The Thief Lord (20 page)

40 The Isola Segreta

It was a very dark night. The moon kept vanishing behind the scudding clouds. Although Scipio had stolen his father's sea chart, they still lost their way twice. The first time the sight of the island cemetery had saved them. And when Murano appeared out of the darkness they knew they had gone too far west. Finally, when they were frozen so stiff they could hardly move their fingers anymore, the wall of the Isola Segreta, pale and gray in the moonlight, appeared out of the night. The stone angels looked down at them as if they'd been expecting them.

Scipio throttled back the engine. The Conte's boat swayed with its furled sails by the jetty. Prosper heard the dogs barking.

"What now?" he whispered to Scipio. "How are you going to get past the mastiffs?"

"Do you think I'm so stupid that I'd climb over the gate?" Scipio answered quietly. "We'll try the back."

Prosper said nothing, although he didn't think this was a particularly smart plan. Still, they had no choice if they wanted to get on to that island.

The dogs only fell silent once the boys had turned off the boat lights. Scipio steered the boat close to the shore. He was looking for a hole in the wall. In some places the wall rose straight out of the water and in others it stood behind a thicket of reeds. It seemed to surround the whole island. Finally, Scipio lost his patience.

"That's it. We're climbing over," he whispered. He switched off the engine and dropped the anchor into the water.

"And how are we going to get ashore?" Prosper stared uneasily into the darkness. There was still quite a distance between the boat and the island. "Are we going to swim?"

"No, of course not! Give me a hand here." From a hatch by the steering wheel Scipio pulled out a dinghy and two oars. Prosper was amazed that a bit of rubber could be so heavy as he helped Scipio to heave it overboard.

Their breath hung in the air like white mist as they paddled toward the island. They hid the boat in the reeds growing at the base of the wall. From this close the wall seemed even higher. Prosper threw his head back and looked up. He began to wonder seriously whether the mastiffs only guarded the gate...

The boys were out of breath when they eventually sat next to each other on top of the rough ledge. Their hands were grazed, but they had done it. A huge overgrown garden lay in front of them. Hedges, bushes, and paths, all were white with frost.

"Can you see it?" Scipio asked.

Prosper shook his head. No, he couldn't see the merry-go-round. All he could see was a big house rising gloomily between the trees.

Climbing down the wall was even harder than climbing up it. The boys landed in dense, thorny scrub and when they finally managed to free themselves they hesitated, not sure in which direction to go.

"The merry-go-round's got to be behind the house," Scipio whispered. "Otherwise we would've seen it from up there."

"Right," Prosper whispered. He looked around.

A rustling sound came from the bushes and then something small and dark darted across the path. Prosper could see tracks in the snow. Bird tracks and paw prints. Rather large paw prints.

"Let's try that path there!" Scipio walked ahead.

The path was lined with mossy statues. Some of them had almost been swallowed up by the thicket. At one stage Prosper thought he could hear footsteps behind them, but when he turned around it was just a bird, fluttering out of an overgrown hedge. It didn't take long for them to get lost. Soon they weren't even sure in which direction the boat lay or even the house they'd seen from the wall.

"Darn. Why don't you walk ahead, Prop?" Scipio suggested as they came across their own footprints. But Prosper didn't answer.

He had heard something. But this time it wasn't a bird they had startled from its sleep. This sounded like panting, short and sharp, followed by a growl, low and quiet and threatening, coming out of the darkness. Prosper forgot to breathe. He turned around very slowly -- and there they were, hardly three steps away, as if they had risen right out of the snow. Two huge white mastiffs.

"Don't move, Scip!" Prosper whispered. "If we run, they'll hunt us down."

"Will they bite if I shake with fear?" Scipio whispered back.

The dogs were still snarling. They came closer, their heads lowered, the fur standing up on their necks, and their teeth bared. My legs are just going to start running whether I tell them to or not, Prosper thought.

"Bimba! Bella!
Basta
-- enough!" a voice called from behind them.

The dogs immediately stopped growling and leaped past Prosper and Scipio. Confused, the boys turned around and found themselves staring into the beam of a flashlight. A girl of perhaps nine or ten years of age was standing behind them on the path. The black dress she was wearing completely swamped her. The dogs came up to her shoulders; she could have ridden on their backs.

"What have we here?" she said. "How fortunate that I like to go for walks in the moonlight. What are you doing here?" The dogs cocked their ears as she raised her voice. "Don't you know what happens to people who sneak onto the Isola Segreta?"

Scipio and Prosper looked at each other.

"We want to see the Conte," Scipio answered. He sounded as if there was absolutely nothing remarkable about the fact that they were prowling around in someone else's garden in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was because the girl was smaller than him that Scipio sounded a little less frightened. Prosper, however, thought the mastiffs made up for that advantage. The dogs guarded her as if they'd tear to shreds anyone who came near her.

"The Conte? Well, well. So you like to pay visits at midnight?" The girl shined her flashlight into Scipio's face.

Then she pointed it at Prosper, who blinked uneasily into its light.

"We had a deal with the Conte," Scipio shouted, "but he cheated us. We might let the matter rest, though, if he lets us take a ride on the merry-go-round. The merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters."

"A merry-go-round?" The girl's eyes turned even more hostile. "What do you mean."

"We know it's here! Show it to us!" Scipio made a step toward her, but the dogs immediately bared their teeth. "If the Conte doesn't let us take a ride on it, we'll go to the police."

"What a generous offer!" The girl looked at him with amusement. "And what makes you think he'd ever let you go again? This is the Isola Segreta. You must know the stories. Nobody who's ever visited this island has lived to tell the tale. Now move!" She pointed down a path to their left that wound into the bushes. "That way. Don't try to run. Believe me, my dogs are faster than you."

The boys hesitated.

"Do as I say!" the girl shouted angrily. "Or you're dog food."

"Come on, Scip!" Prosper grabbed Scipio's arm. Reluctantly, Scipio let himself be pulled along.

The dogs stayed so close behind the boys that they could feel their breath on their necks. From time to time, Scipio looked around as if to check whether it would be worth making a run for the bushes, but each time Prosper held on to his sleeve.

"Caught by a girl!" Scipio groaned. "I'm just glad Mosca and Riccio aren't here."

"If she really takes us to the Conte," Prosper whispered, "then you'd better not threaten him with the police. Who knows what he'll do to us?"

Scipio nodded. He turned around again to look at the dogs.

They soon found out where the girl was taking them. The house, which Prosper had seen from the wall, soon emerged between the trees. It was huge, even bigger than Scipio's. It looked abandoned and dilapidated, even in the usually flattering moonlight. The plaster was coming off the walls and the blinds hung crookedly in front of dark windows. The roof had enough holes for the moon to shine through it. A set of broad steps led up to the main entrance. Stone angels leaned down from the balustrade -- the salty air had eaten away their features and they were now as fuzzy as the coat of arms above the door.

"Oh no. Not up there!" said the girl as Scipio walked toward the steps. "The Conte will most certainly not talk to you tonight. You will spend the rest of the night in the old stables. Over there." She made an impatient gesture toward a low building next to the house. Scipio, however, didn't move.

"No!" he said and folded his arms. "You think you can order us around, just because you've got these dogs from hell with you? I want to see the Conte.
Now."

The girl clicked her tongue, and the dogs pushed their snouts into the boys' bellies. The boys slowly backed away toward the bottom of the steps.

"You won't be seeing anyone tonight," the girl said to them in a sharp voice, "apart, that is, from the rats in the stables. The Conte is sleeping. He will decide tomorrow morning what we will do with you. And think yourself lucky. At least you won't be thrown into the lagoon right away."

Scipio angrily bit his lip, but the dogs began to growl again so Prosper quickly dragged him away.

"Better do what she says, Scip!" he urged as they walked toward the stables, which looked just as decrepit as the main house. "We've got all night to think about what to do next. And we can't do that if we end up as the dogs' dinner. And you won't be riding the merry-go-round then either."

"OK, OK." Scipio flashed the girl a vicious look.

"Please enter, gentlemen!" she said, opening the stable doors. It was pitch black inside and they were greeted by a stench that made Scipio's face screw up in disgust.

"In there?" he called. "Do you want to kill us?"

"Would you rather I left you the dogs for company?" the girl asked. She put her hands on the mastiffs' huge heads.

"Come on now, Scip!" Prosper pulled Scipio into the dark building. A few rats scurried away as the girl shined her light after them.

"There should be some old sacks back there," she said. "They should do for the night. The rats are not very hungry. There's enough for them to eat around here, so they won't bother you tonight. You can forget about finding a way out of here -- there isn't one. I will also leave the dogs outside.
Buonanotte!"
With that she shut the door. Prosper heard her push a heavy bolt across it. The darkness was so complete that Prosper couldn't even see his own hands.

"Prop!" Scipio whispered next to him. "Are you afraid of rats? I'm scared to death."

"I've gotten used to them. We had lots in the movie theater." Prosper listened in the darkness. He heard the girl talking to the dogs outside. She spoke to them with a quiet, tender voice.

"How sweet," Scipio muttered. Suddenly, there was a rustling noise behind him, and Scipio gave such a start that he nearly knocked Prosper over.

They heard the girl's steps receding and the dogs settling down in front of the door. As soon as their eyes had gotten used to the dark, they searched for the sacks the girl had mentioned. But when a rat ran over Scipio's foot they decided not to sleep on the floor. Instead, they found two wooden barrels to lie on, and propped them against the wall.

"He'll just have to let us take a ride!" Scipio said after a while into the blackness. "I mean, he was the one who cheated on us."

"Hmmph," Prosper grunted.

He could imagine only too well what else the Conte could do to them if he chose. And then all of a sudden he remembered Bo. It was the first time he'd thought of him since he'd jumped into Scipio's boat. He wondered whether he would ever see his brother again.

41 A Late Night Phone Call

It was past midnight when Victor heard the phone ring. He pulled the pillow over his head, but it kept ringing and ringing until he finally crept out of his warm bed and stumbled over the tortoise box into his office.

"Who the devil is that?" he growled into the receiver while he rubbed his aching toe.

"He's run away again!" Esther Hartlieb sounded so breathless that Victor didn't understand her at first. "But I'm telling you, this time we won't take him back. No chance! The little devil pulled the tablecloth off the table, right in the middle of the best restaurant in town! And while we sat there with our pasta in our laps, he just ran away." Victor heard her sob. "My husband has always said that the boy wasn't right for us and that he's just like my sister. But he has such an angel face...Anyway, they've thrown us out of the hotel, because he screamed so much they suspected us of beating him. Can you imagine? First he doesn't say a word and then he has a fit just because I try to put some clean socks on him. He even bit my husband! He cut holes in the curtain with my scissors and he poured the coffee from the balcony ..." Esther Hartlieb gasped for breath, "... My husband and I are flying back home on Monday as we had planned. Should my nephews get picked up by the police, then please have them put in an orphanage. There are supposed to be some good institutions here in this city. Did you hear me, Signor Getz? Signor Getz ..."

Victor was carving patterns into his desk with his letter opener. "How long has that little boy been out there now, all on his own?" he asked coldly. "When did he run away?"

"A few hours ago. We had to settle matters with the restaurant first. And then we had to find another hotel with all our luggage. All the decent places are booked up. Now we're in some awfully primitive place near the Rial to Bridge."

A few hours. Victor ran his hand over his tired face and looked outside. The night crouched above the houses, dark and cold, like an animal that eats little boys.

"Did you call the police?" Victor asked. "Is someone looking for Bo now? Your husband, perhaps?"

"What do you mean?" Esther's voice turned shrill. "Do you seriously think one of us is going to go running around through those dark alleys? After all the boy has done to us tonight? We most certainly are not! We're at the end of our rope. I don't even want to hear his name mentioned ever again. I --"

Victor didn't put the phone down. He just dropped the receiver. Still numb with sleep, he started to get dressed.

When he stepped out of the door, the sharp, cold air greeted him, bringing tears to his eyes. Well, at least it was better than bucketing rain, Victor thought as he pulled his hat down over his face. The previous winter the town had been underwater several times, deep enough for a small boy like Bo to be washed away. The lagoon now flooded Venice more and more often, something that in the past only happened every five years or so. Victor didn't want to think about that right now. He felt miserable enough as it was.

His feet were like lead as he stumbled along the sparsely lit alleys and over the cobbles covered with silvery frost. There was only one place where Bo would hide. He didn't know, after all, that Prosper and his friends had found refuge with Ida Spavento. Victor snuffled and wiped his icy nose with his sleeve. The poor little kid didn't know a thing.

It was a long way from Victor's place to the children's old hideout. He was frozen to the bone when he finally reached the movie theater. I'll have to get myself a better coat, he thought as he fumbled for the right lock pick. Luckily, Dottor Massimo hadn't yet had the lock replaced. The lobby was also still full of trash -- as if nothing had happened since the night when the children took Victor prisoner. When he entered the auditorium he heard faint crying.

"Bo?" he called out. "Bo, it's me, Victor. Come here. Or do you want to play hide-and-seek again?"

"I'm not going back to her!" a tearful little voice said out of the darkness. "I just want to be with Prosper."

"You don't have to go back." Victor let the beam of his flashlight wander across the seats until the light fell on blonde hair. Bo was crawling between the seats, as if he was looking for something.

"They're gone, Victor!" he sobbed. "They're gone."

"Who?" Victor bent down toward him and Bo turned his tear-stained face up to the detective. "My kittens," he sniveled, "and Hornet."

"Nobody's gone." Victor helped Bo up and wiped the tears off his cheeks. "They're all at Ida Spavento's house: Hornet, Prosper, Riccio, Mosca, and your kittens." He sat down on a folding seat and pulled Bo on to his lap. "I've heard some terrible things about you, mister," he said. "Pulling down tablecloths, screaming, running away. Do you know that your aunt and uncle have been thrown out of their hotel?"

"Really?" Bo sniffed loudly and buried his face in Victor's coat. "I was angry," he mumbled. "Esther wouldn't tell me where Prosper was."

"Well, well." Victor pushed his handkerchief into Bo's dirty hands. "Here. Blow your nose. Prosper's fine. He's probably lying in a soft bed dreaming of his little brother right now."

"She wanted to make a part in my hair," Bo muttered. He ran his hands over his messy thatch as if wanting to make sure that Esther's efforts had been in vain. "She wouldn't let me jump on the bed
and
she wanted to throw away the sweater Hornet gave me
and
she told me off because there was a little stain" -- Bo indicated the size with his fingers --
"and
she kept wiping my face.
And
she said horrible things about Prosper."

"Did she really?" Victor shook his head with deep sympathy.

Bo rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I'm cold," he said quietly. "Can you take me to Prosper, Victor?"

Victor nodded. "I will," he said. But just as he was about to lift him up, Bo ducked between the seats.

"There's someone there!" he whispered.

Victor turned around.

A man was standing in the door to the lobby. He was shining a huge light into the auditorium. "What are you doing in there?" he called out with a rasping voice when the spotlight stopped on Victor.

Victor got up. "The boy's kitten ran away," he said calmly, as if he found nothing strange about being in a shut-down movie theater in the middle of the night. "He thought it came in here, through the emergency exit. The movie theater is closed down, right?"

"Yes, but the owner, Dottor Massimo, has asked me to keep an eye on the place. Just the other day two street kids were picked up here. Behind you there..." the man waved with his light, "... is that a child?"

"Well observed!" Victor stroked Bo's damp hair. "But this one is no street-kid. This is my son. As I said, he was just looking for his kitten." Victor looked around. "This is a beautiful movie theater. Why was it closed?"

The man shrugged. "Dottor Massimo wants to turn it into a supermarket, after all the trouble he's had with it. Could you please leave now. There are no kittens here, and even if there were, they'd be dead by now. I put down some rat poison."

"We've gone already!" Victor pushed Bo toward the emergency exit.

"The curtain," he said suddenly. "Look, Victor, they pulled it down."

The heavy fabric lay on the floor, crumpled and dirty.

"What are you going to do with the curtain?" Victor called to the guard who was about to disappear into the lobby.

The man turned around reluctantly. "Listen, it's late!" he called. "Why don't you just leave with your little one. Take the curtain, if you're so interested."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Victor grumbled.

Then he pulled a penknife from his pocket and cut a large piece out of the embroidered fabric. "Here," he said as he pushed it into Bo's hand. "A souvenir."

"Is Scipio at Ida's as well?" Bo asked as they finally stepped through the emergency exit.

"No," Victor replied, as he wrapped the boy in the blanket he'd wisely brought with him. Then he lifted Bo up in his arms. "He's probably at home. I don't think he's very popular with your friends right now."

"But his daddy's horrible," Bo mumbled. He had trouble keeping his eyes open. "You're much nicer."

He wrapped his short arms around Victor's neck and squeezed his face against his shoulder. He was already fast asleep when they reached the Accademia Bridge. And so Victor carried him through the silent and empty alleys all the way to Ida Spavento's house.