The Thief Lord

The Thief Lord Page 63

"Titian?" Esther asked, smiling at the little one. "You like Titian'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. "Titian 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 Titian 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 shined. "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 circumstances. The police suspect a boat accident at night on the lagoon, maybe during a fishing 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 astonishing, 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 worships 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 glassblowers 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 peacock. 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."