The Fervent Flowerbed

By

Lemony Snicket

Book the First

In

A Series of Unfortunate Events

To Beatrice

The flower of my love for you is watered with hope

And fertilized with tragedy.

Chapter One

There are several reasons to read a book. Some people read a book because they saw it on the shelf and were curious as to it's contents. Some people read a book because they have nothing better to do. Some people read a book because their teacher decided to assign them a reading assignment so that the teacher can take a nap and still report that they are teaching. Still others read a book because their friend recommended it.

If you are reading this book because you saw it on a shelf and were curious, please remember what was once said by a colleague of mine about curiosity as it pertains to cats. Pertains is a word which here means "is deadly". If you are reading this book because you have nothing better to do, that is simply not true. You will, almost assuredly, find that counting to one hundred and back again to zero would be much more fun. If you are reading this book as a writing assignment, then I can assure you that you would be much better off skipping this class until your teacher is inevitably fired. If you are reading this book because a friend recommended it, then please know that they are not really your friend, but someone that is apparently very angry at you about something, and I recommend you apologize immediately.

In none of these cases, however, should you continue reading this book. This book, as you will soon discover, contains nothing but misery, gloom, and suffering. From it's bad beginning to it's enigmatic ending, you will encounter nothing but reasons to weep and stay awake at night. Terrible things happen almost immediately and continue to happen until the end, despite the fact that this story is focused on a kind, wise, intelligent, and reasonably attractive young girl who had never hurt anyone before these wretched events began. So, unless you are the kind of person that delights in reading about horrible events befalling children, please leave this book for your own safety. Also, if you are such a person, go away anyway, as I don't want to supply someone like you with reading material.

Beatrice Baudelaire was a kind, wise, intelligent, and reasonably attractive young girl who had never hurt anyone. At the age of ten, though, this was not a particularly grand accomplishment. Although Beatrice was kind, she was alone. She was alone now, as she had been many of the years of her life. Normally, in one's life, they have either one or two guardians watching over them. Beatrice, as early as she can remember, was different from this, as she had three people protecting her. These three people were very noble people, as she recalled. She could not, however, remember much else. At an extremely young age, Beatrice had been separated from these noble people and forced to survive on her own. While this would be terrible for many people, it was indeed terrible for Beatrice. She had managed to make do, a phrase which her means "not die", by the kindnesses of several people. It happened quite often, though, that she would be parted from these people, and Beatrice would find herself alone again. Alone and afraid. If it happened at night, she would find herself alone, afraid, and tired. If it happened at night during a rainstorm, she would find herself alone, afraid, tired, and wet. No matter the time of day or the weather, sadly, she would find herself alone.

When that time inevitably came, her mind would wander back to the three noble people that had first raised her. She wondered about them, and she wondered how they were doing. It had invaded her mind so much that when she received a note the day before this particular day, she felt compelled to adhere to what it said.

The note had simply stated: "Please meet me in room twenty-six of the thirteenth floor Hotel Preludio at precisely one twenty-seven of the clock in the afternoon, regarding your three former guardians. I will be there at twenty two seconds after this time. E."

She had received the note while drinking a root beer float in a certain cafe elsewhere in town. The note had been on a card from Mulctuary Money Management. Several factors of this event made Beatrice uncomfortable. Primarily, Beatrice was afraid of anyone who chose to enclose only a letter of their name, instead of their full name. Secondarily, she found it odd that someone would time their entrance to the exact second. Tritarily, the note arrived from Mulctuary Money Management, a company about which Beatrice had read a great deal. As I am sure you know, the word great does not necessarily mean "good". It simply means vast, though people do frequently make the mistake of confusing the two. I do not make that mistake. Beatrice had read at least thirteen books that referenced Mulctuary Money Management, but none of them had ever given her the impression that this was a trustworthy place. It had been an unreliable place that had caused her former guardians respectable amounts of distress.

None of this, however, mattered to Beatrice. She could have received a note that ended in "also, I will kidnap you a dangerous criminal", and not even the sight of the missing period in that sentence would have deterred her. She wanted to know about her guardians. She needed to know. That was why she was in this hotel.

It was a dusty and dark hotel. The curtains were torn and thin, scarcely keeping out light at all. Spider webs lined every corner of every object that had a corner. The bed had only one pillow, which had clearly not been washed in years. The lamp was broken, but that was irrelevant as the light switch did not, in fact, function. It was small, and it smelled of old breakfast. Also, the carpet did not match the ceiling.

Yet, still she sat, periodically checking her watch. It had just become one twenty-seven, and she had but twenty-two seconds to wait. She waited and she watched. It neared twenty seconds. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Nothing. She sighed and looked at her watch. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Suddenly, the door opened swiftly and slammed into the wall, sending dust clouds into the room and covering the figure entirely. Beatrice lowered her head and covered her face as she coughed. As her head lowered, she could only hear the voice of this dusty figure.

"Sorry I'm late. Terrible traffic."

As the dust cleared, she saw a young man in a black business suit and a bowler cap. He held in his left hand a briefcase that was equally black and blank. Without asking permission, he strode towards the desk and set his briefcase on it. With a swift motion, he opened it, and the briefcase sprung open. In it there were all kinds of papers. Papers among papers. Ticker tapes, report tapes, stock tapes were taped to the sides. Portfolios and postcards were present. Contracts and calendars were carried. Sheets and stamped things were strewn. It looked as if every bit of information on whatever this person did was in this briefcase. Beatrice peered over the shoulder of this person, who was sifting through the briefcase. She tried to discern what he was doing, but to no avail. After a moment, the man turned and looked at her. When he noticed that she was looking in the notebook, he immediately shut the briefcase and stood up, towering over her.

He spook hurriedly, but politely.

"Ms. Baudelaire, what is in my briefcase is top secret information sensitive to many people. If you are intent on examining it, I may have to leave before our purpose is accomplished."

Panicked, Beatrice spoke quickly. "Oh, no, no, no. It's all right. I won't look."

"Thank you."

He bowed mechanically, a word which here means "without any real emotion". He then sat down, reopened the briefcase, and began writing out papers with much intensity. Beatrice sat on the bed, ignoring the dust cloud that emerged when she sat. She was very confused by this person. One the one hand, he was clearly not dangerous. On the other hand, the right hand, he did not seem very friendly. It was hard to trust a person that threatened to leave her without her valuable information. Beatrice decided to change her strategy. She attempted to speak to him with the same politeness that he had shown her.

"Excuse me, but, what is our purpose, exactly?"

She heard a pen hit the table as the man set it down instantly. He stared out the window for a moment. After gathering himself, he continued to fill out forms while talking to Beatrice.

"Our purpose, Ms. Baudelaire, is to fill out the forms that you must fill out. As I am in charge of your account, it is my duty to assist you in filling these forms, as you are clearly to young to do such things on your own."

Beatrice took offense at this statement, and rightly so. It is very rude to assume that someone is not capable of doing great things just because they are young. Several people performed important things at young ages. Mozart composed a noble tribute to astrology at the age of five. Several kings had risen to power when they were less than ten years of age. And, according to less reliable records, two children were capable of resisting a house made of candies and overthrowing their wicked captor. Beatrice knew that his remark was unintelligent, but decided to remain polite. She needed to know what was happening, and she had read before that one catches more flies with honey than with vinegar.

"Excuse me, sir, but you haven't explained anything. What are these forms regarding?"

"They are regarding, Ms. Baudelaire, the issue of great importance of which you are most certainly aware."

Beatrice was dumbfounded again, a phrase which here means "completely confused". She had no idea what this issue was, and now she was getting angry. The man had been condescending and rude. She calmed herself and decided to ask one more time.

"What issue of great importance? You really haven't told me anything."

The man kept writing.

"The issue, Ms. Baudelaire, that has been in the newspaper. I know that you have been expecting me for days. Please do not waste my time by playing dumb."

Playing dumb is a rather rude phrase which means "pretending to be stupid in order to trick people into telling you things that you most certainly already know". It is a technique people do in order to make people think things that are untrue. Beatrice was not playing dumb, and the idea that she was this dishonest and rude upset her terribly. Still, she attempted to ask him one last time.

"Sir, I am not playing dumb. That is insulting idea. I don't read the newspaper, and I have not been expecting. Now, please, tell me who you are and what you are doing here."

The man set down his pen and turned to her. He did not look angry or mean. Rather, he looked frustrated and annoyed.

"Ms. Baudelaire. I suspect that you do read the newspaper. I theorize that you have been expecting me. I hold firm to the idea that you know I am Edgar Poe, and I have unwavering faith in the fact that you know I am here to fill out the forms claiming your right to the estates of your now deceased three guardians!"