The Thief Lord

by Cornelia Funke

  “Right,” agreed Prosper. He carefully placed Paula back in her box and then squatted down on the blanket next to Victor again. “Do you have a brother?” he asked.

  Victor shook his head. “No. I was an only child. But can’t brothers and sisters sometimes be a real pain as well?”

  “Maybe.” Prosper shrugged. “Bo and I have always gotten along well. Well, nearly always. Oh, no,” he wiped his face with his sleeve, “now I’m going to start crying.”

  Victor cleared his throat. “Your aunt says you probably came to Venice because your mother used to tell you so much about it.”

  Prosper blew his nose. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “she did. And everything is exactly like she said it would be. When we got off the train at the station — Bo and me — we were so scared that it wasn’t going to be true — the houses on stilts, the roads made of water, the lions with wings. But it’s all true! ‘The world is full of wonders’ — that’s what she always told us.”

  Victor closed his eyes. “Listen, Prosper,” he said tiredly, “perhaps I can talk to your aunt again … so that she could take you both …”

  Prosper pressed his hand against Victor’s mouth.

  Someone was at the door. And it wasn’t Mosca. He was still snoring.

  “Bo!” Prosper hissed as an ink-black head of hair popped through the door. “What are you doing here? Go back to sleep!”

  But Bo had already slipped inside to join them. “What’s happening, Prop?” he mumbled sleepily. “Are you going to throw Victor into the canal?”

  “What gave you that idea?” Prosper looked at his brother in astonishment. “Go on, back to bed.”

  Bo quietly closed the door behind him. “I could keep watch like Mosca does!” he said, before suddenly bumping into the tortoise box.

  “May I introduce you to Paula?” Victor said.

  “Hello, Paula,” mumbled Bo, apparently not surprised by the strange animal. He sat down on the blanket, between Prosper and Victor. He poked his finger up his nose absentmindedly and looked intently at Victor. “You’re a very good liar,” he said. “Are you really going to catch us and take us back to Esther? We don’t belong to her, you know.”

  Embarrassed, Victor stared at his shoes. “Well, children all have to belong to somebody,” he muttered.

  “Do you belong to someone?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Because you’re a grown-up?” Bo looked curiously in the box, but he could only see Paula’s shell. “Prosper already looks after me. So does Hornet. And Scipio.”

  “Ah, Scipio,” Victor grunted. “Is he still here, your Scipio?”

  “No, he never sleeps here.” Bo shook his head as if Victor should have known that. “Scipio is very busy. He’s very, very clever. That’s why,” Bo leaned over to Victor and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “he got the job from the Conte. Prosper doesn’t want to do it, but I —”

  “Shut up, Bo!” Prosper cut him off. He jumped up and grabbed Bo’s hand. “That’s none of your business,” he said to Victor. “You said yourself that you’re not interested in the others. So why all these questions about Scipio?”

  “Your Thief Lord …” Victor began.

  But Prosper turned his back to him. “Come on, Bo, it’s time for you to sleep.” He pulled his little brother toward the door. But Bo resisted and snatched his hand free.

  “I know!” he called. “Victor can tell Esther that we fell off a bridge and she won’t have to look for us anymore because we’re dead. Isn’t that clever, Prop?”

  “Oh really, Bo!” Prosper sighed. He pushed Bo toward the door again. “Look, no one’s going to throw Victor into the canal, but we can’t let him go free either. Even if he promises not to tell anyone about us. You can’t trust someone like him.”

  “Someone like me? Thank you very much!” Victor called after them, but Prosper had already closed the door after him. Victor was left alone in the darkness with the cold tiles at his back. So they won’t throw me into the canal, he thought. How very generous! Well, at least I haven’t got that disgusting rag stuffed in my mouth. The tap on the basin above his head was dripping. Outside, Mosca was still snoring through his watch. Could he make Esther Hartlieb believe that the two of them had fallen off a bridge? I don’t think so, yawned Victor.

  And then he fell into a deep sleep.

  21

  “So, what are we going to do with the snoop?” Riccio asked. Prosper had bought fresh bread for breakfast but none of them could swallow a single morsel. The only ones who had slept well were Bo — and Mosca, whose sleep had remained undisturbed until Riccio had relieved him. Hornet poured herself a third cup of coffee. Riccio was complaining. “So, what are we going to do? I haven’t slept a wink all night with that guy tied up in the bathroom.”

  Mosca shrugged. “What can we do? We can only let him go once Scipio has found a new hideout. Scip says that with the Conte’s money we could buy ourselves our own island on the lagoon, if we like.”

  Riccio pulled a face. “I don’t want to live on an island! I want to stay here, in the city. Do you think I want to go on a wobbly boat every day? Yuk!”

  Hornet interrupted him impatiently. “Tell that to Scipio.” She looked at her watch. “We’re meeting him in two hours, remember?”

  “I’d love to live on an island!” Mosca pushed himself up with a sigh. “We could catch our own fish, grow vegetables …”

  “Catch fish — uuugh!” Riccio wrinkled his nose. “You can eat them if you like. I’d never eat fish from the lagoon. They’re all poisoned because the factories on the mainland chuck their garbage into the sea.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Mosca scowled at him and got up. “I’ll take some coffee to our prisoner. Or will he only get water and moldy bread?”

  “Even that would be too good for him!” Riccio grumbled. “Why are you all so nice to him? It’s his fault we have to find a new place. This is our …” his voice faltered a little “… home. The best home we’ve ever had. And he spoiled it all. And now he gets coffee as a reward?”

  The others were lost for words. Riccio was right. They had all felt safe here, even though the room was scary at night, and it was already so cold that they could sometimes see their own breath. But this was their Star-Palace, their shelter from the rain, and from the dark night outside. This was their safe haven. At least that was what they had believed.

  “We’ll find something new,” Mosca mumbled while he poured the rest of the coffee into a mug for Victor. “Something just as good, or even better.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Riccio stared moodily at the star-embroidered curtain. “But I don’t want to find something better! Why don’t we just chuck him into the canal? Then we wouldn’t have to worry. I mean, why was he snooping around here anyway?”

  “Riccio!” Hornet looked at him in horror.

  “It’s true!” Riccio’s voice grew shrill. He had tears in his eyes. “We’re going to lose our Star-Palace, just because of that — that — creep! We’ll never find another hideout like this! I don’t care what Scipio says about an island and lots of money. It’s all rotten!”

  The others said nothing. None of them knew what to say. Finally Mosca murmured, “It’s probably going to be really cold in here once winter comes anyway.”

  “So what? It’s not going to be as cold in here as it is outside, is it?” Riccio sobbed. He buried his face in his arms.

  “Hey, Riccio. It’ll be OK!” Hornet said. She sat down next to him and put her arm around him. “At least we’ll stay together, right?” But Riccio just pushed her away.

  Prosper hadn’t said anything all this time. But now he cleared his throat. “You won’t have to throw the snoop into the canal just to stay here,” he said haltingly. “If Bo and I leave, he won’t have any reason to come here again. This is all our fault and so we’re going to go. We’ll have to anyway, now that our aunt knows we’re in Venice.”

  Bo looked at his brother, his mouth open wide.
Hornet turned toward him and stared at him in disbelief. “Nonsense!” she shouted. “Where are you going to go? We all belong together. Your problems are our problems.”

  “Exactly!” Mosca nodded. “Your problems are our problems. Right, Riccio?” He shoved his elbow into his friend’s side, but Riccio said nothing.

  “You’re staying here and the snoop stays in the men’s bathroom,” Hornet continued. “And we’ll steal the wooden wing, take it to the Conte, and with his five million we’ll make ourselves a cozy life on one of the islands. Anyone can get used to riding on boats. I hope!” she added quickly. Hornet got just as seasick as Riccio.

  “Then we’ll have to feed the tortoise-husband,” Bo said. “So he doesn’t die.”

  “The tortoise-husband?” Mosca nearly choked on his cold coffee.

  “He lives under Victor’s desk,” Prosper mumbled. He was playing absentmindedly with Bo’s plastic fans. “His wife is in a box in the bathroom with Victor. You have to be careful not to step on her when you go in there.”

  Mosca’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  “There, you see?” Riccio shouted. “Who ever heard of kidnappers looking after the pets of their prisoners? Have you ever seen a movie where the gangster goes to feed his victim’s tortoise or cat?”

  “We’re not gangsters!” Hornet cut in. “And that’s why we won’t let innocent tortoises starve. Go on, Mosca, take Victor his coffee.”

  22

  Prosper joined Riccio and Hornet when they left to meet Scipio at the Campo Santa Margherita.

  He hadn’t left the hideout for more than two days because of Victor and now he longed for some fresh air. Mosca eagerly agreed to stay behind with their prisoner. He still felt guilty because he had slept through his watch. Bo wanted to look after the lonely tortoise, probably because he really didn’t want to walk all the way to the Campo Santa Margherita either.

  It really was quite a long way. The square was in Dorsoduro, the southernmost quarter of Venice, on the other side of the Grand Canal. The houses there might not have been as magnificent or graceful as on some of the other squares in the city, but many had been standing for more than five hundred years. It had some small shops, cafés, restaurants, a fish market every morning, and in the center was the newspaper stand where Riccio had gained all his information about Ida Spavento. The Campanile Santa Margherita was guarded by a dragon. Riccio claimed that once, a long time ago, bear and bull-baiting fights used to take place right there at its feet, just like on the Campo San Polo toward the north of the city.

  The square, which was usually very busy, was almost deserted when the three children entered it. It was a cold and rainy day. The chairs in front of the cafés were empty and a couple of women pushed their baby carriages past the wet tables. A few old men sat on the benches underneath the bare trees, looking dourly toward the blank gray sky overhead.

  The house, the target for their nighttime visit, had seen better days. It certainly didn’t look like the kind of place that would contain a treasure that was worth five million lire. The garden could only be reached through a dark, covered alley, which at first glance looked like little more than a black hole between the Casa Spavento and the neighboring house.

  Riccio had already explored the alley with Mosca. They had even climbed the wall that surrounded the garden. From there they had looked down on winter-bare flower beds and gravel paths.

  Riccio had wanted Scipio to have a look too. And so they waited. But Scipio didn’t come. At first Riccio, Prosper, and Hornet waited patiently at the newsstand. Dogs sniffed them, cats crept past them stalking the fat pigeons; women, laden with heavy shopping bags, shuffled across the wet pavement. But still Scipio didn’t appear.

  “Strange!” Hornet said. She was shivering and moving from one foot to the other to keep warm. “He’s never been late for a setup meeting before.”

  “Hey, look there!” Riccio grabbed Hornet by the arm. “That’s Ida Spavento’s housekeeper, coming back with the shopping.”

  A fat lady waddled across the square, the leashes of three dogs in one hand and two overstuffed shopping bags in the other. The dogs yapped at everyone who came near their little snouts. The big lady had to keep pulling them to heel.

  “Here’s a piece of good luck!” Riccio whispered.

  “I don’t like those dogs,” Hornet breathed. “What if they’re still in the house when we go in? They’re small, but big enough to bite.”

  “We can take care of them.” Riccio smoothed his shaggy hair, and gave the others a wink. “Wait here.”

  “What are you doing?” Hornet whispered. “Don’t be stupid.”

  But Riccio was already sauntering across the square, whistling. He seemed to be looking everywhere except at Ida Spavento’s housekeeper who was obviously struggling to keep up with her dogs.

  “Watch out!” she shouted.

  But Riccio paid her no attention. Just as she steered past him, he stepped right in her way. There was no chance for her to avoid him. They collided. The stuffed bags landed on the square and the dogs ran yapping after the apples and cabbages rolling over the wet cobbles.

  Hornet whispered to Prosper, “What’s the hedgehog doing?” Riccio was running eagerly after the cabbages while the signora, cursing loudly, bent over to pick up the apples.

  Now they could hear the fat lady cursing, “What the devil were you thinking, running into me like that?”

  “Scusi!” Riccio gave her a smile so broad that it showed off all his rotten teeth. “I’m just looking for the dentist, Dr. Spavento. Is that his house there?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” the large lady snapped at him. “There’s no dentist in there. Mind you, you look like you need one badly. That’s the house of Signora Ida Spavento. Now, get out of my way before I throw one of these cabbages at you.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Signora.” Riccio suddenly looked very downtrodden. Even Prosper and Hornet nearly fell for it. “May I help you with those bags?”

  “Well, now look at that. A real gentleman!” The lady tucked a gray strand of hair out of her face. She was already looking slightly more favorably at Riccio. But then she frowned again. “Hold on. You don’t think you’re going to earn something out of this, you little rascal?”

  Riccio looked sincerely hurt and shook his head vigorously. “No way, Signora!”

  “All right, then, I might just take you up on your offer.” Signora Spavento’s housekeeper passed Riccio the shopping bags and wrapped the dog leash tightly around her plump wrist. “It’s not every day a real gentleman crosses my path.”

  Prosper and Hornet walked after them, keeping a safe distance. They saw Riccio vanish into Ida Spavento’s house, but not before he had turned around once more to give them a triumphant smile.

  It took a long time for Riccio to come out again. But finally he stood in the entrance like a little lord at peace with himself and the entire world. He was holding a gigantic ice-cream cone that he had received for his labors. He casually pulled the door shut before making his way toward Prosper and Hornet.

  “No bars on the inside!” he whispered to them importantly. “Not even a second lock. Signora Spavento is definitely not afraid of burglars.”

  “Was she at home?” Prosper asked him, looking up at the balcony above the entrance.

  “I didn’t see her.” Riccio let Hornet lick his ice cream. “But the kitchen is exactly where it’s marked on the floor plan. I took the bags there for ‘Mrs. Pudgy,’ the housekeeper. So it’s probably also true that the main bedroom is in the attic. I tell you, if Signora Ida Spavento really does go to bed early then this job is going to be easier than stealing candles from a church.”

  “Yeah, just don’t get too excited!” Hornet warned. She looked uneasily at the windows.

  “Wait. It gets even better!” Riccio chuckled. “There’s a door that’s not on the plan, going straight from the kitchen into the garden. And — wait for this — that one doesn’t have any bars either.
Signora Spavento’s really quite careless, isn’t she?”

  “You’re forgetting the dogs again,” Hornet replied. “What if they don’t belong to the housekeeper? And what if they don’t like your sausages?”

  “Bah! All dogs like sausages. Right, Prop?”

  Prosper nodded and looked at his watch. “It’s nearly one o’clock,” he whispered, “and Scipio still isn’t here. I hope nothing’s happened.”

  They waited for another half hour. Then, feeling very anxious, they made their way to their prisoner’s apartment to feed his deserted tortoise.

  “I don’t get it,” Riccio said as they stood in front of Victor’s house. “What could have happened to Scipio?”

  As they struggled up the steep staircase to Victor’s office, Hornet panted, “It’s probably nothing. He’s often late when we arrange to meet at the hideout.” But she looked just as worried as the other two.

  Riccio picked Victor’s lock. Once inside they saw that Victor’s tortoise-husband really looked quite lonely. He hardly poked his head out of his shell when Prosper and Hornet bent over his box. Only when Prosper offered him a lettuce leaf did his wrinkly neck come out.

  Riccio ignored the tortoise. He still thought it was quite ridiculous to look after a prisoner’s pets. Instead he tried out one of Victor’s disguises in front of the mirror. “Hey, look at this, Prop!” he called as he stuck the walrus mustache under his nose. “Didn’t he have this on his face when you ran into him?”

  “Maybe,” Prosper answered. He was investigating Victor’s desk. Underneath the paperweight lion was a picture of the two tortoises and next to the typewriter was a pile of densely written paper and an apple with one bite taken out of it.

  “And how do I look now?” Riccio asked, stroking a full reddish beard.

  “Like a gnome,” Hornet answered. She pulled a book from the shelf where Victor kept his well-thumbed crime novels. Then she made herself comfortable on one of the visitors’ chairs and settled down to read. Prosper perched on Victor’s armchair and rifled through the drawers in his desk. There was nothing interesting, only bits of paper, paper clips, a stamp pad, scissors, keys, postcards, and three different bags of candy.