Song: Cayman Islands by The Kings of Convenience

Winter was Venice's bitter sister, but the two of them together could be enchantingly beautiful at times. Scipio stared into the pale night sky, thick with snow clouds. He watched as the little flurries drifted downwards towards his face and then continued trudging along the thinly snow-coated path.

He carried a box with a tiny dog yapping inside. It had taken one day to find the rascal, but he had done it. He usually preferred cats to dogs. They were less noisy.

Life as a detective was fun at first. Victor had warned him that it would become boring, but Scipio had paid no mind. He was sure it was exciting, at least more exciting than pretending to be the Thief Lord as a child. He was sure that it would be more fun. After all, he would be grown-up. An adult with a job, and a sneaky one, too.

After a year, he discovered there were downsides of being so grown-up. He still missed being a child, with hardly any worries in the world. Now as a grown-up, he has bigger responsibilities laid down upon him. He has to help pay bills and people expect more from him. He is expected to act like a proper gentleman and help old ladies with their groceries. He is expected to be clean up after himself. Victor had trouble with him in the beginning of his detective days, teaching him the ways of an adult. It had not been easy, because Scipio had grown up as the son of one of the richest men in Venice.

Just because Scipio had learned the way of adulthood, he knew he would always be different than other people. He was a child trapped in an adult's body. His body matured faster than his mind could. It was a race between his brain and the rest of his body. Only his brain would never catch up.

Scipio had tried to enjoy the things that most adults seemed to enjoy. He bought his first pack of cigarettes and lighter, without telling Victor. He remembered as he awkwardly held the foreign object in his hand in an alley, the paper crinkling as he rolled it back and forth between his fingers. He remembered thinking that he was finally becoming a real adult. He flicked the lighter on and off trying to light the darn thing and nearly burned his fingers off in the process. After having seen the long, wispy smoke that trailed out, carried by the wind, he put the cigarette to his lips and breathed the smoke in.

How awful it was! The dark, smoky cloud had filled his lungs, choking him. He sputtered and coughed. His eyes watered. How did adults do it? he wondered as he tossed the cigarettes in the trash.

Sometimes Scipio noticed that he didn't know things that a person his age should know. He didn't know how much you tipped a person at a restaurant. He didn't know politics and fancy words like elucidate and troglodyte. He was lost in the world of adulthood.

When he went to visit his old friends from the Star-Palace, he also couldn't relate. He looked too old for them. Hornet, Prosper and Bo were all attending school and lived with Ida Spavento. Mosca and Riccio were living in Castello, still orphans and were taking care of themselves. They knew he was Scipio, but he was not the Scipio they remembered.

He wondered if little Barbarossa, Renzo and Morosina felt the same way. He wondered where they were now. He honestly didn't care if the little redlocks returned to Venice, but Renzo and Morosina didn't seem to be so bad. He wondered if they had managed to repair the merry-go-round. He would have given anything to take another ride.

He returned to Victor's apartment and office, glancing at the sign outside the door.

VICTOR GETZ

AND

SCIPIO FORTUNATO

PRIVATE DETECTIVES

INVESTIGATIONS OF ANY KIND

Victor had also engraved his new name in the gold text after Scipio had proven to be a successful and reputable detective. Scipio remembered it as the end of his old life as Scipio Massimo and the start of his new life as Scipio Fortunato. It sure seemed more promising. Fortunato, the fortunate one. Scipio remembered when Prosper smiled after he first saw the new engravings on the sign. Prosper's name and Scipio's new name shared the same meaning.

He entered the apartment and set the box with the now sleeping dog on one of the two desks in the crowded room. One of the desks had papers stacked neatly in different piles. The other had papers strewn about, in every which-way, with several half finished or empty coffee cups lying around. This was the difference between Victor Getz and Scipio Fortunato. One was clean, the other, however, was not.

Luckily, the small dog had become tired of yapping, seeing as Victor was lying on the couch and snoring with his mouth wide open. Scipio had once poured some water into his mouth while he was sleeping, just to see if the water would gurgle. It did, but only for a few moments until a very angry Victor started sputtering and coughing water out of his mouth and told Scipio off for playing such a childish prank. He chuckled quietly at the memory and crept silently to the bathroom to prepare for bed.

He splashed his face with warm water and reached for a towel, passing the mirror as he did so. He froze and stared into the mirror. He saw a man staring back at him. A man with dark eyes, dark hair and a face that still contained the boyish, thin features he remembered. Soon, all of it would be gone, all because he had been rash and impatient. All of the things that make up a child. It had been two years since his ride on the wooden merry-go-round. He would have been fifteen? Sixteen? Being an adult made you loose your sense of time and age. He was determined to find the merry-go-round before it was too late.