AN: -dies- I really have nothing to say, except "Look! I did something! Are you proud?"
So, here is Chapter Eleven. Finally. Not long to go now. Thank you to anyone who is still with this story, it means a lot to me.
I'm still wanting constructive criticism, too, so if you'd like to that'd be helpful!

Thanks. Really.

It was a long time before anything interesting happened to all concerned.

The days passed slowly, the Baudelaires now felt comfortable in this new town and they filled their slow-moving days with many things: Giving Sunny various lessons, visiting Kit, trips to the market, and an assortment of other activities.
Quigley often came by for dinner and the four of them would talk long in to the night (sometimes excluding Sunny, who had an earlier bed time).The possibility of Quigley moving in to the spare room of the house had been a small topic of conversation, but Quigley had decided that he enjoyed and perhaps needed the solitude to which he had become accustomed.

As slow as the days did pass, Violet couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by all that had happened such a short time: moving towns, buying a house, being followed by a 'mysterious man' who turned out to be Quigley Quagmire, discovering the fate of Kit's child, Beatrice, and discovering Kit herself.

But mostly, Violet was overwhelmed by the fact that Quigley was there.

For years she had wondered what had become of him since they were torn apart that day in the Stricken Stream, and she had constantly revisited the memories of what had taken place between the two of them on Mount Fraught so long ago.She had imagined their reuniting to be much different than it had been.
She had made up stories in her head of when they would meet again; she made up stories of reuniting with all of the Quagmire triplets, of course, but it always came back to Quigley.
In these stories for some reason she always imagined Quigley and the others as the children they were when they first met. Perhaps that is why Violet was always surprised at finding Quigley; she had not expected to find a man.
And a man he was, far beyond his young age of eighteen, much the same as the Baudelaires being mature for their ages. It seems that being involved with VFD tragedies, or any tragedies for that matter, makes a person age far more than they'd like to.

Still, the days continued to pass with an increasing easiness and warm tranquillity.

One particularly clear Saturday morning, the Baudelaire orphans were visiting the early morning market with Quigley. The marketplace was crowded with both buyers and sellers, buying and selling everything ranging from food and delicacies, to clothes and jewellery, to phonographs and cameras, and nearly every other item imaginable.

Violet and Quigley were standing at the front of a bookstall examining some heavy-bound encyclopaedias while waiting for Klaus to help Sunny pick out a book she wanted to buy.
Violet picked up a smaller encyclopaedia and carefully stroked the soft leather cover with her fingertips and running over the gold lettering. She opened the book to one of the middles pages delicately, but just as she did so she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Yes, she was in a market, there was movement everywhere; people walking and talking, buying and selling, people eating, undisciplined children throwing tantrums and desperate parents doing everything in their power to calm their child down.

But there was something different about this movement. Something Violet could not quite describe.
The movement had been solitary and stealthy, there was something unnatural in it, yet so natural it seemed as if it must be some ancient animal taking care of the land. One thing Violet knew for certain was that the movement filled her with a horror she had not felt in a long time.

"Violet, what is it?" Quigley looked at her with a puzzled expression, and Violet realized that she had slammed the book she was holding shut when she had seen the movement, startling Quigley.
Violet didn't answer him; instead she turned around and searched the crowds, trying to find the source of the movement. She tried. Tried and failed.
"Violet?" Quigley sounded more serious this time; he knew something was wrong, and Violet knew there was no way she could shrug him off, though she tried anyway.
"I thought I saw something," She said distractedly, still searching the crowd, "it was nothing."
She turned back around to face Quigley and gave him a reassuring, but fake, smile, and tried to change the subject, "This encyclopaedia is very exquisite, look at the gold lettering…"
Quigley didn't look at the encyclopaedia, and instead frowned at Violet.
"Violet," he said slowly, detecting the horror in her actions a few seconds before, "what was it?"
Violet sighed, "I'm not sure. I thought I saw something, something awful… someone awful."
"Who?"
"I–" Violet hesitated. She was about to answer Quigley's question when she caught the movement again, this time clearer, and closer.

She turned to face the evil and froze; there, facing her was a pair of eyes that she recognised in an instant. A pair of eyes that were as shiny as they were full of malice. A pair of eyes that were framed with one long eyebrow.