Chapter 9, In Which Certain Events Happen That Recall Moments of Book 2 For Many, Including Me

Disclaimer: For our foreign language of the week—Nous ne possédons rien. Indeed.

A/N : We're back! How are you all? We're well. Yes—well, might as well start now: {with thanks to Gypsy Rosalie for reviewing the past few chapters. We always love hearing from you!}

"Did you hear that?" Carmelita asked me, and we stopped short. The tunnels around us weren't that of a sewer any longer. They were a passage lined with finely hewn bricks, laced together with sturdy mortar that looked as if it had been in place for many years. There were electrical lights strung up from the arched ceiling. The bulbs were dim and flickered on-and-off intermittently. My ears picked up the sound that had made Carmelita so nervous. Footsteps. Quite a few footsteps.

"What if it's the same person who killed the deputy?" Carmelita kept her voice so quiet, for fear of having the approaching people hear her, that I had to be extraordinarily attentive to hear what she was saying.

"Stay close." I told her at last, as we moved forward.

"No, no, no!" Carmelita pulled me back, "We are not walking toward them!"

"They could be friendly."

"Yeah, and I'm a swimsuit model!" her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You know, you could be a model." said I, drily, "You've got just the right figure—"

"Oh, shut up!" she scowled, but I could tell that she had been cheered up slightly.

Too late! The footsteps had reached us, and we saw who had made them.

"Number Two?" I gasped.

"Number One?" my brother was equally shocked.

"Redhead brat?" gaped the man-woman.

"Cake sniffing orphan trash?" Carmelita stared at the brunette girl.

The girl snapped back, "Stuck-up, priggish uptown girl?"

We all stared at each other, until the chubby pale woman exclaimed, "Good heavens, my dear Carmella—"

"It's 'Carmelita'." sighed the person whose name is exactly what can be read in-between those quotation marks.

The woman went on, "Yes, Carmelita. What in the name of heaven are you doing here? I thought you flew off with Esme and that ravishing Phantom character!"

"I fell out of the sky—"

Tocuna overlapped her, singing, "And suddenly Cupid aimed his arrow and shot you, got you—"

"No, Tocuna." Carmelita interrupted, "This guy: Plot Murderer #1 saved me, and one thing led to another—"

My brother flinched, "He didn't get you pregnant, did he?"

"No!" Carmelita grimaced, "We found ourselves down here."

PM2 crossed his arms and frowned at me, "You know, I knew you wouldn't stay in the car. I can't imagine what could have possessed you to wander out into the forest in that storm—"

"I was trying to find help!"

"I was trying to find help!"

"Well, that's rather hard to believe considering you never came back!"

"I was locked in a house of horrors!"

"I was almost arrested!"

Carmelita cut in, "I saw a dead body!
The other girl put her bit in, "So did we!"

PM2 added, "We also found a body."

The man-woman was scrutinizing us, "Are you two related, or something?"

"We are." the both of us said, almost in the same breath.

Carmelita and the other girl surveyed the both of us, and then spoke, also almost in the same breath, "This is the brother you talked about?"

Carmelita stared at the other girl and spat out, "Jinx! Jinx! Jinx! You've got to buy me a soda!"

"Shut up, Carmelita." Violet sighed.

And it was so that we each related our own stories to each other, and I found myself not believing that so many things of the weirdest caliber could happen to me. I wasn't firmly convinced in all the talk that PM2 and I had fallen into an alternate dimension, but it was true that I could remember almost nothing of my life before we had set out in the car and ended up in the Dark Forest.

"We ought to keep going." the woman—whose name, I learned, was Tocuna—said.

"Don't bother." I pointed back the way Carmelita and I had come, "There's nothing there but a maze of sewer tunnels that lead nowhere in particular."

The girl—whose named I had also learned, as being Violet—added, pointing the way her group had come, "And there's nothing back there but a body, and a broken down elevator that leads to a house with no possible exit."

"So which way?" The man-woman—'Enya' so I'd heard—scratched its head, "We have to go somewhere."

"Unless, that is, you want to go nowhere." came a voice, reverberating off the walls of the tunnel.

"Spirits!" Tocuna gasped, clutching her heart.

Enya spoke, addressing no one in particular, "Spirit who haunts this cave tonight, why do you plague us, weary travelers?"

"I shall tell you, blob, if you can find who I am."

Enya swallowed laboriously, it seemed to be costing him a lot to speak, "Are you a vegetable?'

"No."

"Are you a mineral?"

"No."

"Are you an animal?"

"As that is the only category left, yes."

"Are you woman?"

"No."

"Are you man?"

"Once again, that is the only other option, so I say yes."

"Are you old?"

"Somewhat."

Enya was by now red in the face as a strawberry, "I'm out of questions! One of you ask him something."

Violet shrugged, "Are you Count Olaf?"

"Shut up!"

"I guess that's a yes."

"No! No! No, it isn't! I didn't say anything!"

"We know it's you, Olaf."

"Shut up, you slutty vixen!"

"Oh, I know you didn't just go there!" Violet then made a show of snapping her finger in a variety of peculiar shapes and patterns, "I'll claw your eyes out, you cowardly bastard! Where are you hiding?"

"I said shut up! I am going to chop you all up into tiny pieces and eat your livers!"

"I hope I give you liver poisoning!" Carmelita shrieked in the general direction of the voice.

"Shut up!"

Tocuna pleaded, "Please, Olaf! Spare Enya and I! We've just been trying to escape these evil teenagers and their raging hormones!"

"I call bull-crap on that!" PM2 pointed at her, "She's been wandering around the place with me since the lights went off in the house!"

"Did you kill Montgomery and the others?" Violet asked.

"Shut up! I am not Olaf!" here, he began making a series of clicking noises.

"That's the code!" Enya gasped, it responded to this by making clicking sounds of its own.

"Come on!" I pointed at this display, "This is stupid! Clearly, the Olaf guy's just chattering away with his assistants as gaily as a couple of birds in the cherry tree!"

"We had a truce, Enya!" Violet reminded it, "You said you wouldn't do anything to me—or my friends—until we were all out of here. Well, we're still here! You can't touch us!"

Enya was ignoring her, though, and grabbed Tocuna by the shoulder, "Quickly, Tocuna! Olaf's given me directions!"

Tocuna nodded, and giving one last look at us, the two of them ran off.

"They're heading back into the sewer!" I rallied my companions, "After them! They know the way out!"

We ran after them—keeping a safe distance so that our prey would not see us with ease.

"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" Sunny had grown tired. The tunnel that she was carving through the walls of the cavern was quite long, and may even be at a proper width to contain Poe. But still, this was very tiring work. And here it was, that she seem to have come to another wall, she bit through it—this took about twenty minutes in and of itself—and found herself scrambling into another passage. Without even bothering too look along it, Sunny called down: "Poe! Ho!" Which, though you might think it means something dirty, actually meant: "Poe! Get your fat ass up here!"

"Aye!" Poe's voice echoed up the little space towards her. Now, I find it will be rather fun to narrate Poe's climbing exploits, so I will do so without actually shifting the scene.

Poe loosened his old cravat, and sucked his stomach in as much as he could. It would be difficult getting up there, but this was his life on the line.

The little crawl-space was a tight-squeeze for Poe, as his hips jammed themselves at inconvenient times throughout the whole ordeal At once point, Poe quite believed that he was stuck without any means of ever moving on, "Help! Help!" he called, "Help! Help! My rumpus is stuck! My rumpus is stuck!"

Sunny found herself face-palming as Poe finally managed to emerge in the new tunnel.

"Oh, my poor legs!" he moaned, rubbing said appendages, which were sore and stiff. Sunny tittered, "Move!" which meant, "We're wasting time, fatass! Let's move!"

And only now did the two actually take a notice of their surroundings. It was a sewer stretch, though one vastly different from the one Poe had been exploring. This area was older—moldering in a sort of tangible haze over the mucky water that ran through it.

"Heigh ho!" Sunny pointed forward, she meant: "Come on, Poe! There's no time for dawdling!"

"Right behind you!" Poe told her, as he finished chasing rats out of his jacket cuffs.

They made off, Poe trying hard to keep his footing steady.

"Splash!" Sunny put her hand to her ear.

"Pardon?" Poe paused, "What is it?"

"Splash!" Sunny repeated pointedly.

And Poe heard it. A splashing—people were coming.

"Back! Back!" Sunny bit Poe's thigh, causing him to fall on the floor.

But it was too late for hiding. The splashing and sploshing was upon them.

"Violet?" Sunny stared.

"Sunny!" gasped Violet.

"Déjà veu!" nodded the young man—PM2, as Sunny remembered from the house.

The two Baudelaire sisters embraced heartily, Violet with tears streaking down her face, "Oh, thank God, you're alright!"

Sunny rolled her eyes, "Robust!" which meant: "I'm two years old, Vi! I can take care of myself!"

Poe scoffed, "What ever happened to you being 'a helpless infant'?"

Only than did Violet seem to notice that he was there. She rushed to him and locked him in a hug too, "Oh, Mr. Poe! How did you end up down here?"

"Well, I—"

"Oh, never mind about that! You've saved Sunny's life!"

Here, Poe flushed beet red, and Sunny said, affronted: "Badeski!" which meant: "What the hell are you talking about? I did all of the work! I carved a tunnel wide enough for a fatass, using only four teeth!"

"That's nice, Sunny." Violet said, off-hand, "I'd like to introduce you two to my new friends: Sunny, you already know Plot Murderer #2."

'"Hello." PM2 waved, smiling.

"This is his brother: Plot Murderer #1."

"How are you doing?" spoke the younger brother, who must have been PM1.

"They come from an alternate universe." said Violet knowingly, "And I think we all know Carmelita Spats." she grimaced, clearly not too impressed by the red-head. Sunny remembered Carmelita rather vaguely. The girl had loved tormenting Violet, but had for the most part left Sunny herself alone. Therefore, she had no qualms about giving Carmelita a gentle bite on the hand, as a greeting.

Carmelita, though, apparently took this to mean something entirely different, "OW! CAKESNIFFING, BABY, ORPHAN BRAT! I'M GOING TO BLEED TO DEATH!"

PM1 took the liberty of examining her hand and assuring her, "It's gonna be fine, doll. You're not bleeding."

Carmelita sighed in relief, "Oh, thank God!"

Sunny—with help from Poe—than told them about Molars the shark, and her plan to escape the lagoon, as well of Olaf's crazed plan in general. Violet and the others than shared how they had heard Olaf's voice, and that Enya and Tocuna had run off to meet him, apparently as an escape route.

"If we must follow them to escape," said Poe, matter-of-factly, "Then we must hurry! They could be miles ahead of us by now! All of this conversation has been wasting our precious time!"

"Yes, yes, yes!" PM2 was suddenly very excited, "I don't want to spend another minute down here!"

"Then let us run!"

And they ran, hoping that they would still be able to follow the trail of the two henchfolk.

"I DID MY BEST TO NOTICE, WHEN A CALL CAME DOWN THE LINE. UP TO THE PLATFORM OF SURRENDER—"

"She has to stop singing that same song over and over again." Isadora rubbed her temples. They had paused to rest on a landing halfway up the 'cone', as they had dubbed the step-pyramid they were mounting. The waters were now surrounding the rise on all sides, and quite a few had already been lost. There were still plenty of others, who were making camp. Chubs had even made friends with some of them, and was debating the upsides and downsides of kiwi fruit with a spherical man named Xibaldo.

Duncan was sitting with Isadora, and they were both taking pains not to notice Alice's singing. The diary—which Isadora was flipping through for about the hundredth time—wasn't much interesting in the early pages. It seemed Alice and 'Monty' had always quarreled over Alice's job at ZYK, and—her sorcery.

Chubs had told Isadora, in an attempt to comfort her, that his aunt had attended Madame Anwhistle's sorcery seminar herself when she was at ZYK Academy. Then again, this same aunt had turned out to be an outlaw for a number of crimes that she had never committed.

Isadora couldn't help wondering—what did being a sorceress entail? How did someone inherit magical powers?

Did the rule apply only to women, or could men receive the power, too? What if—and here, Isadora felt a kind of mischievous twinge—what if she had inherited the power from her mother? According to Alice's diary, sorceress' usually realized their powers by their sixteenth birthday; Isadora was thirteen. A sorceress had power over the elements, over time and space. They could even, after much training, bring the dead back to life. Evidently, Chubs' aunt had never had much time to train—as she had never exhibited these powers. But she had been a woman on the run. Alice, too, might be able to perform great feats—if she had not lost her mind. But, if Isadora ever found that she had the powers of sorcery, could she fix everything? Bring Mr. and Mrs. Baudelaire back to life, help her father realize that there was no shame in his wife—curing her mother from her insanity. Ridding them all from Count Olaf, once and for all!

If she could perform magic—she could do all of that.

A tap on the arm brought Isadora back to the present, "Yeah, Duncan?"

"Sister, we must move on! The water is still rising, and we'd like to get to the top of this thing before it's too late." he sounded genial enough. The water must still be far enough below them to warrant a good mood.

"How much water do you think there is?" she asked her brother, "Do you think there's enough to put this whole thing underwater?"

Duncan laughed, though it sounded a tad uneasy, "Nonsense, dear sister! There can't be that much water! Now, let's move on."

They continued their assent, Isadora helping her mother along—she was now doing a run of Tom Jones' greatest hits. Chubs caught up with them too, with round Xibaldo in his arms. Said Chubs, "I had to carry the poor fellow. How is he ever going to manage rolling up the stairs?"

"Yes, yes, I'd never manage!" Xibaldo chuckled, prompting Chubs to laugh again for no apparent reason.

"There you are, you damned rascals!" drawled a menacing voice.

The children turned around to see who had been speaking to them. It was Flo: soaking wet, her pinstripes bedraggled and rumpled, her shoes waterlogged.

"Oh!" Isadora gasped, "Flo—" she had quite forgotten about her.

"You bastards left me behind!" every word she spoke reeked of her fury, "I had to race gallons upon gallons of filthy water, and then I had to climb this damned thing in heels!" She reached into her raven hair and pulled out the last of her poor, poor hairpins, letting the black mass of her hair fall down around her waist.

"We're sorry!" Chubs told her, "We simply spoke with Duncan, and then we were walking along, and we just forgot that you'd been left behind!"

"I was treated better in Olaf's company, for God's sake! You brats just leave me there to die? I really should push you off of this damn mountain thing right now!"

Duncan decided to point something out, "The water is rising ever higher, Miss. I think we'd better move."

Flo looked down and noticed the truth, already several of the stragglers to their party had been swallowed by the brackish waves. The others were trampling each other underfoot in their attempt to make it even higher up the cone.

"Run!" Flo snapped at them, "Don't just stand there, you idiots! Get out of my way!" she pushed past them as she continued her climb up the steps.

The others followed her, hoping not to get separated in all of the confusion.

Strauss gasped and sputtered, seizing hold of something—at last, something to hold onto!

The water had caught up to her at last, and if it wasn't for the occasional piece of debris to grab onto, she would have been drowned with no hope of ever escaping. This was all on the account on those blasted fugitives! If they had just let themselves be ripped apart by viscous dogs, than Strauss wouldn't have had to chase them into the sewer, Sandbag wouldn't have died, and Strauss wouldn't be coasting through the catacombs, half-drowned and all alone.

"Damn people in general!" the thought ran through Strauss' mind, "That fat man, that boy—that girl, the blasted girl!"

Why was life so cruel to her? People were supposed to show respect to people of the law—that's why she had signed up to be a forest patrol-officer in the first place! Respect., pah! As if anyone showed her respect—her men, did. But they were likely more afraid than impressed.

People did love to treat her spitefully. It may have been her badge, her attitude, or just the fact that she was a woman. Her father would have thought highly of the latter. Women, he had always said, belonged in the dance halls and ballrooms. Needless to say, he had approved of Esme the Whore before she had been kidnapped. Also obvious, was that he detested figures like Kit Snicket, who ran about the country, not listening to what their male counterparts said.

But her father was dead now. He had been for many years. As for her mother—still living in an old folks' home in Dirty Bastard. Strauss did not want to visit her, and she hadn't in years.

The water continued to pull and toss her around—was this the end for her? Was everything over? No! No, it couldn't be over yet! There was some sort of conical structure rising up ahead of her. It was lined with steps, and there was some sort of brass sculpture or mechanism, some such thing, on the top. If she could just get onto it—

Even better! A boat was sailing her way. A motor boat with a sleek body and an elegant sense of charm.

Faster than you could say: 'It's a trap, you idiot!' Strauss began flagging the boat over with her free arm, calling: "Help! Help! Over here!"

The boat did indeed turn toward her, and began its steady journey over. When the boat had drawn near enough, a hand helped Strauss on board.

"Thank you—" she gasped, coughing water out of her lungs, "Thank you so much."

But before she could ask who in the world sailed a boat around underground, a revolver was thrust into her face.

"We weren't expecting a police officer." sneered the man who held the gun, "Please sit down. Make yourself at home."

"I've never been more hopelessly wet in all my life!" Carmelita lamented, shaking more water out of her shoes.

She was hating this. So far, the only good thing that had come of this senseless expedition was her meeting PM1, who was currently humming to himself whilst she struggled about like a severe dunce. As she stumbled once more, Carmelita pondered once more on Esme's whereabouts. Had she made it through the storm safely? What of Dewey, and all of his eccentricity? And then Carmelita thought, none too wistfully, of her old life. The life she had left behind when she had decided to follow Olaf and his crew.

Her parents: those wealthy, stubborn aristocrats. What had happened to them? Were they wondering where she was, and what had happened to the daughter that had barely paid any attention to? No. Likely, they had already bought a Pomeranian dog like they had always wanted. They had probably named it Mortola.

Carmelita's hands went once again to her hair, and the two combs that she had tucked in amongst the red strands. These combs were just as red as her hair. They were made of ruby, though they had once been silver. Esme had told her the whole story of what had happened to the combs that she had stolen from the wreck of the Baudelaire car on that day, those many months ago. They had belonged to Violet's mother. Did Violet know by now? If she did, than she didn't know Carmelita had the combs.

That was good. She didn't want Violet to have another reason to hate her. Violet was looking for Duncan. Duncan was in danger. Bitterly, Carmelita thought back to the weeks in which she and Duncan had dated—how they had loved each other! But, lo and behold, she had left, and in a mere month's time, Duncan had found Violet. And that had been a done deal. They were devoted to each other. But Carmelita wanted to see Duncan, if for the last time. She wanted to see how he loved Violet. And whether he still had feelings for her.

Was she really so shallow? Carmelita didn't like thinking she was, but it stood that way. She longed to see him, touch his face—even if it was currently ice cold—maybe even clutch his hand for a few precious moments.

No one had turned to her as they walked. PM1 occasionally lent a hand to help her along, as he had when they were walking alone together. His brother was also having rather a hard time of the trip as she was. Violet was helping him along—how laughable! That girl had far too many admirers. But she had eyes only for Duncan. Carmelita, though, was full of conflicting emotions. PM1 was so darling—and yet, there was Duncan. She had to see Duncan.

The water was getting deeper now; up to Carmelita's waist, "I think this is a bad sign."

"Really?" Violet smirked, "That looks like something good."

Carmelita followed her gaze over, across yards of deeper and deeper muck. A pyramid, surrounded by steps—and with the distant specks of people marching up them.

"There's already people climbing up!" PM2 beamed, "All we have to do is swim."

Carmelita balked at him, "Swim? There is no way I'm swimming!"

"Why not?" asked PM1.

"I—I don't like water."

"Noticed!" the baby brat rolled her eyes.

After a heated argument, Carmelita was persuaded to go along with the others, swimming through the mess.

"Come on!" Chubs helped Isadora up the steps, "Isadora, do keep up!"

Chubs himself wasn't faring especially well, himself. Huffing and puffing, all of this exertion was doing a lot to his tubby figure.

They were almost to the top now, but the water was close behind them. As they ran, more and more of the Demon Room inmates were unable to keep up, and found themselves being swallowed by the waves. Duncan had discovered a rather novel way to—temporarily—keep the water level down. As they ascended, Duncan held his hands over the wide expanse below them and concentrated all of his energy in freezing this water. It was impossible to turn the whole mass into ice, but freezing sections was highly possible, though the ice would just burst apart in the muggy temperatures of the tunnels.

"Duncan, old boy, enough of that!" Chubs caught his attention, "We're nearly there!"

Duncan turned to Chubs and shook himself, "Yes, yes, of course! I'll be right behind you!"

"No, Duncan!" Isadora insisted, "It's hopeless, trying to freeze everything! Just move, come on!"

Duncan sighed, dejected, "Whatever you say, dear sister."

"Mom, take my hand!" Isadora had noted that Alice had fallen on the steps.

"MEET ME ON MY VAST VERANDAH!" was Alice's sung reply, "MY SWEET, UNTOUCHED MIRANDA!" But she took her daughter's hand and went on with her.

"Xibaldo!" Chubs called over the panicking crowd, "Xibaldo, where are you?"

"Help me, Master Chubs!" moaned the little round man, who was rolling down the steps, "Help me!"

Chubs lunged forward and saved his friend, just before he rolled far enough away. Chubs continued up the stairs, now holding Xibaldo under his arm, and keeping a hold on Isadora—who was holding Alice—with his free hand.

Duncan was the first to make it to the top of the cone.

"By Jove!" Chubs heard him cry, "What are you—"

But there was an unsettling sound—a sound that was rather out of place—a sound like a gunshot. And Duncan was silenced.

Isadora screamed and let go of the hands of both Alice and Chubs, running like the wind up the remaining steps. Chubs stayed close behind her, making sure that Alice wasn't far behind.

What he saw at the top astounded him.

A/N: This was perhaps the most evil cliff-hanger we've ever pulled off! Have we killed Duncan off? Has he survived? Who in the name of all that is holy is standing on top of the cone? And why has Strauss been taken captive aboard the boat of a man whom we ought to know the identity of by now?

Well, you'll have to wait seven days and seven nights for the answers to these questions.

Update Coming Next Friday!:)