Chapter 38
Escape of the Bambini

Angela raced the Pandolini children along secret passageways and stairs to the fifth floor. The dark held no terror. The previous night had taught her how to measure distance, and the children could juggle axes blindfolded. Angela thought of Hans, off on a perilous mission of his own, and of the bravery of Signor and Signora Pandolini. Their plan to use the showman’s bottom to block Arnulf’s pursuit had bought her precious time.

Angela scrambled out of a painting in the art gallery, a room filled with portraits and tapestries of the archduke’s wives: Georgina in a bathtub, Isabella leaning over a parapet, and the last archduchess tumbling toward a set of doors with bronze knobs like the archduke’s hands.

“Rapidamente!” she called to the children. They dashed after her to the archway at the end of the gallery and up the stairs beyond. At the top was a door. Angela undid the bolts and threw it open. True to the map, they’d arrived on the roof of the east turret, well out of sight of the palace entrances.

The stone railing was ringed with gargoyles. Angela leaned over. The cobblestones below looked as far away as home.

The Pandolini children whipped magician’s scarves from their sleeves and knotted the ends together. Six feet of scarves from each of the twelve meant seventy-two feet of silk rope, far short of what was needed.

Giuseppe saw the fear in Angela’s eyes and winked. He tied one end of the silk rope around a winged gargoyle. Then he threw the rest of the rope over the turret, made a loop for his arm, and slid down its length. He clung to the bottom while the largest of his brothers slid down after him. They hooked their legs together, Giuseppe’s brother now hanging below him, head to the cobblestones.

The next in height followed, locking arms with Giuseppe’s brother; and then the next, locking legs with the third to make a chain of four. So it went by height and strength, the Pandolini children linking arms and legs, each body bringing the chain closer to the ground. The last on the chain swayed near the pavement.

It was Angela’s turn. There was no time to lose. Giuseppe could barely hang on—and there were soldiers’ shouts coming from the gallery.

Angela hopped over the turret roof and slipped down the rope, six brothers, and several of the sisters. Approaching the ground, she felt the little locked limbs begin to fail. She jumped, scraping her hands on the cobblestones.

No matter. She hopped to her feet and stood beneath the chain of children. “Ora,” she cried to the tiniest Pandolini, who unlocked her legs and fell into Angela’s arms. The second and third followed suit. Angela linked arms with the trio and caught the fourth and fifth. Now the five Pandolinis on the ground pressed their backs to the palace wall and climbed on each other’s shoulders, the strongest on the bottom.

The human pillar rose higher than the lowest child left dangling. The girl unlocked her legs and slid down her siblings to the ground. A brother followed. The pillar regrouped, with the stronger new arrivals at the base. Three more of the danglers slid down.

There was a quick regroup as Arnulf and his soldiers poured onto the turret roof. No sooner had Giuseppe’s last brother let go of his legs and shimmied away than Arnulf raised his sword. He severed the rope as Giuseppe, too, slid down his siblings to safety.

Arnulf watched the pillar of children melt from top to bottom. Enraged, he smashed a gargoyle with his fist. Chunks of stone crashed to the cobblestones, but all Arnulf heard was the sound of children’s laughter disappearing into the mist.