The Thief Lord Page 14

  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?”

  “So you have it?” Riccio looked at her with big eyes.

  “And what did you want to do with it?”

  “Someone asked us to steal it,” Mosca muttered.

  Ida Spavento looked at him in astonishment. “Asked you? Who?”

  “We’re not going to tell you!” said a voice behind her.

  Ida Spavento spun around. Before she knew what was happening, Scipio had grabbed her rifle and was pointing the barrel at her.

  “Scipio, what are you doing?” Hornet called out, scared. “Give that gun back!”

  “I have the wing!” Scipio said, still holding the rifle. “It was up in the bedroom. Now let’s get out of here.”

  “Scipio? Who’s that now?” Ida Spavento trod her cigarette out on the floor and crossed her arms. “My house seems to be swarming with uninvited guests tonight. That’s an interesting mask you’re wearing, my dear. I have a very similar one, but I don’t often wear it for break-ins. And now put that gun down.”

  Scipio took a step backward.

  “There are a lot of mysterious stories associated with this wing. Did your client tell you about them?”

  Scipio ignored her. “If you’re not going to come with me,” he called to the others, “then I’ll go alone. And I won’t share the money with you.”

  The rifle shook in his hands.

  “Are you coming now or not?” he called once more.

  At that moment Ida Spavento stepped forward, grabbed the barrel, and yanked the rifle out of Scipio’s hands. “That’s enough!” she said. “That thing doesn’t work anyway. And now give me back my wing.”

  Scipio had wrapped the wing in a blanket as soon as he’d heard voices.

  “We would have gotten away with it!” he complained as he placed it on the floor in front of the signora. “If those morons hadn’t just stood around like statues.”

  “Just shut up,” Mosca shouted. “You’ve completely lost it! Waving a gun around like that!”

  “I was never going to shoot!” Scipio shouted back. “I just wanted us to get the money. I would have given all of it to you. You said yourself how much you need it.”

  “The money? Of course!” Ida Spavento knelt down and unfolded the blanket. “How much did your client offer you for my wing?”

  “A lot,” Hornet answered.

  She stepped forward hesitantly and stood beside Ida. The wing’s white paint was faded and cracked, just like the wing in the Conte’s photograph. This one, however, still showed sprinklings of gold.

  “Tell me his name.” Ida Spavento replaced the cover and got up with the wing in her arms, its tip still poking out of the wrapping. “You tell me his name and I’ll tell you why he wants to pay so much money for a piece of wood.”

  “We don’t know his name,” Riccio answered.

  “He calls himself the Conte.” The words slipped out of Mosca’s mouth; he didn’t know why. Scipio shot him a dark look. “What are you staring at, Thief Lord?” Mosca shouted at him. “Why shouldn’t we tell her?”

  “Thief Lord?” Ida Spavento raised her eyebrows. She gave Scipio a glance full of mockery and gentle amusement. “Anyway, I need some coffee. I suppose you kids can’t wait to get out of my house, right?”

  She looked at the children enquiringly.

  Nobody answered. Only Hornet shook her head.

  “Fine!
Then you can keep me company,” Ida Spavento said. “If you want, I’ll tell you a story. A story about a lost wing and a mysterious merry-go-round. You may stay too,” she said as she walked past Scipio, “but maybe the Thief Lord has more important appointments to keep?”

  27

  Scipio decided to come with them to Ida Spavento’s kitchen, but he kept his distance. He lounged against the doorpost as the others gathered around the big table. The wing lay in front of them on the colorful tablecloth.

  “It looks beautiful,” Hornet said as she carefully stroked the wood. “It’s the wing of an angel, isn’t it?”

  “Angel? Oh no.” Ida Spavento took the espresso pot from the stove, the coffee still gurgling as she put it on the table. “This is a lion’s wing.”

  “A lion?” Riccio looked at her in disbelief.

  Ida Spavento nodded. “Indeed.” She put her hand in her coat pocket and pulled out her cigarettes. Then she fetched sugar and a cup for herself. She got some juice and some glasses for the children. There was one for Scipio too, but he stayed by the door. At least he had taken off his mask.

  “So, what about the story?” Mosca asked as he poured himself some juice.

  “I’m coming to that!” Ida Spavento threw her coat over the back of her chair. She took a sip of coffee and then reached for a cigarette.

  “Can I try one?” Riccio asked.

  Ida looked surprised. “Of course not. It’s an unhealthy habit.”

  “Why do you smoke, then?”

  She sighed. “I’m trying to quit. But let’s get to the story.” She leaned back. “Have you ever heard the story about the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters?”

  The children shook their heads.

  “Doesn’t the orphanage in the south of the city also belong to the Merciful Sisters?” Riccio asked.

  “Exactly!” Ida stirred some more sugar into her coffee. “About one hundred and fifty years ago — so the legend says — a rich merchant gave a very valuable gift to the orphanage: He had a merry-go-round built in the courtyard. It had five beautiful wooden figures on it. There’s still a picture of them above the door to the orphanage. In it, a unicorn, a sea horse, a merman, his mermaid, and a winged lion do their rounds beneath a colorful wooden canopy. Back then, some wicked tongues claimed that the rich man wanted to relieve his conscience because he himself had once brought the unwanted child of his daughter to the orphanage. Others, however, disputed that and said he was simply a warmhearted man who wanted to share his wealth with the poor orphaned children. Whatever the case, soon everyone in Venice was talking about the amazing merry-go-round — and that’s saying something in a city with as many wonders as this one. The rumor soon spread that, because of that merry-go-round, magical things were happening behind the orphanage’s walls.”

  “Magical things?” Riccio looked at Ida Spavento wide-eyed, just the way he looked at Hornet when she read to them …

  Ida nodded. “Yes, very strange things. People said that a few turns on the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters made adults out of children and children out of adults.”

  For a few moments there was complete silence. Then Mosca laughed out loud. “And how’s that supposed to work?”

  Ida shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’m just telling you what I heard.”

  Scipio detached himself from the door frame to come and sit on the edge of the table next to Prosper and Bo.

  “What’s the wing got to do with the merry-go-round?” he asked.

  “I was just coming to that,” Ida replied. She poured Bo some more juice. “The sisters and the orphans weren’t to enjoy their present for long, as it turned out. After only a few weeks, the merry-go-round was stolen. The sisters had taken the children on a day trip to Burano and when they returned they found the gate had been forced open and the merry-go-round taken. It was never seen again. However, in their hurry, the thieves had left something behind …”

  “The lion’s wing,” Bo whispered.

  “Precisely.” Ida Spavento nodded. “It lay unnoticed in the courtyard until one of the sisters discovered it. No one really believed her when she claimed it was a piece of the original merry-go-round. So she kept it, and after her death it ended up in the loft of the orphanage. And that’s where I found it many, many years later.”

  “What were you doing up there?” Mosca asked.

  Ida extinguished her cigarette. “I used to play up there by the dovecotes,” she said. “They’re very old. They date back to when people still used pigeons to send their letters. That used to be quite popular in Venice. Whenever rich Venetians moved to the mainland during the summer, they’d use pigeons to send their messages into town. I used to play a game where I imagined that someone was keeping me prisoner up there and that I would send my pigeons for help. And that’s how, one day, I found the wing, in the middle of all the pigeon droppings. One of the sisters who knew the old story guessed where it had come from and told me about the merry-go-round. When she realized how much I loved the story, she gave the wing to me.”

  “You played in the orphanage?” Scipio eyed her suspiciously. “What were you doing there?”

  Ida stroked her hair back. “I lived there,” she answered. “I was there for more than ten years. They weren’t exactly my happiest ten years, but I still visit some of the sisters from time to time.”

  Hornet looked at Ida as if she were seeing her face for the first time, suddenly recognizing another lonely child. Then she reached into her jacket and produced the photograph the Conte had left for them. She pushed it toward Ida. “Behind the wing there — don’t you think that looks like the head of a unicorn?”

  Ida Spavento bent over the photograph. “Where did you get this?” she asked. “From your client?”

  Scipio walked over to the kitchen window. It was still dark outside. “The merry-go-round can turn you into an adult?” he asked.

  “Yes, after a few turns on it. It’s strange story, don’t you think?” Ida placed her cup in the sink. “But your client could probably tell you more about it than I can. I think he must know where the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters is now. Why else would he have asked you to steal my wing? It probably doesn’t work without the lion’s second wing.”

  “He’s quite old,” said Prosper. “He can’t have much time left to get the merry-go-round to work its magic.”

  “You know, Signora …” Mosca ran his finger over the wing. The wood felt quite rough. “If this wing really belongs to the lion, then you don’t really have much use for it. So you might as well give it to us, right?”

  Ida Spavento smiled. “I might, might I?” She opened the door to the garden to let in some cold night air. She stood there for quite a while, her back to the children. Then she suddenly turned around. “How about a little deal?” she asked. “I let you have the wing so you can take it to the Conte and he can pay you for it, and in return …”

  Riccio muttered, “Here comes the catch!”

  “In return,” Ida Spavento continued, “we will follow the Conte when he disappears with the wing. Perhaps we can find the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters. I’m saying we, because I will be coming with you. That’s the deal.” She looked eagerly at her visitors. “So, what do you say? I won’t ask for any share in your reward. I already make more money than I can spend with my photographs. I’d just love to see the merry-go-round once. Go on, please say yes!”

  The children didn’t look very enthusiastic.

  “I’m not sure … the Conte’s pretty odd,” Mosca murmured. “What if he catches us? I think he could get pretty nasty.”

  “But doesn’t this photo make you curious?” Ida closed the door again and went back to her chair. “Don’t you want to see it? It’s supposed to be very beautiful.”

  Mosca still wasn’t convinced. “The lion in St. Mark’s Square is beautiful too. Why don’t you just look at that?”

  Scipio stood up. He could hardly ignore the others’ hostile glares, but he tried
his best. “I think we should take her offer,” he said. “It’s very fair. We get our money, and even if the Conte realizes we’re following him, we can always outrun him.”

  “I keep hearing we,” Mosca growled. “We are finished, you lying toad. You don’t belong with us anymore. You never belonged with us, even when you pretended you did.”

  “Yeah, you just go back to that fancy house you live in!” Riccio sneered. “Us real orphans don’t want to play with the Thief Lord anymore.”

  Scipio stood still and bit his lip. Hornet looked miserably at the table, and Bo pushed his head under Prosper’s arm as if he wanted to hide.

  “Could someone explain to me what’s going on here?” Ida Spavento asked. When nobody answered she went to the sink and washed her espresso pot.

  Suddenly Scipio said, “I’m not going back.” He sounded choked up. “I will never ever go back home. That’s it. I don’t need them. If that merry-go-round really exists, then I’ll be on it faster than the Conte, and I’ll only get off when I’m at least a good head taller than him and with a beard on my chin. If you don’t want to take the deal, then I’ll do it alone. I’m going to find that merry-go-round so nobody can treat me like a stupid pet animal ever again.”

  After Scipio’s outburst the kitchen fell so silent they could all hear the mewing of cats outside in the garden.

  “I also think we should accept Signora Spavento’s offer,” Hornet said into the silence. “We should make peace until we’ve handed the wing to the Conte and received the money. We all have enough on our minds without making one another’s lives more difficult.” She looked at Prosper and Bo. “Now, anyone against the agreement?”

  Nobody moved.

  “Then that’s decided,” said Hornet. “Signora Spavento, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  28