Nico recognized the curator’s office. It was the same room in which he had been recently detained.

  The curator, Hieronymos Delios, was a lean and dour man in his mid 40s who had spent seventeen years trying — and failing — to make puffy white vests fashionable in Verona's sweltering climes. Each day, it was said, he plucked a new flower from the Boboli Gardens and wore it in his vest's breast pocket. Today's choice was a bright purple hyacinth which clashed tastefully with his shock of fire red hair. When Nico entered his office, Delios was bent over a portrait, peering at it with a jeweler's loupe, muttering comments to a freckle-faced docent who stood next to him.

  Nico knew Delios personally. Delios could often be seen strolling the Musea’s exhibits, pondering its works as though he were viewing it for the first time. The man was a wealth of knowledge about art; perhaps the only man in Verona whose knowledge outstripped Nico’s own. During Nico's frequent visits to the Musea, they would sometimes banter about the great artists, about Campani and Montorro, Bernini and Kirchner.

  There would be no banter today. When Delios saw Nico, he made a strangled yelp in his throat, recoiling backward slightly, before forcing a strained smile.

  “I — erm — Duke Ferdinand!” he said, handing his loupe to the nearby docent. “Ah, what an unexpected delight! What brings you all the way to Verona?”

  “Do you know who I am?” Max said, stepping forth, twirling theatrically as though there were an audience watching. “Or have I become invisible? Speak to me, Curator, not the Duke. For I,” — he gesticulated elaborately as though he were conducting an orchestra — “am Royal Regent Vincenzo. The Duke’s business is conducted through me.”

  “Of course I know who you are,” Delios said slowly. “You were here last week.”

  “And do you recall the purpose of my visit?”

  Delios squinted, as though he were being tested. "...was to place the Telemachus painting into the vault. I understand that it was your plan to --"

  “Plans change,” Nico said, trying to wrest control of the conversation. “I wish to collect the painting. It would be safer in the Ducal Palace. Fetch it from your vault.”

  Delios waved over the docent and whispered in his ear. Delios is suspicious, Nico thought, perhaps in part due to Maximilian’s dubious impression of Vincenzo. These thoughts were dangerous, they were Nico’s thoughts, and they threatened to break his concentration and unravel his disguise. He focused once again on his disguise.

  “Is there something you wish to not say in my presence, Henri?”

  “No no no, of course not, Your Grace,” the curator said, waving his hands, his voice cracking. “I was just… Well… It is standard procedure to evacuate the Musea before opening the vault.” He looked at Max, a trace of suspicion in his eyes. “Certainly you remember?”

  “Certainly,” Max said. “Standard procedure and whatnot, safety first I always say. Can’t have one of the peasants squirreling into the vault.”

  “As you wish,” Nico said. “Evacuate the Musea. But hurry. For my patience wanes.”

  Nico had anticipated this possibility. The docent might send a raven to the Ducal Palace in Modena to verify the authenticity of the request. Nico had researched the average raven’s flying speed and, based on his calculations, estimated they had about eighty minutes to locate the painting, exit the Musea, return to the Mint, and depart the marina.

  Eighty minutes before the Choir of Shadows was alerted. Every second counted.

  ***

  It took fifteen minutes for the docents to evacuate the Musea. Nico wondered about Leo and Gianna. Had they been swept out with the other patrons? It might not matter if everything went to plan… But nothing ever went to plan.

  “Right this way, your grace.”

  Nico hobbled after the curator. It was eerie, being in these hallowed halls almost entirely alone. He was so used to being smothered by pressing crowds, and he had to fight the urge not to sneak glances at some the artwork he passed. In different environments, in different settings, art often took on different qualities. Oh, he thought, to contemplate Prezi’s Pale Blue in situ, enveloped in total silence…

  Delios slowed to a halt before Minos’ glass frost dragon. The faceted glass shimmered under the amber alchemical lights suspended high above it. The dragon’s long neck was only a few feet off the ground, its lips parted slightly as if it were about to unleash an icy blast. Some people claimed the dragon moved when no one was looking. Some even claimed roars could be heard at night when the Musea was closed.

  “This is it, then?” Max asked. “This is where you keep the vault?”

  “Of course.” Delios gave him a puzzled look. “Don’t you remember?”

  “Well, I — I —” Max fumbled for a reply. “How dare you presume to question me, curator? I am the royal regent, you know.”

  “Silence Vin!” Nico snapped at him. If only I had some kind of spell to mute the halfwit. One of the core tenets of disguises was the less said the better. Evidently they didn’t teach common sense at Vale. Once again Nico was permitting his own thoughts to crowd out the Duke’s.

  Delios licked his lips. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes roamed around them, as though searching for aid. But they were utterly alone. Nico suspected he doubted their disguises.

  We need to make haste.

  Nico stepped up to Delios and gripped his throat as tight as his frail fingers would allow. He leaned, licking his cheeks before pressing his lips to Delios’ ears and speaking in a firm whisper. “As I said, my… patience… wanes. And I have a royal taste for human liver. Defy me, delay me, and I shall indulge my tastes. Open the vault.”

  If Delios previously doubted that he was dealing with Duke Ferdinand II, he doubted it no longer. Sweat was rolling down his cheeks, small beads spilling onto his white vest.

  “Yes,” he said, “I understand. Just one moment, your — your grace.”

  Delios walked up to the glass dragon and tickled its neck, whispering something in its ear. Nico strained to hear, but didn't catch what he said. When Delios stepped back, there was the sound of massive gears turning, and then the platform that the glass dragon sat upon began corkscrewing downward very slowly.

  Nico gave Delios a maniacal grin as they descended. Delios looked like he wanted to sink into earth and disappear. He smiled back and awkwardly looked away.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  It took over a full minute of slow descent before the vault itself came into view. It was like a warehouse, so expansive that Nico could not even see its walls. A sea of art stretched in all directions: paintings, portraits, statues… Vibrantly colorful, violently beautiful. Nico would give almost anything to spend an afternoon alone down here.

  He was jerked from his reverie when an alarm blared. The lights turned red, and distantly there was the sound of the Musea’s metal gates crashing down.

  “What the —?” Delios was gripped by fear. “Something’s happening. That’s the lockdown procedure.”

  “Does opening the vault trigger it?” Max asked.

  “No,” Delios said, eyes once again glinting with suspicion. “You ought to know.”

  Lockdown? This most definitely had not been part of the plan.

  Between the sound and commotion, Delios’ panic and Nico’s own confusion, his concentration had been jarred irrevocably, perturbing the delicate web of thought and intention that composed his disguise. He could feel the illusion unraveling. His face was changing. His cheeks became fuller, his ears longer, his nose longer…

  Max whispered in his ear, confirming his fears: “Your disguise is slipping.”

  Nico looked down and saw that his skin was more taut and supple, more vibrant, the color healthier. Delios knew Nico personally. If he saw his face they were as good as cooked, if they weren’t already. Nico turned away, closing his eyes, attempting to reinvest the spell. He imagined the Duke's anemic skin, his malevolent black eyes, his —

  There was a gurgle, and then a loud thud. Nico opened his eyes and turned back around. Delios slumped to the floor just as the platform came to a rest at the floor of the vault. Max stood over him, a smug grin on his face.

  “What the — why did you do that!” Nico said.

  “Improvising,” Max said with a smirk, as the alarm continued blaring. He had to shout to be heard. “To save your ass. You're welcome, by the way.”

  “How the hell are we going to get back up now?”

  “Dani,” he said, with a self-satisfied shrug. “She divined your location last time. She'll do it again.”

  “She may not even be in here. The whole museum was just evacuated and locked down. Were you not paying attention?”

  “Yeah, but… you factored that into your plans… Right? You knew that was going to happen.”

  “No. I didn’t. I thought it might, but now…” Nico shook his head, sighing. “Just… just go find the painting. You know what it looks like, right?” Earlier he had given Max a precise description of it.

  “Artificium, The Wanderer’s Lament. Yeah I’ll find it. What are you going to do?”

  He actually had no idea. “Improvise.”

  ***

  For all his faults and foibles, Leo could never resist the allure of teasing Gianna. They (along with Danieli) had entered the Musea first, meandering somewhat aimlessly through its exhibits before settling on a viewing bench in the Bernini exhibit. They now faced Bernini’s naked self-portrait, a marble statue carved in his own likeness. Strong as an ox and hung as a horse, Leo thought, or I daresay he embellished a tad. Bernini cast an eternal scowl down upon them.

  “There’s a tone of people here,” Leo said.

  “Huh?” Gianna looked around the exhibit. “It’s just us and Dani. Who, by the way, is acting strange again. You need to do something about your girlfriend.”

  Dani was walking in circles in the room, muttering some incantation to herself gazing up at the ceiling dazedly. It might not have been bizarre if there was a fresco or some other artistic feature painted upon it, but it was just a blank white ceiling.

  Leo ignored Gianna’s jibe. “In the whole Musea though. There’s a tone of people.” He enunciated the word a little more this time, giving Gianna a dry look. She stared back blankly. “Are you just going to sit there in stony silence or are you going to comment on my unsurpassed wit?”

  She sighed. “Oh, heaven on earth, you’re not doing puns again are you?”

  “Art you glad about it? Or are you matte at me?”

  “You’re really reaching with these shitty puns, Lee. And you had so much time to prepare for them. The whole night in fact. Really, I expect much better.”

  “Have I hit rock bottom yet?”

  “Rock? How is that an art pun?”

  Leo gestured at the statue of Bernini behind him. “Statues are made from rocks, silly.”

  Gianna pinched the bridge of her nose. Before she could reply, an elderly, frail-looking docent entered the exhibit. In a tremulous high-pitched voice, he said, “The m-museum is being evacuated. Y-you m-must exit, sir and ladies.”

  “Evacuated?” Leo said, taken aback. Doubtless this was related to Nico. By now he should have been inside the Musea. “For what reason? Is there a fire?”

  The docent smiled sheepishly. “I am a-afraid,” he said in a small voice, “that w-we are being visited by our magnanimous Duke.”

  ***

  When no one was looking, they sneaked into a men’s restroom. Five minutes later, when a docent entered to clear it, Leo jabbed him in the solar plexus, knocking him unconscious. He felt a little guilty about it, but at least it was a good clean hit. It would leave no permanent damage. They waited there for several minutes until the commotion died down, and then Gianna poked her head out.

  “Coast is clear.”

  Leo turned to Dani. “Do you have a good read on Nico’s location?”

  Dani’s purple eyes were unfocused as she turned to Leo. “Oh yes… I have been tracking him since the moment he stepped foot in the museum. He is… in the vault… directly beneath a glass dragon.”

  Leo nodded. “Yes, I know the one you refer to. I know where it’s at. I’ll lead the way.”

  They started off down the passageway, their footsteps reverberating on the marble floor. In the absence of other patrons, the museum felt larger and even more grand.

  “So,” Gianna said conversationally, “this complicates things a bit. Were you expecting an evacuation?”

  “Oh, my dear protégé, life is remarkably more exciting and invigorating when you expect nothing and simply react to everything. It’s all about the art of improvisation. But no… I wasn’t expecting it. Not too surprising in hindsight though, is it?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted, as they passed an exhibit featuring Paladisian busts. “Probably a security measure to help protect their precious vault.”

  “At least it’s —” Leo turned to Dani, who had fallen behind. She was twirling in circles, whistling. Crazy batty fool, he thought. “What are you doing?”

  “Divining,” she said. She crouched down and pressed her ear to the marble floor. “I… I… sense something… disconcerting.”

  Previously Leo did not give much credit to Danieli and her divinations, but she had been right about Tomasso and the guild. Divination might not all be quackery, but Danieli was still as mad as a hatter. He shook his head, sighing. “Stop being so goddamn mysterious and just tell us. What is so disconcerting?”

  “We are being approached,” she said in her soft tones, “by the Choir of Shadows. At this very moment they are nearing the Musea.”

  “Aww fuck,” Leo said. “That was definitely not part of the plan. Nico said we were supposed to have nearly an hour and a half…”

  “I thought you enjoy reacting to complications?” Gianna said, smiling. “The whole zest of life, and all?”

  “Not my exact words, but I will graciously concede the point.” He searched around, running his hand through his golden hair. “Now… to improvise.”

  “Oh, Lee. Must I always rescue you? You are my damsel in eternal distress.”

  “Huh?”

  “I have an idea. Observe.” Gianna raced over to the feature of Paladisian busts and, using her full might, wrenched one off its marble plinth. Alarms started blaring. In the distance metal gates crashed down.

  “Lockdown procedure,” Gianna explained. “It only secures the perimeter.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I invoked a little bit of esoteric magic. That thing you despise called literacy.” She smiled brightly, cocking one eyebrow. “I read about it in the dossier.”