"What's so different?" Scipio scrutinized Prosper's face as if he could read there whether Bo had been right or not.

"Well, I'd be glad if you dealt with it for us, Prop," Mosca said.

"Yes." Hornet shuddered. "The redbeard gives me the creeps every time he looks at me with his little piggy eyes. I always think he's secretly laughing at us or that he's going to call the police or something. I can't wait to get out of his shop."

Prosper scratched himself behind the ear, still looking embarra.s.sed. "If you think so," he said. "I can probably haggle pretty well. But Barbarossa is crafty. I was there last time when Mosca sold him the other stuff."

"Try it." Scipio jumped up and hung the empty sack over his shoulder. "I've got to go. I have another appointment to keep tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow." He pulled the mask over his eyes. "Sometime in the late afternoon. I want to hear what the redbeard paid you for these things here. If he offers you..."he cast a thoughtful look over his loot "... well, if he offers you less than two hundred thousand lire, then just bring the stuff back for the time being."

"Two hundred thousand!" Riccio's mouth stayed open.

"These things are definitely worth much more," Prosper insisted.

Scipio turned around and just said, "Probably." He looked quite scary again, with the long black bird nose. The naked lights cast his shadow ma.s.sively on the movie theater's walls. "See you!" he said. He turned once more before vanishing through the musty curtain. "Do we need a new code word?"

"No!" The answer came very quickly and in perfect harmony.

"Fine. Oh yes, Bo," -- Scipio turned around again -- "there's a cardboard box behind the curtain. There are two little kittens in there. Someone wanted to drown them in the ca.n.a.l. Look after them, will you? Good night, everybody."

5 Barbarossa

The shop where so much of the Thief Lord's loot had been turned into money lay in a small alley not far from the Basilica San Marco. Next door to it was a pasticceria pasticceria with pastries and cakes of all shapes and sizes in its windows. with pastries and cakes of all shapes and sizes in its windows.

"Come on," Prosper grumbled at Riccio, who was pressing his nose against the shop window. Reluctantly, Riccio let himself be dragged away, his head still swimming with the scent of sweet almonds.

Barbarossa's shop didn't exactly smell as nice. From the outside it didn't look any different from all the other junk shops in Venice. The gla.s.s front was painted with ornate letters: ERNEs...o...b..RBAROSSA -- RECORDI DI VENEZIA, Souvenirs of Venice. Souvenirs of Venice. In the window itself, there were vases and candlesticks, surrounded by little gondolas and gla.s.s insects, laid out on threadbare velvet drapes. Thin china plates were crammed next to piles of old books, and pictures in tarnished silver frames lay next to cheap paper masks. Barbarossa stocked whatever anyone could desire. And if something particular wasn't on show, then the redbeard would get hold of it -- by crooked means if necessary. In the window itself, there were vases and candlesticks, surrounded by little gondolas and gla.s.s insects, laid out on threadbare velvet drapes. Thin china plates were crammed next to piles of old books, and pictures in tarnished silver frames lay next to cheap paper masks. Barbarossa stocked whatever anyone could desire. And if something particular wasn't on show, then the redbeard would get hold of it -- by crooked means if necessary.

Dozens of gla.s.s bells chimed above his head as Prosper opened the shop door. Inside, a few tourists stood among the crammed shelves, whispering as solemnly as if they were in a church. They seemed awed, either by the chandeliers that hung from the dark ceiling, or by the countless candles that burned everywhere in their heavy holders.

With bowed heads, Prosper and Riccio pushed past the tourists. A man was holding a statuette that Mosca had sold to the redbeard two weeks before. When Prosper saw the price tag underneath its plinth, he nearly knocked over a large statue in the center of the shop.

"Do you remember how much Barbarossa paid us for that figure there?" he whispered to Riccio.

"No. You know I can't remember numbers."

"Well, that number has now got two more zeros on the end of it," Prosper whispered. "Not a bad deal for the redbeard, is it?"

He stepped up to the counter and rang the bell next to the register. Riccio made faces at the masked lady smiling down at them from a large painting on the wall. This was his regular joke, for behind the lady's mask was a peephole through which Barbarossa kept an eye on his customers.

A few seconds later the beaded curtain behind the counter tinkled into life and Ernes...o...b..rbarossa appeared in person. The redbeard was a very fat man but Prosper was always amazed at how nimbly he could move through his crammed shop.

"I hope you brought some decent goods this time," the man murmured disdainfully, but the boys noticed how he stared at the bag in Prosper's hands, like a hungry cat eyeing up a fat, juicy mouse.

"I think you'll be interested," Prosper answered. Riccio said nothing. He was staring at Barbarossa's ginger beard as if he expected something to crawl out of it at any moment.

"What are you looking at, you little ferret?" the redbeard cursed.

"Oh, I, I --" Riccio began to stutter "-- I was just wondering whether it was real. The color, I mean."

"Of course it's real! Are you saying I dye my beard?" Barbarossa growled at him. "You gnomes get some strange ideas." He stroked his beard with his fat, ringed ringers. Then he nodded discreetly in the direction of the couple of tourists that were still standing by the shelves, whispering to each other. "I'll get rid of them as quickly as possible," he muttered. "Go ahead into my office -- and don't even think of touching anything! Clear?"

Prosper and Riccio nodded. Then they disappeared behind the beaded curtain.

Barbarossa's office looked completely different from his shop. Here there were no chandeliers, no candles, or gla.s.s insects. The windowless room was lit by a neon light and was completely bare, except for a big desk with a ma.s.sive leather armchair behind it, two guest chairs, and a few high shelves stuffed with meticulously labeled boxes. A poster from the Museo di Accademia hung on the white wall behind the desk.

There was also an upholstered bench, placed underneath Barbarossa's peephole. Riccio climbed onto it and peered into the shop. "You've got to see this, Prop," he whispered. "The redbeard is purring around those tourists like a fat tomcat. I don't think anyone has ever escaped his shop without buying something."

"Or without paying far too much for it." Prosper placed the bag with Scipio's loot on one of the chairs and looked around.

"He definitely dyes it," Riccio murmured without taking his eye from the peephole. "I've bet Hornet three comics that he does."

Barbarossa's head was as bald as a glitter ball. His beard, however, grew thick and frizzy and was the color of fox fur. "I think there's a bathroom behind that door," whispered Riccio. "Have a look and see if he's got any hair dye in there!"

"If I have to." Prosper crossed to the narrow pa.s.sage and put his head around another door. "Wow! There's more marble here than in the Doge's Palace," Riccio heard him say. "This is just about the cla.s.siest bathroom I've ever seen."

Riccio pressed his eye against the peep hole. "Prosper, get out of there," he called under his breath, "The redbeard is finished with the customers -- and he's locking the door!"

"He dyes it, Riccio!" Prosper called. "The bottle's right here, next to his smelly aftershave. Eurghh, that stinks! Should I dye a bit of toilet paper as evidence?"

"No! Get out of there!" Riccio jumped off the bench. "Quick, he's coming back, darn it!"

The beaded curtain announced Barbarossa as he entered the office.

Prosper and Riccio were sitting in front of his desk, wearing their most innocent faces.

"I'm going to have to deduct the money for a gla.s.s beetle," the burly redbeard announced as he let himself fall into his vast armchair. "Your little brother," he gave Prosper a disapproving look, "broke it last time."

"He did not," Prosper protested.

"Oh yes he did," Barbarossa replied without looking at him. He took a pair of gla.s.ses from his drawer. "So, what have you got for me today? I hope it's not just fake gold and inferior silver spoons."

With a stony face, Prosper emptied his bag onto the desk. Barbarossa leaned forward. He took the sugar tongs, the medallions, and the magnifying gla.s.s, one by one, and turned them in his pudgy fingers. He inspected them from every angle, the boys watching him closely. His face showed nothing. He picked each item up, put it back down, and picked it up again, then pushed it aside, looked at it again -- until the boys were sc.r.a.ping their feet impatiently on the floor.

Finally, Barbarossa leaned back with a sigh and put his gla.s.ses on the desk. He stroked his beard as if he were stroking the fur of a small animal.

"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 Ernes...o...b..rbarossa!"

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 a.s.sured 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 gla.s.s 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 pasticceria he had stared at so longingly before. Prosper didn't get a chance to raise any objections and the shop a.s.sistant 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. he had stared at so longingly before. Prosper didn't get a chance to raise any objections and the shop a.s.sistant 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, 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." 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 ca.n.a.l."

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."

Riccio sighed, and walked after him. "You know, if Scipio doesn't take on Barbarossa's job," he lowered his voice, "then I'll do it. You heard what the baldhead said about the money. I'm not a bad thief -- just a bit out of practice. And I'd share the loot with everyone. Bo could get his Indians, Hornet could get some new books, and Mosca could get the paint for that boat he's been going on about so much. I'd get a little TV and you ..." He gave Prosper a curious look. "Actually, what would you want?"

"I don't need anything." Prosper hunched his shoulders as if a cold draft had gone down his neck. He looked around uneasily. "Just stop talking about stealing things. Have you forgotten how they nearly caught you last time?"

"Yes, yes," Riccio said angrily. He really didn't want to remember that. He gazed after a woman with huge pearl earrings.

Prosper added, "And you won't tell Scipio about this job, agreed?"

Riccio stopped. "Don't be an idiot! I don't understand what's the matter with you. Of course I'll tell him! How can this be more dangerous than breaking into the Doge's Palace?" A young couple holding hands suddenly turned around and Riccio quickly lowered his voice. "Or into the Palazzo Contarini!"

Prosper shook his head and walked on. He wasn't quite sure himself why he didn't like Barbarossa's offer. Lost in thought, he walked around two women who were arguing noisily in the middle of the street -- only to walk straight into a man who had just stepped out of a bar with a slice of pizza his hand. The man was small and stocky. A piece of cheese clung to his thick walrus mustache. He spun around angrily -- and then stared at Prosper as if he had seen a ghost.

Prosper muttered, "Scusi," "Scusi," and quickly pushed past the man and disappeared into the crowd. and quickly pushed past the man and disappeared into the crowd.

"Hey, why are you running?" Riccio followed him awkwardly, nearly dropping the cake box.

Prosper looked around. "Someone just gave me a very weird look." He eyed the pa.s.sing crowds uneasily. The man with the walrus mustache was nowhere to be seen.

"A weird look?" Riccio shrugged. "And? Did you recognize him?"

Prosper shook his head. He looked around once more. A couple of schoolchildren, an old man, three women with stuffed shopping bags, a group of nuns...suddenly he grabbed Riccio's arm and pulled him inside a doorway.

Riccio nearly dropped the cake box again. "What now?"

"That man's following us." Prosper started to run, keeping his hand firmly on Barbarossa's money so it wouldn't fall out of his pocket.