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 Strange Visitors
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.
