Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18 Amy's vacuum-cleaner wheeze threatened to suck her brother in. "Okay," she told herself. "Don't panic—" "Why not?" he asked bitterly. "If there ever was a time to panic, this is it! What happened to the boat?" "Aw, Dan," she moaned, "why'd you have to hide the Nannerl pages on something that can pick up and sail away?" Dan bristled. Anguish, disappointment, and frustration mingled in his stomach, a roiling, toxic brew. "I didn't have a lot of choice, Little Miss Perfect! I was on a motor launch with half the Janus branch chasing me! And what help was I getting from my dear sister? 'Oh — you can't drive a boat!' That's all I ever hear from you — you can't; we shouldn't; it's impossible! I saved our butts back there!"

"This isn't about butts," Amy pointed out. "It's about clues, and that means the diary pages." "Which the Cobras would have taken off us if I hadn't stashed them on the Royal Saladin!" Dan shot back. "You think I'm a stupid baby who's too immature to understand what's at stake! Well, you're the one who doesn't get it! A contest; a search — who's better at that kind of stuff, you or me?" She scowled at him. "We're not talking about strafing the neighborhood with bottle rockets—" "You're treating me like a kid again!" he exploded. "Okay — I like bottle rockets! And water balloons! And cherry bombs! I lick batteries! I experiment!" "You're a regular Madame Curie." "At least I try things," he persisted. "It's better than sitting around biting your nails, wondering, Should I or shouldn't I?" His sister sighed miserably. "Fine. I'm sorry. It still doesn't answer the million-dollar question: What happens now?" He shrugged. He wasn't ready to accept her

apology, but there was nothing to be gained by continuing the argument. "We wait. What else can we do? The boat moored here once. Maybe it'll come back." She spoke the words he'd been dreading — the awful possibility that haunted him. "What if before was a one-time thing? What if we've lost those pages forever?" Dan had no answer. All at once, the breakneck pace of it caught up with him. Five hours in the Fiat, tailing the limo, Disco Volante, the Janus stronghold, the canal chase, the Cobras. And now this. He could have flopped down on the stone walkway and slept for a year. It was a crushing exhaustion that sucked the strength out of every single cell in his body. He felt old at eleven. Amy must have sensed this, because she put a supportive arm around his shoulders as they headed back to the church to update Nellie on the latest twist. "We could be waiting a long time," Amy told her. "Maybe you should find a hotel and get a few

hours' sleep." "If you two think I'm leaving you alone for another minute today, then you've been drinking the canal water," the au pair said severely. "Go and wait. I'll be here." "Mrrp," Saladin added drowsily. Good old Nellie. The show of support lightened the mood slightly. The thought of someone who would look out for them — someone older, even if only by a handful of years — seemed almost parental. It was a mere penlight in a vast void. Yet Amy and Dan Cahill had seen nothing in that darkness for a very long time. But as they settled in behind the church to wait, the grim reality began to press down on them. If they could not recover the papers encased in the vinyl seat cushion of the Royal Saladin, they were at a complete dead end. They had staked everything on this quest. Washing out would leave them as nothing more than fugitives from Massachusetts Social Services. Homeless orphans, with no past and no future, stranded half a world away from anyone or

anything familiar. The minutes passed like months, as if time itself had been slowed by the black-hole gravity of their situation. They hugged themselves against the clammy dampness of night, chilled further by fear and uncertainty. Amy took in the lights of Venice, gleaming off the water. "Weird, huh? That so many bad things can happen in such a beautiful place." Dan was not on her wavelength. "Maybe we should steal another boat. Then at least we can cruise the canals. The Royal Saladin must be somewhere." He looked at her intensely. "Giving up is not an option." "Then how would we know the Royal Saladin won't come back a minute after we leave? Here we are and here we stay." For Dan, it was extra-special torture. Doing something — even the wrong thing — was easier to take than sitting around. The first hour was misery. The second was actual physical pain. By the third, they were numb, sunk deep in despair as the city sounds and motorboat noise diminished,

leaving only lapping water and distant accordion music. They had always known that their quest was a long shot. But neither had expected defeat to take this form — an unfortunate choice stashing a few vital pieces of paper in a hiding place that got up and left. Both sat forward on the stone path. Was the music getting louder? The lilting melody swelled, and a boat sailed around the bend of the canal, lit up like a Christmas tree. The open stern was packed with revelers, dancing and celebrating wildly. Amy and Dan felt like celebrating themselves. It was the Royal Saladin. Dan looked on from the shadows. "A party?" "Not a party," Amy managed. "A wedding!" The bride and groom embraced by the wheelhouse, while flower girls showered them with rose petals. Laughter rang out. Champagne toasts soared. There must have been fifteen people squeezed onto the small craft, including the accordion player, who was balanced precariously