Scorpia

would have been grounded for the night. Anyway, this was Alex. Everyone knew they could rely on him to act oddly.
    But to disappear again! It was the last evening of the trip and the group had been given twohours’ free time which they were meant to spend in San Lorenzo, in the cafés or the square. Alex had other plans. He had found everything he needed in Venice that afternoon before he went back to the hotel. But he knew he couldn’t do this alone. Tom had to come too.
    “Alex, I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Tom whispered now. “Why is this party such a big deal anyway?”
    “I can’t explain.”
    “Why not? I don’t understand you sometimes. We’re meant to be friends but you never tell me anything.”
    Alex sighed. He was used to this. When he thought of all the things that had happened to him in the last six months, the way he had been dragged into the world of espionage, a web of secrecy and lies, this was the worst part. MI6 had turned him into a spy. And at the same time they had made it impossible for him to be what he wanted – an ordinary schoolboy. He had been juggling two lives, one day saving the world from a nuclear holocaust, the next struggling with his chemistry homework. Two lives, but he had ended up trapped between them. He didn’t know where he belonged any more. There was Tom, there was Jack Starbright and there was Sabina Pleasure – although she had now moved to America. Apart from them, he had no real friends. It wasn’t his choice, but somehow he had ended up alone.
    Alex made up his mind. “All right,” he said. “If you’ll help me, I’ll tell you everything. But not yet.”
    “When?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “I’m going to Naples tomorrow to stay with my brother.”
    “Before you go.”
    Tom considered. “I’ll help you anyway, Alex,” he said. “Because that’s what friends are for. And if you really do want to tell me, you can save it until we’re back at school. OK?”
    Alex nodded and smiled. “Thanks.”
    He reached behind him for the sports bag he had brought with him from the hotel. Inside it were the various items he had bought that afternoon. Quickly he stripped off his shorts and T-shirt, then pulled on a pair of loose-fitting silk trousers and a velvet waistcoat that left his arms and chest bare. Next he took out a tub of what looked like jelly, except that it was coloured gold. Body paint. He scooped some out and rubbed it between his palms, then smeared it over his arms, neck and face. He signalled to Tom, who grimaced and then finished his shoulders. All his visible skin was now gold.
    Finally he brought out gold sandals, a white turban with a single mauve feather, and a plain half-mask, just big enough to cover his eyes. He had asked the costume shop to supply him witheverything he would need to become a Turkish slave. He hoped the overall effect didn’t make him look as ridiculous as he felt.
    “Are you ready?” he asked.
    Tom nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers. “You know, you do look a bit sad,” he muttered.
    “I don’t care … so long as it works.”
    “I think you’re completely mad.”
    Alex watched as more people arrived at the palace. If his plan was going to work, he had to choose the right moment. He also had to wait for the right guests. They were still coming thick and fast, milling around the main entrance while the guards checked their invitations. He glanced over at the canal. A water taxi had just pulled in and a couple were climbing out, a man in a frock coat and a woman in a black cloak that trailed behind her. Both were masked. They were perfect.
    He nodded to Tom. “Now.”
    “Good luck, Alex.” Tom took something out of the sports bag and darted forward, making no attempt to avoid being seen. Seconds later Alex stole round the edge of the square, keeping to the shadows.
    There was a snarl-up at the entrance. A guard was holding an invitation and questioning one of the guests. That was helpful too. Alex needed as much confusion as possible. Tom must have seen that this was the right moment, because suddenly there was a loud bang and all heads turned to see aboy capering in the square, laughing and shouting. He had just let off a firework and, with everyone watching, he lit another.
    “Come stai?”
he shouted.
How are you? “Quanto tempo ci vuole per andare a Roma?” How long does it take to get to Rome?
Alex had picked the phrases out of a guidebook. They were the only Italian Tom had been