something."
"In the middle of the night?"
"Yes." Prosper went to wake Mosca, but Hornet held him back. "Wait, tell me first, before you wake the others."
Prosper looked across at Mosca who had crawled so deep into his blanket that only his short, frizzy hair could be seen. "OK, Riccio knows about it anyway."
They sat down next to each other on the folding seats, two blankets wrapped around their shoulders. The movie theater's heating, just like the lights, didn't work and the heaters that Scipio had brought them did little to drive the cold from the large auditorium.
Hornet lit two candles. "So?" she asked, giving Prosper an expectant look.
"When Riccio and I were walking back from Barbarossa's," Prosper tucked his chin under the blanket, "I bumped into a man. First he just stared at me in a strange way, but then he started following me. We gave him the slip -- and ran toward the Grand Canal and took a vaporetto to the opposite side to get away. But Riccio recognized him. He says the man is a detective. And it looks like he's after me -- after me and Bo."
"A real detective?" Hornet shook her head in disbelief. "And Riccio's sure?"
Prosper nodded.
"Yes, but perhaps it's Riccio he's after. You know he can't stop stealing things."
"No." Prosper sighed and looked up toward the ceiling where the darkness hung over them like a black cloud. "He was after me. The way he looked at me...he's going to find us. And my aunt and uncle will probably put me into a boarding school and I'll get to see Bo once a month, or during the summer and at Christmas." He felt a sudden wave of sickness clawing at his stomach. He closed his eyes, as if he could keep his fears out of his head that way, but of course it didn't work.
"That's nonsense! How is he going to find you here?" Hornet put a comforting hand on Prosper's shoulder. "Come on, don't drive yourself crazy."
Prosper buried his face in his hands. From the back of the auditorium, Riccio muttered something in his sleep.
Prosper pulled himself together. "Just don't say anything to Bo, OK? Let him go on believing that we're perfectly safe here. We'll have to tell Mosca and Scipio, though. After all, you could all get into a lot of trouble if that snoop finds us here ..."
"No way!" Hornet rubbed her nose. "This is a perfect hiding place. The very best! Oh rats, I think I've caught another cold. Why can't Scipio steal a better heater for a change, instead of sugar tongs and silver spoons?"
Prosper handed his crumpled handkerchief to her and she gratefully blew her nose.
"Riccio wants to dye Bo's hair and I'm supposed to paint my face black so that the snoop won't recognize us," Prosper said.
Hornet gave a quiet laugh. "I think it'll be enough if I cut your hair really short, but that's a good idea about Bo's hair. We'll just tell him that the old ladies won't pat his head anymore when his hair is black."
"Do you think he'll believe that?"
"Well, if he doesn't, then Scipio will just have to tell him that he'll never be a famous thief with his blonde hair. Bo would fly if Scipio asked him to."
"That's true." Prosper smiled, although he felt a small stab of jealousy.
"Scipio will just love the whole detective business." Hornet shivered and rubbed her arms. "He'll probably just be disappointed that the man's not after him. That would be quite an interesting job for a detective, discovering where the Thief Lord sleeps. Maybe he rappels at dawn from the Palazzo Ducale, after having spent the night in some cozy dungeon? Does he sleep in the old piombi prisons, where they let the enemies of Venice die from heat and fear, or down in the ponti, where they let them rot? You see, I even got a smile out of you!" Looking pleased, Hornet got up and tousled Prosper's hair. "Tomorrow you'll get a new hairdo," she said, "and now stop worrying about that detective."
Prosper nodded. "So you don't think ..." he asked hesitantly, "that we should leave, Bo and I?"
"Pigeon poop!" Hornet shook her head
"In the middle of the night?"
"Yes." Prosper went to wake Mosca, but Hornet held him back. "Wait, tell me first, before you wake the others."
Prosper looked across at Mosca who had crawled so deep into his blanket that only his short, frizzy hair could be seen. "OK, Riccio knows about it anyway."
They sat down next to each other on the folding seats, two blankets wrapped around their shoulders. The movie theater's heating, just like the lights, didn't work and the heaters that Scipio had brought them did little to drive the cold from the large auditorium.
Hornet lit two candles. "So?" she asked, giving Prosper an expectant look.
"When Riccio and I were walking back from Barbarossa's," Prosper tucked his chin under the blanket, "I bumped into a man. First he just stared at me in a strange way, but then he started following me. We gave him the slip -- and ran toward the Grand Canal and took a vaporetto to the opposite side to get away. But Riccio recognized him. He says the man is a detective. And it looks like he's after me -- after me and Bo."
"A real detective?" Hornet shook her head in disbelief. "And Riccio's sure?"
Prosper nodded.
"Yes, but perhaps it's Riccio he's after. You know he can't stop stealing things."
"No." Prosper sighed and looked up toward the ceiling where the darkness hung over them like a black cloud. "He was after me. The way he looked at me...he's going to find us. And my aunt and uncle will probably put me into a boarding school and I'll get to see Bo once a month, or during the summer and at Christmas." He felt a sudden wave of sickness clawing at his stomach. He closed his eyes, as if he could keep his fears out of his head that way, but of course it didn't work.
"That's nonsense! How is he going to find you here?" Hornet put a comforting hand on Prosper's shoulder. "Come on, don't drive yourself crazy."
Prosper buried his face in his hands. From the back of the auditorium, Riccio muttered something in his sleep.
Prosper pulled himself together. "Just don't say anything to Bo, OK? Let him go on believing that we're perfectly safe here. We'll have to tell Mosca and Scipio, though. After all, you could all get into a lot of trouble if that snoop finds us here ..."
"No way!" Hornet rubbed her nose. "This is a perfect hiding place. The very best! Oh rats, I think I've caught another cold. Why can't Scipio steal a better heater for a change, instead of sugar tongs and silver spoons?"
Prosper handed his crumpled handkerchief to her and she gratefully blew her nose.
"Riccio wants to dye Bo's hair and I'm supposed to paint my face black so that the snoop won't recognize us," Prosper said.
Hornet gave a quiet laugh. "I think it'll be enough if I cut your hair really short, but that's a good idea about Bo's hair. We'll just tell him that the old ladies won't pat his head anymore when his hair is black."
"Do you think he'll believe that?"
"Well, if he doesn't, then Scipio will just have to tell him that he'll never be a famous thief with his blonde hair. Bo would fly if Scipio asked him to."
"That's true." Prosper smiled, although he felt a small stab of jealousy.
"Scipio will just love the whole detective business." Hornet shivered and rubbed her arms. "He'll probably just be disappointed that the man's not after him. That would be quite an interesting job for a detective, discovering where the Thief Lord sleeps. Maybe he rappels at dawn from the Palazzo Ducale, after having spent the night in some cozy dungeon? Does he sleep in the old piombi prisons, where they let the enemies of Venice die from heat and fear, or down in the ponti, where they let them rot? You see, I even got a smile out of you!" Looking pleased, Hornet got up and tousled Prosper's hair. "Tomorrow you'll get a new hairdo," she said, "and now stop worrying about that detective."
Prosper nodded. "So you don't think ..." he asked hesitantly, "that we should leave, Bo and I?"
"Pigeon poop!" Hornet shook her head
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