File Under: 13 Suspicious Incidents (Reports 1-6)

INSIDE JOB.

One morning I was arguing with the adult in charge of me. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what that is like, and it is one of the world's great difficulties that this sort of argument goes on nearly every place on almost every morning between practically every child and some adult or other. Another one of the world's great difficulties was S. Theodora Markson. During my time in Stain'd-by-the-Sea, Theodora was my chaperone and I was her apprentice. Being her apprentice meant that we shared a small room in a hotel called the Lost Arms. The room was too small to share with one of the world's great difficulties, and this was probably why we were arguing.

"Lemony Snicket," she was saying to me, "tell me exactly what being an apprentice means."

"S. Theodora Markson," I said, "tell me exactly what the S stands for in your name."

"Snide answers aren't proper," she said. "They're not sensible."

"I know it," I said, and I did. "Snide" is a word which here means "the kind of tone you use in an argument," and "sensible" refers to the tone you are supposed to use instead.

"If you're smart enough to know that," Theodora said, snidely, "then tell me all about being an apprentice."

"You and I are in a secret organization," I began, but Theodora looked wildly around the room and shook her head at me. My chaperone's hair was a crazed and woolly mess, so when she looked around the room and shook her head, it was like seeing something go wrong at a mop factory.

"Shush!" she hissed.

"Why shush?"

"You know why shush. You shouldn't talk about our secret organization. You shouldn't even say the words 'secret organization' out loud."

"You've just said them twice."

"It doesn't count if I say it in order to tell you not to say it."

"Well, what can I say instead?"

"You know what."

"No, I don't know what," I said. "That's why I asked you."

"Say 'you know what,' " Theodora said, "instead of 'secret organization.' That way you won't have to say 'secret organization' out loud, which you should never do."

"Except in order to tell me not to say it," I reminded her, and went on with my answer. "You and I are in you know what, and being your apprentice means I'm learning all the methods and techniques used by you know what. There are sinister plots afoot in this town, and you and I should be working together to defeat them in the name of you know what."

"Wrong," Theodora said, with a stern hairshake. "Being my apprentice means you do everything I say."

"That's not what I was told," I said.

"Who told you?"

"You know who," I said, just to be safe, "at you know what, you know where, when, and how."

"You're talking nonsense," Theodora said. "Breakfast is ready. As your chaperone, I'm telling you to hand me two napkins."

"As your apprentice," I said, "I'm telling you we don't have any."

"I suppose it doesn't matter," Theodora said, and I suppose she was right. My chaperone made us breakfast every morning on a metal plate provided by the Lost Arms. When you flicked a switch the plate got hot, and this morning Theodora had laid two slices of bread on it and then begun arguing with me. Now the bread was burned black on one side, like a shingle covered in tar, and the other side was soft and cold from sitting on the windowsill we used as a refrigerator. A napkin would not turn a half-burned, half-cold piece of bread into breakfast. A garbage bin would have been more helpful. I put the failed toast in my mouth anyway. Theodora didn't think it was proper for her apprentice to talk with his mouth full, so it was the best way to avoid talking to her.

Over the sound of burned crusts against my teeth I heard a knock on the door, and Prosper Lost peeked in at us. He was the Lost Arms' proprietor, a word which here means he stood around the lobby with a small smile and called it running the place. I called it a little creepy, although not to his face. "Lemony Snicket," he said.

"You're not Lemony Snicket," Theodora said to him.

"There's someone downstairs to see you," Lost explained to me.

Theodora frowned at the proprietor. "Whoever's waiting downstairs isn't Lemony Snicket either," she said. "Lemony Snicket is right here with crumbs on his shirt."

"Someone is here to see Lemony Snicket," Prosper Lost said, as clearly as he could.

"Thank you," I told the proprietor, and excused myself.

"Whatever you're doing," Theodora called after me, "be quick about it. You have a very busy day, Snicket. You have to buy some napkins."

My mouth wasn't full, but I pretended it was so I didn't have to answer as Prosper Lost led me down the stairs. "Who is it who wants to see me?" I asked him.

"A minor," Lost replied.

"Do you mean a child, or someone who works in a mine?"

"Both," Lost said, and sure enough, in the lobby was a girl about my age wearing a helmet with a light attached to it, the kind people wear when digging underground. The hat looked a little big on her head, and she took off some oversized work gloves so she could shake my hand.

"I'm Marguerite Gracq," she said. "I spell it in the French way."

"I'm Lemony Snicket," I said. "I think my name is spelled the same in any language."

"Around town they say you're something of a detective."

"Around town they're wrong. I'm something else."

"Well, I need some help."

"What kind of help?"