The Thief Lord

The Thief Lord Page 46

"No!" he said, breaking free. "I'm staying here."

Riccio looked up at the sky and sighed with frustration. "Prop!" he said pleadingly. "What do you think the porter will do when he finds you skulking around here in the middle of the night? He'll call the Carabinieri. And what are you going to tell them? That your aunt has kidnapped your brother?"

Prosper ignored him. "Go away, Riccio," he said without taking his eyes off the windows. "It's all over. We haven't got a hideout, Hornet's gone, and Bo is with Esther."

"Hornet isn't gone!" Riccio called out so loud that people turned their heads. He quickly lowered his voice again. "She isn't gone!" he whispered. "Ida and the snoop got her out of the orphanage!"

"Ida and Victor?" Prosper looked at him in wonder.

"Yes, and they had a real laugh doing it! You should have seen them when they left, they had their arms linked like an old couple." Riccio chuckled. "The snoop's been behaving like a real gentleman. He opens doors for Ida and helps her into her coat. Only he won't light her cigarettes and keeps moaning about her smoking so much."

"But how did they do it?"

To his satisfaction, Riccio noticed that Prosper had obviously forgotten about the hotel for a moment. "Hornet was taken to the orphanage of the Merciful Sisters. Apparently that's where Ida was brought up," he explained quietly. "Anyway, she now gives them money every now and then. She collects toys, that sort of stuff as well...Victor said the nuns treated her like the Madonna herself. They believed everything she said!"

"That's great news." Prosper turned his attention back to the windows. "Say hello to Hornet for me. Is she OK?"

"No, she isn't!" Riccio planted himself in front of Prosper so he would have to look at him. "She's worried about you. And about Bo, although he's probably not thinking about jumping into the lagoon like you!"

"She thinks I'm going to do that?" Prosper angrily pushed Riccio away. "That's stupid. I hate water."

"That's fine then! But could you tell her that yourself?" Riccio held out his hands imploringly. "I just saw her for a couple of minutes when I went back to get something to eat. But she would hardly let me touch my food." He altered his voice. "Get out there, Riccio!" he twittered, imitating Hornet. "You've had enough to eat, Riccio! Go and find Prosper! Please! He might have thrown himself into some canal! She even wanted to come with me, but Ida said she'd better stay in the house for a while, so she doesn't end up in the orphanage again. That was fine by me. Her nagging would have driven me crazy. And I knew you'd turn up here sooner or later."

Riccio could make out a smile on Prosper's face, just a tiny one, but it was definitely there. "Anyway," he said, "I've talked enough now. You can come back here tomorrow morning, but right now you're coming with me."

Prosper didn't reply, but let himself be hustled along by Riccio, past the souvenir stands that lined the Riva degli Schiavoni. Most of the hawkers were already closing down their stalls, but you could still buy a few things at some of them: the plastic fans Bo liked so much -- with black lace and the Rialto Bridge printed on them, golden gondolas, coral necklaces, city guides, dried sea horses.

Prosper followed Riccio through the crowd, but kept looking back toward the Sandwirth.

"Come on! If Ida and Victor managed to get Hornet back," Riccio said, "then they'll work something out for getting Bo back too. You'll see."

"They're flying home next week," said Prosper. "What can anyone do then?"

"That's plenty of time," Riccio answered. He turned up his collar. He was shivering. "And anyway, Bo's not in prison, or in the orphanage. Man, that's the Sandwirth. It's a really fancy hotel."

Prosper just nodded. He felt so empty. As empty as the big mussel shells lying in those large baskets in front of the market.

Riccio stopped. "Hang on, Prop."

The sky above the lagoon had turned red. It was growing dark, although it was only four o'clock. A few tourists stood in wonder by the quay and saw how the setting sun glazed the dirty water with gold.

"What an opportunity," Riccio whispered to Prosper. "They wouldn't even notice if I stole their shoes. I only need a few seconds. You can check out the mussels until I get back."

He turned around, already wearing his "I am just a skinny boy who couldn't hurt a fly" expression. But Prosper grabbed him by the collar.

"Forget it, Riccio," he said angrily, "or do you think Ida Spavento will let you sleep in her house once the Carabinieri have caught you?"

"You don't understand!" Riccio, pretending to be outraged, tried to free himself from Prosper's grip. "I just don't want to get out of practice."

But Prosper wouldn't let go, and so Riccio gave a shrug before walking on. The tourists continued to be enchanted by the sunset, without having to pay for it with their wallets.

39 All Lost

That evening Ida threw a party. Lucia, the housekeeper, had cooked, fried, and baked all afternoon. She had whipped cream, scooped tiny cakes from the baking tin, made ravioli, and stirred sauces. Different smells kept luring Victor into the kitchen, but every time he tried to sneak a taste he got his fingers rapped with a wooden spoon. Hornet and Prosper set the table together in the dining room while Mosca and Riccio chased each other from one floor to the other, always followed by Lucia's yapping dogs.

The two of them were so happy and boisterous that they didn't even seem to mind anymore that the Conte had duped them. When Victor asked them what they intended to do with all those wads of fake cash, Riccio said, quite openly, "We can still spend it." Victor told them off soundly and demanded that Riccio hand over the bag right away. But Riccio, grinning broadly, just shook his head and declared that he and Mosca had hidden it. In a safe place, he'd said. Not even Prosper and Hornet knew about it -- not that they seemed to care particularly.

So Victor decided he'd better forget about the fake money too. He sat down on Ida's sofa and started munching chocolates, telling himself he ought to go home. But each time he got up, with a big sigh, to say good-bye, Ida had brought him a glass of grappa, or a caffe, or asked him to put the toothpicks on the table. So Victor stayed.

While the sky outside darkened, Ida made her house glow as brightly as a thousand stars. She lit countless candles and the crystal shimmered so beautifully that Hornet could hardly take her eyes off it.

"Pinch me!" she said to Prosper. "This can't be real."

Prosper obeyed. He very gently pinched her arm.

"It's real!" Hornet cried, laughing and dancing around him.

But not even her happiness could chase the sadness from Prosper's face. They had all tried in their own way: Riccio with his jokes, Mosca by showing Prosper all the strange things hidden behind the dark doors in Ida's house. Nothing helped: Not even Ida's candy nor Victor's reassurances that he would think of something to help Bo. Because if Bo wasn't there, Prosper missed him like a lost arm or leg. He felt sorry for spoiling the others' fun with his gloomy face. He began to notice that Riccio had started to avoid him and even Mosca busied himself with something or other whenever Prosper moped by. But Hornet stuck by him, even though whenever she tried to put her arm around him consolingly, he pushed her away and adjusted the forks on the table, or sat in front of a window and stared outside.