"You can't fool me!" Count Olaf growled. "I wasn't born yesterday, you know! You're one of those idiotic twins! I should know! Thanks to me, you two are the only survivors of the entire family!"
"Triplets run in my family," Dewey said, "not twins. I'm Dewey Denouement."
At this, Count Olaf's one eyebrow raised in astonishment. "Dewey Denouement," he murmured. "So you're a real person! I always thought you were a legendary figure, like unicorns or Giuseppe Verdi."
"Giuseppe Verdi is not a legendary figure," Klaus said indignantly. "He's an operatic composer!"
"Silence, bookworm!" Olaf ordered. "Children should not speak while adults are arguing! Hand over the orphans, adults!"
"Nobody's handing over the Baudelaires!" Justice Strauss said, clutching Klaus's hand. "You have no legal right to them or their fortune!"
"You can't just grab children as if they were pieces of fruit in a bowl!" Jerome Squalor cried. "It's injustice, and we won't have it!"
"You'd better watch yourselves," Count Olaf said, narrowing his shiny eyes. "I have associates lurking everywhere in this hotel."
"So do we," Dewey said. "Many volunteers have arrived early, and within hours the streets will be flooded with taxis carrying noble people here to this hotel."
"How can you be sure they're noble people?"Count Olaf asked. "A taxi will pick up anyone who signals for one."
"These people are associates of ours," Dewey said fiercely. "They won't fail us."
"Ha!" Count Olaf said. "You can't rely on associates. More comrades have failed me than I can count. Why, Hooky and Fiona double-crossed me just yesterday, and let you brats escape! Then they double-crossed me again and stole my submarine!"
"We can rely on our friends," Violet said quietly, "more than you can rely on yours."
"Is that so?" Count Olaf asked, and leaned toward the children with a ravenous smile. "Have you learned nothing after all your adventures?" he asked. "Every noble person has failed you, Baudelaires. Why, look at the idiots standing next to you! A judge who let me marry you, a man who gave up on you altogether, and a sub-sub-librarian who spends his life sneaking around taking notes. They're hardly a noble bunch."
"Charles is here, from Lucky Smells Lumbermill," Klaus said. "He cares about us."
"Sir is here," Olaf retorted. "He doesn't. Ha!"
"Hal," Sunny said.
"Vice Principal Nero and Mr. Remora," Olaf replied, counting each nasty person on his filthy fingers. "And that pesky little reporter from The Daily Punctilio, who's here to write silly articles praising my cocktail party. And ridiculous Mr. Poe, who arrived just hours ago to investigate a bank robbery. Ha!"
"Those people don't count," Klaus said. "They're not associates of yours."
"They might as well be," Count Olaf replied. "They've been an enormous help. And every second, more associates of mine get closer and closer."
"So do our friends," Violet said. "They're flying across the sea as we speak, and by tomorrow, their self-sustaining hot air mobile home will land on the roof."
"Only if they've managed to survive my eagles," Count Olaf said with a growl.
"They will," Klaus said. "Just like we've survived you."
"And how did you survive me?" Olaf asked. "The Daily Punctilio is full of your crimes. You lied to people. You stole. You abandoned people in danger. You set fires. Time after time you've relied on treachery to survive, just like everyone else. There are no truly noble people in this world."
"Our parents," Sunny said fiercely.
Count Olaf looked surprised that Sunny had spoken, and then gave all three Baudelaires a smile that made them shudder. "I guess the sub-sub-librarian hasn't told you the story about your parents," he said, "and a box of poison darts. Why don't you ask him, orphans? Why don't you ask this legendary librarian about that fateful evening at the opera?"
The Baudelaires turned to look at Dewey, who had begun to blush. But before they could ask him anything, they were interrupted by a voice coming from a pair of sliding doors that had quietly opened.
"Don't ask him that," Esme Squalor said. "I have a much more important question."
With a mocking laugh, the treacherous girlfriend emerged from the elevator, her silver sandals clumping on the floor and her lettuce leaves rustling against her skin. Behind her was Carmelita Spats, who was still wearing her ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate outfit and carrying the harpoon gun Violet had delivered, and behind her three more people emerged from the elevator. First came the attendant from the rooftop sunbathing salon, still wearing green sunglasses and a long, baggy robe. Following the attendant was the mysterious chemist from outside the sauna, dressed in a long, white coat and a surgical mask, and last out of the elevator was the washerwoman from the laundry room, with long, blond hair and rumpled clothing. The Baudelaires recognized these people from their observations as flaneurs, but then the attendant removed his robe to reveal his back, which had a small hump on the shoulder, and the chemist removed her surgical mask, not with one of her hands but with one of her feet, and the washerwoman removed a long, blond wig with both hands at th
e exact same time, and the three siblings recognized the three henchfolk all over again.
"Hugo!" cried Violet.
"Colette!" cried Klaus.
"Kevin!" cried Sunny.
"Esme!" cried Jerome.
"Why isn't anybody calling out my name?" demanded Carmelita, stomping one of her bright blue boots. She pranced toward Violet, who observed that two of the four long, sharp hooks were missing from the weapon. This sort of observation may be important for a flaneur, but it is dreadful for any reader of this book, who probably does not want to know where the remaining harpoons will end up. "I'm a ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate," she crowed to the oldest Baudelaire, "and you're nothing but a cakesniffer. Call my name or I'll shoot you with this harpoon gun!"
"Carmelita!" Esme said, her silver mouth twisting into an expression of shock. "Don't point that gun at Violet!"
"Esme's right," Count Olaf said. "Don't waste the harpoons. We may need them."
"Yes!" Esme cried. "There's always important work to do before a cocktail party, particularly if you want it to be the innest in the world! We need to put slipcovers on the couches, and hide our associates beneath them! We need to put vases of flowers on the piano and electric eels in the fountain! We need to hang streamers and volunteers from the ceiling! We need to play music, so people can dance, and block the exits, so they can't leave! And most of all, we have to cook in food and prepare in cocktails! Food and drink are the most important aspect of every social occasion, and our in recipes-"
"The most important aspect of every social occasion isn't food and drink!" Dewey interrupted indignantly. "It's conversation!"
"You're the one who should flee!" Justice Strauss said. "Your cocktail party will be canceled, due to the host and hostess being brought to justice by the High Court!"