The Mourning Emporium Read Online Free PDF Page A

drowned,” like dozens of other boys and girls.
    So why had Teo still not come? Wasn’t she supposed to be his best friend?
    Renzo longed to see her, but he dreaded it as well. He had very bad news; the worst, in fact. There’d been another victim of the flood: his most precious possession, apart from the money-box. And it wasn’t even really his: technically, it was merely on loan from Teo. Now that Renzo had sluiced the entire house, he had to admit it was true: there was no trace of The Key to the Secret City. It must have floated out of the house along with all the other books in Renzo’s collection.
    “Lorenzo Antonello?” The policeman’s voice was gentle.
    Renzo spun around.
    The officer repeated, “Lorenzo Antonello, I’m hereby ordered to conduct you to the Scilla, where you shall be apprenticed for a sailor.”
    “My mother …” Renzo’s voice was as blank as his face. “She’s not buried yet.”
    “That will be taken care of. The Mayor has already arranged it.”
    At the mention of the Mayor’s name, Renzo scowled ferociously. “So you’re that foot-licker’s henchman? I’ll have nothing to do with you.”
    “Boy has a cheek!” Officer Gianni marveled. He could not but sympathize, nevertheless. It was despicable to drag a grieving boy away from home without letting him attend to his dead mother.
    “But orders is orders,” Gianni thought regretfully. He reminded himself that he was lucky to have a safe job in these hard times.
    He said, “It’s out of your hands, son. You ain’t of legal age. You’re a ward of the state and you’ve got to go where the Mayor tells you. Come, put your things together, boy. The Scilla’s not bad. Not for an old warship, anyways. She’s a proper boat, lad, painted wood and canvas sails! Your family’s menfolk have been gondoliers and sailors for generations, haven’t they? Sea’s in your blood.”
    “Lorenzo! Dearest chap! I just heard!” a melodious voice fluted from outside the door. A strikingly handsome man with piercing blue eyes hurried in. He gathered Renzo in a powerful hug that smelled of warm hay and lemons. “My precious boy, my poor, poor child. Are you hurt, yourself? How’s every rib in your dear body?”
    Then he held Renzo away from him and peered at the boy’s pinched white face. “What, no tears? Are youse entrapolated in your grief still? But Lorenzo, you must cry, let us weep together for your sweet mother, and for Venice too.”
    At this Sargano Alicamoussa burst into noisy sobs. “An adorable woman!” he wept. “Our incomparable city! And the darling dolphins too! My heart’s dropping off in lumps with the sorrow of it.”
    “I carved some violets for my mother,” said Renzo dully. “With my penknife.”
    “What a skill you have, dearest boy! Now, I am quite decided—youse shall come live with me and my wife, Mercer. We shall adopterate youse, yes.”
    Unheard, the policeman murmured, “Err, sir …?”
    Signor Alicamoussa looked deep into Renzo’s deadened eyes, whispering, “We Incogniti take care of our own.”
    The policeman stepped forward, holding out the Mayor’s order. “Uncommon decent of you, sir, however the boy’s already signed over to the Scilla. The boat’s been notified. They’ll be expecting him aboard any minute.”
    “Beg yours? The Scilla? Feather me, there’s a coincidence! Pearler! Wait till … But no, no, no, no, no, dear Lorenzo has no need to be an orphan sailor. He shall have a loving home! My charming lady wife to cherish him! Lions and wildebeest as his pets! Signed over, you say? Without so much as a ‘Do you fancy a naval career?’ to the boy himself? Says who? Upon my word, what outrageous outrage is this? I shall frankly not permit it.”
    “It’s too late, sir. Look—the Mayor’s signature.”
    “The Mayor? That dilapidated dog! Only my wife, who is Irish and has the gift of the gabble to an amazing extent, can curse the fellow to my full satisfactioning, and do so