The Carnivorous Carnival

Damocles Dock, where they had arrived for their stay with Aunt Josephine. In the background they could see Mr. Poe reaching his hand out to call for a taxi, while Violet stared glumly into a paper sack.

'Those are the peppermints Mr. Poe gave us,' Violet said quietly. 'I'd almost forgotten about those.'

'But who took this?' Klaus asked. 'Who was watching us that day?'

'Back,' Sunny said, and turned the photograph over. On the back, someone had written something in messy handwriting the children could scarcely read.

'I think it says, 'This might be hopeful,'' Klaus said.

'Or 'helpful,'' Violet said. ''This might be helpful.' And it's signed with one initial–I think it's an R, or maybe a K. But who would want a photograph of us?'

'It gives me the shivers to think someone took our picture when we didn't know it,' Klaus said. 'That means someone could be taking our photograph at any moment.'

The Baudelaires looked around hurriedly, but could see no photographer lurking in the tent. 'Let's calm down,' Violet said. 'Remember the time we watched a scary movie when our parents were out for the evening, and we were jumpy for the rest of the night? Every time we heard a noise we thought vampires were breaking into the house to take us away.'

'Maybe somebody was breaking into the house to take us away,' Klaus said, and pointed to the photograph. 'Sometimes things can go on right in front of your nose, but you don't know about them.'

'Heebie-jeebies,' Sunny said, which meant something like, 'Let's get out of here. I'm really getting the creeps.'

'Me, too,' Violet said, 'but let's take all these documents with us. Maybe we can find someplace to look through them and find the information we want.'

'We can't take all these papers with us,' Klaus said. 'There are stacks and stacks. It would be like checking out every single book in the library, just to find the one you wanted to read.'

'We'll stuff our pockets,' Violet said. 'My pockets are already stuffed,' Klaus said. 'I have page thirteen of the Snicket file, and all those fragments from the Quagmire notebooks. I can't get rid of those, but I don't have room for anything else. It's as if all the world's secrets are here on paper, but which secrets do we take with us?'

'Maybe we can look through it quickly right here,' Violet said, 'and take anything that has our names on it.'

'That's not the best method of research,' Klaus said, 'but I guess it will have to do. Here, help me lift the tablecloth so we can see everything better.'

Violet and Klaus began to lift the tablecloth together, but it was quite difficult to do in their disguise. Like eating an ear of corn, lifting the tablecloth while sharing a shirt was trickier than it looked, and the tablecloth slid back and forth as the older Baudelaires struggled with it. As I'm sure you know, if you slide a tablecloth back and forth, the things sitting on the tablecloth will slide, too, and Madame Lulu's crystal ball began to slide closer and closer to the edge of the table.

'Mishap,' Sunny said.

'Sunny's right,' Violet said. 'Let's be careful.'

'Right,' Klaus said. 'We don't want–' Klaus did not get to finish his sentence about what he and his sisters did not want, because with a dull thunk and a loud, clattering crash! his sentence was finished for him. One of the most troublesome things in life is that what you do or do not want has very little to do with what does or does not happen. You might want to become the sort of author who works calmly at home, for example, but something could happen that would lead you to become the sort of author who works frantically in the homes of other people, often without their knowledge. You might want to marry someone you love very much, but something could happen that would prevent the two of you from ever seeing one another again. You might want to find out something important about your parents, but something could happen that would mean you wouldn't find out for quite some time. And you might want, at a particular moment, for a crystal ball not to fall off a table and shatter into a thousand pieces, and even if it happened that the crystal ball did shatter, you might want the sound not to attract anyone's attention. But the sad truth is that the truth is sad, and that what you want does not matter. A series of unfortunate events can happen to anyone, no matter what they want, and even though the three children did not want the flap of the fortune-telling tent to open, and they did not want Madame Lulu to step inside, as the afternoon turned to evening at Caligari Carnival, everything happened to the Baudelaire orphans that they did not want at all.

Chapter Seven

'What are you doing here, please?' Madame Lulu snarled. She strode quickly toward them, her own eyes glaring as angrily as the eye she was wearing around her neck. 'What are the freaks doing in the tent, please, and what are the freaks doing under the table, please, and please answer me this instant, please, or you will be very, very sorry, please, thank you!'

The Baudelaire orphans looked up at the fake fortune-teller, and a strange thing happened. Rather than quaking with fear, or crying out in horror, or huddling together as Lulu shrieked at them, the three children stood resolute, a phrase which here means 'did not become frightened at all.' Now that they knew that Madame Lulu used a machine on her ceiling and an archival library under her table to disguise herself as a magical and mysterious person, it was as if every frightening thing about her had melted away, and she was just a woman with an odd accent and a bad temper who had crucial information the Baudelaires needed. As Madame Lulu carried on, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny watched her without a terrified thought in their heads. Madame Lulu yelled and yelled, but the children felt just as angry at Lulu as Lulu was at them.

'How dare you, please, enter the tent without permission of Madame Lulu!' Madame Lulu cried. 'I am the boss of Caligari Carnival, please, and you must obey me every single moment of your freakish lives! Please, I have never seen, please, the freaks who are so ungrateful to Madame Lulu! You are in the worst of the trouble, please!' By now, Lulu had reached the table, and saw the pile of broken glass which sparkled all over the floor. 'You are the breakers of the crystal ball!' she bellowed, pointing a dirty fingernail at the Baudelaires. 'You should be ashamed of your freaky selves! The crystal ball is the very valuable thing, please, and is having of the magical powers!'

'Fraud!' Sunny cried.

'That crystal ball wasn't magical!' Violet translated angrily. 'It was plain glass! And you're not a real fortune-teller, either! We analyzed your lightning device, and we found your archival library.'

'This is all one big disguise,' Klaus said, gesturing around the tent. 'You're the one who should be ashamed of yourself.'

'Ple–' Madame Lulu said, but she shut her mouth before she could finish the word. She looked down at the Baudelaires, and her eyes grew very wide. Then she sat down in a chair, lay her head down next to the crystal ball, and began to cry. 'I am ashamed of myself,' she said, in an unaccented voice, and reached up to her turban. With a flick of her wrist, she unraveled the turban, and her long, blond hair fell down around her tearstained face. 'I am utterly ashamed of myself,' she said, through her tears, and her shoulders shook with sobs.

The Baudelaires looked at one another and then at the quaking woman sitting near them. It is hard for decent people to stay angry at someone who has burst into tears, which is why it is often a good idea to burst into tears if a decent person is yelling at you. The three children watched as Madame Lulu cried and cried, pausing only to wipe her eyes with her sleeves, and they could not help but feel a little bit sad, too, even as their anger continued.

'Madame Lulu,' Violet said firmly, although not as firmly as she would have liked, 'why did you–'

'Oh,' Madame Lulu cried, at the sound of her name, 'don't call me that.' She reached up to her neck and yanked on the cord that held the eye around her neck. It broke with a snap! and she dropped it to the ground where it lay amid the pieces of shattered glass while she went on sobbing. 'My name is Olivia,' she said finally, with a shuddering sigh. 'I'm not Madame Lulu and I'm not a fortune-teller.'

'But why are you pretending to be these things?' Klaus asked. 'Why are you wearing a disguise? Why are you helping Count Olaf?'