The Thief Lord
Page 55

"Nonsense, the other figures are still here!" Barbarossa called. "So why the long faces?" He was standing in his bare feet, his shoes and socks having flown off during his wild ride. The sleeves of his coat hung down to the ground. Barbarossa was now even smaller than Bo. When nobody answered him, Barbarossa shook the coat off his shoulders, climbed out of his huge pants, and stumbled toward the merman. But he couldn't reach up to its back, and so he tried the sea horse. All the figures were suddenly so big, far too big for a small fat boy, who was clumsy even before his transformation!
"You can save yourself the trouble, Barbarossa," Prosper said, sitting on the edge of the platform. "You heard what Renzo said. It won't work anymore."
But Barbarossa yelled, "It has to! Give it another shove! Dottor Massimo!" He ran back to the edge of the platform. "Please, Dottore. Put an end to this childishness. Look at me. I am a respected man. I am known all over the city. People from all over the world come to my shop. Do you think I could serve them like this?"
Scipio was still looking at the shattered wing. He didn't even lift his head. "Oh, leave me alone, Barbarossa," he said. "You don't understand. What were you doing here anyway? Now you've destroyed everything."
"But Dottore!" Barbarossa pleaded.
"I am not Dottor Massimo!" Scipio yelled at him. "I am the Thief Lord." He wearily dropped the wing on the platform. "But I'm a grown-up forever now -- you've ruined it for me. Darn it! I have to think."
Barbarossa stared at Scipio as if he'd just been introduced to the devil himself.
"The Thief Lord?" he whispered. "The honorable Dottor Massimo is the Thief Lord? Well, if that's not a surprise..." He lowered his voice threateningly, which from a five year old didn't sound frightening at all. "Start the merry-go-round!" he said, clenching his little fists. "Right away, or I'll tell the police who you are."
Now Scipio had to laugh.
"Oh yes, you do that!" he said. "Tell them that Dottor Massimo is the Thief Lord. What a pity you're such a little squirt that nobody will believe you."
Barbarossa was lost for words. He was paralyzed with anger, his tiny fists still bunched as he stared down at his bare toes.
"You despicable little blackmailer!" Renzo said behind him. "I'm going to go and check on the dogs. If you've done as much damage to them as you have to the merry-go-round, then you'll wish you'd never stepped ashore on the Isola Segreta. Have I made myself clear?"
"You" -- Barbarossa spun around -- "you dare to threaten me, you little -- ?"
"I am the Conte, Barbarossa!" Renzo cut him short. "And you have no right to be on my island, so consider yourself my prisoner."
He jumped off the merry-go-round and spoke to Prosper and Scipio. "Will you keep an eye on him? I have to check on Morosina and the dogs."
Prosper nodded. He was still holding his aching arm.
"What's the matter?" Scipio asked anxiously when he saw Prosper's face was twisted with pain.
But Prosper just shook his head. "The wing hit me. I'll be all right."
"Morosina will have a look at your arm," Renzo said. "Bring the little redhead to the house." Then he vanished through the bushes.
Barbarossa watched him leave in utter confusion. "That impertinent little twerp!" he muttered. He put his stubby hands on his hips. "If he's the Conte, so what? His island, bah! I'm going home, and when I get there I'm going to employ the best carpenter in town, and make this devilish merry-go-round work again."
"You'll do no such thing," Scipio snapped. He planted himself in front of the redheaded boy. Although Barbarossa was standing on the platform, Scipio was still a lot taller than him. "Are your parents still alive?"
Barbarossa shrugged. He was shivering. He sorely missed his coat. "No. Why the heck are you asking?"
Prosper and Scipio exchanged a quick glance.
"Well, then, we'd better ask someone to take you to the Merciful Sisters," Prosper answered him.
"You what?" Barbarossa recoiled in panic. "You wouldn't dare! You wouldn't dare!"
Scipio jumped onto the merry-go-round and dragged the struggling little fellow from between the figures.
"The merry-go-round will never turn again, little redhead," he said. "All thanks to you. Nor will you be going back into town, at least for the time being. Who knows what other catastrophes you would cause there. No. You heard what Renzo said: You are now his prisoner. And to be honest: I don't envy you."
Barbarossa kicked and struggled, but Scipio threw him over his shoulder like an old sack of potatoes and carried him all the way to the house.
They would never have found their way back through the labyrinth had Renzo's footprints not shown them the way. Scipio didn't say a word, although Barbarossa kept cursing and spitting and hitting his back. Scipio kept looking at the sky and the trees, as if they were new and strange to him through his grown-up eyes. He seemed not to hear Barbarossa's screams. He just walked, as if deaf, his strides so long that Prosper struggled to keep up with him. Only when they had reached the house did Scipio turn to Prosper. He put the complaining Barbarossa back on his own feet and said, "Everything has shrunk, Prop. The whole world is suddenly so small. I feel like I don't fit into it anymore."
He bent down toward Barbarossa. "You probably see that quite differently, don't you, little redhead?" he asked mockingly. "What's it like down there?"
Barbarossa paid him no attention. He looked around miserably, like a trapped animal searching for a way to escape. He struggled fiercely as Prosper started to pull him toward the steps.
"Let me go!" he screamed, his face as red as his hair. "That boy...the Conte, he's going to kill me! You have to let me go. We're business partners, after all. I'll give you all my money. My boat is anchored by the gate. You could say I escaped."
"Oh, money? It's OK -- we still have a whole bag full of fake money," Prosper answered. "Ring any bells?"
For a moment Barbarossa was lost for words again. "What fake money? I -- I don't know anything about any -- any fake money!" he said feebly, avoiding Prosper's and Scipio's eyes.
"You know absolutely everything about it," said Scipio as he started up the steps. Barbarossa followed him, frowning darkly. But he stopped immediately when Renzo appeared between the pillars.
"Just look how angry he is!" Barbarossa whispered, holding on tightly to Prosper's arm. "You have to protect me from him."
At that moment the mastiffs appeared behind Renzo. Their eyes were still dull, but they were back on their feet. Morosina stepped between them and glared down at Barbarossa with pursed lips.
"You were very lucky, you little poisoner!" Renzo called. He came slowly down the steps.
"Yes, they're still alive," he confirmed as he saw Barbarossa's relieved expression, "but I think they could do with a bite to eat. Morosina's just suggested a little race. You against them. With, say, your boat as the finish line."
Barbarossa went pale.
Renzo stopped two steps above him,