They ran nearly all the way to the Campo Morosini. In the streets the first shops were already opening although the sky was still pitch black. Big barges, bringing food into the city, pushed their way through the ca.n.a.ls. The garbage boats collected the previous day's trash. The city was waking up, but the boys hardly took any notice. They ran through the dark alleys, imagining a thousand things that could have happened to Bo and Hornet, and the closer they got to the Campo Morosini, the more horrible those images became. They reached the monument, all panting heavily. The statue showed a man with a pile of books behind him. His name was Nicolo Tommaseo, but everyone in the city just called him the Book Man.

Hornet wasn't there. Nor was Bo.

Prosper turned around and started running again. "Prop!" Mosca called after him while Riccio was still holding his aching side. "The snoop's place is miles away. Are you going to run the whole way?"

But Prosper didn't even look back.

"Come on!" Mosca dragged the still panting Riccio with him. "We've got to keep up, before he does something stupid."

34 Father and Son

Scipio had asked Ida to drop him off about two bridges before his father's house. He wanted to walk the last few steps along the snowy bank of the ca.n.a.l. The cold air gave him the feeling of being strong and free -- as long as he didn't think of the others, or of the big house that would soon make him feel small and weak again. Scipio sc.r.a.ped patterns into the snow with his heels. Then he crouched down to draw a wing with his fingers. When he lifted his head he saw the police boat. It was moored just a few steps away from his parents' house.

Scipio stood up. Thoughts raced around in his head. Did this have something to do with the Conte?

"No!" he whispered, trying to calm himself. He could hardly manage to get the key into the lock. Opening the door as quietly as possible he saw a light was burning between the columns as usual. The courtyard lay empty in front of him. Holding his breath, Scipio crept toward the stairs. He was a master creeper. This time, however, his efforts were in vain.

His foot had barely touched the first step, when he suddenly heard voices from above. He lifted his head guiltily -- and stopped dead. Two policemen were coming down the stairs, with Hornet. She looked small and helpless between the two huge officers.

His father was standing upstairs by the bal.u.s.trade. He frowned as his eyes fell on Scipio.

"Gentlemen!" boomed the voice Scipio loved to imitate because it sounded so much more impressive than his own. "As you can see, the matter seems to have resolved itself. My son has decided to come home after all, even if it is at a highly inappropriate time. But it proves he had nothing to do with those children hiding in the Stella."

Scipio bit his lip and looked up at Hornet. She slowed down as she noticed him.

"Do you know this boy?" one of the policemen asked. He had an unfriendly narrow black mustache. "Go on, speak." But Hornet just shook her head.

"Where are you taking her?" Scipio was startled by the sound of his own voice, high and shrill.

The policeman with the mustache laughed while the other one grabbed Hornet's arm. "So, you think you have to protect her? You're a little gentleman. Don't worry, we didn't take her away from anybody. She's a naughty girl who doesn't even want to tell us her name. We came here because we thought your father might learn something from her about your disappearance."

"Our maid called me away from my reception, completely hysterical, Scipio!" Dottor Ma.s.simo called down at him. "Because she didn't find you in your bed at midnight. And just as I got here the police called to tell me that they had found a gang of street kids in the Stella. You know, the movie theater I had to close down? Of course, I immediately explained to the gentlemen here that your disappearance had nothing to do with this. And what childish fancy drove you out of the house in the middle of the night? Were you running after some stray cat again?"

Scipio didn't answer. He desperately tried not to look up at Hornet. She looked so sad and lost. This was not the Hornet who had driven him mad with her teasing.

"I just wanted to have a look at the snow," Scipio finally muttered.

"Ah, the snow! It drives everybody mad, not just the children," the mustachioed policeman said with a wink at Scipio. His colleague was already dragging Hornet down the stairs.

"Let me go, I can walk by myself!" Hornet spat at him. She jumped down the last step and pushed past Scipio with her head down. "Bo is with his aunt!" she whispered.

"Hey, what's the hurry?" the policeman barked, grabbing her by the scruff of her collar.

"Buonanotte, Dottor Ma.s.simo!" the Dottor Ma.s.simo!" the Carabinieri Carabinieri called out as they left. Hornet didn't turn around again. called out as they left. Hornet didn't turn around again.

Scipio slowly walked up the stairs. He heard the entrance door slam shut.

His father looked at him in silence.

Who had given away the secret of the Star-Palace? What about Prosper, Riccio, and Mosca? Why was Bo with his aunt? Scipio's mind was racing.

"So, where did you really go?" His father scrutinized him from head to toe. Scipio was afraid his father could read his mind. He was probably asking himself yet again what he had done to deserve this strange creature he called his son. He wasn't as big as him, as interesting, as disciplined, controlled, dependable, or reasonable. He wasn't like him at all.

"I told you," Scipio answered. "I just wanted to look at the snow. And I ran after a cat. Mine is luckily feeling better; she's eating again."

"Just as well I didn't call the vet." Dottor Ma.s.simo frowned. "Of course, all this running around in the middle of the night will have consequences. The maid is going to lock your door in the future. At least, as long as that silly snow is causing you to behave even more childishly than usual. Is that understood?"

Scipio didn't reply.

"G.o.d, how I hate that stubborn face! If you only knew how stupid you look." Scipio's father turned abruptly. "I have to do something about that movie theater," he said, walking away. "Abandoned children, probably all little thieves. At least the police seem to think so. Why didn't that journalist tell me anything about it? Getz was his name, or something."

"The girl looked quite nice. And if the children don't have a home, why shouldn't they live in your movie theater? It's empty anyway," said Scipio.

"My word, children sometimes say the oddest things. So it's empty. Do you think that's reason enough to let all the tramps in the city squat there?"

"But what's going to happen to them now?" Scipio felt himself getting hot. Then cold. Terribly cold. "You saw the girl. Can't you take pity on her?"

"No." His father looked surprised. "What's that girl to you? You usually only show that much concern for cats. Are you sure you don't know her?"

"No." Scipio heard his voice getting louder. He couldn't help himself. "For G.o.d's sake, no!" he shouted. "Do I have to know her to feel sorry for her? Can't you just help her? I thought you were such an important man in this city."

"Go to bed, Scipio," his father answered, yawning behind his hand. "My lord, what a completely ruined evening."

"P-please!" Scipio stammered. Tears welled up in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to wipe them away. "Please, Father, don't you know somebody who would take in a girl like that? She hasn't done anything wrong. She's just all alone."

"Go to bed, Scipio," his father cut him off. "I think you looked at the moon too much out there. Soon you're going to start living by your horoscope, just like your mother."

"It's got nothing to do with the moon!" Scipio was shouting now. "You have no idea!"

But his father was already closing the bedroom door behind him.

And so Scipio stood there and cried.

35 Visitors for Victor

A terrible night lay behind Victor. The man he'd been following had gone from one bar to another until two o'clock in the morning. When he vanished into a house Victor had to stand around outside until dawn, the snow falling on him relentlessly. Victor felt as if he were made of ice from the knees downward, nothing but solid ice.

"I'll have a bath first," he mumbled as he crossed the bridge close to his house. "With water hot enough to boil an egg."

Yawning, he searched his coat pocket for his keys. Perhaps he should find another job. The waiters in the cafes in St. Mark's Square had to run around just as much, but at least they were home by midnight at the latest. And what about museum guides -- why couldn't he be a museum guide? They went home even earlier. He was so sleepy that it was only as they were about to leap at him that he noticed the three small figures crouching by the entrance to his flat. They looked scared, but then one of them poked a gun in his face. It was his own gun.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he tried a soothing voice, while the three of them dragged him over to the door.

"Open up, Victor!" Prosper hissed without moving the gun. But Victor just pushed the barrel out of his face and then fished the keys out of his pocket.

"Would you be so kind as to explain to me what this fuss is all about?" he grumbled as he unlocked the door. "If this is some new game then I have to tell you that I'm a bit too old to find it amusing."

"Bo and Hornet have disappeared," Mosca said breathlessly. "And Prosper thinks that you told the police about our hideout. Riccio thinks so too."

"Either the police, or my aunt," Prosper added. His face was deathly pale, but his eyes seemed to plead with Victor to tell him that it wasn't true.

"Have you forgotten? I gave you my word!" Victor quickly wrangled the gun from Prosper's icy hand. "Can't you trust anyone anymore? Now come inside, before we become a tourist attraction."

They all trundled after him up the stairs.

"I always knew it wasn't you," Mosca said as Victor ushered them into his apartment. "But Prosper ..."

"Prosper can't think clearly at the moment," Victor completed the sentence. "That's quite understandable if his brother really has disappeared. But tell me: How could that happen? Were they on their own?"

They sat down in the tiny kitchen. Victor brewed some coffee and gave the boys some olives while they told him what had happened since he had freed himself from their bathroom prison.

Once they had finished telling him their story, Victor said, "You're lucky I already know you. Otherwise I wouldn't have believed a single word you've just told me. You break into someone's house and then make a deal with the owner. With her approval you sell the loot and then you go for a cruise on the lagoon to find a mysterious merry-go-round. I'd love to have a word with that crazy Signora Spavento. To take a bunch of kids to the Isola Segreta. I mean, really!"

"How could we have known that the Conte lived on that that island of all places?" Mosca murmured meekly. island of all places?" Mosca murmured meekly.

"Doesn't matter!" Victor frowned and rubbed his tired eyes. "What's in that bag? Your reward?"

Mosca nodded.

"Show him the money," Prosper said to him. "He won't steal it."

Mosca hesitated, but then he put the bag on Victor's kitchen table. When he opened it, Victor whistled quietly through his teeth. "And you've just run halfway across the city with that?" he muttered. He took one of the wads. "You've got some nerve!"

He pulled out a bill, inspected it closely, and then held it in front of the kitchen light. "Hold on!" he said. "Someone's taken you for a ride. This money's not real."

The boys were dumbfounded. "Fake money?" Riccio yanked the money from Victor's hand and looked at it. "I can't see anything. Looks real to me."

"Well, it isn't," Victor answered. He reached into the bag and took another wad from it. "It's all counterfeit," he a.s.serted. "And it's not even a good forgery. Looks like someone made them with a color-copier. I'm sorry." He threw the money back and sighed. The boys looked shocked.

"All for nothing," Riccio muttered. "The break-in, the trip across the lagoon. We nearly got shot, and for what? A pile of counterfeit money. Darn it!" He swiped the bag off the table. The wads of cash scattered all over Victor's kitchen floor.

"And now Hornet and Bo are gone as well!" Mosca buried his face in his hands.

"Exactly!" Victor gathered the money from the floor and stuffed it back into the bag. "And that's what we should be working on right now. Where are Bo and the girl?" He got up with a deep sigh and walked across into his office. The three boys, pale as ghosts, followed him.

"The answering machine is blinking," Mosca observed as they all stood in front of the desk.

"One day I'll throw that machine off the balcony," Victor complained. He pressed play. play.

Prosper immediately recognized the voice. He would have known Esther's voice even if he had heard her announcing train times at Venice's main station.

"Signor Getz, this is Esther Hartlieb. Your case has resolved itself today. We finally managed to find our nephew with the help of an old lady who had seen our poster. Apparently Bo had been hiding for weeks in some dilapidated movie theater, together with some girl who didn't want to give us her name. The police are taking care of her. As far as Bo is concerned, he is rather confused and quite thin. He hasn't said anything about his brother's whereabouts yet. Who knows, perhaps he's just as angry with him as I am. We can talk about your fee in the next few days. We'll be in the Sandwirth until the beginning of next week. Please call before you come. Good-bye."

Prosper stood completely still, as if he had just been turned to stone. Victor didn't know what to say. He would have liked to say something to cheer the boy up. But he couldn't think of anything.

"What old lady?" Riccio asked in a small voice. "Darn it! Who could that be?"

"Since yesterday, Prosper's aunt has been distributing posters all over Venice," Victor explained, "with a picture of Prosper and Bo." He chose not to tell them who had taken that photograph. "There was also something on it about a generous reward. Haven't you seen them?"

The boys shook their heads.

"Well, that old lady obviously did," Victor concluded. "Maybe she lives near the movie theater. She could have seen you sneaking in and out of there. Perhaps she even thought she was doing a good deed when she called the poor boy's aunt."

Prosper still hadn't moved. He was looking out at Victor's balcony. It had grown quite light by now, but the sky was gray and cloudy. "Esther is never going to let go of Bo," he whispered. "Never." He gave Victor a look of utter desperation. "Where is the Sandwirth?"

Victor wasn't sure he should tell him, but Mosca made that decision for him. "On the Riva degli Schiavoni," he answered, "but what do you want there? You'd better come back to the hideout with us. We have to get our stuff before the police turn up again. Maybe in the meantime Victor can find out where the police have taken Hornet." He looked inquiringly at Victor.

The detective nodded. "Sure. A few phone calls will do it. Just give me her real name."

Riccio looked stunned. "We don't know it."

"There's a name written in some of her books," Prosper said tonelessly. "Caterina Grimani. But that won't do any good. They probably took her to some home, and you'll never get her out of there again. Just like Bo."

"Prosper," Victor got up and went over to him, "come on, it's not the end of the world."

"It is." Prosper opened the door. "I need to be alone right now."

"Wait!" said Riccio desperately. "We could take our stuff to Ida Spavento for the time being. She told us she would help, remember? Well, she's probably not expecting us to turn up quite so soon, but we could at least give it a try."

"You try," said Prosper. "I don't care anymore." Then he pulled the door closed behind him.

36 The Refuge

Riccio rang the bell and the housekeeper opened the door. His spiky head was hidden behind the huge box he was carrying.

"Don't I know you?" the lady grumbled suspiciously, pushing up her gla.s.ses.

"Right!" Riccio gave her his broadest grin. "But this time I'm not here to see you, but Ida Spavento."

"Is that so?" The housekeeper crossed her arms in front of her enormous bosom. "That's Signora Spavento to you, you rascal. And may I ask what you want from her?"

"This should be interesting," said Victor, who was standing behind Riccio with an even bigger box. All the children's belongings had fitted into just three cardboard cartons. Mosca was carrying the third. The two kittens poked their heads out of Victor's coat pockets.

"Tell her that Riccio and Mosca are here. She'll know who we are," Riccio said.

"Riccio and Mosca? That's only two." The big lady scrutinized Victor. "And is he your father?"