The Thief Lord (16 page)

31 No Bo

The Sacca della Misericordia pokes into the maze of Venice's alleys. It looks as if the sea has taken a bite out of the city and swallowed it.

It was quarter to one in the morning when Mosca moored his boat at the last bridge before the bay. Riccio jumped ashore and tied the boat to one of the wooden stakes sticking out of the water. Behind them lay a seemingly endless trip through canals Prosper had never seen before. He had only been to the northernmost part of the city once before. The houses here were just as old if not quite as magnificent as those in the center.

There were just the three of them in the boat: Mosca, Riccio, and Prosper.

Hornet had given Bo hot milk and honey after dinner and he had emptied two whole mugs without becoming suspicious. Then she had settled down with him on her mattress, her arm wrapped around him, and she had read from his favorite book,
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
During the third chapter, Bo had already nestled his head against Hornet's chest and begun snoring softly. On cue, Prosper had quietly crept away with Riccio and Mosca. Hornet had bravely tried not to look too worried as she waved good-bye.

"Can you hear anything?" Riccio peered into the night. Some of the windows were still lit and their glow reflected on the water's surface. The snow looked strange in the moonlight, like icing sugar on a model city. Prosper gazed down the canal. Ida Spavento had wanted to come in her own boat, and she was supposed to be picking Scipio up on the way.

"I think I can hear something!" Riccio climbed deftly back into the boat. Mosca wedged an oar against the wooden pier to stop the boat from rocking.

"About time they turned up!" Prosper whispered, looking at his watch.

By now the sounds of an engine came quite clearly through the night and soon a boat drifted toward them. The boat was much wider and heavier than Mosca's. It had a black finish, just like a gondola. Behind the wheel sat a giant of a man and behind him, hardly recognizable under the shawl wrapped around her head, was Ida Spavento. Scipio was sitting by her side.

"At last!" Mosca called out quietly as the boat came alongside his. "Riccio, cast off!"

Scowling in Scipio's direction, Riccio jumped back aboard.

"Sorry, Giaco lost the way," Ida said. "And the Thief Lord was also not very punctual." She got up and carefully handed a heavy parcel to Prosper: the lion wing, wrapped in a blanket and tied up with a leather strap.

"My father had some of his business partners over," Scipio defended himself. "It wasn't easy to sneak out of the house."

"Wouldn't have been such a great loss if you'd missed it anyway," replied Riccio.

Prosper sat down at the stern of the boat, holding on tightly to the wing.

"It's probably best if you wait with your boat over there, where the canal flows into the bay," Mosca instructed Ida. "If you drift out any further the Conte might see you and the whole deal could be off."

Ida nodded. Her face was pale with excitement. "I had to leave my camera at home. The flash would have given us away. But these" -- she pulled a pair of binoculars from her coat -- "may come in handy. And if I may make a suggestion." She eyed Mosca's boat. "Then we should use my boat to follow the Conte -- should he sail out into the lagoon after the transfer."

"Into the lagoon?" Riccio's mouth dropped wide open in horror.

"Of course!" Ida whispered. "He'd never keep the merry-go-round secret in this city. But there are lots of islands out there in the lagoon where nobody ever goes."

Prosper and Riccio looked at each other. Out on the lagoon in the middle of the night...They didn't like the sound of that.

But Mosca just shrugged. He felt at home in the water, especially in the dark when everything was still and silent. "Fine by me!" he said. "My boat's OK for fishing, but it's not up to a chase. And who knows what kind of boat the Conte's got? As soon as we see him heading for the lagoon, we will row back to you as quickly as possible and then follow him in your motorboat."

"That's how we'll do it." Ida blew into her cold hands. "How wonderful! I haven't done anything this crazy in a long time!" she sighed. "A real adventure! If only it wasn't so cold." She shivered and wrapped her coat around herself even tighter.

"What about him?" Riccio nodded toward Ida's boatman. "Is he going to come with us?" He and Mosca had immediately recognized the man: It was the husband of Ida Spavento's housekeeper. As usual, he looked bad-tempered and hadn't yet said a word.

"Giaco?" Ida lifted her eyebrows. "He has to come. He's much better with the boat than I am. And he's very discreet."

Giaco winked at Mosca and spat into the water.

"Enough talk!" Mosca picked up the oars. "We've got to go."

"Scipio's got to come in our boat," Prosper interjected. "The Conte negotiated with him. He'll be suspicious if he's not with us."

Riccio pursed his lips, but he said nothing as Scipio climbed on board. The bell of Santa Maria di Valverde was just chiming one o'clock as they rowed out into the Sacca della Misericordia. There were just a few lights glimmering on the surface of the water. Ida's boat stayed behind like a shadow, hardly more than a black speck against the dark outline of the shore.

32 The Island

The Conte was already waiting. His boat lay not far from the bay's western shore. It was a sailing boat. The navigation lights shined brightly across the water and a red lantern had been placed, clearly visible, on the stern.

"A sailing boat!" Mosca whispered as they rowed toward it. "Ida was right. He came from one of the islands."

"No doubt about it." Scipio put on his mask. "But the wind's in our favor. We'll easily follow him with the motorboat."

"Out into the lagoon?" Riccio moaned. "Oh lord! lord! lord!"

Prosper said nothing. He held on to the wing. The cold wind had died down and Mosca's boat glided smoothly across the water. But Riccio clung miserably to the side, terrified that the boat might capsize if he only so much as looked at the black water beneath him.

The Conte was standing at the stern of his boat. He was wearing a large gray coat. He didn't look as frail as Prosper had imagined him from their encounter in the confessional. His hair was white but he was very erect and he still appeared to be quite a strong man. There was someone standing behind the Conte, smaller than him, dressed in black from head to toe, their face hidden beneath a hood. When Mosca rowed alongside, the second figure cast a line with a hook toward Prosper to keep the boats from drifting apart.

"Salve!"
the Conte called out toward them in a rough voice. "I presume you are just as cold as we are, so let us complete this transaction as quickly as possible."

"Fine. Here's the wing." Prosper handed Scipio the parcel and he in turn carefully offered it to the Conte. The narrow boat rocked underneath Scipio's feet and he nearly stumbled. The Conte quickly leaned forward as if he feared that what he had been searching for all this time could still be lost forever.

"That's it!" Prosper heard him whisper. The old man reverently stroked the painted wood underneath the blanket. "Morosina, just look at it!" He impatiently waved at his companion, who had been hidden behind the mast all this time. The figure went up to him and pushed back the hood. To their surprise, the boys saw it was a woman. She was not much younger than the Conte and she wore her hair in a tight bun. "Yes, that's it," Prosper heard her say. "Let's give them their reward."

"You deal with it," the Conte said, wrapping the blanket around the wing.

Silently, the woman handed Scipio an old bag. "Take this," she said, "and use the money to find yourself another occupation. How old are you? Eleven? Twelve?"

"With this kind of money I can be as grown-up as I want to be," Scipio answered. He took the bag and put it on the floor between him and Mosca.

"Did you hear that, Renzo?" The woman leaned against the deck rail and eyed Scipio with puzzled amusement. "He wants to be grown-up. How different dreams can be!"

"Nature will soon grant your wish," the Conte replied. He was wrapping the wing in a tarpaulin. "We wish the opposite to be true. Do you want to count the money, Thief Lord?"

Scipio put the bag on Mosca's lap and opened it.

"Wow!" Mosca whispered. He took a bundle of bills and began to count them with an expression of utter disbelief. Even Riccio forgot his fear of the water and got up. However, as the boat began to rock, he hurriedly sat down again. "Has anyone ever seen so much money?" he wondered.

Scipio held a note in front of his flashlight, counted the wad, and then he gave Mosca a satisfied nod.

"Seems to be all there," he called up to the Conte and his companion.

The gray-haired lady bowed her head and said,
"Buonritorno!"

The Conte stood next to her. Prosper threw him the rope and the Conte caught it. "Safe return -- and the best of luck for the future," he said. Then he pushed off.

Prosper and Mosca took the oars and pulled away from the Conte's boat. The mouth of the canal where Ida was waiting for them seemed very far away. Prosper could see quite clearly that behind them the Conte had already pointed the bow of his boat toward where the Sacca della Misericordia opened into the lagoon.

But Scipio had been right. The wind was on their side. It barely rippled the water and when they reached Ida's boat they could still make out the Conte's sails.

"Go on, tell me: How did it go?" Ida asked impatiently as soon as the four of them had climbed aboard. "I could only see that he's got a sailing boat, but you were too far out."

"Everything's sorted. We've got the money and he's got the wing." Scipio wedged the bag with the money between his legs. "There was a woman with him. And you were right: They're sailing out to the lagoon."

"I thought so!" Ida gave Giaco a sign, but he had already started the engine and soon they were heading out into the bay.

"He's turned off the red lantern," Mosca shouted above the din of the engine, "but I can still see the boat."

Giaco grumbled something unintelligible. He held his course as if there were nothing easier than to follow a strange boat in the moonlight.

"Have you counted the money?" Ida asked.

"Sort of," Scipio answered. "There's definitely a lot of it."

"Can I have a look through your binoculars?" Mosca asked.

Ida handed them to him and wrapped her scarf tighter around her head.

"He's making very slow progress, but he'll be out of the bay soon," said Mosca.

"Don't get too close, Giaco!" Ida called forward.

"Don't worry, Signora."

They left the city behind. Soon there was nothing but water and darkness around them. Even though it felt as if they were the only people on the lagoon, they knew they couldn't be. They kept seeing lights appear and disappear in the blackness -- green and red navigation lights, just as on Ida's boat.

But even if the Conte had seen their boat, why would he suspect that they were following him? After all, he had already paid them.

Prosper looked across the water nervously. He and Bo had never been out here, although the others had told them a lot about the lagoon and its islands. Little specks of land hemmed with reeds. Here were the ruins of long-abandoned villages and fortresses, and the fruit and vegetable fields that supplied the city. Some were home to the monasteries and hospitals where the city's sick used to be brought.

The silent Giaco deftly steered the boat past the
bricole
-- the wooden posts that poked out of the water everywhere. Their sides were painted white to mark the route around the shallows. But they were quite hard to see in the moonlight.

At one point, Mosca whispered, "That's San Michele!"

They slowly cruised past the walls that surround the island where, for hundreds of years, the Venetians have buried their dead. As soon as he had passed this cemetery island, the Conte set a northeasterly course. They left Murano -- the glassmakers' island -- behind them and cruised on, deeper into the maze of islands and grassy islets.

Prosper felt as if the boat were going to sail on forever. He just hoped that Bo would still be asleep when they got back. Bo would kick up a diabolical fuss if he found out that the others were meeting the Conte, and that Hornet had lulled him to sleep with hot milk and a book so they could sneak away.

"Let me have a look, Mosca." Riccio reached for the binoculars. "How far is that man going to sail? If we go on like this, we'll soon be in Burano and as stiff as deep-frozen chickens."

They went on and on through the darkness. They could all feel themselves getting sleepy, despite the cold. Then Mosca suddenly whistled through his teeth. He knelt down to get a better look. "I think he's heaving to!" he whispered breathlessly. "There! He's sailing toward that island. I have no idea which one it is. Do you recognize it, Signora?"

Ida Spavento took the glasses and peered through them. Prosper looked over her shoulder. Even without the binoculars he could make out two lanterns on the shore, a high wall, and further back, through a maze of black branches, the outline of a house.

"Madonna,
I think I know which island this is!" Ida sounded startled. "Giaco, don't go any closer! Switch off the engine. And the lights."

As the engine died down everything was suddenly very still. Prosper felt like an invisible animal lurking in the dark. He heard the water slapping against the hull and Mosca breathing next to him. And there were voices drifting across the water.

"Yes, that's the one!" Ida whispered. "Isola Segreta, the Secret Isle. There are some really spooky stories about this place. The Valaresso, one of the oldest families of Venice, used to have an estate here, but that was a long time ago. I thought the family had moved away years ago and that the island was deserted. It seems I was wrong."

"Isola Segreta?" Mosca stared at the distant lights. "That's the island where nobody ever goes."

"That's right. It's not easy to find a boatman who will bring you there," Ida answered, not taking the binoculars from her eyes. "The island's supposed to be bewitched. Terrible things happen there. It's said nobody who's ever visited the Isola Segreta has lived to tell about it. So that's where the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters has ended up, is it?"

"Listen!" Riccio whispered.

The baying of dogs sounded across the water. Loud and threatening.

"That sounds like two dogs!" Mosca whispered. "Big ones."

"Haven't you seen enough yet, Signora?" Riccio's voice sounded shrill. "We've followed the Conte all the way to this darned island. That was our deal. So please tell that silent man there to take us home."

But Ida didn't answer. She was still watching the island through her binoculars. "They're going ashore," she said quietly. "Ah, so that's what your Conte looks like. From what you said I imagined him to be older. And there next to him," she lowered her voice even more, "is the woman Scipio told me about. Who are they? Are there still Valaresso on that island?"

Mosca, Prosper, and Scipio were staring at the island just as intently as Ida. Only Riccio was sitting nervously next to the bag with the money. He had fixed his eyes on Giaco's broad back, as if that could reassure him.

"There's a jetty," Scipio whispered, "and steps leading up the shore toward a gate in the wall."

"Who's that on the wall?" Mosca grabbed Prosper's arm. "I see two white figures."

"Those are statues," Ida said soothingly. "Stone angels. Now they're opening the gate. Wow, those dogs are big."

Even without binoculars the boys could see them. They were huge white mastiffs, as big as calves. Suddenly, as if they had caught a strange scent, they turned to face the water and began to bark so noisily and angrily that Ida jumped and dropped her binoculars. Prosper tried to grab them, but they slipped through his fingers and landed in the water with a loud splash.

The sound cut through the night like a gunshot.

Riccio pressed his hands against his ears while all the others ducked. Only Giaco remained steadily behind the wheel. "They've heard us, Signora!" he said calmly. "They're looking over here."

"Oh my god!" Ida shouted. "Keep your heads down. You too, Giaco! I think she has a gun!"

"Oh no!" Mosca moaned, pulling his jacket over his head.

Riccio had curled up on the floor with the money bag. "But we all glow in the dark like moon cheese. I told you this was a stupid idea. I said we should turn around."

"Riccio, shut up!" Scipio yelled at him.

The mastiffs were barking ever more furiously. A woman's voice could also be heard now, clearly angry -- and then a shot. When he saw the flash of the gun, Prosper ducked and pulled Scipio down with him. Riccio began to sob.

"Giaco!" Ida's voice sounded sharp. "Turn around. Now!"

Without a word, Giaco started the engine.

"But what about the merry-go-round?" Scipio wanted to get up, but Prosper pulled him down again.

"The merry-go-round can't bring back the dead!" Ida shouted. "More speed, Giaco! And you, Thief Lord, keep your head down!"

The engine roared and the water splashed into the boat as Giaco left the Isola Segreta behind them. Soon it grew smaller and smaller, until it was swallowed by the night.

"That was close!" Ida said while she tried to pull her scarf back over her ears. "I'm sorry I talked you into this madness. Giaco, why didn't you stop me?"

"Nobody can stop you, Signora!" Giaco answered without even turning around.

"Doesn't matter," said Mosca. "At least we've got the money."

Scipio, however, just stared with a bleak expression at the foaming path left behind by the boat.

"Come on, just forget about it," Prosper said, giving him a nudge. "I would've liked to see the merry-go-round as well, but it really doesn't matter."

"It's there!" Scipio looked at him. "I'm sure it's there."

"If you say so," Riccio threw in, "but why don't we count our money." Since Prosper and Scipio made no move to help, Mosca and Riccio got to work. They were still counting as the lights of the city began to glitter across the water.

Only when Giaco steered the boat back into the Sacca della Misericordia did they finally zip up the bag. "Seems to be all there," said Mosca. "More or less. All these notes are difficult to count."

"Good." Ida sighed. "Then I'll drop you by your boat. I do hope you have a warm place to sleep. Say hello to the little one from me, Prosper -- and the girl too. I ..." She wanted to say more, but Riccio interrupted her as if he had to say something fast, before it burned his lips. "Scipio's going somewhere else. Perhaps you can take him home."

Prosper hung his head in embarrassment. Mosca played intently with the buckles of the bag and avoided Scipio's eyes.

"Of course." Ida turned to Scipio. "The ceasefire is over. Do you want to go back to the Accademia Bridge where I picked you up, Thief Lord?"

Scipio shook his head. "Fondamenta Bollani," he said quietly. "If that's OK."

We're not together anymore, Prosper thought sadly. He tried to recall the anger, the disappointment he had felt when he had first discovered that Scipio had lied to them. But all he could see now was Scipio's pale face, his look of misery, and the tight lips -- probably holding back the tears.