Scipio held the splintered piece of wood in his arms as though cradling a baby. He didn't lift his head when Renzo began crying, attacking Barbarossa with a fire of anger. He didn't look up when Prosper pulled Renzo away, and he didn't look up when Barbarossa begged him to give him another ride and put him back to normal.

"Oh, leave me alone, Squirt," he said. "You don't understand. What were you doing here, anyway? Whatever you touch is cursed, obviously! All our lives, and the merry-go-round, too." He sighed.

"But Dottore!" Barbarossa pleaded. I rolled my eyes. Apparently Scipio's introduction earlier hadn't stuck through the squirt's ride.

Scipio bristled at being called 'Dottore'. "I am not Dottor Massimo!" he yelled at Barbarossa. "I am the Thief Lord; get it through your thick head!" He dropped the wing on the platform. "Now shut up so that I can think!"

Barbarossa stared at Scipio as though he'd just been introduced to the devil himself. I took a deep breath. "Look, kid, Scipio is the Thief Lord. He always has been. He is not the Dottor. The Dottor is his father. They are not the same." I pronounced the words slowly, glaring at him and hoping that the words would stick this time.

He lowered his voice in what I suppose was supposed to be a threatening fashion. In reality, his voice just squeaked and rasped some more. "Start the merry-go-round!" he said, shaking his tiny fists in the air. "Right away or I'll tell your father who you are!"

Scipio burst out laughing. "Oh, yeah sure! Go ahead and do that!" he chortled. "Tell them that the Massimo boy is the Thief Lord. It's a pity that you're such a little brat that nobody will believe you."

Barbarossa floundered a bit, staring his bare toes. "You despicable little blackmailer!" Renzo said from behind him. Compared to the little piece of clothes and skin in front of him, he towered ominously. "I'm going to go check on the dogs. If you've hurt them anywhere near as much as you've hurt the merry-go-round then you'll wish you'd never stepped ashore the Isola Segreta. Have I made myself clear?"

"You!" Barbarossa spun around, tripping over his baggy clothes. "You dare to threaten me, you little--?"

"I am the Conte, brat!" Renzo cut him off. "And you have no right to be on my island…" A grin spread on his face. "Consider yourself my prisoner." He jumped off of the merry-go-round and turned to us. "Will you keep an eye on him? I have to check on Morosina and the dogs."

Prosper nodded. He was still holding his limp arm, though. "What's the matter?" Scipio asked anxiously when he saw Prosper's arm unmoving and his face distorted by pain.

Prop shook his head. "The wing hit me, but I'll be alright."

"Morosina will look at your arm," Renzo said. "Bring the redhead to the house with you, please." He vanished into the bushes.

"That impertinent little twerp!" Barbarossa squealed. He put his hands on his hips and I snickered. "If he's the Conte, so what? His island, bah! I'm going home, and when I get there I'm going to employ the best carpenter in town and make this carousel from hell work again."

"You'll do no such thing," Scipio said shortly. He planted himself in front of the redheaded boy. Even with Barbarossa standing on the platform, Scipio was a full head and shoulders taller. Were five-year-olds usually that short? I racked my brain—but found none. Bo wasn't much older, but he was taller! Maybe Barbarossa was just a midget…

"Are your parents still alive?" Scipio asked.

Barbarossa shrugged and shivered. "No. Why the heck are you asking?"

Prosper, Scipio and I looked at each other. "Well, then, we'd better ask someone to take you to the Merciful Sisters," Prosper said.

"You what?" Barbarossa recoiled. "You wouldn't dare! You wouldn't dare!"

Scipio jumped onto the merry-go-round and easily picked up the little boy, throwing him over his shoulder. "The merry-go-round will never turn again," Scipio said quietly. "All thanks to you. Nor will you be going back into town, at least for the time being. Who knows what other catastrophes you would cause! No. You heard what Renzo said: You are now his prisoner. And to be honest, I don't envy you."

Barbarossa kicked and struggled, but Scipio put him down and threw him over his shoulder again like an old sack of potatoes—then he carried the screaming boy all the way back to the house. I could see Scipio wince every now and then when Barbarossa hit a bruise or a sore spot, but he never faltered. Never did a word escape my brown-haired angel's mouth, even though a stream of curses and spat insults came from Barbarossa. Scipio's head was thrown back, looking at the sky and trees, as if he'd never seen them clearly before. He seemed not to hear Barbarossa's screams. He just walked, as if deaf, his strides longer than ever.

I stopped trying to keep close after a while of puffing and huffing. When we finally reached the house, though, Scipio turned to us. He put the complaining Barbarossa back on his own feet and said, "I've always tried to be an adult…I tried to see everything smaller than me, tried to keep my nose in the air and look down on everything. And now that I've stopped, everything's so beautiful, so huge, so clear. I feel…I feel like I don't fit into it."

"Welcome to my world," I said and hesitantly took his hand.

He smirked suddenly and bent down toward Barbarossa. "You probably see it ten times what I do, don't you, little Squirt?" he asked mockingly. "What's it like down there?"

Barbarossa wasn't paying attention. He looked miserable, searching for any way to escape. He struggled fiercely as Prosper started to drag him toward the steps. "Let me go!" He screamed, and his hair was as red as his older self's beard. "That boy…the Conte, he's going to kill me! You have to let me go. We're business partners, after all. I'll give you all my money. My boat is anchored by the gate—you could say I escaped."

"Oh, money? It's OK—we still have a whole bag full of fake money," Prosper answered coldly. "Ring any bells?"

For a moment Barbarossa was at a loss for words. "What fake money? I—I don't know about any—I don't know what you're talking about!" he said feebly, avoiding our eyes.

"You know absolutely everything about it," Scipio said as he started up the steps. Barbarossa followed—but stopped as soon as Renzo appeared between the pillars. The mastiffs were at his sides, their eyes dull but their ears cocked towards Barbarossa.

"Just look how angry he is!" Barbarossa squealed, holding on tightly to Prosper's arm. His injured arm. I ripped the redhead off of Prosper and held him away from my friend. Prop looked relieved. "You have to protect me from him!" Barbarossa hid behind my back.

Morosina stepped next to one of the mastiffs and glared at Barbarossa. "You were very lucky, little poisoner!" Renzo called as he came slowly down the steps. "Yes, they're still alive," he confirmed. "But I think they could do with a bite to eat and some exercise. Morosina's just suggested a fun game. You against the mastiffs in a race. With, say, your boat as the finish line."

Barbarossa suddenly went pale.

Renzo stopped two steps above him. "But I have another idea," he said. "Naturally, you will have to pay for destroying the merry-go-round. But this time you won't pay with your life, and you won't pass off any faux money. Thanks to you, Morosina and I cannot undo what we have begun. And neither can you. But I will let you go—only if you give me all the cash you have in your ship. Not just in the register, but in your safe as well."

Barbarossa backed away in shock and nearly fell down the steps. Scipio pushed him back up at the last moment, but as soon as he was back on his feet the little boy pushed his hand away. "Are you insane?" he squawked. "And how will I live? I will hardly be able to see over the shop counter now. And why is it my fault that rotten wing broke off?"

"Yes, why indeed?" Scipio sat down with a sigh on the cold steps and looked straight into Barbarossa's eyes. "I mean, it couldn't possibly be your fault that you crept onto this island with a bag of poisoned meat, or that you dragged Morosina by the hair, or that you got on the merry-go-round in the first place, that you couldn't get off…That you had to break it to stop it, instead of trying to keep calm…"

Renzo cut Barbarossa's retort off. "We'll go into town together, and you'll give me the money. In return, I won't take revenge for the merry-go-round or the dogs. We could, though, believe me. We could draw the Carabinieri's attention to the little orphaned boy who believes he is Ernesto Barbarossa. Or we could ask Scipio and Prosper and Rae to take you to the home of the Merciful Sisters. It's your choice; you can still buy yourself out of all this.

Barbarossa angrily dropped his hand when he realized that his chin was beardless. "Blackmail," he grumbled.

"Call it what you will," Renzo retorted. "Though I could find a few choice words to describe what you've done on this island today." Barbarossa looked so pathetic that Prosper and I burst out laughing.

"I'd take him up on his offer," Prosper gasped. "Otherwise, Morosina will feed you to the dogs."

"Fine, I accept," Barbarossa said, looking up at the dogs. "But it's still blackmail.

We slipped into Ida's house as quietly as we could with a protesting Barbarossa. We listened as Ida and Victor and Hornet spoke to each other. Then we heard the footsteps and Scipio was suddenly quiet.

He was wearing the Conte's old cape, which wasn't too, too big on him. It certainly made him look very handsome in the old-fashioned kind of way. His dark eyes moved to the open doorway, and then back to me. He stood from his chair and discreetly moved to stand next to me, almost in front of me. Just then, Ida and Victor walked inside and stopped, their jaws literally dropping as they stared at Barbarossa. Prosper followed their gaze and pulled the bottle of port away from the redhead.

Scipio relaxed when he saw it was only Victor and Ida.

"Darn it, Prosper!" Victor exclaimed. "Have you any idea of how long we've been looking for you?"

"Hello, Victor!" Prosper grinned sheepishly at the detective and pushed his chair back. His left arm hung in a sling.

Scipio put down his glass of port, trying to remain inconspicuous—it was funny. He tried to hide it behind him, but missed the table. He caught it before it spilled all over my lap, though. He mirrored Prosper's sheepish look.

"How did you get in here?" Ida asked Prop, not taking her eyes off of Barbarossa.

"Lucia told me where she hides the spare key," Prosper answered in embarrassment.

"Well, well, and now you've brought even more people into Ida's house." Victor eyed Barbarossa, who hiccupped. "What about this little midget there? Aren't there enough children in this house already?"

The little redhead rose unsteadily, hiccupping again. "Midget?" His voice was slurring. I giggled. He was drunk. "I am Ernesto Barbarossa! I am an important man in the city. And who the devil, if I may ask, are you?"

Victor opened his mouth in astonishment, but before he could say anything Scipio pushed the redhead roughly back into his seat.

"Shut up, Barbarossa, or should I say, baby Barbarino. If you don't behave yourself we'll kick you out of the door. This is Victor, a friend of ours. And the woman next to him is Signora Spavento. This is her house." He drew himself up as Barbarino tried to fight back. Looming over the little boy, he looked quite impressive. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked sixteen, not twelve.

"I'm sorry we brought the Redbeard here, Ida," Prosper said. "And that he drank your port, but he didn't want to stay in his shop by himself. It's only for one night…"

"In his shop?" Victor asked. "Darn it, guys, could you please explain what's going on?"

"We've given our word not to tell anyone," Prosper muttered.

"Yes, we're really sorry, Victor," Scipio said, turning back to our company. He wore such an impertinent grin on his face. "But we can't tell you."

"What's going on?" Hornet asked, pushing past the adults. She gasped when she saw Prosper and ran over. She only had eyes for him. "Where have you been?" She scolded, anger and relief ringing through her voice. "Where have you been, for God's sake! Have you any idea how worried we've been? You just disappear in the middle of the night—" she had tears in her eyes. Prosper opened his mouth but Hornet plowed on. "We've been searching for you all over town. Mosca and Riccio are still out there! And Lucia and Giaco! And Bo has been crying his eyes out, none of us could get him to calm down—"

"Bo?" Prosper hadn't met her eyes, but now he stared at Hornet as though he couldn't believe either his eyes or ears. "But Bo's with Esther!"

"No, he isn't!" Hornet shouted. "But how would you know, going off and vanishing like that? And what in heaven's name happened to your arm?" Prosper didn't reply, he just stared at Victor.

"Don't look at me like that. Yes, your little brother ran away from Esther again," Victor said. "But not before he misbehaved so thoroughly that your aunt no longer thinks he's an angel. She doesn't want to see him again, ever. Not him and definitely not you. Those were her words. I'm supposed to find you a decent Italian children's home for the two of you, should you ever appear again. But she won't have anything to do with either of you anymore."

Prosper shook his head. "It's not possible!" He whispered.

"I found your little brother in the movie theater," Victor continued. "I thought that if I brought him here you'd throw yourself at me with gratitude. But you weren't even here."

Prosper shook his head. "Did you hear that, Scip?" He muttered.

"Well, if that's not cause for a party," Scipio said, putting his arm around my shoulders. His other hand still held his glass of port. He twirled the stem in between his long fingers. "Maybe we should spend a bit of that fake money."

"After I see Bo," Prosper replied.

Ida reached over and took Prosper's hand. "Come with me," she said and lead Prosper into the corridor.

Bo was sleeping in a chair, right where Victor had put him. He was curled up like a kitten underneath his sweater. His hair was wet from the rain, and his eyes were red from crying. Shasta lay underneath the chair, also wet and asleep. Prosper bent over his brother and pulled the sweater up to his chin.

"Yes, Bo took matters into his own hands," Ida said quietly, guessing the truth, "while his brother and friends took off to the Isola Segreta."

Prosper's face fell. "We're not allowed to talk about it," he said. "It's someone else's secret and…"

"…and the Isola Segreta may keep its secret," Ida said firmly. She sat down on the arm of the chair. "At least the wing is back in its proper place. And Bo will be very happy that you didn't ride on what we're not allowed to speak about."

"Yeah, I think so too," Prosper said, stretching. "What did he do to Esther?"

"Your aunt has been kicked out of the hotel," Ida answered with a grin. "And I seem to recall something about pasta, tomato sauce, and a gelato."

Prosper smiled.

"It was just as beautiful as you told us!" he said suddenly. "But now it's broken. It was Barbarossa's fault. And I think it will never work again."

Ida said nothing, and I leaned back into the kitchen where Victor was reprimanding Scipio, and Hornet was torturing Barbarino.

"You should wake your brother now," I heard Ida say. "And then I'll have a look at your arm."

"It's not that bad," Prop answered. "But maybe you could find a vet who'd dare to go out to the Isola Segreta to treat a couple of dogs?"

"Sure," Ida answered. Then she walked over to Scipio and I and reached for his port, which he downed in one gulp before turning to kiss me quite firmly.

Port tastes disgusting.

And so Prosper woke Bo.

At dinner, I fell asleep half-way through my pasta. When I finally woke up, Barbarino was yelling at Bo, and I was lying in Scipio's lap.

Bo looked up at me and Prosper. "I think Esther would like the way he talks, don't you, Prop?" Bo finally said. "He talks better than Scipio. And he's even smaller than me. But she probably wouldn't like the swearing."

"True," Prosper said.

"Yeah," I added, yawning. "He's just like a mini Scipio, except with more swearing, less slang, and no good looks. He's perfect."

Scipio rolled his eyes and gave me a look; lifting a single eyebrow at me. I mirrored the look and stuck out my tongue at him. He chuckled.

Bo rolled nonchalantly on to his back, ignoring Barbarossa's continuous insults. "And he doesn't spill his food," he observed. "I think Esther would like that best, right Prop?"

His brother dropped his fork and looked closely at Barbarossa. "You're right!" He marveled. "Not even a speck! She would be stunned—and just look how he has brushed his hair. Did you do that, Ida?"

She snorted. "You heard him, I can't even brush my own hair. What about you, Victor?"

"Not guilty!" Victor answered.

"Who is this Esther these airheads keep talking about?" Barbarossa asked, turning to Riccio.

As he explained, I watched as Scipio thought deeply. "You know what? I've just had a crazy idea," he said slowly. "It's still a bit hazy, but it's completely brilliant…"

"Brilliant? From you? Ha!" Barbarossa reached for the wine again, but Victor grabbed the bottle and put it next to his plate. "You know, Thief Lord," Barbarino snarled in Scipio's direction, "you can't possibly hatch any brilliant plans, because you're nothing more than a clone of your father."

Scipio jumped up as if something had bitten him. "Say that again, you little brat, and let's see what my next brilliant plan is…" He was moving around the table towards the redhead's seat. I jumped up and dragged him back.

"Don't let that kid get to you, Scip," Hornet said while Barbarino smugly inspected his fingernails.

Scipio dropped back into his chair. "Fine," he muttered, not taking his eyes off Barbarino. "I'll stay calm. Maybe I'll send a postcard to Signor Barbarossa at the orphanage one day. That's where he'll end up, if he doesn't die in his shop. I won't waste another thought on him, let alone a brilliant one." He got up, pretending to be offended, and looked out into the night.

Riccio and Mosca nudged each other, and Prosper hid a grin behind his sleeve. Yes, this was definitely our Scipio, still the dramatic…And Barbarossa swallowed the bait! Boy, was that baby stupid.

"OK, OK!" He squawked. "What about your brilliant idea, Thief Lord? Heavens, that man is touchier than a dog with a bone."

But Scipio kept his back turned. He stood by the window and looked out at the Camp Santa Margherita. "Hey, Rae, maybe I should tell you my thoughts, because I know you'll appreciate them," he said loudly.

I got up, rubbing the last of the sleep from my eyes. "Sure thing, Caro," I said.

"Spit it out, for heaven's sake!" Barbarossa shouted as the others began to chuckle. Scipio didn't move except to bend down to me.

He almost began to speak when Barbarossa slurped down the last of his stolen wine, and belched. "What do I have to do, get down on my knees?" He hiccupped.

"Prosper and Bo's aunt," Scipio said, making a face, "is looking for a sweet little boy who has good table manners and can behave like an adult. You are looking for shelter and a home for the future. And someone who puts food in front of you and who sleeps next to the door when it's dark…"

Barbarossa's eyebrows shot up. "Is she rich?" he asked.

"Oh yes!" Scipio answered. "Right, Prop?"

Prosper nodded. "That's really quite a brilliant idea, Scip, but it's crazy. It'll never work."

Scipio looked at my grin and then mirrored the expression. "Oh, I think it will, Prop," he said, and we laughed together.