The Thief Lord Part 23

"I found your brother in the movie theater," Victor continued. "I thought if I brought him here you'd throw yourself at me with grat.i.tude, but you weren't even here."

Prosper shook his head again, as if he still couldn't believe what Victor was saying.

"Did you hear that, Scip?" he muttered.

"Well, if that's not cause for a party," the young Signor Ma.s.simo said, putting his arm around Prosper's shoulders. "Maybe we should spend a bit of our fake money."

"Who the heck is that, Prosper?" Victor asked.

"Scipio, of course!" Prosper answered. "And now, please, tell me where Bo is."

But Victor was lost for words. He opened his mouth, and closed it again. But not a single sound pa.s.sed his lips. Finally, Ida took Prosper's hand.

"Come with me," she said, leading Prosper into the corridor.

Bo was still sleeping in the chair, right where Victor had put him. He had curled up like one of his kittens underneath the sweater Hornet had spread over him. His hair was still wet from the rain, and his eyelids were red from crying. Prosper bent over him and pulled the sweater up to his chin.

"Yes, Bo took matters into his own hands," Ida said quietly, guessing the truth, "while his brother took off to the Isola Segreta."

Prosper looked ashamed.

"I'm not allowed to talk about it," he said. "It's someone else's secret, and ..."

"... and the Isola Segreta may keep its secret," Ida completed the sentence. She sat down on the arm of the chair. "At least the wing seems to be back in its proper place," she said. "And Bo will be very happy that you didn't ride on what we're not allowed to speak about."

"Yes, I think so too." Prosper stretched himself. "What did he do to Esther?"

"Your aunt has been kicked out of the hotel," Ida answered. "And I seem to recall something about pasta and tomato sauce."

Prosper smiled.

"It was just as beautiful as you told us," he said suddenly. "But now it's broken. It was Barbarossa's fault. And I think it will never ever work its magic again."

Ida said nothing. She leaned forward and stroked a wet strand of hair out of Bo's face. "You should wake your brother now," she said. "And then I'll have a look at your arm."

"It's not so bad," Prosper answered. "But maybe you could find a vet who'd dare to go out to the Isola Segreta to treat a couple of dogs?"

"Sure," Ida answered. Then she went back into the kitchen.

And Prosper woke Bo.

48 A Crazy Idea

That evening Hornet put ten plates on Ida's dining table. When Ida had told Lucia that the little redhead and the young man would also be staying for dinner, the housekeeper had just shaken her head, mumbling something about "all these mouths eating Signora out of house and home," and went off to the kitchen to cook a fantastic amount of spaghetti. Nearly all of them were already sitting at the table when Lucia finally brought in the steaming bowls. Only Ida and Barbarossa were missing.

Prosper saw Riccio, Mosca, and Hornet surrept.i.tiously looking at Scipio, who had seated himself and his long legs at the head of the table. They were all looking for something familiar, but there wasn't much to find. From time to time Scipio ran his hand flat over his hair, just like he used to; and he still arched his eyebrows the same way as ever. Other than that, he was a stranger, even to Prosper. Scipio seemed to feel it himself, although he gave his friends a smile whenever he noticed their uneasy glances.

"Now, Signor Ma.s.simo, when are you going to see your parents?" Victor asked, after Lucia had also sat down with an exhausted sigh. "Today?"

"Why should I?" Scipio ran a finger over the p.r.o.ngs of his fork. "They probably won't miss me. But I may sneak into the house to see my cat."

"But you can't just leave your parents in the dark like this," Victor told him. He was already eating his second helping of pasta, a fact Lucia acknowledged with a deep frown. "It doesn't matter what you think of your father; you can't leave him with the constant worry that his son might have fallen into a ca.n.a.l, or been kidnapped."

Scipio ran his fork over the tablecloth and said nothing.

"But he doesn't want to, Victor!" Bo said. "And anyway, he's grown-up now."

Scipio smiled at him.

"Grown-up? So what!" Victor was just about to announce what he thought of Scipio's growing up when the door opened and Ida walked in. She held Barbarossa firmly by the hand, and when everybody turned to look at him, he just stared moodily at the ceiling.

"From now on your friend here will not be allowed to move around the house unsupervised," Ida said angrily. "He's been snooping around my darkroom, going through my things, and eating my chocolates."

Barbarossa turned as red as a c.o.c.ktail cherry.

"I was hungry!" he snapped at Ida. "I'll buy you some nicer ones, once I've got some money again. How often do I have to tell you that my wallet is still on that G.o.dforsaken island? As soon as the banks open tomorrow morning, I'll withdraw some money and replace your chocolates -- and I'll get some decent clothes. It's a disgrace that a man like me should ..." -- he wrinkled his nose and tugged at the sweater Bo had lent him -- "... should have to walk around in silly clothes like these."

"Well, that's just great!" Ida shoved him roughly onto the last remaining empty chair, between Riccio and Mosca. Then she pulled up a stool for herself and sat down next to Victor.

"I thought you begged Prosper and Scipio to bring you here?" Hornet asked from across the table. "So why don't you at least try to behave?"

"The little devil is not only stealing chocolates," Lucia confirmed grimly. "I caught him with our silver spoons. And he had a camera stuffed under his jacket."

Riccio giggled, and Prosper caught him looking almost admiringly at Barbarossa. Bo, meanwhile, took his plate and sat down with it on Ida's carpet. "I don't want to sit next to him," he declared. "He's going to steal my pasta as well." Barbarossa threw an olive at him, which immediately earned him a resounding slap from Hornet.

"Now stop it, all of you!" Victor shouted. "What's the matter with you? Has the little dwarf driven you all mad?"

Lucia got up, uttering another one of her deepest sighs.

"Signora, I'm going home," she said, folding up her napkin. "Perhaps you should lock the little one in the broom closet, if he really has to stay here tonight."

"Any more of your sa.s.s," Scipio said to Barbarossa, after Lucia had closed the door behind her, "and you can sleep in your shop tonight. And what a cozy night that would be: with the dark alley outside, the rain drumming against the windows, and baby Barbarino all alone, with his little teeth chattering all night."

Barbarossa stared into his plate, his lips tightly pressed together. Hornet, Mosca, Riccio, and Prosper -- none of them had a a kind word to say to him. Ida and Victor were whispering to each other and weren't paying him any attention either.

"Maybe we should put an ad in the paper, Barbarino." Scipio leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "Unbearable little fellow, four or five years old, seeks mother. Or are you planning on looking after yourself? I don't think Ida wants to be your foster mom."

"Definitely not!" Ida said, popping an olive into her mouth. "But I think for an important man like you we should be able to find a bed at the Merciful Sisters."

"No, thank you!" Barbarossa wrinkled his nose. "No need. And should I really have any need for a foster mother, then it would definitely not be someone who wastes her silver cutlery on a bunch of orphans and who doesn't comb her hair."

Ida gasped.

"You seem to know quite well what you want, Barbarino," Victor snapped. "Considering that you will barely be able to see over your shop counter at the moment. But don't worry, the nuns in the orphanage are always immaculately groomed!"

Riccio giggled, until Barbarossa kicked him in the s.h.i.+n so hard that the tears welled up in his eyes.

"I'll cope," the redhead retorted. "I have more than enough money in the bank."

"Yes?" Victor and Ida exchanged amused glances. "And you think the bank is just going to hand out Ernes...o...b..rbarossa's money to some five-year-old boy?"

Barbarossa's face went blank. He poured himself another gla.s.s of red wine.

"Once I'm big again," he mumbled, glowering at Scipio and Prosper, "I'll take revenge on everybody who didn't stop me from getting onto that cursed merry-go-round. I'll --"

Prosper interrupted him, "Shut up, Barbarino! You have, just like us, given your word not to talk about it. And anyway, I know two dogs who probably can't wait for you to pay another visit to the island."

"Don't listen to him, Prop." Scipio crossed his long legs. "n.o.body cares what the midget has to say."

"Well, Barbarino," Riccio said, giving the miniature Barbarossa's shoulder a hard slap, "welcome to the land of the small folk!"

"Get your hands off me!" Barbarossa growled. "Who do you think you are? I'm not one of your silly little friends, you louse. And you?" Barbarossa stared down at Bo, who was still lying on the carpet. "What are you looking at? Stop staring at me with your big puppy eyes."

Bo didn't answer. He was lying on his belly, his chin resting on his hands, looking at Barbarossa as if he were some strange animal who had just crawled out of the ca.n.a.l and crept into Ida's house.

"I think Esther would like the way he talks, don't you, Prop?" Bo finally said. "He talks better than Scipio. And he's even smaller than me. But she probably wouldn't like the swearing."

"Smaller? I'm not smaller, you woodlouse!" Barbarossa barked. "We're worlds apart, do you understand? I am smart, I went to college, and you haven't been to kindergarten yet."

Bo rolled nonchalantly on to his back. "And he doesn't spill his food," he observed. "I think Esther would like that best. Don't you, Prop?"

Prosper dropped his fork and looked closely at Barbarossa.

"You're right," he said, "there's not even a tiny speck. She would be stunned. And just look how neatly he has brushed his hair. Did you do that, Ida?"

Ida shook her head. "You've heard him: I can't even brush my own hair. What about you, Victor? Did you brush the redhead's hair?"

"Not guilty," Victor answered.

"Who is this Esther these airheads keep talking about?" Barbarossa turned to Riccio.

"Prosper and Bo's aunt," Riccio answered with his mouth full. "She was crazy about Bo, but doesn't want him anymore."

"Very smart of her." Barbarossa ran his hand through his dense curls. His new head of hair seemed to console him for the loss of his beard.

Scipio looked at him thoughtfully.

"You know what? I've just had a crazy idea," he said slowly. "It's still a bit hazy, but it's completely brilliant ..."

"Brilliant?" Barbarossa reached for the wine again, but Victor grabbed the bottle and put it next to his own plate.

Barbarossa gave him a sinister look. "You know, Thief Lord," he snarled in Scipio's direction, "you can't possibly hatch any brilliant plans, because you're nothing more than a clone of your father."

Scipio shot up as if something had bitten him. "Say that again, you little squirt ..."

Prosper and Hornet had to use their combined strength to stop Scipio from jumping at Barbarossa.

"Don't let that little rat get to you, Scip!" Hornet whispered to him, while Barbarossa smugly inspected his rosy fingernails.

Scipio dropped back into his chair. "Fine," he muttered, not taking his eyes off Barbarossa. "I'll stay calm. Maybe I'll send a postcard to Signor Barbarossa at the orphanage one day. That's where he'll end up, if he doesn't starve to death in his shop. I won't waste another thought on him, let alone a brilliant one." He got up, pretending to be offended, and looked out into the night.

Riccio and Mosca nudged each other, and Prosper couldn't hold back a grin. Yes, that was definitely the Scipio they knew, still the gifted actor.

And Barbarossa swallowed the bait.

"OK, OK," he squawked, "what about your brilliant idea, Thief Lord? Heavens, that man is touchier than a dog with a bone."

But Scipio kept his back turned. He stood by the window and looked out at the Campo Santa Margherita as if he were completely alone.

"Spit it out, for heaven's sake!" Barbarossa shouted as the others began to chuckle. Scipio didn't move.

Barbarossa slurped the remaining wine from his gla.s.s and slammed it on the table so hard that it nearly broke. "Do I have to go down on my knees?"

"Prosper and Bo's aunt," Scipio said without turning around, "is looking for a sweet little boy who has good table manners and can behave like an adult. You are looking for shelter, and a home for the future. And someone who puts food in front of you and who sleeps next door when it's dark ..."

Barbarossa's eyebrows shot up. "Is she rich?" he asked, brus.h.i.+ng a stray lock from his forehead.

"Oh yes!" Scipio answered. "Right, Prop?"

Prosper nodded. "That's really quite a crazy idea, Scip," he said. "It's never going to work."

49 What Now?

Barbarossa refused to sleep in the same room as the other children. Instead, he camped on the sofa in the living room. Ida let him suit himself, but she locked him in as a precaution. Luckily Barbarossa didn't notice. Then she saw Victor to the door before going to bed herself.

Scipio had long gone. He had asked Mosca for some of the money they had left from the deal with Barbarossa, and then he had vanished into the night. Where he intended to go he hadn't said.

"Just like old times," Hornet murmured as they watched him from Ida's balcony.

They all knew what they couldn't forget -- a door in a narrow alley, a curtain full of stars, mattresses on the floor, the moth-eaten chairs, and the gold and silver treasure from the Thief Lord's satchel. All lost.

"Come on, let's go inside," Hornet said finally. "It's starting to rain again."

They went up into their room. The piece of curtain Victor had cut off was hanging on the wall. Ida had put a carpet on the bare floor. The walls were decorated with whatever they had managed to salvage from the movie theater. But many of their favorite pictures and photographs were still hanging on that movie theater wall, above the empty mattresses, along with their homely scrawls and scribbles.

They all crept wearily under the covers. However, none of them could get to sleep, not even Bo, who usually dropped off as soon as his head touched the pillow.

"It would be quite something if Barbarossa managed to move in with your aunt," Mosca said into the dark after some time. "But what are we going to do? Now that Prop is back, and Bo too. Has anyone got any ideas?"

"Nope," Riccio mumbled into his pillow. "We'll never find anything like the Star-Palace again. Definitely not with a bag full of fake money. And there's not much left of the other cash either. Maybe we'll find something over in Castello. There are lots of empty houses over there."