Rae stared out the window of Barbarossa's office. She wasn't paying any attention to the other's conversation, sunk deep in her own thoughts, face set in a frown.

"You know that I love you!"

Bah humbug, she thought grimly. They were only kids. And truthfully, they hardly knew each other. Wasn't it a bit early for them to be even thinking the word love? She sighed to herself. She really needed to work on holding back the emotional moments. What was she running on?—at least four meltdowns already. Ugh… But really, it had felt nice to be held and comforted—

She stopped that thought right away and watched it crash and burn.

Hornet, Bo and Prosper kept looking at her, too. Not just the normal looks either; it was like they knew something and it had changed their opinion of her. And for some reason she didn't like it.

She scowled and followed the others out of the shop, letting herself get lost in the flecks of white that fell down from the sky. When they stopped at one of the bridges to watch the water swallow the snow, she leaned against the wall. She pondered over it all—her choices.

So she decided to follow the story; so what? How could she change it for the better? She remembered how at the end of Thief Lord Scipio had changed his name. Scipio Fortunato. The 'fortunate one'. She wished she had thought about that more; he had been happy as an adult. What was she thinking? Maybe it would be better if the story was the way it was…

She frowned again, not noticing the others opening the letter. She did have a plan—a hopelessly romantic one. Looking at it now she couldn't help but roll her eyes. She had been planning on spilling the beans about her true past, right when Scipio was making the choice to get on the Merry-Go-Round. Then she would give a little speech on how if he rode it she wouldn't follow. Then he would choose to stay a kid and then Barbarossa would come and they would trick him into riding the Carousel and everything would go as the book said—until the end. In the end, somehow, she would either write him—Scipio and she—out of the story and back into her world (if that was possible).

It was way too sappy in her opinion.

Her eyes fell to the gray waters and she stared at her reflection, expression blank at the dark circles and dull eyes. She glared at herself. Why did she have to be such a sentimentalist? "I wished I had never come here," she murmured to herself.

And then it hit her.

She reached into her pocket for her notepad and her pen. Holding both in front of her, she thought about how to phrase it.

'Rachel opened her eyes and found that she was in her room. There was no one there but Shasta who was sleeping soundly on her stomach. She smiled to herself; maybe she shouldn't write so much before bed.'

That sounded good. She was just about to set her pen to the paper when she noticed someone standing next to her. "Rae, whatcha doin'?" Bo asked innocently.

The look on his face stayed her hand. "Nothing," she said quickly.

He cocked his head to the side. "M'k. 'Cuz we're leaving!'

She looked up to see that, indeed, Prosper and Hornet were murmuring to each other as they walked away. She smiled and took Bo's hand, putting her things back into her jacket. "Let's go."

It was quarter to one in the morning when Mosca moored his boat at the end of the last bridge before the bay. Riccio jumped ashore and tied the boat to one of the wooden stakes sticking out of the water. Behind them lay a seemingly endless trip through canals Prosper had never seen before. The houses were just as old if not quite as magnificent as those in the center.

There were just the four of them in the boat: Mosca, Riccio, Prosper and Rae.

Hornet had given Bo hot milk and honey after dinner and he had emptied two whole mugs without becoming suspicious. Then she had settled down with him on her mattress, her arm wrapped around him and she had read from his favorite book, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. During the third chapter, Bo had already nestled his head against Hornet's chest and begun snoring softly. On cue, Prosper and Rae had quietly crept away with Riccio and Mosca. Hornet had bravely tried not to look too worried as she waved good-bye.

"Can you hear anything?" Riccio peered into the night. Some of the windows were still alight and their glow reflected on the water's surface. The snow looked strange in the moonlight, like icing sugar on a model city. Prosper gazed down the canal. Ida had wanted to come in her own boat…and she was supposed to be picking Scipio up on the way.

"I think I can hear something!" Riccio climbed deftly back into the boat. Mosca wedged an oar against the wooden pier to stop the boat from rocking.

"About time they turned up!" Prosper whispered, looking at his watch.

By now the sounds of an engine came quite clearly through the night and soon a boat drifted toward them. The boat was much wider and heavier than Mosca's. It had a black finish, just like a gondola. Behind the wheel sat a giant of a man and behind him, hardly recognizable under the shawl wrapped around her head, was Ida Spavento. Scipio was sitting by her side.

"At last!" Mosca called out quietly as the boat came along-side his. "Riccio, cast off!"

Scowling in Scipio's direction, Riccio jumped back aboard. "Sorry, Giaco lost his way," Ida said. "And the Thief Lord was also not very punctual." She got up and carefully handed a heavy parcel to Prosper: the lion wing, wrapped in a blanket and tied up with a leather strap.

"My father had some of his business partners over," Scipio defended himself, his voice indignant. "It wasn't easy to sneak out."

"Wouldn't have been such a great loss if you'd missed it," Riccio muttered, not bothering to keep very quiet. Scipio scowled.

Prosper sat down at the stern of the boat, holding on tightly to the wing. "It's probably best if you wait with your boat over there, where the canal flows into the bay," Mosca instructed Ida. "If you drift out any further the Conte might see you and the whole deal could be off."

Ida nodded; her face was pale with excitement. "I had to leave my camera at home. The flash would have given us away…But these"—she held up a pair of binoculars—"may come in handy. And if I may make a suggestion." She eyed Mosca's boat. "Then we should use my boat to follow the Conte—should he sail out into the lagoon after the transfer."

"Into the lagoon?" Riccio's mouth dropped wide open in horror.

"Of course!" Ida whispered. "He'd never keep the merry-go-round secret in this city. But there are lots of islands out there in the lagoon where nobody ever goes." Prosper and Riccio looked at each other. Out on the lagoon in the middle of the night…They didn't like the sound of that.

Rae finally looked at Scipio, who had been glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He looked excited to be out here, if a bit chilled. She looked away after a moment. Her hair got caught on her eyelashes and whipped against her freezing cheeks. It was freezing out here in the wind…but she wasn't quite sure that was what was making her gut clench.

"Fine by me!" Mosca said. "My boat's OK for fishing, but it's not up to a chase. And who knows what kind of boat the Conte's got? As soon as we see him heading for the lagoon, we will row back to you as quickly as possible and then follow him in your motorboat."

"That's how we'll do it." Ida blew into her cold hands. "How wonderful! I haven't done anything this crazy in a long time!" she sighed. "A real adventure! If only it wasn't so cold."

"Enough talk!" Mosca picked up the oars. "We've got to go."

"Scipio's got to come in our boat," Prosper interjected. "The Conte negotiated with him. He'll be suspicious if he's not with us."

Riccio pursed his lips, but he said nothing as Scipio climbed on board. The bell of Santa Maria di Valverde was just chiming one o'clock as they rowed out into the Sacca della Misericordia. There were just a few lights glimmering on the surface of the water. Ida's boat stayed behind like a shadow, hardly more than a black speck against the dark outline of the shore.

---

The Conte was already waiting for us.

His boat was a sailing boat, with a red lantern on the stern. The other lights glared at us, attempting to blind us. "A sailing boat!" Mosca whispered in awe. "Ida was right. He must have come from one of the islands."

"No doubt about it," Scipio murmured, putting on his mask. "But the wind's in our favor. We'll easily follow him with the motorboat."

"Out into the lagoon?" Riccio looked green. "Oh Lord! Lord, lord, lord!"

Prosper said nothing. He held onto the wing. The cold wind had died down and now Mosca's boat glided smoothly across the water, hardly creating a ripple. It was peaceful out here; the water looked like black satin ink, glimmering with silver linings. To Riccio, however, the beauty was lost. He held onto the side, petrified in fear that the boat would fling him into the water if he so much as looked over the edge.

The Conte was standing at the stern of his boat. He was wearing a large, ugly gray coat. He didn't look as frail as I had imagined from his voice. His hair was white, but he was a tall straight-backed man, and appeared to—probably—be very strong. Morosina stood behind him, smaller and dressed all in black, her face hidden under a hood. I envied her of her cloak.

When Mosca rowed alongside she cast a line with a hook toward Prosper to keep the boats from drifting away.

"Salve!" the Conte called out towards us. "I imagine that you are just as cold as we are, so let us complete this transaction as quickly as possible."

"Fine, here's the wing." Prosper handed Scipio the parcel and he in turn carefully offered it to the Conte. The narrow boat rocked unsteadily and he nearly fell. I started, but the Conte caught the wing—steadying Scipio.

"That's it!" I heard him whisper. The old man was stroking the painted wood not unlike Gollum and the One Ring of power. "Morosina, just look at it!" He sounded like a little boy, showing off a caterpillar or a worm he had found.

His sister went up to him and pushed back her hood. She wasn't much younger than the Conte, and she wore her white hair in a tight bun. "Yes, that's it," she said, her eyes alight. "Let's give them their money."

"You deal with it," Renzo said, wrapping the blanket around the wing again. The woman handed Scipio an old bag and I resisted the urge to knock it out of his hands, into the cold water.

"Take this," she said sternly, "and use the money to find yourself another job. How old are you?" She eyed him. "Eleven? Twelve?"

Scipio's face was blank, pale as ivory under his black mask. "With this kind of money, I can be so grown up as I want to be," he said. He took the bag and put it on the floor between him and Mosca.

"Did you hear that, Renzo?" Morosina laughed as she leaned against the deck rail. She eyed Scipio with gentle amusement. "He wants to be grown-up. The ingenuo dreams of children!"

"Nature will soon grant your wish," the Conte said solemnly. He was wrapping the wing in a oilcloth. "We wish that it wasn't true for us. Do you want to count your prize, Thief Lord?"

Scipio put the bag on my lap and opened it. "Oh my God!" Mosca whispered. He took a bundle of bills and began to count them with an expression of disbelief. Even Riccio got up, forgetting his fear of water. He remembered, though, as soon as the boat began to rock, and sat down.

"Has anyone ever seen so much money?" he wondered aloud.

I ran my fingers across a bill. It did feel the same as the real thing. Scipio held a note in front of his flashlight, counted the wad and then he gave Mosca a satisfied nod.

"Seems to be all there," he called up to the Conte and his companion. I squinted against the glare of the navigating lights as Scipio moved out of the way. He had been blocking them previously.

Morosina bowed her head. "Buonritorno!"

The Conte stood next to her and Prosper threw him the rope. He caught it. "Safe return—and the best of luck for the future," Renzo said. Then he pushed off.

Prosper and Mosca took the oars and pulled away from the Conte's boat, and the wing. The mouth of the canal where Ida was waiting for us seemed an eternity away. We were silent. "Go on, tell me: How did it go?" Ida asked excitedly as soon as we had climbed aboard. "I could only see that he's got a sailing boat."

"Everything's sorted. We've got the money and he's got the wing." Scipio wedged the bag with the money under his seat. "There was a woman with him. And you were right; they are sailing out to the lagoon."

"I thought so!" Ida gave Giaco a sign, but he had already started the engine and we were now heading out into the bay.

"He's turned off the red lantern," Mosca shouted, "but I can still see the boat!"

Giaco grumbled something unintelligible. He held his course as if there were nothing easier than following a boat in the moonlight.

"Have you counted the money?" Ida asked.

"Sort of," Scipio answered. "There's definitely a lot of it."

"Can I have a look through your binoculars?" Mosca asked Ida. She handed them to him. "He's making very slow progress but he'll be out of the bay soon."

"Don't get too close, Giaco!" Ida called.

"Don't worry, Signora."

After another century of silence, I was nearly asleep. I had gotten used to the roar of the boat, so now it was only a constant growl at the back of my mind. Scipio (who had mysteriously ended up sitting next to me) was holding my hand. Finally he leaned over to me. I had been expecting it, but he'd been silent for longer than I'd thought he'd be. His breath was hot against my freezing ear and cheek. "Hey," he murmured, his voice halting. "About the other day…"

"Yeah, I know."

"Yeah…"

"Look, Scipio…There's something I need to tell you."

His dark eyes widened and he pulled back from me, letting go of my hand. "It's not that bad." I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry." I caught his hand again and tried to warm his fingers: they felt like icicles.

"If it's not that, and we know what we both feel about the other day…Then what is it?" he asked.

"I'll tell you later. This isn't the best place for it."

I'd thought long and hard about it. I'd made a decision.

"Isola Segreta?" Mosca exclaimed. "That's the island where nobody goes—and those who do never come back!"

"That's right," Ida said. "It's not easy to find a boatman who will bring you there. The island's supposed to be bewitched. Terrible things happen there. It's said nobody who's ever visited the Isola Segreta has ever lived to tell about it…So that's where the merry go round has ended up, has it?"

Loud and threatening barks sounded from across the water.

"Two dogs!" Mosca whispered. "Big ones."

"Haven't you seen enough yet, Signora?" Riccio's voice was shrill and wavering. "We've followed him all the way to this stupid island, that was our deal! Please tell that silent man to take us home!"

Ida didn't' answer, she was still watching the island with her binoculars. "They're going ashore," she murmured. "Ah, so that's what your Conte looks like. From what you said I imagined him to be older. And there, next to him… That's the woman Scipio told me about. Who are they? Are there still Valaresso on that island?"

"No," I replied. "They're not Valaresso." She nodded, not bothering to question me, too absorbed with the island.

"There's a pier," Scipio whispered. He was leaning forward so far that he wasn't even sitting anymore. His right, free hand was lightly dancing against the wood seat, and the one that I held was limp, sliding out of my grasp. It was like he was hypnotized. "—and steps leading up to a gate in the wall."

"Who's that on the wall?" Mosca's voice was hoarse with fear. "I see two white figures."

"Those are statues," I whispered. "Stone angels—beautiful!"

"Now they're opening the gate…Wow, those dogs are big!" Ida said.

Even without binoculars we could see them. They were huge, white mastiffs, as big as young horses. Suddenly as if they smelled us, they turned to face the water and began to bark so angrily that Ida jumped and dropped the binoculars. Prosper tried to grab them, but they slipped through his fingers and landed in the water with a loud splash.

The sound cut through the night like shattering glass; it almost hurt my ears.

Everyone ducked except Giaco. "They've heard us, Signora," he said calmly. "They're looking this way."

"Oh my God!" Ida whispered. "Keep your heads down, you too, Giaco! I think she has a gun!"

"Oh no!" Mosca moaned, pulling his jacket over his head. Riccio was curled up on the floor, sobbing. "We all glow in the dark like moon cheese; I told you this was a bad idea. I said we should turn around."

"Riccio, be quiet!" Prosper hissed.

The mastiffs were barking furiously. Morosina's voice could be heard now, clearly angry—and then a shot. When he saw the flash of the gun, Prosper ducked down. I followed suit, dragging Scipio with me. Riccio moaned.

"Giaco!" Ida's voice sounded sharp. "Turn around, NOW!"

Without a word, Giaco started the engine.

"But what about the merry-go-round?" Scipio tried to get up, but I pushed him down again.

"The merry-go-round can't bring back the dead!" Ida shouted. "More speed, Giaco! And you, Thief Lord, keep your head down! Keep him safe, Rae."

The engine roared and the icy water splashed into the boat as Giaco left the Isola Segreta behind us. Soon it was swallowed up into the night. "That was close! I'm sorry I talked you into his madness, Giaco, why didn't you stop me?"

"Nobody can stop you, Signora!" Giaco answered.

"Doesn't matter," Mosca said, trying to reassure himself. "At least we've got the money."

Scipio wore a bleak expression, as though part of him had been literally torn out and left back on the island. "Come on, just forget it," Prosper said, giving him a nudge. "I would have liked to see the carousel too, but it really doesn't matter."

"But it's there," Scipio said with such a longing I'd never heard before. "I'm sure it's there!"

"If you say so," Riccio threw in, "but why don't we count the money?" Since Prosper, Scipio and I didn't move to help, Mosca and Riccio got to work. They were still counting as the lights of the city began to glitter across the water.

Only when we were back in the Sacca della Misericordia did they finally close the bag. "Seems to be all there," said Mosca. "More or less. All these notes are difficult to count."

"Good," Ida sighed. "Then I'll drop you off by your boat. I do hope you have a warm place to sleep. Say hello to the little on for me, Prosper—and Hornet too. I…" She started to say more but Riccio cut her off, as though the words were going to burn his lips.

"Scipio's going somewhere else. Perhaps you can take him home."

Prosper hung his head in embarrassment. Mosca played intently with the buckles of the bag and avoided Scipio's gaze. Scipio looked at Riccio in surprise.

"Of course," Ida said, turning to Scipio. "The ceasefire is over… Do you want to go back to the Accademia Bridge where I picked you up, Thief Lord?"

Scipio shook his head. "Fondamenta Bollani," he said quietly. "If that's OK."

"I'll come too," I said. Scipio's face was pale as he stared at the city. Prosper watched him, taking in Scipio's pale face, his look of misery and the tight lips—probably holding back the tears.

Ida seemed to sense the tension. "Fine! Giaco, first to the boat and then to the Fondamenta Bollani!" she said quickly.

The snow started to fall again as they entered the canal where we had left Mosca's boat. IT was a light snow. Tiny snowflakes drifted across the water. They got stuck to my eyelashes, a pleasant—yet icy—weight on them. The whiteness seemed to lighten the darkness a bit, so now it was pretty easy to see.

"Now that the wing's gone," Ida said, "I'll probably be staring at a blank wall all night. I'll be asking myself whether it has really returned to the lion's back, and who the mysterious Conte and the gray-haired lady really are." She tightened her coat around herself. "It's safer to think about these things in a warm bed."

Mosca's boat was swaying gently in the water right where we had left it. A cat had settled on the wooden bench. She jumped away as soon as we came close. "Buonanotte!" Ida said as Prosper, Riccio and Mosca climbed aboard their own boat. "Come and visit me sometime. Don't wait till you're all grown up and I don't recognize you anymore. And if you ever need my help, let me know. Don't tell me—you're rich now, but you never know."

"Thanks," Mosca mumbled. "That's really nice—Really!"

They were already climbing out when Prosper turned to Scipio again. Scipio was sitting there, his face averted, staring up at the dark houses. "You can come any time, Scip," Prosper said.

For a moment Scipio didn't answer. But then he looked up. "I will," he said. "Say hello to Bo and Hornet for me." Then Prosper turned and left.