The thief lord full#

“Children?” Victor looked up in surprise. He had his arm around the younger boy’s shoulder, as if he wanted to protect him from all that was evil in the world. One was small and blonde, with a broad smile on his face the other was older, dark-haired and more serious looking. Two boys looked out at Victor from the photograph. Her English was even better than her Italian. “This is what we’ve lost,” said the woman as she pushed the photograph across the desk. He could never remember a phone number, but he never forgot a face. Doesn’t look like he can take a joke either, Victor thought, as he committed the two faces to memory. His nose was peeling from sunburn and his eyes were small and dull.

The thief lord full#

The man was a giant, at least two full heads taller than Victor. Her mouth didn’t look as if smiling was its favorite activity.

She had ash-blonde hair and a pointed nose. Without saying a word, the woman reached into her bag. Well, what can I do for you? Anything lost or stolen, any pet run away?” “Oh, that’s just for camouflage,” he explained, pulling the mustache from his lip. The man folded his arms and looked rather sullen, the woman stared at Victor’s walrus mustache. “Of course!” Victor answered, gesturing toward the chairs in front of his desk. “Do you speak English?” asked the woman, although her Italian sounded quite fluent. They looked around warily, taking in the cacti, the beard and mustache collection, the coat stand bursting with Victor’s caps, hats and wigs, the huge street map of Venice on the wall, and the winged lion that served as a paperweight on Victor’s desk. A man and a woman stepped into Victor’s office, which also doubled as his living room. What are they waiting for? he thought, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. Next to the sign was a knocker - a lion’s head with a brass ring in its mouth, which Victor had polished just that morning. It was written in three languages - after all, he often had clients from abroad. They were probably admiring his nameplate, Victor thought, a handsome black shiny sign with his name engraved in gold letters. He heard voices whispering outside his door. Blast! Why were they bothering him now of all times? He turned to the left, to the right, and became so engrossed in his reflection that he only heard the footsteps on the stairs when they stopped outside his door.Ĭlients. He stuck it carefully under his nose and stood on his toes to make himself taller.

He had bought this new treasure only the previous day: an enormous mustache, so dark and bushy that it would have made any self-respecting walrus extremely jealous. Just the weather for trying out his new disguise, he thought, as the sun warmed the back of his sturdy neck. Whistling a tune, Victor turned away from the window and walked over to his large mirror. Surely no other place on earth was more proud of its beauty than Venice, and as he watched its spires and domes, each caught the sun as if trying to outshine one another. Victor leaned against his window and looked out through the dusty glass. In his dream the sea would sweep the lagoon away too, swallowing everything - the houses, the bridges, the churches, the palaces, and the people who had built so boldly on its surface.įor the time being, however, the city still stood firmly on its wooden legs. At night, he sometimes dreamed that the house was sinking into the waves, and that the sea would wash away the causeway that Venice clings to, breaking the thin thread that binds the city to Italy’s mainland. The house in which Victor lived and worked stood close to a canal so close, in fact, that the water lapped against its walls. Even the air in the alleyways tasted of snow, and only the wings of the carved angels and dragons high up on the rooftops felt any real warmth from the pale sun. But the wind was blowing ice-cold air from the sea, reminding the Venetians that winter was approaching. The canals, gleaming in the sun, dappled the ancient brickwork with gold. It was autumn in Venice when Victor first heard of Prosper and Bo. Praise for Cornelia Funke’s The Thief Lord More from Cornelia Funke - including an exclusive look at Inkspell Welcome to Venice! (Benvenuto a Venezia!)

TO ROLF - AND TO BOB HOSKINS, WHO LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE VICTORĥ2 Everything Will Work Out Fine - or Will It?Ĭlara’s Letter: The Story Behind The Thief Lord