Scorpia

In the distance he could see the twinkling lights of Venice. What was happening there right now? Tourists would be leaving their hotels, searching out the restaurants and bars. There might be concerts in some of the churches. The gondoliers would be tying up their boats. Winter might be a long way off but already it was too cold for most people to set out on an evening cruise. Alex still found it hard to believe that this island with all its secrets could exist so close to one of the world’s most popular holiday destinations. Two worlds. Side by side. But one of them was blind, utterly unaware of the existence of the other.
    He stood there unmoving, feeling the breeze rippling through his hair. He was wearing only a long-sleeved shirt and jeans and he was consciousof the evening chill. But somehow it was distant. It was as if he had become part of the tower – a statue or a gargoyle. He was on Malagosto because he had nowhere else to go; he no longer had any choice.
    He thought back over the last couple of weeks. How long had he been on the island? He had no idea. In many ways it was just like being at school. There were teachers and classrooms and separate lessons, and one day more or less blurred into the next. Only the subjects here were nothing like the ones he had studied at Brookland.
    First there was history – also taught by Gordon Ross. But his version of history had nothing to do with kings and queens, battles and treaties. Ross specialized in the history of weapons.
    “Now, this is the double-edged commando knife, developed in the Second World War by Fairbairn and Sykes. One was a silent killing specialist, the other a crack shot with the rifle. Isn’t it a beauty? You’ll see it has a seven and a half inch blade with a crosspiece and a ribbed centre on both sides. It’s designed to fit exactly in your palm. You may find it a little heavy, Alex, as your hand isn’t fully developed. But this is still the greatest murder weapon ever invented. Guns are noisy; guns can jam. But the commando knife is a true friend. It will do its job instantly and it will never let you down.”
    Then there were practical lessons with ProfessorYermalov. As Nile had said, he was the least friendly member of the staff at Malagosto: a scowling, silent man in his fifties who had little time for anyone. But Alex soon found out why. Yermalov was from Chechnya and had lost his entire family in the war with Russia.
    “Today I am going to show you how to make yourself invisible,” he said.
    Alex couldn’t resist a faint smile.
    Yermalov saw it. “You think I am making a joke with you, Mr Rider? You think I am talking about children’s books? A cloak of invisibility, perhaps? You are wrong. I am teaching you the skills of the ninjas, the greatest spies who ever lived. The ninja assassins of feudal Japan were reputed to have the ability to vanish into thin air. In fact they used the five elements of escape and concealment – the
gotonpo
. Not magic but science. They might hide underwater, breathing through a tube. They might bury themselves a few centimetres below the surface of the earth. Wearing protective clothing, they might hide inside a fire. To vanish into the air, they carried a rope or even a hidden ladder. And there were other possibilities. They developed the art of sight removers or eye blinders. Blind your enemy with smoke or chemicals and you will become invisible. That is what I will show you now, and this afternoon Miss Binnag will be demonstrating how to make a blinding powder from hot peppers …”
    There had been other exercises too. How to assemble and dismantle an automatic pistol while blindfolded (Alex had dropped all the pieces, much to the amusement of the other students). How to use fear. How to use surprise. How to target aggression. There were textbooks – including a manual on the most vulnerable parts of the human body, written by a Dr Three – as well as blackboards and even written exams. They sat in classrooms with ordinary desks. There was just one difference. This was a school for assassination.
    And then there had been the demonstration. It was something Alex would never forget.
    One afternoon the students had assembled in the main courtyard, where Oliver d’Arc was standing with Nile, who was dressed in white judo robes with a black belt around his waist. It was odd how often the two colours seemed to surround him, as if perpetually mocking his disease.
    “Nile was one of our best