Lemony Snicket - The Vile Village

"My name is Detective Dupin," said Detective Dupin, "and my only concern is bringing you three criminals to justice."

"But if you burn us at the stake," Violet said quickly, "you'll never get your hands on the Baudelaire fortune."

Dupin rounded the last corner of the hallway, and pushed the Baudelaires into a small damp cell with only a small wooden bench as furniture. By the light of the barred window the siblings could see that the cell was quite filthy, as Dupin had promised. The detective reached out to pull the door closed, but with his sunglasses on it was too dark to see the door handle, so he had to throw off all pretense — a phrase which here means "take off part of his disguise for a moment" — and remove his sunglasses. As much as the children hated Dupin's ridiculous disguise, it was worse to see their enemy's one eyebrow, and the shiny, shiny eyes that had been haunting them for so long.

"Don't worry," he said in his wheezy voice. "You won't be burned at the stake — not all of you, at least. Tomorrow afternoon, one of you will make a miraculous escape — if you consider being smuggled out of V.F.D. by one of my assistants to be an escape. The other two will burn at the stake as planned. You bratty orphans are too stupid to realize it, but a genius like me knows that it may take a village to raise a child, but it only takes one child to inherit a fortune." The villain laughed a loud and rude laugh, and began to shut the door of the cell. "But I don't want to be cruel," he said, smiling to indicate that he really wanted to be as cruel as possible. "I'll let you three decide who gets the honor of spending the rest of their puny life with me, and who gets to burn at the stake. I'll be back at lunchtime for your decision."

The Baudelaire orphans listened to the wheezy giggle of their enemy as he slammed the cell door and walked back down the hallway in his plastic shoes, and felt a sinking feeling in their stomachs, where the huevos rancheros Hector had made for them last night were still being digested. When something is being digested, of course, it is getting smaller and smaller as the body uses up all of the nutrients inside the food, but it didn't feel that way to the three children. The youngsters did not feel as if the small potatoes they had eaten for dinner were getting smaller. The Baudelaire orphans huddled together in the dim light and listened to the laughter echo against the walls of the uptown jail, and wondered just how large the potatoes of their lives would grow.

Entertaining a notion, like entertaining a baby cousin or entertaining a pack of hyenas, is a dangerous thing to refuse to do. If you refuse to entertain a baby cousin, the baby cousin may get bored and entertain itself by wandering off and falling down a well. If you refuse to entertain a pack of hyenas, they may become restless and entertain themselves by devouring you. But if you refuse to entertain a notion — which is just a fancy way of saying that you refuse to think about a certain idea — you have to be much braver than someone who is merely facing some bloodthirsty animals, or some parents who are upset to find their little darling at the bottom of a well, because nobody knows what an idea will do when it goes off to entertain itself, particularly if the idea comes from a sinister villain.

"I don't care what that horrible man says," Violet said to her siblings as Detective Dupin's plastic footsteps faded away. "We're not going to choose which one of us will escape and who will be left to burn at the stake. I absolutely refuse to entertain the notion."

"But what are we going to do?" Klaus asked. "Try to contact Mr. Poe?"

"Mr. Poe won't help us," Violet replied. "He'll think we're ruining the reputation of his bank. We're going to escape."

"Frulk!" Sunny said.

"I know it's a jail cell," Violet said, "but there must be some way to get out." She pulled her ribbon out of her pocket and tied up her hair, her fingers shaking as she did so. The eldest Baudelaire had spoken confidently, but she did not feel as confident as she sounded. A cell is built for the specific purpose of keeping people inside, and she was not sure she could make an invention that could get the Baudelaires out of the uptown jail. But once her hair was out of her eyes, her inventing brain began to work at full force, and Violet took a good look around the cell for ideas. First she looked at the door of the cell, examining every inch of it.

"Do you think you could make another lockpick?" Klaus asked hopefully. "You made an excellent one when we lived with Uncle Monty."

"Not this time," Violet replied. "The door locks from the outside, so a lockpick would be of no use." She closed her eyes for a moment in thought, and then looked up at the tiny barred window. Her siblings followed her gaze, a phrase which here means "also looked at the window and tried to think of something helpful."

"Boiklio?" Sunny asked, which meant "Do you think you could make some more welding torches, to melt the bars? You made some excel lent ones when we lived with the Squalors."

"Not this time," Violet said. "If I stood on the bench and Klaus stood on my shoulders and you stood on Klaus's shoulders, we could probably reach the window, but even if we melted the bars, the window isn't big enough to crawl through, even for Sunny."

"Sunny could call out the window," Klaus said, "and try to attract the attention of someone to come and save us."

"Thanks to mob psychology, every citizen of V.F.D. thinks that we're criminals," Violet pointed out. "No one is going to come rescue an accused murderer and her accomplices." She closed her eyes and thought again, and then knelt down to get a closer look at the wooden bench.

"Rats," she said.

Klaus jumped slightly. "Where?" he said.

"I don't mean there are rats in the cell," she said, hoping that she was speaking the truth. "I just mean 'Rats!' I was hoping that the bench would be made of wooden boards held together with screws or nails. Screws and nails are always handy for inventions. But it's just a solid, carved niece of wood, which isn't handy at all." Violet sat down on the solid, carved piece of wood and sighed. "I don't know what I can do," she admitted.

Klaus and Sunny looked at one another nervously. "I'm sure you'll think of something," Klaus said.

"Maybe you'll think of something," Violet replied, looking at her brother. "There must be something you've read that could help us."

It was Klaus's turn to close his eyes in thought. "If you tilted the bench," he said, after a pause, "it would become a ramp. The ancient Egyptians used ramps to build the pyramids."

"But we're not trying to build a pyramid!" Violet cried in exasperation. "We're trying to escape from jail!"

"I'm just trying to be helpful!" Klaus cried.

"If it weren't for you and your silly hair ribbons we wouldn't have been arrested in the first place!"

"And if it weren't for your ridiculous glasses," Violet snapped in reply, "we wouldn't be here in this jail!"

"Stop!" Sunny shrieked.

Violet and Klaus glared angrily at one another for a moment, and then sighed. Violet moved over on the bench to make room for her siblings.

"Come and sit down," she said gloomily. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Klaus. Of course it's not your fault that we're here."

"It's not yours, either," Klaus said. "I'm just frustrated. Only a few hours ago we thought we'd be able to find the Quagmires and save Jacques."

"But we were too late to save Jacques," Violet said, shuddering. "I don't know who he was, or how he got his tattoo, but I know he wasn't Count Olaf."

"Maybe he used to work with Count Olaf," Klaus said. "He said the tattoo was from his job. Do you think Jacques was in Olaf's theater troupe?"