"Ah. The jubilee prize." Bingham refrained from rolling his eyes. Dunkirk was ignorant of his role as anonymous benefactor of the Triple R Tourney, and he intended to keep it that way. He'd learned long ago that the best way to control his "employees" was by controlling what they did and did not know about him and his many ventures.

Bingham rocked back on his heels, anxious to be on his way. He had many irons in the fire, Professor Maximus Merriweather at this moment being the hottest. He gestured to the sixteenth-century model. "By all means."

Dunkirk stood. "You're offering me the invention instead of the payment we agreed upon?"

"The ornithopter is worth more than I offered you."

"If it wins the prize."

"Thought you were a gambling man, Captain Dunkirk."

"We had a deal."

"Indeed. You failed to deliver what I antic.i.p.ated. I am not satisfied with your services and thus shall not pay." He flashed a lethal smile. "Take the ornithopter or leave it. This transaction is over." Bingham had toyed with killing the insolent pirate, but the man was a valuable minion-as long as he stayed in line. Cutting Dunkirk loose for a while, denying him lucrative "work," might inspire the man to treat Bingham with more respect in the future-when next Bingham needed him. The Scottish b.a.s.t.a.r.d eyed him up and down, then smiled. "I be takin' the ornithopter."

Bingham watched as the intimidating man gently scooped up his prize. "Oh, Dunkirk. You neglected to mention the status of Miss Darcy."

"Dead."

"Pity."

"Aye, it is," he said on his way out.

Bingham sensed true regret in the pirate's voice, when all Bingham mourned was the chance to dominate Miss Darcy in bed. Ah, well. At least her demise would please his mother.

He called for his captain. "Set a course for Australia." He would not dawdle and pine over Miss Darcy's less than thrilling discovery. He would seek the expertise of Merriweather, who had firsthand knowledge of the Briscoe Bus. As backup, he intended to contact Miss Goodenough.

Time to turn up the heat on Simon Darcy.

CHAPTER 34.

FLORENCE, ITALY.

ITALIA ALE HEADQUARTERS.

"What do you mean, I'm being detained for another day?" Amelia paced the floor of the tiny room she'd been led to six hours prior. "I'm not the one who stole the ornithopter! Captain Dunkirk has it! I'm not the one who blew da Vinci's workshop to smithereens. Again, Dunkirk!"

"So you said, Miss Darcy. It has been looked into, but there have been no sightings of Captain Dunkirk or the Flying Shark in this area."

"That's because his airship's cloaked in a cloud or a cyclone or fog. He has this Stormerator...."

Her visitor dragged a hand over his gaunt face and sighed.

She stopped in front of him. "Who are you again?"

"Agent Cyrus Toppins. I'm from the British consulate, and you, Miss Darcy, are in a bit of a pickle. Do please sit."

Miserable, she dropped into the stiff-backed chair across from the agent. "Do you know anything of Mr. Gentry? I was told he escaped serious harm from the explosion, but he had this gunshot wound and...I'm worried."

Doc Blue had been little more than a mirage. He'd appeared, rocketed her to safety, told her he was sorry, and promised to make things right. Then he was gone. Even though the air constables had been kind enough, their English was broken, and after she'd mentioned the theft of a da Vinci artifact and the fact that she was on queen's business, they had hustled her straightaway to their headquarters. They'd asked her the same questions over and over, answering none of hers in return. She'd stayed calm for the most part, but now...anxious tears filled her eyes. "Please, Agent Toppins, if you have news of my friend, I would be most grateful."

He placed his palms flat on the table between them, then nodded. "Gentry has received medical attention. He is mending rather quickly. Quite amazing."

"Doc Blue."

"Indeed, a man by that name did visit your friend. After a short discussion, Mr. Gentry punched the young physician in the nose, knocking him across the room."

"What? Why?"

"Neither would say."

She palmed her forehead, more distressed by the moment.

"Given the severity of the situation-theft and destruction of prominent Italian property-there's a good chance that Gentry will be extradited to America due to previous charges."

She bolted to her feet. "You can't let that happen! He's been wrongly accused, and he doesn't have the ornithopter to offer the judge in return for his release!"

"Do lower your voice, Miss Darcy, and please sit down," Toppins said. "No offense, but every time you open your mouth you dig a bigger hole for yourself and Mr. Gentry. You claimed to be on a mission for the queen-"

"I only meant-"

"A da Vinci artifact has been stolen, and who knows what other works of the master destroyed in that explosion."

She knew exactly what else had been destroyed: the codex on time travel. She couldn't say she was sorry. At least one good thing had come out of this debacle.

The agent leaned forward and looked her earnestly in the eyes. "You are at the heart of an international incident, Miss Darcy. You would be wise to speak to no one as I try my best to sort through the legal mayhem."

She nodded, not knowing what else to do. Soon after Agent Toppins left, she lowered her head to the table, forlorn. Crikey. What would her brothers do were they in her shoes?

"They wouldn't get themselves into a pickle like this in the first place," she said to herself.

Someone knocked on the door. "A visitor, Signorina Darcy."

Her pulse raced in hopes of seeing Tucker.

Axel O'Donnell walked through the door.

The constable held up his hand, intimating that they had five minutes.

The moment the door shut, she threw herself into the burly engineer's arms. "Oh, Axel." She held tight, breathing in the scent of grease, lemon oil, and petrol. The Maverick. "Is everyone okay?"

"Fine. We're fine." He cleared his throat and eased her back. "They treatin' you all right?"

She nodded and swiped her grimy sleeve across her wet cheeks.

He cleared his throat again and pa.s.sed her a surprisingly pristine bandanna.

"Thank you." She blew her nose. "I'm in big trouble."

"So's Tuck, but he told me to tell you not to worry. He told me to tell you the adventure's only just begun. Which, considering what's gone on so far, troubles me a mite, but that's neither here nor there. Tuck said to tell you not to make waves. Stick to the truth, do what the British consulate tells you to, have faith in utopia, and everything will be right as rain."

She could scarcely breathe. Tucker was asking her to believe in him. She swallowed past a rusty cog in her throat. "Why did he send you and not StarMan?" The soft-spoken, even-tempered navigator seemed the more likely diplomat.

"I asked the same thing. Tuck said he picked me because I talk too much." He quirked an awkward smile. "Tuck's powerful worried about you, Miss Crazy Pants. Can I tell him you're okay?"

"You can do more than that. Tell him I believe." She smiled. "He'll know what I mean."

The big man nodded, then glanced at his cuff watch. "I should go. Crew's waiting. We're taking mighty fine care of Leo, so don't worry about him. Eli retrieved Bess Two. Birdman said to tell you to gear up for another lesson in acupressure, and StarMan's making you some sort of navigational something or other."

Her heart swelled. "What about Doc? Toppins said Tucker hit him. Why would he do that?"

Axel frowned. "Because Doc ratted you out. He's lucky the marshal didn't do worse. If I get my hands on that skinny-a.s.s traitor-"

"Wait. Whatever do you mean? Doc saved us. He was with ALE." Amelia furrowed her brow. "Why was he with ALE? Instead of aboard the Maverick?" It wasn't the first time she'd wondered, but no one here seemed obliged to answer her questions.

Axel glanced at the door. "Don't have much time."

"Then talk fast," Amelia said, motioning the engineer into the seat vacated by the British agent.

Axel sat and leaned across the table, gesturing Amelia to lean in as well. "Don't know all the specifics," he said in a low voice, "but Doc got himself mixed up with a bad Freak, a woman he met back in that Parisian skytown. Apparently Doc's brother's a criminal sort, livin' on the dodge. This woman told Doc that she knew the whereabouts of his brother-gave him a photograph that belonged to the man as proof of their a.s.sociation."

"Jasper," Amelia whispered, deep in thought.

"You know about Doc's brother?"

She faltered, not knowing how much Axel knew. Had it come to light that Doc and Jasper were Freaks themselves? If not, she didn't want to expose them. Regardless of the supposed betrayal, Amelia felt sorry for Doc Blue. "Only that Jasper exists and Doc feels guilty that they're estranged."

"Yeah, well, that guilt led Doc down a deceitful path. That Freak woman promised Doc she'd lead him to Jasper if Doc informed her of your whereabouts the moment you made your destination clear. Doc claims he balked, but she swore she wasn't after you. All she cared about was the treasure.

"Thinkin' no harm would come to you, once Doc learned the Maverick was headed toward Tuscany, he contacted the woman via the ship-to-sh.o.r.e Teletype in the marshal's cabin."

Amelia pressed a hand to her aching heart. "Oh, Doc."

Axel grunted. "Near as the marshal can figure, that Freak spy was in league with Dunkirk or Dunkirk's employer. Either way, Doc ratted you out, and you and the marshal almost died."

"But Doc must've had a change of heart, right?" Amelia asked, desperate to defend the good in the man.

"So he says."

"It must be true. How did ALE get involved? How-"

The door opened. "Time's up."

"Comin'." Axel reached into his coat pocket. "Never mind about Doc. Just remember this," he said to Amelia in a hushed voice. "Tuck said this is your invention of historical significance." He pressed her astronomical compendium into her hand. "See ya soon, Miss Darcy."

Soon after, she was alone once more, except she didn't feel alone. She could feel Tucker's love and the friendship of the crew. As for Doc...Although she understood his motivation-sibling love was a powerful bond-she found it difficult to fully forgive his actions when those actions could well lead to Tucker's being extradited back to America. And what did it mean for the rest of the crew, the men who had aided in his initial escape? Dear Lord, was it possible they'd all hang?

Amelia pushed the sickening thought from her mind. She had to stay strong. For her family. For Tucker. She had to think positively.

Have faith in utopia and everything will be right as rain.

Worried, yet hopeful, Amelia stared down at the compendium in her hand. Even though his own fate swung in the balance, Tucker had been thinking of her. She didn't need the ornithopter. She could contribute to her family's financial future with the sixteenth-century compa.s.s once owned by, and maybe even developed by, Leonardo da Vinci. Tucker could have kept it and sold it in his quest to reunite with his sister.

He'd sent it back to her.

Heart aching, Amelia hugged herself and envisioned the night he'd shown her the stars as they flew on Peg's back. She hadn't wished on a star since she was a little girl, sitting in the meadows of Ashford and staring up at the sky as Papa taught her the constellations. This moment she closed her eyes and wished upon every star she could conjure in her mind's eye.

She wished for Tucker's freedom and safety. And then the same for his men. She wished for Tucker and his sister to be reunited, and for Doc and his brother to find some sort of peace. She wished good fortune for her mother, Jules, and Simon. She wished for a wondrous workshop in heaven for Papa, and lastly...she envisioned the brightest star, imagined herself in Tucker's arms, and wished for her heart's desire.

In essence, Amelia prayed for a miracle.

CHAPTER 35.

ONE WEEK LATER...

LONDON, ENGLAND.