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sneering down their noses at the locals). What a mania for collection they had! The Elgin Marbles, endless amounts of statuary, pottery, jewelry, and other artifacts—all had been “rescued” from savage territories in order to be displayed here for all future generations of snotty British schoolchildren. At least the Rosetta Stone was now under glass—until just a few years ago, anyone could rub their filthy jam-stained hands over it. And why not? Full of foreign scratchings, it was.
    How I long to be done with you all,
he thought, making his way through the lofty hallways, squeezing through hordes of blank-eyed tourists wearing headsets.
    He did look forward to seeing the galleon again. According to official records, the ship—which was also a clock and an ingenious automaton—was made by Hans Schlottheim, and it was believed to have once been in the
Kunstkammer
of Rudolf II. Nico happened to know that Philippine Welser was the one who had given it to Rudolf. It would not be an easy thing to steal, but that only made it more of a challenge. He would . . .
    Nico stared at the empty glass display case. Inside where the automaton should have been, where it had been since 1866 when his old friend Octavius Morgan had donated it to the museum, there was instead a small white index card that read simply
Removed for curatorial purposes
.
    This was not amusing. Whenever Nico needed to “borrow” something from a museum, he replaced it with one of his own
Removed for curatorial purposes
cards. He had them in the paper stock and fonts of about fifty different museums. It was extremely efficient, because it meant days or even months would pass before some nosy curator actually checked with the other curators and realized none of them had the object. He had “borrowed” this galleon himself, the last time he was in London.
    What to do now? Nico looked around the museum. All these horrible children running around in perfect health, and Pollina . . .
    No. There were other places he could find useful items for Philippine’s recipe. Nico stopped at another pub to mull and had a couple pints of a really lovely amber ale and another whiskey to wash them down, which took the edge off his headache.
    It was important that he not get too attached to the idea of saving Pollina.
You know what happens when you get attached.
    Nico’s next stop was the British Library. It had the only copy outside Austria of Philippine Welser’s
Book of Useful Medicines
, with marginalia by John Dee and his partner, Edward Kelley. This might be useful, though Nico had gotten very irritated with old John Dee. It was hard to know what the man had truly believed. And by the end, Edward Kelley had filled Dee’s head with so much nonsense that the old necromancer didn’t know his ass from his pointy beard. Poor Dee. And when you knew the details, poor Mrs. Dee.
    Nico submitted his request at the library’s desk and waited an unconscionably long time—with a few trips to the loo to fortify himself from his pocket flask—before the Jamaican librarian returned.
    “I’m very sorry. The materials you requested are not here.”
    “Not here?” Nico pulled himself up to his full height. “And where might they be, then?”
    “They have been removed,” said the librarian with maddening indifference. “That’s all the note says. Removed.”
    An hour later, and four more members of the staff interrogated, and Nico left the library still no further on his quest. No one seemed to know where Philippine’s book had ended up, and even the records that should have informed them who had last looked at the materials had gone missing.
    This required a bit more whiskey. But he wasn’t done yet.
    Nico arrived at the Science Museum an hour before closing and made his way to the fifth floor. He skirted a group of foul-mouthed schoolboys and made a brief inspection of camera locations and other security devices. Nothing a few magnets, a mirror, and a little