The Thief Lord (13 page)

25 A Word of Honor

It hadn't been hard to pick the lock of the men's bathroom. Mosca had taken the toolbox away from Victor before he left, but the detective always had a bit of wire and some other useful items in the hollow heel of one of his shoes. He had already reached the foyer with his two tortoise boxes when he decided he couldn't leave without a few farewell words. He couldn't find any paper, so he wrote his message on the whitewashed wall with a felt-tip pen.

Pay Attention! This is Victor's Promise. The Hartliebs will not hear anything from me
--
not unless I hear about any strange break-ins over the next few weeks. See you later. You can count on it.

Victor

When he had finished, Victor took a step back and looked at his handiwork. I must be completely crazy, he thought as he read his own words. Then he thought about searching for his gun and his wallet. But where should he look? What if the gang walked in on him?

I'll just go home, Victor decided. Every single bone in his body ached from the night spent on the cold tiles.

Out in the alley a few women were gossiping. They fell silent when they saw Victor come out of the abandoned movie theater, but he greeted them as if there was absolutely nothing strange about him being there. As they watched, he carefully closed the boarded-up door and went home with his tortoises.

26 The Break-in

"Now, would you believe this?" Riccio shouted when they discovered the empty bathroom and Victor's scrawls on the wall. "We'll have to catch him again right away."

"Oh yes? And how?" asked Mosca. On the blanket was the radio. Assembled. Perfect. Mosca sat down next to it and started to riddle with the dials. The others were still standing in front of Victor's scribbled message.

"Well, we have to believe him, we've got no choice," Hornet said. "Or do you want to go looking for a new hideout right now, Riccio?" she asked. "And what about the break-in and the deal with the Conte? Do you want to forget about all that just because the snoop has told us to?"

"No, I don't," said Riccio. "He'll only find out about the break-in once it's done. And by then we'll be long gone with our money. Somewhere."

Riccio stared at Victor's scrawl. Then he turned abruptly and vanished into the auditorium.

Hornet wanted to follow him, but Prosper held her back. "Hold on," he said, "do you still want to steal the wing? Don't you get it? Scipio has never done a break-in in his life!"

"Who's talking about Scipio?" Hornet crossed her arms. "We'll do it without Scipio. The Conte won't care who gets the wing for him. And once we've got the five million, we won't need anyone. No adults, and definitely no Thief Lord. Maybe we should do it tonight. The sooner the better. What do you think? Are you with us?"

"And what about Bo?" Prosper shook his head. "No. If you really want to risk your neck, that's fine. I wish you luck. But I won't do it. My aunt's coming to Venice in two days' time. By then Bo and I will have left the city. I'll try to sneak us on to a ship or an airplane -- anything that'll get us away from here. Other people have done it before. It was in the paper a few days ago."

"Yes, and I could kick myself for reading it to you. Don't you understand?" Hornet's voice sounded angry, but there were also tears in her eyes. "That's even more crazy than sneaking into some house. We all belong together now, you and Bo, Riccio, Mosca and me. We're sort of a family now and ..."

"Hey guys, come here!" Mosca shouted from the men's bathroom. "I think that snoop really did repair my radio. Even the cassette's working again."

But Prosper and Hornet didn't react.

"Think about it!" Hornet said. Her voice sounded so anxious it caused Prosper to have second thoughts. "Please!" Then she ran after Riccio.

Dinner was canceled. None of them was hungry and one by one they settled down into a troubled sleep. Prosper dreamed he was with Bo, back in the train that had brought them to Venice. They were looking for a seat, but whenever Prosper opened the door to a compartment, Esther was already sitting behind it. Suddenly Victor stood in front of them. Prosper turned around and yanked open the nearest door he could find. But behind it was nothing but darkness. Black, limitless darkness. Before he could draw back he had already fallen into it. And Bo was no longer with him.

Prosper woke up suddenly. He was drenched in sweat. Around him was nothing but the cold black night. Prosper felt for the flashlight that he always kept next to his mattress and switched it on. Hornet's mattress was empty. She was gone -- and so was Bo! Prosper jumped up. He ran to Riccio's mattress and pulled open the sleeping bag. Nothing but grubby stuffed animals. Mosca's blanket was thrown in a heap just covering his old radio.

They were gone. All gone. With Bo.

Prosper guessed immediately where they would be. He ran to the cupboard that held everything Mosca had collected for the break-in: a rope, the floor plans, the sausages for the dogs, shoe polish to blacken their faces -- all had vanished.

But why did they take Bo? Prosper wondered in desperation while he got dressed. How could Hornet have allowed it?

The moon hung high above the city as Prosper rushed out of the movie theater. The alleys lay empty and gray wisps of fog floated eerily over the canal.

Prosper ran. His steps rang out loudly on the pavement, adding to his fears. He had to catch up with the others before they climbed over the wall, before they broke into the house. His head was full of images of policemen carrying off a struggling Bo, taking away Hornet and Mosca, dragging away Riccio by his hedgehog hair.

The Accademia Bridge was extremely slippery in the fog. High above the Grand Canal, Prosper fell and grazed his knee. He fought for breath and continued his long journey on shaking legs. Soon, there was only one more alley to go through before he'd be stumbling into the Campo Santa Margherita. The house of Ida Spavento was on the right, nearly at the opposite end of the square. None of the windows were lit. Prosper ran up to the door and listened. Nothing. Of course not. The entrance to the alley that led to the garden looked very creepy.

After a few steps through the pitch-black darkness the way became lighter. The garden wall of the Casa Spavento rose between the closely built houses in front of him. There was a dark shape sitting on top of it. As soon he saw it, Prosper felt both angry and relieved.

The figure on the wall looked down at him. Despite the blackened face he recognized Hornet immediately.

"Where's Bo?" Prosper gasped. "Why did you take him with you? Bring him back here right now!"

"Calm down!" Hornet hissed back. "We didn't bring him along. He followed us, and then he threatened to wake up the whole Campo Santa Margherita if we didn't help him over the wall. What else could we have done? You know how stubborn he can be."

"Is he inside?" Prosper nearly choked on his fears.

"Catch!" Hornet threw him the rope she'd been rolling up. Prosper automatically tied it around his wrist and climbed up. The wall was high and rough and he cut his hands on the jagged stones. Once he'd reached the top, Hornet quietly gathered up the rope and helped him to lower himself into the garden. His mouth was dry with fear as he finally reached the ground again. Hornet threw him the end of the rope and then she jumped down herself.

The dry leaves crackled underneath their feet as they crept toward the house. Mosca and Riccio had already started working on the kitchen door. Riccio had blackened his face like Hornet. Bo hid behind Mosca's back when he saw Prosper approaching.

"I should have left you with Esther!" Prosper hissed angrily at his little brother. "I'm taking you away right now, come on." He tried to pull Bo from behind Mosca's back, but Bo slipped away.

"No, I'm staying!" he shouted -- so loudly that Mosca immediately pressed his hand over Bo's mouth. Riccio and Hornet looked anxiously toward the top-floor windows. They stayed dark. "Just leave him, Prosper, please!" Hornet whispered. "It'll be OK."

Mosca slowly took his hand off Bo's mouth. "Don't do that again, please?" he breathed. "I thought I was going to die."

"Are the dogs here?" Prosper asked.

Hornet shook her head. "At least we haven't heard them yet," she whispered.

Riccio knelt down again in front of the kitchen door. Mosca shined his flashlight at the lock.

Hornet bent toward Prosper who was leaning against the wall and staring up at the moon. "You don't have to come inside," she whispered. "I'll look after Bo."

"If Bo goes, I go," Prosper answered.

Riccio said a quick prayer and pushed the door open.

They were greeted by all the sounds of a strange house. A clock ticked. A fridge hummed. They crept on, full of curiosity and shame.

"Shut the door!" Mosca called softly.

Hornet let the beam of her light wander across the walls. There was nothing terribly special about Ida Spavento's kitchen. Pots and pans, spice jars, an espresso pot, a large table, a few chairs...

"Should we leave someone here as a guard?" Riccio asked quietly.

"What for?" Hornet opened the door to the hall and listened. "The police aren't going to come over the garden wall. You go first," she whispered to Mosca.

Mosca nodded and slipped through the door.

The door led into a narrow corridor, just as it was on the floor plan. After a few yards they came to a staircase. On the wall next to it hung masks, looking ghostly in the flickering beams of the flashlights. One of the masks looked just like the one Scipio always wore.

The staircase led to another door. Mosca opened it a crack and listened. Then he waved the others into another corridor that was a bit wider than the one on the ground floor. Two lights on the ceiling gave off a dim light. A radiator gurgled somewhere, but otherwise there was complete silence. Mosca put a warning finger to his lips as they passed the stairs that led to the second floor. They all cast worried glances up the narrow stairs.

"Maybe there's nobody at home," Hornet whispered hopefully. The house felt deserted, with all its dark and empty rooms. The first two doors led to a bathroom and a tiny cupboard, Mosca remembered from the floor plan they'd gotten from the Conte.

"Now this is where it gets more interesting," he whispered as they stood in front of the third door. "This should be the living room. Perhaps Ida Spavento has put her wing above the couch." He was just about to reach for the doorknob when someone opened the door from the inside.

Mosca recoiled so quickly that he stumbled into the others. But it wasn't Ida Spavento standing in the open door. It was Scipio.

This was the Scipio they knew. He was wearing the mask and the boots, the black coat and his black leather gloves.

Riccio stared at him in astonishment, but Mosca's face was rigid. "What are you doing here?" he hissed at Scipio.

"What are
you
doing here?" Scipio spat back. "This is
my
job."

"Oh, shut up!" Mosca shoved Scipio in the chest. "You lying piece of garbage! You've had a great time, stringing us along, haven't you? The Thief Lord! Well, this may be quite an adventure for you, but we need the money. And that's why we're going to deliver the wing to the Conte. Is it in there?"

Scipio shrugged.

Mosca pushed him roughly aside and disappeared into the room.

"How did you get in here?" Riccio grumbled at Scipio.

"It wasn't hard -- otherwise how would
you
have done it?" came Scipio's sharp answer. "And I'm telling you: I will give the wing to the Conte. You'll get your share as usual, but now leave!"

"You leave!" Mosca appeared behind him again. "Or we'll tell your father that his fine son likes to creep into other people's houses at night!" His voice had grown so loud that Hornet pushed between them.

"Stop it!" she whispered. "Have you forgotten where we are?"

"You can't take anything to the Conte, Thief Lord," Riccio hissed at Scipio. "You can't even send him a message, because we have the pigeon."

Scipio pressed his lips together. He had completely forgotten about the pigeon.

"Come on," Mosca urged, without looking at Scipio. "Let's keep looking. Prosper, you and I will take the left door and -- Riccio and Hornet -- you take the right."

"And keep out of our way, Thief Lord!" Riccio added.

Scipio didn't answer. He stood there, motionless, and looked after them. Mosca, Riccio, and Hornet had already disappeared behind the doors when Prosper turned back.

"You'd better go home, Scip," he said quietly. "The others are really angry."

"Yeah," Bo mumbled uncertainly, looking nervously at Scipio.

"And you?" Scipio asked. But when Prosper didn't answer immediately, he turned abruptly and ran up the next flight of stairs.

"Look at that!" Mosca pointed as Prosper pushed Bo through the open door. "It says
Laboratorio
on the plan and I wondered what that was supposed to mean. It's a photographer's dark room!" He admiringly let his flashlight beam wander through the room.

"Scip's gone upstairs," Prosper said.

"What?" Mosca looked surprised. He whirled around as Hornet and Riccio walked through the door.

"The wing's not in the dining room either," Hornet whispered. "How about in here?"

"Scipio's gone upstairs," Mosca told them. "We have to go after him."

"Upstairs?" Riccio ran his fingers through his spiky hair. That's what they had all been afraid of: having to go to the second floor, where the owner of the house might be sleeping in blissful ignorance of her nighttime visitors.

"The wing's
got
to be upstairs," Mosca whispered.

Suddenly the little room was filled with red light.

The children turned around in surprise. Someone was standing in the doorway: A woman in a thick winter coat, holding a hunting rifle under one arm.

"I do beg your pardon," Signora Ida Spavento said, pointing the gun at Riccio, who was standing closest to her. "I don't quite recall having invited you."

"Please! Please don't shoot," Riccio stuttered. He held up his hands. Bo had already vanished behind Prosper and Hornet.

"Oh, I don't really intend to shoot," Ida Spavento said, "but you will understand that I had to fetch the old gun when I heard you whispering. So, I decide to go out for once, and when I come back what do I find? A gang of little thieves with flashlights, creeping around my house. You should be grateful I didn't call the police."

"Please! Don't call the police!" Hornet whispered. "Please don't."

"Well, perhaps I won't. You don't really look terribly dangerous." Ida Spavento lowered her gun, took a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and put one between her lips. "Were you after my cameras? You could get those much more easily out there on the streets."

"No, we...didn't want to steal anything valuable, Signora," Hornet said haltingly. "Really, we didn't."

"No? What, then?"

"The w-wing," Riccio stammered, "and it's only m-made of wood." He was still holding up his hands even though the barrel of the gun was pointing down at his feet.

"The wing?" Ida Spavento placed the rifle against the wall.

With a relieved sigh, Riccio put down his hands. Bo now dared to come out from behind Prosper's back.

Ida Spavento looked at him with a frown. "Well, well, here's another one. How old are you? Five? Six?"

"Five," Bo mumbled, looking at her suspiciously.

"Five. Heavens above! You're really very young for a bunch of thieves." Ida Spavento leaned against the door frame and looked at them one by one. "What am I going to do with you now? You break into my house. You try to rob me...What do you know about the wing?"