‘She’d do it, you know,’ Carlos whispered to Max. ‘Mrs VB would send them home in a heartbeat. She takes no prisoners.’
Graham caved first. ‘Sorry, Lola, I didn’t mean to call you a cow. You’re probably not.’
Everyone turned and stared in Lola’s direction to see what she’d do next. Given no one on the bus could remember her ever apologising for anything, it must have been killing her.
Lola flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and inspected her painted fingernails. She glanced at Misha, who flashed a sympathetic smile. Lola took a deep, shaky breath. ‘Sorry, Graham,’ she said in a tiny voice.
Romilly looked at Monty, who shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose that will do,’ she said. ‘Now, I don’t want to hear another bad word from either of you for the rest of the trip or, mark my words, I will make good on my promise.’
‘Do you think they’ll still have to be buddies?’ Max asked Carlos.
The boy grinned. ‘Definitely. The teachers will take great pleasure in that. Might be some fireworks later.’
Lola sat back down with a thud and folded her arms while Graham scratched his head. The bus wound its way through the narrow streets into the heart of the city. They passed beautiful churches and ancient ruins alongside modern supermarkets and fast-food outlets that seemed completely at odds with the patina of a civilisation thousands of years old, yet at the same time it made perfect sense. There were traffic and people everywhere and lots of police on scooters and on horseback.
When their bus pulled up outside a hotel, Monty Refell stood up and clapped his hands to get the children’s attention. He waved an arm at the enormous fountain directly opposite them. ‘That’s the –’
‘Trevi Fountain!’ Inez squealed, jiggling up and down in her seat. Ever since she’d visited the Palace of Versailles in France, the girl had developed a fascination with baroque architecture and prided herself on being able to identify buildings and structures in that style.
Mr Reffell was delighted by her enthusiasm. ‘Yes, you’re absolutely right, Inez. It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’ he said wistfully. ‘We’ll take a proper look once we’re settled in. Our first activity will be a walk to acquaint ourselves with the area. Now, here’s a fun fact. Did you know that the ancient Romans actually invented concrete and, after the fall of the Roman Empire, the formula was lost for over a thousand years? Fascinating stuff.’
The children alighted the bus and several of them assisted the driver in unloading the luggage. Mr Reffell went ahead to organise the rooms and keys.
‘Frizzle!’ Franco called, holding up an old-fashioned suitcase.
‘It’s pronounced Friz-zel.’ Elliot sighed grabbing his bag. He really had to do something about changing that spelling.
Kensy and Autumn turned circles, taking it all in. In addition to the hotel opposite the fountain, the structure was surrounded by an assortment of buildings, many of them old and painted in traditional terracotta red with shutters and ornate plasterwork, as well as a wedding cake-like church called Santi Vincenzo e Anastasio a Trevi further along on the corner. There were open-air shops and hawkers peddling their wares to the tourists.
Max spotted a poster on the wall beside the hotel entrance. It was the front page of a newspaper with a photograph of a boy taking up most of the real estate. ‘Hey Carlos, check this out,’ he said, walking over to have a closer look. The masthead read ‘Scomparso’.
‘Do you know what it says?’ Carlos asked. ‘Italian isn’t my strong suit, but we could ask Dante to interpret.’
Kensy and Autumn had wandered over to see what the boys were looking at. Max scanned the page and, while his own Italian was far from perfect, he got the gist of the article. ‘The Prime Minister’s son is missing. It says that he ran away on Christmas Eve and hasn’t been seen since.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Autumn said, as they were joined by Harper and Dante. ‘How old is he?’
‘Twelve, and they say it’s as if he vanished into a puff of smoke,’ Kensy added.
Harper gasped. ‘His parents must be beside themselves.’
‘He might be a brat,’ Dante said, scanning the article to see if there was any hint of the boy’s personality.
‘Even still, I imagine his parents would be awfully upset,’ Harper replied.
‘Maybe that explains why there are so many poliziotti and carabinieri on the streets,’ Max mused. ‘Perhaps they’re looking for him.’
Dante shook his head. ‘No, they’re always around. My dad jokes that there are more police per person in Rome than anywhere else on the planet and yet thousands of tourists are pickpocketed each year.’
Mr Reffell stood at the hotel entrance and called to the children.
Autumn nudged Kensy and pointed to the far side of the fountain. ‘Now, that looks like a scene from a movie.’
A nun dressed in a traditional habit with a wimple on her head was leading a trail of a dozen children, ranging from five to twelve years of age, across the piazza. They were modestly dressed with neat hair and polished shoes. Kensy couldn’t help noticing the woman had a very large nose and a stoop. Two stern-faced men, with shirts buttoned all the way to the top, flanked either side of the line and another followed up at the rear. They were heading towards the church.
‘They are orphans,’ Franco told the group. ‘That is Sister Maria Regina, bless her soul. She is a saint – not technically, but she will surely be one day. She is a kind woman with a big heart and that is her orphanage there.’
Kensy’s eyes settled on a dark-haired boy with a fringe that skimmed the tops of his eyes. When he looked up, she smiled and waved. He raised his hand to wave back, but the man beside him said something that caused the boy’s gaze to drop to the ground. Kensy watched him walk away, his head bowed, and noticed a mark behind his ear – it almost looked like a tattoo. How could that be for a boy his age? Kensy wondered what the man had said to him. Maybe the children weren’t supposed to be friendly to strangers. But she was just a girl herself and hardly a threat to the lad.
‘Poor kid,’ Kensy mumbled as she followed her friends inside.
The children were soon settled into the hotel, having taken over the entire establishment. There were sixteen students in total – eight girls and eight boys. Eleven of them were Pharos agents-in-training while the remaining five were regular kids. Kensy was sharing with Autumn in a twin bedroom under the eaves. It was a charming space with ancient beams overhead and decorative Ionic columns either side of the bathroom vanity. The girls were pleasantly surprised at how lovely it was.
Max was rooming with Carlos on the floor below, and next to them was Inez, sharing with a girl called Harriet, who had a crown of unruly chestnut curls and a quick temper. Alfie found himself bunking with Graham, but didn’t mind in the least. Apart from the earlier episode on the bus, Graham was one of those people who just rolled with the punches. There were another two lads – Liam and Winston – who were inseparable friends, and Misha was sharing with Lola.
Kensy couldn’t help thinking how much harder it would be rooming with someone who wasn’t part of the organisation, and was all the more grateful for being paired with Autumn.
The children had been instructed to meet in the restaurant on the third floor, which overlooked the fountain. There they would have a light snack before their first excursion. On offer were generous plates of antipasto, filled with salami, cheese, olives and artichoke hearts. When Mrs Vanden Boom enquired after some bread and grissini to accompany the platters, the young waitress eyed her warily.
‘Is there a problem?’ Romilly asked. In her experience, the Italians loved to fill up their guests with bread. There was many a time she’d been full before the first course had arrived.
The waitress wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I’m sorry, signora, it is just that my boss has told me to be sparing with the bread. There is a wheat shortage and the prices have become astronauts.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘I will see what I can do.’
&n
bsp; Romilly thanked the girl and resisted the urge to tell her she had meant to say ‘astronomical’. She had recently read something in the newspaper at home about the pending crisis but hadn’t realised it had reached such dire straits.
The children hoovered their way through the snacks while Mr Reffell made sure that everyone was equipped with a small fold-out map of the vicinity. In the unlikely event that anyone became separated from the group, they would be able to find their way back to the hotel. Monty then allocated a staff member to each group of four students. Mr Frizzle was to watch over Kensy, Autumn, Max and Carlos, while Mrs Vanden Boom had volunteered to take care of Misha, Lola, Alfie and Graham. None of that foursome seemed terribly happy about the fact, but Romilly was quietly looking forward to it. She was hoping there might be an opportunity to make the children hold hands at some stage – for safety reasons, of course. It brought a grin to her lips just thinking about how Lola would react to being within five feet of poor old Graham.
‘Now, you must take extra care when crossing the roads – and keep your eyes peeled when walking along the footpaths,’ Monty warned. ‘Drivers here tend to have a blatant disregard for the road rules.’ He held aloft a small red flag with a picture of Julius Caesar’s face on it. ‘If you are ever in doubt, look for this.’
‘That’s not very original, sir,’ Dante piped up. ‘Don’t you think there might be other tour groups with the same thing?’
The man sighed. ‘What would you suggest then, Moretti?’
‘Maybe a skull and crossbones,’ the boy said, garnering snorts of laughter.
Monty Reffell rolled his eyes. ‘Perhaps we’ll save that for a trip to the Caribbean.’
‘Sir, we’re wearing uniforms,’ Harper pointed out. ‘That should keep us together.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Lola grumbled.
By the time the group bundled out onto the street, the crowd in front of the Trevi Fountain had swelled. The throng was twenty people deep, meaning there was little chance of getting close to the monument for some time. The poliziotti were busy trying to keep the tourists moving. Mr Reffell quickly decided they would visit later in the evening, when the swarm should have dissipated. Nevertheless, it was a dazzling afternoon – thirteen degrees with a bright azure sky. Compared with much of Europe, Rome was known to have reasonably mild winters.
‘Why are people throwing coins over their shoulders into the water?’ Winston asked.
‘It’s supposed to be good luck and means that you’ll come back to Rome again one day,’ Mr Frizzle explained. ‘In ancient times, Romans threw in a coin to please the water gods and to ensure a safe journey. They also say that, if you throw two coins, you’ll find love, and if you throw three, you will be married.’
‘Maybe I should try that,’ Lottie Ziegler muttered under her breath. ‘Because nothing seems to have worked so far.’
Autumn was secretly thinking the same thing. She glanced at Max, who was walking up ahead of them. Kensy didn’t miss it and nudged her friend in the ribs. Mr Reffell led the children out of the crowded area and past the orphanage. The narrow, winding streets revealed charming piazzas, where people sat drinking coffee while watching the world go by.
Monty had plotted a course designed to introduce the children to an array of Roman delights and to help them get a feel for the city. He could still remember the first time he’d visited when he was a young man in his second year at university. That trip had spurred a lifelong love affair not just with Rome but with all things Italian, including his beautiful wife. But that seemed a million years ago. Just being here made him smile – in spite of the tragedy that had taken her life.
It wasn’t long before the narrow streets gave way to a much larger market square complete with a tall column in the centre – yet another monument to someone of importance in the Roman empire.
Kensy’s eyes were everywhere as she took in the milieu. She loved people-watching and the elegant Italians were impeccably dressed in designer clothing, strolling arm in arm. She marvelled at the women in towering heels negotiating the uneven cobblestones as if they were walking on the smoothest of roadways, while the tourists were obvious in their jeans and sneakers and daypacks. Another school group, wearing black-and-white uniforms, flocked around a small rotunda that was selling drinks and souvenirs on the far side of the piazza.
When they had finally reached their first destination, Monty Reffell thrust his flag in the air and beckoned the children to gather around as he launched into a rather lengthy explanation of the origins of the Spanish Steps.
‘Can we sit down, sir?’ Sachin asked. Although they had only been walking for twenty minutes, at times it had felt as though they were ocean swimmers pushing against a crushing swell.
‘Oh yes, of course,’ Mr Reffell said. ‘Find a spot.’
Romilly was glad the lad had asked as she was feeling a tad weary herself. The group spread out across a couple of rows a few flights up. Fortunately, the steps were so wide there was still plenty of room for people to use them as they were originally intended.
Mr Reffell started up again, but this time he was interrupted by Mr Frizzle, the children’s Art teacher.
‘Did you know that, because of their unique design, the steps have always attracted artists who in turn enticed beautiful young women keen to try their hands as models, which henceforth brought out wealthy young men eager to pursue them. The Spanish Steps have been a popular gathering place in Rome for centuries. I mean, even now I can see at least four easels perched up there.’
‘Fascinating, Mr Frizzle,’ Monty Reffell said, clearly wanting the stage back again. ‘But I have a few more historical facts that the children will be keen to hear and I hope they’re paying attention because we might have a little pop quiz tonight over dinner.’
Lottie Ziegler was a million miles away. It had been a busy week and she was still on call for code-breaking duties should she be needed. Lottie prided herself on her loyalty to Pharos and her track record of undertaking each assignment without a note of complaint, but there was a tiny part of her that wished she’d been able to go along with the active agents on this most recent mission. Although she loved teaching Maths and mentoring the junior agents-in-training, every now and then she yearned to be in the field.
Kensy was similarly distracted. A boy pulling a trolley full of blocks had caught her eye. She wondered if they might have been a present from Santa and was remembering her own enormous collection when a woman standing in a doorway began shouting. A young man wearing a flat cap and waistcoat over a white shirt was the target of her anger. She grabbed him by the ear and marched him inside. Kensy understood enough to ascertain that the woman was his mother and he was supposed to be at home helping with chores but had been off playing cards with his ne’er-do-well mates.
The pair went inside and Kensy’s gaze fell upon a boy in a navy puffer jacket and jeans. He looked to be on his own and was walking closely behind a man in a suit with a newspaper tucked under his arm. She watched him brush against the fellow and his hand disappear into a pocket that wasn’t his own.
‘Look!’ Autumn pointed at a bridal party that was strolling towards them, but Kensy couldn’t take her eyes off the boy.
A second later, the lad vanished into the throng and she was sure he had taken the man’s wallet along with him.
‘Hey!’ Kensy stood up and leapt two steps at a time down to the piazza. She dodged the crowds and raced as quickly as she could towards the man. ‘Scusi, signore!’ she shouted, not daring to look away in case she lost him. Fortunately, he stopped outside the door of a coffee house.
‘Signore, I think you’ve been robbed,’ she panted. When he regarded her quizzically, Kensy thought for a moment, trying to recall the right word. ‘Derubato?’
The man’s eyes widened and he immediately reached into his back pocket. She was stunned when he pulled out his wallet and shook his head. He even opened it up to make sure that everything was still there.
Ke
nsy swallowed hard, the heat rising to her cheeks. ‘Mi scusi,’ she said, turning back towards the street. She could have sworn she saw the young boy reach into the fellow’s pocket. Now she just felt stupid and was bound to be in a heap of trouble.
‘Kensington Grey, what on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Romilly Vanden Boom demanded as she reached the girl.
‘I thought I saw a pickpocket,’ Kensy replied. The fact that she had completely misread the situation didn’t bode well for her upcoming evaluation. Kensy had recently learned that all Pharos agents-in-training received detailed reports on their progress every three months.
The woman arched a thick black eyebrow. ‘And did you?’
Kensy shook her head.
‘Never mind,’ the woman said, to the girl’s surprise. ‘One can’t be too careful in Rome. Tourists are well-known targets for thieves.’
‘You’re not angry?’ Kensy asked.
Romilly Vanden Boom considered the girl. ‘Why would I be? A huge part of your life is about being on the lookout and protecting the public – even though they should never know it.’
‘But I got it wrong,’ Kensy said.
‘Oh, my dear girl, you’re going to get a lot more things wrong than that,’ the woman said with a smile. ‘Let’s just hope that none of your mistakes put you in any real danger. Now, let’s head back to the Spanish Steps and rescue the tourists who seem to think Mr Reffell is some sort of official city guide. I fear he’s turned into the troll from Three Billy Goats Gruff and isn’t letting anyone pass until they can recite three facts for him.’
Kensy walked along beside the teacher, but something made her look back. She was surprised to see the boy in the blue jacket standing with the man and even more shocked to see the lad pull a wallet from his pocket and hand it over. The fellow grinned widely and patted the lad’s shoulder before the boy scampered off into the crowd. Kensy’s mind was churning. No matter which way she looked at it, none of it made any sense at all.
Disappearing Act Page 10
