The Thief Lord: Chapters 12-21

Dottor Massimo was sitting behind a massive desk in a study that was bigger than Victor's whole apartment. He received his visitor with a cool, appraising look.

Riccio had finished and was looking at him apprehensively, but Scipio was quiet, thinking.

“And look what I got in all the commotion." Proudly, she produced Victor’s wallet from underneath her jacket.

Inside, he would sit down on a narrow bench, put his ear to a small window, and listen to all who wanted to tell him their sins and clear their conscience.

"Scipio is very busy. He's very, very clever. That's why," Bo leaned over to Victor and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "he got the job from the Conte. Prosper doesn't want to do it, but I—"

“I'll come to the library,” Dottor Massimo answered curtly.

I'm not even interested in the fact that you're obviously keeping a little gang in your father's dilapidated movie theater.

“Well, even if she doesn't," Mosca waved his hand dismissively, “then we'll just give them some sausages."

The gondoliers waited for customers at the foot of the bridge. Bo watched with fascination as they tried to entice the passersby.

“I don't want to turn up at this meeting with my whole entourage, so this is how we are going to do it: Prosper and Mosca are coming inside with me.
The others will wait here by the fountain."

“Why are you all so nice to him? It's his fault we have to find a new place. This is our..." his voice faltered a little “...home. The best home we've ever had. And he spoiled it all. And now he gets coffee as a reward?"

Victor looked around the empty foyer, smiling. "I see what you mean! The line stretches right back down the alley."

Prosper pushed his little brother aside, leaned forward, and frisked Victor.

Impatiently, Prosper dragged him along through the throngs of people, waiting eagerly at the entrance to the huge church, to see the gilded walls and ceilings.

Hornet took the gun off Prosper very gingerly, as if it might explode in her hand at any moment.

Scipio listened to him impassively, his face hidden by the mask.

Trying to look inconspicuous, he had turned his back to the shop that the children had just gone into.

“In a movie theater?" Victor looked at him incredulously. “That's great. You can watch movies all day."

A whole flock of pigeons rose, in a cloud of gray feathers and yellow beaks, fluttered toward Victor, and settled on his shoulders, arms, and even on his head, where they pecked inquisitively at his cap.

“What are you doing? Shouldn't we interrogate him first?"

Prosper had bought fresh bread for breakfast but none of them could swallow a single morsel.

“Aren't you a bit young to be walking around alone in these crowds?" he asked nonchalantly while pouring some more seeds on to the boy's hand.

Hasn't it occurred to you that your brother is too young to get along without parents? What happens if the Thief Lord, as he seems to like to call himself, stops looking after you?

Before he knew it, the two large ladies were all over him, swinging their massive handbags at his head. Outraged, Victor bellowed back at them, holding his arms above his head, but the girl kept screaming and the ladies kept thrashing and the dog kept growling, sinking its teeth into Victor's jacket.

“She looks a bit parched.”
“She always looks like that,” sighed Victor. “But she needs fresh lettuce, water, and a little walk. Go on, let her walk around a bit on the blanket.”

Rain was pelting against the entrance and someone was hammering against the metal.

By the devil and his pestilences, what was going on now?

But Bo was standing in front of the massive portal of the Basilica, looking up at the horses.

Scipio opened the envelope with great ceremony; he slit it open with his penknife while the others, sitting on the folding seats in front of him, watched with rapt anticipation.

Scipio simply wedged a rag between his captive's teeth. A wet, reeking rag that smelled of damp cat fur.

Prosper shuddered and only after another look did he realize that they were glasses, reflecting the sparse light.

She led Victor past the columns and into the courtyard from where a steep and impressive staircase led up to the first floor.

“Why keep watch?” Victor stifled a yawn. “Where would I go, wrapped up like a silkworm?”

Scipio surreptitiously rubbed his aching knees. “I have never been caught. And I have seen nearly every noble house from the inside. And without ever being invited."

Barbarossa is a little too fond of opening other people's letters and I would prefer to conduct this transaction without his interference.