The Thief Lord Part 25

Victor looked sideways at Esther, noticing that she couldn't take her eyes off the little redhead.

"Go and see Sister Caterina, Ernesto," Ida instructed him, "and tell her from me to take the books back from the boys. She should also send them to their rooms as a punishment."

Barbarossa nodded and sniffed delicately into Esther's handkerchief. Then he walked hesitantly toward the door.

"Mother Ida?" he queried as he put his hand on the doork.n.o.b. "May I ask when we will finally go on that excursion to the Accademia Museum? I would so much like to see t.i.tian's paintings again."

My G.o.d, Victor thought. The redbeard is really laying it on rather thick. Esther's enraptured look, however, quickly set him straight. Victor thought. The redbeard is really laying it on rather thick. Esther's enraptured look, however, quickly set him straight.

"t.i.tian?" Esther asked, smiling at the little one. "You like t.i.tian's paintings?"

Barbarossa nodded.

"I like them a great deal myself," Esther continued. Her voice was suddenly very soft, completely different from the way Victor had heard her shout before. "t.i.tian is my favorite painter."

"Oh really, Signora?" Barbarossa pushed the red locks from his face. "Then you have probably seen his grave in the Frari Church. I like his self-portrait best, where he pleads with the Madonna to spare his favorite son from the plague. Have you seen it?"

Esther shook her head.

"His son still died of the Black Death," Barbarossa went on. "And t.i.tian died of it as well. If I may say so, Signora, you look a bit like the Madonna in that painting. I would love to show it to you sometime."

By all the winged lions in Venice, Victor thought, now he's got honey literally dripping from his mouth, the little flatterer. However, if Victor remembered right, the Madonna in the painting did look rather stern; maybe she did resemble Esther Hartlieb a little. In any case, the compliment had its desired effect.

Pointy-nosed Esther had turned as red as a poppy. She sat on the edge of her chair and looked at the tips of her shoes like a little girl. Suddenly, she turned to Ida.

"Would that be possible?" she stammered. "I mean, you know, my husband and I will only be in the city until tomorrow, so could I maybe take the little one here..."

"Ernesto," Ida interrupted her with a dry smile, "his name is Ernesto."

"Ernesto." Esther repeated the name as if she were sucking on a candy. "I know that this request may be a little unusual, but would it be possible for me to take Ernesto on a little excursion? He could show me the Frari Church, we could have some ice cream, or go on a boat ... I would carefully bring him back on time tonight."

Sister Ida raised her eyebrows. To Victor her surprise looked convincingly real.

"This is indeed an unusual request," Ida said, turning to Barbarossa. The redhead was still standing there with the most innocent expression, his hands folded neatly behind his back. He had brushed his hair himself until it s.h.i.+ned. "What do you say to Signora Hartlieb's offer, Ernesto?" Ida asked. "Would you like to have an excursion with the Signora?"

Go on, say yes, redhead, Victor prayed. Think about those beds in the orphanage. Barbarossa glared at Victor as if he had guessed his thoughts. Then he looked at Esther again. Not even a dog could have managed such a trusting look.

"An excursion like that would be wonderful, Signora!" he said, giving Esther a smile that was as sweet as one of Lucia's puddings.

"That is really very nice of you, Signora Hartlieb," Ida said. She rang the little silver bell on the desk in front of her. "Ernesto is not having an easy time settling in here. Concerning your nephews, however," she added as Lucia entered the room, "I regret to have to tell you that they don't want to see you. Shall I ask Sister Lucia to bring them here nevertheless?"

The smile on Esther's lips disappeared in an instant.

"No, no," she answered quickly. "I will visit them later, sometime, when I come back to Venice."

"As you wish," Ida replied. She turned to Lucia, who was waiting by the door. "Please get Ernesto ready to go out, Sister. Signora Hartlieb has invited him on an excursion."

"How charming," Lucia grumbled. She grabbed Barbarossa's hand. "So let's quickly wash the little one's ears and neck."

"They're clean!" Barbarossa hissed at her. For a moment his voice sounded neither very nice nor very shy. But Esther hadn't noticed anything. She sat, lost in thought, on the hard chair in front of Ida's desk, and looked up at the picture of the Madonna. Victor would have happily given three of his favorite false beards to read her thoughts.

"Has the boy got any parents?" Esther asked after Barbarossa had left with Lucia.

Ida shook her head and shrugged. "No. Ernesto is the son of a wealthy antiques dealer who vanished last week under mysterious circ.u.mstances. The police suspect a boat accident at night on the lagoon, maybe during a fis.h.i.+ng trip. The boy has been with us since then. His mother left his father years ago and she is not willing to take the boy in. Quite astonis.h.i.+ng, isn't it? He's such a delightful little child."

"Indeed." Esther looked at the door as if Barbarossa was still there. "He's so -- different from my nephews."

"Being related is not a guarantee of love," Victor reminded her. "Even though we would all like it to be that way,"

"How true, how true!" Esther laughed a tiny, cheerless laugh. "I would really like to have a child, you know, but ..." she looked up at the ceiling before looking at them both, "... I haven't yet found one who would like me as a mother. My nephews, for example, seem to think I'm some sort of witch." She looked at the ceiling again. "No, they probably consider me too boring even for that," she said. And again she laughed her small, sad laugh. "I really wish there was a child somewhere that I was suited to."

Ida and Victor looked at each other conspiratorially.

Esther returned Barbarossa quite late that evening. Prosper and Bo watched from the living room window as they walked across the square. Barbarossa was licking a huge cone of ice cream without getting a single drop on himself. Bo would really have loved to know how he did that. Esther was laden with big overstuffed shopping bags, but her left hand held onto Barbarossa's and on her lips was a blissful smile.

"Just look how she wors.h.i.+ps him!" Riccio leaned over Bo's shoulder. "And all those packages! I bet they're all for him. And you're still not sorry you put her off so badly that she doesn't want you back?"

Bo shook his head vigorously. Prosper, meanwhile, was thinking of someone else, someone who had looked a little like Esther. He was glad when Victor startled him out of his thoughts.

"Well? Aren't those two the perfect match?" he whispered into Prosper's ear. "They were made for each other, don't you think?"

Prosper nodded.

"Go on, put away that worried face for a bit," Victor said, giving him a gentle nudge in his back. "Two more days, and your aunt is flying home. And Bo won't be sitting next to her on the plane."

"I'll believe that once she's in the air," Prosper grumbled back.

And as he watched Esther wipe the ice cream off Barbarossa's mouth he asked himself for the hundredth time where Scipio was. He wanted to tell him that his crazy idea was working.

52 Everything Will Work Out Fine -- or Will it?

Esther Hartlieb did not fly home as scheduled. Her husband boarded the plane alone, while she was visiting the Doge's Palace with Barbarossa. The day after that she picked up Ernesto again -- for a trip to the gla.s.sblowers on Murano. First, however, she took him shopping, and when Barbarossa returned to the Casa Spavento that evening, he was wearing the most expensive clothes one could buy in Venice for a child of his age.

He strutted into the living room, as proud as a peac.o.c.k. The others were all squatting on the carpet and playing cards with Ida. "You really are a pair of extraordinary idiots," Barbarossa said to Prosper and Bo. "You have the amazing luck to have such a rich aunt and you run away from her as if the devil himself was after you. Your brains must be the size of a pea."

"And you, Ernesto," Ida replied, "probably have a wallet where other people have a heart."

Barbarossa just shrugged impa.s.sively and reached into his elegant new jacket. "Speaking of wallets," he said, producing a well-filled billfold, "I would like to ask one of you to regularly check on my shop over the next few months, in return for an appropriate fee, of course. You know, keep an eye on it, and clean it -- that sort of thing. And I also urgently need a saleswoman who knows her job and hasn't got her fingers in the till all the time. That won't be easy, but I have complete confidence in you."

They all looked at him in total surprise.

"You think we're all your servants now?" Riccio replied angrily. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

Barbarossa's mouth screwed into a very pompous expression.

"Because, you spiky airhead, tomorrow I will be boarding a plane with Signora Hartlieb," he replied with a swagger. "And my place of residence will be outside this country. My future foster mother will call Sister Ida tonight and ask for her approval of my adoption by the Hartliebs. A lawyer has also been hired, who will remove any remaining legal obstacles. My future parents don't know about my shop, and I would like it to stay that way. I will try to open an account into which the earnings may be deposited. After all, I do not intend to live off allowance alone."

Riccio was so startled he dropped his cards. Mosca took the opportunity to quickly check Riccio's hand.

"Congratulations, Barbarino," said Hornet. "Seems like you've got quite a pleasant life ahead of you."

Barbarossa just shrugged disdainfully.

"Well," he said, casting a disgusted glance around Ida's living room, "more comfortable than yours, that's for sure." Then he turned on his heels and strutted out of the room. Bo stuck out his tongue as the redhead left. The others gazed thoughtfully at their cards. "Ida," Mosca said finally, "Riccio and I are leaving as well, probably at the end of next week or so. Riccio has found an empty warehouse, over in Castello. It's right by the water, and there are even moorings for my boat."

Ida fiddled with her earrings. This time they were tiny golden fish with eyes of red gla.s.s.

"How are you going to get by?" she asked. "Life in Venice is quite expensive. The Thief Lord won't be looking after you anymore. Are you going to start stealing again?"

Riccio fiddled with his cards, pretending not to have heard Ida's question. Mosca, however, shook his head.

"No way. We've still got some money to start with from our last deal with Barbarossa. If that's not fake money as well."

Ida nodded. Then she turned to the other three, Prosper, Bo, and Hornet, one by one.

"What about you?" she asked. "You're not going to leave me all at once too, are you? Who's going to eat all the food Lucia has bought? Who's going to tease her dogs, read my books, and play cards with me?"

Hornet smiled. Bo knelt down next to Ida. "We'll stay with you," he said, placing one of his kittens on her lap. "Hornet told me she wants to live here forever."

"Bo!" Hornet went bright red with embarra.s.sment.

Ida, however, let out a big sigh. "Well, I'm relieved!" she said. Then she leaned over toward Bo and whispered, "What about your brother?"

Prosper looked at them sheepishly.

"He wants to stay too," Bo whispered back. "But he's too shy to ask you."

With a groan, Prosper buried his face in his hands.

"Well, it's just as well that he has a brother who can do the talking for him," Ida smiled. "So, Ida and Hornet, Prosper and Bo. That makes four!" she said. "A good number, especially for playing cards. But we may have to explain to Bo again that he can't keep making up his own rules."

The next day, Barbarossa got on to a plane, just as he had planned. Of course Ida had promptly approved of the adoption and Esther Hartlieb's lawyer had sorted out the rest.

On the boat-taxi to the airport Barbarossa was very quiet, and when Venice disappeared behind the horizon he let out a deep sigh. But when Esther asked him apprehensively whether there was anything wrong he just shook his head and claimed that he had never really liked boat trips. That was how Barbarossa said farewell to Venice, but inside his stubbornly greedy heart, he resolved to return one day in his brand-new life.

Two days and two nights later, as the sun was already disappearing behind the roofs, Mosca and Riccio packed the few belongings they had managed to salvage from the movie theater into Mosca's boat. They said good-bye to Prosper, Bo, Hornet, Ida, and Lucia, who also gave them two plastic bags full of provisions. Then they cast off toward Castello, the poorest part of Venice, but not before giving a promise to get in touch as soon as they were settled.

The other three children missed the two boys badly. Bo cried his eyes out even though Hornet tried to tell him that they were, after all, staying in the same city. To take Bo's mind off things, Victor took him to St. Mark's Square to feed the pigeons. Ida showed Hornet the school she and Prosper would be going to in the spring. But every evening before going to bed, Prosper stared out of the window, wondering what Scipio was up to.

Prosper wasn't the first one to see Scipio again. One evening, as he returned from shadowing someone, Victor went past Barbarossa's shop to put up a sign Ida had written: Salesperson required, experience preferred. Applications to: Ida Spavento, Campo Santa Margherita 11 The sticky tape kept wrapping itself around his thumbnail and Victor was cursing quietly to himself, when suddenly a tall figure approached him.

"Hi, Victor," the stranger said. "How are you? And how are the others?"

Victor stared at him quite dumbfounded. "Heavens, Scipio! Did you have to creep up on me like that?" he spluttered. "Appearing here like some ghost -- I nearly didn't recognize you in that hat."

"Yes, I know. This hat was the first thing I bought." Scipio lifted it off his black hair. "Since then I've only been greeted three three times a day as Dottor Ma.s.simo." times a day as Dottor Ma.s.simo."

"Ida wrote a card to your father." Victor tried once more to stick the note to the shop's door. This time it worked. "She wrote that you are fine and that you won't be coming home for the time being. Did you see your father's appeal in the newspaper?"

Scipio nodded. "Yes, yes," he muttered. "Having a son is really quite a nuisance. And now, on top of everything, he's also missing. I went home last night to get my cat. Luckily, n.o.body saw me."

They both stood silent for a while and gazed up at the moon. Finally Victor said, "Your idea...you know, the one about Barbarossa ... it worked."

"Really?" Scipio put his hat on again and pulled its brim down over his face. "Well, I knew it was brilliant. Are the others still at Ida's?"

"Prosper, Bo, and Hornet are," Victor answered. "Mosca and Riccio are now living in an empty warehouse in Castello. But how are you?"

He looked into Scipio's face carefully. As far as Victor could make out in the dark, the Thief Lord did not really look very happy. He looked rather tired.

"If you're not doing anything right now," Victor continued when Scipio didn't answer immediately, "you could walk with me a little and tell me on the way what you've been doing. It's too cold to be standing around here and I've got to get home. I've been on my feet all day, and I'm starving."

Scipio shrugged. "I'm not doing anything special at the moment," he answered. "And my hotel room is not so cozy that I'd want to get back there in a hurry."

So they set off together toward Victor's place. The air that night was not as icy as it had been on previous evenings; the sky above the old city was so full of stars that the alleys between St. Mark's Square and the Grand Ca.n.a.l were still crowded with people enjoying the sights.

Scipio broke the silence only when they reached the Rialto Bridge.

"I haven't been doing much at all, really," he said as they walked next to each other up the stairs.

A thousand lights twinkled on the water -- the lights of the restaurants along the ca.n.a.l, the lights of the gondolas, of the vaporetti vaporetti weaving their way along the broad waterway. It was hard to tear your eyes from it all. Victor leaned over the parapet. Scipio spat into the ca.n.a.l. weaving their way along the broad waterway. It was hard to tear your eyes from it all. Victor leaned over the parapet. Scipio spat into the ca.n.a.l.

"Victor," he asked, "what do adults do all day?"

"Work," Victor answered, "eat, shop, pay bills, use the phone, read newspapers, drink coffee, sleep."

Scipio sighed. "Not really very exciting," he muttered, resting his arms on the cold stone of the parapet.

"Well," Victor grunted. But he couldn't think of anything else to say.

They sauntered on, slowly, across the bridge and into the maze of alleys in which every visitor to Venice gets lost at least once.

"I'll think of something," Scipio said, determination ringing in his voice. "Something exciting and adventurous. Maybe I should go to the airport and get on a plane. Or maybe I could become a treasure hunter. I read about that somewhere. I could also learn to dive ..."

Victor had to grin and Scipio noticed it.

"You're making fun of me," he said angrily.

"No way!" Victor smiled. Treasure hunter, diver -- he had never wanted to be anything like that!

"Go on, admit it, you also like a bit of adventure," Scipio continued more calmly. "After all, you're a detective."

Victor didn't reply. His feet ached, he was tired, and he would have loved to be sitting next to Ida on the couch. Why hadn't he done just that? Instead he had gone traipsing through the night.

They were already crossing the bridge near Victor's house. "You should look in on your old friends sometime," Victor said.