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Chapter One
If you didn't know much about the
Baudelaire orphans, and you saw them
sitting on their suitcases at Damocles
Dock, you might think that they were bound
for an exciting adventure. After all, the
three children had just disembarked from
the Fickle Ferry, which had driven them
across Lake Lachrymose to live with their
Aunt Josephine, and in most cases such a
situation would lead to thrillingly good
times.
But of course you would be dead wrong.
For although Violet, Klaus, and Sunny
Baudelaire were about to experience events
that would be both exciting and memorable,
they would not be exciting and memorable
like having your fortune told or going to
a rodeo. Their adventure would be exciting
and memorable like being chased by a
werewolf through a field of thorny bushes
at midnight with nobody around to help
you. If you are interested in reading a
story filled with thrillingly good times,
I am sorry to inform you that you are most
certainly reading the wrong book, because
the Baudelaires experience very few good
times over the course of their gloomy and
miserable lives. It is a terrible thing,
their misfortune, so terrible that I can
scarcely bring myself to write about it.
So if you do not want to read a story of
tragedy and sadness, this is your very
last chance to put this book down, because
the misery of the Baudelaire orphans
begins in the very next paragraph.
"Look what I have for you," Mr. Poe
said, grinning from ear to ear and holding
out a small paper bag. "Peppermints!" Mr.
Poe was a banker who had been placed in
charge of handling the affairs of the
Baudelaire orphans after their parents
died. Mr. Poe was kindhearted, but it is
not enough in this world to be
kindhearted, particularly if you are
responsible for keeping children out of
danger. Mr. Poe had known the three
children since they were born, and could
never remember that they were allergic to
peppermints.
"Thank you, Mr. Poe," Violet said, and
took the paper bag and peered inside. Like
most fourteen-year-olds, Violet was too
well mannered to mention that if she ate a
peppermint she would break out in hives, a
phrase which here means "be covered in
red, itchy rashes for a few hours."
Besides, she was too occupied with
inventing thoughts to pay much attention
to Mr. Poe. Anyone who knew Violet would
know that when her hair was tied up in a
ribbon to keep it out of her eyes, the way
it was now, her thoughts were filled with
wheels, gears, levers, and other necessary
things for inventions. At this particular
moment she was thinking of how she could
improve the engine of the Fickle Ferry so
it wouldn't belch smoke into the gray
sky.
"That's very kind of you," said Klaus,
the middle Baudelaire child, smiling at
Mr. Poe and thinking that if he had even
one lick of a peppermint, his tongue would
swell up and he would scarcely be able to
speak. Klaus took his glasses off and
wished that Mr. Poe had bought him a book
or a newspaper instead. Klaus was a
voracious reader, and when he had learned
about his allergy at a birthday party when
he was eight, he had immediately read all
his parents' books about allergies. Even
four years later he could recite the
chemical formulas that caused his tongue
to swell up.
"Toi!" Sunny shrieked. The youngest
Baudelaire was only an infant, and like
many infants, she spoke mostly in words
that were tricky to understand. By "Toi!"
she probably meant "I have never eaten a
peppermint because I suspect that I, like
my siblings, am allergic to them," but it
was hard to tell. She may also have meant
"I wish I could bite a peppermint, because
I like to bite things with my four sharp
teeth, but I don't want to risk an
allergic reaction."
"You can eat them on your cab ride to
Mrs. Anwhistle's house," Mr. Poe said,
coughing into his white handkerchief. Mr.
Poe always seemed to have a cold and the
Baudelaire orphans were accustomed to
receiving information from him between
bouts of hacking and wheezing. "She
apologizes for not meeting you at the
dock, but she says she's frightened of
it."
"Why would she be frightened of a
dock?" Klaus asked, looking around at the
wooden piers and sailboats.
"She's frightened of anything to do
with Lake Lachrymose," Mr. Poe said, "but
she didn't say why. Perhaps it has to do
with her husband's death. Your Aunt
Josephine--she's not really your aunt, of
course; she's your second cousin's
sister-in-law, but asked that you call her
Aunt Josephine--your Aunt Josephine lost
her husband recently, and it may be
possible that he drowned or died in a boat
accident. It didn't seem polite to ask how
she became a dowager. Well, let's put you
in a taxi."
"What does that word mean?" Violet
asked.
Mr. Poe looked at Violet and raised his
eyebrows. "I'm surprised at you, Violet,"
he said. "A girl of your age should know
that a taxi is a car which will drive you
someplace for a fee. Now, let's gather
your luggage and walk to the curb."
"'Dowager,'" Klaus whispered to Violet,
"is a fancy word for 'widow.'""Thank you,"
she whispered back, picking up her
suitcase in one hand and Sunny in the
other. Mr. Poe was waving his handkerchief
in the air to signal a taxi to stop, and
in no time at all the cabdriver piled all
of the Baudelaire suitcases into the trunk
and Mr. Poe piled the Baudelaire children
into the back seat.
"I will say good-bye to you here," Mr.
Poe said. "The banking day has already
begun, and I'm afraid if I go with you out
to Aunt Josephine's I will never get
anything done.
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