"That's it. We're climbing over," he whispered. He switched off the engine and dropped the anchor into the water.
"And how are we going to get ashore?" Prosper stared uneasily into the darkness. There was still quite a distance between the boat and the island. "Are we going to swim?"
"No, of course not! Give me a hand here." From a hatch by the steering wheel Scipio pulled out a dinghy and two oars. Prosper was amazed that a bit of rubber could be so heavy as he helped Scipio to heave it overboard.
Their breath hung in the air like white mist as they paddled toward the island. They hid the boat in the reeds growing at the base of the wall. From this close the wall seemed even higher. Prosper threw his head back and looked up. He began to wonder seriously whether the mastiffs only guarded the gate...
The boys were out of breath when they eventually sat next to each other on top of the rough ledge. Their hands were grazed, but they had done it. A huge overgrown garden lay in front of them. Hedges, bushes, and paths, all were white with frost.
"Can you see it?" Scipio asked.
Prosper shook his head. No, he couldn't see the merry-go-round. All he could see was a big house rising gloomily between the trees.
Climbing down the wall was even harder than climbing up it. The boys landed in dense, thorny scrub and when they finally managed to free themselves they hesitated, not sure in which direction to go.
"The merry-go-round's got to be behind the house," Scipio whispered. "Otherwise we would've seen it from up there."
"Right," Prosper whispered. He looked around.
A rustling sound came from the bushes and then something small and dark darted across the path. Prosper could see tracks in the snow. Bird tracks and paw prints. Rather large paw prints.
"Let's try that path there!" Scipio walked ahead.
The path was lined with mossy statues. Some of them had almost been swallowed up by the thicket. At one stage Prosper thought he could hear footsteps behind them, but when he turned around it was just a bird, fluttering out of an overgrown hedge. It didn't take long for them to get lost. Soon they weren't even sure in which direction the boat lay or even the house they'd seen from the wall.
"Darn. Why don't you walk ahead, Prop?" Scipio suggested as they came across their own footprints. But Prosper didn't answer.
He had heard something. But this time it wasn't a bird they had startled from its sleep. This sounded like panting, short and sharp, followed by a growl, low and quiet and threatening, coming out of the darkness. Prosper forgot to breathe. He turned around very slowly -- and there they were, hardly three steps away, as if they had risen right out of the snow. Two huge white mastiffs.
"Don't move, Scip!" Prosper whispered. "If we run, they'll hunt us down."
"Will they bite if I shake with fear?" Scipio whispered back.
The dogs were still snarling. They came closer, their heads lowered, the fur standing up on their necks, and their teeth bared. My legs are just going to start running whether I tell them to or not, Prosper thought.
"Bimba! Bella! Basta -- enough!" a voice called from behind them.
The dogs immediately stopped growling and leaped past Prosper and Scipio. Confused, the boys turned around and found themselves staring into the beam of a flashlight. A girl of perhaps nine or ten years of age was standing behind them on the path. The black dress she was wearing completely swamped her. The dogs came up to her shoulders; she could have ridden on their backs.
"What have we here?" she said. "How fortunate that I like to go for walks in the moonlight. What are you doing here?" The dogs cocked their ears as she raised her voice. "Don't you know what happens to people who sneak onto the Isola Segreta?"
Scipio and Prosper looked at each other.
"We want to see the Conte," Scipio answered. He sounded as if there was absolutely nothing remarkable about the fact that they were prowling around in someone else's garden in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was because the girl was smaller than him that Scipio sounded a little less frightened. Prosper, however, thought the mastiffs made up for that advantage. The dogs guarded her as if they'd tear to shreds anyone who came near her.
"The Conte? Well, well. So you like to pay visits at midnight?" The girl shined her flashlight into Scipio's face.
Then she pointed it at Prosper, who blinked uneasily into its light.
"We had a deal with the Conte," Scipio shouted, "but he cheated us. We might let the matter rest, though, if he lets us take a ride on the merry-go-round. The merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters."
"A merry-go-round?" The girl's eyes turned even more hostile. "What do you mean."
"We know it's here! Show it to us!" Scipio made a step toward her, but the dogs immediately bared their teeth. "If the Conte doesn't let us take a ride on it, we'll go to the police."
"What a generous offer!" The girl looked at him with amusement. "And what makes you think he'd ever let you go again? This is the Isola Segreta. You must know the stories. Nobody who's ever visited this island has lived to tell the tale. Now move!" She pointed down a path to their left that wound into the bushes. "That way. Don't try to run. Believe me, my dogs are faster than you."
The boys hesitated.
"Do as I say!" the girl shouted angrily. "Or you're dog food."
"Come on, Scip!" Prosper grabbed Scipio's arm. Reluctantly, Scipio let himself be pulled along.
The dogs stayed so close behind the boys that they could feel their breath on their necks. From time to time, Scipio looked around as if to check whether it would be worth making a run for the bushes, but each time Prosper held on to his sleeve.
"Caught by a girl!" Scipio groaned. "I'm just glad Mosca and Riccio aren't here."
"If she really takes us to the Conte," Prosper whispered, "then you'd better not threaten him with the police. Who knows what he'll do to us?"
Scipio nodded. He turned around again to look at the dogs.
They soon found out where the girl was taking them. The house, which Prosper had seen from the wall, soon emerged between the trees. It was huge, even bigger than Scipio's. It looked abandoned and dilapidated, even in the usually flattering moonlight. The plaster was coming off the walls and the blinds hung crookedly in front of dark windows. The roof had enough holes for the moon to shine through it. A set of broad steps led up to the main entrance. Stone angels leaned down from the balustrade -- the salty air had eaten away their features and they were now as fuzzy as the coat of arms above the door.
"Oh no. Not up there!" said the girl as Scipio walked toward the steps. "The Conte will most certainly not talk to you tonight. You will spend the rest of the night in the old stables. Over there." She made an impatient gesture toward a low building next to the house. Scipio, however, didn't move.
"No!" he said and folded his arms. "You think you can order us around, just because you've got these dogs from hell with you? I want to see the Conte. Now."
The girl clicked her tongue, and the dogs pushed their snouts into the boys' bellies. The boys slowly backed away toward the bottom of the steps.
"You won't be seeing anyone tonight," the girl said to them in a sharp voice, "apart, that is, from the rats in the stables. The Conte is sleeping. He will decide tomorrow morning what we will do with you. And think yourself lucky. At least you won't be thrown into the lagoon right away."