The Thief Lord Part 8

"I haven't got time to explain everything to you!" Scipio yelled. His voice cracked with excitement. "The snoop knows you're here. Grab what you need and let's get out of here."

The others looked at him in horror.

"Don't just stare at me!" Scipio screamed. They had never seen him like this before. "He's going to walk through the front door at any minute. We might be able to come back here later, but please, you have to leave now."

n.o.body moved. Riccio was staring openmouthed at Scipio. Mosca was frowning and Hornet had put her arm around Bo, who looked very frightened.

Prosper was the first to react. "Get your cats, Bo," he said. "And put your raincoat on. It's pouring outside." Moving fast, he was now stuffing their few belongings into a bag. The spell broken, the others started to hurry as well.

"But where are we going to go?" Riccio called out in despair. "It's raining outside. And it's really cold. I don't understand. How did the snoop find us?"

"Shut up, Riccio!" Hornet barked at him. "I have to think." She took her arm off Bo's shoulders and turned to Mosca. "You go and sit out front in the ticket booth and let us know as soon as you hear anything suspicious. He'll get held up by the garbage we've piled up by the entrance, but not for long."

"On my way." Mosca quickly stuffed the floor plan under his waistband before vanis.h.i.+ng through the big double door.

"I'll get the money we've got left," Scipio mumbled, avoiding the others' eyes as he went off after Mosca.

Silently, Bo placed the kittens one by one into the cardboard box. When he saw that Riccio was slumped on his mattress crying, he walked over and, awkwardly, stroked his spiky head.

"Where will we go?" Riccio kept sobbing. "Where, for G.o.d's sake, can we go?"

Hornet had to keep wiping tears from her face while she packed her favorite books into a plastic bag. But then she stopped.

"Wait a minute!" she said, turning toward the others. "I just had an absolutely insane idea. Do you want to hear it, or should I shut up?"

19 Trapped

Victor felt as if he had crossed at least a hundred bridges when, finally, he turned into the alley where he hoped to find Dottor Ma.s.simo's mysterious movie theater. There they were, the large neon letters. A piece of an L was missing, but the name was still quite obvious: the STELLA. A faded movie poster still hung in one of the display windows. Someone had drawn a heart on the grimy gla.s.s.

Breathing heavily, Victor walked up the two steps to the entrance. He tried to peer through the window, but it had been boarded up with cardboard. Well, the birds have probably all flown the coop already, Victor thought. His heart was still beating far too fast. Their leader has probably warned them.

How did the son of the rich Dottor Ma.s.simo fit in with the rest of the gang? Victor would have bet his beard collection that they were all runaways: the scrawny little hedgehog with the bad teeth, the tall dark one whose pants were much too short, and the girl with the sorrowful mouth. They were all runaways, like the two brothers Victor was after. But what was the connection with Dottor Ma.s.simo's offspring?

"Doesn't matter!" Victor muttered. He placed the box with the tortoise in it next to the door and pulled a bunch of lock picks from his pocket. The padlock was no problem at all, but the door presented more of a challenge. When it finally sprang open a crack, Victor realized that it had been barricaded with piles of trash.

It'll take me hours to get through here, Victor thought, throwing his full weight against the entrance. After five attempts his shoulder started to hurt badly, but the door had at least opened far enough for him to squeeze through. With only his feeble flashlight for illumination, he fought through the piled-up garbage, climbing over wedged chairs, crates, and broken part.i.tions. It was pitch black behind the boarded-up door and Victor's heart nearly stopped when, by the ticket booth, he ran slam-bang into a cardboard cutout of a man pointing a machine gun into his face.

Cursing quietly, he shoved the thing aside and crept toward the double doors that led to the movie theater's auditorium. He opened the entrance carefully and listened, but he couldn't hear a sound. Just his own wheezing breath after his strenuous efforts. Of course, thought Victor, just as I thought -- they've left the nest.

He took a few cautious steps into the dark auditorium. He s.h.i.+ned the beam of his flashlight. Rows of seats. A curtain. It was indeed a real movie theater. Curious, he aimed his light first at the walls and then up toward the ceiling. Suddenly something fluttered toward him and a wing brushed against his face. Victor screamed and dropped his light. He groped for it in the darkness and quickly pointed its beam at whatever was hovering above him. A pigeon. A stupid pigeon. Victor rubbed his face with his free hand, as if he could wipe away the shock.

One more fright like that and my poor heart will give out, Victor thought. He took another deep breath and moved on. This huge, gloomy auditorium was certainly a strange hiding place for a bunch of homeless children. Well, there was no other explanation: The young Mr. Ma.s.simo must have brought them here, into his father's empty movie theater. The curtain that concealed the screen glittered faintly when Victor's light caught it. What if they were still hiding here? He took another step forward and his shoe hit a mattress. There was a whole mattress camp on the floor behind the seats. There were blankets, pillows, books, comics, and even a camp stove.

The flashlight beam fell on a teddy bear, a stuffed toy rabbit, fis.h.i.+ng rods, a toolbox, piles of books, and a plastic sword that stuck out of a sleeping bag. He was standing in the middle of a nursery -- a huge nursery!

I would have got a good hiding for painting a pirate's flag on the wall when I was a kid, Victor thought. For one short moment he had a crazy urge to lie down on one of the mattresses, to light a few of the many candles around the place, and to forget everything that had happened since his ninth birthday. But then he heard another sound.

The hair on the back of Victor's neck stood on end.

There was something there. He was sure.

Victor forgot about the mattresses and crept toward the folding seats. Could they really be foolish enough to try and play hide-and-seek with him? Did they think just because he was grown-up he'd forgotten how to play?

"I'm sorry to disappoint you!" Victor said out loud. "I've always been a first-cla.s.s seeker. And when I played tag I always caught everyone, even with my short legs." His voice sounded strange as it echoed through the large room. "You can't possibly think," he called as he s.h.i.+ned his flashlight between the red chairs, "that this could go on forever? What do you live on? Stealing? How long is that going to last? To be honest, I don't really care. I'm only interested in two of you."

What the devil am I talking about? Victor thought. I'm far too old to be playing hide-and-seek with a bunch of children in a pitch-black movie theater.

"Hey, Victor! Come and catch me!" a voice suddenly called. It was a high, clear voice. Victor recognized it. The glittering curtain suddenly developed a bulge. "Do you have a gun?" the voice behind the star-studded fabric asked. And then Bo's ink-dyed head popped out.

"Of course!" Victor pushed his hand underneath his jacket as if he was reaching for his revolver. "Do you want to see it?"

Bo stepped slowly out of his hiding place. He stood there, his head c.o.c.ked to one side, and looked at Victor. Where was his big brother, Prosper? Victor looked first to the left, then to the right, and finally over his shoulder, but could see nothing in the complete darkness that enveloped him.

"I'm not scared," said Bo. "That's probably just a plastic gun."

"Well, well, if that's what you think." Victor held back a grin. "You're a real smart one." He didn't let the boy out of his sight. But that meant he couldn't keep the row of seats in his range of vision. By the time he sensed something moving between the folding seats, it was already too late. Suddenly five children were all over him. They yanked him off his feet and threw him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Then they sat on his stomach. As much as he struggled and kicked, Victor couldn't free himself. His light had dropped to the floor and it was now rolling back and forth, flas.h.i.+ng its beam crazily around the room. Victor thought he could make out the girl who had set the ladies with the handbags on him. That girl was now holding on to his right arm while the black boy had grabbed his left. Two other kids, probably Prosper and the hedgehog, were clinging to his legs. Right on Victor's chest, however, with his knees pressing into his sides as if the felled detective were a stubborn horse, sat Scipio, smiling mockingly.

"You little demon!" Victor shouted. "You --"

He didn't get any further. Scipio simply wedged a rag between his captive's teeth. A wet, reeking rag that smelled of damp cat fur.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't we interrogate him first?" The black boy sounded surprised. "We don't even know yet if he's really only after Prosper and Bo."

"Exactly!" The hedgehog nervously pushed his tongue between his teeth. "Let's ask him how he found us, Scipio."

"Look, he'll just tell us lies anyway," Scipio answered. "Tie him up."

Hesitantly, they gathered all the ropes and belts they could find and trussed up Victor like a turkey. The only freedom he had left was to roll his eyes angrily.

"You won't hurt him, will you?" That was Bo. He leaned over Victor with a worried expression on his little face. Then he suddenly giggled. "You look funny, Victor," he said. "Are you really a detective?"

"Yes, he is, Bo." Prosper pushed his little brother aside, leaned forward, and frisked Victor. "A cell phone," he said, "and...look at this ..." He carefully held up Victor's revolver. "I thought he was just bluffing."

"Give it to me. I'll hide it." Hornet took the gun off Prosper very gingerly, as if it might explode in her hand at any moment.

"See what else he's got!" Scipio commanded. He got off Victor's chest and stood over him, looking serious. "Well, Mr. Detective," he said with a quiet, threatening voice, "that will teach you to mess with the Thief Lord." Then he waved at the others. "Come on, put him in the men's bathroom."

20 A Night Visit

They put a blanket on the cold tiles for Victor, that was at least something. Locked up in an old movie theater by a bunch of children!

The hours pa.s.sed and Victor kept going over things in his mind: I should have known, I should have known the moment that Esther woman came into my office with her pointy nose and her yellow coat. Yellow has always been my unlucky color.

He was trying for the twentieth time to reach his shoe, which contained a few useful tools for emergencies hidden in its heel, when the door behind him opened. It happened very quietly as if whoever was coming in wanted to keep it from everyone else. A light was flashed into Victor's face and someone knelt down next to him on the scratchy blanket. Prosper.

Victor sighed with relief. He didn't really know why, for Prosper was not looking at him in a very friendly manner. But at least he freed him from the stinking gag. Victor spat a few times to get rid of the horrible taste. "Did your boss give you permission to do this?" he asked. "I bet he wanted to poison me with that rag."

"Scipio is not our boss," Prosper answered as he helped Victor to sit up.

"No? He acts as if he is." With a moan, Victor leaned against the tiled wall. Every bone in his body ached. "You're not going to untie my hands, are you?"

"Do I look like a complete idiot?"

"No. But you're probably only half as tough as you act," Victor grunted, "so you'll go and fetch the box I left outside the front of the movie theater."

Prosper gave him a look of deep suspicion. But he went and fetched the box. "I didn't know that tortoises were part of a detective's equipment," he said as he placed the carton on the floor next to Victor.

"Oh, you're a comedian too? Get her out of there. You'd better pray that she's all right or you'll be in a lot of trouble."

"Aren't we in trouble already?" Prosper carefully lifted the tortoise off the sand that Victor had poured into the bottom of the box. "She looks a bit parched."

"She always looks like that," sighed Victor. "But she needs fresh lettuce, water, and a little walk. Go on, let her walk around a bit on the blanket."

Prosper tried not to laugh, but he did as Victor said.

"Her name's Paula. Her husband is at this moment sitting all by himself in his box under my desk and is worried sick." Victor moved his toes. They were tingling terribly. "You'll have to look after him as well if you want to keep me here tied up like a giant sausage roll."

Prosper couldn't help it, he had to grin. He turned his face, but Victor had seen it. "Anything else?"

"No." Victor tried to s.h.i.+ft into a more comfortable position but with no success. "So. Let's have our little chat -- that's what you came in for, isn't it?"

Prosper pushed his dark hair back and listened. A quiet snore came from outside. "That's Mosca," Prosper said. "He was supposed to keep watch but he's sleeping like a baby."

"Why keep watch?" Victor stifled a yawn. "Where would I go, wrapped up like a silkworm?"

Prosper shrugged. He placed the flashlight next to him on the floor and started to inspect his fingernails. "You're after me and my brother, right?" he asked without looking at Victor. "My aunt told you to look for us."

Victor shrugged. "Your little girlfriend stole my wallet -- you must have found her card in there."

Prosper nodded. "How did Esther find out we're in Venice?" He pressed his forehead against his pulled-up knees.

"It took some time and cost a lot of money, your uncle told me." Victor caught himself looking at the boy sympathetically.

"You would never have found us if I hadn't run into you."

"Maybe not. Your hideout's quite unusual."

Prosper looked around. "Scipio found it for us. He also makes sure we have enough money to live on. If it wasn't for him, we'd be in real trouble. Riccio used to steal a lot. Mosca and Hornet were both doing pretty badly too, before they met Scipio. They don't like to talk about it. Hornet found Bo and me, and Scipio took us in." Prosper lifted his head. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. You're a detective -- you've probably found this out already, haven't you?"

Victor shook his head. "Your friends are none of my business," he said. "But it's my job to make sure that you and your brother have a home again. Hasn't it occurred to you that your brother is too young to get along without parents? What happens if the Thief Lord, as he seems to like to call himself, stops looking after you? Or if the police find you here? Do you want Bo to grow up in a children's home? And what about you? Wouldn't it be easier for you to be teasing your teachers in a boarding school rather than acting the grown-up when you're only twelve?"

Prosper's face froze. "I can look after Bo," he retorted angrily. "Does he look unhappy to you? I'd earn money for us if I was allowed to."

"You'll have to do that before you know it," Victor replied gloomily.

"Hey, where's the tortoise?" Prosper asked. He got up and opened the door to the other cubicle. He s.h.i.+ned his flashlight into the narrow s.p.a.ce. Victor heard him call, "Come here! Where are you going? There's nothing there."

"I think we should bring Paula's outing to an end," Victor said when Prosper returned with the tortoise under his arm. "She'll just get frozen feet on those tiles. That won't do her cold any good."

"Right," agreed Prosper. He carefully placed Paula back in her box and then squatted down on the blanket next to Victor again. "Do you have a brother?" he asked.

Victor shook his head. "No. I was an only child. But can't brothers and sisters sometimes be a real pain as well?"

"Maybe." Prosper shrugged. "Bo and I have always gotten along well. Well, nearly always. Oh, no," he wiped his face with his sleeve, "now I'm going to start crying."

Victor cleared his throat. "Your aunt says you probably came to Venice because your mother used to tell you so much about it."

Prosper blew his nose. "Yeah," he said slowly, "she did. And everything is exactly like she said it would be. When we got off the train at the station -- Bo and me -- we were so scared that it wasn't going to be true -- the houses on stilts, the roads made of water, the lions with wings. But it's all true! 'The world is full of wonders' -- that's what she always told us."

Victor closed his eyes. "Listen, Prosper," he said tiredly, "perhaps I can talk to your aunt again ... so that she could take you both ..."

Prosper pressed his hand against Victor's mouth.

Someone was at the door. And it wasn't Mosca. He was still snoring.

"Bo!" Prosper hissed as an ink-black head of hair popped through the door. "What are you doing here? Go back to sleep!"

But Bo had already slipped inside to join them. "What's happening, Prop?" he mumbled sleepily. "Are you going to throw Victor into the ca.n.a.l?"

"What gave you that idea?" Prosper looked at his brother in astonishment. "Go on, back to bed."

Bo quietly closed the door behind him. "I could keep watch like Mosca does!" he said, before suddenly b.u.mping into the tortoise box.

"May I introduce you to Paula?" Victor said.

"h.e.l.lo, Paula," mumbled Bo, apparently not surprised by the strange animal. He sat down on the blanket, between Prosper and Victor. He poked his finger up his nose absentmindedly and looked intently at Victor. "You're a very good liar," he said. "Are you really going to catch us and take us back to Esther? We don't belong to her, you know."

Embarra.s.sed, Victor stared at his shoes. "Well, children all have to belong to somebody," he muttered.

"Do you belong to someone?"

"That's different."

"Because you're a grown-up?" Bo looked curiously in the box, but he could only see Paula's sh.e.l.l. "Prosper already looks after me. So does Hornet. And Scipio."

"Ah, Scipio," Victor grunted. "Is he still here, your Scipio?"

"No, he never sleeps here." Bo shook his head as if Victor should have known that. "Scipio is very busy. He's very, very clever. That's why," Bo leaned over to Victor and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "he got the job from the Conte. Prosper doesn't want to do it, but I --"

"Shut up, Bo!" Prosper cut him off. He jumped up and grabbed Bo's hand. "That's none of your business," he said to Victor. "You said yourself that you're not interested in the others. So why all these questions about Scipio?"