Scipio and Rae sat across from each other in the hay loft. Prosper was fast asleep under them, and everything was silent.
Scipio watched her fingers move slowly in the moonlight that filtered through tiny cracks in the roof. Her ivory white fingers were stroking a small, rat-chewed doll that she had found in a pile of dust and hay. The doll was rather chilling: she was missing an eye and looked lost and ragged—almost vindictive. He shuddered at the thought; it was much too close to an American horror movie he had once watched…
"You know, this is as good of a time as any," Rae's quiet voice cut through the stillness. "I swear, this time I'll tell you everything."
"Rae," he sighed softly. "We've gone through this how many times exactly?"
"I know, I know…But those weren't right…Now is, though," she said and he sighed again, but settled back to listen. "Look, I don't want you to think I'm crazy… First you need to know the truth about what I was doing before you found me.
"I'm not an orphan. Everything you know about me is a lie. I've lived in America for almost all of my life. I have a family: two little sisters and my parents and Shasta too. Earlier the night that you found me I had been in my room, writing about a book that I loved. The book was called Thief Lord. I went to sleep and woke up in Venice, ran from some men and then—literally—bumped into you. I had to lie to you; would you ever have let me in if you knew the truth? Even if you did, you'd have treated me like I'm insane."
"Not to say that you aren't, anyway," he gave her a shaky grin. "It's what we love about you." She smiled slightly but then turned serious again.
"I told you I had a family…Well, suddenly I was taken away from them and I didn't have them anymore. I was an orphan, in a strange world where I met you. What I said earlier about treating you like a character was true; I did treat you like fiction. I treated you as though you and I were just pawns in my FanFiction, and that was wrong of me.
"Now, though, I know you're real. All of this is real. And you can make your own choices." She leaned forward and her eyes caught the light, reflecting glassy white—like the doll. "If you want to ride on that merry-go-round, it's fine, you deserve the right to choose. I know that whatever decision you make it'll be the right one."
Her teeth flashed through the darkness at his stunned face in a nervous smile. "So…You're from another dimension?" he asked slowly.
"Sorta…I have a theory on that but it's a bit complicated," she said.
"Oh…And so this is real too?"
She shrugged. "Who knows?"
"Yeah…What's real?"
They grinned at each other.
"Exactly."
As they sank back into silence, Scipio's thoughts raced. He wasn't sure whether to believe her. Either she was crazy, or she was pulling a joke on him… Or she was telling the truth. He wasn't sure whether he liked the idea of the second and third option—and he certainly did not like the first. For now...
He'd just play along and see which turned out to be true.
Rae's POV
We woke up to the sound of someone opening the door of the stable. Daylight flooded the room, and I saw spots. For a moment, Prosper looked dazed and Scipio blinked owlishly into the sun. The girl leaning on the stable door brought back the last night's events.
"Buongiorno," she said, holding back the mastiffs as they tried to run inside. "I would have left you here for a little longer, but my brother insists on seeing you now." She rolled her eyes. "Boys, so impatient."
"Brother?" Scipio whispered, frowning. We stepped into the open, staying close together instinctively. The big house looked even more run-down in the light of day than it had in the middle of the night.
The girl impatiently shooed us up the steps and hurried past the stone angels with no faces. We stopped between the pillars in front of the main entrance; but I couldn't stop fidgeting. I tapped my foot and bobbed on my heels as the girl opened the door—the mastiffs pushed past and vanished into the house.
The height of the ceiling made both Prosper and I dizzy. I had to plant myself against a wall to bring myself back to earth, and Prosper looked unsteady. The soot-darkened paintings were beautiful, even though the colors had faded. There were horses rearing and angels in flight.
"Move!" Morosina called. "You were in such a rush yesterday, what happened? In there!"
She pointed to an open door at the opposite end of the hall. The dogs' paws slipped and slid on the stone floor as they stormed ahead—we followed them cautiously. Our footsteps rang sharply as we walked over the mosaics of unicorns and mermaids.
The room was dark, despite the open windows. A fire was burning in the huge hearth, and the dogs had settled down in front of it. The whole entire floor was covered with toys: I reached down to pick of a sword—it looked almost real.
Scattered among the dolls, rocking horses and bowling pins were entire countries of tin soldiers, steam engines and sailing ships—outfitted with sailors. At the center, next to a castle, sat a boy. He looked somber as he mounted a soldier onto a horse.
"Here they are, Renzo," the girl said as she pushed us through the door. "They smell of pigeons but as you can see they're intact." The boy lifted his head and observed us. His black hair was cut in a fashion similar to Scipio's, but his clothes looked ancient.
"The Thief Lord… Welcome," he drawled. "Indeed, dear sister, you were right." He pushed the tin soldier and horse into a miniature stable and got up, walking on his toes through the chaos, carefully avoiding crushing anything. "You were also in the Basilica, weren't you?" he asked Prosper and I. We nodded. He sighed. "I apologize for the faux money—it was Barbarossa's idea. I wouldn't have been able to pay you otherwise. You have probably noticed that I'm not very rich, even if I do have such a huge estate." He gestured at the crumbling plaster on the walls and shrugged.
"Renzo," the girl groaned. "What are you going to do with them?"
The boy rolled his eyes. "Just look how those two are staring at me!" he said to Morosina. "Are you wondering how I know all this?" he asked, turning to Prosper and Scipio. "Have you forgotten our meeting in the confessional—or the nighttime rendezvous in the Sacca della Misericordia?"
Prosper took a step back. I heard Scipio's sharp intake of breath.
"The merry-go-round works!" Scipio whispered. "You're the Conte!"
Renzo bowed elegantly, smiling. "At your service, Thief Lord," he said. "And thank you, for without your help in retrieving the lion's wing, it would have just been a broken merry-go-round." His eyes flashed and he gave me a charming smile. "Now, however…You can see…"
"Ask them who told them about the merry-go-round," Morosina threw over her shoulder as she picked her way through the mess. "Was it Barbarossa? I've always told my brother than the Redbeard cannot be trusted." She shook her head and tut-tutted.
"No!" Scipio said quickly. "No, Barbarossa had nothing to do with it. Ida Spavento, the lady who owned the wing before, told us about the merry-go-round…But that's a long story."
"Does she know you're here?" Morosina snapped. "Does anyone know you're here?"
Scipio was about to answer, but Prosper cut him off.
"Yes," he said. "Our friends know, and a detective too. They're going to come looking for us if we don't go back."
"Did you hear that?" Morosina asked, and there was an expression of miserable fear in her eyes. "What are we going to do if someone finds us?" Tears filled her eyes. "I don't want to go to an orphanage! I don't want to have another wasted childhood!"
Renzo handed her his handkerchief. "They gave me the wing," he said, "and I didn't pay them. That's why I'm going to let them take a ride if that's what they want."
He looked at Scipio only now. "It spins slowly at first," he murmured, and his voice was laden with emotion. "You hardly feel a thing. But then…it goes faster, and faster. It feels like you're being pressed into the wood as your bones and your body grows…I nearly got off too late, but this…This"—he drew himself up to his full, nine-year-old height—"Is just how I wanted it. I got back what had been stolen from me all those years ago. While the children of the Valaresso played with all of this"—he threw his arms up and moved in a circle, as though trying to encompass the entire palace—"Morosina and I were forced to scrape the messes from the dovecotes, weed the garden, scrub the floors. We had to weed and hack the moss from the faces of the stone angels in the gardens, polish shoes and door handles. We got up before the master and went to bed long after everyone else was fast asleep. But now the Valaresso are gone, and Morosina and I remain." He stopped, suddenly, and sighed. "And now I find playing with all this quite lonesome. Strange, isn't it?"
"So you only called yourself Conte," Scipio murmured, realization dawning on his face. "You're not a Valaresso."
"No, he isn't," Morosina answered for her brother. "But you… You're from a noble family, aren't you? I can tell from the way you talk, even from the way you walk. Do you have a girl to pick up your clothes when you throw them on the floor? Someone to polish your shoes, make your bed, comb your hair? Someone hardly older than you? You can't have a reason to ride the merry-go-round, so why are you here? If you want the money, it's not here."
Scipio scuffed his shoes against the floor. "You're right, there is someone who picks up my things," he said to a wooden lion at his feet. "And I do have my clothes laid out for me in the morning. I hate it! Everyone treats me like I'm too stupid to put my own shirt on. Scipio, wash your hands after you touch the cat. Scipio, don't step in puddles. For goodness sake, Scipio, do you have to be so clumsy all the time? Scipio, be quiet! you don't know what you're talking about! Shut up, you little brat, you stupid, immature, ungrateful boy!"
Scipio looked Morosina in the eye now. "I read Peter Pan in one of my classes. D'you know what? Being a kid is overrated! All you can do is be pushed around and laughed at by the grown-ups. I do have a reason to want on that merry-go-round. I want to ride in the other direction. I want to be grown up. Hear me? Grown-up, grown-up, GROWN UP!"
Scipio stamped his foot so forcefully that he crushed one of the little soldiers. "Shoot!" he muttered, bending over to pick up the pieces. He stared at them as if he had just done something truly horrible.
He looked like a child. He looked like a little boy as he stared at the toy, and I realized that the tiny, broken soldier must represent himself in some way. He had been like a soldier; beat and broken and pushed around, ordered and commanded just like a toy to the grownups. And now…Crushing it himself, he could see that he had two choices: Become an adult and leave behind something in him, a big thing in him…or stay as young as he was, stay who he was.
Renzo watched Scipio solemnly.
"I will show you the merry-go-round," he said. "And if you truly want to, you can ride it."
Morosina didn't come with us. She watched us go, the dogs at her sides.
I could feel Scipio shiver with anticipation and impatience as we followed Renzo into the garden. I found his hand and gave it a squeeze, just to reassure myself that it wasn't a dream. Ever since we'd come here, everything felt so unreal, just like a daydream or a mirage…And I couldn't make out if it was a good or bad dream; fantasy or nightmare.
Prosper was frowning, looking up at the moon as we walked.
Renzo led us to an arbor behind the house. The arbor led to a labyrinth, but Renzo didn't hesitate before he pushed through the overgrown hedges and vines. When I guessed that we were almost there, he stopped and listened. Everyone was silent. Every muscle quivered, tense and ready to bolt. A bell rang in the distance; it sounded if someone was impatient.
"That's the main gate bell—who could it be? The only person I'm expecting is the Redbeard and he's coming tomorrow." He looked worried.
"Barbarossa?" Prosper asked, surprised.
Renzo nodded. "I told you it was his idea to pay you with fake cash. He even procured it for me. Of course, the Redbeard wants to be paid. He wants to come tomorrow to pick up his reward—the old toys."
"That crook!" Prosper snarled. "So he knew all along about the hoax!"
"Don't worry about it, Prosper," Renzo said, placing a hand on Prop's shoulder. It was awkward, because Renzo was so much shorter than him. Everyone listened again, but the bell had stopped.
"Probably some tourist boat," I said after a moment.
Renzo nodded. "Morosina spreads terrible stories about this island whenever she's in town. But we still get the occasional boat coming here. The dogs soon chase away the visitors, though."
We looked at each other: we all knew how effective the huge dogs were.
Renzo began to explain his story, while he started to push through the hedges again.
Finally we squeezed between the bushes and emerged into a clearing, surrounded by trees and hedges. Their branches were so thickly entangled that it was as though a brick wall surrounded us.
The merry-go-round looked exactly the way Ida had described it; it couldn't be described, except that it was magnificent even if it was faded. The figures were delicate and strong at the same time: slender and hard. All five were there: the unicorn, mermaid and merman, sea horse and the lion, who now spread both wings as if he'd never lost one. They hung on their poles beneath the wooden canopy, and I felt as though they were familiar. As though I had ridden them at one point at the zoo, or at a carnival.
The merman held his trident and the mermaid looked into the distance out of pale green eyes, longing for the free waters of the open seas. The sea horse with its fish tail was so beautiful that you did forget that there were horses with four legs.
"Was it always here?" Scipio's voice was no longer an awed whisper. It was rough and filled with longing, but there was something else there. It almost stung me; his voice sounded fuller, it sounded real. It was more than pleasant to my ears. Why had he never spoken like this before? Why couldn't I make him sound like that? He approached the merry-go-round cautiously.
"As long as we can remember," Renzo murmured. "Morosina and I were still very young when our mother brought us to the island because the Valaresso were looking for a kitchen maid. Nobody ever told us about it… It was a secret, but we found it. We crept out here to watch the other children ride it. Morosina and I would hide in the bushes and dream of riding it, just like you must dream of it—so that we could no longer be pushed and ordered around.
"They always found us…Years went by and our childhood vanished. Our mother died and we aged. Morosina and I found work in the city when the Valaresso fell. And then…We heard the story of the Merciful Sisters, and I made the connection. I understood why the Valaresso had kept is a secret! They had stolen it! We dreamed of finding the wing; don't ask me how long it took me to find where it was…" Renzo climbed on to the platform and wrapped his arms around the unicorn. "It was worth it," he murmured, stroking its mane. "I only wish that Mother could be here to share it with us."
There was another kind of longing in his voice, different from the emotion in Scipio's. "Does it matter which one you sit on?" Scipio swung himself onto the platform and found himself staring into the lion's face. I was struck by the resemblance to Aslan, and my heart skipped a few beats. I wished that I could have someone like him here now, someone to guide me…
Now! part of me whispered in my mind. Now, before it's too late and he's obsessed!
Wait, another half growled. Wait, catch him off guard.
I tuned back in, noticing that I'd missed Renzo explain that it did matter what figure you rode on, and I'd missed Scipio calling to Prosper and Renzo worrying about the dogs and Morosina.
"You go first, Scipio," Prosper said. Scipio turned his pleading gaze on to my face. My heart stopped.
"Scipio!" my broken gasp ripped from my lungs as I rushed forward. "Please, no!" I managed to pull myself onto the splintered wood, opening the scratches in my hands. "Don't ride it! We can run, Scipio, away from the city, away from your father and all the grownups. We can all be safe—please!" I couldn't remember if I'd had a plan. I couldn't remember any game plan, strategy, plot... All I knew now was that he couldn't grow up… Because I wouldn't be able to follow, and then we could never even have a chance at all. And I knew, I knew that I would die. If not physically, then something else in me would die.
Scipio stared at me as I clutched his sleeve, trying to rip him off of the seahorse. "Rae," he murmured, sliding off and placing his hands on my shoulders. He was suddenly very tall—looking down at me. My knees had given away.
What happened to brave, fearless Rae? I sneered at myself. What happened to the girl who could change a fate? Change a story? And weren't you respecting his choice? What happened to that agreement?
I couldn't answer.
"Rae?" Scipio was kneeling next to me now, frowning.
"Please don't ride!" my voice was loud, but it broke. "If not for me, then for Bo and Hornet and Riccio and Mosca—and Prosper and Victor and Ida, too. For the kittens, even. Just don't ride!" It seemed to me that both our visions blurred at the same time. I could see his eyes turn glassy and wet in the moonlight.
"What happened to my brave Rae?" he murmured.
"She's still here!" I shouted, pushing him away. Anger poured through me when he turned my own, silent words back at me. "But we know our limits! We can't follow you if you go. We'll respect your decision, but only if you know what that decision means!" The words tumbled out now, effortless and I was sure that they hurt him.
He stood, and he took my hands again; this time I didn't fight. I just didn't respond. "Rae," he breathed, and his chocolate eyes were wide, boring into my soul. His forehead touched mine—his was cool, and mine was sticky. His bangs brushed against my skin, trying to comfort me, just like his hands. "Rae, I have to. Don't you see? I can't stay like this…I just can't."
"We'll grow up soon enough," I replied shortly. Our breath mingled, white against white. "And even before then we can be safe." Our noses touched.
I couldn't hear Prosper, I couldn't hear Renzo. It was as though the entire world had paused, allowing us a few spare moments to work this out.
"You have to understand, Rae," he said, and he wrapped his arms around me. "I do love you, in a way. Maybe it's not the kind of love that the adults talk about, or the love that's in the fairy tales… But I do love you. Just believe that, and maybe you'll feel better."
Love, again. Love love love. It will be the downfall of us all.
This kind of love was the best love, if it worked out. If it ever worked out.
I shook my head, and it throbbed. "That hurts more," I whispered, and my voice was a raspy sound. I tried to pull away, but he kept me still.
One of his hands threaded through my hair, gently untangling some straw from it. "Rae…Cara…Melantha…You're just making this harder for yourself." He sounded as though he believed it through and through, that he was right.
I didn't.
You're going nowhere fast! You're just making your face a splotchy mess! Snap out of it, I shouted at myself. Just give him the ultimatum.
"If you go, Scipio, I'm going too. I will throw myself off of the wall and drown myself; I'll starve myself… If I can even survive that long." I looked at him and as hard as I could I could not make my expression angry. It seemed as though I was dead calm. I shuddered at the word dead.
"That's how much I love you, Scipio. I'd die without you…And I would be without you if you grew up now."
He stared at me, and then his head snapped up. Unconsciously, I pressed myself against his chest as I looked up, also. We had heard something fall, crashing through the hedges.
"Where are you taking me, you little squirt?" Barbarossa growled. "I'm already as prickly as a cactus."
"This is the way; we're nearly there—ouch!" we heard Morosina yelp. Renzo looked at us, afraid. Prosper was frozen—until Renzo grabbed him and pulled him behind the merry-go-round. Scipio followed with me. He wouldn't let go of me. I hit my head against something hard as we hid, and I was dazed for a few seconds. Something cool pressed against my cheek, and I realized that it was Scipio's hand.
"I think you have a fever," he murmured, and it was gentle. I felt fine, though, as I sat up and peered over the top of the platform.
Barbarossa came into the clearing, dragging Morosina by her pigtails. Literally, dragging her. "What the devil is this?" The Redbeard roared when he saw the merry-go-round. He was panting. "Are you making fun of me? I'm looking for something with diamonds, huge diamonds and pearls. I knew you were stringing me along. Right, well the two of us are heading back to the house right now, and you'd better show me what I'm looking for, or else!"
"Rae!" Scipio whispered so quietly that no one else would hear. "Play along with me, please? One last time?" I paused, but then nodded. "Excellent!" Scipio straightened his jacket and smoothed his hair into the fashion that his father did. "This, I'm sure, is going to be fun. Great fun."
Keeping low, he and I crept past Renzo and Prosper. He looked around once more—then stood up to his full height.
I'd never noticed how tall he was: He was taller than me, instead of level. Now I realized that he always kept his head down, like a dog that, nevertheless away from its cruel master, was afraid of being hurt. However, at the moment he was Scipio the Thief Lord, not Scipio Massimo, son of the Dottor. He stuck his chin out like his father always did, and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked very intimidating.
Then he walked toward Barbarossa.
The Redbeard looked at him and gasped. He was still holding on to Morosina's pigtails.
"Good evening, Signor Barbarossa," Scipio said in his coolest, most elegant of voices. I followed in his shadow, still bent and out of sight. "What do you think of this? The very merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters stands before you…" His eyes flashed and he leaned forward. "And it works."
Barbarossa's mouth dropped open. "Wha? Dottore…Dottor Massimo?" He stammered. "What are you doing here—we haven't met in ages!"
"I wanted to ask you the same question, Signor Barbarossa. And I am not the Dottore. I am the Thief Lord." His eyes darted to Morosina. "And what, for heaven's sake, are you doing with the Contessa?" His tone was scalding.
Barbarossa let go of Morosina's hair as though it burned. "Contessa? Valaresso?"
"Of course! The little Contessa often visits her grandfather. Isn't that right, Morosina?" Scipio smiled at her. "But what brings you here, Signor? Business?" He began pacing. It wasn't making it easy for me to hide.
"What? Oh…yes, yes." Barbarossa nodded vigorously. "Business," he repeated. Morosina saw me, and I made two expressions—Tragedy and Comedy. She understood and grinned for a moment.
"Indeed? Well, the Conte asked me to come here and take a look at the merry-go-round that I helped him restore. And then…" Scipio's voice took on the longing sound again. "Then I took a ride and returned to the years that I'd had the worst of. I returned to my horrid childhood, and now I can relive it in peace." Barbarossa stood next to Scipio and gazed at the merry-go-round in awe. "Do you want to have a go?" Scipio asked, a smile that was purely Scipio on his face.
"Do you know how to start it?" The Redbeard asked, already moving towards the platform.
"Oh, I have my helpers with me," Scipio replied. "They must be hiding somewhere. Probably trying to come to cope with the fact that I'm just as old as them now…" He chuckled and then made a gesture at me. I stood behind him, careful to keep my head down.
"Prosper, Renzo?" Scipio called. The two came out. "Come on, you two. Signor Barbarossa wants to take a ride." When he saw Prosper, Barbarossa's eyes widened. Prosper glared back at him.
"Where's Rae?" Scipio asked, although I was positive he knew I was here. "I'm here, Sir," I murmured, moving out of his shadow.
Morosina ran to her brother and whispered something in his ear. Renzo went rigid. "He gave the dogs poisoned meat!" he shouted.
He leaped onto the platform, but Barbarossa kicked him off. "So what? They'll live," he barked. "Was I supposed to let myself be chased by those hounds of hell?"
"Go and give them some ipecac," Renzo said to Morosina. "There should be enough in the stables.
Morosina ran off.
"Take the lion, Redbeard!" Renzo stared with loathing at Barbarossa. "That's probably the only one that will take your weight." Barbarossa looked at him with disdain but he did waddle over to the lion. The wood groaned under his weight.
My muscles tensed, and I skittered over to Scipio. Already an elaborate story was in my mind, explaining why I was sad, why Scipio "became younger", why I was holding his hand now—just in case Barbarossa was suspicious.
"Scipio," I whispered in his ear. "He'll break it. He will, I know it. Let me tell you that from the story… It's your only chance." Something in my chest disappeared. I felt empty, as though a black hole had opened inside me and was sucking everything else into it.
His hand tightened around mine and he shook his head, never taking his eyes off of the merry go round. "No," he said eventually, as Prosper and Renzo pushed it to a start. A thin smile twisted his face. "Rae…You're right." He looked at me for a long time, out of the corner of his eye. Barbarossa screamed behind us. "I'm lonely…There's this feeling in my chest as though you tore something out and threw it into ice water—just thinking about being without you." He shrugged. "I told you I was in love."
I threw my arms around him, just as the wood splintered. There was an inhuman roar, and I gasped. Something alive had died, was dying!
"NO!" both Renzo and I screamed. There was nothing to be done. The wing bounced through the air and hit Prosper's arm. I heard something crack, and Prosper doubled over. The merry-go-round went faster and faster, not slowing down!
Then it happened.
It slammed to a halt, screaming in its own agony and sorrow. All of the figures were empty, their faces worn and parts broken. "Madonna!" A squeaky voice moaned. "What kind of nightmare was that?" A boy climbed out from behind the carousel. He stumbled over his pant legs—and then stared in disbelief at his fingers: Short, fat fingers. Little fingers.
A child's fingers.