The Thief Lord

"Do you want to tell me what you want for them, or shall I give you my best offer?" he asked.

Prosper and Riccio exchanged a quick glance.

"Give me your offer," came Prosper's answer. He tried to look as if he knew exactly what Scipio's loot was worth.

"My offer ..." Barbarossa paused. He put his fingertips together and closed his eyes. "Well, I admit, there are a couple of quite decent items here this time. So I'll offer you," he opened his eyes again, "one hundred thousand lire. And I'm still doing you a favor."

Riccio held his breath. He imagined all the cakes he could buy for one hundred thousand lire. Mountains of cakes.

But Prosper shook his head. He looked Barbarossa straight in the eye and said, "No. Five hundred thousand. Or the deal is off."

For a split second, Barbarossa couldn't hide his surprise. But he regained his composure and conjured an expression of honest outrage. "Have you lost your mind, boy?" he bellowed. "Here I am, making you a generous offer -- far too generous -- and you go and make outrageous demands. Tell the Thief Lord never again to send such impertinent kids if he wants to continue doing business with Ernesto Barbarossa!"

Riccio looked worried, but Prosper just got up and silently started putting the loot back into his bag.

Barbarossa watched him calmly. But when Prosper reached for the sugar tongs, he grabbed his hand so quickly that the boy gave a start. "You're a smart fellow, a bit too smart for my taste. The Thief Lord and I have done good business so far and so I'll give you four hundred thousand lire for the lot, although most of it is junk. I like the tongs. Tell the Thief Lord if he offers me more stuff like that we will definitely stay in business together. Even if he insists on using such rude errand boys." He looked at Prosper with a mixture of anger and respect. "One more thing." He cleared his throat. "Ask the Thief Lord if he would take on a job."

The boys looked at one another. "A job?"

Barbarossa shuffled a few papers together. "One of my most important clients is looking for a talented man who will -- let's say -- fetch something for him. Something my client wants rather badly. As far as I have gathered, the item is here, in Venice. Should be child's play for someone --" Barbarossa twisted his face into a scornful smile "-- who likes to call himself the Thief Lord, shouldn't it?"

Prosper didn't answer. The redbeard had never seen Scipio and so he probably thought he was dealing with an adult. He didn't have the faintest idea that the Thief Lord was just as young as his messengers.

That didn't seem to bother Riccio, who said, "Sure, we'll ask him."

"Excellent." Barbarossa leaned back in his armchair with a smug smile. He was holding the sugar tongs in his hands, tenderly stroking their curved handles. "If he wants to take on the job, tell him to send one of you with his answer. I will then arrange a meeting with my client." He lowered his voice. "The payment will be very generous. My client has assured me of that."

"As Riccio said, we'll ask him," Prosper repeated. "But now we would like to have our money."

Barbarossa burst out laughing. Riccio nearly jumped out of his chair. "Yes, yes, you will get your money," the redbeard panted. "Don't worry. But get out of my office. Do you really think I would open my safe with you little thieves watching me?"

"What do you think? Will Scipio take the job?" Riccio whispered to Prosper as they leaned against the counter, waiting for Barbarossa.

"It's probably best not to tell him about it at all," Prosper answered. He looked intently at the portrait of the masked lady.

"And why not?"

Prosper shrugged. "Don't know. It's just a feeling. I don't trust the redbeard."

Just then, Barbarossa pushed himself through the tinkling beaded curtain. "There you are," he said. He held out a thick wad of bills to them. "But don't get robbed on your way home now. All those tourists out there with their cameras and bulging wallets attract thieves like flies."

The boys ignored the old crook's grin. Prosper took the money and looked at it, uncertain what to do.

"No, you don't need to count it," Barbarossa said, as if he had guessed the boy's thoughts. "It's all there. I only deducted the glass beetle your brother broke last time. Sign the receipt here. You can write, I hope?"

Prosper just scowled and scribbled a name on to the pad. He threw the empty bag over his shoulder and walked to the door. "Come on, Riccio."

"Let me know as soon as possible about that job!" Barbarossa shouted after them.

"Will do," Prosper answered and pulled the shop door shut behind him.

He was determined not to mention a word of it to Scipio.

6 A Nasty Coincidence

As soon as they had left Barbarossa's shop, Riccio dragged Prosper into the pasticceria he had stared at so longingly before. Prosper didn't get a chance to raise any objections and the shop assistant patiently waited for their order while Riccio bullied Prosper into changing two bills from Barbarossa's wad and buying a box of cakes for them all, to celebrate.

Prosper was always amazed by the great care the bakers of Venice took over wrapping their cakes. They didn't just hand them over in a plastic bag -- no, they were always packed in a beautiful box and tied up with a ribbon.

Riccio, however, was decidedly unimpressed by all this effort. As soon as they were back on the street he got out his pocket knife and cut the ribbon.

"What are you doing?" Prosper cried out. He took the box from Riccio. "I thought this was for the others as well."

"There'll be more than enough left for them." Riccio peered greedily into the box. "And we deserve a treat after all that. Madonna, no one has ever managed to get one single lira more out of the redbeard than he wanted to pay. And now he's just given you four times what he first offered us -- even I can work that out. Scipio will never let anyone else sell his loot again."

"Well, I think those things were probably worth even more." Prosper took one of the cakes. It was dusted generously with powdered sugar, which spilled down his jacket with the first bite. The tip of Riccio's nose was already covered in chocolate.

"Anyway, we can definitely use the money," Prosper continued. "Now we can afford a few of the things we really need, especially with winter being so close. Hornet and Bo don't have warm jackets and your shoes look like you just fished them out of a canal."

Riccio licked the chocolate from his nose and looked down at his worn sneakers. "Why? They're OK," he said. "But perhaps we could buy a small secondhand TV. Mosca could get it connected somehow."

"You've got to be joking!"

Prosper stopped in front of a shop selling newspapers, postcards and toys. He and Bo had already sold any toys they had with them when they ran away, and his brother didn't even have a stuffed animal, apart from the sorry-looking lion that Riccio had given him.

"What about getting Bo those Indians there?" Riccio put his sticky chin on Prosper's shoulder. "They would go well with the cork cowboys Hornet made for him."

Prosper frowned. He touched the money in his jacket pocket. "No," he said. He pushed the cake box into Riccio's hands and strode on. "We need the money for other things."