impatiently. "Why should you? The police have been looking for Riccio forever, and have we thrown him out? No. And what about Scipio? Doesn't he put us in danger, with his evermore crazy raids?" Hornet pulled Prosper from his seat. "Come on, let's go to sleep," she said. "God, the noise Mosca makes with his snoring!"
Prosper undressed again and crawled underneath the blanket, next to Bo. But it took a while before he finally fell asleep.
10 The Message
The next morning Riccio went to Barbarossa to give him the Thief Lord's answer, just like Scipio had told him.
"He accepts? Good, that will please my customer," the red-beard said with a self-satisfied smile. "But you will have to be patient. It won't be easy to get a message to him. He hasn't even got a telephone."
For the next two days Riccio returned to Barbarossa's shop in vain, but on the third day the redbeard finally had the news they had been waiting for.
"My customer wants to meet you in the Basilica, the Basilica San Marco," Barbarossa explained. He was standing in front of the mirror in his office, snipping away at his beard with a tiny pair of scissors. "The Conte likes to be mysterious, but there are never any problems business-wise. He's already sold me some very nice pieces, and always at a fair price. Just don't ask him any nosy questions, understood?" He swapped the scissors for a pair of tweezers.
"The Conte?" Riccio asked, impressed. "Does that mean he's a real count or something?"
"Indeed it does. I just hope the Thief Lord behaves accordingly." Barbarossa looked very self-important before plucking a hair from his nostril. "Once you meet the Conte in person you will see that there can be no doubt as to his distinguished ancestry. To this day he hasn't told me his name but my guess is he's a Valaresso. Some members of this venerable family have not been blessed by fate. There has even been talk of a curse. Anyway." The redbeard moved a little closer to the mirror and tugged at a particularly stubborn hair. "Be that as it may, they are still one of the old families -- well, you know, like the Correr, Vendramin, Contarini, Venier, Loredan, Barbarigo, and countless others. They've ruled this city for centuries without anyone of us ever really knowing what was going on. Isn't that right?"
Riccio nodded respectfully. Of course he had heard all the names the redbeard had just so pompously strung out. He knew the palaces and museums that bore their names, but about the people themselves, he knew nothing.
Barbarossa took a step back and smugly inspected his reflection. "So, as I said, just address him as Conte and he'll be pleased. The Thief Lord will probably get along fine with him. After all, your leader also likes to shroud himself in mystery. Probably quite a good idea in his line of work, right?"
Riccio nodded once more. He couldn't wait for the fat man to get back to the point so that he could deliver the news to the others. He shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. "When? When are we supposed to meet him in the Basilica?" he asked as Barbarossa stepped up to the mirror again -- this time to pluck his eyebrows.
"Tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock sharp. The Conte will wait for you in the first confessional on the left. And don't be late. The man is always very punctual."
"Fine," Riccio mumbled. "Three o'clock. Confessional. First left. Three o'clock sharp." He turned to leave.
"Hold on, hold on, Hedgehog!" Barbarossa waved Riccio back once more. "Tell the Thief Lord the Conte wants to meet him in person. He can bring any companions he likes. Apes, elephants, or even his little children. But he has to come in person. The Conte wants to judge for himself before he tells him anything more about the job. After all," his face took on a rather hurt expression, "he hasn't even told me anymore about it."
That didn't really surprise Riccio, but the Conte's condition to meet Scipio made his heart beat faster. "That, that..."he stammered,
Prosper undressed again and crawled underneath the blanket, next to Bo. But it took a while before he finally fell asleep.
10 The Message
The next morning Riccio went to Barbarossa to give him the Thief Lord's answer, just like Scipio had told him.
"He accepts? Good, that will please my customer," the red-beard said with a self-satisfied smile. "But you will have to be patient. It won't be easy to get a message to him. He hasn't even got a telephone."
For the next two days Riccio returned to Barbarossa's shop in vain, but on the third day the redbeard finally had the news they had been waiting for.
"My customer wants to meet you in the Basilica, the Basilica San Marco," Barbarossa explained. He was standing in front of the mirror in his office, snipping away at his beard with a tiny pair of scissors. "The Conte likes to be mysterious, but there are never any problems business-wise. He's already sold me some very nice pieces, and always at a fair price. Just don't ask him any nosy questions, understood?" He swapped the scissors for a pair of tweezers.
"The Conte?" Riccio asked, impressed. "Does that mean he's a real count or something?"
"Indeed it does. I just hope the Thief Lord behaves accordingly." Barbarossa looked very self-important before plucking a hair from his nostril. "Once you meet the Conte in person you will see that there can be no doubt as to his distinguished ancestry. To this day he hasn't told me his name but my guess is he's a Valaresso. Some members of this venerable family have not been blessed by fate. There has even been talk of a curse. Anyway." The redbeard moved a little closer to the mirror and tugged at a particularly stubborn hair. "Be that as it may, they are still one of the old families -- well, you know, like the Correr, Vendramin, Contarini, Venier, Loredan, Barbarigo, and countless others. They've ruled this city for centuries without anyone of us ever really knowing what was going on. Isn't that right?"
Riccio nodded respectfully. Of course he had heard all the names the redbeard had just so pompously strung out. He knew the palaces and museums that bore their names, but about the people themselves, he knew nothing.
Barbarossa took a step back and smugly inspected his reflection. "So, as I said, just address him as Conte and he'll be pleased. The Thief Lord will probably get along fine with him. After all, your leader also likes to shroud himself in mystery. Probably quite a good idea in his line of work, right?"
Riccio nodded once more. He couldn't wait for the fat man to get back to the point so that he could deliver the news to the others. He shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. "When? When are we supposed to meet him in the Basilica?" he asked as Barbarossa stepped up to the mirror again -- this time to pluck his eyebrows.
"Tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock sharp. The Conte will wait for you in the first confessional on the left. And don't be late. The man is always very punctual."
"Fine," Riccio mumbled. "Three o'clock. Confessional. First left. Three o'clock sharp." He turned to leave.
"Hold on, hold on, Hedgehog!" Barbarossa waved Riccio back once more. "Tell the Thief Lord the Conte wants to meet him in person. He can bring any companions he likes. Apes, elephants, or even his little children. But he has to come in person. The Conte wants to judge for himself before he tells him anything more about the job. After all," his face took on a rather hurt expression, "he hasn't even told me anymore about it."
That didn't really surprise Riccio, but the Conte's condition to meet Scipio made his heart beat faster. "That, that..."he stammered,
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