“Hmmph,” Prosper grunted.
He could imagine only too well what else the Conte could do to them if he chose. And then all of a sudden he remembered Bo. It was the first time he’d thought of him since he’d jumped into Scipio’s boat. He wondered whether he would ever see his brother again.
41
It was past midnight when Victor heard the phone ring. He pulled the pillow over his head, but it kept ringing and ringing until he finally crept out of his warm bed and stumbled over the tortoise box into his office.
“Who the devil is that?” he growled into the receiver while he rubbed his aching toe.
“He’s run away again!” Esther Hartlieb sounded so breathless that Victor didn’t understand her at first. “But I’m telling you, this time we won’t take him back. No chance! The little devil pulled the tablecloth off the table, right in the middle of the best restaurant in town! And while we sat there with our pasta in our laps, he just ran away.” Victor heard her sob. “My husband has always said that the boy wasn’t right for us and that he’s just like my sister. But he has such an angel face … Anyway, they’ve thrown us out of the hotel, because he screamed so much they suspected us of beating him. Can you imagine? First he doesn’t say a word and then he has a fit just because I try to put some clean socks on him. He even bit my husband! He cut holes in the curtain with my scissors and he poured the coffee from the balcony …” Esther Hartlieb gasped for breath, “… My husband and I are flying back home on Monday as we had planned. Should my nephews get picked up by the police, then please have them put in an orphanage. There are supposed to be some good institutions here in this city. Did you hear me, Signor Getz? Signor Getz …”
Victor was carving patterns into his desk with his letter-opener. “How long has that little boy been out there now, all on his own?” he asked coldly. “When did he run away?”
“A few hours ago. We had to settle matters with the restaurant first. And then we had to find another hotel with all our luggage. All the decent places are booked up. Now we’re in some awfully primitive place near the Rialto Bridge.”
A few hours. Victor ran his hand over his tired face and looked outside. The night crouched above the houses, dark and cold, like an animal that eats little boys.
“Did you call the police?” Victor asked. “Is someone looking for Bo now? Your husband, perhaps?”
“What do you mean?” Esther’s voice turned shrill. “Do you seriously think one of us is going to go running around through those dark alleys? After all the boy has done to us tonight? We most certainly are not! We’re at the end of our rope. I don’t even want to hear his name mentioned ever again. I —”
Victor didn’t put the phone down. He just dropped the receiver. Still numb with sleep, he started to get dressed.
When he stepped out of the door, the sharp, cold air greeted him, bringing tears to his eyes. Well, at least it was better than bucketing rain, Victor thought as he pulled his hat down over his face. The previous winter the town had been underwater several times, deep enough for a small boy like Bo to be washed away. The lagoon now flooded Venice more and more often, something that in the past only happened every five years or so. Victor didn’t want to think about that right now. He felt miserable enough as it was.
His feet were like lead as he stumbled along the sparsely lit alleys and over the cobbles covered with silvery frost. There was only one place where Bo would hide. He didn’t know, after all, that Prosper and his friends had found refuge with Ida Spavento. Victor snuffled and wiped his icy nose with his sleeve. The poor little kid didn’t know a thing.
It was a long way from Victor’s place to the children’s old hideout. He was frozen to the bone when he finally reached the movie theater. I’ll have to get myself a better coat, he thought as he fumbled for the right lock pick. Luckily, Dottor Massimo hadn’t yet had the lock replaced. The lobby was also still full of trash — as if nothing had happened since the night when the children took Victor prisoner. When he entered the auditorium he heard faint crying.
“Bo?” he called out. “Bo, it’s me, Victor. Come here. Or do you want to play hide-and-seek again?”
“I’m not going back to her!” a tearful little voice said out of the darkness. “I just want to be with Prosper.”
“You don’t have to go back.” Victor let the beam of his flashlight wander across the seats until the light fell on blonde hair. Bo was crawling between the seats, as if he was looking for something.
“They’re gone, Victor!” he sobbed. “They’re gone.”
“Who?” Victor bent down toward him and Bo turned his tear-stained face up to the detective. “My kittens,” he sniveled, “and Hornet.”
“Nobody’s gone.” Victor helped Bo up and wiped the tears off his cheeks. “They’re all at Ida Spavento’s house: Hornet, Prosper, Riccio, Mosca, and your kittens.” He sat down on a folding seat and pulled Bo on to his lap. “I’ve heard some terrible things about you, mister,” he said. “Pulling down tablecloths, screaming, running away. Do you know that your aunt and uncle have been thrown out of their hotel?”
“Really?” Bo sniffed loudly and buried his face in Victor’s coat. “I was angry,” he mumbled. “Esther wouldn’t tell me where Prosper was.”
“Well, well.” Victor pushed his handkerchief into Bo’s dirty hands. “Here. Blow your nose. Prosper’s fine. He’s probably lying in a soft bed dreaming of his little brother right now.”
“She wanted to make a part in my hair,” Bo muttered. He ran his hands over his messy thatch as if wanting to make sure that Esther’s efforts had been in vain. “She wouldn’t let me jump on the bed and she wanted to throw away the sweater Hornet gave me and she told me off because there was a little stain” — Bo indicated the size with his fingers — “and she kept wiping my face. And she said horrible things about Prosper.”
“Did she really?” Victor shook his head with deep sympathy.
Bo rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I’m cold,” he said quietly. “Can you take me to Prosper, Victor?”
Victor nodded. “I will,” he said. But just as he was about to lift him up, Bo ducked between the seats.
“There’s someone there!” he whispered.
Victor turned around.
A man was standing in the door to the lobby. He was shining a huge light into the auditorium. “What are you doing in there?” he called out with a rasping voice when the spotlight stopped on Victor.
Victor got up. “The boy’s kitten ran away,” he said calmly, as if he found nothing strange about being in a shut-down movie theater in the middle of the night. “He thought it came in here, through the emergency exit. The movie theater is closed down, right?”
“Yes, but the owner, Dottor Massimo, has asked me to keep an eye on the place. Just the other day two street kids were picked up here. Behind you there …” the man waved with his light, “… is that a child?”
“Well observed!” Victor stroked Bo’s damp hair. “But this one is no street-kid. This is my son. As I said, he was just looking for his kitten.” Victor looked around. “This is a beautiful movie theater. Why was it closed?”
The man shrugged. “Dottor Massimo wants to turn it into a supermarket, after all the trouble he’s had with it. Could you please leave now. There are no kittens here, and even if there were, they’d be dead by now. I put down some rat poison.”
“We’ve gone already!” Victor pushed Bo toward the emergency exit.
“The curtain,” he said suddenly. “Look, Victor, they pulled it down.”
The heavy fabric lay on the floor, crumpled and dirty.
“What are you going to do with the curtain?” Victor called to the guard who was about to disappear into the lobby.
The man turned around reluctantly. “Listen, it’s late!” he called. “Why don’t you just leave with your little one. Take the curtain, if you’re so interested.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” Victor grumbled.
Then he pulled a penknife from his pocket and cut a large piece out of the embroidered fabric. “Here,” he said as he pushed it into Bo’s hand. “A souvenir.”
“Is Scipio at Ida’s as well?” Bo asked as they finally stepped through the emergency exit.
“No,” Victor replied, as he wrapped the boy in the blanket he’d wisely brought with him. Then he lifted Bo up in his arms. “He’s probably at home. I don’t think he’s very popular with your friends right now.”
“But his daddy’s horrible,” Bo mumbled. He had trouble keeping his eyes open. “You’re much nicer.”
He wrapped his short arms around Victor’s neck and squeezed his face against his shoulder. He was already fast asleep when they reached the Accademia Bridge. And so Victor carried him through the silent and empty alleys all the way to Ida Spavento’s house.
42
Ida opened the door herself. She was wearing a bright red dressing gown and her eyes were bloodshot. Behind her stood Hornet, Mosca, and Riccio. They all stared at Victor as if they had been expecting someone else.
“What’s going on here?” he whispered as he pushed past them with the sleeping Bo in his arms.
“That’s Bo!” Hornet cried out in surprise.
“Yes, this is Bo,” Victor grumbled, “and he’s quite heavy. Now would you please all get out of my way so I can put him down somewhere?”
They all drew back quickly and Ida walked ahead of Victor up the steep stairs to the room where she had put the children. With a sigh, Victor placed Bo on one of the beds, tucked him into another blanket, and then crept out of the room. Hornet, Mosca, and Riccio were at the door. Only then did Victor realize that someone was missing.
“Where’s Prosper?” he asked.
“That’s why we’re all up at this hour,” Ida answered in a weary voice. “Caterina woke me an hour ago because he wasn’t in his bed. We searched everywhere,” she whispered. “In the house, the courtyard, we even looked for him on the Campo. He’s nowhere to be found.”
She looked at Victor expectantly, as if he could conjure up Prosper like he’d magicked Bo out of nowhere.
“Come on, let’s not stand around here,” Ida said quietly. “The little one doesn’t have to find out till tomorrow that his brother has vanished. And Victor probably has a lot to tell us.”
The living room was cold. Ida usually only heated the bedrooms a little at night. So Victor lit a fire and as they all huddled together in front of the flames they soon felt warm. Bo’s kittens climbed down from the wardrobe into the heat and rubbed against them with quiet purrs. Then Victor explained how Esther had woken him up and how he had found Bo. He found it hard to concentrate on his story as his thoughts kept returning to Prosper. Where could the boy be?
“What’s that supposed to mean: SHE doesn’t want him back?” Ida’s voice startled him out of his worries. “What on earth is she thinking of? The boy isn’t like a shoe that she can try on and then throw away again because it doesn’t fit her.” She angrily searched her dressing gown for cigarettes.
“How should I know what Esther Hartlieb thinks?” Victor growled. He rubbed his eyes. “I only know that I was looking forward to seeing Prosper’s face when I delivered his brother to him. And now I’m here and Prosper is gone. Darn it!”
He scolded the three children. “Couldn’t you have kept an eye on him? You all saw what a mess he was in.”
“What?” Mosca cried indignantly. “So we should have tied Prosper to his bed, should we?”
Hornet began to sob. Her tears dripped on to the huge nightshirt Ida had given her.
“There, there,” Ida said, taking Hornet into her arms. “What should we do? Where could we look for Prosper? Any ideas?”
“He’s probably standing in front of the Sandwirth again!” Mosca said.
“And he doesn’t even know that his aunt is no longer staying there,” grumbled Victor. “I’ll call the night porter and ask him if he’s seen a boy hanging around the hotel.”
With a sigh he pulled his phone from his coat pocket and punched in the number of the Sandwirth. The night porter was just about to end his shift, but he did Victor a favor and looked out of the window. There was no boy on the empty Riva degli Schiavoni. Victor put his phone away again. He was at a loss.
“I need a nap,” he said, getting up from the sofa. “Just a couple of hours, so I can think straight again. One brother is back, the other is gone,” he moaned. He massaged his forehead. “What a night! I keep having nights like this lately. Is there an empty bed for me anywhere in this house?”
“I could offer you Prosper’s air bed,” Ida replied.
Victor accepted.
They were all very tired, but none of them fell asleep quickly. And even when they did, the bad dreams were already lurking underneath their pillows. Only Bo slept as peacefully as an angel, as if all his worries had come to an end that night.
43
Prosper and Scipio woke up with the sound of someone opening the door of the stable. Daylight flooded the room. For a moment they didn’t know where they were. The girl leaning on the stable door, however, quickly brought it all back.
“Buongiorno, gentlemen,” she said, holding back the mastiffs as they tried to run inside. “I would have left you in here for a little while longer, but my brother insists on seeing you.”
“Brother?” Scipio whispered to Prosper as they stepped into the open. The big house looked even more run-down in the light of the morning than it had at night.
The girl impatiently waved them up the steps, and hurried them past the stone angels with the lost faces. They stopped between the pillars in front of the main entrance. They felt the cold, musty air wafting toward them as the girl opened the door. The mastiffs pushed past them and vanished inside the house.
The height of the entrance hall made Prosper dizzy. He craned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. It was painted with beautiful pictures. They were darkened with soot and the colors had faded, but you could see how magnificent they had once been. There were horses rearing up and angels in flight in a summer-blue sky.
“Move!” the girl said. “You were in a such a rush yesterday — in there!”
She pointed at an open door at the opposite end of the hall. The dogs stormed ahead, their paws slipping on the stone floor. Scipio and Prosper followed them cautiously, walking over colorful mosaics of unicorns and mermaids.
The room into which the dogs had disappeared was dark, despite the daylight that came in through the tall windows. A fire was burning in a hearth shaped like the gaping mouth of a lion. The dogs had settled down in front of it. Toys lay between their paws. The whole floor was covered with toys: bowling pins, balls, swords, a whole herd of rocking horses, dolls in every shape and size lying around with their arms and legs twisted. Scattered among them were armies of tin soldiers, steam engines, and sailing ships with carved sailors — and in the middle of this chaos sat a boy. He looked rather bored as he put a tin soldier on a tiny horse.
“Here they are, Renzo,” the girl said as she pushed Prosper and Scipio through the open door. “They smell of pigeon poop, but as you can see the rats didn’t get to them.”
The boy lifted his head. His black hair was closely cropped and his clothes looked even more old-fashioned than Scipio’s jacket.
“The Thief Lord!” he confirmed. “Indeed, dear sister, you were right.” He carelessly dropped the tin soldier to the floor, got up, and walked toward Prosper and Scipio.
“You were also in the Basilica, weren’t you?” he said to Prosper. I apologize for the phoney money. It was Barbarossa’s idea. I wouldn’t have been able to pay you otherwise. You have probably noticed,” he pointed at the crumbling plaster on the walls, “that I am not actually very rich, even though I do live in this palace.”
“Renzo!” the girl said impatiently. “What are we going to do with them?”
The boy kicked aside a doll with his shoe.
“Just look how the two of them are s
taring at me!” he said to Morosina. “Are you wondering how I know all this? Have you forgotten our meeting in the confessional? Or our nighttime rendezvous in the Sacca della Misericordia?”
Prosper backed away. Next to him he heard Scipio breathe in sharply.
“The merry-go-round works!” Scipio whispered. “You are the Conte?”
Renzo bowed with a smile. “At your service, Thief Lord,” he said. “Thanks to your help. Without the lion’s wing it would have been just a merry-go-round, but now …”
“Ask them who told them about the merry-go-round.” His sister was leaning against the wall, her arms folded. “Spit it out! Was it Barbarossa? I’ve always told Renzo, the redbeard cannot be trusted.”
“No!” Scipio exchanged a confused look with Prosper. “No, Barbarossa had nothing to do with us being here. Ida Spavento, the lady who had the wing before, told us about the merry-go-round. But that’s quite a long story …”
“Does she know you’re here?” Morosina snapped. “Does anyone know you’re here?”
Scipio was about to answer, but Prosper got in first.
“Yes,” he said. “Our friends know, and a detective too. And they’re going to come looking for us if we don’t go back.”
Morosina flashed a dark glance at her brother.
“Did you hear that?” she asked. “What are we going to do now? Why are you talking to them? How could you tell them about our secret? We could have lied to them and …”
Renzo bent down and picked up a mask from among the toy soldiers. “They gave me the wing,” he said, “and I didn’t pay them. That’s why I’m going to let them take a ride.” He looked at Prosper and Scipio.
“It spins quite slowly at first,” he said quietly, “and you hardly feel a thing. But then it goes faster and faster. I nearly got off too late, but this” — he looked down at himself — “is just how I wanted it. I got back what had been stolen from me all those years ago. While the children of the Valaresso played with all this” — he pointed at the rocking horses and the toy soldiers — “Morosina and I were forced to scrape the pigeon excrement from the dovecotes. We had to weed and hack the moss from the faces of those stone angels in the garden, scrub the floors, and polish the door handles. We got up before the master and went to bed when everybody else was fast asleep. But now the Valaresso are gone and Morosina and I are still here.” He paused. “And now I find playing with all this quite boring. Strange, isn’t it?”
The Thief Lord Page 21
