The Thief Lord

The Thief Lord Page 41

Riccio crept up to Hornet's mattress. It was the one farthest to the left, right by the wall. "They're not here."

"What do you mean?" Prosper stumbled over to the mattress he shared with Bo. Nothing but crumpled blankets and pillows. No Bo.

"They're hiding!" Mosca said. "Hey, Hornet, Bo!" he called. "Come out now. We're not in the mood for playing. You can't imagine how cold it is outside. We just want to get into our blankets."

"That's right!" Riccio shouted. "But first you can have a look at the piles of money we've brought with us. What do you say?"

There was no answer. Not a giggle or a rustle. Prosper remembered the unlocked door. He felt like someone was slowly squeezing the breath out of him.

Riccio knelt down by Hornet's mattress. "There's a note."

Prosper yanked the piece of paper from Riccio's fingers.

Concerned, Mosca leaned over his shoulder. "What does it say?"

"It's hard to read. She must have been in a real hurry." Prosper shook his head in despair. The writing swam in front of his eyes.

Someone at the door.

Maybe police.

Meet you at the emergency meeting point.

Hornet

Prosper stared at the note.

"Darn! I knew it. Why didn't you listen to me?" Riccio kicked down the book piles, one by one. "How could you trust that snoop? He betrayed us."

Prosper lifted his head. Riccio was right. Only Victor could have given away the Star-Palace. Without another word, Prosper stuffed Hornet's note into his pocket and started rummaging like mad through the pillows.

"What are you looking for?" Mosca asked him. Prosper didn't answer. When he got up again, he had a gun in his hand. The gun he had taken out of Victor's pocket.

"Put that thing away, Prop!" Mosca stepped in his way. "We don't know for sure whether he ratted on us."

"Who else could it have been?" Prosper put the gun in his jacket and pushed past Mosca. "I'm going. He'll definitely tell us whether it was him or not, once he's got his own gun in his face."

"Easy!" Mosca tried to hold him back. "First we're going to the meeting point."

"And where's that?" Prosper was shaking all over. He felt as if his legs were going to give way at any moment.

"It's the Book Man, on the Campo Morosini."

Prosper nodded. "Fine, let's go! What are you waiting for?"

"But what are we going to do with the money?" Riccio asked "And our things. They're no longer safe here."

"We'll take the money," Mosca answered impatiently. "We can get the other stuff later. There's nothing valuable here. And maybe it's a false alarm anyway."

Mosca hid the money they had left from their last deal with Barbarossa under his jacket while Riccio took the Conte's bag. They looked around once more, not sure whether they would ever come back. Then they put out all the candles and left the movie theater.

They ran nearly all the way to the Campo Morosini. In the streets the first shops were already opening although the sky was still pitch black. Big barges, bringing food into the city, pushed their way through the canals. The garbage boats collected the previous day's trash. The city was waking up, but the boys hardly took any notice. They ran through the dark alleys, imagining a thousand things that could have happened to Bo and Hornet, and the closer they got to the Campo Morosini, the more horrible those images became. They reached the monument, all panting heavily. The statue showed a man with a pile of books behind him. His name was Nicolo Tommaseo, but everyone in the city just called him the Book Man.

Hornet wasn't there. Nor was Bo.

Prosper turned around and started running again. "Prop!" Mosca called after him while Riccio was still holding his aching side. "The snoop's place is miles away. Are you going to run the whole way?"

But Prosper didn't even look back.

"Come on!" Mosca dragged the still panting Riccio with him. "We've got to keep up, before he does something stupid."

34 Father and Son

Scipio had asked Ida to drop him off about two bridges before his father's house. He wanted to walk the last few steps along the snowy bank of the canal. The cold air gave him the feeling of being strong and free -- as long as he didn't think of the others, or of the big house that would soon make him feel small and weak again. Scipio scraped patterns into the snow with his heels. Then he crouched down to draw a wing with his fingers. When he lifted his head he saw the police boat. It was moored just a few steps away from his parents' house.

Scipio stood up. Thoughts raced around in his head. Did this have something to do with the Conte?

"No!" he whispered, trying to calm himself. He could hardly manage to get the key into the lock. Opening the door as quietly as possible he saw a light was burning between the columns as usual. The courtyard lay empty in front of him. Holding his breath, Scipio crept toward the stairs. He was a master creeper. This time, however, his efforts were in vain.

His foot had barely touched the first step, when he suddenly heard voices from above. He lifted his head guiltily -- and stopped dead. Two policemen were coming down the stairs, with Hornet. She looked small and helpless between the two huge officers.

His father was standing upstairs by the balustrade. He frowned as his eyes fell on Scipio.

"Gentlemen!" boomed the voice Scipio loved to imitate because it sounded so much more impressive than his own. "As you can see, the matter seems to have resolved itself. My son has decided to come home after all, even if it is at a highly inappropriate time. But it proves he had nothing to do with those children hiding in the Stella."

Scipio bit his lip and looked up at Hornet. She slowed down as she noticed him.

"Do you know this boy?" one of the policemen asked. He had an unfriendly narrow black mustache. "Go on, speak." But Hornet just shook her head.

"Where are you taking her?" Scipio was startled by the sound of his own voice, high and shrill.

The policeman with the mustache laughed while the other one grabbed Hornet's arm. "So, you think you have to protect her? You're a little gentleman. Don't worry, we didn't take her away from anybody. She's a naughty girl who doesn't even want to tell us her name. We came here because we thought your father might learn something from her about your disappearance."

"Our maid called me away from my reception, completely hysterical, Scipio!" Dottor Massimo called down at him. "Because she didn't find you in your bed at midnight. And just as I got here the police called to tell me that they had found a gang of street kids in the Stella. You know, the movie theater I had to close down? Of course, I immediately explained to the gentlemen here that your disappearance had nothing to do with this. And what childish fancy drove you out of the house in the middle of the night? Were you running after some stray cat again?"

Scipio didn't answer. He desperately tried not to look up at Hornet. She looked so sad and lost. This was not the Hornet who had driven him mad with her teasing.

"I just wanted to have a look at the snow," Scipio finally muttered.

"Ah, the snow! It drives everybody mad, not just the children," the mustachioed policeman said with a wink at Scipio. His colleague was already dragging Hornet down the stairs.