The Thief Lord

by Cornelia Funke

  “So you only called yourself Conte,” said Scipio. “You’re not a Valaresso.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Morosina answered for her brother. “But you,” she looked at Scipio appraisingly, “you’re from a noble family, aren’t you? I can tell from the way you talk, even the way you walk. Do you have a girl to pick up your dirty pants when you throw them on the floor? Someone to polish your boots and make your bed? Someone barely older than you? You can’t possibly have any reason for wanting to ride the merry-go-round, so what are you doing here? If it’s the money you want, we haven’t got it.”

  Scipio hung his head. He traced the patterns on the floor with the tip of his boot.

  “You’re right, there is someone who picks up my things,” he said without lifting his head. “And I do have my clothes laid out for me in the morning. But I hate it. My parents treat me like I’m too stupid to put my own pants on. Scipio, wash your hands after you’ve touched the cat. Scipio, don’t step into puddles. For goodness sake, Scipio, do you have to be quite so clumsy all the time? Scipio, just shut up, you don’t know anything about it, you little flea, you useless weed.”

  Scipio now looked Morosina in the eye. “We read the story of Peter Pan at school. D’you know what? He’s a stupid boy, and you and your brother are just like him. Turning yourselves into children so that adults can push you around and laugh at you again! Yes, I do want to take a ride. That’s why I came to this island. But I want to ride it in the other direction. I want to be grown-up. Grown-up! Grown-up!” Scipio stamped his foot so forcefully that he crushed one of the little soldiers. “Sorry!” he muttered, staring at the broken thing as if he had just done something truly terrible.

  Renzo bent down and threw the pieces into the fire. Then he looked pensively at Scipio. A log crackled in the flames and sparks flew out and died down again between the scattered toys.

  “I will show you the merry-go-round,” Renzo said. “And if you really want to, you can ride it.”

  44

  Prosper could feel Scipio shiver with anticipation and impatience as they followed Renzo through the large door into the garden. He wasn’t sure himself whether he should feel excited. Ever since they had stepped onto this island everything had felt so unreal. Like in a dream. He couldn’t even have said for sure whether it was a good dream or a bad one.

  Morosina didn’t come with them. She stood between the pillars with the dogs by her side.

  Renzo led Scipio and Prosper to an arbor behind the house. Frozen leaves hung from the wooden trellis. The arbor led into a labyrinth. The hedges were overgrown and the labyrinth had turned into a dense thicket. But Renzo didn’t hesitate for a moment as he led Scipio and Prosper through it. Suddenly, he stopped and listened.

  “What is it?” Scipio asked.

  The sound of a bell drifted through the cold air. It sounded as if someone was ringing it rather impatiently.

  “That’s the bell by the main gate,” said Renzo. “Who could that be? The only person I’m expecting is Barbarossa and he wasn’t due to come until tomorrow.” He looked worried.

  “Barbarossa?” Prosper looked at him, surprised.

  Renzo nodded. “I told you it was his idea to pay you with fake cash. He even procured it for me. But of course the redbeard expects to be paid for his services. He wants to come tomorrow to pick up his reward — the old toys. He’s had his eye on them for quite a while now.”

  “That crook!” Prosper muttered angrily. “So he knew all along that we would be given fake money for the job?”

  “Don’t worry about it! Barbarossa cheats everybody.” Renzo listened again, but the bell had stopped. The dogs were still barking, however. “Probably some tourist boat,” he explained. “Morosina keeps spreading terrible stories about this island whenever she’s in town. But we still get the occasional boat coming here. The dogs soon chase away even the most curious visitors.”

  Prosper and Scipio looked at each other. They could both understand that.

  “I’ve been doing business with the redbeard for quite a while now,” Renzo told them as he struggled on through the overgrown hedges. “He’s the only antique dealer who doesn’t ask too many questions. And he’s the only one Morosina and I have ever allowed to come to this island. He thinks, of course, that he’s dealing with the Conte Valaresso, who is so impoverished that he has to sell off some of his family’s treasures every now and again. Morosina and I have lived for a long time off what the Valaresso left behind. However, there’ll be no one to answer the door to Barbarossa when he comes to the gate tomorrow to pick up the toys. The Conte will have disappeared for good.”

  “Barbarossa always pretended he didn’t know what we were supposed to steal for the Conte,” Prosper said.

  “He didn’t know,” Renzo answered.

  “Does he know about the merry-go-round?” Scipio asked.

  Renzo laughed. “Good heavens, no! The redbeard is the last person I’d show it to. He’d immediately start selling tickets at a million lire apiece. No, he’s never seen it. And luckily” — he pushed apart some thorny branches — “it’s quite well hidden.”

  He squeezed between two bushes and seemed to disappear. Thorns scratched at Prosper and Scipio as they followed him. They emerged into a clearing surrounded by trees and hedges with their branches so densely intertwined they hid their treasure completely from the outside world.

  The merry-go-round looked exactly as Ida Spavento had described it. Prosper may have imagined it a bit more colorful and magnificent — the paint had long faded, worn off by the wind, the rain, and the salty air — but all this could not diminish the magic and gracefulness of its figures.

  All five of them were there: the unicorn, the mermaid, the merman, the sea horse, and the lion, who now spread both his wings as if he’d never lost one. They each hung on their pole beneath the wooden canopy, and seemed to float. The merman held his trident in his wooden fist, the mermaid looked into the distance out of pale green eyes, dreaming of the waters of the open sea. The sea horse with its fish tail was so beautiful, it made you forget that there were horses with four legs at all.

  “Was it always here?” Scipio asked. He approached the merry-go-round cautiously.

  “As long as I can remember,” Renzo answered. “Morosina and I were still very little when our mother brought us to this island because the Valaresso were looking for a kitchen maid. Nobody told us about the merry-go-round. It was kept very secret, but we found out eventually. It was already standing here by then. I sometimes crept out here to watch the rich children as they rode on it. Morosina and I would lie in the bushes and dream of riding on it just once. But they always found us and chased us back to our work. Years went by and our childhood disappeared. Our mother died and we grew older and older. The Valaresso finally lost all their money and left the island. Morosina and I found work in the city. Then, one day in a bar, I heard the story of the beautiful merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters. I knew immediately that it had to be this merry-go-round on our island. I suddenly understood why the Valaresso had kept it so secret — it had been stolen! I couldn’t get the story out of my mind. I dreamed of finding the missing wing, of reviving the merry-go-round’s magic, and of riding it with my sister. Morosina laughed at me, but when I decided to return to the island she came with me. It was still here, and I decided to search for the missing wing. Don’t ask me how long it took me to find out where it was.” Renzo climbed on to the merry-go-round and leaned against the unicorn. “It was worth it,” he said, stroking its wooden back. “You brought me the wing and Morosina and I took a ride.”

  “Does it matter which figure you sit on?” Scipio jumped on to the platform and leaped on to the lion’s back.

  “Yes, it does.” For a moment, Renzo stood hunched, just like the old man he had once been. “The lion was the right mount for me. You and your friend will have to sit on one of the water creatures — each animal works in a different way.”

  “Come on, Prop!” Scipio ca
lled, waving at Prosper. “Take your pick. Which one do you want? The sea horse? Or the merman?” Prosper stepped curiously toward the merry-go-round. He could hear the dogs howling in the distance.

  Renzo had obviously also heard them. Frowning, he walked to the edge of the platform. Then he said to Scipio, “Get off. I think I’ll have to go back to the house to check on Morosina …”

  But Scipio had already slipped off the lion’s back and was now climbing on to the sea horse. “What are you waiting for, Prop?” he called out impatiently.

  But Prosper didn’t move. Even though he could picture himself, tall and grown-up, striding into the Sandwirth and simply pushing Esther and his uncle out of the way, then marching out with Bo by his side, he still couldn’t step on to the merry-go-round.

  He looked up at the unicorn, at the merman with the pale green face, and at the lion, the winged lion. “You go first, Scipio,” he finally said.

  Disappointment clouded Scipio’s face. “If you say so,” he said. Then he turned to Renzo. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

  “Hold on. You really can’t wait, can you?” Renzo pulled a bundle from under his old-fashioned coat and threw it over to Scipio. “You better put these on if you don’t want to burst out of your clothes. They’re some old things of mine, or I should say, of the Conte’s.”

  Scipio reluctantly climbed down from the sea horse again. Prosper nearly laughed out loud when he saw Scipio in Renzo’s grown-up clothes.

  “Don’t laugh!” Scipio grinned, throwing his own things at him. Then he rolled up the long sleeves, pulled up the baggy pants, and laboriously climbed back up on the wooden sea horse. “These shoes are going to fly off my feet!” he complained.

  “As long as you don’t fly off yourself.” Renzo stepped up to Scipio and placed his hand on the sea horse’s back. “Hold on tight. Just one push and it’s going to turn, faster and faster, until you decide at what age you jump off. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

  Scipio buttoned up the huge jacket. “I’ve got to decide?” he asked. “Hmm, I’m not saying I’d want to, but if I did want to, could I change back again, ride in the other direction?”

  Renzo shrugged. “As you can see, I haven’t tried that yet.”

  Scipio nodded. He looked at Prosper, who had taken a few steps back. He was nearly swallowed up by the shadow of the trees. “Please come too, Prop.”

  Scipio looked at Prosper so desperately that he didn’t know where to look. But still Prosper shook his head.

  “Well, suit yourself!” Scipio sat up straight. The sleeves of the jacket slipped over his hands. “Off we go!” he called. “And I swear, I’ll only jump off once I’m ready to have a shave!”

  Renzo gave the sea horse a gentle shove.

  The merry-go-round started to move with a slight jolt. The old wood groaned and creaked. Renzo walked back to stand next to Prosper.

  “Whoopeeee!” they heard Scipio shout. Then he leaned down over the neck of the sea horse. The figures spun around faster and faster. It was as if time itself was pushing them along. Prosper got dizzy trying to follow Scipio with his eyes. He heard him laugh out loud, and then suddenly he too felt a strange surge of happiness spread through him. His heart felt lighter than it had in a long time as he saw the figures zoom past him. He closed his eyes and felt the magic as if he were turning into the winged lion himself. He spread his wings and flew away, higher and higher.

  Renzo’s voice brought him back to earth. “Jump off!” Prosper heard him shout.

  Startled, he opened his eyes. The merry-go-round was going slower now. The merman came around with his trident, now the mermaid, now the lion, and then the unicorn drifted into sight, even slower now. It stopped — and the sea horse’s back was empty.

  “Scipio?” Prosper called. He ran around the merry-go-round.

  Renzo followed him.

  It was quite dark on the other side. High evergreen trees grew here, their branches reaching over the clearing. They were swaying gently in the wind. Something moved in their shade. A figure rose from the ground, tall and slim. Prosper stopped stock-still.

  “That was close,” said an unfamiliar voice. Prosper drew back; he couldn’t help himself.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” The stranger laughed self-consciously. He seemed strangely familar to Prosper. He looked like a younger version of Scipio’s father. Only the smile was different, very different. Scipio reached out — how long his arms had become — and gave Prosper a bear hug.

  “Prop, it worked!” he cried. “Look! Just look at me!” He let go of Prosper and stroked his chin. “Stubble! Incredible. Do you want to feel it?”

  Laughing loudly, he spun around, his arms stretched out wide. Then he grabbed the protesting Renzo and lifted him into the air. “As strong as Hercules!” he shouted, before putting Renzo back on the ground. Then he felt his face, traced his eyebrows and his nose with his fingers. “If only I had a mirror!” he said. “How do I look, Prop? Different?”

  Prosper wanted to say, just like your father, but he quickly bit his tongue.

  “Grown-up!” Renzo answered.

  “Grown-up!” Scipio breathed. He looked at his hands. “Yes, grown-up. What do you think, Prop, am I bigger than my father? A bit at least?” He looked around. “There’s got to be some well, or a pond, where I can look at myself.”

  “There’s a mirror in the house,” Renzo answered, smiling. “Come on. I’ve got to go back anyway.” But he stopped in the middle of the clearing. They heard a branch snap somewhere in the bushes, as if a large animal was creeping about.

  “Where are you taking me, you little squirt?” they heard a voice say. “I’m already as bristly as a cactus.”

  “This is the way. We’re nearly there,” they heard Morosina answer. Renzo looked at Prosper and Scipio, clearly afraid. He wanted to run in the direction of the voices, but Scipio dragged him back behind the merry-go-round.

  “Duck!” he whispered to Prosper and Renzo. They all cowered behind the platform.

  “You will pay for this!” They heard Morosina’s shrill voice. “You have no right to snoop around here. When the Conte finds out …”

  “The Conte!” the deep voice sneered. Prosper thought the voice sounded somehow familiar. “The Conte isn’t here today! He told me so himself. No, you’re here all by yourself, whoever you are. Why do you think Ernesto Barbarossa came to this island today of all days?”

  Renzo gave a start. “Barbarossa!” he whispered.

  He wanted to jump up, but Scipio held him back. The three of them carefully crawled forward to peer over the top of the platform.

  “Do you think I would have climbed over that wall otherwise?” They heard Barbarossa breathing heavily. “I want to find out once and for all what all this secrecy is about. And I’m going to get quite unpleasant if I don’t find out soon.”

  A few more branches snapped loudly, and then Barbarossa stomped into the clearing. He was panting, dragging Morosina by her pigtails like a dog on a leash.

  “What the devil is this?” the redbeard roared when he saw the merry-go-round. “Are you making fun of me? I’m looking for something with diamonds, huge diamonds, and pearls. I knew you were stringing me along. Right, well, the two of us are going back to the house right now, and you’d better show me what I’m looking for, or else!”

  “Prosper!” Scipio whispered so quietly that Prosper could hardly hear him. “Do I look like my father? Tell me!”

  Prosper paused, but then he nodded.

  “Excellent!” Scipio straightened his jacket and licked his lips like a lion anticipating a hunt. “You wait here for now,” he whispered. “This, I think, is going to be fun. Great fun.”

  Keeping low, he crept past Renzo and Prosper. He looked around once more — then he stood up to his full height.

  He was actually a few inches taller than his dad. Sticking out his chin, just like his father always did, Scipio walked toward Barbarossa.

  The redbear
d looked at him and gasped. He was still holding on to Morosina’s pigtails.

  “Dottore … Dottor Massimo!” he stammered. “What … are you doing here? We haven’t met for ages.”

  “I wanted to ask you the same question, Signor Barbarossa,” Scipio answered, giving a perfect imitation of his father’s condescending tone. “And what, for heaven’s sake, are you doing with the Contessa?”

  Barbarossa let go of the pigtails as if they had burned him. “Contessa? Valaresso?”

  “Of course! The little Contessa often visits her grandfather. Isn’t that right, Morosina?” Scipio smiled at her. “But what brings you to this island, Signor Barbarossa? Business?”

  “What? Oh … yes, yes.” Barbarossa nodded vigorously. “Business.” He was still far too bewildered to notice that Morosina was looking at Scipio with just as much confusion.

  “Indeed? Well, the Conte asked me to come here and take a look at this merry-go-round.” Scipio turned his back on Barbarossa and tugged his earlobes, just like his father always did. “The city may want to buy it. But I’m afraid it’s in rather a sorry state. You do recognize it, of course, don’t you?”

  “Recognize it?” Barbarossa stood next to Scipio — and suddenly his eyes opened wide. “Of course! Unicorn, mermaid, lion, merman” — he smacked his forehead — “… and there’s the sea horse. The merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters! Incredible!” He lowered his voice and gave Scipio a conspiratorial look. “What about all the stories? What people say about it?”