Like a church bell, a coffin, and a vat of melted chocolate, a supply closet is rarely a comfortable place to hide, and this supply closet was no exception. When they shut the door of the closet behind them, the two younger Baudelaires found themselves in a small, cramped room lit only by one flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. On one wall was a row of white medical coats hanging from hooks, and on the opposite wall was a rusty sink where one could wash one's hands before examining a patient. The rest of the closet was full of huge cans of alphabet soup for patients' lunches, and small boxes of rubber bands, which the children could not imagine came in very handy in a hospital.
'Well,' Klaus said, 'it's not comfortable, but at least nobody will find us in here.'
'Pesh,' Sunny said, which meant something like 'At least, until somebody needs rubber bands, alphabet soup, white medical coats, or clean hands.'
'Well, let's keep one eye on the door, to see if anyone comes in,' Klaus said, 'but let's keep the other eye on this list. It's very long, but now that we have a few moments to look it over, we should be able to spot Violet's name.'
'Right,' Sunny said. Klaus placed the list on top of a can of soup, and hurriedly began to flip through its pages. As he had noticed, the list of patients was not organized alphabetically, but by ward, a word which here means 'particular section of the hospital,' so the two children had to look through every single page, hoping to spot the name Violet Baudelaire among the typed names of sick people. But as they glanced at the list under the heading 'Sore Throat Ward,' perused the names on the 'Broken Neck Ward' page, and combed through the names of all the people who were staying in the Ward for People with Nasty Rashes, Klaus and Sunny felt as if they were in a Ward for People with Sinking Stomachs, because Violet's name was nowhere to be found. As the lightbulb flickered above them, the two Baudelaires looked frantically at page after page of the list, but they found nothing that would help them locate their sister.
'She's not here,' Klaus said, putting down the last page of 'Pneumonia Ward.' 'Violet's name is nowhere on the list. How are we going to find her in this huge hospital, if we can't figure out what ward she's in?'
'Alias,' Sunny said, which meant 'Maybe she's listed under a different name.'
'That's true,' Klaus said, looking at the list again. 'After all, Mattathias's real name is Count Olaf. Maybe he made up a new name for Violet, so we couldn't rescue her. But which person is really Violet? She could be anyone from Mikhail Bulgakov to Haruki Murakami. What are we going to do? Somewhere in this hospital, they're getting ready to perform a completely unnecessary operation on our sister, and we--'
Klaus was interrupted by the sound of crackly laughter, coming from over the Baudelaires' heads. The two children looked up and saw that a square intercom speaker had been installed on the ceiling. 'Attention!' said Mattathias, when he was done laughing. 'Dr. Flacutono, please report to the Surgical Ward. Dr. Flacutono, please report to the Surgical Ward to prepare for the cranioectomy.'
'Flacutono!' Sunny repeated.
'I recognize that name, too,' Klaus said. 'That's the false name used by Count Olaf's associate when we lived in Paltryville.'
'Tiofreck!' Sunny said frantically. She meant 'Violet's in grave danger--we have to find her immediately,' but Klaus did not answer. Behind his glasses, his eyes were half closed, as they often were when he was trying to remember something he had read.
'Flacutono,' he muttered quietly. 'Flac-u-to-no.' Then he reached into his pocket, where he was keeping all the important papers the Baudelaires had gathered. 'Al Funcoot,' he said, and took out one of the pages of the Quagmire notebooks. It was the page that had written on it the words 'Ana Gram'--a phrase that had not made any sense to the Baudelaires when they had looked at the pages together. Klaus looked at the Quagmire page, and then at the list of patients, and then at the page again. Then he looked at Sunny, and she could see his eyes grow wide behind his glasses, the way they always did when he had read something very difficult, and understood it at last.
'I think I know how to find Violet,' Klaus said slowly, 'but we'll need your teeth, Sunny.'
'Ready,' Sunny said, opening her mouth.
Klaus smiled, and pointed to the stack of cans in the supply closet. 'Open one of those cans of alphabet soup,' he said, 'and hurry.'
Chapter Nine
'Recazier?' Sunny asked dumbfoundedly. The word 'dumbfoundedly' here means 'wondering why in the world Klaus wanted to eat alphabet soup at a time like this,' and 'Recazier?' here means 'Klaus, why in the world do you want to eat alphabet soup at a time like this?'
'We're not going to eat it,' Klaus said, handing Sunny one of the cans. 'We're going to pour just about all of it down the sink.'
'Pietrisycamollaviadelrechiotemexity,' Sunny said, which you will probably recall means something along the lines of 'I must admit I don't have the faintest idea of what is going on.' Sunny had now said this particular thing three times over the course of her life, and she was beginning to wonder if this was something she was only going to say more and more as she grew older.
'The last time you said that,' Klaus said with a smile, 'the three of us were trying to figure out the pages the Quagmires left behind.' He held out a page for Sunny to see, and then pointed to the words 'Ana Gram.' 'We thought this was someone's name,' Klaus said, 'but it's really a kind of code. An anagram is when you move the letters around in one or more words to make another word or words.'
'Still pietrisycamollaviadelrechiotemexity,' Sunny said with a sigh.
'I'll give you an example,' Klaus said. 'It's the example the Quagmires found. Look, on the same page they wrote 'Al Funcoot.' That's the name of the man who wrote
'Yuck,' Sunny said, which meant 'Don't remind me.'
'But look,' Klaus said. ''Al Funcoot' has all the same letters as 'Count Olaf.' Olaf just rearranged the letters in his name to hide the fact that he really wrote the play himself. You see?'
'Phromein,' Sunny said, which meant something like 'I think I understand, but it's difficult for someone as young as myself.'
'It's difficult for me, too,' Klaus said. 'That's why the alphabet soup will come in handy. Count Olaf uses anagrams when he wants to hide something, and right now he's hiding our sister. I bet she's somewhere on this list, but her name's been scrambled up. The soup is going to help unscramble her.'
'But how?' Sunny asked.
'It's difficult to figure out anagrams if you can't move the letters around,' Klaus said. 'Normally, alphabet blocks or lettered tiles would be perfect, but alphabet noodles will do in a pinch. Now, hurry and open a can of soup.' Sunny grinned, showing all of her sharp sharp teeth, and then swung her head down onto the can of soup, remembering the day she had learned to open cans all by herself. It was not that long ago, although it felt like it was in the very distant past, because it was before the Baudelaire mansion burned down, when the entire family was happy and together. It was the Baudelaires' mother's birthday, and she was sleeping late while everyone baked a cake for her. Violet was beating the eggs, butter, and sugar with a mixing device she had invented herself. Klaus was sifting the flour with the cinnamon, pausing every few minutes to wipe his glasses. And the Baudelaires' father was making his famous cream-cheese frosting, which would be spread thickly on top of the cake. All was going well until the electric can opener broke, and Violet didn't have the proper tools to fix it. The Baudelaires' father desperately needed to open a can of condensed milk to make his frosting, and for a moment it looked like the cake was going to be ruined. But Sunny--who had been playing quietly on the floor this whole time-- said her first word, 'Bite,' and bit down on the can, poking four small holes so the sweet, thick milk could pour out. The Baudelaires laughed and applauded, and the children's mother came downstairs, and from then on they used Sunny whenever they needed to open a can of anything, except for beets. Now, as the youngest Baudelaire bit along the edge of the can of alphabet soup, she wondered if one of her parents had really survived the fire, and if she dared get her hopes up just because of one sentence on page thirteen of the Snicket file. Sunny wondered if the Baudelaire family would
