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31 No Bo
The Sacca della Misericordia pokes into the maze of Venice's alleys. It looks as if the sea has taken a bite out of the city and swallowed it.
It was quarter to one in the morning when Mosca moored his boat at the last bridge before the bay. Riccio jumped ashore and tied the boat to one of the wooden stakes sticking out of the water. Behind them lay a seemingly endless trip through canals Prosper had never seen before. He had only been to the northernmost part of the city once before. The houses here were just as old if not quite as magnificent as those in the center.
There were just the three of them in the boat: Mosca, Riccio, and Prosper.
Hornet had given Bo hot milk and honey after dinner and he had emptied two whole mugs without becoming suspicious. Then she had settled down with him on her mattress, her arm wrapped around him, and she had read from his favorite book, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. During the third chapter, Bo had already nestled his head against Hornet's chest and begun snoring softly. On cue, Prosper had quietly crept away with Riccio and Mosca. Hornet had bravely tried not to look too worried as she waved good-bye.
"Can you hear anything?" Riccio peered into the night. Some of the windows were still lit and their glow reflected on the water's surface. The snow looked strange in the moonlight, like icing sugar on a model city. Prosper gazed down the canal. Ida Spavento had wanted to come in her own boat, and she was supposed to be picking Scipio up on the way.
"I think I can hear something!" Riccio climbed deftly back into the boat. Mosca wedged an oar against the wooden pier to stop the boat from rocking.
"About time they turned up!" Prosper whispered, looking at his watch.
By now the sounds of an engine came quite clearly through the night and soon a boat drifted toward them. The boat was much wider and heavier than Mosca's. It had a black finish, just like a gondola. Behind the wheel sat a giant of a man and behind him, hardly recognizable under the shawl wrapped around her head, was Ida Spavento. Scipio was sitting by her side.
"At last!" Mosca called out quietly as the boat came alongside his. "Riccio, cast off!"
Scowling in Scipio's direction, Riccio jumped back aboard.
"Sorry, Giaco lost the way," Ida said. "And the Thief Lord was also not very punctual." She got up and carefully handed a heavy parcel to Prosper: the lion wing, wrapped in a blanket and tied up with a leather strap.
"My father had some of his business partners over," Scipio defended himself. "It wasn't easy to sneak out of the house."
"Wouldn't have been such a great loss if you'd missed it anyway," replied Riccio.
Prosper sat down at the stern of the boat, holding on tightly to the wing.
"It's probably best if you wait with your boat over there, where the canal flows into the bay," Mosca instructed Ida. "If you drift out any further the Conte might see you and the whole deal could be off."
Ida nodded. Her face was pale with excitement. "I had to leave my camera at home. The flash would have given us away. But these" -- she pulled a pair of binoculars from her coat -- "may come in handy. And if I may make a suggestion." She eyed Mosca's boat. "Then we should use my boat to follow the Conte -- should he sail out into the lagoon after the transfer."
"Into the lagoon?" Riccio's mouth dropped wide open in horror.
"Of course!" Ida whispered. "He'd never keep the merry-go-round secret in this city. But there are lots of islands out there in the lagoon where nobody ever goes."
Prosper and Riccio looked at each other. Out on the lagoon in the middle of the night...They didn't like the sound of that.
But Mosca just shrugged. He felt at home in the water, especially in the dark when everything was still and silent. "Fine by me!" he said. "My boat's OK for fishing, but it's not up to a chase. And who knows what kind of boat the Conte's got? As soon as we see him heading for the lagoon, we will row back to you as quickly as possible and then follow him in your motorboat."
"That's how we'll do it." Ida blew into her cold hands. "How wonderful! I haven't done anything this crazy in a long time!" she sighed. "A real adventure! If only it wasn't so cold." She shivered and wrapped her coat around herself even tighter.
"What about him?" Riccio nodded toward Ida's boatman. "Is he going to come with us?" He and Mosca had immediately recognized the man: It was the husband of Ida Spavento's housekeeper. As usual, he looked bad-tempered and hadn't yet said a word.
"Giaco?" Ida lifted her eyebrows. "He has to come. He's much better with the boat than I am. And he's very discreet."
Giaco winked at Mosca and spat into the water.
"Enough talk!" Mosca picked up the oars. "We've got to go."
"Scipio's got to come in our boat," Prosper interjected. "The Conte negotiated with him. He'll be suspicious if he's not with us."
Riccio pursed his lips, but he said nothing as Scipio climbed on board. The bell of Santa Maria di Valverde was just chiming one o'clock as they rowed out into the Sacca della Misericordia. There were just a few lights glimmering on the surface of the water. Ida's boat stayed behind like a shadow, hardly more than a black speck against the dark outline of the shore.
32 The Island
The Conte was already waiting. His boat lay not far from the bay's western shore. It was a sailing boat. The navigation lights shined brightly across the water and a red lantern had been placed, clearly visible, on the stern.
"A sailing boat!" Mosca whispered as they rowed toward it. "Ida was right. He came from one of the islands."
"No doubt about it." Scipio put on his mask. "But the wind's in our favor. We'll easily follow him with the motorboat."
"Out into the lagoon?" Riccio moaned. "Oh lord! lord! lord!"
Prosper said nothing. He held on to the wing. The cold wind had died down and Mosca's boat glided smoothly across the water. But Riccio clung miserably to the side, terrified that the boat might capsize if he only so much as looked at the black water beneath him.
The Conte was standing at the stern of his boat. He was wearing a large gray coat. He didn't look as frail as Prosper had imagined him from their encounter in the confessional. His hair was white but he was very erect and he still appeared to be quite a strong man. There was someone standing behind the Conte, smaller than him, dressed in black from head to toe, their face hidden beneath a hood. When Mosca rowed alongside, the second figure cast a line with a hook toward Prosper to keep the boats from drifting apart.
"Salve!" the Conte called out toward them in a rough voice. "I presume you are just as cold as we are, so let us complete this transaction as quickly as possible."
"Fine. Here's the wing." Prosper handed Scipio the parcel and he in turn carefully offered it to the Conte. The narrow boat rocked underneath Scipio's feet and he nearly stumbled. The Conte quickly leaned forward as if he feared that what he had been searching for all this time could still be lost forever.
"That's it!" Prosper heard him whisper. The old man reverently stroked the painted wood underneath the blanket. "Morosina, just look at it!" He impatiently waved at his companion, who had been hidden behind the mast all this time. The figure went up to him and pushed back the hood. To their surprise, the boys saw it was a woman. She was not much younger than the Conte and she wore her hair in a tight bun. "Yes, that's it," Prosper heard her say. "Let's give them their reward."
