‘That was amazing,’ Dante said.

‘Terrifying, did you say?’ Autumn shook her head. Kensy could only agree with her friend.

‘You weren’t really bothered by what Madiana told us, were you?’ The boy frowned. He’d never known Autumn to be squeamish. Dante had enjoyed everything about the tour and particularly that their guide hadn’t held back on the gruesome stories. She’d told them all about the lions tearing men from limb to limb, gladiators impaled on the horns of marauding rhinoceroses and sacrifices of young women to appease the gods.

‘No, not that,’ Autumn said. ‘The fact that someone tried to kill Max.’

Kensy had barely listened to a word while they were inside. She was too busy trying to remember what the person had looked like and searching for their face among the tourists. Really, though, she had no idea – it had all happened so fast.

Mrs Vanden Boom and Miss Ziegler had both done their best to convince the children that it was just an accident, but Kensy was having none of it – not after what had happened in London. Why did someone want to harm them? Did it have something to do with their grandmother or their parents?

‘I am sure that it was merely a freak accident,’ Mr Reffell said to Kensy and Autumn, as they made their way to lunch. ‘Construction commenced on the Colosseum in 72AD – it’s even older than me, if you can believe it – and the metal struts used to hold it together were removed centuries ago as was most of the marble, which was pillaged to help construct St Peter’s Basilica over at the Vatican. I’m afraid there have been quite a few near misses over the years, and wasn’t Max fortunate that Kensy spotted the falling stone and pushed him out of the way?’

Max could only agree with that. He really didn’t want to believe that it was anything other than bad luck – or good luck, as it turned out.

‘Anyway, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving,’ the teacher said. He hoped their afternoon at the Roman Forum would be less eventful, having also lost Misha and Lola inside for almost half an hour.

Thankfully, Romilly had located the pair playing with a litter of kittens in a cordoned-off area that was under repair. Lola had thrown a hissy fit when the teacher requested she remove one of the creatures from her pocket. Their tour guide, Madiana, said there were over one hundred and twenty thousand feral felines living in the city’s monuments, and more than three hundred of them were inside the Colosseum itself. That didn’t appease Lola, who couldn’t imagine anyone would miss one little puss.

As the group crossed the road towards their lunch venue, Kensy was distracted from her thoughts by a display of daily newspapers outside a small kiosk. She nudged Autumn and pointed. ‘Look.’

Yasmina and Inez were walking with the girls and saw it too. The front pages of all the papers carried the same picture of a man and woman standing either side of a young boy whose face was angled towards his mother and partly obscured. One headline read ‘Nico is Home’. Another screamed ‘Runaway Returns’.

Yasmina smiled. ‘What a relief for his poor parents.’

‘Absolutely,’ Kensy agreed.

‘Well, that’s one less thing for the woman to be worried about,’ Romilly commented. ‘She’s got enough on her plate, what with the grain shortage.’

‘Is it really that bad?’ Autumn asked.

‘Apparently so,’ the woman replied. She had taken it upon herself to do some research last night. ‘From what I understand, Vittoria Vitale passed a law last year prohibiting the importation of grain in order to protect the Italian farmers. It was wildly unpopular with their international trading partners, but the locals were ecstatic. Unfortunately, since then there has been a slew of disasters with wheat crops failing all over the country. Odd occurrences, such as unseasonal fires and beetle infestations, have resulted in a severe grain shortage, which is pushing up the prices.’

‘Why can’t they reverse the law and buy their wheat from overseas again?’ Inez asked. It seemed the most obvious thing to do, but then world affairs weren’t her strong suit.

Romilly looked at the girl. ‘Italian politics is far more complicated than that, I’m afraid. I’m sure the woman rues the day she made the decision, but, in order to rescind, she needs a seventy-five per cent majority of her fellow parliamentarians on side and that’s highly unlikely given that the very idea of protectionism has been something many politicians have been arguing in favour of for years.’

‘Politics is such a dreary business,’ Kensy said. ‘I’d hate to be in charge of a country – that’s way too much responsibility.’ As the words came out of her mouth, her mind turned to Cordelia and what a huge job her grandmother had. If you were a politician, you could get voted out of office or retire. Once you were part of Pharos, you were in it for life – unless there were extenuating circumstances. Even then, Kensy and Max had ended up back in the business their parents had tried to leave behind.

The group reached the restaurant and were quickly seated at a sunny table beneath a trellis with a naked grapevine. The maître d’ had been expecting them. Lottie Ziegler studied the menu and blinked twice when she registered the prices.

‘All right, kids, order up,’ Monty instructed cheerfully. ‘Pizza, pasta, whatever you like – this place is one of the best.’ He beckoned a waiter over to their table. ‘I’ll have a margherita pizza, please, and a serve of cannelloni. Oh, and where are the bread baskets for the table?’ the man asked. ‘These children might devour the tablecloths if you don’t bring something soon.’

‘Sì, signore,’ the man said, and scurried away.

‘Are you sure about that, Monty?’ Elliot Frizzle called from the other end of the table.

‘Yes, of course,’ the man said with a nod. ‘The children have to eat.’

‘But are you certain you want them to order for themselves?’ Mr Frizzle asked.

‘They’re not babies,’ Monty replied. ‘They can decide what they want. I’d rather that than having a whole lot of whining if they don’t like my choices.’

Lottie and Romilly looked at each other, having both realised why Elliot was asking.

‘It’s on his head,’ Romilly whispered to her colleague.

Lottie grinned. ‘Or his credit card.’

And while, as Monty had forecast, lunch was absolutely delicious, the man almost had a stroke when he saw the bill.

‘Please, sir, can we catch a bus back to the hotel?’ Alfie begged. ‘I’m exhausted.’ Everyone else was feeling the same way after three hours traipsing through the ruins of the Roman Forum.

‘No, we can’t afford it and if I can keep walking with this,’ Mr Reffell said, pulling down the top of his left sock to reveal a blister the size of Spain on his heel, ‘then you can manage it too.’

Alfie pulled a face. ‘Geez, that’s gross, sir.’

There was murmur of agreement from the rest of the children.

‘Not as gross as wearing socks with sandals,’ Harper whispered to Yasmina.

Monty ignored the girl. It might not have been traditional according to his centurion outfit, but he simply couldn’t abide cold feet and it was bad enough having his knees exposed.

Kensy was walking with Max, lagging a little behind everyone else. They had barely had a second together since receiving the message from their parents last night, never mind this morning’s incident. While they loved being with their friends and the trip was fantastic so far, they were craving some time alone. Up ahead of them, Misha and Lola were still carrying on about the cats and Lola was clearly holding a grudge against Mrs Vanden Boom for making her leave the kitten behind.

‘Are you okay?’ Kensy asked her brother.

Max nodded. ‘I’m fine, and you should stop jumping to conclusions. Like Reff said, it was an accident.’

Kensy shrugged. ‘Well, if you want to think that, I can’t stop you.’

‘I need to,’ Max said, glancing across at his sister.

‘Okay – I’ll stop going on about it. But we have to stick together,’ Kensy said, her voice foundering for a second. ‘I couldn’t deal with anything happening to you too.’

Max wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

‘You don’t have to strangle me,’ she said, pushing him away. He grinned in return and a moment later she leaned her head against his. ‘I do love you, Max, even if you are a pain sometimes,’ she whispered, before running off to join Autumn and the others. Max chased after her, catching up with Carlos.

The streets alternated between narrow cobbled roads and broad piazzas. The children approached Quirinal Palace, which Mr Reffell explained was the residence of the Italian President, who was both statesman and figure-head, elected by the people and in charge of making sure that the government did the right thing. The Prime Minister, on the other hand, was the leader of the parliament.

As they neared the building, three black cars with dark tinted windows whizzed past at speed – a Range Rover in front, followed by a huge Mercedes Benz then another Range Rover at the rear. A wide set of gates opened and the vehicles zoomed through into a central courtyard inside the palace. The children heard shouts and angry voices as they neared the opening.

Although Mr Reffell continued on his way, several of the group stopped to have a stickybeak. Max and Carlos peered inside and were spotted by a lump of a fellow who raised his head ever so slightly. Carlos gave a wave just as the man pulled back his jacket to reveal a shoulder holster. The grin on his face settled into a sneer and the boys hurried away.

‘Did you see that?’ Carlos whispered. ‘Glock, nine millimetre.’

Max, who had been studying firearms in some detail lately, thought it was too. ‘Probably one of the President’s bodyguards.’

‘He’s mean-looking; I wouldn’t want to cross him,’ Carlos said as the shouting intensified.

Further back along the line, Lola was still banging on about the cat. Misha turned her head but didn’t flinch when she realised who was doing most of the yelling. Although she’d never met the man in person, she’d spent a lot of time studying his photographs. A short fellow with a paunch and a pronounced Roman nose, his hair had receded completely from the top of his head and sat like a half-eaten donut at the back and sides. He was gesticulating wildly at a young fellow who had his head down, muttering a stream of apologies.

‘What are you gawking at?’ Lola said. She turned and glanced into the courtyard just as the man stormed out of view.

‘Italians are so passionate, aren’t they?’ Misha said, trying to divert the girl’s attention. ‘Always yelling and talking with their hands.’ She gave what was meant to be a funny demonstration, but Lola didn’t laugh. Instead the girl looked quite put off.

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Lola snapped, her eyes narrowing. Two deep frown lines appeared at the top of her nose.

Misha gulped. ‘Nothing.’

Lola stared at Misha, then flicked her hair over her shoulder and launched into another tirade about the cat.

Misha wondered if Lola had seen the man. If she had, she certainly wasn’t saying so. Misha needed to get a message to Dame Spencer and fast. Sergio Leonardi’s appearance at Quirinal Palace had changed the game completely. But with the active Pharos agents already engaged in a top-secret mission on the other side of the world, perhaps this time the responsibility was about to fall elsewhere.