Page 57 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“Perhaps she didn’t ask him to try to free us.”

I shot to my feet. “Do not entertain that thought. She would have asked him in the most vehement way. We can’t blame her for any of this.” I picked up the bowls and handed one to him. “I don’t know what this is, but we should eat. We don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

“Porridge?” Oscar inspected the thin, gray contents. “Gruel.”

I scooped up a spoonful and watched it run off back into the bowl. “You would think a country known for its delicious food would serve something heartier than this in their holding cells.”

“You expected pasta and wine in an Italian prison?”

“We’re not in prison. We’re in a Carabinieri holding cell. We’ll only go to prison if we’re convicted.” My knees suddenly felt weak again and I sat on the floor again. “Oh God. What if we’re convicted?”

Oscar set down the bowl and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He lowered his head and shook it. He was a picture of misery, and I didn’t think the food or our cell had as much to do with it as his thoughts about Miss Wheeler.

“She didn’t betray us, Oscar.”

“Didn’t she?”

“Do you truly believe that?”

His fierce glare held mine for a heartbeat then he blinked, extinguishing the fire. “No. She is our friend. I know she is. But Defoe is a different beast. It’s unlikely she can convince him to get us out of here. After he learns what happened, he’ll do what we planned to do—blackmail Scala. Once Defoe gets the antique bookseller’s name, they’ll leave Monteoro. Miss Wheeler won’t have a choice if she wishes to continue working for him.” He lowered his head again and dragged a hand through his hair. “We’ll never see her again.”

I was gratified to hear the loss of Miss Wheeler’s company, and not the loss of the book, was utmost on his mind. I was doubly glad he didn’t think she’d betrayed us. “I’m sure she’ll send Matt a telegram from Milan. Defoe will allow her to do that.”

He sat up a little straighter. “Or we can get ourselves out.” The gleam in his eye worried me.

“How?”

“All I need is some ink. They can’t deny a fellow writing implements, surely.”

I tugged on his sleeve as he rose. “Oscar, no. If we escape, we’ll be fugitives. We don’t speak Italian and we have no friends here. The Carabinieri will find us easily, and then it will be worse for us. We must wait for Matt to get us out. He has business contacts everywhere, and will likely know the British consul in Milan. Even if he doesn’t, his name alone will ensure we’re given priority.”

“That could take days, or weeks.” Oscar strode to the grille and gripped the iron bars. “My way is faster. I’ll use magic to splash ink in their eyes—” He cut himself off and cocked his head to the side, listening.

I heard the footsteps approaching, too, then keys jangling. “You are free,” said the officer in charge as he unlocked the grille.

“Really?” I asked. “Why?”

Oscar gave me a little shove toward the exit. “Save your questions for when we can see the sky.”

All my questions were answered upon seeing Miss Wheeler and Signore Scala in the office. I nodded at him, then broke into a grin and took her hands in mine. “Thank you, Miss Wheeler. I could embrace you now.”

To my surprise, she embraced me. “Are you all right, Professor? Did they treat you well?”

“Well enough, except for the food. How long have we been locked up? Two hours? Three?”

“Forty minutes.” She smiled at my surprise. “Are you all right, Mr. Barratt? You look like you’ve had a shock.”

“You didn’t leave,” he said flatly.

“Of course I didn’t.”

Oscar put out a hand to Signore Scala. “I presume this is thanks to you?” It wasn’t clear if he was referring to our arrest or our release. I suspected Signore Scala was responsible for both.

He shook Oscar’s hand. “We will discuss this elsewhere.” He regarded the thick whitewashed walls, the small windows, and tugged on his collar as if it were choking him. He led the way outside.

I blinked up at the cerulean sky and drew in a deep breath. Freedom looked and smelled wonderful, albeit with a whiff of the fresh deposit the horse tied to the bollard had dropped.

“Is that De Angelis?” Oscar nodded in the direction of two handcuffed men being marched across the piazza toward the station by the Carabinieri.