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| To My fellow volunteers:
I am on my way now to the Versailles Post Office, due to a coded message given to me by the rickshaw dealer who lives inside a grotto in the Caspian Sea. I have now found out the Hotel Preludio is not safe anymore. There were many suspicious and unfathomable people at the Hotel, and I must comment that I didn't even get a glimpse of the sugar bowl or what was inside, for it is in the middle of a deep pond where the dead remains of a sub-sub-librarian guards the secret library under the water.
I hope to find where the other volunteers are. In short I hope for the best.
With all due respect,
J. S. | | |
| Dear Readers,
I apologize for not being able to post in a long while, as I was concerned about my own life and the treacherous villain known to me as G., I was unable to reach a telegraph machine or a post office due to my hiding in a grotto in the Caspian Sea where I spent some time with a quite delightful rickshaw dealer who made his business there.
Now that I have returned, I have seen that things were not the same as before. The Beatrice Letters, which I had once thought were a small rumour, has finally appeared to the world.
The one letter that has attracted my interest was the one Beatrice Baudelaire wrote while she was on a certain island, in a cave, where my brother had stayed, presumably to chronicle the Baudelaire case, as referred to in one of the illustrations in The End.
She traded a ring emblazoned with an R for a yak-ride to the cave where I once stepped foot in.
From what I have concluded from my brother's research, the Baudelaires gave Beatrice the ring, who was given by Ishmael, to Beatrice Baudelaire, to Bertrand, to my sister, who is now dead, to my brother, and to R. I do not know how that ring ended up on the island, or how Ishmael once was a volunteer, based on the interesting story he was trying to tell the Baudelaires.
I have also heard the rumour that there are still volunteers battling villains out in this treacherous world, and for that I am greatful.
With all due respect,
Jacques Snicket | | |
| Dear Dairy,
As you know, dear cheesemakers, I have been researching the wrongdoings of Count Olaf since the schism began. I have come across a page of a commonplace book belonging to a volunteer, and the script from The Marvelous Marriage.
Dear Dairy,
As I sit in my seat at the theatre, I cannot help but muse about
those two powder-faced women. They seem familiar to me, but
I don't have the faintest idea why. I have a sneaking suspicion
that they are not ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
With all due respect,
T–––––––––––––– H––––––––––––––––––
The Marvelous Marriage
–––––––––––––––––––
OLAF: I need to get the powder for one of those white-faced women.
HOOK-HANDED MAN: WHAT!?? Olaf, we don’t have white powder,
I mean, come on. Powder isn’t in the V.F.D. Disguise kit because of––––
OLAF: I don’t need your conscious blibbering Hook-handed man, just get them
that powder for my new play, The Marvelous Marriage!
It’s Olaf,––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
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| Dear Dairy,
I am now crouching inside a tree beside the dilapidated home of Count Olaf, who is undoubtably trying to figure out who is watching him from across his tower window. Inside the tower window, I see boxes and boxes of matches, and a giant glass eye, the kind you burn things with, and wine bottles, papers, and the occasional eye carved on the wooden floor and ceilings. What!? Oh, the hook-handed man has spotted me!
With all due respect,
Jacques Snicket | | |
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