“Let me have a look, Mosca.” Riccio reached for the binoculars. “How far is that man going to sail? If we go on like this, we’ll soon be in Burano and as stiff as deep-frozen chickens.”
They went on and on through the darkness. They could all feel themselves getting sleepy, despite the cold. Then Mosca suddenly whistled through his teeth. He knelt down to get a better look. “I think he’s heaving to!” he whispered breathlessly. “There! He’s sailing toward that island. I have no idea which one it is. Do you recognize it, Signora?”
Ida Spavento took the glasses and peered through them. Prosper looked over her shoulder. Even without the binoculars he could make out two lanterns on the shore, a high wall, and further back, through a maze of black branches, the outline of a house.
“Madonna, I think I know which island this is!” Ida sounded startled. “Giaco, don’t go any closer! Switch off the engine. And the lights.”
As the engine died down everything was suddenly very still. Prosper felt like an invisible animal lurking in the dark. He heard the water slapping against the hull and Mosca breathing next to him. And there were voices drifting across the water.
“Yes, that’s the one!” Ida whispered. “Isola Segreta, the Secret Isle. There are some really spooky stories about this place. The Valaresso, one of the oldest families of Venice, used to have an estate here, but that was a long time ago. I thought the family had moved away years ago and that the island was deserted. It seems I was wrong.”
“Isola Segreta?” Mosca stared at the distant lights. “That’s the island where nobody ever goes.”
“That’s right. It’s not easy to find a boatman who will bring you there,” Ida answered, not taking the binoculars from her eyes. “The island’s supposed to be bewitched. Terrible things happen there. It’s said nobody who’s ever visited the Isola Segreta has lived to tell about it. So that’s where the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters has ended up, is it?”
“Listen!” Riccio whispered.
The baying of dogs sounded across the water. Loud and threatening.
“That sounds like two dogs!” Mosca whispered. “Big ones.”
“Haven’t you seen enough yet, Signora?” Riccio’s voice sounded shrill. “We’ve followed the Conte all the way to this darned island. That was our deal. So please tell that silent man there to take us home.”
But Ida didn’t answer. She was still watching the island through her binoculars. “They’re going ashore,” she said quietly. “Ah, so that’s what your Conte looks like. From what you said I imagined him to be older. And there next to him,” she lowered her voice even more, “is the woman Scipio told me about. Who are they? Are there still Valaresso on that island?”
Mosca, Prosper, and Scipio were staring at the island just as intently as Ida. Only Riccio was sitting nervously next to the bag with the money. He had fixed his eyes on Giaco’s broad back, as if that could reassure him.
“There’s a jetty,” Scipio whispered, “and steps leading up the shore toward a gate in the wall.”
“Who’s that on the wall?” Mosca grabbed Prosper’s arm. “I see two white figures.”
“Those are statues,” Ida said soothingly. “Stone angels. Now they’re opening the gate. Wow, those dogs are big.”
Even without binoculars the boys could see them. They were huge white mastiffs, as big as calves. Suddenly, as if they had caught a strange scent, they turned to face the water and began to bark so noisily and angrily that Ida jumped and dropped her binoculars. Prosper tried to grab them, but they slipped through his fingers and landed in the water with a loud splash.
The sound cut through the night like a gunshot.
Riccio pressed his hands against his ears while all the others ducked. Only Giaco remained steadily behind the wheel. “They’ve heard us, Signora!” he said calmly. “They’re looking over here.”
“Oh my god!” Ida shouted. “Keep your heads down. You too, Giaco! I think she has a gun!”
“Oh no!” Mosca moaned, pulling his jacket over his head.
Riccio had curled up on the floor with the money bag. “But we all glow in the dark like moon cheese. I told you this was a stupid idea. I said we should turn around.”
“Riccio, shut up!” Scipio yelled at him.
The mastiffs were barking ever more furiously. A woman’s voice could also be heard now, clearly angry — and then a shot. When he saw the flash of the gun, Prosper ducked and pulled Scipio down with him. Riccio began to sob.
“Giaco!” Ida’s voice sounded sharp. “Turn around. Now!”
Without a word, Giaco started the engine.
“But what about the merry-go-round?” Scipio wanted to get up, but Prosper pulled him down again.
“The merry-go-round can’t bring back the dead!” Ida shouted. “More speed, Giaco! And you, Thief Lord, keep your head down!”
The engine roared and the water splashed into the boat as Giaco left the Isola Segreta behind them. Soon it grew smaller and smaller, until it was swallowed by the night.
“That was close!” Ida said while she tried to pull her scarf back over her ears. “I’m sorry I talked you into this madness. Giaco, why didn’t you stop me?”
“Nobody can stop you, Signora!” Giaco answered without even turning around.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Mosca. “At least we’ve got the money.”
Scipio, however, just stared with a bleak expression at the foaming path left behind by the boat.
“Come on, just forget about it,” Prosper said, giving him a nudge. “I would’ve liked to see the merry-go-round as well, but it really doesn’t matter.”
“It’s there!” Scipio looked at him. “I’m sure it’s there.”
“If you say so,” Riccio threw in, “but why don’t we count our money.” Since Prosper and Scipio made no move to help, Mosca and Riccio got to work. They were still counting as the lights of the city began to glitter across the water.
Only when Giaco steered the boat back into the Sacca della Misericordia did they finally zip up the bag. “Seems to be all there,” said Mosca. “More or less. All these notes are difficult to count.”
“Good.” Ida sighed. “Then I’ll drop you by your boat. I do hope you have a warm place to sleep. Say hello to the little one from me, Prosper — and the girl too. I …” She wanted to say more, but Riccio interrupted her as if he had to say something fast, before it burned his lips. “Scipio’s going somewhere else. Perhaps you can take him home.”
Prosper hung his head in embarrassment. Mosca played intently with the buckles of the bag and avoided Scipio’s eyes.
“Of course.” Ida turned to Scipio. “The ceasefire is over. Do you want to go back to the Accademia Bridge where I picked you up, Thief Lord?”
Scipio shook his head. “Fondamenta Bollani,” he said quietly. “If that’s OK.”
We’re not together anymore, Prosper thought sadly. He tried to recall the anger, the disappointment he had felt when he had first discovered that Scipio had lied to them. But all he could see now was Scipio’s pale face, his look of misery, and the tight lips — probably holding back the tears.
Ida seemed to sense all this tension. “Fine! Giaco, first to the boat and then to the Fondamenta Bollani!” she said quickly.
The snow started to fall again as they entered the canal where they had left Mosca’s boat. It was a light snow. Tiny snowflakes drifted across the water. Ida got one of them in her eye and started to blink. “Now that the wing’s gone,” she said, “I’ll probably be staring at the blank wall above my bed all night. I’ll be asking myself whether it has really returned to the lion’s back, and who the mysterious Conte and the gray-haired woman really are.” She tightened her coat around herself. “It’s safer to think about these things in a warm bed.”
Mosca’s boat was swaying gently in the water right where they had left it. A cat had settled on the wooden bench. She jumped ashore as soon as she heard the motorboat approaching.
�
��Buonanotte!” Ida said as Prosper, Riccio, and Mosca climbed aboard their own boat. “Come and visit me sometime. Don’t wait until you’re all grown-up and I don’t recognize you anymore. And if you ever need any help, let me know. Don’t tell me — you’re rich now, but you never know.”
“Thanks!” Mosca mumbled. He pushed the bag under his arm. “That’s really nice. Really!”
The two of them were already climbing aboard when Prosper turned to Scipio again. The Thief Lord sat there, his face averted, staring up at the dark houses. “You can come and pick up your share anytime, Scip,” Prosper said.
For a moment, he thought Scipio wouldn’t answer. But then he looked up. “I will,” he said. “Say hello to Bo and Hornet from me.” Then he turned and left.
33
“Brrr, it’s freezing!” Riccio whispered when they finally stood in front of the movie theater’s emergency exit. He groped for the string next to the door, but then he paused, startled. “Hey, look at that! The door’s not locked.” With his foot he carefully pushed it open.
“Maybe Hornet was afraid the bell wouldn’t wake her up,” Mosca said.
The other two nodded, but were still uneasy as they felt their way down the dark corridor.
The auditorium was so silent that they could hear Bo’s kittens playing around in the dark.
“What’s the matter?” Mosca whispered. “Hornet’s forgotten to put out the candles. Remember how she freaked out the last time that happened?”
“She was probably too scared to get up in case Bo woke up — imagine the fuss he would have made.”
Riccio crept up to Hornet’s mattress. It was the one farthest to the left, right by the wall. “They’re not here.”
“What do you mean?” Prosper stumbled over to the mattress he shared with Bo. Nothing but crumpled blankets and pillows. No Bo.
“They’re hiding!” Mosca said. “Hey, Hornet, Bo!” he called. “Come out now. We’re not in the mood for playing. You can’t imagine how cold it is outside. We just want to get into our blankets.”
“That’s right!” Riccio shouted. “But first you can have a look at the piles of money we’ve brought with us. What do you say?”
There was no answer. Not a giggle or a rustle. Prosper remembered the unlocked door. He felt like someone was slowly squeezing the breath out of him.
Riccio knelt down by Hornet’s mattress. “There’s a note.”
Prosper yanked the piece of paper from Riccio’s fingers.
Concerned, Mosca leaned over his shoulder. “What does it say?”
“It’s hard to read. She must have been in a real hurry.” Prosper shook his head in despair. The writing swam in front of his eyes.
Someone at the door.
Maybe police.
Meet you at the emergency meeting point.
Hornet
Prosper stared at the note.
“Darn! I knew it. Why didn’t you listen to me?” Riccio kicked down the book piles, one by one. “How could you trust that snoop? He betrayed us.”
Prosper lifted his head. Riccio was right. Only Victor could have given away the Star-Palace. Without another word, Prosper stuffed Hornet’s note into his pocket and started rummaging like mad through the pillows.
“What are you looking for?” Mosca asked him. Prosper didn’t answer. When he got up again, he had a gun in his hand. The gun he had taken out of Victor’s pocket.
“Put that thing away, Prop!” Mosca stepped in his way. “We don’t know for sure whether he ratted on us.”
“Who else could it have been?” Prosper put the gun in his jacket and pushed past Mosca. “I’m going. He’ll definitely tell us whether it was him or not, once he’s got his own gun in his face.”
“Easy!” Mosca tried to hold him back. “First we’re going to the meeting point.”
“And where’s that?” Prosper was shaking all over. He felt as if his legs were going to give way at any moment.
“It’s the Book Man, on the Campo Morosini.”
Prosper nodded. “Fine, let’s go! What are you waiting for?”
“But what are we going to do with the money?” Riccio asked “And our things. They’re no longer safe here.”
“We’ll take the money,” Mosca answered impatiently. “We can get the other stuff later. There’s nothing valuable here. And maybe it’s a false alarm anyway.”
Mosca hid the money they had left from their last deal with Barbarossa under his jacket while Riccio took the Conte’s bag. They looked around once more, not sure whether they would ever come back. Then they put out all the candles and left the movie theater.
They ran nearly all the way to the Campo Morosini. In the streets the first shops were already opening although the sky was still pitch black. Big barges, bringing food into the city, pushed their way through the canals. The garbage boats collected the previous day’s trash. The city was waking up, but the boys hardly took any notice. They ran through the dark alleys, imagining a thousand things that could have happened to Bo and Hornet, and the closer they got to the Campo Morosini, the more horrible those images became. They reached the monument, all panting heavily. The statue showed a man with a pile of books behind him. His name was Nicolò Tommaseo, but everyone in the city just called him the Book Man.
Hornet wasn’t there. Nor was Bo.
Prosper turned around and started running again. “Prop!” Mosca called after him while Riccio was still holding his aching side. “The snoop’s place is miles away. Are you going to run the whole way?”
But Prosper didn’t even look back.
“Come on!” Mosca dragged the still panting Riccio with him. “We’ve got to keep up, before he does something stupid.”
34
Scipio had asked Ida to drop him off about two bridges before his father’s house. He wanted to walk the last few steps along the snowy bank of the canal. The cold air gave him the feeling of being strong and free — as long as he didn’t think of the others, or of the big house that would soon make him feel small and weak again. Scipio scraped patterns into the snow with his heels. Then he crouched down to draw a wing with his fingers. When he lifted his head he saw the police boat. It was moored just a few steps away from his parents’ house.
Scipio stood up. Thoughts raced around in his head. Did this have something to do with the Conte?
“No!” he whispered, trying to calm himself. He could hardly manage to get the key into the lock. Opening the door as quietly as possible he saw a light was burning between the columns as usual. The courtyard lay empty in front of him. Holding his breath, Scipio crept toward the stairs. He was a master creeper. This time, however, his efforts were in vain.
His foot had barely touched the first step, when he suddenly heard voices from above. He lifted his head guiltily — and stopped dead. Two policemen were coming down the stairs, with Hornet. She looked small and helpless between the two huge officers.
His father was standing upstairs by the balustrade. He frowned as his eyes fell on Scipio.
“Gentlemen!” boomed the voice Scipio loved to imitate because it sounded so much more impressive than his own. “As you can see, the matter seems to have resolved itself. My son has decided to come home after all, even if it is at a highly inappropriate time. But it proves he had nothing to do with those children hiding in the Stella.”
Scipio bit his lip and looked up at Hornet. She slowed down as she noticed him.
“Do you know this boy?” one of the policemen asked. He had an unfriendly narrow black mustache. “Go on, speak.” But Hornet just shook her head.
“Where are you taking her?” Scipio was startled by the sound of his own voice, high and shrill.
The policeman with the mustache laughed while the other one grabbed Hornet’s arm. “So, you think you have to protect her? You’re a little gentleman. Don’t worry, we didn’t take her away from anybody. She’s a naughty girl who doesn’t even want to tell us her name. We came here because we thought your father migh
t learn something from her about your disappearance.”
“Our maid called me away from my reception, completely hysterical, Scipio!” Dottor Massimo called down at him. “Because she didn’t find you in your bed at midnight. And just as I got here the police called to tell me that they had found a gang of street kids in the Stella. You know, the movie theater I had to close down? Of course, I immediately explained to the gentlemen here that your disappearance had nothing to do with this. And what childish fancy drove you out of the house in the middle of the night? Were you running after some stray cat again?”
Scipio didn’t answer. He desperately tried not to look up at Hornet. She looked so sad and lost. This was not the Hornet who had driven him mad with her teasing.
“I just wanted to have a look at the snow,” Scipio finally muttered.
“Ah, the snow! It drives everybody mad, not just the children,” the mustachioed policeman said with a wink at Scipio. His colleague was already dragging Hornet down the stairs.
“Let me go, I can walk by myself!” Hornet spat at him. She jumped down the last step and pushed past Scipio with her head down. “Bo is with his aunt!” she whispered.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” the policeman barked, grabbing her by the scruff of her collar.
“Buonanotte, Dottor Massimo!” the Carabinieri called out as they left. Hornet didn’t turn around again.
Scipio slowly walked up the stairs. He heard the entrance door slam shut.
His father looked at him in silence.
Who had given away the secret of the Star-Palace? What about Prosper, Riccio, and Mosca? Why was Bo with his aunt? Scipio’s mind was racing.
“So, where did you really go?” His father scrutinized him from head to toe. Scipio was afraid his father could read his mind. He was probably asking himself yet again what he had done to deserve this strange creature he called his son. He wasn’t as big as him, as interesting, as disciplined, controlled, dependable, or reasonable. He wasn’t like him at all.
The Thief Lord Page 17
