"We'd be most grateful," Klaus said. "Do castaways arrive on this island very often?"
"From time to time," Friday said, with a small shrug. "It seems that everything eventually washes up on our shores."
"The shores of Olaf-Land, you mean," Count Olaf growled. "I discovered the island, so I get to name it."
Friday peered at Olaf curiously from behind her sunglasses. "You must be confused, sir, after your journey through the storm," she said. "People have lived on the island for many, many years."
"Primitive people," sneered the villain. "I don't even see any houses on the island."
"We live in tents," Friday said, pointing at the billowing white cloths on the island. "We grew tired of building houses that would only get blown away during the stormy season, and the rest of the time the weather is so hot that we appreciate the ventilation that a tent provides."
"I still say you're primitive," Olaf insisted, "and I don't listen to primitive people."
"I won't force you," Friday said. "Come along with me and you can decide for yourself."
"I'm not going to come along with you," Count Olaf said, "and neither are my hench people! I'm Count Olaf, and I'm in charge around here, not some little idiot in a robe!"
"There's no reason to be insulting," Friday said. "The island is the only place you can go, Count Olaf, so it really doesn't matter who's in charge."
Count Olaf gave Friday a terrible scowl, and he pointed his harpoon gun straight at the young girl. "If you don't bow before me, Friday, I'll fire this harpoon gun at you!"
The Baudelaires gasped, but Friday merely frowned at the villain. "In a few minutes," she said, "all the inhabitants of the island will be out storm scavenging. They'll see any act of violence you commit, and you won't be allowed on the island. Please point that weapon away from me."
Count Olaf opened his mouth as if to say something, but after a moment he shut it again, and lowered the harpoon gun sheepishly, a word which here means "looking quite embarrassed to be following the orders of a young girl."
"Baudelaires, please come with me," Friday said, and began to lead the way toward the distant island.
"What about me?" Count Olaf asked. His voice was a little squeaky, and it reminded the Baudelaires of other voices they had heard, from people who were frightened of Olaf himself. They had heard this voice from guardians of theirs, and from Mr. Poe when the villain would confront him. It was a tone of voice they had heard from various volunteers when discussing Olaf's activities, and even from his henchmen when they complained about their wicked boss. It was a tone of voice the Baudelaires had heard from themselves, during the countless times the dreadful man had threatened them, and promised to get his hands on their fortune, but the children never thought they would hear it from Count Olaf himself. "What about me?" he asked again, but the siblings had already followed Friday a short way from where he was standing, and when the Baudelaire orphans turned to him, Olaf looked like just another piece of detritus that the storm had blown onto the coastal shelf.
"Go away," Friday said firmly, and the castaways wondered if finally they had found a place where there was no room for Count Olaf.
Chapter Three
As I'm sure you know, there are many words in our mysterious and confusing language that can mean two completely different things. The word "bear," for instance, can refer to a rather husky mammal found in the woods, as in the sentence "The bear moved quietly toward the camp counselor, who was too busy putting on lipstick to notice," but it can also refer to how much someone can handle, as in the sentence "The loss of my camp counselor is more than I can bear." The word «yarn» can refer both to a colorful strand of wool, as in the sentence "His sweater was made of yarn," and to a long and rambling story, as in the sentence "His yarn about how he lost his sweater almost put me to sleep." The word «hard» can refer both to something that is difficult and something that is firm to the touch, and unless you come across a sentence like "The bears bear hard hard yarn yarns" you are unlikely to be confused. But as the Baudelaire orphans followed Friday across the coastal shelf toward the island where she lived, they experienced both definitions of the word "cordial," which can refer both to a person who is friendly and to a drink that is sweet, and the more they had of one the more they were confused about the other.
"Perhaps you would care for some coconut cordial," Friday said, in a cordial tone of voice, and she reached down to the seashell that hung around her neck. With one slim finger she plucked out a stopper, and the children could see that the shell had been fashioned into a sort of canteen. "You must be thirsty from your journey through the storm."
"We are thirsty," Violet admitted, "but isn't fresh water better for thirst?"
"There's no fresh water on the island," Friday said. "There's some saltwater falls that we use for washing, and a saltwater pool that's perfect for swimming. But all we drink is coconut cordial. We drain the milk from coconuts and allow it to ferment."
"Ferment?" Sunny asked.
"Friday means that the coconut milk sits around for some time, and undergoes a chemical process making it sweeter and stronger," Klaus explained, having learned about fermentation in a book about a vineyard his parents had kept in the Baudelaire library.
"The sweetness will wash away the taste of the storm," Friday said, and passed the seashell to the three children. One by one they each took a sip of the cordial. As Friday had said, the cordial was quite sweet, but there was another taste beyond the sweetness, something odd and strong that made them a bit dizzy. Violet and Klaus both winced as the cordial slipped thickly down their throats, and Sunny coughed as soon as the first drop reached her tongue.
"It's a little strong for us, Friday," Violet said, handing the seashell back to Friday.
"You'll get used to it," Friday said with a smile, "when you drink it at every meal. That's one of the customs here."
"I see," Klaus said, making a note in his commonplace book. "What other customs do you have here?"
"Not too many," Friday said, looking first at Klaus's notebook and then around her, where the Baudelaires could see the distant figures of other islanders, all dressed in white, walking around the costal shelf and poking at the wreckage they found. "Every time there's a storm, we go storm scavenging and present what we've found to a man named Ishmael. Ishmael has been on this island longer than any of us, and he injured his feet some time ago and keeps them covered in island clay, which has healing powers. Ishmael can't even stand, but he serves as the island's facilitator."
" Demarc?" Sunny asked Klaus.
"A facilitator is someone who helps other people make decisions," the middle Baudelaire explained.
Friday nodded in agreement. "Ishmael decides what detritus might be of use to us, and what the sheep should drag away."
"There are sheep on the island?" Violet asked.
"A herd of wild sheep washed up on our shores many, many years ago," Friday said, "and they roam free, except when they're needed to drag our scavenged items to the arboretum, on the far side of the island over that brae over there."
"Brae?" Sunny asked.
"A brae is a steep hill," Klaus said, "and an arboretum is a place where trees grow."
"All that grows in the island's arboretum is one enormous apple tree," Friday said, "or at least, that's what I've heard."
"You've never been to the far side of the island?" Violet asked.
"No one goes to the far side of the island," Friday said. "Ishmael says it's too dangerous with all the items the sheep have brought there. Nobody even picks the bitter apples from the tree, except on Decision Day."
"Holiday?" Sunny asked.
"I guess it's something of a holiday," Friday said. "Once a year, the tides turn in this part of the ocean, and the coastal shelf is completely covered in water. It's the one time a year that it's deep enough to sail away from the island. All year long we build an enormous outrigger, which is a type of canoe, and the day the tides turn we have a feast and a tale
nt show. Then anyone who wishes to leave our colony indicates their decision by taking a bite of bitter apple and spitting it onto the ground before boarding the outrigger and bidding us farewell."
"Yuck," the youngest Baudelaire said, imagining a crowd of people spitting up apple.
"There's nothing yucky about it," Friday said with a frown. "It's the colony's most important custom."
"I'm sure it's wonderful," Violet said, reminding her sister with a stern glance that it is not polite to insult the customs of others.