FIVE: NOCTURNE

      Just after midnight the light finally clicked out in Alan's room, and Virgil closed his own door silently and re-dressed. With the air still charged from the afternoon's high tension and the abbreviated sleep of the night before beginning to take its toll the small household had retired early, and for the last hour he had kept awake by padding round his room, not daring to settle on the bed, which still called like a siren, pristine and seductive. Slipping out in stockinged feet he felt his way down the corridor, edged carefully through the creaky back door and tiptoed painfully across the yard. The moon, which the previous night had hung with its top left-hand corner obscured, like a coin being delivered through some cosmic slot above, was now completely full, and in the sharp division of silver light and shadow the barn doors stood slightly ajar. With a frown for Alan, whose turn it had been to lock up, he stepped into the darkness inside, and into the bone-crushing embrace of a pair of metal arms.
      'Stop-thief.'
      An indicator panel lit a few inches from his eyes and the unmistakable smell of warm oil and anti-corrosives drifted across. He backed up, trying to disentangle himself. 'Cut it out, Braman.'
      'Password,' the robot demanded. 'Alarm-will-be-activated-in-twenty-seconds.'
      'I don't know any password. It's me, Virgil; just check my voiceprint, will you?'
      The indicator flashed thoughtfully for a few seconds, then the grip relaxed. 'Pass-friend.'
      'Pass, friend?' Virgil rubbed a jarred elbow. 'No need to ask who programmed you. Try something useful for a change, and let's have some light. I want to get a few things from Thunderbird One.'
      In the dazzle of the robot's four-hundred-watt stare Virgil climbed the ladder, found his uniform in the cockpit store and pulled on the waterproof boots, then pocketed a torch and scrambled back down. 'Okay, douse that light now. And when I've gone you'd better stand guard outside the barn. No point in alarms once someone's already got a look.'
      At the front of the house the car was missing from its usual spot, and looking around he discovered that Alan had managed to park it so closely under his own open window that there was no possibility of even pushing it away to start it elsewhere without detection. Three miles to the village meant about fifty minutes' walk; the outrun would be all downhill, an easy jog in the moonlight, but the thought of the return trip brought the image of his waiting bed back with a painful intensity. After last night short cuts were out, it would have to be the zigzagging road all the way. But a promise was a promise, and the night air a good antidote to sleep. Treading softly on the grass beside the drive he passed under the arch in the wall, and keeping the dark fringes of the woods on either side at a respectful distance he set off down the centre of the silent road.

      The shadows sliced up the piazza into sections of silver and darkness, one snipping the fountain in half so that two moonlit dolphins seemed to teeter on their chins in an impossible balancing act, their tails braced against nothing.
      In the black mouth of an alleyway Virgil stood and looked around. No slits of light showed behind shutters, blinds were pulled over the few shop fronts, and the car park was empty. The wall beside him was rough where the sun had sweated the sand out of the stucco, and faintly warm, a draining reservoir of the energy of the day; but under the ineffectual moon the village sat as blank and silent as if a plug had been pulled on it and its inhabitants, the current not to be restored until morning. As he crossed the square he saw that the fountain was comatose too, no more than a slumbering pulse of water wetting the dolphins' scales. Standing in shadow and moving deliberately to avoid a slip or a splash he tested the depth of the basin; the water failed to touch the yellow trim of his boot, and satisfied he climbed right in.
      Something shifted under his heel, and he thought of what might happen to the object of his search if he stood on it. Belatedly appreciating the risk of using the torch in the open square, he waded gingerly into the moonlit half of the pool and crouched down. Over his shoulder the round moon stared with him into the water, and beneath the surface a hundred little silver discs gazed back up. He took a grip on one of the iron rings that were for some unguessable reason fixed into the dolphins' mouths, and extended his arm: the water shivered and the hundred little discs broke into dancing thousands, and on the surface the moon's reflection fell apart in amusement. He waited for the water to settle, then began sorting through the coins.
      Across the square the moon found something more interesting. In the mouth of an alleyway a dark shape detached itself from the shadows, and there was a practised, well-oiled click. The moon, spotlighting the figure's hand, glittered on the long slim silencer of a short fat automatic pistol. As the figure hesitated a second shape appeared on a neighbouring corner, looked carefully about, then eased something from a holster at its belt. The silencer melted back into the shadows and the first shape withdrew.
      The moon danced wildly on the surface of the water and Virgil frowned, trying to identify a coin-sized disc just beyond his reach. He leaned forward and caught it up, then something, a soft sound or a movement in shadow, made him turn his head. The moon fled behind a cloud, and he stood up. He waited, but the noise was not repeated; a cat, perhaps, or the crack of old stone settling in the night. The moon refused to return, and in the darkness he applied a fingertip to the object in his hand. The expected chain was missing, but the hump of a hinge and sharp little tooth of a clasp seemed to be there. The only way to be sure was to find a safe place to use a light, so he took the torch out of his pocket, dropped the disc in, and rested a hand against a dolphin to climb out. Then something with the force of a living projectile struck him in the back, the torch arced into the pool with a splash, and his arm was jerked up behind him at an agonising angle.
      There was no time to protest, or even turn his head. A hand reached round, the V of an elbow began to tighten about his neck, and the darkness grew grainier. As his legs weakened he turned to relieve the pain of his trapped arm, and pulled at the boa-constrictor elbow: the other man was strong, but not quite strong enough, and the hold came free. With the complaints of his still-raw bruises from the night before lending an extra fervour to the punch Virgil struck out, and a gasp and a muttered oath confirmed he had found his target. The grip on his arm relaxed, but then something cold, round and ominous jabbed into his ribs just below his shoulder blade, and he froze, raising his free hand in surrender.
      'Turn around, and make it real slow,' panted a very familiar voice.
      'Alan!' Virgil whirled, and the torch that had been stuck between his ribs waved blindingly in his face.
      'Virgil! What're you doing here?'
      'I could ask you the same question. What did you have to go and lay into me like that for?'
      'I thought someone was trying to steal the village savings. How was I to know it'd be you paddling around in here?' Alan scowled. 'And you certainly gave as good as you got. You realise I'm probably going to get a black eye; how'm I going to explain that to Tin-Tin? Right now I'd like to make it a matching pair: one for you too.'
      'Hey, just a minute,' Virgil said, his voice rising, 'you started this. You could've broken my arm, and now you're blaming me. I ought to..'
      'Ought to what?' Alan asked loudly. 'Okay, let's try a fair fight this time, and we'll see who gets a black eye.' He danced breathlessly. 'That's if you're not too worn out.'
      'Worn out?' Virgil roared. 'You just better look out for yourself, Alan.'
      'Come on, then!'
      'Right!'
      'Basta! Basta!' In the building above them a light snapped on and shutters flew back. There was a torrent of expressive Italian, then a female voice in the background said 'Americani!' in shocked recognition, and the language changed.
      'What you doing, uh? You crazy? You drunk? You want kill each other you go do someplace else; come back my ristorante for breakfast in the morning when you finished.'
      Virgil disengaged Alan's frozen grip from his arm and stepped out of the basin and into the square of light, blinking up at the open window. 'We're real sorry, we wouldn't have woken you for the world. But I can explain..'
      'You explain tomorrow. Explain why no bread, no pizza. Why papa Luigi his ovens are cold and he is still snoring. You play the horse in the night, I lose sleep, lose money.'
      Virgil studied his boots penitently, then remembering their dangerous significance stepped hastily back into shadow. 'If you lose any trade we'll pay you back in full tomorrow, I promise. Now we'd better go, before we disturb anyone el..'
      There was a high-pitched whistle and a whoosh, a howl from Alan and a splash, and the moon looked out as the fountain burst into life. Water from a dozen hidden pipes squirted to the roof-level of the ristorante to descend again in a million glittering moondrops, then shrank back to hide the basin under a silver veil. Alan was nowhere to be seen.
      'Alan?' Virgil called.
      There was another cry, more urgent this time and with a choking quality that made a cold knot tighten round Virgil's own throat in response. Under the curtain of water a head and shoulders struggled up from the basin like a beardless Neptune rising from the depths, then plunged back as if grabbed from behind, to disappear with a single despairing wail.
      'Alan!' Virgil leaped for the basin. 'Alan!'
      'Mamma mia!' the woman's voice shrieked from above.
      The jet from a dolphin's gaping mouth struck him full in the face, and Virgil closed his eyes. Hampered by soaked stiff clothes and working by feel in the torrent that seemed to be coming from every direction at once, he found a shoulder and followed it to an arm that was wedged into an iron ring like a wrist in a too-small bangle. He pulled, bracing himself on the dolphin's nose, and the arm slipped free. A hand gripped his jacket in an encouraging sign of life, and with his own arms under Alan's shoulders and his feet lead-heavy in boots filled with water he staggered backwards through the suffocating deluge to the edge of the basin. A growing knot of pyjama-clad figures reached forward to help, and Alan was stretched dripping on the flagstones. Virgil tumbled out over the basin's rim and knelt down. 'Alan, are you okay?' He gripped his brother's arm anxiously. 'Speak to me, Alan.'
      Alan coughed and sat up unsteadily. 'Of all the dadblamed, goldarned, dumbfool things to do. Why can't you be more careful?'
      Virgil stared. 'But Alan, what..'
      'Leaving that torch in there for someone to slip on. I might've drowned, or broken my neck first.' Alan started to shiver, and scowled. 'But never mind. As it is I've probably only got pneumonia.'
      'If Dad heard some of that language you've been using tonight you might have a boxed ear to go with it.' Virgil ran a practised eye over Alan's sodden form and stopped at his tightly clenched fist. 'You'll survive, but what's wrong with your hand? Better let me see, you might've cracked something.'
      'Nothing's wrong. I got what I came for, that's all.' Alan opened his hand to reveal the locket, bright and unmistakable in the moonlight, complete with its glittering chain. 'I must've grabbed it off the bottom of the pool while I was trying to stay alive in there, so I guess I've got you to thank for helping me find it, in a way. Say, what's the matter with you?'
      Virgil shook his head dejectedly. 'Seems I've just lost a couple of hours' sleep and walked all the way down here just to pocket a piece of junk. But forget it.' He straightened up and looked around. A small crowd of fascinated spectators had gathered about the fountain, and in every building around the square and in some of the alleyways windows were lit and shutters hung open. Someone stepped in close, and he looked up to be blinded by a flash of light as an electric motor pumped film squeakily past an aperture eye.
      'Grazie!' The camera owner beamed good-naturedly and handed down a dog-eared card. 'Buona fortuna.'
      'What's it say?' Alan asked.
      'Gazzetta Monte Thesauri,' Virgil read out dully. 'We're in the newspapers.'

      The yellow car was waiting in the service park at the edge of the village, and Alan climbed in and sat shivering behind the wheel. Virgil pushed him over and settled into the wet driving seat. 'I'll drive. You're shaking so much you'll crash the car.'
      Alan sniffed miserably. 'Do you reckon they believed us about why we were fishing around in their fountain?'
      'Sure, they believed it. Enough people saw your little tiff.' Virgil started the car. 'What worries me are those photographs. Just as well you pulled your sweater down over that gunbelt. You must've been crazy, wearing that.'
      'It was for my torch,' Alan said indignantly, 'and anyway, what about your boots? That footwear's pretty distinctive. Lucky he didn't snap that.'
      At the service park's exit a gigantic lorry had been parked untidily, eight of its sixteen wheels projecting onto the road. As Virgil pulled the car round to skirt it they saw the distinctive glow and pause of a cigarette being smoked in the darkness, and the convertible's headlights gave a brief glimpse of a figure standing by the high tailgate.
      'Say, that's the truck we saw at dinner-time.' Virgil glanced in the mirror. 'I'm sure that guy was wearing a business suit. And what's he doing here at this time of night?'
      'You're mighty suspicious all of a sudden.' Alan sneezed. 'Come on, get your foot down. I'm freezing.'
      'Okay, okay. I've just never seen a truck driver in a pinstripe before, that's all. Anyhow you're the guy who wanted us to believe two different cars were tailing you.'
      'So I was wrong,' Alan answered unconcernedly. 'If there isn't any treasure no-one else can be looking for it, so there's no reason for anyone to follow us. Tin-Tin was right, they must've been nervous drivers.'
      'There isn't any treasure?' Virgil repeated, nonplussed.
      'Of course not. I realised that almost as soon as we got to San Giuliano yesterday: if there'd been so much as a dime buried on that site it would've been turned up by now. After that I only played along with the idea so as not to disappoint you and Tin-Tin.'
      Virgil stared at Alan in amazement. 'But then why'd you get so het up today? And why take the trouble to get the locket back?'
      'For Tin-Tin, of course,' Alan answered through chattering teeth. 'And if anyone got het up it wasn't me. I just wanted to let you and Tin-Tin down lightly, only it seems she couldn't appreciate that. She's just a kid, Virgil. Guess she's still got some growing up to do.'
      Virgil opened his mouth but found nothing to say, so he closed it again and put his foot down, and the yellow car took off up the empty road.

      'Poor Alan,' Tin-Tin said distractedly, scooping an armful of towels out of the cupboard. 'I don't know why they call it the lucky fountain, it's been nothing but trouble for us. Alan could have drowned.'
      'So maybe we were lucky,' Virgil suggested. 'It could've been a lot worse.'
      'I suppose so.' Tin-Tin frowned. 'At least I've got my locket back and Alan's finally given up on the treasure, so perhaps now we can settle down and enjoy our vacation. But I just hope he hasn't caught a chill. He's soaked through.'
      'Guess I got pretty wet, too. Are there any of those..'
      'And there's more bad news, I'm afraid.' Tin-Tin added the last two towels to the pile. 'Braman had another accident while you were away.'
      'What happened?'
      'His power cells must have run low and he tried to recharge himself in the kitchen, but he wasn't compatible with the main. He just needs a new fuse, but the deepfreeze and the refrigerator didn't survive. I don't know what we're going to eat tomorrow.'
      Virgil frowned. 'We have to do something before that robot starves us to death. Maybe we can come to some arrangement with Luigi; with him delivering our meals we wouldn't have any more problems, and it'd help compensate him for the disturbance tonight.'
      'That's a wonderful idea.' Tin-Tin hefted the mountain of towels and turned for the bathroom. 'But I do hope Alan understands, he was so keen on the idea of Braman doing the cooking. Poor Alan.'
      'Sure, poor Alan,' Virgil agreed, without very much conviction.
      After Tin-Tin had gone he searched through the cupboard, but not even a hand-towel remained, and taking a thin but dry sheet he went to his room. As he stripped off his wet clothes something fell out of a pocket and rolled under the bed, where it spiralled to rest like a settling coin. 'Hey, I've done it again!' he said aloud in surprise, and knelt to retrieve the shiny silver disc. As he examined the object he had taken from the fountain and forgotten, bewilderment then intrigued astonishment followed each other across his face in quick succession, and after a moment he stood, then wrapping the sheet around himself he crossed to the writing-desk, found paper, a pencil and a battered plastic ruler, and sat down to make some rapid calculations.

On to SIX: SURPRISE.