“You have to let me keep a third,” he complained as he led the way into his office. “At least! What else am I going to live off? Do you want me to starve miserably?”
It was much easier for him, now that he was smaller, to negotiate his way through his crammed shop, but he still tried to swagger past the shelves like he used to in the past. The attempt looked so strange that Scipio started to mimic him behind his back.
“What’s the silly giggling about?” Barbarossa asked when Prosper and Renzo burst out laughing. Then he vanished through the beaded curtain with an indignant look on his face. The three followed him.
“Get out!” Barbarossa barked at them. “You’ll get the money, but the safe combination is none of your business.”
“We’ll close our eyes,” Prosper said. He moved a chair underneath the poster of the Accademia Museum behind Barbarossa’s desk.
“You spied on me!” Barbarossa hissed as he struggled to climb on to the chair. “You and your hedgehog friend. Since when have you known that the safe is behind the poster?”
Prosper shrugged. “We didn’t know,” he answered, “but Riccio always suspected that it was there.”
“You’re just a bunch of cowards!” Barbarossa growled, while he awkwardly removed the poster from the wall. “Robbing a little child. The pestilence and pox on you. Just you wait until I’ve grown back to a decent size …”
“That should take some time,” Renzo interrupted him. “Now open it! I have to see a vet; you may remember why … Thinking about it, I’d say you were getting off more than lightly.”
Barbarossa stared at the safe.
“I’ve forgotten the combination!” he said. But Renzo gave him such an ominous look that it immediately came back to him.
“Is that it?” Renzo shouted as Barbarossa held out two wads of bills toward him. “That’s what you’ve been moaning about all the time? It’s hardly enough for the vet!” Without a further word, Renzo turned around and walked back into the shop.
“What’s he doing now?” Barbarossa jumped off the chair and rushed after Renzo. “Don’t touch anything, do you understand?”
Renzo stood in the middle of the shop, underneath the chandelier with the colored glass petals, and looked around. “What would you take?” he asked Scipio. “What would be a proper compensation for him smashing my lion wing and changing our lives forever?”
Scipio opened a glass cabinet and took something out of it. “What about this?” he asked. He put the sugar tongs he’d stolen from his father’s house into Renzo’s hand.
Barbarossa, outraged, gasped for air. “I paid for those, Thief Lord,” he screamed with his shrill child’s voice. “Ask your courier. I paid more than a fair price for them.”
Scipio stepped threateningly close to Barbarossa. The redhead barely reached up to his waist.
“The sum on the price tag is ten times what you gave Prosper,” he said. “We’ve played by your rules long enough, redhead, now it’s time for you to play by ours.”
“Like hell I will!” Barbarossa put his hands on his hips. Scipio, however, just turned away and looked at the other pieces in the cabinet.
Renzo stuffed the two wads of bills into his jacket and dropped the sugar tongs into his pants pocket. Then he turned around.
“I wish you luck, Thief Lord,” he said. He opened the shop door. A gust of wind drove the rain inside. “Should you ever wish to visit me again, just ring the bell by the gate and I’ll open it for you.”
“But you, Barbarossa!” he said. “You’d better give the Isola Segreta a wide berth in the future. Our dogs will never forget your scent.”
“So what? Those monsters won’t live forever,” Prosper heard Barbarossa mutter. But Renzo had already turned around and stepped out into the alley. The rain pelted from the roofs as if the sky had promised the sea to drown the city.
Scipio moved to the window and watched Renzo until he vanished between the houses.
“Prosper, you’re probably going back to Ida Spavento’s house now, aren’t you?” he said, keeping his eyes on the alley. “I’ll take you there. All right?”
“Sure. You can sleep in our room — at least tonight,” Prosper answered. But Scipio shook his head.
“No,” he said staring out the window. “I need to be alone tonight. I still have some money. I’ll get a hotel room with a large mirror, so I can get used to my new face. Perhaps Mosca can give me some of that phony money. For emergencies only, of course! What hotel is your aunt staying in?”
“The Sandwirth,” Prosper answered. He wondered whether he should go there first too.
Scipio read Prosper’s thoughts. “Let’s go to Ida’s first,” he said. “They’re probably all worried about you.”
Barbarossa pushed between the two. “And what about me? I can’t be left alone!”
Scipio and Prosper had forgotten all about the redhead. How small he looked between all the valuable and worthless things he had greedily amassed. Now the counter reached up to his shoulders.
“You can sleep at my place,” Barbarossa said. “I have a nice apartment, very big, right above the shop.”
“No, thank you,” Scipio answered. He pulled the cape tighter around his shoulders. “Come on, Prop. Let’s go.”
“Hold on, not so fast. Wait!” Barbarossa stumbled past them and planted himself in front of the door. “I’m coming with you!” he declared. “I’m not staying here. It’s out of the question. It may all look different tomorrow, but right now …” He cast an uneasy look out of the window. “It’s going to be dark soon. I mean, it’s terribly dark already. The rain’s washing away the whole city, and I won’t even be able to reach my fridge, let alone my coffeepot. Basta!” He pushed Scipio’s hands away as he tried to reach for the door handle. “I’m coming with you. Only until tomorrow.”
Prosper and Scipio exchanged an amused look. Finally, Prosper shrugged. “He can sleep in Bo’s bed,” he said. “If Ida doesn’t mind.”
Relief spread over Barbarossa’s still very round and beardless face.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, and he quickly fetched a huge umbrella. Protected by its wide canopy, the three of them embarked on the long trek to the Campo Santa Margherita.
Scipio left his father’s boat where he had moored it. A police boat noticed it two days later, and Dottor Massimo was notified that the boat he had reported stolen had reappeared. His son, however, whom the dottore had also reported missing, was still lost without trace.
47
Scipio had been right: The others were worried about Prosper. Terribly worried.
They all remembered his desperate expression during their last meal together, and how not even Hornet had been able to cheer him up. They tried to hide their worries from Bo as well as they could. Hornet tried to persuade him to stay with Lucia and the kittens instead of coming along with them to search for Prosper. But Bo just kept shaking his head and clinging to Victor’s hand, and so they had to take him along.
First, they tried the Sandwirth again. Then they asked the Carabinieri, the hospitals, and the orphanages. Giaco took Ida’s boat up and down all the canals and showed Prosper’s picture to the gondoliers. Mosca and Riccio asked all the passengers on the vaporetti. But, as the rain came down and the sky turned black, they still could find no trace of Prosper.
Ida and Hornet were the first to return to the house. They didn’t know where else they could look. On the Campo Santa Margherita they met Victor, a soaked and sleeping Bo on his back. Ida only had to look Victor in the eyes to see that he had been just as unsuccessful as she had.
“Where can that boy be?” she sighed as she unlocked her door. “Lucia went to the old movie theater again. She should be back soon too.”
Hornet was so tired that she leaned her head against Ida’s shoulder. “Perhaps he stowed away on a ship,” she mumbled. “And now he’s far, far away already.”
But Victor shook his head.
“I don’t believe that,” he
said. “I’ll put Bo to bed now, then I’ll eat a little, have a glass of Ida’s port, then go over to Dottor Massimo’s again. Perhaps Scipio has heard something. I’ve tried to call at least a dozen times, but nobody’s answering the phone.”
Ida pushed the front door open. “Yes, that’s a possibility,” she said — and stopped stock-still in the doorway.
“What is it?” Victor asked. But then he heard it too: voices, coming out of the kitchen.
“Giaco?” Victor asked, but Ida shook her head.
“He’s gone to Murano.”
“I could go in and check,” Hornet whispered.
“No, that’s my job!” Victor replied. He carefully put Bo down in a chair by the door. “You two stay here with Bo, while I go and have a look at our visitors. If there’s trouble” — he handed Ida his cell phone — “call the police.”
But Ida passed the telephone on to Hornet. “I’m coming with you,” she hissed. “They’re sitting in my kitchen, after all.”
Victor sighed, but didn’t try to stop her. Hornet looked after them anxiously as they crept along the dark corridor.
The kitchen door stood open. Two boys and a tall man sat at the table on which Lucia rolled out her pasta dough. The tall man looked like a younger version of the honorable Dottor Massimo. The smaller of the two boys was not even as old as Bo. He was just about to reach for a half-empty bottle of port, which stood on the table, when the other boy took it away from him.
“Darn it, Prosper!” Victor cried out. “Have you any idea how long we’ve been looking for you?”
“Hello, Victor!” Prosper pushed his chair back and looked at him, shamefaced. His left arm was in a sling.
The other two quickly put down their glasses, like children who have been caught doing something naughty. The young man even tried to hide his glass under the table, and spilled port all over his pants.
“How did you get in here?” Ida asked Prosper, not taking her eyes off his two companions.
“Lucia told me where she hides the spare key,” Prosper answered in embarrassment.
“Well, well, and now you’ve brought even more people into Ida’s house.” Victor glared suspiciously at the young man. “I bet your name is Massimo,” he growled. “And what about the little midget there? Aren’t there enough children in this house already?”
The little redhead rose unsteadily. He eyed Victor from head to toe and slurred drunkenly, “Midget? I am Ernesto Barbarossa. I am an important man in this city. And who the devil, if I may ask, are you?”
Victor was astounded. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the young man pushed the redhead roughly back into his seat.
“Shut up, Barbarossa, or should I say, baby Barbarino. If you don’t behave yourself we’ll kick you out of the door. This is Victor, a friend of ours. And the lady next to him is Ida Spavento. This is her house.”
Victor and Ida exchanged a stunned look.
“I’m sorry we brought the redbeard here, Ida,” Prosper stammered. “And that he drank your port, but he didn’t want to stay in his shop by himself. It’s only for one night …”
“In his shop?” Victor asked. “Darn it, Prosper, could you please explain what’s going on?”
“We’ve given our word not to tell anyone about it,” Prosper muttered, nervously tugging at the filthy cloth that was holding up his arm.
“Yes, we’re really sorry, Victor,” the young man said. Victor couldn’t remember ever having seen such an impertinent grin on a grown-up’s face. “But perhaps you’d like to guess who you’re talking to. You’ve already had quite a good shot at the name.”
Victor was spared having to answer. Somebody tugged at his sleeve, and when he looked over his shoulder, Hornet was standing behind him.
“What’s going on?” she asked in a low voice while trying to peer inside the kitchen. She spotted Prosper and immediately pushed past Victor and Ida. She didn’t even look at the boy with the red curls, or for that matter the young man leaning against Ida’s table. She only had eyes for Prosper’s injured arm.
“Where have you been?” she cried, anger and relief both ringing through her voice. “Where have you been, for god’s sake? Have you any idea how worried we’ve been? You just disappear in the middle of the night …” She had tears in her eyes.
Prosper opened his mouth and tried to say something, but Hornet wouldn’t let him.
“We’ve been searching for you all over town. Mosca and Riccio are still out there!” she shouted. “And Lucia and Giaco. And Bo has been crying his eyes out. Not even Victor could calm him down …”
“Bo?” Prosper had been avoiding Hornet’s eyes, but now he looked at her incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “B-Bo?” he stammered. “But Bo’s with Esther!”
“No, he isn’t!” Hornet shouted. “But how would you know — going off and vanishing like that? And what happened to your arm?”
Prosper didn’t reply. He just looked at Victor.
“Don’t look at me like that. Yes, your little brother ran away from Esther again,” Victor said to him. “But not before he misbehaved so thoroughly that your aunt no longer thinks he’s an angel. She doesn’t want to see him again. Ever. Not him, and definitely not you. Those were her words. I’m supposed to find a decent Italian children’s home for the two of you, should you ever reappear again. But she won’t have anything to do with either of you anymore.”
Prosper shook his head. “It’s not possible!” he whispered.
“I found your brother in the movie theater,” Victor continued. “I thought if I brought him here you’d throw yourself at me with gratitude, but you weren’t even here.”
Prosper shook his head again, as if he still couldn’t believe what Victor was saying.
“Did you hear that, Scip?” he muttered.
“Well, if that’s not cause for a party,” the young Signor Massimo said, putting his arm around Prosper’s shoulders. “Maybe we should spend a bit of our fake money.”
“Who the heck is that, Prosper?” Victor asked.
“Scipio, of course!” Prosper answered. “And now, please, tell me where Bo is.”
But Victor was lost for words. He opened his mouth, and closed it again. But not a single sound passed his lips. Finally, Ida took Prosper’s hand.
“Come with me,” she said, leading Prosper into the corridor.
Bo was still sleeping in the chair, right where Victor had put him. He had curled up like one of his kittens underneath the sweater Hornet had spread over him. His hair was still wet from the rain, and his eyelids were red from crying. Prosper bent over him and pulled the sweater up to his chin.
“Yes, Bo took matters into his own hands,” Ida said quietly, guessing the truth, “while his brother took off to the Isola Segreta.”
Prosper looked ashamed.
“I’m not allowed to talk about it,” he said. “It’s someone else’s secret, and …”
“… and the Isola Segreta may keep its secret,” Ida completed the sentence. She sat down on the arm of the chair. “At least the wing seems to be back in its proper place,” she said. “And Bo will be very happy that you didn’t ride on what we’re not allowed to speak about.”
“Yes, I think so too.” Prosper stretched himself. “What did he do to Esther?”
“Your aunt has been kicked out of the hotel,” Ida answered. “And I seem to recall something about pasta and tomato sauce.”
Prosper smiled.
“It was just as beautiful as you told us,” he said suddenly. “But now it’s broken. It was Barbarossa’s fault. And I think it will never ever work its magic again.”
Ida said nothing. She leaned forward and stroked a wet strand of hair out of Bo’s face. “You should wake your brother now,” she said. “And then I’ll have a look at your arm.”
“It’s not so bad,” Prosper answered. “But maybe you could find a vet who’d dare to go out to the Isola Segreta to treat a couple of dogs?”
“Sure,” Ida answered. Then she went back into the kitchen.
And Prosper woke Bo.
48
That evening Hornet put ten plates on Ida’s dining table. When Ida had told Lucia that the little redhead and the young man would also be staying for dinner, the housekeeper had just shaken her head, mumbling something about “all these mouths eating Signora out of house and home,” and went off to the kitchen to cook a fantastic amount of spaghetti. Nearly all of them were already sitting at the table when Lucia finally brought in the steaming bowls. Only Ida and Barbarossa were missing.
Prosper saw Riccio, Mosca, and Hornet surreptitiously looking at Scipio, who had seated himself and his long legs at the head of the table. They were all looking for something familiar, but there wasn’t much to find. From time to time Scipio ran his hand flat over his hair, just like he used to; and he still arched his eyebrows the same way as ever. Other than that, he was a stranger, even to Prosper. Scipio seemed to feel it himself, although he gave his friends a smile whenever he noticed their uneasy glances.
“Now, Signor Massimo, when are you going to see your parents?” Victor asked, after Lucia had also sat down with an exhausted sigh. “Today?”
“Why should I?” Scipio ran a finger over the prongs of his fork. “They probably won’t miss me. But I may sneak into the house to see my cat.”
“But you can’t just leave your parents in the dark like this,” Victor told him. He was already eating his second helping of pasta, a fact Lucia acknowledged with a deep frown. “It doesn’t matter what you think of your father; you can’t leave him with the constant worry that his son might have fallen into a canal, or been kidnapped.”
Scipio ran his fork over the tablecloth and said nothing.
“But he doesn’t want to, Victor!” Bo said. “And anyway, he’s grown-up now.”
Scipio smiled at him.
“Grown-up? So what!” Victor was just about to announce what he thought of Scipio’s growing up when the door opened and Ida walked in. She held Barbarossa firmly by the hand, and when everybody turned to look at him, he just stared moodily at the ceiling.