Once in his apartment, he pulled off his shoes and staggered on to the balcony to feed his tortoises. His office still smelled of Esther Hartlieb’s hairspray. Phew, he just couldn’t get that smell out of his nose.
The boys haunted him day and night. He shouldn’t have put their picture up on the wall — they were always looking at him. Where did they sleep at night? It was already getting quite cold in the evenings, as soon as the sun vanished behind the houses. And because it had rained so much the previous winter the city had flooded a dozen times. Still, Venice had lots of nooks and crannies, like an old rabbit warren. There was always some dry place for two children. Some abandoned house. Or one of the many churches. Not all of them were swarming with tourists.
“I’m going to find them,” Victor swore. “Simple as that!”
Once his tortoises were fed, he stuffed himself with mounds of spaghetti and fried sausages. Then he applied some ointment to his aching foot and sat down at his desk to do some of the paperwork that had piled up. After all, he still had other jobs apart from searching for those boys.
Perhaps I should sit on the Piazza San Marco more often over the next few days, Victor thought, drink some coffee, feed the pigeons, and wait for them to turn up. Everyone in Venice comes to St. Mark’s Square at least once a day. Why shouldn’t that also be true for runaway children?”
8
When Prosper and Riccio finally returned to the Star-Palace, Bo immediately came rushing to greet them and so, for the time being, they did not tell the others about the detective who had delayed them. But the long wait was quickly forgotten anyway, when Prosper pulled the money from his jacket that he had wangled out of the redbeard. They sat around him, lost for words, while Riccio, who passed around the remaining pastries, recounted in great detail how Prosper had coolly held his own against Barbarossa.
“And anyway,” Riccio declared as he came to the end, “the fat liar does dye his beard after all. So I get three brand-new comics from you, Hornet — you haven’t forgotten our bet, have you?”
About two hours after Prosper and Riccio’s return the bell at the entrance rang and the Thief Lord was at the front door, just as he had promised. And, for once, he had arrived before the moon was already high above the roofs of the city. Of course Mosca opened the door without asking for the password and earned himself a terrible telling off. But when Bo came running excitedly toward him, Barbarossa’s wad of money in his hands, even Scipio was silenced. He took the money with an amazed expression and counted every single note.
“Well, what do you say to that? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Mosca teased. “Now you can tell Hornet to buy some paint for my boat!”
“Your boat? Sure, sure, of course.” Scipio nodded absentmindedly before turning to Prosper and Riccio. “Was there anything Barbarossa liked especially?”
“Yes, he was really taken by the sugar tongs,” Riccio answered. “He said you should bring him things like that more often.”
Scipio frowned. “The sugar tongs,” he murmured, “yes, they were probably quite valuable.” He shook his head as if he wanted to get rid of a troublesome thought. “Riccio,” he said, “go and buy some olives and spicy sausage. We’ve got to celebrate. I haven’t much time, so hurry.”
Riccio quickly stuffed two of Barbarossa’s bills into his pocket and dashed off. When he came back with a plastic bag full of olives, bread, pepper-red salami, and a bag of mandorlati, the chocolates wrapped in colorful paper that Scipio liked so much, the others had already spread the cushions and blankets in front of the curtain. Bo and Hornet had gathered all the candles they could find and their flickering light filled the movie theater with dancing shadows.
“Here’s to a few carefree months!” Hornet said once they had all gathered in a circle. She poured grape juice into the red goblets Scipio had brought back from one of his previous raids. Then she raised her glass to Prosper. “And here’s to you, because you got the redbeard to part with all that money — it usually sticks to his fat fingers like chewing gum.”
Riccio and Mosca also raised their glasses. Prosper didn’t know where to look. Bo, however, leaned proudly against his big brother and put one of the kittens that Scipio had given him on his knee.
“Yes, here’s to you, Prop!” Scipio said, now also raising his glass. “Herewith I name you my chief loot-seller. However,” he fondled the wad of money with his fingers, “I’m thinking that it might be wise to take a break after a raid like this.” For a moment he fell silent and then added, “A thief should never become too greedy, or he’ll get caught.”
“But you can’t stop — not just now!” Riccio pretended not to notice Prosper’s fierce warning glance. “Barbarossa told us something interesting today.”
“And what was that?” Scipio popped an olive into his mouth and spat the pit into his hand.
“A customer of his is looking for a thief. The deal is supposed to be very good, and we’re supposed to ask you whether you’d be interested.”
Scipio gave Riccio a surprised look — but remained silent.
“Sounds good, doesn’t it?” Riccio stuffed a slice of the sausage into his mouth. Its spiciness made his eyes water. He quickly handed his empty glass to Hornet.
Scipio still hadn’t said anything. He stroked his hair thoughtfully and fiddled with the ribbon around his ponytail. Then he cleared his throat. “Interesting,” he said. “A job for a thief — why not? What will I have to steal?”
“No idea.” Riccio rubbed his greasy fingers on his pant legs. “Not even the redbeard knows anything about it yet. But he seems to think that the Thief Lord is just the man for the job.” Riccio grinned. “The fatso probably imagines you’re a huge guy with a stocking on his head who creeps around the pillars of the Doge’s Palace like a cat. Anyway, he wants a quick answer.”
They all looked at Scipio. He just sat there and toyed with his mask. Lost in thought, he stroked its long, bent nose. It was so quiet that you could hear the crackle of the candles. “Yes, that is indeed quite interesting,” he wondered aloud. “Yes, why not?”
Prosper watched him uneasily. He still had that feeling that something dark and threatening was moving in on them. Trouble … and danger …
Scipio seemed to read his mind. “What do you think of all this, Prop?” he asked.
“Not much,” Prosper answered. “I don’t trust Barbarossa.” He could hardly say: because I don’t think much of stealing. After all, he lived off Scipio being such a master of it.
Scipio nodded.
Just then Bo, of all people, let Prosper down. “So what?” he said. He kneeled next to Scipio, his eyes shiny with excitement. “It’ll be easy for you, won’t it? Right, Scip?”
Scipio had to smile. He took the kitten out of Bo’s arms and placed it on his lap, stroking its tiny ears.
“And I will help you!” Bo moved even closer to Scipio. “Right, Scip? I’ll come with you.”
“Bo! Stop talking such complete nonsense!” Prosper shouted at him. “You’re not going anywhere, is that clear? And you’re definitely not going to do anything dangerous.”
“You bet I will!” Bo made a face at his brother and folded his arms defiantly.
Scipio still hadn’t said anything.
Mosca smoothed out one of the colorful mandorlati wrappers. Riccio pushed his tongue through the gap in his teeth and kept his eyes fixed on Scipio.
“I agree with Prosper,” Hornet said breaking into the silence. “There’s no reason to take any more risks. We’ve got enough money for now.”
Scipio examined his mask and poked a finger into one of its hollow eyes. “I will take the job,” he said. “Riccio, you will go to Barbarossa tomorrow morning and give him my reply.”
Riccio nodded. His scrawny face beamed all over. “And this time you’ll take us along, won’t you?” he asked. “Please! I’d love to see a big, fine house from the inside — just once.”
“Yes, I’d like that too.” Mosca gazed dreamily u
p at the curtain, which was glittering in the candlelight as if it were covered in golden spider’s threads. “I’ve often wondered what it must be like. I’ve heard that in some of the houses the floors are paved with gold and that they have real diamonds on the doorknobs.”
“Well, go to the Scuola di San Rocco if you want to see things like that!” Hornet gave the boys an angry look. “Scipio just said himself, he should take a break for a while. After all, they’re probably still looking for the man who broke into the Palazzo Contarini. Another break-in would be madness right now. Just stupid!” She turned to Scipio. “If Barbarossa knew that the Thief Lord hasn’t got a single hair on his chin and doesn’t reach up to his shoulder even in a pair of high-heeled boots, he would have never asked him anyway …”
“Oh yeah?” Scipio straightened himself up as if that would prove Hornet wrong. “Did you know that Alexander the Great was smaller than me? He had to push a table in front of the Persian throne so he could climb on to it. I’ve made my decision. Tell Barbarossa that the Thief Lord will take the job. I have to go now, but I will be back tomorrow.” He started to leave, but Hornet stood in his way.
“Now listen,” she said quietly. “Maybe you’re a better thief than all the grown-up thieves in this city, but when Barbarossa sees you in your high heels with all your grown-up playacting, he’ll just laugh at you.”
The others looked at Scipio in embarrassment. Never before had any of them dared to talk to him like that.
Scipio stood completely still and stared straight at Hornet. Then his mouth twisted into a sneer. “Well, the redbeard is not going to see me!” he said, pulling the mask over his face. “And should he ever dare to laugh at me then I’ll just spit into his moon face and laugh right back at him, twice as loud. He is just a fat, old man. I am the Thief Lord.” With a sudden spin he turned his back on Hornet and stalked off. “I’ll be quite late tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder.
Then he was swallowed by the shadows.
9
In the middle of the night, while everybody was asleep, Prosper got up. He pulled the blanket over Bo’s exposed feet and fished his flashlight from underneath the pillows. Then he put on his jacket and crept past the others. Riccio was tossing and turning in his sleep and Mosca was holding on tight to his sea horse. One of Bo’s kittens was sleeping on Hornet’s pillow, its head hidden in her brown hair.
Prosper opened the door of the emergency exit and shuddered as the cold air assaulted him. It was a starlit night and the moon shimmered on the canal behind the movie theater. The houses on the opposite side were dark — except for one window, where a light still shined. Someone else who can’t sleep, Prosper thought. A few broad, worn steps led down to the water. They looked as if they led all the way to the bottom of the canal. Deeper and deeper, and into another world. Once he had sat by the canal with Bo and Mosca, and Bo had claimed that mermen and mermaids had built those steps. Mosca had asked him how they used them with their slippery fishtails. Prosper smiled as he remembered. He sat down on the topmost step and looked across the moonlit surface of the water. The canal showed the blurred reflections of the houses, just as it had done long before Prosper had been born, before his parents and even his grandparents had been born. Often, as he walked through the city, Prosper ran his fingers along the walls. The stones in Venice felt very different, everything was different from anything he had known before.
Prosper tried not to think about it. He wasn’t homesick — he hadn’t been for a long time, not even at night. This was his home now. The city had welcomed Bo and him like a great, gentle animal. It had hidden them in its winding alleys and had enchanted them with its exotic sounds and strange smells. It had even provided them with friends. Prosper didn’t ever want to leave again. Never. He had grown so used to hearing the water smack and slurp against wood and stone.
But what if they had to run again? Just because of that man with the walrus mustache? Prosper and Riccio still hadn’t told the others about their pursuer. But they were all in danger, for if the detective got on to Prosper and Bo’s trail, then he would also find the Star-Palace and the others. The others … Mosca, who didn’t want to go back to his family because they didn’t even miss him; for Riccio, there was only the children’s home; Hornet, who never told them anything about her old life because it just made her too sad; and — Scipio. Prosper shivered. He wrapped his arms around his knees. What if the detective also got onto the trail of the Thief Lord while he searched for Prosper and Bo? A fine thank you that would be to Scipio for taking them under his wing.
On the wet steps lay a torn vaporetto ticket. Prosper let it flutter down into the canal and watched it drift out of sight.
It’s no good; I have to tell them about the detective, Prosper thought. But how could he do that without Bo finding out? Bo, who felt so safe, and who believed that Esther would never follow them to Venice, because that’s what his big brother had told him.
A shadow moved behind the lit window in the house opposite. Then the light went off. Prosper got up. The stone steps were cold and wet and he was freezing. He would tell the others about the walrus mustache, right now, while Bo was still asleep. Perhaps then Scipio would forget about Barbarossa’s offer. But maybe — Prosper could hardly bear the thought — maybe Scipio would send him and Bo away. And what then?
Prosper returned to the movie theater with a heavy heart.
“Hornet, wake up!” Prosper shook her very gently by the shoulder, but Hornet shot up so fast that the kitten rolled off her pillow like a ball. “What is it?” she mumbled, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
“Nothing, I just have to tell you all something.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Yes.” Prosper went to wake Mosca, but Hornet held him back. “Wait, tell me first, before you wake the others.”
Prosper looked across at Mosca who had crawled so deep into his blanket that only his short, frizzy hair could be seen. “OK, Riccio knows about it anyway.”
They sat down next to each other on the folding seats, two blankets wrapped around their shoulders. The movie theater’s heating, just like the lights, didn’t work and the heaters that Scipio had brought them did little to drive the cold from the large auditorium.
Hornet lit two candles. “So?” she asked, giving Prosper an expectant look.
“When Riccio and I were walking back from Barbarossa’s,” Prosper tucked his chin under the blanket, “I bumped into a man. First he just stared at me in a strange way, but then he started following me. We gave him the slip — and ran toward the Grand Canal and took a vaporetto to the opposite side to get away. But Riccio recognized him. He says the man is a detective. And it looks like he’s after me — after me and Bo.”
“A real detective?” Hornet shook her head in disbelief. “And Riccio’s sure?”
Prosper nodded.
“Yes, but perhaps it’s Riccio he’s after. You know he can’t stop stealing things.”
“No.” Prosper sighed and looked up toward the ceiling where the darkness hung over them like a black cloud. “He was after me. The way he looked at me … he’s going to find us. And my aunt and uncle will probably put me into a boarding school and I’ll get to see Bo once a month, or during the summer and at Christmas.” He felt a sudden wave of sickness clawing at his stomach. He closed his eyes, as if he could keep his fears out of his head that way, but of course it didn’t work.
“That’s nonsense! How is he going to find you here?” Hornet put a comforting hand on Prosper’s shoulder. “Come on, don’t drive yourself crazy.”
Prosper buried his face in his hands. From the back of the auditorium, Riccio muttered something in his sleep.
Prosper pulled himself together. “Just don’t say anything to Bo, OK? Let him go on believing that we’re perfectly safe here. We’ll have to tell Mosca and Scipio, though. After all, you could all get into a lot of trouble if that snoop finds us here …”
“No way!” Hornet rubbed her
nose. “This is a perfect hiding place. The very best! Oh rats, I think I’ve caught another cold. Why can’t Scipio steal a better heater for a change, instead of sugar tongs and silver spoons?”
Prosper handed his crumpled handkerchief to her and she gratefully blew her nose.
“Riccio wants to dye Bo’s hair and I’m supposed to paint my face black so that the snoop won’t recognize us,” Prosper said.
Hornet gave a quiet laugh. “I think it’ll be enough if I cut your hair really short, but that’s a good idea about Bo’s hair. We’ll just tell him that the old ladies won’t pat his head anymore when his hair is black.”
“Do you think he’ll believe that?”
“Well, if he doesn’t, then Scipio will just have to tell him that he’ll never be a famous thief with his blonde hair. Bo would fly if Scipio asked him to.”
“That’s true.” Prosper smiled, although he felt a small stab of jealousy.
“Scipio will just love the whole detective business.” Hornet shivered and rubbed her arms. “He’ll probably just be disappointed that the man’s not after him. That would be quite an interesting job for a detective, discovering where the Thief Lord sleeps. Maybe he rappels at dawn from the Palazzo Ducale, after having spent the night in some cozy dungeon? Does he sleep in the old piombi prisons, where they let the enemies of Venice die from heat and fear, or down in the ponti, where they let them rot? You see, I even got a smile out of you!” Looking pleased, Hornet got up and tousled Prosper’s hair. “Tomorrow you’ll get a new hairdo,” she said, “and now stop worrying about that detective.”
Prosper nodded. “So you don’t think …” he asked hesitantly, “that we should leave, Bo and I?”
“Pigeon poop!” Hornet shook her head impatiently. “Why should you? The police have been looking for Riccio forever, and have we thrown him out? No. And what about Scipio? Doesn’t he put us in danger, with his evermore crazy raids?” Hornet pulled Prosper from his seat. “Come on, let’s go to sleep,” she said. “God, the noise Mosca makes with his snoring!”