Authors: Cornelia Funke
"So you have it?" Riccio looked at her with big eyes.
"And what did you want to do with it?"
"Someone asked us to steal it," Mosca muttered.
Ida Spavento looked at him in astonishment. "Asked you? Who?"
"We're not going to tell you!" said a voice behind her.
Ida Spavento spun around. Before she knew what was happening, Scipio had grabbed her rifle and was pointing the barrel at her.
"Scipio, what are you doing?" Hornet called out, scared. "Give that gun back!"
"I have the wing!" Scipio said, still holding the rifle. "It was up in the bedroom. Now let's get out of here."
"Scipio? Who's that now?" Ida Spavento trod her cigarette out on the floor and crossed her arms. "My house seems to be swarming with uninvited guests tonight. That's an interesting mask you're wearing, my dear. I have a very similar one, but I don't often wear it for break-ins. And now put that gun down."
Scipio took a step backward.
"There are a lot of mysterious stories associated with this wing. Did your client tell you about them?"
Scipio ignored her. "If you're not going to come with me," he called to the others, "then I'll go alone. And I won't share the money with you."
The rifle shook in his hands.
"Are you coming now or not?" he called once more.
At that moment Ida Spavento stepped forward, grabbed the barrel, and yanked the rifle out of Scipio's hands. "That's enough!" she said. "That thing doesn't work anyway. And now give me back my wing."
Scipio had wrapped the wing in a blanket as soon as he'd heard voices.
"We would have gotten away with it!" he complained as he placed it on the floor in front of the
signora.
"If those morons hadn't just stood around like statues."
"Just shut up," Mosca shouted. "You've completely lost it! Waving a gun around like that!"
"I was never going to shoot!" Scipio shouted back. "I just wanted us to get the money. I would have given all of it to you. You said yourself how much you need it."
"The money? Of course!" Ida Spavento knelt down and unfolded the blanket. "How much did your client offer you for my wing?"
"A lot," Hornet answered.
She stepped forward hesitantly and stood beside Ida. The wing's white paint was faded and cracked, just like the wing in the Conte's photograph. This one, however, still showed sprinklings of gold.
"Tell me his name." Ida Spavento replaced the cover and got up with the wing in her arms, its tip still poking out of the wrapping. "You tell me his name and I'll tell you why he wants to pay so much money for a piece of wood."
"We don't know his name," Riccio answered.
"He calls himself the Conte." The words slipped out of Mosca's mouth; he didn't know why. Scipio shot him a dark look. "What are you staring at, Thief Lord?" Mosca shouted at him. "Why shouldn't we tell her?"
"Thief Lord?"
Ida Spavento raised her eyebrows. She gave Scipio a glance full of mockery and gentle amusement. "Anyway, I need some coffee. I suppose you kids can't wait to get out of my house, right?"
She looked at the children enquiringly.
Nobody answered. Only Hornet shook her head.
"Fine! Then you can keep me company," Ida Spavento said. "If you want, I'll tell you a story. A story about a lost wing and a mysterious merry-go-round. You may stay too," she said as she walked past Scipio, "but maybe the Thief Lord has more important appointments to keep?"
27 An Old Story
Scipio decided to come with them to Ida Spavento's kitchen, but he kept his distance. He lounged against the doorpost as the others gathered around the big table. The wing lay in front of them on the colorful tablecloth.
"It looks beautiful," Hornet said as she carefully stroked the wood. "It's the wing of an angel, isn't it?"
"Angel? Oh no." Ida Spavento took the espresso pot from the stove, the coffee still gurgling as she put it on the table. "This is a lion's wing."
"A lion?" Riccio looked at her in disbelief.
Ida Spavento nodded. "Indeed." She put her hand in her coat pocket and pulled out her cigarettes. Then she fetched sugar and a cup for herself. She got some juice and some glasses for the children. There was one for Scipio too, but he stayed by the door. At least he had taken off his mask.
"So, what about the story?" Mosca asked as he poured himself some juice.
"I'm coming to that!" Ida Spavento threw her coat over the back of her chair. She took a sip of coffee and then reached for a cigarette.
"Can I try one?" Riccio asked.
Ida looked surprised. "Of course not. It's an unhealthy habit."
"Why do you smoke, then?"
She sighed. "I'm trying to quit. But let's get to the story." She leaned back. "Have you ever heard the story about the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters?"
The children shook their heads.
"Doesn't the orphanage in the south of the city also belong to the Merciful Sisters?" Riccio asked.
"Exactly!" Ida stirred some more sugar into her coffee. "About one hundred and fifty years ago -- so the legend says -- a rich merchant gave a very valuable gift to the orphanage: He had a merry-go-round built in the courtyard. It had five beautiful wooden figures on it. There's still a picture of them above the door to the orphanage. In it, a unicorn, a sea horse, a merman, his mermaid, and a winged lion do their rounds beneath a colorful wooden canopy. Back then, some wicked tongues claimed that the rich man wanted to relieve his conscience because he himself had once brought the unwanted child of his daughter to the orphanage. Others, however, disputed that and said he was simply a warmhearted man who wanted to share his wealth with the poor orphaned children. Whatever the case, soon everyone in Venice was talking about the amazing merry-go-round -- and that's saying something in a city with as many wonders as this one. The rumor soon spread that, because of that merry-go-round, magical things were happening behind the orphanage's walls."
"Magical things?" Riccio looked at Ida Spavento wide-eyed, just the way he looked at Hornet when she read to them...
Ida nodded. "Yes, very strange things. People said that a few turns on the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters made adults out of children and children out of adults."
For a few moments there was complete silence. Then Mosca laughed out loud. "And how's that supposed to work?"
Ida shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I'm just telling you what I heard."
Scipio detached himself from the door frame to come and sit on the edge of the table next to Prosper and Bo.
"What's the wing got to do with the merry-go-round?" he asked.
"I was just coming to that," Ida replied. She poured Bo some more juice. "The sisters and the orphans weren't to enjoy their present for long, as it turned out. After only a few weeks, the merry-go-round was stolen. The sisters had taken the children on a day trip to Burano and when they returned they found the gate had been forced open and the merry-go-round taken. It was never seen again. However, in their hurry, the thieves had left something behind ..."
"The lion's wing," Bo whispered.
"Precisely." Ida Spavento nodded. "It lay unnoticed in the courtyard until one of the sisters discovered it. No one really believed her when she claimed it was a piece of the original merry-go-round. So she kept it, and after her death it ended up in the loft of the orphanage. And that's where I found it many, many years later."
"What were you doing up there?" Mosca asked.
Ida extinguished her cigarette. "I used to play up there by the dovecotes," she said. "They're very old. They date back to when people still used pigeons to send their letters. That used to be quite popular in Venice. Whenever rich Venetians moved to the mainland during the summer, they'd use pigeons to send their messages into town. I used to play a game where I imagined that someone was keeping me prisoner up there and that I would send my pigeons for help. And that's how, one day, I found the wing, in the middle of all the pigeon droppings. One of the sisters who knew the old story guessed where it had come from and told me about the merry-go-round. When she realized how much I loved the story, she gave the wing to me."
"You played in the orphanage?" Scipio eyed her suspiciously. "What were you doing there?"
Ida stroked her hair back. "I lived there," she answered. "I was there for more than ten years. They weren't exactly my happiest ten years, but I still visit some of the sisters from time to time."
Hornet looked at Ida as if she were seeing her face for the first time, suddenly recognizing another lonely child. Then she reached into her jacket and produced the photograph the Conte had left for them. She pushed it toward Ida. "Behind the wing there -- don't you think that looks like the head of a unicorn?"
Ida Spavento bent over the photograph. "Where did you get this?" she asked. "From your client?"
Scipio walked over to the kitchen window. It was still dark outside. "The merry-go-round can turn you into an adult?" he asked.
"Yes, after a few turns on it. It's strange story, don't you think?" Ida placed her cup in the sink. "But your client could probably tell you more about it than I can. I think he must know where the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters is now. Why else would he have asked you to steal my wing? It probably doesn't work without the lion's second wing."
"He's quite old," said Prosper. "He can't have much time left to get the merry-go-round to work its magic."
"You know, Signora..." Mosca ran his finger over the wing. The wood felt quite rough. "If this wing really belongs to the lion, then you don't really have much use for it. So you might as well give it to us, right?"
Ida Spavento smiled. "I might, might I?" She opened the door to the garden to let in some cold night air. She stood there for quite a while, her back to the children. Then she suddenly turned around. "How about a little deal?" she asked. "I let you have the wing so you can take it to the Conte and he can pay you for it, and in return ..."
Riccio muttered, "Here comes the catch!"
"In return," Ida Spavento continued, "we will follow the Conte when he disappears with the wing. Perhaps we can find the merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters. I'm saying
we,
because I will be coming with you. That's the deal." She looked eagerly at her visitors. "So, what do you say? I won't ask for any share in your reward. I already make more money than I can spend with my photographs. I'd just love to see the merry-go-round once. Go on, please say yes!"
The children didn't look very enthusiastic.
"I'm not sure...the Conte's pretty odd," Mosca murmured. "What if he catches us? I think he could get pretty nasty."
"But doesn't this photo make you curious?" Ida closed the door again and went back to her chair. "Don't you want to see it? It's supposed to be very beautiful."
Mosca still wasn't convinced. "The lion in St. Mark's Square is beautiful too. Why don't you just look at that?"
Scipio stood up. He could hardly ignore the others' hostile glares, but he tried his best. "I think we should take her offer," he said. "It's very fair. We get our money, and even if the Conte realizes we're following him, we can always outrun him."
"I keep hearing
we,"
Mosca growled.
"We
are finished, you lying toad. You don't belong with us anymore. You never belonged with us, even when you pretended you did."
"Yeah, you just go back to that fancy house you live in!" Riccio sneered. "Us
real
orphans don't want to play with the Thief Lord anymore."
Scipio stood still and bit his lip. Hornet looked miserably at the table, and Bo pushed his head under Prosper's arm as if he wanted to hide.
"Could someone explain to me what's going on here?" Ida Spavento asked. When nobody answered she went to the sink and washed her espresso pot.
Suddenly Scipio said, "I'm not going back." He sounded choked up. "I will never ever go back home. That's it. I don't need them. If that merry-go-round really exists, then I'll be on it faster than the Conte, and I'll only get off when I'm at least a good head taller than him and with a beard on my chin. If you don't want to take the deal, then I'll do it alone. I'm going to find that merry-go-round so nobody can treat me like a stupid pet animal ever again."
After Scipio's outburst the kitchen fell so silent they could all hear the mewing of cats outside in the garden.
"I also think we should accept Signora Spavento's offer," Hornet said into the silence. "We should make peace until we've handed the wing to the Conte and received the money. We all have enough on our minds without making one another's lives more difficult." She looked at Prosper and Bo. "Now, anyone against the agreement?"
Nobody moved.
"Then that's decided," said Hornet. "Signora Spavento, you've got yourself a deal."
28 Scipio, the Liar
Another gray morning was already dawning when the children left Ida Spavento's house. Scipio joined the others, not saying a word, although it wasn't as if Riccio and Mosca even tried to talk to him on the way back to the hideout. From time to time Riccio gave Scipio such a threatening look that Prosper decided to walk between the two of them. They had left the wing with Ida Spavento. She wanted to bring it with her when they met the Conte.
Bo was so sleepy that Prosper had to carry him on his back half the way home. Of course as soon as they reached the movie theater, he was wide-awake again, so they let him capture the Conte's messenger pigeon.
Happily, he stood underneath the basket and filled one hand with seeds. Then he held it up in the air, just like Victor had shown him in St. Mark's Square. The pigeon jerked its head around and peered down at the boy, and finally flew onto his hand. Bo giggled and hunched up his shoulders as the bird walked down his arm. Then, while the pigeon pecked eagerly at the seeds in his hand, Bo carefully carried it to the emergency exit.
"Take her to the canal before you let her go, Bo!" Mosca whispered, holding the door open for him.
It was now light and very cold. When Bo stepped outside, the pigeon ruffled up its feathers and blinked, bewildered in the light. She kept her wings folded as long as Bo was still in the narrow alley. As soon as they reached the canal and the wind uncurled her wings, she pushed herself off from Bo's hand and took to the air. She rose high into the morning sky and flew faster and faster until she disappeared behind the chimneys.
"When were we supposed to collect the Conte's reply from Barbarossa?" Prosper asked as they hurried back into the movie theater, shivering. "The day after we sent our message? She can't be flying far then."
"Pigeons can fly hundreds of miles in one day," Scipio answered. "This evening she could easily be in Paris or London." When he noticed Hornet looking at him with irritation, he quickly added, "I read that somewhere." This wasn't his usual arrogant tone. Today he sounded timid and almost apologetic.
"The Conte's not very likely to live in Paris," Riccio said scornfully. "But who cares? The pigeon is on its way and you'd better go home now."
Scipio gave a start. He cast a pleading look at Prosper, who avoided his eyes. Prosper had not forgotten how Scipio acted when the others had been waiting in front of his grand house. Maybe Scipio guessed his thoughts because he turned away again. He didn't seem sure where else he could look for help. Bo pretended he hadn't noticed the tense atmosphere and carried on feeding his kittens.
Hornet bowed her head. "Riccio is right, Scip," she said. "You have to go back. We can't afford to have your father turning the whole city upside down because his son has run away. I mean, how long would it take him to think of his old movie theater? He'd get half the police force of Venice out here in no time. We're in enough trouble as it is."
Scipio's face froze. Prosper could see the old Scipio returning, the stubborn, arrogant Scipio who would fight to get his way. "I see," he said. "You're not going to throw out Prosper and Bo, even though it's completely their fault the detective came sneaking around here in the first place. But I --
I'm
not allowed to stay. I showed you this place.
I
gave you money and warm clothes. I even brought you the mattresses -- and I nearly drowned in Mosca's rotten boat doing it. When it got cold, I brought you blankets and heaters. Do you think it was easy to steal all those things from my parents?"
"Of course it was easy." Mosca gave Scipio a look of utter contempt. "They probably suspected the maid, or the cook, or another of your thousands of servants."
Scipio didn't answer that. He just turned bright red.
"Bingo!" Riccio exclaimed. "Got it in one."
"Do you mean they suspected someone else?" Hornet asked Scipio in astonishment.
Scipio buttoned his jacket right up to his neck. "My nanny."
"And? Did you at least defend her?"
"How?" Scipio returned Hornet's angry glance. "You don't know my father. If he ever caught me stealing just a single one of his cufflinks, he'd make me walk around with a big sign around my neck saying:
I'm a rotten little thief!"
Bo, despite his efforts not to listen to them, had heard it all. "Did they lock her up? Like, in a real prison?"
"Of course not!" Scipio shrugged. "They couldn't prove anything. She was fired, that's all. If I hadn't taken those darn sugar tongs, they would never have noticed it. I took most of the stuff from rooms that are never used anyway. So now I don't have a nanny anymore." The others looked at Scipio as if he had snakes growing out of his head.
"Jeez, Scip!" Mosca muttered.
"I only did it for you!" Scipio shouted. "Have you forgotten how you used to live before I looked after you?"
"Get lost!" Riccio shouted back at him. He gave Scipio a fierce shove in the chest. "We can do without you. We want nothing to do with you. We should never have let you back in here again."
"You shouldn't have let
me
in here?" Scipio was now yelling so loudly that Bo put his hands over his ears. "Who do you think you are? All this belongs to my father!"
"Oh, sure!" Riccio yelled back. "Why don't you tell him about us then, you little toad?"
Scipio went for him. The two of them got so entangled that Hornet and Prosper needed Mosca's help to separate them.
When Bo saw that Riccio's nose was bleeding, he let out such an anguished sob that the others turned to comfort him.
Hornet was there first. She wrapped her arms around Bo and gently stroked his hair, which was already growing blonde at the roots. "Go home, Scip," she said sadly. "We'll let you know when we're meeting the Conte. Perhaps we'll have a message by tomorrow afternoon. One of us will go to Barbarossa right after breakfast."
"You what?" Riccio pushed Mosca away just as he was trying to wipe the blood from his face. "You want to tell Scipio? Why?"
"Stop it, Riccio!" Prosper interrupted angrily. "I've seen Scipio's father. You wouldn't dare to steal even a single spoon off him, let alone tell him about it."
Riccio just sniffed and pressed the back of his hand against his nose.
Scipio mumbled, "Thanks, Prop." His cheeks were striped raw from Riccio's fingernails. "And you
will
let me know, right?"
Prosper nodded.
But Scipio still hesitated. "The detective..."
"...has escaped," Mosca finished.
"We have his word of honor that he won't tell on us," Bo said.
Scipio shrugged. "If you say so." He walked slowly past the rows of red chairs, running his fingers along the red velvet and looking intently at the embroidered stars on the curtain. He walked very slowly, as if he was waiting for the others to call him back. But nobody did, not even Bo.
He's scared, Prosper thought as he looked after Scipio. Scared to go home.