constructed out of a single business card. All my associates in Stain’d-by-the-Sea had cards nowadays, printed with their names and areas of specialty. My eyes fell on the word “sculptor.”
“Most of the statues were destroyed in a fire some time ago,” Lost said. “Ornette was the one who smelled the smoke, which runs in the family too. By the time her uncles arrived to fight the fire, my daughter had managed to rouse the entire hotel and help the guests and staff to safety. Everyone was rescued—everyone but Alice.”
I stopped looking at what was in my hands and stared into the sad eyes of Prosper Lost. I had always found the hotel where I had been living, and the man who ran it, to be shabby and uncomfortable. Not until now had I thought of either of them as damaged. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t tell you,” Lost said, with his faint smile. “I suppose we all have our troubles, don’t we, Snicket?”
“Mine are smaller than yours, Lost.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Lost said quietly. “It seems to me we’re in the same situation, both alone in the lobby.”
“So you saw my chaperone go out?”
“Yes, just a minute ago.”
“Did she tell you where she was going?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Did she say anything at all?”
Prosper Lost shifted slightly. It must have been tiring for him to stand up at the desk, but I don’t think I’d ever seen him sit. “Actually,” he said, “she told me that if she didn’t return by tomorrow, I ought to make sure you were provided for.”
“What?”
“She told me that if she didn’t return—”
“I heard you, Lost. She said she wasn’t coming back.” My chaperone had once told me she was leaving town, but our organization did not permit leaving apprentices unsupervised. I looked at the train again, fashioned out of a card that was designed for communication. But what is Ornette communicating, I asked myself. Myself couldn’t answer, so I asked somebody else something else. “How long does the train stop at the station?”
“Oh, quite a while,” Prosper said, with a glance at his watch. “The railway switches engines at Stain’d-by-the-Sea, and it takes a long time to load in all the passengers. It seems there are always more and more people who want to get out of town.”
“Listen, Lost,” I said. “If I don’t return by tomorrow, will you do something for me?”
“What is it?”
“There’s a book beside my bed,” I said. “If I’m not back, please give it to the Bellerophon brothers.”
“The taxi drivers?” he said. “All right, Snicket. If you say so. Although I’m surprised you’re not bringing the book along. It seems to me that you always have a book with you.”
“I do,” I said, “but this book belongs to the library.”
“The library was destroyed, Snicket. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course I remember,” I said, “but I still shouldn’t take it with me. It’s too bad, too. I’m only partway through.”
“So it goes,” Prosper Lost said, a little sadly. “There are some stories you never get to finish.”
I nodded in agreement and I never saw him again. Outside, the night was colder than I would have guessed, but not colder than I like it. I headed toward the train station, thinking of the book. It was about a man who went to sleep one night, and when he woke up he was an insect. It was causing him a great deal of trouble. The streets were quiet and I went several blocks, all the way to the town’s last remaining department store, before I saw a single person.
Diceys was a tall building that looked like a neatly stacked pile of square windows, catching the starlight and winking it back at the sky. In each window was a mannequin dressed in Diceys clothes, posed with some item or other that the store had for sale. Diceys was closed at this time of night, but a few lights were still on inside, and the mannequins stood eerily looking down at the store’s large entrance, a fancy door chained shut with a padlock as big as a suitcase. Struggling with the lock was S. Theodora Markson. Her efforts to unlock Diceys were fierce and required both her hands and occasionally a foot, and her bushy hair waved back and forth as she tried to wrestle her way into the store. From across the street she almost looked like an insect herself, as frantic and frightened as the man in the book. What happens next, I thought.
Finally, Theodora persuaded the door to open and slipped inside Diceys. I waited just a few seconds before slipping after her. I didn’t move too carefully. Anyone who struggles endlessly with a lock on a public street is not worried about being followed. There was a large, spiky metal object stuck in the lock. It was a skeleton key, but not a good one. A good skeleton key can open any lock at any time. A bad one can open some locks, some of the time, after much struggle. I looked at it, but only for a second, because I had seen it before. It was likely the only one in town. I left it where it was. I had no skeleton key as I stepped inside Diceys. I had only the clothes on my back, and a small folded paper train in my hand. My chaperone had something better. She had a secret.
Diceys was dark. I entered where perfume was sold, with glass bottles waiting on shelves like a laboratory with the mad scientist on vacation. I scanned the large room I was in. Nothing moved in it but a small light on a far wall. I made my way. The bottles watched me. I never have liked perfume. It always smells like someone’s been hit by a truck full of flowers.
The light on the wall was over the elevator doors, indicating that the elevator was moving. The light marked 4 turned on, and then the one marked 5. Theodora was going up. There was another elevator, but I couldn’t risk taking it. I waited to see where it stopped. Then I’d take the stairs. I hoped it would stop soon. It stopped at 11.
The staircase was a fancy one, very wide, with banisters that were probably brass and carpeting that was probably red when the lights were on. With the lights off, the banister was just smudgy and the carpeting was dotted with light lint and dark stains. At each turn of the staircase was a sign telling me what they sold on the floor. The second floor sold shoes for men. The third floor sold shoes for women. The fourth floor also sold shoes for women. The fifth floor sold housewares, with radios and mixing bowls casting shapely shadows on the walls. The sixth floor sold toys, and I thought of a book for small children as I paused to catch my breath. A bear wanders a department store at night, looking for a button he has lost. He’s caught by the night watchman. Diceys probably doesn’t have a night watchman, I told myself. If they can’t afford to polish the banisters, they can’t afford to pay a man to watch over the place. They just lock the door and go home. In any case, you’re not the one who broke in. Theodora broke in. You’re just following her. So stop leaning against the banister and follow her.
The seventh floor sold formal clothing. The eighth sold casual clothing. The ninth sold children’s clothing, and I remembered Theodora taking me there some weeks back, to be
