we left the window of the library open, and that night it rained?'

'She really flew off the handle,' Violet said, using a phrase which here means 'became extremely angry.'

'We spoiled an atlas that she said was irreplaceable.'

'You should have heard her yell,' Klaus said. 'Our father came down from his study to see what was the matter.'

'And then he started yelling, too,' Violet said, and the Baudelaires paused and looked at one another uncomfortably.

Everyone yells, of course, from time to time, but the Baudelaire children did not like to think about their parents yelling, particularly now that they were no longer around to apologize or explain themselves. It is often difficult to admit that someone you love is not perfect, or to consider aspects of a person that are less than admirable.

To the Baudelaires it felt almost as if they had drawn a line after their parents died – a secret line in their memories, separating all the wonderful things about the Baudelaire parents from the things that perhaps were not