Page 26 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“Match my pace,” Miss Wheeler said to me. She set off again, slower this time.

I drew in a deep breath, then timed my steps to hers. With Oscar behind, pressing my shoulder whenever I slowed, I managed to reach the top of the climb. We took the branch of the road that led downhill to Monteoro, our pace faster now. I still didn’t speak, however. I wanted to conserve my energy. At any moment, I expected to have to run.

By the time we reached the village, it became clear we hadn’t been followed, yet my heart still hammered with fear. We’d been seen at the scene of a murder.

“We have to leave on the first ferry out of Monteoro,” I said. “And we have to pray those witnesses don’t go to the Carabinieri tonight.”

“I agree that Miss Wheeler should leave first thing,” Oscar said. “You too, Gavin. I’ll stay and sort this out. If I can’t find the killer⁠—”

“Oscar,” I hissed at him. I would have shouted but I didn’t want to wake anyone in the neighboring houses. “It’s madness to stay. We can be identified.”

“Those witnesses don’t know where we’re staying, nor do they know our names. Even so, I do think you two should go, just to be cautious.”

I threw my hands in the air. He was a stubborn fool. “Miss Wheeler, please add your voice to my argument.”

She was still clutching her knife, but with a final glance around, she tucked it into her belt. “If anyone stays, it should be me.” She put her hand up to ward off our protests. “I can speak Italian fluently. Can either of you?”

“Where did you learn to speak Italian?” Oscar asked.

“My father sent me to Rome to study art for a year. I received an excellent education, and not just in art.”

Oscar stumbled to a stop, his mouth ajar.

Miss Wheeler touched her gloved finger to his chin to close it. “Honestly, Mr. Barratt, how you do like to leap to conclusions. My education consisted of learning the language and culture of this beautiful country, not just art. Now, to the matter at hand.”

“We’re not leaving you to face the Carabinieri alone,” I said sternly. “You were only in Pecco because you followed us there.”

“Some would say I get what I deserve for following you.”

“We are not that unkind.”

“Indeed we are not,” Oscar said. “Also, I wanted you to be involved in this excursion from the beginning. From last year, in fact. It seems to me that you being caught up in this with us is fate agreeing with me.”

“I don’t believe in fate, Mr. Barratt.”

“Nor do I,” I said. “So, since we’ve decided that we’re all staying here, how should we proceed?”

“You start by telling me what you were doing in the boatshed,” Miss Wheeler said.

Oscar and I exchanged glances. At my nod, Oscar turned to her. “Promise not to say a word of this to Defoe.”

“I promise.”

“We were looking for a wood spell that was stolen from Signore Scala. It’s a family heirloom, of sorts, and he wants it back in exchange for the name and address of the antique dealer who bought the book containing the tattoo spell. Scala says the Pecco boatbuilder stole the spell because he planned to hire a carpenter magician to speak it so he can make better boats and expand his business.”

“Then he must have already hired the magician, and the spell has already been used. I felt magic in the hull of the nearest boat.”

“We didn’t find the spell. It could be hidden or kept in Colombo’s house. I wonder if the dead man was Colombo.”

“Perhaps it was the magician.” I looked behind us, peering into the darkness of the road and seeing no one. Not a soul.

“Did you hear something?” Miss Wheeler asked.

I shook my head. “It’s odd that those men didn’t chase us. The question is, why didn’t they? I can think of two reasons. One, they didn’t know about the dead man and also didn’t think there was anything worth stealing in the boatshed, so they dismissed us as vagrants in search of a place to stay for the night. Or, two, they did know there was a body there but decided not to pursue us because they knew we weren’t the murderers. And there’s only one way they could know that.”

“They murdered him,” Miss Wheeler whispered. “I think your second theory may be right, Professor.”

Oscar clapped me on the shoulder. “My clever friend often is.”