The Prestigious Prisoner

If you have read a famous book about eight very short people and a wizard trying to reclaim an enormous pile of stolen gold, then you have probably heard of the expression "out of the frying pan and into the fire." This is a phrase which here means "out of a bad situation and into an even worse one," and it unfortunately applies to the majority of the people I have researched.

This expression is a good way to sum up the time the Baudelaire orphans, after being forced to live in the dreadful Orphan's Shack, discovered that their new gym teacher was actually Count Olaf in another ridiculous disguise. It also applies to the time Esmé Squalor pushed the orphans down a long and dark elevator shaft, shortly after they discovered that their trusted friends had been moved away from their hiding place at the bottom.

But this story is not about the Baudelaire orphans. This story is about a trusted and prestigious volunteer, and how he found himself undoubtedly out of the frying pan and into the clutches of an arsonist who has caused many dreadful fires.

"Jacques Snicket," said Count Olaf for the tenth time. "I still can't believe I managed to capture Jacques Snicket. Well, actually I can, since I am the greatest man in the world--so I suppose I'm just in awe of my own pure skill."

"I was unconscious!" Jacques exclaimed from the corner of the hotel room, shifting in the chair he was tied to. "I was found and knocked unconscious by--"

Here Jacques said the name of a person so horrible I will not write down his name. I will simply call him "the man with a beard but no hair" instead, to save your eyes the pain of having to read the name of a person so treacherous.

"That's not the point," said Count Olaf, putting on a turquoise blazer so brightly colored it made Jacques squint. "The point is that I, a very handsome and good-looking actor, managed to capture you with ease. And tomorrow . . ." The villain smiled a terrible smile, and his eyes shone like he had just told a clever joke. "Tomorrow, you'll be dead. Those wretched Baudelaire orphans will be blamed for the murder, and I'll be able to walk free. It's like killing two stones with one bird!"

Jacques sighed and remained silent, deciding not to tell Count Olaf that he had used the expression "killing two birds with one stone" incorrectly.

While the terrible Count was putting on large sunglasses and examining them in the mirror, someone came up the stairs, someone who walked across the hallway and knocked on Count Olaf's door.

I wish with all of my heart and soul that I could change the events of that day. If I had been there, things would be different. If my sister had been there, things would be different. If someone else had been there--Larry, Haruki, Dewey, or any other good and noble volunteer--things would be different. But, I'm sorry to say, that's not how the story goes.

The newcomer knocked three sharp knocks, and Count Olaf swiveled towards the door. "Who goes there?" he asked. "Are you who I think you are?"

"It's me!" exclaimed a familiar voice, and Count Olaf strode across the room and opened the door, letting in Esmé Squalor.

Esmé took off her motorcycle helmet and set it on the nearby bed, along with her long blue coat.

Olaf smiled again, and Jacques knew that his eyes were just as shiny under his enormous sunglasses as they were before. "How did it go, Officer Luciana?" the villain asked, raising his one eyebrow just enough that it was visible above the sunglasses.

"It was absolutely smashing!" Esmé exclaimed, planting a lipstick-stained kiss on Olaf's cheek, which he immediately wiped away in disgust. "No one suspects me--not those crow hat-wearing fools, not Hector, and not the orphans. Who wears crow hats, anyway? Those have been 'out' for two months!"

"Good," Olaf said, moving back to the mirror and adjusting his sunglasses. "Remember the plan we went over. Later today, you will bring Jacques to the village and say that he is Count Olaf. Make sure you bring him in late enough that they schedule his burning at the stake tomorrow. Tonight, he will be mysteriously murdered in his jail cell, and I will arrive to investigate the death of Count Olaf, as a very handsome and famous detective. I will blame the Baudelaires for the murder, and then I won't have to worry about the authorities anymore."

Jacques watched from the corner of the room in horror, but still said nothing.

"Brilliant!" Esmé squealed with delight. "Framing people for murder is very in! Also, have you figured out a name for your detective yet?"

"I have," Olaf replied, sitting down to put on some horrendous bright green plastic shoes. "I will be called . . . " he paused dramatically, then revealed his name with a flourish. "Detective Dupin. He is a very cool and famous detective I heard about once, back when I was a volunteer."

"That does sound vaguely familiar," Esmé agreed, nodding and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Cool detectives are also in."

"Edgar Allan Poe!" Jacques exclaimed irritably. "That's where--"

"Poe?" Count Olaf asked, looking and sounding disgusted. "That stupid banker is nowhere near as cool as I--Detective Dupin."

Jacques stopped talking. He knew, like most other people who tried to contradict Count Olaf, that his efforts were not and likely never would be effective.

Count Olaf chuckled to himself and walked slowly across the room, finally stopping in front of Jacques. He put his thin, bony arms behind his back, and spoke.

"How does it feel, Jacques? How does it feel to be hopeless? To face your impending death? To know that I was right all along--to know that VFD can't save you now."

Jacques stared up at the vile man in front of him and furrowed his brow. "I don't know how that feels," Jacques said. I don't know how that feels because I am never hopeless. There are people out there that can stop you, even if I do die a martyr."

Count Olaf grinned a nasty grin, a grin I hope that you, dear reader, never have to see in person. "Your brother," Olaf said, "is dead."

Jacques didn't break eye contact. "My sister is still alive. Hector is still alive. The Baudelaire children are still alive. You will meet your end, Count Olaf, whether you like it or not--and sooner than you think."

Count Olaf shook his head and turned around. "Nonsense," he said. "Nothing stops the great Detective Dupin."

"Meeting your end has been out for two years," Esmé added, rolling her eyes.

Jacques stayed silent. He had accepted his fate, and I'm deeply sorry to tell you thar his fate would not change. But Jacques' words, though desperate, housed deadly accuracy. There existed, somewhere nearby, three sparks of hope for what remained of VFD. Three sparks of hope who, at the current moment, were speaking to a certain banker about the saying "It takes a village to raise a child."

And so this brief account of my brother's predicament ends. Now I can only hope, dear reader, that you have enough common sense to avoid my next chronicle of the Baudelaire children, THE VILE VILLAGE, at all costs. But if you must know the dismal events that occurred after this story, I suppose there is no way for me to stop you.

With all due respect,

Lemony Snicket.