The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke Page A

looked so happy that for a moment Victor forgot why he was standing there with birdseed in his hands. And then a whiff of hairspray, from a young, sour-faced woman pushing by, reminded him of the job to be done.
    "What's your name?" Victor asked, picking a gray feather from his jacket. Maybe I'm wrong about them, he thought -- children's faces all look alike anyway, like peas in a pod. Perhaps the ink-black hair is his real color and perhaps the little boy genuinely came here with some friends and will go back home tonight, to his mother. His Italian was really very good.
    "Me? Bo. What's yours?" Bo giggled again as the pigeon hobbled up his arm.
    "Victor," Victor answered. Immediately he could have slapped himself. Why, by all the devils and demons, did he tell the little one his real name? Had the pigeons pecked his last bit of sense away?
    "Aren't you a bit young to be walking around alone in these crowds?" he asked nonchalantly while pouring some more seeds on to the boy's hand. "Aren't your parents afraid that you'll get lost among all these people?"
    "But my brother's here," Bo replied. He watched in delight as a second pigeon landed on his arm. "And my friends. Do you come from America? You talk funny. You're not a Venetian, are you?"
    Victor felt his nose. It felt sore. "No," he answered. He adjusted his cap. "I'm from all over the place. Where do you come from?" Victor looked across toward the fountain. The girl had raised her head and was looking around.
    "From a long way away. But I live here now," Bo answered. "It's much nicer here," he added. He was smiling at the pigeons on his arm. "There are lions everywhere with wings, and angels and dragons. They all look after Venice, Prosper says, and after us. But there's not so much danger -- because there are no cars here. And that's why you can hear better -- because of the water and the pigeons. And you don't have to be scared of being run over."
    "Yes, that's right." Victor held back a smile. "Still, you just have to be a little careful not to fall into a canal." He turned around. "Are those your friends over there, at the fountain?"
    Bo nodded.
    "I think the girl is looking for you," Victor said. "Why don't you give her a wave, so she doesn't worry?"
    "That's Hornet." Bo waved at her with his pigeon-free hand.
    Reassured, Hornet sat down on the wall again. However, she now kept her book shut and didn't let Bo out of her sight.
    Victor decided to do the pigeon-roost trick once more. That seemed the most innocent thing to do. "I live in a hotel right by the Grand Canal," he said while the pigeons settled down on him again. "And you?"
    "In a movie theater." Bo drew back with fright as one of the birds tried to hold on to his hair.
    "In a movie theater?" Victor looked at him incredulously. "That's great. You can watch movies all day."
    "No, we can't. Mosca says the projector is gone. And most of the seats are gone too. And the screen is all eaten up by moths and how it's completely useless."
    "Mosca? Is that one of your friends? Do you live with your friends?"
    Bo nodded proudly. "Yes, we all live together."
    Victor looked at him closely. Was it really possible? Or was this little angel face telling him more lies? A bunch of children living alone? They certainly didn't look hungry, or as if they were sleeping under bridges. Admittedly, the knees on Bo's pants had poorly stitched patches on them, and he wasn't exactly wearing the cleanest of sweaters, but that wasn't unusual. And it was obvious that someone combed the little boy's hair from time to time and washed behind his ears. But perhaps that was his brother?
    Well, perhaps he can't tell me anymore, Victor thought. He let his arms drop again. Disappointed, the pigeons fluttered away. Victor rubbed his aching shoulders. "What do you say," he asked as casually as possible, "should we have an ice cream over there in the cafe?"
    Instantly, Bo became suspicious.
    "I never go anywhere with strangers," he answered haughtily