The Thief Lord Part 18

"That's great news." Prosper turned his attention back to the windows. "Say h.e.l.lo to Hornet for me. Is she OK?"

"No, she isn't!" Riccio planted himself in front of Prosper so he would have to look at him. "She's worried about you. And about Bo, although he's he's probably not thinking about jumping into the lagoon like you!" probably not thinking about jumping into the lagoon like you!"

"She thinks I'm going to do that?" Prosper angrily pushed Riccio away. "That's stupid. I hate water."

"That's fine then! But could you tell her that yourself?" Riccio held out his hands imploringly. "I just saw her for a couple of minutes when I went back to get something to eat. But she would hardly let me touch my food." He altered his voice. "Get out there, Riccio!" "Get out there, Riccio!" he twittered, imitating Hornet. he twittered, imitating Hornet. "You've had enough to eat, Riccio! Go and find Prosper! Please! He might have thrown himself into some ca.n.a.l! "You've had enough to eat, Riccio! Go and find Prosper! Please! He might have thrown himself into some ca.n.a.l! She even wanted to come with me, but Ida said she'd better stay in the house for a while, so she doesn't end up in the orphanage again. That was fine by me. Her nagging would have driven me crazy. And I knew you'd turn up here sooner or later." She even wanted to come with me, but Ida said she'd better stay in the house for a while, so she doesn't end up in the orphanage again. That was fine by me. Her nagging would have driven me crazy. And I knew you'd turn up here sooner or later."

Riccio could make out a smile on Prosper's face, just a tiny one, but it was definitely there. "Anyway," he said, "I've talked enough now. You can come back here tomorrow morning, but right now you're coming with me."

Prosper didn't reply, but let himself be hustled along by Riccio, past the souvenir stands that lined the Riva degli Schiavoni. Most of the hawkers were already closing down their stalls, but you could still buy a few things at some of them: the plastic fans Bo liked so much -- with black lace and the Rialto Bridge printed on them, golden gondolas, coral necklaces, city guides, dried sea horses.

Prosper followed Riccio through the crowd, but kept looking back toward the Sandwirth.

"Come on! If Ida and Victor managed to get Hornet back," Riccio said, "then they'll work something out for getting Bo back too. You'll see."

"They're flying home next week," said Prosper. "What can anyone do then?"

"That's plenty of time," Riccio answered. He turned up his collar. He was s.h.i.+vering. "And anyway, Bo's not in prison, or in the orphanage. Man, that's the Sandwirth. It's a really fancy hotel."

Prosper just nodded. He felt so empty. As empty as the big mussel sh.e.l.ls lying in those large baskets in front of the market.

Riccio stopped. "Hang on, Prop."

The sky above the lagoon had turned red. It was growing dark, although it was only four o'clock. A few tourists stood in wonder by the quay and saw how the setting sun glazed the dirty water with gold.

"What an opportunity," Riccio whispered to Prosper. "They wouldn't even notice if I stole their shoes. I only need a few seconds. You can check out the mussels until I get back."

He turned around, already wearing his "I am just a skinny boy who couldn't hurt a fly" expression. But Prosper grabbed him by the collar.

"Forget it, Riccio," he said angrily, "or do you think Ida Spavento will let you sleep in her house once the Carabinieri Carabinieri have caught you?" have caught you?"

"You don't understand!" Riccio, pretending to be outraged, tried to free himself from Prosper's grip. "I just don't want to get out of practice."

But Prosper wouldn't let go, and so Riccio gave a shrug before walking on. The tourists continued to be enchanted by the sunset, without having to pay for it with their wallets.

39 All Lost

That evening Ida threw a party. Lucia, the housekeeper, had cooked, fried, and baked all afternoon. She had whipped cream, scooped tiny cakes from the baking tin, made ravioli, and stirred sauces. Different smells kept luring Victor into the kitchen, but every time he tried to sneak a taste he got his fingers rapped with a wooden spoon. Hornet and Prosper set the table together in the dining room while Mosca and Riccio chased each other from one floor to the other, always followed by Lucia's yapping dogs.

The two of them were so happy and boisterous that they didn't even seem to mind anymore that the Conte had duped them. When Victor asked them what they intended to do with all those wads of fake cash, Riccio said, quite openly, "We can still spend it." Victor told them off soundly and demanded that Riccio hand over the bag right away. But Riccio, grinning broadly, just shook his head and declared that he and Mosca had hidden it. In a safe place, he'd said. Not even Prosper and Hornet knew about it -- not that they seemed to care particularly.

So Victor decided he'd better forget about the fake money too. He sat down on Ida's sofa and started munching chocolates, telling himself he ought to go home. But each time he got up, with a big sigh, to say good-bye, Ida had brought him a gla.s.s of grappa, grappa, or a or a caffe, caffe, or asked him to put the toothpicks on the table. So Victor stayed. or asked him to put the toothpicks on the table. So Victor stayed.

While the sky outside darkened, Ida made her house glow as brightly as a thousand stars. She lit countless candles and the crystal s.h.i.+mmered so beautifully that Hornet could hardly take her eyes off it.

"Pinch me!" she said to Prosper. "This can't be real."

Prosper obeyed. He very gently pinched her arm.

"It's real!" Hornet cried, laughing and dancing around him.

But not even her happiness could chase the sadness from Prosper's face. They had all tried in their own way: Riccio with his jokes, Mosca by showing Prosper all the strange things hidden behind the dark doors in Ida's house. Nothing helped: Not even Ida's candy nor Victor's rea.s.surances that he would think of something to help Bo. Because if Bo wasn't there, Prosper missed him like a lost arm or leg. He felt sorry for spoiling the others' fun with his gloomy face. He began to notice that Riccio had started to avoid him and even Mosca busied himself with something or other whenever Prosper moped by. But Hornet stuck by him, even though whenever she tried to put her arm around him consolingly, he pushed her away and adjusted the forks on the table, or sat in front of a window and stared outside.

At dinner Mosca and Riccio fooled around so much that Victor grumbled that it would have been quieter with a bunch of monkeys at the table. But Prosper never said a word.

After dinner, while the others played cards with Ida and Victor, Prosper went upstairs. Ida had found a couple of air mattresses so that they wouldn't be too crowded on the two beds that Riccio had already pushed together. Hornet had put one of them by the wall and piled her books around it. Riccio and Mosca hadn't dared to leave even a single one of her precious stories behind in the movie theater. Prosper dragged the second air mattress to the window so he could see Ida's garden and the ca.n.a.l behind it. The blankets from Lucia's linen cupboard smelled of lavender. Prosper curled up in them, but he couldn't fall asleep.

In fact he was still awake when the others crept under their blankets. It was eleven o'clock when Victor finally said goodbye, swaying gently, driven home by his guilty conscience to his hungry tortoises. Prosper pretended to be asleep. He lay with his face to the wall and waited for his friends to doze off.

As soon as Riccio was giggling in his sleep, Mosca snoring beneath his blanket, and Hornet finally sleeping with a happy smile between her books, Prosper got up. The well-worn floorboards creaked beneath his feet, but that didn't wake any of the others. They had never before felt as safe as this, secure in Ida's house.

Lucia had kept the door to the garden firmly bolted ever since Ida had told her how the children had crept into the house that night. The door squeaked gently as Prosper opened it. He stepped into the dark garden. There was a coating of white frost over everything.

At the point where Ida's garden bordered the ca.n.a.l there was a gate in the wall, just a few inches above the waterline. As he unlatched it, Prosper heard the ca.n.a.l water slosh against the base of the wall. Ida's boat swayed, tightly moored, between two painted wooden posts. Prosper carefully climbed into the boat, sat down on the cold wooden bench, and looked up at the moon.

What should I do? he thought. Tell me, what should I do?

But the moon did not answer.

In her stories about Venice, Prosper's mother had always talked about the moon -- how it could make dreams come true. They called the moon la bella luna la bella luna here, as if she were a beautiful lady. But ask as he might, Prosper knew that she wasn't going to help him get his brother back. here, as if she were a beautiful lady. But ask as he might, Prosper knew that she wasn't going to help him get his brother back.

Prosper sat in Ida's boat and let the tears run down his face. He had believed that this was his city -- his and Bo's. He used to believe that if they came here -- the most beautiful city in the world -- then they would be safe from Esther.

Esther despised Venice. She was an intruder. Why didn't the pigeons p.o.o.p all over her? Why didn't the marble dragons bite her in the neck and the winged lions chase her out of their city? How wonderful they had seemed the first time Prosper had seen them with his very own eyes, after learning so much about them from his mother. He had looked up and there they were, standing like sentinels among the stars on their pillars. He had felt they were the guardians not just of Venice's splendors -- but of him too.

He had felt as safe as a king in the center of his realm, protected by lions and dragons -- and by the water all around them. Esther hated the water. She was afraid to even board a s.h.i.+p. But still she had come here and taken Bo from him.

Prosper wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. He heard a motorboat coming down the ca.n.a.l so he sank down in the boat and waited for it to pa.s.s. But it didn't. The engine stopped, and Prosper heard someone cursing under his breath. Then something b.u.mped hard against Ida's boat. Prosper carefully poked his head out.

It was Scipio! He smiled with such happiness that Prosper forgot for a moment why he had tears in his eyes.

"Look who's here!" said the Thief Lord. "Well, if that's not a coincidence. I've come to pick you up!"

"Pick me up? And take me where?" Prosper scrambled to his feet. "Where did you get the boat?" It was beautiful, built of dark wood and decorated with golden ornaments.

"It's my father's," Scipio answered. He patted the boat as if it was a thoroughbred horse. "It's his pride and joy. I've borrowed it -- and just now it got its first scratch."

"How did you know we were here?" Prosper asked.

"Mosca called me." Scipio looked up at the moon. "He told me that the Conte tricked us. And Bo is with your aunt, is that right?"

Prosper nodded and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. He didn't want Scipio to see that he'd been crying.

"I'm sorry." Scipio said gently. "It was stupid of us to leave him alone with Hornet, wasn't it?"

Prosper didn't reply, although he had had the same thought at least a hundred times.

"Prop?" Scipio cleared his throat. "I'm driving out to the Isola Segreta. Will you come with me?"

Prosper stared at him, astounded.

"The Conte cheated us." Scipio lowered his voice as if someone might be listening. "He took us for a ride. Either he gives me the money, real money this time, or he lets me take a ride on the merry-go-round. It's on that island, I'm sure it is."

Prosper shook his head. "You don't really believe in that story, do you? Forget it -- and forget the money. So we were cheated. Tough luck. Riccio's already working out how he can spend the fake money. And n.o.body wants to go back to that island. Not even for a whole bag full of real riches."

Scipio fiddled with the string of his mask and looked at Prosper. "I want to go there," he said. "With you. I want to ride that merry-go-round. And if the Conte won't let me, then I'll take the wing back. Come with me, Prop. What have you got to lose, now that Bo is gone?"

Prosper stared at his hands. A child's hands. He thought of the condescending look he had received from the porter at the Sandwirth. He thought of his bulky uncle and how he had walked next to Bo, his hand possessively on his brother's thin shoulder. And suddenly Prosper wished that Scipio were right. He wished that out there, on that island, there really was something that could turn the small and weak into the big and strong. And suddenly he knew what he wanted to do. Without another word he jumped into Scipio's boat.

40 The Isola Segreta

It was a very dark night. The moon kept vanis.h.i.+ng behind the scudding clouds. Although Scipio had stolen his father's sea chart, they still lost their way twice. The first time the sight of the island cemetery had saved them. And when Murano appeared out of the darkness they knew they had gone too far west. Finally, when they were frozen so stiff they could hardly move their fingers anymore, the wall of the Isola Segreta, pale and gray in the moonlight, appeared out of the night. The stone angels looked down at them as if they'd been expecting them.

Scipio throttled back the engine. The Conte's boat swayed with its furled sails by the jetty. Prosper heard the dogs barking.

"What now?" he whispered to Scipio. "How are you going to get past the mastiffs?"

"Do you think I'm so stupid that I'd climb over the gate?" Scipio answered quietly. "We'll try the back."

Prosper said nothing, although he didn't think this was a particularly smart plan. Still, they had no choice if they wanted to get on to that island.

The dogs only fell silent once the boys had turned off the boat lights. Scipio steered the boat close to the sh.o.r.e. He was looking for a hole in the wall. In some places the wall rose straight out of the water and in others it stood behind a thicket of reeds. It seemed to surround the whole island. Finally, Scipio lost his patience.

"That's it. We're climbing over," he whispered. He switched off the engine and dropped the anchor into the water.

"And how are we going to get ash.o.r.e?" Prosper stared uneasily into the darkness. There was still quite a distance between the boat and the island. "Are we going to swim?"

"No, of course not! Give me a hand here." From a hatch by the steering wheel Scipio pulled out a dinghy and two oars. Prosper was amazed that a bit of rubber could be so heavy as he helped Scipio to heave it overboard.

Their breath hung in the air like white mist as they paddled toward the island. They hid the boat in the reeds growing at the base of the wall. From this close the wall seemed even higher. Prosper threw his head back and looked up. He began to wonder seriously whether the mastiffs only guarded the gate...

The boys were out of breath when they eventually sat next to each other on top of the rough ledge. Their hands were grazed, but they had done it. A huge overgrown garden lay in front of them. Hedges, bushes, and paths, all were white with frost.

"Can you see it?" Scipio asked.

Prosper shook his head. No, he couldn't see the merry-go-round. All he could see was a big house rising gloomily between the trees.

Climbing down the wall was even harder than climbing up it. The boys landed in dense, th.o.r.n.y scrub and when they finally managed to free themselves they hesitated, not sure in which direction to go.

"The merry-go-round's got to be behind the house," Scipio whispered. "Otherwise we would've seen it from up there."

"Right," Prosper whispered. He looked around.

A rustling sound came from the bushes and then something small and dark darted across the path. Prosper could see tracks in the snow. Bird tracks and paw prints. Rather large paw prints.

"Let's try that path there!" Scipio walked ahead.

The path was lined with mossy statues. Some of them had almost been swallowed up by the thicket. At one stage Prosper thought he could hear footsteps behind them, but when he turned around it was just a bird, fluttering out of an overgrown hedge. It didn't take long for them to get lost. Soon they weren't even sure in which direction the boat lay or even the house they'd seen from the wall.

"Darn. Why don't you walk ahead, Prop?" Scipio suggested as they came across their own footprints. But Prosper didn't answer.

He had heard something. But this time it wasn't a bird they had startled from its sleep. This sounded like panting, short and sharp, followed by a growl, low and quiet and threatening, coming out of the darkness. Prosper forgot to breathe. He turned around very slowly -- and there they were, hardly three steps away, as if they had risen right out of the snow. Two huge white mastiffs.

"Don't move, Scip!" Prosper whispered. "If we run, they'll hunt us down."

"Will they bite if I shake with fear?" Scipio whispered back.

The dogs were still snarling. They came closer, their heads lowered, the fur standing up on their necks, and their teeth bared. My legs are just going to start running whether I tell them to or not, Prosper thought.

"Bimba! Bella! Basta Basta -- enough!" a voice called from behind them. -- enough!" a voice called from behind them.

The dogs immediately stopped growling and leaped past Prosper and Scipio. Confused, the boys turned around and found themselves staring into the beam of a flashlight. A girl of perhaps nine or ten years of age was standing behind them on the path. The black dress she was wearing completely swamped her. The dogs came up to her shoulders; she could have ridden on their backs.

"What have we here?" she said. "How fortunate that I like to go for walks in the moonlight. What are you doing here?" The dogs c.o.c.ked their ears as she raised her voice. "Don't you know what happens to people who sneak onto the Isola Segreta?"

Scipio and Prosper looked at each other.

"We want to see the Conte," Scipio answered. He sounded as if there was absolutely nothing remarkable about the fact that they were prowling around in someone else's garden in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was because the girl was smaller than him that Scipio sounded a little less frightened. Prosper, however, thought the mastiffs made up for that advantage. The dogs guarded her as if they'd tear to shreds anyone who came near her.

"The Conte? Well, well. So you like to pay visits at midnight?" The girl s.h.i.+ned her flashlight into Scipio's face.

Then she pointed it at Prosper, who blinked uneasily into its light.

"We had a deal with the Conte," Scipio shouted, "but he cheated us. We might let the matter rest, though, if he lets us take a ride on the merry-go-round. The merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters."

"A merry-go-round?" The girl's eyes turned even more hostile. "What do you mean."

"We know it's here! Show it to us!" Scipio made a step toward her, but the dogs immediately bared their teeth. "If the Conte doesn't let us take a ride on it, we'll go to the police."

"What a generous offer!" The girl looked at him with amus.e.m.e.nt. "And what makes you think he'd ever let you go again? This is the Isola Segreta. You must know the stories. n.o.body who's ever visited this island has lived to tell the tale. Now move!" She pointed down a path to their left that wound into the bushes. "That way. Don't try to run. Believe me, my dogs are faster than you."

The boys hesitated.

"Do as I say!" the girl shouted angrily. "Or you're dog food."

"Come on, Scip!" Prosper grabbed Scipio's arm. Reluctantly, Scipio let himself be pulled along.

The dogs stayed so close behind the boys that they could feel their breath on their necks. From time to time, Scipio looked around as if to check whether it would be worth making a run for the bushes, but each time Prosper held on to his sleeve.

"Caught by a girl!" Scipio groaned. "I'm just glad Mosca and Riccio aren't here."