"What have we here?" he said.
"I found three castaways on the coastal shelf," Friday said proudly.
"Welcome, castaways," Ishmael said. "Forgive me for remaining seated, but my feet are quite sore today, so I'm making use of our healing clay. It's very nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you, Ishmael," said Violet, who thought healing clay was of dubious scientific efficacy, a phrase which here means "unlikely to heal sore feet."
"Call me Ish," said Ishmael, leaning down to scratch the heads of one of the sheep. "And what shall I call you?"
"Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire," Friday chimed in, before the siblings could introduce themselves.
"Baudelaire?" Ishmael repeated, and raised his eyebrows. He gazed at the three children in silence as he took a long sip of cordial from his seashell, and for just one moment his smile seemed to disappear. But then he gazed down at the siblings and grinned heartily. "We haven't had new islanders in quite some time. You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like, unless you're unkind, of course."
"Thank you," Klaus said, as kindly as he could. "Friday has told us a few things about the island. It sounds quite interesting."
"It depends on how you look at it," Ishmael said. "Even if you want to leave, you'll only have the opportunity once a year. In the meantime, Friday, why don't you show them to a tent, so they can change their clothes? We should have some new woolen robes that fit you nicely."
"We would appreciate that," Violet said. "Our concierge uniforms are quite soaked from the storm."
"I'm sure they are," Ishmael said, twisting a strand of beard in his fingers. "Besides, our custom is to wear nothing but white, to match the sand of the islands, the healing clay of the pool, and the wool of the wild sheep. Friday, I'm surprised you are choosing to break with tradition."
Friday blushed, and her hand rose to the sunglasses she was wearing. "I found these in the wreckage," she said. "The sun is so bright on the island, I thought they might come in handy."
"I won't force you," Ishmael said calmly, "but it seems to me you might prefer to dress according to custom, rather than showing off your new eyewear."
"You're right, Ishmael," Friday said quietly, and removed her sunglasses with one hand while the other hand darted into one of her robe's deep pockets.
"That's better," Ishmael said, and smiled at the Baudelaires. "I hope you will enjoy living on this island," he said. "We're all castaways here, from one storm or another, and rather than trying to return to the world, we've built a colony safe from the world's treachery."
"There was a treacherous person with them," Friday piped up eagerly. "His name was Count Olaf, but he was so nasty that I didn't let him come with us."
"Olaf?" Ishmael said, and his eyebrows raised again. "Is this man a friend of yours?"
"Fat chance," Sunny said.
"No, he isn't," Violet translated quickly. "To tell you the truth, we've been trying to escape from Count Olaf for quite some time."
"He's a dreadful man," Klaus said.
"Same boat," Sunny said.
"Hmmm," Ishmael said thoughtfully. "Is that the whole story, Baudelaires?"
The children looked at one another. Of course, the few sentences they'd uttered were not the whole story. There was much, much more to the story of the Baudelaires and Count Olaf, and if the children had recited all of it Ishmael probably would have wept until the tears melted away the clay so his feet were bare and he had nothing to sit on. The Baudelaires could have told the island's facilitator about all of Count Olaf's schemes, from his vicious murder of Uncle Monty to his betrayal of Madame Lulu at the Caligari Carnival. They could have told him about his disguises, from his false peg leg when he was pretending to be Captain Sham, to his running shoes and turban when he was calling himself Coach Genghis. They could have told Ishmael about Olaf's many comrades, from his girlfriend Esmé Squalor to the two white-faced women who had disappeared in the Mortmain Mountains, and they could have told Ishmael about all of the unsolved mysteries that still kept the Baudelaires awake at night, from the disappearance of Captain Widdershins from an underwater cavern to the strange taxi driver who had approached the children outside the Hotel Denouement, and of course they could have told Ishmael about that ghastly day at Briny Beach, when they first heard the news of their parents' deaths. But if the Baudelaires had told Ishmael the whole story, they would have had to tell the parts that put the Baudelaires in an unfavorable light, a phrase which here means "the things the Baudelaires had done that were perhaps as treacherous as Olaf." They would have talked about their own schemes, from digging a pit to trap Esmé to starting the fire that destroyed the Hotel Denouement. They would have mentioned their own disguises, from Sunny pretending to be Chabo the Wolf Baby to Violet and Klaus pretending to be Snow Scouts, and their own comrades, from Justice Strauss, who turned out to be more useful than they had first thought, to Fiona, who turned out to be more treacherous than they had imagined. If the Baudelaire orphans had told Ishmael the whole story, they might have looked as villainous as Count Olaf. The Baudelaires did not want to find themselves back on the coastal shelf, with all the detritus of the storm. They wanted to be safe from treachery and harm, even if the customs of the island colony were not exactly to their liking, and so, rather than telling Ishmael the whole story, the Baudelaires merely nodded, and said the safest thing they could think of.
"It depends on how you look at it," Violet said, and her siblings nodded in agreement.
"Very well," Ishmael said. "Run along and find your robes, and once you've changed, please give all of your old things to Friday and we'll haul them off to the arboretum."
"Everything?" Klaus said.
Ishmael nodded. "That's our custom."
" Occulaklaus?" Sunny asked, and her siblings quickly explained that she meant something like, "What about Klaus's glasses?"
"He can scarcely read without them," Violet added.
Ishmael raised his eyebrows again. "Well, there's no library here," he said quickly, with a nervous glance at Friday, "but I suppose your eyeglasses are of some use. Now, hurry along, Baudelaires, unless you'd like a sip of cordial before you go."
"No, thank you," Klaus said, wondering how many times he and his siblings would be offered this strange, sweet beverage. "My siblings and I tried some, and didn't care much for the taste."
"I won't force you," Ishmael said again, "but your initial opinion on just about anything may change over time. See you soon, Baudelaires."
He gave them a small wave, and the Baudelaires waved back as Friday led them out of the tent and farther uphill where more tents were fluttering in the morning breeze.
"Choose any tent you like," Friday said. "We all switch tents each day—except for Ishmael, because of his feet."
"Isn't it confusing to sleep in a different place each night?" Violet asked.
"It depends on how you look at it," Friday said, taking a sip from her seashell. "I've never slept any other way."
"Have you lived your whole life on this island?" Klaus said.
"Yes," Friday said. "My mother and father took an ocean cruise while she was pregnant, and ran into a terrible storm. My father was devoured by a manatee, and my mother was washed ashore when she was pregnant with me. You'll meet her soon. Now please hurry up and change."
"Prompt," Sunny assured her, and Friday took her hand out of her pocket and shook Sunny's.