Disclaimer: Quite sadly, none of the original characters of the Thief Lord belong to me. *sigh* All characters except Aurora are property of Cornelia Funke.
Violet Sighted Love
Chapter One
Five years had passed since the faithful night in which Scipio Massimo had taken his aging ride on the Merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters. As he thought back to the night, Scipio shifted the position of his feet on the ottoman in the office of Victor Getz. A new name had appeared under the gold-painted sign that hung on the detective's door; it was his own, or a version of his own in any way. After running away, Scipio knew that he couldn't keep his surname, and in honor of the closest friend he ever had, took the boy's name and converted the language to form his new last name, Fortunato. His friend was Prosper, a runaway who was trying to keep his five-year-old brother out of his Aunt Esther's custody. Prosper and his brother, Boniface (who went by Bo for short), had stowed away on various trains and boats from Hamburg, Germany, all of the way to Venice, where they currently lived, happy, and without any Aunt Esther.
Scipio looked out the window. As junior detective in training to Victor Getz, he was the one who did the dirty work. This morning alone he had to follow a young lady who was the main suspect of a dog napping from her appointment at a local hair salon. It still never failed to amaze him where Victor got the information on where his suspects spent there spare time.
He was just standing up to get to work when Victor himself burst into the room, looking pale and exasperated.
"I thought running around like an idiot was my job," Scipio said smugly. He was tall, standing at 6'5 and was about twenty-seven years old. The biggest problem with the merry-go-round was the fact that Scipio no longer knew his own exact age.
"Never mind that now!" Victor exclaimed through ragged breaths. "Ida Spavento has just passed, and the gang has no where to go! She left the house to them, but Prosper's the oldest and he's only seventeen! Venetian law says that 'no person under the age of eighteen--'"
"...can own property," finished Scipio, comprehension dawning on his anguished face. The "gang" that Victor was referring to were the orphans that had lived with Ida Spavento since the beginning of their friendship over a business deal five years ago. The gang consisted of Prosper, who had become the leader since Scipio had grown up. Prosper was tall, thin and gangling, with dark, black hair, and hazel eyes. Bo was Prosper's younger, ten-year-old brother. He had short, grey-blond hair that suited his tiny frame and blue eyes. The only girl of the group was Caterina Grimani and could punch out any boy who called her by her real name. She more commonly was known as Hornet, for she wore her dark hair in a long, thin braid that looked like the stinger of a wasp. Hornet had a thin frame, but over the years had grown shapely hips and an hourglass figure. She was the second oldest at sixteen. Riccio was the oddest of the group. Even though he was almost fifteen years old, he still slept with a plethora of old, thread bare stuffed animals. Riccio was very short- the same height as Bo- and had mud-brown hair that stuck out at all angles and gave him his nickname, the hedgehog.
Scipio sighed deeply as he thought of the awful predicament his friends were in. "What has the Carabinieri decided to do with them?" he asked wearily.
"They will all be sent to the Merciful Sisters' orphanage. When Prosper comes of age, he will inherit the house, but will only be able to become the legal guardian of Bo. The others will have to stay in the orphanage until they are old enough to get out," Victor responded in a monotone voice.
"There's got to be something we can do!" Scipio spat out the words with more hope than he felt. He went over all of the times that the gang had gotten out of trouble in the past. Prosper and he had recently avoided dismemberment from two musclebound mastiffs. They had tricked Prosper and Bo's Aunt out of wanting Bo, and then kept him out of the Merciful Sisters'. Their most recent escapade had involved getting Hornet herself out of the orphanage. Ida and Victor had dressed up as Hornet's godparents, and Ida, being a rich benefactor of the institution, had easily convinced the sisters that she would return the girl to her parents.
Scipio quickly changed his thoughts. Thinking of Ida was painful. She was the only one apart from Victor who had helped the desperate children in their time of greatest need. She had housed the gang of street thieves for five long years, feeding them and keeping them out of trouble. The gang had stopped stealing only weeks after Ida had taken them in. Riccio had come home once with more money than he had left with, and had gotten scolded for the next half-hour. She then took him by his ear and made him search for the man he robbed and return the money. Riccio had been so embarrassed that he never stole again. Remembering the event almost brought a smile to Scipio's forlorn face.
Victor gave a deep sigh. Looking up, Scipio saw tears sliding silently down his friend's face. Ida and Victor had finalized the affection they showed each other two years previous by going to the theater and seeing plays together every Saturday night. No one had said anything, but Scipio suspected that the two were going to get married after spying on them one night and watching the way they gazed deeply into each other's eyes before kissing in the darkened opera house.
"Victor? How did she die?" Scipio asked. He tried to make his voice gentle and soft as he looked at his friend's morose face. Victor stood up. He was a very average looking man. He was about 5'9 and weighed an estimated 180 pounds. He was never overweight, but he was aging, and could no longer run around the city like he used to. 'If only the merry-go-round hadn't broken,' thought Scipio.
"Heart attack," He answered. Victor's voice was higher than usual. Scipio he could tell he was using all he had to keep it from cracking. "And, no. There's nothing we can do. The kids will just have to go to the orphanage. Prosper will have less than a year to wait, then he and Bo will get out."
"But what about the others!? Riccio might as well be in there an eternity! He's to impatient, he'd rather die than go anywhere confining for three years," Scipio argued. Even as he said it though, his face fell. He knew it was no use and that Victor was right. "Well," he stated dully, all hopes dashed, "we better get over there and see what we can do." Scipio stood up and pulled on his coat. "You coming?" Victor still sat resignedly in the chintz armchair he had fallen into not ten minutes earlier.
"No, you go alone. Console the gang and try to show them the good side of all this," Victor was still staring at the carpet.
"Sure. You take care, Victor. And," he lowered his voice comfortingly, "I'm sorry." Scipio turned on his heel and strode out the door, not waiting for a response.
A lone girl stood on the Ponte Vecchio bridge, hanging her head over the rail, looking down into the waters of the grand canal. The girl's thigh length ebony colored hair toppled over the edge of the bridge in a fluid curtain. She looked up placidly, sweeping the black curls over her shoulder. It was August, and there were already chill winds that blew around her shins that were exposed by the hem of her knee length skirt. Hugging her coat tighter around her she looked back into the water. Gazing back out of the darkened waters was a stunningly pretty girl, with the palest skin imaginable. She had a softly curved figure and a wonderfully thin body. Her nose was small and her eyes were perfectly spaced. But it wasn't the space between her eyes that was her best feature, it was the eyes themselves. They were a deep, stunning violet, the color of the Northern Lights at midnight, and had long, dark lashes that fluttered over the purple irises like cirrus clouds.
It was from these eyes that her mother, a Canadian, named her. Every night her mother viewed the Aurora Borealis, and every night she dreamed of the beautiful color they formed at exactly midnight. And it was on the night of the girl's birth that her mother looked out the window, and upon seeing the soft shades of pink and green turning to the harsh violet streaks, she gave birth. To her ecstasy, she found that her new-born daughter's eyes were the same, voluminous color, and in the honor of the magical lights, named her first born Aurora. Aurora Winthair.
Aurora started as someone bumped into her. In a fraction of a second she had drawn the long, sharp rapier that had hung at her side since the age of seven.
"Give me back my wallet," Aurora felt her throat tighten as she pointed the sword at the throat of the boy who had just robbed her. He had spiny-like brown hair, and a now terrified face.
"Now look hear," he said nervously. "I didn't mean any harm, honest! I'm poor and need money," he said nervously, but nonetheless flung the wallet at her feet. Aurora sheathed her sword and picked up her small purse. The hedgehog-like boy was already running, but was stopped short by a handsome boy with dark hair.
"Oh, and where are you going, Riccio?" The boy asked sternly. Aurora looked at him and grinned.
"Running from me, I presume," Aurora said with a glint in her eyes. "He just relieved of my wallet, and I was ready to relieve him of his head if he didn't return it," she said, bemused. "I've got to go, if you see me again, say hi, I might tell you my name." Aurora smiled, and trotted off, the sound of the handsome boy's deep voice chiding the thief in the distance.
Scipio ran the last few steps into the Campo Santa Margherita, where Ida's house resided and gasped at what he saw. Excluding a few, lone Carabinieri, the small square was completely empty. No children were in sight.
Violet Sighted Love
Chapter One
Five years had passed since the faithful night in which Scipio Massimo had taken his aging ride on the Merry-go-round of the Merciful Sisters. As he thought back to the night, Scipio shifted the position of his feet on the ottoman in the office of Victor Getz. A new name had appeared under the gold-painted sign that hung on the detective's door; it was his own, or a version of his own in any way. After running away, Scipio knew that he couldn't keep his surname, and in honor of the closest friend he ever had, took the boy's name and converted the language to form his new last name, Fortunato. His friend was Prosper, a runaway who was trying to keep his five-year-old brother out of his Aunt Esther's custody. Prosper and his brother, Boniface (who went by Bo for short), had stowed away on various trains and boats from Hamburg, Germany, all of the way to Venice, where they currently lived, happy, and without any Aunt Esther.
Scipio looked out the window. As junior detective in training to Victor Getz, he was the one who did the dirty work. This morning alone he had to follow a young lady who was the main suspect of a dog napping from her appointment at a local hair salon. It still never failed to amaze him where Victor got the information on where his suspects spent there spare time.
He was just standing up to get to work when Victor himself burst into the room, looking pale and exasperated.
"I thought running around like an idiot was my job," Scipio said smugly. He was tall, standing at 6'5 and was about twenty-seven years old. The biggest problem with the merry-go-round was the fact that Scipio no longer knew his own exact age.
"Never mind that now!" Victor exclaimed through ragged breaths. "Ida Spavento has just passed, and the gang has no where to go! She left the house to them, but Prosper's the oldest and he's only seventeen! Venetian law says that 'no person under the age of eighteen--'"
"...can own property," finished Scipio, comprehension dawning on his anguished face. The "gang" that Victor was referring to were the orphans that had lived with Ida Spavento since the beginning of their friendship over a business deal five years ago. The gang consisted of Prosper, who had become the leader since Scipio had grown up. Prosper was tall, thin and gangling, with dark, black hair, and hazel eyes. Bo was Prosper's younger, ten-year-old brother. He had short, grey-blond hair that suited his tiny frame and blue eyes. The only girl of the group was Caterina Grimani and could punch out any boy who called her by her real name. She more commonly was known as Hornet, for she wore her dark hair in a long, thin braid that looked like the stinger of a wasp. Hornet had a thin frame, but over the years had grown shapely hips and an hourglass figure. She was the second oldest at sixteen. Riccio was the oddest of the group. Even though he was almost fifteen years old, he still slept with a plethora of old, thread bare stuffed animals. Riccio was very short- the same height as Bo- and had mud-brown hair that stuck out at all angles and gave him his nickname, the hedgehog.
Scipio sighed deeply as he thought of the awful predicament his friends were in. "What has the Carabinieri decided to do with them?" he asked wearily.
"They will all be sent to the Merciful Sisters' orphanage. When Prosper comes of age, he will inherit the house, but will only be able to become the legal guardian of Bo. The others will have to stay in the orphanage until they are old enough to get out," Victor responded in a monotone voice.
"There's got to be something we can do!" Scipio spat out the words with more hope than he felt. He went over all of the times that the gang had gotten out of trouble in the past. Prosper and he had recently avoided dismemberment from two musclebound mastiffs. They had tricked Prosper and Bo's Aunt out of wanting Bo, and then kept him out of the Merciful Sisters'. Their most recent escapade had involved getting Hornet herself out of the orphanage. Ida and Victor had dressed up as Hornet's godparents, and Ida, being a rich benefactor of the institution, had easily convinced the sisters that she would return the girl to her parents.
Scipio quickly changed his thoughts. Thinking of Ida was painful. She was the only one apart from Victor who had helped the desperate children in their time of greatest need. She had housed the gang of street thieves for five long years, feeding them and keeping them out of trouble. The gang had stopped stealing only weeks after Ida had taken them in. Riccio had come home once with more money than he had left with, and had gotten scolded for the next half-hour. She then took him by his ear and made him search for the man he robbed and return the money. Riccio had been so embarrassed that he never stole again. Remembering the event almost brought a smile to Scipio's forlorn face.
Victor gave a deep sigh. Looking up, Scipio saw tears sliding silently down his friend's face. Ida and Victor had finalized the affection they showed each other two years previous by going to the theater and seeing plays together every Saturday night. No one had said anything, but Scipio suspected that the two were going to get married after spying on them one night and watching the way they gazed deeply into each other's eyes before kissing in the darkened opera house.
"Victor? How did she die?" Scipio asked. He tried to make his voice gentle and soft as he looked at his friend's morose face. Victor stood up. He was a very average looking man. He was about 5'9 and weighed an estimated 180 pounds. He was never overweight, but he was aging, and could no longer run around the city like he used to. 'If only the merry-go-round hadn't broken,' thought Scipio.
"Heart attack," He answered. Victor's voice was higher than usual. Scipio he could tell he was using all he had to keep it from cracking. "And, no. There's nothing we can do. The kids will just have to go to the orphanage. Prosper will have less than a year to wait, then he and Bo will get out."
"But what about the others!? Riccio might as well be in there an eternity! He's to impatient, he'd rather die than go anywhere confining for three years," Scipio argued. Even as he said it though, his face fell. He knew it was no use and that Victor was right. "Well," he stated dully, all hopes dashed, "we better get over there and see what we can do." Scipio stood up and pulled on his coat. "You coming?" Victor still sat resignedly in the chintz armchair he had fallen into not ten minutes earlier.
"No, you go alone. Console the gang and try to show them the good side of all this," Victor was still staring at the carpet.
"Sure. You take care, Victor. And," he lowered his voice comfortingly, "I'm sorry." Scipio turned on his heel and strode out the door, not waiting for a response.
A lone girl stood on the Ponte Vecchio bridge, hanging her head over the rail, looking down into the waters of the grand canal. The girl's thigh length ebony colored hair toppled over the edge of the bridge in a fluid curtain. She looked up placidly, sweeping the black curls over her shoulder. It was August, and there were already chill winds that blew around her shins that were exposed by the hem of her knee length skirt. Hugging her coat tighter around her she looked back into the water. Gazing back out of the darkened waters was a stunningly pretty girl, with the palest skin imaginable. She had a softly curved figure and a wonderfully thin body. Her nose was small and her eyes were perfectly spaced. But it wasn't the space between her eyes that was her best feature, it was the eyes themselves. They were a deep, stunning violet, the color of the Northern Lights at midnight, and had long, dark lashes that fluttered over the purple irises like cirrus clouds.
It was from these eyes that her mother, a Canadian, named her. Every night her mother viewed the Aurora Borealis, and every night she dreamed of the beautiful color they formed at exactly midnight. And it was on the night of the girl's birth that her mother looked out the window, and upon seeing the soft shades of pink and green turning to the harsh violet streaks, she gave birth. To her ecstasy, she found that her new-born daughter's eyes were the same, voluminous color, and in the honor of the magical lights, named her first born Aurora. Aurora Winthair.
Aurora started as someone bumped into her. In a fraction of a second she had drawn the long, sharp rapier that had hung at her side since the age of seven.
"Give me back my wallet," Aurora felt her throat tighten as she pointed the sword at the throat of the boy who had just robbed her. He had spiny-like brown hair, and a now terrified face.
"Now look hear," he said nervously. "I didn't mean any harm, honest! I'm poor and need money," he said nervously, but nonetheless flung the wallet at her feet. Aurora sheathed her sword and picked up her small purse. The hedgehog-like boy was already running, but was stopped short by a handsome boy with dark hair.
"Oh, and where are you going, Riccio?" The boy asked sternly. Aurora looked at him and grinned.
"Running from me, I presume," Aurora said with a glint in her eyes. "He just relieved of my wallet, and I was ready to relieve him of his head if he didn't return it," she said, bemused. "I've got to go, if you see me again, say hi, I might tell you my name." Aurora smiled, and trotted off, the sound of the handsome boy's deep voice chiding the thief in the distance.
Scipio ran the last few steps into the Campo Santa Margherita, where Ida's house resided and gasped at what he saw. Excluding a few, lone Carabinieri, the small square was completely empty. No children were in sight.