The Grim Grotto

Fiona sighed. 'We knew about you,' she said. 'Every day I would read terrible stories in the newspaper, but my stepfather said we couldn't do anything about all the treachery those stories contained.'

'Why not?' Klaus asked.

'He said your troubles were too enormous,' she replied.

'I don't understand,' Violet said.

'I don't really understand, either,' Fiona admitted. 'My stepfather said that the amount of treachery in this world is enormous, and that the best we could do was one small noble thing. That's why we're looking for the sugar bowl. You'd think that accomplishing such a small task would be easy, but we've been looking for ages and still haven't found it.'

'But what's so important about the sugar bowl?' Klaus asked.

Fiona sighed again, and blinked several times behind her triangular glasses. She looked so sad that the middle Baudelaire almost wished he hadn't asked. 'I don't know,' she said. 'He won't tell me.'

'Whyno?' Sunny asked. 'He said it was better I didn't know,' Fiona said. 'I guess that's enormous, too – an enormous secret. He said people had been destroyed for knowing such enormous secrets, and that he didn't want me in that sort of danger.'

'But you're already in danger,' Klaus said. 'We're all in danger. We're on board an unstable submarine, trying to find a tiny, important object before a nefarious villain gets his hands on it.'

Fiona turned the handle of the door, which opened with a long, loud creak that made the Baudelaires shiver. The room was very small and very dim, lit only by one small green light, and for a moment, it looked like the room was full of people staring silently at the children in the corridor. But then the siblings saw it was just a row of uniforms, hanging limply from hooks along the wall. 'I guess there are worse dangers,' Fiona said quietly. 'I guess there are dangers we simply can't imagine.'

The Baudelaires looked at their companion and then at the eerie row of empty uniforms. On a shelf above the waterproof suits was a row of large diving helmets, round spheres of metal with small circular windows in the middle so the children would be able to see out when they put them on. In the dim green light, the helmets looked a bit like eyes, glaring at the Baudelaires from the supply room just as the eye on Count Olaf's ankle had glared at them so many times before. Although they still weren't pirates, the siblings were tempted to say 'shiver me timbers' once again as they stepped inside the small, cramped room, and felt themselves shiver down to their bones. They did not like to think about the Queequeg springing a leak or collapsing, or to imagine themselves frantically attaching the diving helmets to their heads – or, in Sunny's case, frantically stuffing herself inside. They did not like to think about where Count Olaf might be, or imagine what would happen if he found the sugar bowl before they did. But most of all, the Baudelaire orphans did nor like to think about the dangers Fiona had mentioned – danger worse than the ones they faced, or dangers they simply couldn't imagine.

Chapter Four

The expression 'fits like a glove' is an odd one, because there are many different types of gloves and only a few of them are going to fit the situation you are in. If you need to keep your hands warm in a cold environment, then you'll need a fitted pair of insulated gloves, and a glove made to fit in the bureau of a dollhouse will be of no help whatsoever. If you need to sneak into a restaurant in the middle of the night and steal a pair of chopsticks without being discovered, then you'll need a sheer pair of gloves that leave no marks, and a glove decorated with loud bells simply will not do. And if you need to pass unnoticed in a shrubbery-covered landscape, then you'll need a very, very large glove made of green and leafy fabric, and an elegant pair of silk gloves will be entirely useless.

Nevertheless, the expression 'fits like a glove' simply means that something is very suitable, the way a custard is suitable for dessert, or a pair of chopsticks is a suitable tool to remove papers from an open briefcase, and when the Baudelaire orphans put on the uniforms of the Queequeg they found that they fitted the children like a glove, despite the fact that they did not actually fit that well.

Violet was so pleased that the uniforms had several loops around the waist, just perfect for holding tools, that she didn't care that her sleeves bagged at the elbows. Klaus was happy that there was a waterproof pocket for his commonplace hook, and didn't care that his hoots were a bit too tight. And Sunny was reassured that the shiny material was sturdy enough to resist cooking spills as well as water, and didn't mind rolling up the legs of the suit almost all the way so she could walk.

But it was more than the individual features of the uniforms that felt fitting – it was the place and the people they represented. For a long time the Baudelaires had felt as if their lives were a damaged Frisbee, tossed from person to person and from place to place without ever really being appreciated or fitting in. But as they zipped up their uniforms and smoothed out the portraits of Herman Melville, the children felt as if the Frisbee of their lives just might be repaired.

In wearing the uniform of the Queequeg, the siblings felt a part of something – not a family, exactly, but a gathering of people who had all volunteered for the same mission. To think that their skills in inventing, research, and cooking would be appreciated was something they had not thought in a long time, and as they stood in the supply room and regarded one another, this feeling fit them like a glove.

'Shall we go back to the Main Hall?' Violet asked. 'I'm ready to take a look at the telegram device.'

'Let me just loosen the buckles on these boots,' Klaus said, 'and I'll be ready to tackle those tidal charts.'

'Cuisi' Sunny said. By 'Cuisi,' she meant something like, 'I'm looking forward to examining the kitch –' but a loud scraping sound from overhead stopped the youngest Baudelaire from finishing her sentence. The entire submarine seemed to shake, and a few drops of water fell from the ceiling onto the Baudelaires' heads.

'What was that?' Violet asked, picking up a diving helmet. 'Do you think the Queequeg has sprung a leak?'

'I don't know,' Klaus said, picking up one helmet for himself and another for Sunny. 'Let's go find out.'

The three Baudelaires hurried back down the corridor to the Main Hall as the horrid scraping sound continued. If you have ever heard the sound of fingernails against a chalkboard, then you know how unnerving a scraping sound can be, and to the children it sounded as if the largest fingernails in the world had mistaken the submarine for a piece of educational equipment.

'Captain Widdershins!' Violet cried over the scraping sound as the Baudelaires entered the hall. The captain was still at the top of the ladder, grasping the steering wheel in his gloved hand. 'What's going on?'

'This darned steering mechanism is a disgrace!' the captain cried in disgust. 'Aye! The Queequeg just bumped against a rock formation on the side of the stream. If I hadn't managed to get the sub back in control, the Submarine Q and Its Crew of Two would be sleeping with the fishes! Aye!'

'Perhaps I should examine the steering mechanism first,' Violet said, 'and fix the telegram device later.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' the captain said. 'If we can't receive any Volunteer Factual Dispatches, we might as well be wandering around with our eyes closed! We must find the sugar bowl before Count Olaf! Aye! Our personal safety isn't nearly as important! Now hurry up! Aye! Get a move on! Aye! Get cracking! Aye! Get a glass of water if you're thirsty! Aye! He or she who hesitates is lost!'

Violet didn't bother to point out that finding the sugar bowl would be impossible if the submarine was destroyed, and she knew better than to argue with the captain's personal philosophy.

'It's worth a try,' she said, and walked over to the small wheeled platform. 'Do you mind if I use this?' she asked Fiona. 'It'll help me get a good look at the device's machinery.'

'Be my guest,' Fiona said. 'Klaus, let's get to work on the tidal charts. We can study them at the table, and keep an eye out for glimpses of the sugar bowl through the porthole. I don't think we'll see it, but it's worth taking a look.'

'Fiona,' Violet said hesitantly, 'could you also take a look for our friend, Quigley Quagmire? He was carried away by the stream's other tributary, and we haven't seen him since.'

'Quigley Quagmire?' Fiona asked. 'The cartographer?'