Luckily, Mrs Vanden Boom and Mr Frizzle appeared with the tickets and their guide, a middle-aged woman with a pixie cut and a powerful voice. As the children followed their teachers through the entrance, Kensy looked up and gasped.
‘Max!’ she shouted, charging towards her brother. She knocked him sideways to the ground as a stone the size of a car battery shattered onto the ground, sending the tourists scrambling. Carlos and Autumn ran to Max’s aid as the rest of the group disappeared inside the Flavian ampitheatre. Kensy stood up and dusted herself off.
‘Are you two okay?’ Autumn gasped.
Max’s heart was pounding, but he wasn’t hurt. The stone had hit the ground exactly where he’d been standing moments before.
Kensy stared up at the building. For a second she thought she’d seen a face in one of the openings, but then it was gone.
Carlos offered Max his arm.
Inside the Colosseum, Lottie Ziegler had done a quick head count and realised there were four students missing. She hurried back to the entrance and was surprised to see Carlos helping Max to his feet and rubble on the ground around him.
‘What happened?’ she asked urgently, looking left and right.
Max stood up and scratched his head.
Kensy had no idea why she’d looked up when she did. Luck maybe? A mere coincidence? Perhaps she’d heard something and didn’t realise it. She hated to think about what shape her brother would be in if she hadn’t seen that stone. Kensy licked her lips and swallowed hard. ‘I think someone just tried to kill Max.’
‘That was amazing,’ Dante said.
‘Terrifying, did you say?’ Autumn shook her head. Kensy could only agree with her friend.
‘You weren’t really bothered by what Madiana told us, were you?’ The boy frowned. He’d never known Autumn to be squeamish. Dante had enjoyed everything about the tour and particularly that their guide hadn’t held back on the gruesome stories. She’d told them all about the lions tearing men from limb to limb, gladiators impaled on the horns of marauding rhinoceroses and sacrifices of young women to appease the gods.
‘No, not that,’ Autumn said. ‘The fact that someone tried to kill Max.’
Kensy had barely listened to a word while they were inside. She was too busy trying to remember what the person had looked like and searching for their face among the tourists. Really, though, she had no idea – it had all happened so fast.
Mrs Vanden Boom and Miss Ziegler had both done their best to convince the children that it was just an accident, but Kensy was having none of it – not after what had happened in London. Why did someone want to harm them? Did it have something to do with their grandmother or their parents?
‘I am sure that it was merely a freak accident,’ Mr Reffell said to Kensy and Autumn, as they made their way to lunch. ‘Construction commenced on the Colosseum in 72AD – it’s even older than me, if you can believe it – and the metal struts used to hold it together were removed centuries ago as was most of the marble, which was pillaged to help construct St Peter’s Basilica over at the Vatican. I’m afraid there have been quite a few near misses over the years, and wasn’t Max fortunate that Kensy spotted the falling stone and pushed him out of the way?’
Max could only agree with that. He really didn’t want to believe that it was anything other than bad luck – or good luck, as it turned out.
‘Anyway, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving,’ the teacher said. He hoped their afternoon at the Roman Forum would be less eventful, having also lost Misha and Lola inside for almost half an hour.
Thankfully, Romilly had located the pair playing with a litter of kittens in a cordoned-off area that was under repair. Lola had thrown a hissy fit when the teacher requested she remove one of the creatures from her pocket. Their tour guide, Madiana, said there were over one hundred and twenty thousand feral felines living in the city’s monuments, and more than three hundred of them were inside the Colosseum itself. That didn’t appease Lola, who couldn’t imagine anyone would miss one little puss.
As the group crossed the road towards their lunch venue, Kensy was distracted from her thoughts by a display of daily newspapers outside a small kiosk. She nudged Autumn and pointed. ‘Look.’
Yasmina and Inez were walking with the girls and saw it too. The front pages of all the papers carried the same picture of a man and woman standing either side of a young boy whose face was angled towards his mother and partly obscured. One headline read ‘Nico is Home’. Another screamed ‘Runaway Returns’.
Yasmina smiled. ‘What a relief for his poor parents.’
‘Absolutely,’ Kensy agreed.
‘Well, that’s one less thing for the woman to be worried about,’ Romilly commented. ‘She’s got enough on her plate, what with the grain shortage.’
‘Is it really that bad?’ Autumn asked.
‘Apparently so,’ the woman replied. She had taken it upon herself to do some research last night. ‘From what I understand, Vittoria Vitale passed a law last year prohibiting the importation of grain in order to protect the Italian farmers. It was wildly unpopular with their international trading partners, but the locals were ecstatic. Unfortunately, since then there has been a slew of disasters with wheat crops failing all over the country. Odd occurrences, such as unseasonal fires and beetle infestations, have resulted in a severe grain shortage, which is pushing up the prices.’
‘Why can’t they reverse the law and buy their wheat from overseas again?’ Inez asked. It seemed the most obvious thing to do, but then world affairs weren’t her strong suit.
Romilly looked at the girl. ‘Italian politics is far more complicated than that, I’m afraid. I’m sure the woman rues the day she made the decision, but, in order to rescind, she needs a seventy-five per cent majority of her fellow parliamentarians on side and that’s highly unlikely given that the very idea of protectionism has been something many politicians have been arguing in favour of for years.’
‘Politics is such a dreary business,’ Kensy said. ‘I’d hate to be in charge of a country – that’s way too much responsibility.’ As the words came out of her mouth, her mind turned to Cordelia and what a huge job her grandmother had. If you were a politician, you could get voted out of office or retire. Once you were part of Pharos, you were in it for life – unless there were extenuating circumstances. Even then, Kensy and Max had ended up back in the business their parents had tried to leave behind.
The group reached the restaurant and were quickly seated at a sunny table beneath a trellis with a naked grapevine. The maître d’ had been expecting them. Lottie Ziegler studied the menu and blinked twice when she registered the prices.
‘All right, kids, order up,’ Monty instructed cheerfully. ‘Pizza, pasta, whatever you like – this place is one of the best.’ He beckoned a waiter over to their table. ‘I’ll have a margherita pizza, please, and a serve of cannelloni. Oh, and where are the bread baskets for the table?’ the man asked. ‘These children might devour the tablecloths if you don’t bring something soon.’
‘Sì, signore,’ the man said, and scurried away.
‘Are you sure about that, Monty?’ Elliot Frizzle called from the other end of the table.
‘Yes, of course,’ the man said with a nod. ‘The children have to eat.’
‘But are you certain you want them to order for themselves?’ Mr Frizzle asked.
‘They’re not babies,’ Monty replied. ‘They can decide what they want. I’d rather that than having a whole lot of whining if they don’t like my choices.’
Lottie and Romilly looked at each other, having both realised why Elliot was asking.
‘It’s on his head,’ Romilly whispered to her colleague.
Lottie grinned. ‘Or his credit card.’
And while, as Monty had forecast, lunch was absolutely delicious, the man almost had a stroke when he saw the bill.
‘Please, sir, can we catch a bus back to the hotel?’ Alfie begged. ‘I’m exhau
sted.’ Everyone else was feeling the same way after three hours traipsing through the ruins of the Roman Forum.
‘No, we can’t afford it and if I can keep walking with this,’ Mr Reffell said, pulling down the top of his left sock to reveal a blister the size of Spain on his heel, ‘then you can manage it too.’
Alfie pulled a face. ‘Geez, that’s gross, sir.’
There was murmur of agreement from the rest of the children.
‘Not as gross as wearing socks with sandals,’ Harper whispered to Yasmina.
Monty ignored the girl. It might not have been traditional according to his centurion outfit, but he simply couldn’t abide cold feet and it was bad enough having his knees exposed.
Kensy was walking with Max, lagging a little behind everyone else. They had barely had a second together since receiving the message from their parents last night, never mind this morning’s incident. While they loved being with their friends and the trip was fantastic so far, they were craving some time alone. Up ahead of them, Misha and Lola were still carrying on about the cats and Lola was clearly holding a grudge against Mrs Vanden Boom for making her leave the kitten behind.
‘Are you okay?’ Kensy asked her brother.
Max nodded. ‘I’m fine, and you should stop jumping to conclusions. Like Reff said, it was an accident.’
Kensy shrugged. ‘Well, if you want to think that, I can’t stop you.’
‘I need to,’ Max said, glancing across at his sister.
‘Okay – I’ll stop going on about it. But we have to stick together,’ Kensy said, her voice foundering for a second. ‘I couldn’t deal with anything happening to you too.’
Max wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
‘You don’t have to strangle me,’ she said, pushing him away. He grinned in return and a moment later she leaned her head against his. ‘I do love you, Max, even if you are a pain sometimes,’ she whispered, before running off to join Autumn and the others. Max chased after her, catching up with Carlos.
The streets alternated between narrow cobbled roads and broad piazzas. The children approached Quirinal Palace, which Mr Reffell explained was the residence of the Italian President, who was both statesman and figure-head, elected by the people and in charge of making sure that the government did the right thing. The Prime Minister, on the other hand, was the leader of the parliament.
As they neared the building, three black cars with dark tinted windows whizzed past at speed – a Range Rover in front, followed by a huge Mercedes Benz then another Range Rover at the rear. A wide set of gates opened and the vehicles zoomed through into a central courtyard inside the palace. The children heard shouts and angry voices as they neared the opening.
Although Mr Reffell continued on his way, several of the group stopped to have a stickybeak. Max and Carlos peered inside and were spotted by a lump of a fellow who raised his head ever so slightly. Carlos gave a wave just as the man pulled back his jacket to reveal a shoulder holster. The grin on his face settled into a sneer and the boys hurried away.
‘Did you see that?’ Carlos whispered. ‘Glock, nine millimetre.’
Max, who had been studying firearms in some detail lately, thought it was too. ‘Probably one of the President’s bodyguards.’
‘He’s mean-looking; I wouldn’t want to cross him,’ Carlos said as the shouting intensified.
Further back along the line, Lola was still banging on about the cat. Misha turned her head but didn’t flinch when she realised who was doing most of the yelling. Although she’d never met the man in person, she’d spent a lot of time studying his photographs. A short fellow with a paunch and a pronounced Roman nose, his hair had receded completely from the top of his head and sat like a half-eaten donut at the back and sides. He was gesticulating wildly at a young fellow who had his head down, muttering a stream of apologies.
‘What are you gawking at?’ Lola said. She turned and glanced into the courtyard just as the man stormed out of view.
‘Italians are so passionate, aren’t they?’ Misha said, trying to divert the girl’s attention. ‘Always yelling and talking with their hands.’ She gave what was meant to be a funny demonstration, but Lola didn’t laugh. Instead the girl looked quite put off.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Lola snapped, her eyes narrowing. Two deep frown lines appeared at the top of her nose.
Misha gulped. ‘Nothing.’
Lola stared at Misha, then flicked her hair over her shoulder and launched into another tirade about the cat.
Misha wondered if Lola had seen the man. If she had, she certainly wasn’t saying so. Misha needed to get a message to Dame Spencer and fast. Sergio Leonardi’s appearance at Quirinal Palace had changed the game completely. But with the active Pharos agents already engaged in a top-secret mission on the other side of the world, perhaps this time the responsibility was about to fall elsewhere.
‘Can I use your room for a minute?’ Misha whispered to Autumn and Kensy.
The two girls looked at her curiously. They hadn’t so much as stepped through the hotel doors when Lola bounded away upstairs, eager to get changed out of her uniform. Mrs Vanden Boom had told the children they could spend the rest of the day in casual clothes, so Lola had important decisions to make – being stylish in Rome wasn’t an option, it was mandatory. Misha had begged off for a moment, telling the girl she was feeling a bit bound up and wanted to see if Mrs Vanden Boom had some laxatives. She knew Lola wouldn’t want to be part of that conversation.
‘Of course,’ Autumn said. ‘Is there anything we can help with?’
‘I just need to check in. I saw something earlier and I think it might be important,’ Misha said.
‘Won’t Lola be wondering where you are?’ Kensy asked.
‘She’ll be ages getting changed and this should only take a few minutes.’ Misha smiled tightly. Ever since she’d seen Sergio, her mind had been going a million miles a minute.
Kensy handed over her key. ‘Here, take this. Good luck.’
Kensy and Autumn exchanged quizzical looks, but they weren’t about to ask Misha what she’d seen. Her mission with Lola was highly classified and, until they needed to know, it was really none of their business.
‘Mrs Vanden Boom said there were some snacks upstairs,’ Kensy said. Lunch seemed a long time ago and dinner wasn’t until six.
The girls headed upstairs to the restaurant, where there were platters of fruit and some biscotti. Kensy made two cups of tea and the pair sat in the window, watching the crowds in the piazza below. The fountain was every bit as popular as it was yesterday.
‘Do you think Mr Frizzle would be willing to take us for a walk somewhere?’ Kensy said. She hated the idea of being cooped up inside until dinner.
The room was filling fast with hungry children, chattering about the day. Max walked up behind his sister. He and Carlos had already ditched their uniforms, and Autumn was secretly admiring Max’s navy sweater. The colour really brought out the blue of his eyes.
‘Frizzle wants to look at some art gallery around the corner, if you’re keen to get out,’ Max said. ‘But he’s leaving in ten minutes, so you’d better hurry up.’
‘Seriously, can you two read each other’s minds?’ Autumn said with a grin, and downed the last dregs of her tea.
‘Meet you at the front door,’ Kensy said to the boys as she and Autumn dashed away to get changed.
‘Now, I know you’re all very reliable and, with Max’s memory for maps, you’re welcome to take a spin around the block for half an hour so long as you stay together,’ Elliot Frizzle said to the children. They were standing outside the entrance to the gallery, which was located around the corner from the hotel. He had been dying to pop by ever since he’d noticed a stunning print of a lion in the window yesterday. If it wasn’t too expensive, he had exactly the right spot for it in his flat.
‘Thanks, Mr Frizzle,’ Max said, glancing at his watch. ‘We’ll meet you back here in thirty m
inutes.’
Elliot rubbed his hands together gleefully. He’d just glimpsed a bronze relief of Caesar that would look divine on the side table in his entrance hall.
‘Have fun, sir,’ Carlos said.
‘Oh, I will – don’t you worry about that, young man.’ He smiled broadly then dipped his hat and pushed open the shop door, tripping a tinkly bell that alerted the owner to his arrival.
The children set off along the street, with Autumn pointing out the amazing array of doorknockers that ranged from inter twined vipers to lion’s heads and goddesses.
‘They’re a bit boring, though,’ Carlos said, ‘unless you use them.’ He ran to the nearest door and gave the knocker a loud pounding. The noise made the rest of them jump.
Max grimaced. ‘Really?’
Carlos began to run. ‘Come on,’ he called over his shoulder.
The other three raced after the lad just as the door opened and a man with a moustache poked his head out into the street, looking perplexed. They turned the corner, puffing.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Autumn chided over the sound of Kensy’s giggles.
‘It was only for a laugh,’ Carlos said. ‘Seriously, Autumn, sometimes I think you’re a card-carrying member of the fun police.’
The girl eyeballed the lad. ‘It’s not that funny. Besides, the man might have been in the middle of something important.’
‘Whatever,’ Carlos said, waving a hand in the air.
‘Where are we?’ Kensy took in their surroundings. The trouble was that lots of the streets and alleys looked the same.
‘The other side of the orphanage,’ Max said.
Up ahead, a door opened and a man dressed in a dark waistcoat, grey shirt and black pants walked outside. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, kicking at the cobbles while he blew smoke rings into the air. He sat down on the top step, oblivious to their presence.
‘We should go,’ Max said.
Just as they were about to turn back, three boys and two girls ran around the corner. Kensy realised she’d seen the tallest of the lads yesterday. He was the kid she’d thought had stolen the man’s wallet near the Spanish Steps. Except that he hadn’t – or maybe he had. She was still confused about what had actually happened. There was something else about him too, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Disappearing Act Page 12
