Read Online The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cornelia Funke
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"...Sci...the Thief Lord won't like that at all."
"Well," Barbarossa shrugged his fat shoulders, "then he won't get the job. Have a nice day, boy."
"Same to you," Riccio muttered, poking out his tongue at Barbarossa's back before making his uneasy way home.
11 Victor Waits
Victor sat in St. Mark's Square, surrounded by hundreds of tables and thousands of chairs, and drank his third espresso. Black, with three cubes of sugar. Difficult to stir in the tiny cup, and so expensive that he'd rather not think about it. For more than an hour he had been sitting on the cold, hard chair, scrutinizing the faces of the people passing by his table. Victor was not wearing the mustache that he had worn when Prosper had stumbled into him. This time he had refrained from wearing any fake whiskers at all. On his nose sat a thick pair of glasses with plain lenses that made him look slightly dim-witted and completely harmless. He looked down at himself and felt very satisfied. Perfect, he thought, the perfect look: Victor the tourist. A baseball cap and a big camera hanging in front of his chest -- this was one of his favorite disguises. As a tourist he could take as many pictures as he liked without anyone thinking anything of it. He could mingle with the big groups that stumbled off the boats and raced through town for a few hours, photographing everything that looked old with a bit of gold on its gable.
Now this is how I like my work, Victor thought as he blinked into the low sun, while he stirred his coffee with a spoon that was far too small for his fingers. A large crowd of people started to swarm into the square. He eyed them patiently, one by one. But the two faces he was looking for were not among them. Well, maybe I'm relying too heavily on chance, Victor thought. He blew his nose, which had begun to feel seriously cold, and ordered another coffee from the waiter rushing past him.
Victor sighed and looked at his watch. Just before three. About time I filled my stomach with something other than coffee, he thought, and blew his icy nose again. Suddenly he spotted six children on the far side of the square, by the tables of the cafe opposite. Victor noticed them because they were obviously in quite a hurry and because one of the boys, clearly their leader, wore a mask that made him look like a bird of prey. They were walking toward the Basilica. There was also a girl and a little boy, but he wasn't blonde. Victor picked up his newspaper and watched the children from behind it. The scrawny one with the spiky hair, the one who walked right behind the leader -- looked familiar. But before Victor could take a closer look, the six children disappeared, swallowed by a big group of Canadian tourists with bright red backpacks. You could have filled a whole vaporetto with these people. Out of the way, you backpackers, Victor grumbled to himself as he tried to crane his short neck. There. There they were again: four boys and a girl, not counting their masked leader. And there was the skinny fellow who had seemed so familiar. Darn, the hedgehog hairdo ... of course! Victor got up. He had already paid for his four coffees. A detective always pays right away, in case he loses a suspect due to a busy waiter. Victor sauntered toward the Basilica and picked another table nearer the children, keeping a close eye on them all the time.
Yes, that's him, Victor thought as he adjusted his fake glasses. That's the boy who was with Prosper. And that one..."Turn around!" Victor muttered, keeping the lens of his camera on the dark-haired boy who had now fallen behind a little. How protective he was, his arm around the little boy's shoulders. Yes, that just had to be Prosper. "Look over here!" Victor hissed. "Please, look here, Prosper!"
The lady at the table to his right turned around and eyed him suspiciously. Victor gave her a coy smile. Why couldn't he stop talking to himself all the time?
There. Finally! The dark-haired boy looked around.
"Darn it,
"Well," Barbarossa shrugged his fat shoulders, "then he won't get the job. Have a nice day, boy."
"Same to you," Riccio muttered, poking out his tongue at Barbarossa's back before making his uneasy way home.
11 Victor Waits
Victor sat in St. Mark's Square, surrounded by hundreds of tables and thousands of chairs, and drank his third espresso. Black, with three cubes of sugar. Difficult to stir in the tiny cup, and so expensive that he'd rather not think about it. For more than an hour he had been sitting on the cold, hard chair, scrutinizing the faces of the people passing by his table. Victor was not wearing the mustache that he had worn when Prosper had stumbled into him. This time he had refrained from wearing any fake whiskers at all. On his nose sat a thick pair of glasses with plain lenses that made him look slightly dim-witted and completely harmless. He looked down at himself and felt very satisfied. Perfect, he thought, the perfect look: Victor the tourist. A baseball cap and a big camera hanging in front of his chest -- this was one of his favorite disguises. As a tourist he could take as many pictures as he liked without anyone thinking anything of it. He could mingle with the big groups that stumbled off the boats and raced through town for a few hours, photographing everything that looked old with a bit of gold on its gable.
Now this is how I like my work, Victor thought as he blinked into the low sun, while he stirred his coffee with a spoon that was far too small for his fingers. A large crowd of people started to swarm into the square. He eyed them patiently, one by one. But the two faces he was looking for were not among them. Well, maybe I'm relying too heavily on chance, Victor thought. He blew his nose, which had begun to feel seriously cold, and ordered another coffee from the waiter rushing past him.
Victor sighed and looked at his watch. Just before three. About time I filled my stomach with something other than coffee, he thought, and blew his icy nose again. Suddenly he spotted six children on the far side of the square, by the tables of the cafe opposite. Victor noticed them because they were obviously in quite a hurry and because one of the boys, clearly their leader, wore a mask that made him look like a bird of prey. They were walking toward the Basilica. There was also a girl and a little boy, but he wasn't blonde. Victor picked up his newspaper and watched the children from behind it. The scrawny one with the spiky hair, the one who walked right behind the leader -- looked familiar. But before Victor could take a closer look, the six children disappeared, swallowed by a big group of Canadian tourists with bright red backpacks. You could have filled a whole vaporetto with these people. Out of the way, you backpackers, Victor grumbled to himself as he tried to crane his short neck. There. There they were again: four boys and a girl, not counting their masked leader. And there was the skinny fellow who had seemed so familiar. Darn, the hedgehog hairdo ... of course! Victor got up. He had already paid for his four coffees. A detective always pays right away, in case he loses a suspect due to a busy waiter. Victor sauntered toward the Basilica and picked another table nearer the children, keeping a close eye on them all the time.
Yes, that's him, Victor thought as he adjusted his fake glasses. That's the boy who was with Prosper. And that one..."Turn around!" Victor muttered, keeping the lens of his camera on the dark-haired boy who had now fallen behind a little. How protective he was, his arm around the little boy's shoulders. Yes, that just had to be Prosper. "Look over here!" Victor hissed. "Please, look here, Prosper!"
The lady at the table to his right turned around and eyed him suspiciously. Victor gave her a coy smile. Why couldn't he stop talking to himself all the time?
There. Finally! The dark-haired boy looked around.
"Darn it,
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