Gabrielle didn’t even register the insult. “It’s good to see you too. But how did you—”
Uncle Eddie shook his head. The question wasn’t how her uncle had gotten there. The question, Kat knew, was what had he come to tell them? What had he learned that he couldn’t share over the phone? And what was she going to have to do about it?
He settled into the chair closest to the fire and looked up at Kat. “You have been to see Signor Mariano?”
Kat was faintly aware of the smell of good coffee, and noticed that at some point a china cup had appeared in Uncle Eddie’s hand. But her attention, like Hale’s and Gabrielle’s, was entirely absorbed by Uncle Eddie.
“Visily Romani.” He was speaking to them all, but Kat felt her uncle’s gaze settle upon her. “This name is not unfamiliar to you?”
“Is it an alias?” Kat asked.
“Of course.” He smiled as if enjoying the notion that she might still be, in part, a little girl.
“And the shipping address here in Austria?” Hale asked.
“You have indeed been busy.” Uncle Eddie chuckled but quickly grew serious. “I only wish it were not for nothing.”
“Who is he?” Kat asked.
“He is no one.” Uncle Eddie’s eyes passed to Gabrielle. “He is everyone.”
Uncle Eddie was not a man of riddles, and so Kat knew the words must matter, but she couldn’t fathom how.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” she said with a shake of her head.
“It’s a Chelovek Pseudonima, Katarina,” her uncle said, and Gabrielle drew a quick breath. Kat blinked against the fire’s glare. Outside, the snow fell softly, and yet it felt to Kat as if all of Austria were standing still—as if nothing could ever break the trance until—
“What’s a Chelovek Pseudonima?”
Kat looked at Hale and blinked, somehow managed to remember that despite being fluent in the language of the thief, he would never be a native speaker. A member of the family.
“What?” Hale’s voice rose in frustration. “What’s wrong? What is a Chelovek Pseudo—”
“Alias Man,” Gabrielle whispered. “A Chelovek Pseudonima is an Alias Man.”
But the literal translation was lost on Hale. Kat read it in his eyes, saw it in his impatient hands.
“The old families . . .” Kat said, staring at him. “They had names—aliases—that they only used when they were doing things that were too big, too dangerous—things they had to keep hidden . . . even from each other. They were secret names, Hale. Sacred names.”
Kat looked at her uncle. She guessed that in all of his years he had rarely seen a Pseudonima used. If Kat had asked to hear the stories, her uncle might have told her that Visily Romani had once stolen some highly incriminating documents from a czar, and a diamond from a queen. He’d smuggled Nazi war plans out of Germany and done a fair amount of work behind the Iron Curtain. But Uncle Eddie offered no such details.
Instead, he looked at the next generation and smiled with the irony of it as he explained, “If Visily Romani were real, he would be four hundred years old and the greatest thief who’d ever lived.”
Hale looked at each one of them in turn. “I still don’t understand.”
“It is an alias that is not used lightly, young man,” Uncle Eddie answered. Kat knew the words were really for her. “It is a name that is not used by simply anyone.”
Uncle Eddie rose from his chair. “This is finished, Katarina.” He walked toward the door as if there were something on his stove that needed stirring. “I will tell your father. I will try to make amends with Mr. Taccone.”
“But—” Gabrielle was on her feet.
“A Pseudonima is a sacred thing!” Her uncle whirled. “Any job done in the name of Visily Romani will not be undone by children!”
In a way, every thief Kat knew was a child at heart, and she merely had the body that matched—a body that could be utilized in very effective ways if the air ducts were small or the guards were naive. But she’d never been spoken to like she was a little girl.
Her uncle stopped at the door. Marcus was there, waiting silently with his coat.
“You may go back to school if you wish, Katarina.” Uncle Eddie put on his hat as the butler reached for the door. “I’m afraid this is beyond even you now.”
Chapter 13
Kat didn’t watch her uncle go. She stayed seated on the couch, vaguely aware of Gabrielle saying something about spending the winter working the ski chalets in Switzerland. She realized at some point that Hale had sent Marcus out for food. She was wondering briefly how he could eat at a time like this, when he turned to her and said, “Well?”
Kat thought she heard Gabrielle talking on the phone in one of the bedrooms, explaining that she might be arriving in town and “Oh, Sven, you are a flirt. . . .”
But Uncle Eddie’s voice was still echoing in Kat’s ears— It is beyond even you now—resounding with the things he did not say.
Someone very, very good had gone after Taccone’s paintings.
Someone very, very connected had known enough to call into play one of the oldest rules of their world.
Someone very, very greedy had allowed her father to stay alone in Taccone’s spotlight.
Only someone very, very foolish would disobey Uncle Eddie and try to do something about it now.
That is, if there was anything left to do.
“You know we could always . . .” Hale started, but Kat was already up, already moving toward the door.