“Nothing,” Nicholas said.

“Nothing,” she agreed, placing the instrument back in the bag and cinching it shut with more force than was probably necessary. “Even if the statues themselves were removed, I think I was still hoping the passage would be with them.”

“Perhaps we underestimated your mother,” he said. “I can’t imagine she would have made it so easy for anyone to find.”

“A World War isn’t enough of a hurdle?” Etta asked, rubbing her hand over her face. “Okay, okay…we just have to think this through.…”

“I do have an idea, but I’m afraid it’s terrible,” Nicholas said, surveying the lock on the gate and giving it another hard tug.

“A bad idea is better than no idea,” Etta said.

“I’m glad you feel that way, because this is an exquisitely bad one.” He turned toward her. “We can go around the back of the museum and I can lift you over the gate. You can then slip into the museum and hold any guards or curators inside hostage, until they give up the information about the location of the statues.”

“Hold them hostage?” she repeated.

“Don’t you know? That’s how real pirates like Blackbeard made most of their money. He ransomed whole cities,” he said. “I’ll even teach you how to use the revolver.”

Despite herself, Etta smiled. “I really appreciate the faith you have in my criminal abilities. But even if I find someone in there, I doubt they’ll be good for anything other than calling the police to pick me up. It seems like the kind of information people would do anything to protect.”

He leaned against one of the black bars. “Would they really have taken out a whole hoard of valuable items?”

She gestured to the streets around them—the pockets of rubble, the burned-out husks of buildings that were missing entire sections. “If they thought there was a chance that they might be destroyed or looted, then yes. I know you said you don’t really want to know about these things, but—Germany invades France and occupies Paris for most of the war. France does the same thing with the paintings and sculptures at the Louvre—the curators and volunteers bring them out to different hiding spots in the countryside, which saves them in the end.”

“When I first learned of this war, I believed Julian was trying to make a joke of me,” he admitted.

She nodded. “Well, it’s a good thing the museum thought ahead. One bomb, and thousands of years of art and culture could have been lost.”

A humming buzz overhead drew their gaze. Two planes—fighter planes, by the looks of them—made a pass, their long shadows sweeping over them. Nicholas stiffened beside her, and before she could ask what was wrong, he was already chasing them down the sidewalk, his gaze fixed on them with a wonder that made Etta’s chest ache. She stayed close on his heels, drinking in his wide eyes, the faint smile, until finally the planes disappeared into the horizon.

“Flying,” Nicholas muttered under his breath, as if still in disbelief. “It shouldn’t surprise me that men continue to think of grand new ways to kill one another, and with greater precision, but…” He shook his head. “If we take this to mean the statues aren’t here, is it worth finding them? Or is it a matter of taking another look at the clue and coming up with a better guess?”

“I felt so good about this,” Etta said, sounding as stubborn as she felt. “I think we’re on the right track. This is just a little setback. We’ll figure it out.”

Nicholas snorted. “Little?”

Etta turned back, studying the spread of steps leading up to the entrance of the museum. It was eerie to see it so deserted. Clouds of pigeons and birds ambled around the courtyard like they were wishing each other a pleasant afternoon. What are you trying to tell me, Mom? Is there something I’m supposed to see here?

“Hey, this ship hasn’t sunk yet,” she said, tearing her gaze away from the museum. “We may have one sail, but we’re still going.”

Another laugh. “I appreciate the metaphor you chose on my behalf. I’m not sure how you can keep this…sensibility about you. I suppose when you’re worried, that’s when I’ll know we’re in real danger—”

Etta had seen the young, stylish couple making their way down the sidewalk toward them, the woman’s coat a bright pop of red against the charred surroundings. The man’s face was hidden beneath the rim of his hat, but he tilted his face up as they approached. Nicholas stepped closer to the gate to let them pass. The man assessed him coolly, before muttering something to the woman at his side as they passed by.

“Can we leave this place, please?” Nicholas said, teeth clenched. “If there’s nothing here, I think that we should go.”

But…he’d just been talking about hopping the fence. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Please, let’s leave.”

She looked around, trying to find the source of his concern, but aside from a few men and women standing on the other side of the street, she couldn’t see anything that should have triggered that kind of reaction—aside from the obvious discomfort of being in a strange place, in a stranger time.

“All right,” she said, putting a hand on his back. He tore away from the touch, and every inch of Etta’s skin stung with embarrassment.

Etta trailed behind him as he walked back in the direction they’d come from. She didn’t really think he had a destination in mind; he barely looked up, except to acknowledge the flow of traffic. It wasn’t until she got caught on the opposite sidewalk, waiting for a stream of cars to pass, that he finally stopped and whirled around.