The Thief Lord (4 page)

6 A Nasty Coincidence

As soon as they had left Barbarossa's shop, Riccio dragged Prosper into the
pasticceria
he had stared at so longingly before. Prosper didn't get a chance to raise any objections and the shop assistant patiently waited for their order while Riccio bullied Prosper into changing two bills from Barbarossa's wad and buying a box of cakes for them all, to celebrate.

Prosper was always amazed by the great care the bakers of Venice took over wrapping their cakes. They didn't just hand them over in a plastic bag -- no, they were always packed in a beautiful box and tied up with a ribbon.

Riccio, however, was decidedly unimpressed by all this effort. As soon as they were back on the street he got out his pocket knife and cut the ribbon.

"What are you doing?" Prosper cried out. He took the box from Riccio. "I thought this was for the others as well."

"There'll be more than enough left for them." Riccio peered greedily into the box. "And we deserve a treat after all that.
Madonna,
no one has ever managed to get one single lira more out of the redbeard than he wanted to pay. And now he's just given you four times what he first offered us -- even I can work that out. Scipio will never let anyone else sell his loot again."

"Well, I think those things were probably worth even more." Prosper took one of the cakes. It was dusted generously with powdered sugar, which spilled down his jacket with the first bite. The tip of Riccio's nose was already covered in chocolate.

"Anyway, we can definitely use the money," Prosper continued. "Now we can afford a few of the things we really need, especially with winter being so close. Hornet and Bo don't have warm jackets and your shoes look like you just fished them out of a canal."

Riccio licked the chocolate from his nose and looked down at his worn sneakers. "Why? They're OK," he said. "But perhaps we could buy a small secondhand TV. Mosca could get it connected somehow."

"You've got to be joking!"

Prosper stopped in front of a shop selling newspapers, postcards and toys. He and Bo had already sold any toys they had with them when they ran away, and his brother didn't even have a stuffed animal, apart from the sorry-looking lion that Riccio had given him.

"What about getting Bo those Indians there?" Riccio put his sticky chin on Prosper's shoulder. "They would go well with the cork cowboys Hornet made for him."

Prosper frowned. He touched the money in his jacket pocket. "No," he said. He pushed the cake box into Riccio's hands and strode on. "We need the money for other things."

Riccio sighed, and walked after him. "You know, if Scipio doesn't take on Barbarossa's job," he lowered his voice, "then I'll do it. You heard what the baldhead said about the money. I'm not a bad thief -- just a bit out of practice. And I'd share the loot with everyone. Bo could get his Indians, Hornet could get some new books, and Mosca could get the paint for that boat he's been going on about so much. I'd get a little TV and you ..." He gave Prosper a curious look. "Actually, what would you want?"

"I don't need anything." Prosper hunched his shoulders as if a cold draft had gone down his neck. He looked around uneasily. "Just stop talking about stealing things. Have you forgotten how they nearly caught you last time?"

"Yes, yes," Riccio said angrily. He really didn't want to remember that. He gazed after a woman with huge pearl earrings.

Prosper added, "And you won't tell Scipio about this job, agreed?"

Riccio stopped. "Don't be an idiot! I don't understand what's the matter with you. Of course I'll tell him! How can this be more dangerous than breaking into the Doge's Palace?" A young couple holding hands suddenly turned around and Riccio quickly lowered his voice. "Or into the Palazzo Contarini!"

Prosper shook his head and walked on. He wasn't quite sure himself why he didn't like Barbarossa's offer. Lost in thought, he walked around two women who were arguing noisily in the middle of the street -- only to walk straight into a man who had just stepped out of a bar with a slice of pizza his hand. The man was small and stocky. A piece of cheese clung to his thick walrus mustache. He spun around angrily -- and then stared at Prosper as if he had seen a ghost.

Prosper muttered,
"Scusi,"
and quickly pushed past the man and disappeared into the crowd.

"Hey, why are you running?" Riccio followed him awkwardly, nearly dropping the cake box.

Prosper looked around. "Someone just gave me a very weird look." He eyed the passing crowds uneasily. The man with the walrus mustache was nowhere to be seen.

"A weird look?" Riccio shrugged. "And? Did you recognize him?"

Prosper shook his head. He looked around once more. A couple of schoolchildren, an old man, three women with stuffed shopping bags, a group of nuns...suddenly he grabbed Riccio's arm and pulled him inside a doorway.

Riccio nearly dropped the cake box again. "What now?"

"That man's following us." Prosper started to run, keeping his hand firmly on Barbarossa's money so it wouldn't fall out of his pocket.

Riccio called after him, "What are you talking about?"

"He's after us!" Prosper gasped. "He was trying to hide, but I saw him."

Riccio looked around for their pursuer but all he could see were bored faces staring into shop windows and a bunch of giggling schoolchildren.

"Prop, this is really stupid!" He caught up with Prosper and blocked his path. "Calm down, OK? You're seeing things."

But Prosper didn't answer.

"Come on," he hissed. He dragged Riccio into an alley so narrow that Barbarossa would certainly have gotten stuck in it. The wind whistled past them. Riccio knew where this tiny passage led: into a labyrinth of alleys that could confuse even a Venetian. It wasn't a bad route if you wanted to lose someone. But Prosper had stopped again. He flattened himself against the wall and watched the people passing by the entrance to the passage.

"And what are you doing now?" Riccio leaned against the wall next to Prosper. He shivered and pulled the sleeves of his sweater over his hands.

"When he walks past, I'll point him out to you."

"And then?"

"If he sees us, we run."

"Great plan!" Riccio said sarcastically. He pushed his tongue nervously into the gap in his front teeth. He had lost that tooth during a chase.

"Let's just go now," he whispered to Prosper. "The others are waiting for us."

But Prosper didn't move.

The schoolchildren skipped past the alley. Then the nuns walked past. And then came the short and stocky man, with big feet and walrus mustache. He looked around, he stood on his toes, he craned his neck, and then he cursed.

The boys hardly dared to breathe. Finally, the man walked on.

Riccio was the first to move. "I know him!" he hissed quietly. "Let's get away from here before he comes back."

Prosper stumbled after him, his heart beating like mad. Soon he had completely lost his bearings, but Riccio kept running as if he knew the way through the maze of alleys and bridges by heart. Suddenly, they stumbled back into bright sunlight. Ahead of them lay the Grand Canal. Its banks were crowded with people and its glittering surface teemed with boats.

Riccio pulled Prosper toward a
vaporetto
stop. Soon they disappeared into the throng of people waiting for the next boat.

Prosper scrutinized every face passing by, but their pursuer wasn't among them. When the next
vaporetto
finally arrived, the boys smuggled themselves onto the boat with the crowd. While the other passengers scrambled after the few remaining free seats in the roofed section of the boat, Prosper and Riccio walked up to the deck rail and kept a close eye on the bank of the canal.

"We don't have a ticket," Prosper whispered when the fully loaded boat cast off.

"Doesn't matter," Riccio whispered back, "we're getting off at the next stop anyway. But look who's standing over there." He pointed toward the stop. "Do you see him?"

Oh yes, Prosper saw him quite clearly. There was the walrus mustache, squinting after the departing boat. Riccio gave him a hearty wave.

Prosper pulled Riccio's arm down. "What are you doing?"

"Why? You think he's going to swim after us? No, my friend. That's the good thing about this city. If someone is after you, all you have to do is cross the canal, and the other fool's had it! Even you should know by now that there are only two bridges across the Grand Canal!"

Prosper didn't reply. The stranger had long vanished out of sight but Prosper kept staring toward the bank just in case he suddenly appeared between the elegant columns of one of the palaces, or on a hotel balcony, or even on one of the oncoming boats. Prosper was worried.

"Stop looking like that. We've lost the snoop!" Riccio shook his friend by the shoulder until he turned back.

Prosper stared at Riccio anxiously. "So you know who he is?"

Riccio leaned against the rail. "Yeah -- he's a detective. He works for the tourists -- looking for lost handbags and wallets. He nearly caught me with one once." Riccio pulled his ear and grinned. "But, he's not very fast." He gave Prosper a curious look. "It did look, well, as if he was after you. What would a detective want with you? Is someone looking for you?"

Prosper gazed at the shore again. The
vaporetto
steered sluggishly toward the next stop. "There might be," he said, without looking at Riccio. A swarm of gulls took to the air with a great noise as the boat drifted toward the jetty.

"Let's get off here," Riccio said. They jumped off the boat while the new passengers were already pushing aboard.

"Hell! The others are probably thinking we've taken Scipio's loot and split," Riccio said as they turned their backs on the Grand Canal again. "Our little boat trip hasn't made our way back any shorter." He gave Prosper another quizzical look. "Do you feel like telling me who could have put that detective on your trail? What have you done? Did you steal something?"

"Come on, you know I don't steal -- not if I can help it." Prosper put his hand into his jacket and, relieved, pulled it out again. Barbarossa's money was still there.

"Yeah, I know." Riccio frowned. Then he lowered his voice. "Is it one of those child-slave traders?"

Prosper looked shocked. "No. Don't be silly. It's really not that bad." He stared back at a gargoyle that was eyeing him from a stone archway. "I think my aunt Esther is looking for us. She's my mom's sister. She's got loads of money and no children. When my mom died, she wanted to adopt Bo. They were going to send me to a boarding school. So we ran away. What was I supposed to do? He's my little brother." Prosper stopped. "Do you think Esther ever asked Bo whether he wanted her to be his new mom? He can't stand her. He says she smells like paint. And," he smiled, "that she looks like one of those china dolls she collects."

He bent down and picked up a plastic fan from a doorstep. The handle was gone, but Bo wouldn't mind that.

"Bo thinks I can take care of everything," he said, stuffing his find into his pocket. "But if Hornet hadn't found us..."

"Come on, stop worrying about the snoop!" Riccio pulled him along. "He won't find you again. Simple: We'll dye Bo's angel hair black and we'll paint your face so you look like Mosca's twin brother."

Prosper laughed. Riccio could always make him laugh, even if he didn't feel like it. "Do you sometimes wish you were grown-up?" he asked as they crossed a bridge and looked down at its hazy reflection on the water.

Riccio shook his head with astonishment. "No. Why? It's great being young. You don't stand out so much and your stomach fills up more quickly. You know what Scipio always says?" He jumped from the bridge onto the street. "Children are caterpillars and adults are butterflies. No butterfly ever remembers what it felt like being a caterpillar."

"Probably not," Prosper sighed.

"Don't tell Bo anything about the detective, OK?"

Riccio nodded.

7 Bad Luck for Victor

Once Victor realized that Prosper had gotten away, he kicked the nearest wooden post he could find, sprained his foot -- and then hobbled home.

He kept muttering to himself most of the way. People turned their heads, but Victor didn't notice. "Like a lousy amateur," he grunted. "You just let that boy shake you off like a stupid amateur. And who was the other one? Too big to be his little brother. Darn it, darn it, and darn it again! The boy stumbles right into your arms and you let him get away. Stupid idiot!" He kicked an empty cigarette packet with his sprained foot and his face twisted up in pain. "Your own stupid fault," he growled. "Yes, you've only got yourself to blame. No decent detective chases after children. You could pay for tortoise feed even without this blasted job."

Victor's foot was still hurting badly when he opened his front door. "Well, at least now I know they're here," he grumbled as he limped up the stairs. "And if the big one's here, then the small one will be too, that's for sure."

Once in his apartment, he pulled off his shoes and staggered on to the balcony to feed his tortoises. His office still smelled of Esther Hartlieb's hairspray. Phew, he just couldn't get that smell out of his nose.

The boys haunted him day and night. He shouldn't have put their picture up on the wall -- they were always looking at him. Where did they sleep at night? It was already getting quite cold in the evenings, as soon as the sun vanished behind the houses. And because it had rained so much the previous winter the city had flooded a dozen times. Still, Venice had lots of nooks and crannies, like an old rabbit warren. There was always some dry place for two children. Some abandoned house. Or one of the many churches. Not all of them were swarming with tourists.

"I'm going to find them," Victor swore. "Simple as that!"

Once his tortoises were fed, he stuffed himself with mounds of spaghetti and fried sausages. Then he applied some ointment to his aching foot and sat down at his desk to do some of the paperwork that had piled up. After all, he still had other jobs apart from searching for those boys.

Perhaps I should sit on the Piazza San Marco more often over the next few days, Victor thought, drink some coffee, feed the pigeons, and wait for them to turn up. Everyone in Venice comes to St. Mark's Square at least once a day. Why shouldn't that also be true for runaway children?"