The Thief Lord

"Why should I?" Scipio ran a finger over the prongs of his fork. "They probably won't miss me. But I may sneak into the house to see my cat."

"But you can't just leave your parents in the dark like this," Victor told him. He was already eating his second helping of pasta, a fact Lucia acknowledged with a deep frown. "It doesn't matter what you think of your father; you can't leave him with the constant worry that his son might have fallen into a canal, or been kidnapped."

Scipio ran his fork over the tablecloth and said nothing.

"But he doesn't want to, Victor!" Bo said. "And anyway, he's grown-up now."

Scipio smiled at him.

"Grown-up? So what!" Victor was just about to announce what he thought of Scipio's growing up when the door opened and Ida walked in. She held Barbarossa firmly by the hand, and when everybody turned to look at him, he just stared moodily at the ceiling.

"From now on your friend here will not be allowed to move around the house unsupervised," Ida said angrily. "He's been snooping around my darkroom, going through my things, and eating my chocolates."

Barbarossa turned as red as a cocktail cherry.

"I was hungry!" he snapped at Ida. "I'll buy you some nicer ones, once I've got some money again. How often do I have to tell you that my wallet is still on that godforsaken island? As soon as the banks open tomorrow morning, I'll withdraw some money and replace your chocolates -- and I'll get some decent clothes. It's a disgrace that a man like me should ..." -- he wrinkled his nose and tugged at the sweater Bo had lent him -- "... should have to walk around in silly clothes like these."

"Well, that's just great!" Ida shoved him roughly onto the last remaining empty chair, between Riccio and Mosca. Then she pulled up a stool for herself and sat down next to Victor.

"I thought you begged Prosper and Scipio to bring you here?" Hornet asked from across the table. "So why don't you at least try to behave?"

"The little devil is not only stealing chocolates," Lucia confirmed grimly. "I caught him with our silver spoons. And he had a camera stuffed under his jacket."

Riccio giggled, and Prosper caught him looking almost admiringly at Barbarossa. Bo, meanwhile, took his plate and sat down with it on Ida's carpet. "I don't want to sit next to him," he declared. "He's going to steal my pasta as well." Barbarossa threw an olive at him, which immediately earned him a resounding slap from Hornet.

"Now stop it, all of you!" Victor shouted. "What's the matter with you? Has the little dwarf driven you all mad?"

Lucia got up, uttering another one of her deepest sighs.

"Signora, I'm going home," she said, folding up her napkin. "Perhaps you should lock the little one in the broom closet, if he really has to stay here tonight."

"Any more of your sass," Scipio said to Barbarossa, after Lucia had closed the door behind her, "and you can sleep in your shop tonight. And what a cozy night that would be: with the dark alley outside, the rain drumming against the windows, and baby Barbarino all alone, with his little teeth chattering all night."

Barbarossa stared into his plate, his lips tightly pressed together. Hornet, Mosca, Riccio, and Prosper -- none of them had a a kind word to say to him. Ida and Victor were whispering to each other and weren't paying him any attention either.

"Maybe we should put an ad in the paper, Barbarino." Scipio leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "Unbearable little fellow, four or five years old, seeks mother. Or are you planning on looking after yourself? I don't think Ida wants to be your foster mom."

"Definitely not!" Ida said, popping an olive into her mouth. "But I think for an important man like you we should be able to find a bed at the Merciful Sisters."

"No, thank you!" Barbarossa wrinkled his nose. "No need. And should I really have any need for a foster mother, then it would definitely not be someone who wastes her silver cutlery on a bunch of orphans and who doesn't comb her hair."

Ida gasped.

"You seem to know quite well what you want, Barbarino," Victor snapped. "Considering that you will barely be able to see over your shop counter at the moment. But don't worry, the nuns in the orphanage are always immaculately groomed!"

Riccio giggled, until Barbarossa kicked him in the shin so hard that the tears welled up in his eyes.

"I'll cope," the redhead retorted. "I have more than enough money in the bank."

"Yes?" Victor and Ida exchanged amused glances. "And you think the bank is just going to hand out Ernesto Barbarossa's money to some five-year-old boy?"

Barbarossa's face went blank. He poured himself another glass of red wine.

"Once I'm big again," he mumbled, glowering at Scipio and Prosper, "I'll take revenge on everybody who didn't stop me from getting onto that cursed merry-go-round. I'll --"

Prosper interrupted him, "Shut up, Barbarino! You have, just like us, given your word not to talk about it. And anyway, I know two dogs who probably can't wait for you to pay another visit to the island."

"Don't listen to him, Prop." Scipio crossed his long legs. "Nobody cares what the midget has to say."

"Well, Barbarino," Riccio said, giving the miniature Barbarossa's shoulder a hard slap, "welcome to the land of the small folk!"

"Get your hands off me!" Barbarossa growled. "Who do you think you are? I'm not one of your silly little friends, you louse. And you?" Barbarossa stared down at Bo, who was still lying on the carpet. "What are you looking at? Stop staring at me with your big puppy eyes."

Bo didn't answer. He was lying on his belly, his chin resting on his hands, looking at Barbarossa as if he were some strange animal who had just crawled out of the canal and crept into Ida's house.

"I think Esther would like the way he talks, don't you, Prop?" Bo finally said. "He talks better than Scipio. And he's even smaller than me. But she probably wouldn't like the swearing."

"Smaller? I'm not smaller, you woodlouse!" Barbarossa barked. "We're worlds apart, do you understand? I am smart, I went to college, and you haven't been to kindergarten yet."

Bo rolled nonchalantly on to his back. "And he doesn't spill his food," he observed. "I think Esther would like that best. Don't you, Prop?"

Prosper dropped his fork and looked closely at Barbarossa.

"You're right," he said, "there's not even a tiny speck. She would be stunned. And just look how neatly he has brushed his hair. Did you do that, Ida?"

Ida shook her head. "You've heard him: I can't even brush my own hair. What about you, Victor? Did you brush the redhead's hair?"

"Not guilty," Victor answered.

"Who is this Esther these airheads keep talking about?" Barbarossa turned to Riccio.

"Prosper and Bo's aunt," Riccio answered with his mouth full. "She was crazy about Bo, but doesn't want him anymore."

"Very smart of her." Barbarossa ran his hand through his dense curls. His new head of hair seemed to console him for the loss of his beard.