The Thief Lord
Page 18

Scipio sighed and got up again. He looked at Prosper. "What does this detective look like?"
"But that's just it!" The tourists turned around, and Prosper immediately lowered his voice. "This time he looked completely different! He had no beard and he wore glasses, and I could hardly see his eyes because he wore a cap. I only recognized him because he ran away. He moves his shoulders in a strange way when he walks. Like a bulldog."
"Hmm." Scipio felt for the Conte's envelope. It was still tucked, unopened, inside his jacket. Then he looked thoughtfully through the shop window. "If that really was the detective," he murmured, "and if he really is following us, then we're leading him straight to the hideout. Unless we can get rid of him first."
The others looked at one another uneasily. Mosca lifted the Conte's basket and peered through the lid. The pigeon was growing restless in its prison. "It's about time we let it out of there," Mosca whispered. "It's probably hungry. Does anybody know what pigeons eat?"
"Ask Bo, he's just fed dozens of the creatures." Again, Scipio felt for the envelope in his pocket. For a moment, Prosper thought he was going to open it, but to his surprise Scipio suddenly slipped out of his jacket, pulled the ribbon off his hair, and took the cap off Mosca's head.
"Two can play at that game," he said and pulled the cap over his own head. "It's not that hard to change the way you look." He threw his jacket at Prosper. "You stay here, Bo. If the snoop is really after you then he's probably outside, waiting for you to come out. You just stand by the window so that he can see you through the glass. Mosca, you take the pigeon and the envelope back home."
Mosca nodded and, with great care, placed the Conte's envelope into his pants pocket.
"Riccio. Hornet." Scipio waved the two of them to the door. "We'll take a look outside. Maybe we'll find him. What was he wearing?"
Prosper thought. "A red jacket, light pants, and a weird checkered sweater. He had a camera around his neck. And he had glasses and a baseball cap with something written on it. I love Venice, or something like that ..."
"...and his watch." Bo was nibbling his thumbnail. "It had a moon on it."
Scipio frowned. "Fine. Got all that?"
Hornet, Riccio, and Mosca nodded.
"Then let's go."
One by one, they slipped outside. Prosper and Bo watched them through the window.
"But he was nice," Bo mumbled.
"You never know right away whether someone is really nice," Prosper replied. "And you can't tell from the way someone looks. How often do I have to tell you that?"
15 A Beating for Victor
Victor was standing just a few yards away. Trying to look inconspicuous, he had turned his back to the shop that the children had just gone into. But he was keeping an eye on the entrance by watching the reflection in the window of the shop opposite.
What are they up to in there? Victor wondered while he shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. Are they buying one of those plastic fans? Or does their leader want to buy another mask for his face? Then Victor saw the girl step out of the shop. Hornet, Bo had called her. She glanced around, acting very casual, checking out the gondolas by the bridge, and then started toward them. Hardly a minute later the black boy left the shop. He was carrying a large basket and walked off in exactly the opposite direction. By the devil and his pestilences, what was going on now? Why were they splitting up? Well it doesn't matter, my two suspects are still in the shop, Victor comforted himself. He adjusted his sunglasses. Next came the hedgehog. He skipped off toward the cake shop, which, a few steps away, filled the alley with its wonderful baking smells. The boy pressed his nose against the window. Perhaps all the others had to go home now to do their homework or have lunch. Perhaps Bo's story about all his friends living together in a movie theater had just been a fantasy after all, nothing more. It made it a lot easier for Victor, of course. The others would go home eventually, one by one, leaving Prosper and Bo behind.
"I live in a movie theater, with all my friends." Pah! You had to hand it to the boy, he knew how to spin a good story. Amused, Victor looked at the reflection of his face in the window. Hold on, who was that coming out of the shop? Another one of those kids.
Which one was missing? The masked one. Of course. But hadn't he looked different earlier? Victor frowned. The boy stood in front of the shop door for a moment, looked around with a face that gave nothing away, and then kneeled down to tie his shoelaces. He straightened himself again, blinked into the sun, and strolled, whistling, toward the gondolieri who were still out trying to net customers at the base of the bridge. "Gondola! Gondola!" they called out loudly. Victor would far rather have gone for a ride in one of those boats than stand around here. The cushions were so soft and the gentle rocking of the boat along the canals always made him so wonderfully sleepy. All one could hear was the water splashing, slurping, and gurgling against the sides. And then there was the gentle whisper of the city...Victor closed his eyes and sighed for a second before opening them wide with a jolt.
"Scusi!" a voice said beside him.
The boy who had been looking at the gondolas was now standing in front of him, grinning broadly. He had a very thin face and very dark, almost black, eyes. Victor took off his sunglasses to take a closer look. Was this the boy in the mask who had strutted like a cockerel ahead of the others across St. Mark's Square?
"Can you tell me the time, please?" the boy said, taking a very close look at Victor's checkered sweater.
Victor frowned as he looked at his watch. "Four sixteen," he grunted.
The boy nodded. "Thank you. That's a nice watch. Does it also show the time on the moon?"
His dark eyes sparkled with laughter as he looked at Victor. What does he want from me? Victor wondered. He's definitely up to something. He cast a quick glance toward the souvenir shop and saw with relief that Prosper and Bo were still standing by the window. They were gazing at the trash on display as seriously as if it were treasure from the Doge's Palace.
"Are you English?"
"No. I'm an Eskimo, can't you tell?" Victor growled. He stroked his fake, thin beard and sensed that it was beginning to develop a life of its own.
"An Eskimo? That's interesting. They don't stray into this city too often," the boy said before turning around and strolling away. Victor just stood there, tugging on his beard.
"Darn it!" he muttered, and turned quickly to pluck the stupid thing from his lip. Then he saw that the girl was slipping back into the shop. And even the hedgehog was no longer glued to the window of the pasticceria, but the boy with the black eyes was nowhere to be seen. They can't possibly have recognized me, Victor thought. Impossible. Then, to his bafflement, he saw the three of them come out of the souvenir shop in perfect formation with Prosper and Bo in the middle. Not one of them glanced at him, but they all giggled and whispered and Victor had the distinct feeling that they were laughing at him. In no hurry whatsoever, they all strolled away in the direction of the Rialto.
Keeping out of sight, Victor followed them at a safe distance. But he had no practice in child-surveillance and, as he soon discovered, it was a very difficult task. They were so small, so much easier to overlook, and so quick. The alley they were walking down was very long and twisting, so it was just as well that from time to time one of the children turned and looked toward him. Victor tried to stay alert. But suddenly two large ladies stepped out of a cafe, laughing and arguing. They blocked the alley so that Victor had to push past their large behinds. He squeezed his way free -- and ran straight into the girl. The same girl who had been so engrossed in her book by the fountain. Bo had called her Hornet.