The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke Read Free Book Online Page B

"the fat liar does dye his beard after all. So I get three brand-new comics from you, Hornet -- you haven't forgotten our bet, have you?"
    About two hours after Prosper and Riccio's return the bell at the entrance rang and the Thief Lord was at the front door, just as he had promised. And, for once, he had arrived before the moon was already high above the roofs of the city. Of course Mosca opened the door without asking for the password and earned himself a terrible telling off. But when Bo came running excitedly toward him, Barbarossa's wad of money in his hands, even Scipio was silenced. He took the money with an amazed expression and counted every single note.
    "Well, what do you say to that? You look as if you've seen a ghost," Mosca teased. "Now you can tell Hornet to buy some paint for my boat!"
    "Your boat? Sure, sure, of course." Scipio nodded absentmindedly before turning to Prosper and Riccio. "Was there anything Barbarossa liked especially?"
    "Yes, he was really taken by the sugar tongs," Riccio answered. "He said you should bring him things like that more often."
    Scipio frowned. "The sugar tongs," he murmured, "yes, they were probably quite valuable." He shook his head as if he wanted to get rid of a troublesome thought. "Riccio," he said, "go and buy some olives and spicy sausage. We've got to celebrate. I haven't much time, so hurry."
    Riccio quickly stuffed two of Barbarossa's bills into his pocket and dashed off. When he came back with a plastic bag full of olives, bread, pepper-red salami, and a bag of mandorlati, the chocolates wrapped in colorful paper that Scipio liked so much, the others had already spread the cushions and blankets in front of the curtain. Bo and Hornet had gathered all the candles they could find and their flickering light filled the movie theater with dancing shadows.
    "Here's to a few carefree months!" Hornet said once they had all gathered in a circle. She poured grape juice into the red goblets Scipio had brought back from one of his previous raids. Then she raised her glass to Prosper. "And here's to you, because you got the redbeard to part with all that money -- it usually sticks to his fat fingers like chewing gum."
    Riccio and Mosca also raised their glasses. Prosper didn't know where to look. Bo, however, leaned proudly against his big brother and put one of the kittens that Scipio had given him on his knee.
    "Yes, here's to you, Prop!" Scipio said, now also raising his glass. "Herewith I name you my chief loot-seller. However," he fondled the wad of money with his fingers, "I'm thinking that it might be wise to take a break after a raid like this." For a moment he fell silent and then added, "A thief should never become too greedy, or he'll get caught."
    "But you can't stop -- not just now!" Riccio pretended not to notice Prosper's fierce warning glance. "Barbarossa told us something interesting today."
    "And what was that?" Scipio popped an olive into his mouth and spat the pit into his hand.
    "A customer of his is looking for a thief. The deal is supposed to be very good, and we're supposed to ask you whether you'd be interested."
    Scipio gave Riccio a surprised look -- but remained silent.
    "Sounds good, doesn't it?" Riccio stuffed a slice of the sausage into his mouth. Its spiciness made his eyes water. He quickly handed his empty glass to Hornet.
    Scipio still hadn't said anything. He stroked his hair thoughtfully and fiddled with the ribbon around his ponytail. Then he cleared his throat. "Interesting," he said. "A job for a thief -- why not? What will I have to steal?"
    "No idea." Riccio rubbed his greasy fingers on his pant legs. "Not even the redbeard knows anything about it yet. But he seems to think that the Thief Lord is just the man for the job." Riccio grinned. "The fatso probably imagines you're a huge guy with a stocking on his head who creeps around the pillars of the Doge's Palace like a cat. Anyway, he wants a quick answer."
    They all looked at Scipio. He