The Thief Lord

When Scipio finally appeared at the top of the stairs, Prosper stared at him as if he'd seen a ghost. Scipio stared back. His face was pale and strangely unfamiliar. Then as he started down the stairs with slow and heavy steps, Bo ran toward him.



"Hey, Scip!" he called, stopping at the bottom of the flight. But Scipio didn't answer. He hesitated and looked at Prosper, who glared back at him until Scipio lowered his head. As he lifted it again to say something, a man appeared at the balustrade. He was tall and thin and had the same dark eyes as Scipio.



"What are you still doing here?" he said with a bored voice. "Don't you have a lesson today?" He glanced briefly at Prosper and Bo.



"In an hour," Scipio replied without looking up at his father. His voice sounded completely different, as if he weren't sure he'd find the right words. He even seemed smaller to Prosper, but that may have been because of the huge house or because he wasn't wearing his high-heeled boots. He was dressed like one of the rich kids Prosper had sometimes seen in expensive restaurants, sitting stiffly and eating with a knife and fork without spilling anything.



"What are you doing, just standing around there?" Scipio's father waved his hand at them impatiently as if the three children were nothing but annoying birds polluting his house. "Take your friends to your room. You know the courtyard is not a playground."



"They're leaving," Scipio answered in a small voice. "They just wanted to bring me something."



But his father had already turned away. The three boys watched in silence as he disappeared behind another door. "Is that your dad, Scip?" Bo whispered incredulously. "Have you got a mom too?"



Scipio didn't seem to know where to look. He fiddled with his silk vest. Then he nodded. "Yes, but she travels a lot." He looked Prosper in the eyes -- but immediately turned away. "Don't stare at me like that. I can explain everything. I would have told you soon anyway."



"You may as well explain it to everybody right now," Prosper answered. He took Scipio's arm. "The others are waiting outside." He wanted to lead the Thief Lord toward the door, but Scipio pulled away and stopped at the bottom of the stairs.



"That snoop ratted on me, didn't he?"



"If you hadn't lied to us, there wouldn't have been anything to rat about," Prosper replied. "Come on."



"You heard my father, I've got a lesson!" Scipio's voice now sounded defiant. "I'll explain it all to you later. Tonight. I can get away tonight. My father's going away. And about the break-in -- everything stays as planned. We can do it tomorrow night. Did you check out the house like I told you?"



"Stop it, Scip!" Prosper shouted. "I bet you've never stolen anything in your whole life." He saw Scipio cast a worried look upstairs. "All the loot was probably taken from this house, wasn't it?" Prosper asked lowering his voice. "What were you thinking, taking on the Conte's job? You've never broken in anywhere. And I bet that when you turn up at the hideout you probably just let yourself in with a key through some door we don't know about. Thief Lord! My god, we were so stupid." Prosper looked at Scipio contemptuously, but inside he felt numb with sadness and disappointment. Bo held on to his hand. Scipio couldn't meet his eyes.



"Come on!" Prosper said once more. "Come out and talk to the others." He turned around, but Scipio stood still.



"No," he said, "I'll explain everything later. I haven't got time now." Scipio turned and ran up the stairs so quickly he nearly stumbled. He didn't look back.



Mosca, Riccio, and Hornet were still standing next to the entrance when Prosper came out with Bo. They were all leaning against the wall, shivering and looking depressed.



"See!" Riccio called out when Prosper and Bo came out of the house alone. "It wasn't our Scipio, was it?" He couldn't hide his relief, but then he suddenly looked alarmed. "But wait a minute, I can't believe we've been so stupid -- we've got to get back to the hideout. Don't you understand? All this has been a trick to get us out of the movie theater so that the snoop could escape."



"Why don't you just shut up for a second, Riccio?" Hornet was looking at Prosper. "Well?"



"Victor didn't lie to us," Prosper said. "Let's get away from here." Before the others could say anything, he marched off toward the nearest bridge.



"Hey, wait!" Mosca called after him, but Prosper walked so fast that the others only managed to catch up with him on the other side of the canal. He stopped by the entrance to a restaurant and leaned against the wall.



"What happened?" Hornet asked when she reached him. "You look like death warmed over."



Prosper closed his eyes so that the others wouldn't see his tears. He felt Bo's short fingers stroking his hand very softly. "Don't you understand? I told you: The snoop didn't lie," he cried. "The only one who lied was Scipio. He lives in that palace. Bo and I saw his father. They have a maid and a courtyard with a fountain. Thief Lord! Runaway from the orphanage! All his mysterious 'I can cope on my own' and his 'I don't need adults' -- they're all lies. He must have really had a laugh at us. Hey, let's play street-kid for a while, that sounds fun! And we fell for it." Prosper wiped his nose on his sleeve.



"But the loot..." Mosca's voice sounded very faint.



"Oh yeah, the loot." Prosper laughed out loud. "He probably stole those things from his parents. Thief Lord? -- Liar Lord, more like."



Riccio stood frozen like someone who'd just been knocked on the head. "He was there? You saw him?"



Prosper nodded. "He was there. But he was too afraid to come out." Bo pushed his head under Hornet's arm.



The others didn't say a word. Hornet looked over at the Casa Massimo, standing on the opposite bank, its grandeur reflected on the canal. There was light in some of the windows, although it was still early in the afternoon. It was a gray, dark day.



"It's not that bad, Prop," said Bo looking at his brother with big, worried eyes. "It's not that bad."



Hornet mumbled, "Let's go home."



Nobody said a word on the way back.



25 A Word of Honor



It hadn't been hard to pick the lock of the men's bathroom. Mosca had taken the toolbox away from Victor before he left, but the detective always had a bit of wire and some other useful items in the hollow heel of one of his shoes. He had already reached the foyer with his two tortoise boxes when he decided he couldn't leave without a few farewell words. He couldn't find any paper, so he wrote his message on the whitewashed wall with a felt-tip pen.



Pay Attention! This is Victor's Promise. The Hartliebs will not hear anything from me -- not unless I hear about any strange break-ins over the next few weeks. See you later. You can count on it.



Victor



When he had finished, Victor took a step back and looked at his handiwork. I must be completely crazy, he thought as he read his own words. Then he thought about searching for his gun and his wallet. But where should he look? What if the gang walked in on him?



I'll just go home, Victor decided. Every single bone in his body ached from the night spent on the cold tiles.