The Thief Lord

"What do you think? Should I tickle him, or should I keep him prisoner here, forever, under my arm?"



Bo screamed, "Let me go, Mosca!"



Mosca's skin was beautifully black. Riccio always claimed he could hide like a shadow in the dark alleyways of the city.



"All right. I will pardon you this time, dwarf!" Mosca said grandly while Bo tried more and more desperately to free himself. Then he asked, "So, did you bring the paint for my boat?"



"No. It's too expensive. We'll buy it when Scipio brings us the new loot," Hornet answered. She dumped the bags on a chair. "We can't afford it at the moment."



"But we've got enough emergency cash!" Mosca put Bo back on his feet and crossed his arms angrily. "What are you going to do with all that money?"



"How often do I have to tell you? The money is for bad times." Hornet pulled Bo to her side. "Do you think you can manage to put the things in the fridge?"



Bo nodded and dashed off, nearly falling flat on his face. He dragged the bags, one by one, to the double doors that used to open to let in the audience. Beyond the doors, in the entrance hall, was a large display cabinet that had once held drinks and ice cream. Although it didn't work anymore, it was still useful for storing supplies.



While Bo carried away the heavy bags, Mosca kneeled down in front of his radio again. "Too expensive!" he grumbled. "My boat will rot away soon if I don't paint it. But you guys don't care, because you're just a bunch of landlubbers! There's always enough money for Hornet's books."



Hornet didn't answer that. Silently, she began to collect paper and other trash from the floor while Prosper swept up the mouse droppings. Hornet really did have a lot of books. She had even bought some of them, but mostly they were cheap paperbacks that had been thrown away by tourists. Hornet fished them out of trash cans and wastepaper baskets, or she found them under the seats of vaporetto boats or at the train station. You could hardly see her mattress behind the stacks of books.



They all had their beds close together at the back of the movie theater. At night, after they had switched off the lights and blown out the last candle, the large, windowless auditorium would be flooded with such complete darkness, that it made them feel as tiny as ants -- and very lost. But the sounds of one another's breathing made them all feel a little safer.



Riccio's mattress was covered with old comic books and his sleeping bag was stuffed with so many stuffed animals that there was hardly any space left for him. Mosca's bed could easily be spotted by his toolbox and fishing rods, which he liked to sleep next to. Tucked under the pillow was Mosca's greatest treasure, his lucky charm. This was a brass sea horse, exactly like the ones that adorned most gondolas in the city. Mosca swore that he hadn't stolen it from a gondola but had instead fished it from the canal behind the movie theater. "A stolen lucky charm," he always claimed, "brings only bad luck. Everybody knows that."



Bo and Prosper huddled together every night on a single mattress. Bo's collection of plastic fans was lined up neatly at the top end. There were six of them, all in pretty good shape, but Bo's favorite was still the one Prosper had found at the station on the day they arrived.



The Thief Lord never slept with his followers in the Star-Palace. No one knew where Scipio spent the nights, and he never spoke about it, although every now and then he would drop a mysterious hint about an abandoned church. Riccio had tried to follow him once, but he had been spotted immediately by Scipio, who had gotten so angry that afterward none of them even dared to watch him when he left. Their leader came and went as he pleased, and they had gotten used to it. He sometimes turned up three days in a row and then they wouldn't see him again for nearly a week.



But he did want to come that day -- and when the Thief Lord announced a visit he always came. But you could never be sure exactly when Scipio would appear. As Riccio's clock showed almost eleven and Bo was nearly asleep on Prosper's lap, they crept under their blankets and Hornet began to read to them. She usually read to make them sleepy, to drive away their fear of the dreams that were waiting for them in the dark. That night, however, Hornet read to keep them awake until Scipio's arrival. She selected the most thrilling story from her pile of books while the others lit the candles that stood in empty bottles and jars among the mattresses. Riccio placed five brand-new candles in their only real candlestick. They were long and slender and made from pale wax.



"Riccio?" Hornet asked when they were all lying around her, waiting for their story. "Where did you get the candles?"



Riccio self-consciously hid his face between his soft toys. "From the Salute Church," he mumbled. "There are hundreds, probably thousands lying around there. So it doesn't really matter if I take a few every now and then. Why should we spend our precious money on candles? I swear," he grinned at Hornet, "I always blow the Virgin Mary a kiss for each one."



Hornet buried her face in her hands and sighed.



"Oh, go on, start reading!" Mosca said impatiently. "No Carabiniere will ever arrest Riccio for stealing a few candles, would he?"



"They could!" mumbled Bo. He yawned and curled up next to Prosper, who was struggling with a needle and thread over the holes in his brother's pants. "Because Riccio's guardian angel won't look after him if he steals things from a church. He's not allowed to."



"Pah, trash! Guardian angel!" Riccio made a contemptuous face, although he did sound a little worried.



Hornet read for nearly an hour, while the night outside grew darker and all those who had filled the city with noise during the day were long in their beds. Finally the book slipped from her fingers, and her eyelids drooped. When Scipio finally arrived, they were all fast asleep.



4 The Thief Lord



Prosper wasn't sure what had woken him -- Riccio mumbling in his sleep or Scipio's quiet steps. As he started from his sleep, a slender figure emerged from the dark. Under the black mask that hid Scipio's eyes, Prosper could make out his pale chin. The mask's long crooked nose gave him an eerie bird-like appearance. Similar masks had once been worn by the doctors of Venice, at the time when the Black Death had raged through the city more than three hundred years ago: the Birds of Death, people called them. Smiling, the Thief Lord pulled the creepy thing from his face.



"Hi, Prop!" Scipio let the light of his flashlight wander over the others' sleeping faces. "Sorry it got so late."



Prosper pushed Bo's arm carefully from his chest and sat up. "One day you're going to scare someone to death with that mask," he said quietly. "How did you sneak in here? We bolted everything really well this time."



Scipio shrugged. He ran his slender fingers through his long raven black hair, which he usually wore in a ponytail. "You should know by now that I can get into any place I want to."



Scipio, the Thief Lord.



He liked to act grown-up, although he was not much older than Prosper, and a good bit smaller than Mosca -- even in his high-heeled boots. These were much too big for him, but he always kept them well polished -- they were black leather, as black as the strange long coat that reached down to his knees. He never went anywhere without them.



"Wake the others," Scipio commanded in his bossy, condescending voice, which Hornet hated so much. Prosper ignored him.