Snickets Have an Aptitude for Avoiding Death

She Volunteered

Kit Snicket knew the freaks were dead, although she had tried to help. Some people were simply to lost in their moral dilemmas to act. One might says they were haunted, even. She knew the freaks were dead because of her intuition, and because she heard their screams. The sounds had pierced the cold, night air, like the nigh frozen waters of the Stricken Stream pierced her bare hands as she vainly searched for the sugar bowl.
"AAaaahhhHhh!! Oh. What are you doing out here?" The sound of an idiotic banker cut through Snicket's thoughts, like the blade of a sword designed to be hidden in a cane. But sometimes even nincompoops can be useful.

Olivia Caliban had been wandering through the mountains since the surprising night at the carnival. For she had been surprised when she fell to what she thought was her death, but even more surprised when it had turned out to not be her death. Instead of the pain she had been expecting, the Volunteer Feline Detectives had greeted her with warm, scratchy licks. Even starved, the sight of a spyglasses had knocked some sense into them (figuratively). While the crowd ran for cover, Olivia had slipped out the back of the tent. The pit was shallow. And as it turned out, the plank made a good ramp for a pair of agile felines to escape. Initially, she had thought to go after the Baudelaires, but when she saw them getting into Olaf's caravan, she realized she would have to decide a clever plan. Looking at the lions. . . . Perhaps two.
"I need you to find someone for me. You were trained to be detectives, and I trust you with my life. But first."
The carnival went up in smoke quickly, but the smoke hid the real flames, and any undercover activities one might perform. Two Feline Detectives crept from the carnival unharmed, although the flock of chickens they had found in the chicken on the edge of the carnival were very much harmed. A note hung from a single thread around the neck of each one.

Kit Snicket and Mr. Poe did not get along like a house on fire. Perhaps this was good, considering there were too many houses burning in the district lately. Or perhaps it was bad, considering they were very much in need of smoke at the moment the snow gnats found them.
It is an interesting thing, fire. Volunteers who spend their whole lives fighting to quell it have no second thoughts about setting something aflame to save themselves. It's why V.F.D. is an undercover organization. Neither side is noble enough according to law enforcement.

Olivia Caliban abandoned the newly repaired roller coaster cart once the road got too steep for its meagre capabilities. From there, she hiked to the Valley of Four Drafts.
If the headquarters are still there, then there might be somebody to help me. Somebody to help the Baudelaires.
Although, if the carnival was anything to judge by, things were likely to have gone up in flames (literally and figuratively).

Kit Snicket looked up in surprise as a woman stepped out from the trees ahead. She and Mr. Poe had been hiking for hours, and had had countless near death accidents already. Actually, Mr. Poe had had countless near death accidents. Kit had saved him, although she was tempted to let him eat the next handful of poisonous berries he picked up.
But the woman standing in the road ahead of her wasn't another near death accident, although she had had one recently.
"Madame Lulu! You're alive," both woman exclaimed.
"What, but, are you both called Madame Lulu? And why does that name sound familiar?" Mr. Poe wondered before breaking into a fresh coughing fit.
Kit and Olivia ignored him as they embraced. When they quickly let go, as the hug was rather awkward, considering Kit's condition, Kit spoke again.
"I believe proper introduction are required. My name is Kit Snicket. You were driving my brother's taxi when we first met. I got the note you sent with the Volunteer Feline Detective."
"I know," Olivia answered. She had learned much in her short time as the false fortune teller. Not everything has been smoke and mirrors. "My name is Olivia Caliban. Jacques and I were. . . close."
Kit faltered.
"Nice to meet you, then. I am sure we will get along splendidly. A certain acumen in your eye tells me that you are a librarian."
"I am indeed, and we shall indeed," Olivia answered, smiling for the first time in what felt like years, but was only a few days. Kit smiled back.
"You don't happen to have a car, do you, ma'am?" Mr. Poe had finally recovered from his coughing fit for long enough to attend to the conversation at hand.
Kit raised her eyebrow hopefully.
"Unfortunately not. My vehicle was rather unconventional, and couldn't handle this slippery slopes."

Mr. Poe sat contentedly in the backseat of a taxi.
Vacations in the mountains were dangerous, he observed. If only the idiotic banker knew what dangers were really lurking.
The two woman in the front were conversing fluently and speedily, so that he didn't understand half of what they were saying. Something about books, he had guessed within the first few minutes, and had zoned out the rest of the words. A slight lull appeared, and the banker took his chance to say something.
"Thank you for the lovely ride, but I should be getting back to the bank now. There has recently been an outbreak in fires and rich childrens' parents mysteriously perishing in fires."
"I must admit, when you offered a ride, I thought you meant you had a car," the woman driving pointed out.
"Well, yes, I had forgotten it fell off that cliff. . . . Good thing your car was only a day and a half hike away!"
"It's not my car. It belongs to my brother."
"Oh, well, you'll have to thank him for me some time." Mr. Poe smiled cheerfully, not sensing the rising gloom and despair in the small vehicle.
"He's dead."
The words were like a hammer, pounding down on each heart with all the strength of fresh grief. Not including Mr. Poe's heart, of course. To him, the heart was merely another organism that allowed him to survive. The death of the taxi's owner was merely filed away as another but of information. Perhaps he had left some wealthy orphans behind.