The Thief Lord

Hornet rolled her eyes. "Watch it," she whispered to Prosper, "soon Bo won't listen to you at all any more -- only to what Scipio tells him."



"And what can I do about it?" Prosper replied sulkily.



Prosper knew perfectly well that it was only thanks to Scipio that they didn't have to sleep on the street anymore, especially now when in the evenings a cold mist hung over the alleys and canals. Scipio's raids paid for their pasta and their fresh fruit. Scipio had brought the shoes that were keeping Bo's feet warm, even though they were a bit big for him. Scipio made sure they could eat without having to always steal for it. Scipio had given them a home again -- a home without Esther. But, still, Scipio was a thief.



The alleys they walked through became narrower. It was quiet between the houses and soon they entered the hidden heart of the city, where there were hardly any strangers. Cats darted away as their footsteps rang out on the paving stones. Pigeons cooed from the roofs. The ever-present water swayed beneath the bridges, splashing against boats and wooden posts, and reflecting back the old faces of the houses. The children wandered deeper and deeper into the maze of alleys. The houses seemed to be moving in on them, watching them, as if they knew who they were.



Their hiding place was in a building that stood out from its neighbors like a child among grown-ups -- low and flat between the taller houses. Boarded-up windows looked out into the alley. The walls were covered with old, yellowed film posters and the entrance was blocked off with rusty shutters. A big crooked sign hanging above the entrance read STELLA. The movie theater's neon sign hadn't been lit up for a long time. But that suited its current inhabitants just fine.



Hornet cast a careful glance up and down the alley while Prosper made sure no one was watching them from the surrounding windows. Then they vanished, one by one, into the narrow passageway that opened up a few steps down from the movie theater's main entrance.



They were home.



3 The Star-Palace



A water rat scuttled away as the children felt their way along the narrow passage. It led to a canal, like so many of Venice's alleys and passages. Hornet, Prosper, and Bo, however, only followed it as far as a metal door set in the windowless wall to their right. Someone had painted "VIETATO INGRESSO" in clumsy letters on it -- No Entry. The door had once been one of the movie theater's emergency exits. Now it was the entrance to a hiding place that only six children knew anything about.



Next to the door was a cord and Prosper gave it two strong tugs. He waited for a moment and then pulled it once more. This was their sign, but it still took quite a while before something happened. Bo hopped impatiently from one foot to the other. Finally, the door opened just a crack and a suspicious voice asked, "Password?"



"Come on, Riccio, you know we never remember the stupid password," Prosper grumbled angrily.



Hornet stepped up to the door and hissed. "Do you see these bags in my hands, Hedgehog? I just dragged them all the way from the Rialto market. My arms are as long as a monkey's, so open the door!"



Riccio opened the door, looking very worried. "OK, OK. But only if Prosper doesn't tell Scipio again, like last time."



Riccio was a scrawny boy and at least a head shorter than Prosper, although he wasn't much younger than him. At least that's what he claimed. His brown hair always stuck out from his head in every direction, earning him the nickname Riccio the hedgehog.



"No one can remember Scipio's passwords!" Hornet muttered as she pushed past him. "And anyway, the special ring is enough."



"Scipio doesn't think so." Riccio carefully pushed the bolt across the door.



"Well, then he should make up passwords we can remember. Can you remember the last one?"



Riccio scratched his spiky head. "Hold on ... Catago...Diddledoo...East. Or something like that."



Hornet rolled her eyes. Bo giggled.



Riccio walked ahead, shining the way with his flashlight. "We've already started cleaning up," he said. "But we haven't got far. Mosca just wants to fiddle with his radio all the time. And until an hour ago we were standing in front of the Palazzo Pisani. I really don't know why Scipio had to pick such a palace of all places for his next raid. There's something going on in there nearly every night: parties, receptions, dinners -- all the wealthy families of Venice seem to be in and out all the time. Beats me how Scipio thinks he can get in there!"



Prosper shrugged. So far the Thief Lord hadn't asked him and Bo to stake out one of his targets, although Bo kept begging him to. It was usually Riccio and Mosca who were sent to check out the houses Scipio planned to "visit" at night. Scipio had a name for the two of them: He called them "his eyes." Hornet's task was to make sure that the money from his raids was not spent too quickly. Prosper and Bo, as the Thief Lord's most recent charges, had so far only been allowed to tag along when the loot was sold or, like today, to do some shopping. Prosper didn't mind that at all. Bo, however, would have loved to sneak with Scipio into the city's most elegant houses to steal all the amazing things the Thief Lord always brought back from his raids.



"Scipio can get into any house," Bo said, skipping along next to Riccio. Two hops on his right leg, two on the left; Bo never just walked -- he ran or he bounced. "He raided the Doge's Palace and wasn't caught. He is the Thief Lord."



"Oh yes, the raid at the Doge's Palace -- how can we ever forget!" Hornet grinned at Prosper. "Even you must have heard that story a hundred times by now."



Prosper had to smile back.



"Well, I could hear it a thousand times," Riccio said, pushing aside a dark and musty curtain. Ahead of them lay the movie theater's auditorium. It hadn't been open to the public for some time. It was not very old, but it was in a much worse condition than some of the city's houses that had stood for hundreds of years. Dusty wire cables stuck out from the ceiling where there had once been large chandeliers. The children had strung a few naked lightbulbs running on batteries throughout the large room, and even in their dim light you could see the plaster coming off the ceiling. Only the front three rows of seats remained and each of those was missing a few chairs. Mice had built their nests in the soft, red upholstery. The movie theater's screen was hidden behind a thick curtain embroidered with golden stars. The curtain was moth-eaten but it had kept its old splendor. The golden thread on the pale blue fabric still shimmered full of promise, and Bo had to touch the golden stars at least once every day.



Sitting on the bare floor in front of the curtain was a boy. He was fiddling with an old radio and was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice Bo creeping up on him. Bo jumped onto his back and the boy spun around.



"Darn it, Bo!" he shouted. "I nearly stabbed myself with the screwdriver."



But Bo skipped away. Laughing, he climbed like a squirrel over the folding seats. "Just you wait, you little water rat!" Mosca roared, trying to catch Bo. "This time I'm going to tickle you until you burst!"



Bo screamed, "Prop, help me!" But Prosper just stood there, grinning. He didn't lift a finger, not even when Mosca tucked his little brother under his arm like a parcel. Mosca was the biggest and strongest of them all, and however much Bo kicked and struggled, Mosca wouldn't let go. Unimpressed by his wriggling, Mosca carried his prisoner over to the others.