The Thief Lord
Page 47

At dinner Mosca and Riccio fooled around so much that Victor grumbled that it would have been quieter with a bunch of monkeys at the table. But Prosper never said a word.
After dinner, while the others played cards with Ida and Victor, Prosper went upstairs. Ida had found a couple of air mattresses so that they wouldn't be too crowded on the two beds that Riccio had already pushed together. Hornet had put one of them by the wall and piled her books around it. Riccio and Mosca hadn't dared to leave even a single one of her precious stories behind in the movie theater. Prosper dragged the second air mattress to the window so he could see Ida's garden and the canal behind it. The blankets from Lucia's linen cupboard smelled of lavender. Prosper curled up in them, but he couldn't fall asleep.
In fact he was still awake when the others crept under their blankets. It was eleven o'clock when Victor finally said goodbye, swaying gently, driven home by his guilty conscience to his hungry tortoises. Prosper pretended to be asleep. He lay with his face to the wall and waited for his friends to doze off.
As soon as Riccio was giggling in his sleep, Mosca snoring beneath his blanket, and Hornet finally sleeping with a happy smile between her books, Prosper got up. The well-worn floorboards creaked beneath his feet, but that didn't wake any of the others. They had never before felt as safe as this, secure in Ida's house.
Lucia had kept the door to the garden firmly bolted ever since Ida had told her how the children had crept into the house that night. The door squeaked gently as Prosper opened it. He stepped into the dark garden. There was a coating of white frost over everything.
At the point where Ida's garden bordered the canal there was a gate in the wall, just a few inches above the waterline. As he unlatched it, Prosper heard the canal water slosh against the base of the wall. Ida's boat swayed, tightly moored, between two painted wooden posts. Prosper carefully climbed into the boat, sat down on the cold wooden bench, and looked up at the moon.
What should I do? he thought. Tell me, what should I do?
But the moon did not answer.
In her stories about Venice, Prosper's mother had always talked about the moon -- how it could make dreams come true. They called the moon la bella luna here, as if she were a beautiful lady. But ask as he might, Prosper knew that she wasn't going to help him get his brother back.
Prosper sat in Ida's boat and let the tears run down his face. He had believed that this was his city -- his and Bo's. He used to believe that if they came here -- the most beautiful city in the world -- then they would be safe from Esther.
Esther despised Venice. She was an intruder. Why didn't the pigeons poop all over her? Why didn't the marble dragons bite her in the neck and the winged lions chase her out of their city? How wonderful they had seemed the first time Prosper had seen them with his very own eyes, after learning so much about them from his mother. He had looked up and there they were, standing like sentinels among the stars on their pillars. He had felt they were the guardians not just of Venice's splendors -- but of him too.
He had felt as safe as a king in the center of his realm, protected by lions and dragons -- and by the water all around them. Esther hated the water. She was afraid to even board a ship. But still she had come here and taken Bo from him.
Prosper wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. He heard a motorboat coming down the canal so he sank down in the boat and waited for it to pass. But it didn't. The engine stopped, and Prosper heard someone cursing under his breath. Then something bumped hard against Ida's boat. Prosper carefully poked his head out.
It was Scipio! He smiled with such happiness that Prosper forgot for a moment why he had tears in his eyes.
"Look who's here!" said the Thief Lord. "Well, if that's not a coincidence. I've come to pick you up!"
"Pick me up? And take me where?" Prosper scrambled to his feet. "Where did you get the boat?" It was beautiful, built of dark wood and decorated with golden ornaments.
"It's my father's," Scipio answered. He patted the boat as if it was a thoroughbred horse. "It's his pride and joy. I've borrowed it -- and just now it got its first scratch."
"How did you know we were here?" Prosper asked.
"Mosca called me." Scipio looked up at the moon. "He told me that the Conte tricked us. And Bo is with your aunt, is that right?"
Prosper nodded and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. He didn't want Scipio to see that he'd been crying.
"I'm sorry." Scipio said gently. "It was stupid of us to leave him alone with Hornet, wasn't it?"
Prosper didn't reply, although he had had the same thought at least a hundred times.
"Prop?" Scipio cleared his throat. "I'm driving out to the Isola Segreta. Will you come with me?"
Prosper stared at him, astounded.
"The Conte cheated us." Scipio lowered his voice as if someone might be listening. "He took us for a ride. Either he gives me the money, real money this time, or he lets me take a ride on the merry-go-round. It's on that island, I'm sure it is."
Prosper shook his head. "You don't really believe in that story, do you? Forget it -- and forget the money. So we were cheated. Tough luck. Riccio's already working out how he can spend the fake money. And nobody wants to go back to that island. Not even for a whole bag full of real riches."
Scipio fiddled with the string of his mask and looked at Prosper. "I want to go there," he said. "With you. I want to ride that merry-go-round. And if the Conte won't let me, then I'll take the wing back. Come with me, Prop. What have you got to lose, now that Bo is gone?"
Prosper stared at his hands. A child's hands. He thought of the condescending look he had received from the porter at the Sandwirth. He thought of his bulky uncle and how he had walked next to Bo, his hand possessively on his brother's thin shoulder. And suddenly Prosper wished that Scipio were right. He wished that out there, on that island, there really was something that could turn the small and weak into the big and strong. And suddenly he knew what he wanted to do. Without another word he jumped into Scipio's boat.
40 The Isola Segreta
It was a very dark night. The moon kept vanishing behind the scudding clouds. Although Scipio had stolen his father's sea chart, they still lost their way twice. The first time the sight of the island cemetery had saved them. And when Murano appeared out of the darkness they knew they had gone too far west. Finally, when they were frozen so stiff they could hardly move their fingers anymore, the wall of the Isola Segreta, pale and gray in the moonlight, appeared out of the night. The stone angels looked down at them as if they'd been expecting them.
Scipio throttled back the engine. The Conte's boat swayed with its furled sails by the jetty. Prosper heard the dogs barking.
"What now?" he whispered to Scipio. "How are you going to get past the mastiffs?"
"Do you think I'm so stupid that I'd climb over the gate?" Scipio answered quietly. "We'll try the back."
Prosper said nothing, although he didn't think this was a particularly smart plan. Still, they had no choice if they wanted to get on to that island.
The dogs only fell silent once the boys had turned off the boat lights. Scipio steered the boat close to the shore. He was looking for a hole in the wall. In some places the wall rose straight out of the water and in others it stood behind a thicket of reeds. It seemed to surround the whole island. Finally, Scipio lost his patience.