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the bridge leading across the moat to the castle.
    “As you wish, my dear fellow pigeon trainers,” he said to them, starting to get silly. He did a low stage bow from the top of the wall to his only audience. Since the war had started, there weren’t any tourists around. But the Germans had insisted that since everything was “normal,” this castle would remain open as usual.
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” Now Henrik was really getting into it.
“Wrong play, Henrik,” Elise corrected him. “This is Hamlet’s castle, remember? Not Romeo and Juliet.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, at least I got the Shakespeare part right.”
    He did get the Shakespeare part right. Shakespeare wasn’t Danish, but he wrote about Hamlet, the Prince of Denmark, in one of his famous plays. The castle was his home and the setting for the play. Mr. Isaksen, the boys’ teacher, told them they would read the play probably next year.
    “So what are we going to write on the bird’s note?” asked Henrik, hopping down. The note was going to Grandfather; Elise had talked him into checking on the birds. They might come in at about the same time, but one of them was bound to win. And Peter had already clipped a little metal capsule on Number Two’s tiny leg, the kind of message holder that screwed apart. It was just big enough to fit a little note inside. Mr. Andersen had ordered it from Copenhagen, from a place that made pet supplies, leashes and collars, cages, bird stuff.
    “I have an idea,” said Peter. “How about let’s write `Help. Locked in the castle with Holger the Dane. Can’t find Hamlet. Can’t wake him up. Henrik, Peter, and Elise.’ “
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Elise. “Where’s Hamlet supposed to be?”
“Just a joke, Elise,” said Peter.
“Well, scratch the part about Hamlet, and it will make more sense,” suggested Henrik.
    “Okay, okay,” agreed Peter. He thought Henrik was always agreeing with his sister. But he pulled a pencil stub from his pocket and started writing the message on a scrap of paper. Elise held Number Two, who squirmed a little, while Henrik checked the little strap around the bird’s leg to make sure it was on tight. All set.
    Next Henrik carefully pulled his own bird out of the wicker basket, stroking him softly as he did. These birds were getting a workout lately. Elise pulled out Number Three, who was thrashing around a little more than the other two.
    “Ready?” asked Peter as they looked over each bird. No feathers missing or anything. “On the count of three. One, two, three!”
    This was the part Peter liked the best, when the birds flew out of their hands, and he could hear their wings clapping and whistling as they flew a few happy circles above. The three birds weaved in and out of the castle’s towers, over the water for a moment, then straight back to their home just across town.
    “I still can’t figure out how they always know the way,” said Henrik as he looked off in the direction the birds had taken.
    “A book I was reading said they have some kind of built in compass,” said Elise. “Plus they can tell where they’re going by the way the sun is.”
    “Hmm... the sun,” said Henrik. “You’re always reading something, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah, well, let’s go see who won this race,” said Peter. He wasn’t sure about internal compasses; he was just eager for the rematch. Maybe Number Two would make it home first this time.
    “What’s your hurry?” asked Henrik. “Let’s not rush today. It’s still early, and it’s Sunday, right?”
    So the three of them pedaled the long way around—the same way Henrik and Peter had gone the day before, only in the opposite direction. Elise wasn’t quite as fast a pedaler, but she kept up pretty well. Peter saw the ocean through the trees for a moment as they made their way along the shore road. They hadn’t gone more than five minutes, though, when Elise slammed on her brakes. Her tires