Chapter 11, If Only I Had A Girl Worth Fighting For...

Disclaimer: We own nothing. Also, this is the seventy-sixth chapter of the series. Don't know why I bothered to put that down, but it's good to know, at least.

A/N: Hello fellows, fellers, dames, and dolls! I'm on spring break, so I figured I would be an absolute tool for missing this update. I'm not quite as confident about Chapters 12 and 13, however, which I was planning to release next week. Chapter 12 is almost finished and it's certainly all planned out. All things considered I probably will have it up by next Friday. Well, let's hope so, at least.

And I won't waste your time any further: here's the next chapter!

According to the creepy humpbacked man and the sprightly, yet stupid elastic woman, dinner would start in just about an hour.

In order to pass that time, Lady Blackwoodshire suggested to her husband, while he was taking one of his innumerable evening naps, {according to him, they helped soothe his digestion and clear his mind. She knew it was all B.S, but had never really bothered him about it, enjoying the alone time} that they go down to the lounge and get a drink.

So it was there they sat, side-by-side on the sofa, sipping sherry out of Kit Snicket's tacky flute glasses {carved in the shape of twining vines} and looking into the merrily crackling fire in the hearth.

"I'm not sure, Florine." Lady Blackwoodshire said suddenly, unable to keep quiet on this matter for any longer.

"Not sure about what?" asked her husband, sounding a tad grouchy, probably because he'd missed his nap.

"This...task we're running for Olaf. Calling all the mountain tribes and sending them on this ridiculous romp to that valley..."

"I thought we were agreed on this matter, Elnora. Despite the nature of the chore, it is necessery to do it, so as to preserve our reputations..."

"Yet it seems an awful lot like we're abusing our power." she twirled the glass slowly between her stubby fingers, "The others won't like it when they find out."

"The others?" Florine laughed darkly, "What can they do about it? We're higher rank than them, and if they think they're good just because they've never..."

"It's not just them, Florine, and you know it!" Elnora reached underneath the thin bodice of her evening gown and retrieved the medallion that hung around her neck, a piece of jewelery she never displayed in public.

Florine studied the sterling silver question mark with little interest, "I'm sure our Higher Power understands, Elnora. Besides, I thought we were already serving It in as big a way as we could. After all, wasn't it your idea to...to deal with the Tenches in the first place?"

"Perhaps it was." said Elnora noncommitally, "But this is downright..."

She was never able to say what it downright was, because at that moment, Sunny Baudelaire tottered into the room, walking unsteadily and having to grab onto the walls to balance herself.

"Oh," she said, meaning, "Well, this is unexpected. I wanted some time alone."

"So did we." said Elnora tersely, "What, has Olaf gotten tired of you, too? Who's he replaced you with? Lemony?"

"Palinov!" which meant, "Me being alone doesn't mean we've broken up! He's just really, really drunk and is kinda comatose in bed. I decided to give him some privacy."

That's kind of a lot of meaning for just one nonsense word. One of the perks of being Sunny, I guess.

"So, where are you and he planning to go next?" asked Florine, "Now that Kit has decided to stay here."

Sunny shrugged as she pulled herself up to the window seat, "Dunno," which meant, "We'll go wherever the wind takes us, I guess. Olaf isn't the sort of guy who plans things out."

"I highly doubt he is." said Elnora drily, "Supposing your brother and sister are dead, or if they're not, that they will soon be dead, as he wants. I suppose then you shall inherit your family fortune?"

Sunny suddenly averted her eyes, looking out at the mountainous landscape, "Meh," which meant, "I'm supposed to. I have no idea how we're supposed to collect it and all, since I'm a wanted murderess, but...whatever."

"Ah, yes. I suppose that is a flaw in Olaf's otherwise perfect plan." Elnora set her glass down on the coffee table, not using a coaster because, as the books will tell you, that is the number one indicator of an unpleasant person.

"Wassupwidat?" Sunny asked very abruptly, surprising both Blackwoodshires. By 'wassupwidat', she meant, "I don't get it. Why would you murder a baby girl's parents and then adopt her? It makes no sense."

Florine tensed and got up, crossing closer to the fire, "Maybe you should explain, Elnora. It was, after all, your idea."

Elnora turned around to face Sunny, "I don't believe you're qualified to know that information, my dear baby brat. And remember Olaf's instructions to you: you are never to mention that business to anyone. My husband and I have taken a great risk helping your little gang of the criminally moronic." she stood up and gestured to her husband to leave the room with her, "We will be most displeased if we find he has abused our trust."

With that, the Blackwoodshires left the baby Baudelaire to her brooding.

"I never did like that child." she said as they climbed the stairs, "She reminds me terribly of Lucy when she was that age."

"Only Lucy wasn't nearly as sarcastic." said Florine, "Or profane."

"Or sexually promiscious. That child probably has more sex in a week than we've had in a decade." she shrugged, "Not that that's a big achievement."

Her husband had nothing to say to that as they reached the correct door. Elnora knocked on the door, quick, sharp taps as usual, "Lucy? Lucy, I'd like a word with you."

"She's not answering." said Florine.

"I know that." Elnora tried the knob and discovered that the door wasn't locked. She opened the door.

"Oh...oh no." she breathed, practically shoving her husband out of the way.

"What is it?" asked Florine.

"Can't you see, you buffoon? She's not here!" she began tossing the bedsheets into the air, rummaging through the dresser, the wardrobe, as if Lucy might be hiding amongst spare sheets and eucalyptus-scented bath salts.

"Don't worry yourself into oblivion, woman." said Florine nonchalantly, moving toward the tasseled table lamp on the nightstand, "Might be she's downstairs..."

He switched on the lamp, illumining the room with a cozy orange glow. Elnora gasped shrilly and dropped the stack of women's health journals she was holding.

"What do you say to that, then?" she wailed, running across the room to the window which was thrown open and looking out onto the moonlit lake, the ice that had been covering it just hours before now shattered and bobbing up and down in the soupy indigo water.

Florine swore softly, joining her at the window and looking down at the snow.

It pained them both to think of it. For the first time in fifteen years, the Blackwoodshires had lost track of their 'daughter', and neither one of them wanted to think about what would happen now.

Esme Gigi Genevieve Squalor, {formerly Esmeralda Jeanne Jacqueline Lowersham} the city's sixth most important double-crossing whore {formerly known as the Gracious Whore of Snicket Land. Don't ask how that title works... I never really thought the implications through} turned the taps, ending her shower.

Tiredly, she ran her towel in quick, practiced strokes through her curly blonde hair, remembering the days when she had the luxury of taking extra long to dry her hair and style it.

Sometimes I really do miss being a public figure.

In those days she had lived in the Palace almost exclusively, though she also had a good sized house in the village of Cattlebury, outside the city. The same village, she gathered, that those horrible Blackwoodshires came from.

Having now sufficiently dried herself, Esme now attired herself in a thin silk bathrobe. All the clothes she had with her now had been stolen from the various villages she and Dewey had visited over the last few days. She hadn't had the time to pack any of the outfits she'd owned during her three month stay with Carmelita in the Hinterlands.

The thought of Carmelita made Esme choke up again. She remembered the night of that terrible storm, how she had struggled to hold onto Dewey as they flew over the Dark Forest. How Carmelita, the girl Esme had wanted so desperately to be a mother to, had not been so lucky, and had fallen.

Esme didn't even know if she had survived the fall. Much less if she'd made it out of that wilderness unharmed.

And now, up here in this terrible old house, she had no allies at all, not even...

"Dewey?" she said as she opened the bathroom door, leading into her bedroom proper.

Now, in something very reminiscient of two chapters ago, Esme found Dewey was in the midst of turning her room upside down.

Her clothes, what few she had, were lying all over the place, the covers of the bed were hanging off the sides, every single nook and cranny of the room seemed to have been painstakingly taken apart.

And there Dewey was, currently rifling through the wardrobe.

"What are you..." she started to say, but stopped herself, "You're looking for the Zimmerie, aren't you?"

Dewey looked almost petrified with surprise. Maybe he hadn't expected her to pop out of the bathroom; or maybe he'd been so consumed with his search that he hadn't even heard the shower running.

However, he quickly recovered himself, "Where is it?" he asked sharply.

"Dewey..."

"I've no time for talk, Esme. I demand you tell me...where is it?"

"I understand you're upset, Dewey!" said Esme, her voice quavering, "And I've apologized, you know I have! It was wrong of me to...to cast that spell on you, I know that now! But that gives you no right to destroy that book."

Oh, damn, here come the tears.

"It was her legacy to me!" she said, the teardrops rolling slowly down her face, "It was the last thing she truly owned, and she gave it to me!" she slammed her hand down on the dresser, so hard that she knocked a carriage clock from its place, causing to to break apart on the floor.

Dewey took a deep breath, looking awfully impatient, and kicked the shattered pieces of the clock aside, with a suddeness that caused Esme to back up several steps.

"Tell me now, Esme!" he roared, "I've no time for this..."

"What the devil is going on here?"

Esme didn't know if she was relieved or horrified to see Madame Anwhistle stride into the room, her cold blue eyes sweeping around the room, taking in the mess, Esme backed up against the dresser, and Dewey looking mad enough to kill.

"You're making such a ruckus I could hear from my room!" she stepped carefully over the scattered clothes and sheets and went over to Esme, "What is going on, my dear? Has he hurt you?"

Dewey looked absolutely incensed, and regarded Madame Anwhistle with the deepest loathing Esme had ever seen from him. It was almost as though he knew something about her...something deep and dark and wicked.

"You ought to be careful of yourself, Mr. Plot Twist." Madame Anwhistle told him sharply, "Lest I remind Lemony how much he hates you."

Dewey scowled at her, but left the room, slamming the door shut behind him. With him gone, Esme slowly bent down to pick up the cracked face of the carriage clock. She turned it over in her hands, studying the intricate pattern of cracks along the glass.

Madame Anwhistle laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and asked, "What happened, Esme, dear? What did he want from you?"

That one question, asked in the tone of a concerned old granny, was all it took to start Esme sobbing uncontrollably, slumping forward onto her bed.

"He...he was looking...looking for the Zimmerie!" she wheezed, "He wants to destroy it, I think...all because of what I did!"

Madame Anwhistle sat gingerly on the bed next to her, rubbing her hand up and down Esme's back.

"And what, exactly, did you do?" she asked softly.

For a moment, Esme forgot where she was, and suddenly felt like she was back at the Palace, and Madame Anwhistle was giving her usual brand of consoling advice, the way a mentor instructs a favorite protege.

"I...I used magic. A...a spell from the Zimmerie...to go into his memories. I...I saw him with the Chamber Pot. I saw how it...it gave him his scars, and then he found out what I did and..." she made a long choking sound, "and that's why he went back to Kit. Because of me! Because of what I did!"

She continued to cry. Madame Anwhistle patted her again, saying softly, reassuringly, "There, there, my pet. Why don't you go and wash up. After all, dinner is to start soon. It will all be alright, my child, I promise you."

So Esme, by dint of reflex more than anything else, got up gfrom the bed and returned to the bathroom, where she washed the tears from her face with sink water.

And, as she was doing this, Esme realized what she'd done. In the flurry of her hysterics, distracted by the feeling of being comforted by someone, she'd revealed to Madame Anwhistle that she hadn't truly burned the Zimmerie after all.

Fast as lightning, Esme rushed back into the bedroom, only to find that the old woman had departed. Desperately, hoping her suspicions were false, she ran to the wardrobe and opened the door so fast they almost snapped off their hinges.

The little panel in the back, covered by musty fur coats, had been opened. It was empty.

It's gone, realized Esme with dread, she's taken it. And now what will she do, now that she has it?

"I'm worried about Tocuna."

"I can't see why you wouldn't be." muttered Kevin, popping some grapes into his mouth, "She's lost her marbles, she has."

The henchfolk, minus Tocuna, were still in the kitchen. The food was now all ready, and Hugo and Colette were busy dishing it up on the counter.

"She has not!" said Flo, standing up suddenly and going over to the sink, leaning against it, "She's just...sensitive about this kind of thing."

"About what kind of thing?" asked Enya, "I've known her quite some time, Flo, she never shied away from a little murder before." it snorted, "I thought that, to join up with Olaf, you're expected to leave your conscience at the door."

"What door?" asked Colette. Enya rolled its eyes.

"Killing has just...never come very easily for her." said Flo, running her thin, white hands through her hair, "She had a...a difficult time of things. Early on..."

"Yeah," said Fernald suddenly, "I never knew you and your sister were in an orphanage."

Flo smiled sadly at him, "That's mostly because that's a chapter of our lives both Tocuna and I like to keep private."

She sighed and sat down again, squeezing Fernald's arm, more for comfort than anything else.

"I was barely two months old when I came to the orphanage, and Tocuna was just about four. I have no idea who our parents were, and if Tocuna knows anything at all, she never saw fit to tell me." she shrugged, "I've never asked. Whoever they were, they don't quite matter anymore. If they're still alive, I doubt they're interested."

Fernald chuckled sympathically; he knew a bit about that.

"And, like I said before, we used to always talk about making it big one day." she laughed at the memory...it had been so long since she'd thought about her old life, "We wanted to be movie stars and singers."

"Really?" asked Colette, "That is so awesome." then she ruined it all by saying, "If you wanted to be famous, why the hell did you join Count Olaf?"

Flo fixed her with a stern look, "It wasn't quite like that."

Hugo nodded, "Then what was it like?"

"When I was fourteen, and Tocuna was eighteen, I had this...very teenager-ish idea of running away from the orphanage and striking out on our own." she shook her head, barely believing what a silly kid she had been then, "You know, get that record label we were planning on."

"And why didn't you?" asked Colette, still not getting it.

"Well, as Tocuna and I quickly found out, fame isn't very easy to come by."

"Infamy, on the other hand..." said Enya wryly.

"We were able to get some small-time gigs, in clubs around Dirty Bastard..."

"I knew it!" cried Kevin triumphantly.

"Not those kind of clubs." said Flo, "You know, like bars...mostly dive bars, but that's beside the point. We made a tiny income, and were able to get a little apartment in the low-rent district. And then...well, then things kind of went to pieces."

"What happened?" asked Fernald.

"Tocuna fell in love."

Colette gasped shrilly, Enya raised its eyebrows in surprise, and Kevin said, "Who'd have thought it?"

"She fell head over heels in love with the manager of the club we performed in at the time. She pursued him...relentlessly. But to tell you guys the truth, I never really got what she saw in him. She wasn't even twenty and he was at least forty. She was heartbroken when she found out he was getting married."

"Ooh." said Colette, "Scandal!"

"Um...yes, Colette, I guess it was a scandal, for her at least. Tocuna was so upset she hit the bottle...with a passion."

"And that never ends well." said Fernald knowingly.

"She was crazy drunk one night and she snuck out of the apartment. Then, before sunrise, she was hammering on the door, crying like a kid and telling me she'd shot him, she was so upset."

Not even Kevin had a snappy comment for that one. They were all looking at Flo, dumb with shock.

"I helped her avoid the LSPD and we vanished into the woodwork. Needless to say, that guy's murder pretty much shattered our singing careers. We stayed in the city for a while after that, committing the usual petty crimes just to keep from starving. And then," she sighed, looking up her little 'family', if they could truly be called that, "years later, we joined Olaf."

Flo spread her arms wide, to sum it up, "And so, to this day, Tocuna hates the idea of killing anyone, guilty or innocent."

Madame Anwhistle was getting impatient. No sooner had she returned to her room with the...ahem...stolen goods, than she was accosted by Lemony, who immediately began to bombard her with another of his rambling speeches.

"I can't wait until we head back to the Palace!"

"Mm." said Madame Anwhistle noncommitally, as she always did when she wanted to hustle the idiot out of the room.

"And as for that Kit..." Lemony pounded his fist on the bed with such fury the pillows shuddered collectively, "...she'll regret ever daring to cross me! Insinuating that that vagabond Dewey Plot Twist would make a better leader than me! Can you imagine it, Aunt Jo? 'Imagine' is a word which here means: 'to conjure up wild hopes and dreams that will never, ever come to fruition, and I don't care what you say about it, they never will!'" he kicked the wall, causing a painting of a meadow to fall to the floor.

"Nicely handled, Lemony. Now, please, leave me be. Save your fountainhead of complaints for tomorrow. Then, after we've said courteous goodbyes to the others..."

"The criminals and brigands, all of them are!"

"...we shall leave at once. I'll discuss the matter with Rembrandt and whatever the other pilot's name is."

Oh, how she delighted in the notion of lying to him, when she knew he would be dead by morning! Especially with the Zimmerie at her disposal.

Who needs those useless freaks, anyway? she thought, They probably would've just bungled up the job, as it happens.

"I shall see you at dinner, Lemony." she said, making a shooing motion toward the door. The ruler of the country sighed huffily and stomped out of the room, making sure to slam the door loudly behind him.

"Blundering oaf." Madame Anwhistle muttered, waving her hand and, as she did so, causing a panel in the wall to open, similar to the one Esme thought she'd hidden so cleverly in her wardrobe.

'A Spell For Hiding Places', the Zimmerie called it. It was rather basic as far as sorcerery was concerned. Esme's notions of security certainly weren't very tip-top. All Madame had had to do was mutter the counter-incantation, and the panel had revealed itself at once.

Madame Anwhistle carefully retrieved the old spellbook from her own magically-conjured compartment. It still looked the same as it had eighteen years ago, when she had handed it to Olivia Caliban. The horrid woman had then taken it with her on her rampage around the country as an outlaw, and Madame Anwhistle hadn't seen it again.

Until now.

"Oh, Esme," she muttered as she carefully turned the pages, looking for the proper spell, "You thought you were just so clever telling me you'd burned this. It's a good thing I'm good at spotting a lie, then, isn't it?"

It was, after all, a necessary trait in a teacher, and a political personage.

All it took was Esme blurting out that Dewey Plot Twist was looking for the book to confirm Madame Anwhistle's suspicions.

But why had Dewey been looking for the book?

"Obviously, someone's told him about the plot," she continued to herself, "Probably one of those double-crossing henchmen. Knowing that I was behind it, he probably figured I would use magic to cash in Lemony, and thus ensure his beloved Kit's execution."

She smiled at the Zimmerie, feeling almost as though she were talking to it, and not herself, "Well, I wasn't going to do that, at all. But now...I suppose I might as well, since it seems I can't trust my own helpers any more than Olaf can."

Yes...she should use magic to get rid of Lemony... But to implicate Kit?

"No, no... Dewey is the one to worry about now. He knows about the plan already. It's only a matter of time before he tells someone, if he hasn't already. And he has similar motives to Kit for wanting Lemony dead. Might as well... Kit can be gotten rid of in other ways."

After all, magic could do just about anything.

And so, Madame Anwhistle began scouring the book for spells she could use.

"Ah!"

'For the Incapacitation of Nuisences...a Harmless Application'.

Well, good. Esme was a nuisence, but Madame Anwhistle certainly didn't want to harm her.

She muttered the spell, feeling the words reverbrate in the air around her, "Athum, sileska, athum, uma..."

She knew that, wherever Esme was, {hopefully out of sight of other people} she was now crumpling to the floor in a dead faint, from which she would not wake for some hours. Just long enough to keep her from looking for the Zimmerie.

Long enough for Madame Anwhistle to fulfill her plans.

"Well, that's good." she clapped her hands together once to clear her thoughts, "Next step..." she flipped through the pages some more, until...

"Excellent!"

The spell was called, 'For the Coaxing of Life'. To many, untrained in the language of spells, {like you and I...doesn't that suck for us?} the phrase would be nonsensical. But to Madame Anwhistle, it meant everything.

This would be just what she needed to get that certain bothersome creature out of the way.

Kit was drifting in and out of sleep, feeling more distraught and pregnant than ever before. It was probably the worst part about carrying a baby in your stomach, you always felt heavy and hungry and tired.

Dewey had insisted that she just lie down in bed and rest. Maybe she shouldn't go down to dinner, he'd suggested.

Kit had said, "Well, maybe I shouldn't. They wouldn't miss me, anyway."

And they wouldn't, she knew. None of them would miss her.

So she lay in bed, wearing her old starch white nightgown which made her feel like an old woman, her hair let out of its usual clip and pooling around her on the pillows.

She needed to rest, that was true. Stop worrying about Lemony, and Madame Anwhistle, and Olaf, and anyone else...

Just close her eyes was what she had to do. Close her eyes, block all her troubles from her mind, and rest...

'Ahtum, notosho, notosho, eleka, athum, notosho...'

Kit jarred her eyes open, not sure how long she had been sleeping. There was a voice, an odd voice echoing in her ears, yet there was no one else present in the room.

Kit tried to sit up, so she could examine her surroundings more closely. And then...well then, all hell broke loose,

She felt a wetness, a cold, slimy wetness trickling down the inside of her thighs. Not long after, did her breath catch in her lungs.

Oh, no. Oh God, no...not now! Not while he's here, in the house!

"Help!" she called, already sweating and breathing heavily, "Help, please, somebody!"

She was hoping...oh, so desperately hoping...that Dewey would rush in, so he could protect her, so he could be there for this.

Instead, one of Olaf's cronies, Tocuna, ran in, looking flustered.

"What's wrong?" she asked breathlessly, "I thought I heard..."

"Please!" Kit cried, figuring she'd settle on Tocuna if she had to, "You have to help me. My baby's coming!"

The Snow Scouts were on the march. With precision, in tight formation, their column of mounted men on caribou, foot soldiers, and caribou-carts leaden with weapons and supples, marched up and down the uneven ledges of the Dandruff Mountains, going ever westward, toward the Valley of the Four Deuces and, waiting there, their adversaries: the Ninipickies of the North.

It was in the cart to the very tail end of the procession, the one loaded up with crates of highly combustable combustables, where Chubs sat, his legs brought up to his stomach to fend off the cold. Next to him, leaning her head sleepily on his shoulder, was Isadora, who currently wanted nothing more than to be someplace other than here.

On the other side of the cart was Alphonse of the Plain, defrocked prince of the Masked Men, looking alertly up to the head of their march, watching for signs that the Valley was getting nearer. Next to him was the old nursemaid, Gran Pam, who lounged in a familiar way against a crate of dynamite, drooling, as ever, onto her tattered old frock.

Chubs, in order to bring some liveliness to their doomed little group, began to sing, loudly and off-key.

"He has loosed the faithful lightning from his terrible swift sword! His troops keep marching on..." he tapped Isadora on the shoulder, "Everybody! Glory, glory halleluah! Glory, glory, halle..."

"Chubs," said Isadora, "Enough. We're going to be butchered in a little while, anyway. Can't you grant us just ten minutes of peace and quiet before we're..."

"Shoved onto the battlefield to be used as arrow fodder." finished Gran Pam, "It won't be pretty, let me tell you. The Ninipickies are fierce warriors, every last one of them. Moreover, they do a lot more fighting then the Snow Scouts, so their army is probably bigger... Oh, and when we get to that Valley, it'll be a sight to see, let me tell you!" she sounded neither happy with anticipation or sad with dread. Only accepting of whatever fate was to befall them.

"I've any idea," said Alphonse suddenly.

"Is it an escape plan?" asked Isadora.

"No...no, it isn't. It's an idea about that 'reliable source', the guards said the Council heard from, about the Ninipickies."

"Well, go on, old boy, what is it?" prompted Chubs.

"Remember the symbol that appeared in the Commons House fire? The Great Unknown?"

"Yes, you told us all about it."

"On the contrary," said Gran Pam, miffed, "I told you all about it."

They ignored her.

"Now, Gran Pam told me..."

Gran Pam cut him off, "Whenever the servants of the Great Unknown want to communicate with the clans who are bound to obey them, they speak through the ceremonial hearth fires, like the one in the Commons House. They use, oh...some old bit of magic from the old days when magic spells were written down in books, back in the Age..."

"We know." chorused everyone.

"So, you're saying." said Isadora, "That this is all some errand on account of these..,Great Unknown people?"

"Aye," said Gran Pam, "It's only too likely."

That prospect only served to give Chubs goosepimples and hug himself a little more tightly than before. It was cold in these late hours.

Isadora was now craning her neck to look at the head of the procession, where Sir and Alice were riding, as though in pride of place, on saddled caribou. {Sir was so short that the stirrups were made special for his little legs}

"I don't get it," she said.

"What is it now?" asked Gran Pam irritably, "You forgot how to blink and breathe?"

"No," Isadora snapped, "I don't get why Sir wanted Chubs and I to come along so badly."

"Perhaps out of obligation to Alice," said Chubs, "Pardon my saying, dear, but they do seem to have gotten rather close, and they were old friends, once upon a time. Maybe he wanted Alice to be close to her daughter when we go to battle."

"Except that, apparently, we're supposed to die in the battle." said Isadora darkly.

Alphonse shrugged, "Love makes people do loads of silly things."

"And how would you know?" asked Isadora, "Have you been in love?"

"No. But I'd like to be."

A GIRL WORTH FIGHTING FOR {from Mulan; see, I can do other Disney movies}

{suddenly, the whole damned procession starts singing, causing Isadora's mouth to drop open and Chubs to begin bobbing his head to the music}

Soldiers: For a long time we've been marching of to battle...

Isadora: {speaking} I didn't know two hours was a long time.

Grizzled Soldier: {singing} In a thundering herd, we feel a lot like cattle!

{the caribou he rides, insulted, bucks and knows him into a snowbank}

Soldiers: Like the pounding beat, or aching feet aren't easy to ignore...

Alphonse: Hey! Think of, instead, a girl worth fighting for!

Isadora: {speaking} Oh, jeez...

Alphonse: That's what I said, a girl worth fighting for!

I want her paler than the moon...

With eyes that shine like stars...

Sir: My girl will marvel at my smokey head...

Alice: HEY, LET'S GO HIT SOME BARS!

Chubs: I don't care less, what she'll wear

Or what she looks like!

{Isadora smiles at him, touched}

Chubs: It only matters what she cooks like!

{Isadora facepalms. The soldiers begin dancing in formation}

Soldiers: You can guess what we have missed the most...

Since we've been off to war...

Gran Pam: Aw, shut it...

{she stands up}

YOU KNOW WHAT I AM? A GIRL WORTH FIGHTING FOR!

Isadora: Don't you men have a brain?

I think you've all lost your mind!

Soldiers: When we come home, in victory, they'll line up at the door...

Alphonse: What d'we want?

All: A GIRL WORTH FIGHTING FOR!

Alphonse: I wish that I had...

All: A GIRL WORTH FIGHTING FOR!

A GIRL WORTH FIGHTING...

{but WAIT!}

The procession stopped abruptly at the edge of a drop, looking down into the most beautiful and picturesque spot any of them had ever seen.

"The Valley," said Gran Pam.

But that wasn't the thing that commanded their attention. Across the great sunken area that was the Valley of the Four Deuces, there was another high ridge, sloping down into the place.

And on that ridge there were at least a hundred men, clad in make-shift suits of armor and fur cloaks, mounted on great, wild caribou who stamped their hooves into the ground and snorted so their breath was visible in the cold night air.

"Are they..." said Isadora softly.

"They are." said Gran Pam, "The Ninipickies of the North."

Violet and Duncan emerged from the ruinous walls of the ZYK Headquarters to find, not Quigley {which they had been desperately hoping for, because really...this has gone on long enough} but...something else. Something...unwelcome.

"Oh...my..." Violet trailed off, suddenly feeling as though she'd walked into a completely different world.

On the opposite facing sides of the Valley, {east and west, to be precise} where the land rose up to meet the mountains, there were assembled two huge groups of people, mounted on antlered animals that looked kind of like oversized reindeer.

These people, wearing fur cloaks and shoddy armor, were not looking down into the Valley, but rather across it, staring at each other with hatred evident in their expressions, even though the group on the western side wore masks that obscured their faces completely.

"Who are they?" asked Violet, but Duncan was too preoccupied to answer, "There are more, love. Look."

And, yes, there were more. Many more. On the northern and southern rises there were two more contingents of mounted men, looking ready for battle. And, further even than them, there were two more groups clustered up on the ridges above those to the north and south.

"We should..." Violet began uncertainly, "We should find a place to hide, Duncan. Fast."

Slowly, Duncan nodded, "Whoever they are, they definitely mean business with each other."

So they took off, farther into the middle part of the Valley, where the ground was lowest and they'd be able to hide properly. Unfortunately, things weren't destined to be this easy.

"Ninipickies!" cried a booming voice from the western ridge, "You dare accost this sacred place? And you, Wolly Linens? And you too, Frozen Wonderberries?"

"You dare to speak so pretentiously of your own wrongdoings, you Snow Scouts!" roared a representative from the eastern ridge, "You who massacred our people, you who burned our land!"

"Snow Scouts!" cried Duncan, "They're the people who held us captive. But..."

"This is all deepest farce!" cried someone on the northern side, "You Snow Scouts, you Ninipickies, you Frisky Frosties on yonder ridge..."

"Present and accounted for!" trilled a chorus of the men on the higher ridge.

"...you are all here to shed blood on this most sacred of sites! Sacred to all people of these mountains! We of the Wooly Linens will not stand for it!"

"Aw, stow it!" bellowed someone from the other higher ridge, "You Linens are all talk about peace and harmony, but when it comes to it, you're just as vicious as the rest of us!"

"And don't you start too, you Icicle Nippers!"

"Those are the most effeminate names I've ever heard." said Violet.

"And yet they seem fully capable of murder." observed Duncan, "In the case of the Snow Scouts, I know that for a fact."

The six different armies were arguing in loud voices about which of their clans was worst, which started this whole conflict, and what it was all about. At last, with a great screech, one of the Ninipickies cried, "TO BATTLE!" and, as if on cue, every single one of them rode, galloping, into the apparently sacred Valley of the Four Deuces.

"Oh God, Violet, come on!"

Duncan grabbed onto her hand and pulled her over to a low cleft in the ground beneath a hedge.

"We should be safe here." he said confidentally, though Violet wasn't nearly so sure.

The clans were fighting full force, slinging arrows, waving spears and, in the case of the Frisky Frosties, throttling the opposition with macrame scarves.

"What is this all about?" wondered Violet, "What could they possibly want from this place?"

Duncan was about to offer a suggestion, when a shadow fell over them. An absolute giant, at least seven feet tall, stood over them, aiming a spear directly at Violet's heart.

"Now, now then..." he said, "who might these little kiddies be..."

Splat!

Blood flew out of the soldier's mouth and an arrow pierced through his chest. Violet and Duncan could do nothing but stare, mouths agape, as his body fell to the ground with a humongous thud, revealing the person who'd killed him.

"Oh my God, I did it! Hi five, Chubs!"

"Er...indeed you did," muttered Chubs, nervously high-fiving Isadora, "I'll have to watch out around you in future." he seemed to remember they were there, "Hello Violet. Hello Duncan."

Violet was so gleefully happy that she ran up at once to wrap her arms around her brother, "Oh, Chubs, I've missed you! How did you get here?"

"An odd mixture of kidnapping, conscription, and a crazy old lady knocking over a wagon full of explosives." he looked around, "I've no idea where she's gone off to, but at least you're here."

Duncan was also hugging his sister, "Oh, Isadora, I'm so glad you're alright! I see the Snow Scouts were treating you terribly."

"You can say that again." Isadora looked at the man she'd shot, "I can't believe I just did that. One of the other prisoners, he stole a bow and some arrows for me, but I couldn't use the bow and I just...threw the arrow."

Duncan nodded, impressed, "Good shot, anyway."

He turned to Chubs, who was giggling excitedly.

"What is it, old boy?"

"You're alive!" replied Chubs, "And we've met again after a somewhat extended absence!"

Duncan caught on, "But of course!"

And so begins the Once an Episode Best Friend's Toast.

Chubs and Duncan windmilled their arms back and forth, wiggling their ears and chirupping giddily.

"Genius of the Restoration!" began Chubs...

"Aid our own resusciation!" ...finished Duncan.

"What does that even mean?" asked Violet.

Chubs rolled his eyes, "Honestly, Violet, how thick can you get? It obviously refers to..."

But before Chubs could explain anything, a voice called out, echoing across the Valley, "STOP!"

The clans froze where they stood, turning to look, with combined expressions of confusion and surprise, at the person who'd spoken.

Unfortunately, no one in the Valley had ever seen this young girl dressed up in Snow Scout clothes before. However, we have, as she is solidly a member of this installment's supporting cast.

Thus, I have no trouble telling you who it was: Lucille Sabina Rachel Katherine Tench of the Plain.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter, everything finally comes together in what, hopefully, is a satisfying and yummy conclusion!

Update Coming {Hopefully} Next Friday!:)