“It’s just a sprain.” Sangster was waving off the protestations of Mrs. Hostache, who was adjusting a pillow that a nurse had put behind Sangster’s head when they had led him into the emergency room. Sangster was in a curtained area of the ER in Secheron’s clinic. Alex and Sid had ridden along on the condition that they remain silent and not interfere.

The doctor had already bound up Sangster’s leg in a plastic-and-foam cast that prevented him from bending it. He would wear it, the doctor had said, for nearly a month. That would be weeks in a wheelchair or on crutches. Now they were just waiting for his wheels.

“Do you ever manage to go anywhere without triggering some catastrophe?” asked Mrs. Hostache, staring at Alex. He could read what she was thinking—she was running through possibilities, angles: What would cause an enormous bookshelf to topple; whether such an occurrence could be caused by climbing or other roughhousing; or whether it intimated something definitely darker. Whether Alex had made it happen. Whether she trusted Alex or not. Especially given his record.

Alex cleared his throat. “If Mr. Sangster hadn’t jumped and pushed me when he did, I—those things are heavy, is all I’m saying.”

“How did this happen?” she finally asked, straining for a neutral tone.

He could tell the truth—he had seen the Merrills, and naturally they hated him and were inclined to try something nasty. But then had he seen them pushing, climbing, anything? Was it enough to stick? Finally he said, “I don’t know.”

“Were you climbing on the shelves?” Mrs. Hostache asked, pushing up her glasses.

I’m not four, Alex wanted to say, but instead he just shook his head honestly. “No, absolutely not.”

“He wasn’t climbing,” said Sangster, rolling his eyes. “I thought I might have heard some kids roughhousing, but by the time I got there, the shelves were falling.”

“Here we are.” A nurse, a twenty-two-year-old ponytailed guy, arrived with a wheelchair for Sangster. “Your ride, m’sier.”

“I can take the crutches,” Sangster said, pointing to the ones by the bed.

“Hospital policy, m’sier, is to wheel you out. After that, eh, you can run as far as we are concerned.” The nurse laughed.

Sangster shrugged. “Alex, carry those crutches to the front entrance, would you?”

Alex carried the crutches and the entourage followed Sangster out. When they hit the front door, Sid got into the back of the van as Mrs. Hostache climbed in and started it up.

As Alex helped Sangster into the van, he spoke low. “What about the raid?”

“The official position is wait and see; the raid is my idea.” Sangster shook his head in disgust. “I’ll be healed up soon.”

The engine was running, and now Alex slowed to a crawl in helping Sangster out of the chair and onto the crutches. “How long will that take? The doctor said weeks.”

“It’s not ideal.” Sangster sighed. “But trust me; it won’t be that bad.”

“That’s insane,” Alex hissed.

“Shh,” Sangster said. “Calm down.”

“Have you called in yet?”

“No,” said Sangster.

“So then is the Polidorium still thinking that you’re going tonight?”

“They’ve given me reluctant permission and there’s a go package waiting for me under the angel statue,” Sangster said. “So it gets stalled.”

Paul and Minhi may not have that kind of time, Alex thought to himself.

At ten o’clock, Alex rose and found Sid staring at him from his bunk. He was lying still on his side, watching silently. Alex remained wordless as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. It wasn’t until he sat on the chair at the writing desk that Sid spoke.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh,” Alex said, pulling on a pair of sneakers. “I forgot the—I left a—”

“Are you hunting them?”

Alex looked up. He had no idea how to answer, and he played out several versions in his head. Then he said truthfully: “I’m going to the Villa Diodati.”

“That would be a secret, wouldn’t it?” Sid asked.

Alex finished lacing his shoes. “Yeah.”

“Then I was asleep.” Sid turned over to face the wall.

Alex nodded, rising. “I need to borrow your bike again.”

“Just get them back.”

Alex rode Sid’s bike a quarter mile down the road before ditching it behind a small group of pine trees, where he and Sangster had hidden the Kawasaki Ninja in the early hours of the morning on the way back from the shore. He pulled several branches and a tarp off the motorcycle. It took him another twenty minutes to reach the vineyards of the Villa Diodati.