Page 63 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“And what?” I prompted.

“And I wondered if you’re a bit rattled after that exchange with Rocco.”

“I’m not in the least rattled about that.” I was, however, unnerved by the part I had to play in our efforts to get the information we needed from Signore Scala. My part in the plan involved me doing something that didn’t come naturally—small talk. That was Oscar’s forte. But he had a different role to play this time.

I drew in a fortifying breath, marched up the steps and knocked firmly on the door.

Chapter 20

Signore Scala knew exactly why we were there. He barely waited for pleasantries to be over before broaching the topic. “You did not give me the letter, so I cannot give you the address of the bookseller. That was our agreement.”

We hadn’t even been invited to sit, so we stood in the drawing room near the door like servants awaiting instruction. The actual servants were nowhere to be seen. That was one obstacle we didn’t have to worry about.

“But we helped you this morning,” Oscar said. “We restrained your brother, kept your nephew safe⁠—”

“If you do not mind, I have some correspondence to attend to.” Signore Scala glanced pointedly at the escritoire where a small notebook was open on the desk. Neat handwriting covered the pages, but I couldn’t make out the words. Even so, I had a strong hunch that it was an address book.

If it was, it would make our task easier.

“Correspondence with the antique bookseller?” Oscar asked.

“My business with him has come to an end.” Signore Scala tried to be circumspect with his glance at the book on the escritoire, but I was waiting for a telltale sign and noticed it.

It was time for me to enact my part of the plan so Oscar could perform his. “We are sorry to lose the books, Signore Scala, but I hope we can remain friends.”

“Friends, Professor?”

I moved so that I was facing the escritoire. “As you know, I have a fascination with the history of magic. Can you tell me again about your family’s origins, and how they came to specialize in staircases.”

Signore Scala brightened. This was a topic he enjoyed discussing. He turned to face me fully, meaning his back was to the escritoire.

Beside me, Oscar removed his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. With the handkerchief still pressed to his nose and mouth, he spoke his ink floating spell. Not loudly, of course. He whispered it so quietly that I merely heard the hiss of the S’s. Signore Scala didn’t hear a thing over the sound of his own voice.

Inky words rose off the book’s pages and floated around, becoming scrambled. Oscar’s spell wrangled them back in order in the air until they formed their original pattern. They were clearly names and addresses. Beside one name were the words, libraio antiquario. I didn’t need an interpreter to know it translated to antique bookseller.

Signore Scala suddenly stopped and frowned at me. Oh lord. I hadn’t been listening to a word he said. How should I respond?

“Fascinating,” I said.

Signore Scala spun around. He must have seen me looking past him. He scanned the room, but nothing was amiss. Oscar had returned the words onto the pages without leaving a splash of ink as evidence of his efforts.

He lowered the handkerchief. “I’m feeling a little croaky in the throat. We should leave, Gavin. I wouldn’t want Signore Scala to catch anything from me.”

“Of course.” I put out a hand to Signore Scala, aware that I was smiling a little too happily yet unable to temper it. I was so relieved that this was over, and it hadn’t been too difficult.

“Goodbye,” Signore Scala said, shaking our hands. “It is a shame we could not do business together. If there is anything I can do for you in the village…a nice dinner, perhaps…do let me know.”

Oscar paused in the doorway. “Actually, there is. I saw a little steam boat moored at your dock. May we have someone take us to Como in it as soon as possible?”

“Of course. It will be at your disposal in an hour.”

We didn’t see Rocco as we walked back along the path to the gate. I wondered if he would follow through on his promise to speak to Brother Eduardo. There’d be no repercussions from me if he didn’t. I would be gone from Monteoro in an hour.

While my thoughts moved in that direction, Oscar’s went in another altogether. “There’s only one reason that book was open to that page. Scala was looking at the antique bookseller’s address not long ago. Perhaps he was looking at it because he was copying it down for someone.”

“Defoe.” I’d come to the same conclusion in the drawing room. “It explains his smug look when he returned to the hotel earlier. If Scala’s steamboat is fast, we might beat Defoe and Miss Wheeler to Como, but we’ll still have to wait for the train to Milan then stay there overnight, as will they. You don’t think they’re really going to Genoa tomorrow, do you?”

“I do not. Defoe made a point of telling us they planned to travel to Genoa then on to New York, so naturally he mustn’t be doing anything of the sort. They’ll be heading to the same place as us. Rome.”