"Who Could That Be at This Hour?" (All the Wrong Questions) (13 page)

“Coffee?” I said out loud, and then, because I
had offered it to myself, felt it would be polite to tell myself “No, thank you.”

When I pressed
B
, different parts of the machine began to tremble, and a different kind of steam began to cloud from a different row of holes. Two devices that looked like metal hands began to wrestle over something white and sticky, which was then pounded by a pair of loud wooden hammers. Finally the whole mess was pushed into a door, and a clock began ticking, and after some time a bell rang and the door opened and something slid down a slide to stop in front of the
B
button. A better smell filled the empty room.

“And
B
is for bread,” I said, and it was delicious.

When I pressed the
A
button, the machinery stayed quiet, and for a second I thought it was an aberration. But then right above me was a mighty scraping, as if the entire building were being lifted by a crane, and I stepped aside as a
huge part of the ceiling lowered at a strict, sharp angle, revealing a staircase that led up and away from where I was standing.

“Attic,” I said. It was a good place to keep packages. The music from the piano told me there was nothing to worry about, but I climbed the staircase with my belly full of bread and butterflies. I was tired of surprises in strange rooms. But the attic of Black Cat Coffee was just another big room with nobody in it. Along the wall were a few cupboards, and shelves with bags of coffee on them. There was a long table with envelopes and packages stacked in separate piles, as if quite a few people collected their mail at Black Cat Coffee instead of at home. I wondered why. There were not that many packages. There was a small box marked MEDICAL SUPPLIES addressed to a Dr. Flammarion. There was a long tube marked ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT addressed to nothing more than a pair of initials that were unfamiliar. And then there was
a package about the size of a bottle of milk, wrapped in newspaper with a handwriting I recognized immediately.

I unwrapped it carefully. It was the Bombinating Beast. It did not look happy to be found, but I was happy to see it. Everything in the world, I thought to myself. Every single thing, Snicket, has a place, and this statue is now with you.

The sun was dying when I stepped back out into the street, and the statue felt like it was bombinating under my arm. It was not actually buzzing, of course, but it made me nervous to carry something that everyone wanted, even though I’d rewrapped it carefully. I thought of the Far East Suite and how few hiding places it had, and took a detour, walking quickly past the Lost Arms and toward a place that had so many secrets already that one more wouldn’t hurt.

“Welcome,” Dashiell Qwerty said as I entered the library. “I see you’re still carrying the same
burden I saw you with this morning.”

“So it would appear,” I said.

“Are you checking on your loan requests from the Fourier Branch?” he asked, his face as blank as usual. “Because I haven’t heard anything back just yet.”

“I was just looking for something to read,” I said.

Now Qwerty smiled and made a wide gesture with his hand and the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Make yourself at home,” he said, and I did. I had been in Stain’d-by-the-Sea for only a couple of days, and already I had spent more time here than I had in the meager room I was sharing with Theodora. Even though he had curious hair and a blank expression, I felt more comfortable with my sub-librarian than I did with my chaperone. And the rows of shelves, though as unpeopled as the streets I’d just walked, made me feel better than just about anything in Stain’d-by-the-Sea. I was at home, which is why
I decided it was acceptable to hide something in the shelves, just for a little while. I searched for a long book that looked boring, and settled on something called
An Analysis of Brown, Black, and Beige
, hoping that nobody would be interested in the study of ordinary colors for at least a day. I unwrapped the statue, pulled the book from the shelf, and pushed the Bombinating Beast into the empty space as far as it could go, before replacing the book.

Now, I realized, I needed something to wrap the newspapers around. Qwerty had noticed my package, and he would notice if I didn’t have it when I left. One large book, or perhaps three medium-sized ones, would be a good substitute, and I knew at once which three books I would pick. It made me feel a bit guilty to sneak books out of the library, but I promised myself I’d return them promptly. I found the titles at once and sat down at my usual table. I was in no hurry to return to my hotel. I could take some time to
read. Even with everything that had happened, there was something else that had been on my mind since morning.

I ended up reading until Qwerty told me it was closing time, when I thanked him and strolled down the proper aisle, pretending to return the books. Instead, I slipped them into the newspaper and gave him a wave good-bye as I stepped outside. It was quite late. I was not sure
The Long Secret
was the best. All three of the books were good. I walked across the scraggly lawn, hoping I would find Ellington Feint. Perhaps she would read them, too, and we could have a good-natured argument over which was best. Nothing firms up a friendship like a good-natured argument. But you’re not friends, I told myself, with Ellington Feint.

My thoughts went like this all the way back to the Lost Arms, where a dented, familiar taxi was parked outside. Through the window I could see Pip sound asleep against the steering wheel. I
envied him as I walked into the lobby. Theodora was standing at such an angle that the head of the plaster statue looked like it was peeking out of her hair, but she was in no mood for me to point that out.

“Where have you been?” she said in a terrible voice. “I have been worried sick, Snicket.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said.

“I just received an upsetting phone call,” she told me, and began to pace up and down in front of the plaster woman. “This is already after the police suspect you of burglary and the vandalism of a streetlamp. And now you were playing with a little girl near a well. You’re supposed to be my apprentice, Snicket, not my stomachache!”

I was tired of all these mysterious phone calls, particularly when I had been unable to use the phone myself. “Who called you?” I asked.

“Mr. Mallahan,” Theodora said. “He was very upset and told me to tell you that you’re not
allowed near his daughter anymore.”

“I don’t think that was Mr. Mallahan.”

“Don’t be daft, Snicket. He said he was Mr. Mallahan, and he sounded just like him.”

“There’s much more to this mystery than we know,” I said. “That’s why it isn’t safe to have the Bombinating Beast here.”

“You mean that isn’t it?” Theodora said, pointing to the parcel under my arm. “You mean you don’t even have what you were assigned to retrieve in the first place? I told you before that people are watching us. If you fail me in this task, my reputation will suffer.”

“You’re already ranked last,” I said, and regretted it at once. I had not been raised by people who raised their hands to me, so I had not yet learned that with some people if you say the wrong thing at the wrong time, you will be hit.

Theodora’s eyes widened with shock at what I had said to her. “Not sensible!” she shouted.
“Not proper!” And with a growl that sounded like something I would have expected from a legendary beast, she raised her gloved palm up in the air. She likely wanted to slap me, but I do not know if she would have. What I do know is that we were interrupted by the voice of Prosper Lost, who was standing in the booth in the corner of the lobby, calling to me.

“Lemony Snicket,” he said, “you have a phone call.”

Theodora uttered a high-pitched shriek of annoyance, turned on her heels, and stalked up the stairs. I watched her go and nodded at Prosper Lost, who had dropped the phone, letting it dangle from its cord, to walk back to his post at the desk. I walked toward the phone booth, the newspaper crinkling underneath my arm. I wondered who was calling me, and I wondered it out loud. I asked the question printed on the cover of this book, and once again it was
the wrong one to ask. The right question was “When had I heard this person’s voice before?” but that question didn’t occur to me, not even when I picked up the receiver and heard the terrible things that were said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Hello?”

“It’s Ellington,” said the voice out of the phone. Her voice sounded breathy and worried, or perhaps that was just the phone. “I’m in trouble.”

“Where are you?” I asked.

“He’s captured me,” the voice said. “I need your help.”

“Hangfire?”

“Hangfire.” I am not a hairy person, but each one of my hairs stood up and showed off at the
sound of his name. The sound seemed to have a similar effect on Prosper Lost, who stepped back out from behind his desk and took a sudden interest in dusting off the cushions of the sofa. I wish my Beginning Eavesdropping instructor had been there in the lobby to flunk him.

“He found me in the cottage and dragged me away and threw me into this room. I’m frightened.”

“Thank goodness you found a telephone,” I said.

“Do you have the statue?”

“The Bombinating Beast?” I said, just so I could see Prosper Lost take an interest in an even closer cushion. Dust, dust, dust, Mr. Lost, I thought.

“Do you have it, Lemony?”

I liked it better when Ellington called me Mr. Snicket. Of course, I liked it better when I was actually talking to Ellington. “I don’t think it’s wise to answer that question on the phone.”

“Of course,” the voice replied. “Well, if you have it, bring it to Thirteen Hundred Blotted Boulevard.”

“If I have it,” I said, “I should bring it to a certain address in the middle of the night, instead of keeping it here, where it might be safe?”

“If he gets the statue, I won’t be his prisoner anymore. Please hurry, Lemony.”

“It was certainly nice of him to let you pack your things before he dragged you away,” I said. “Even your record player was gone. What was the name of that tune, again?”

“Hurry,” said the voice again, and the line went dead. I had to admit it did really sound like Ellington Feint, just as it must have sounded like Mr. Mallahan, and it must have sounded like me when Moxie picked up the phone. I looked at the parcel in my hands.

“Is there anything I can assist you with?” Prosper Lost said, and clasped his dusty hands together. I thought suddenly of another word for
obsequious that was much more insulting.

“Yes,” I said, and handed him the books wrapped in newspaper. “Can you please hold this package for me?”

“Oh yes,” he said, kowtowing.

“Thank you,” I said. “I think someone might ask for it very soon.”

“At this hour?” he asked.

“You’d be surprised what might happen at this hour,” I said, and walked out of the hotel to knock on the side of Bellerophon Taxi. Pip opened his eyes and rolled down the window.

“Egad, Snicket, don’t you ever sleep?” he asked.

“Doesn’t your father ever drive this heap?” I replied.

“He’s sick, like I told you,” Pip said. “You need a ride?”

“You need a tip?”

“Sure.”

“I think you might be right about the tap dancer book.”

“That’s not a tip.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s late. Can I owe you one?”

Pip looked down and nudged his brother. “Wake up, Squeak. We have a fare.”

“Where are we going?” Squeak asked from the brake pedals.

“Thirteen Hundred Blotted Boulevard,” I said.

“There’s nothing there, Snicket,” Pip said. “Out of all the empty neighborhoods in Stain’d-by-the-Sea, that’s got to be the emptiest.”

“There’s not a single building left on Blotted Boulevard,” Squeak agreed as I climbed into the backseat.

“You know when someone tells you there’s a monster under the bed?” I asked them. “And you know, of course, that there’s no such thing, but you just have to check under the bed anyway? Well, that’s what we’re doing here.”

“Sounds like a wild ride to me,” Pip said, starting the engine.

“Speaking of wild rides, if you haven’t read
The Wind in the Willows
, you really should,” I told them.

“Now
that’s
a tip,” Pip said. “Let’s get a move on.”

We got a move on. With a roaring engine and squeaky brakes, the Bellerophon brothers took us quickly out of the less faded neighborhoods of Stain’d-by-the-Sea, and we were soon on streets without a single business on them. Then we were on streets without a single light on them—even the automated stoplights had vanished from the corners. And then we were on Blotted Boulevard, and as Squeak had said, there was not a single building as far as the eye could see. The taxi paused on the very first block of the Boulevard, and on either side of the wide street were flat, empty lots, stretching out for thirteen blocks with only the occasional small pile of rubble asking for attention.