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Two orphaned children are on the run, hiding among the crumbling canals and misty alleyways of the city of Venice. Befriended by a gang of street children and their mysterious leader, the Thief Lord, they shelter in an old, disused cinema. On their trail is a bungling detective, obsessed with disguises and the health of his pet tortoises. But a greater threat to the boys' new-found freedom is something from a forgotten past - a beautiful magical treasure with the power to spin time itself.

An atmospheric and magical thriller set among the crumbling canals of Venice, told in the best storytelling tradition by the wonderful Cornelia Funke.

More than one million copies sold worldwide.

Reviews:

‘A completely delicious read ...' OBSERVER

‘My enjoyment of ‘Thief Lord’ grew and grew as I read it…and I love the offbeat ending.’  DIANA WYNNE JONES

‘The book reminded me – in the way it made me feel – of ‘Emil and the Detectives’… a book I deeply loved.  I suppose I’m decoding a kind of warm intelligence which isn’t all that common.’  EVA IBBOTSON

‘[A] radiant novel...Today's young readers will probably love this book as they love the Harry Potter series, for its zany plot and well-defined characters ... splendid.’  NEW YORK TIMES

‘[An] exquisitely told tale of adventure and intrigue. Display[s] the kind of zest that makes you inhale a book in as few sittings as possible.’  USA TODAY

‘A European best-seller ... Funke's deft exploration of a timeless theme … the longing of kids to grow up and of grown-ups to relive their youth … should engage both young and old.’  PEOPLE

‘The Venetian setting is ripe for mystery, and the city's alleys and canals ratchet up the suspense in the chase scenes.’  PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

Winner of the Zurich Children’s Book Award 2000 and The Children’s Book Award 2001 by the Vienna House of Literature.

It was autumn in the City of the Moon when Victor first heard of Prosper and Bo. The canals, gleaming in the sun, overlaid the ancient brickwork with gold. However, the wind blew in the ice-cold air from the sea as if it wanted to remind the Venetians that winter was approaching. The air in the alleys tasted suddenly of snow and the autumn sun warmed only the wings of the carved angels and dragons high up on the roofs.

The house in which Victor lived and worked stood close to a canal, so close, in fact, that the water lapped against its walls. At night, Victor sometimes dreamt of the house sinking into the waves, together with the entire city. In these dreams the sea would wash away the causeway by which Venice hangs on the mainland like a chest of gold hanging by a thin thread. And the water would swallow it all: the houses, the bridges, the churches, the palaces, and the humans who had built the city so boldly on its surface.

For the time being, however, the city still stood firmly on its wooden legs. Victor leaned against his window and looked out through the dusty glass. No other place on earth could show off its beauty like the City of the Moon when the sun let the spires, the arches, and the domes try to outglow each other. Whistling, Victor turned away from the window and walked over to his large mirror.

Just the weather for trying out the new beard – he thought while the sun warmed his sturdy neck. He had bought this new treasure only the previous day: an enormous moustache, so dark and bushy that a walrus would have envied him for it. He stuck it carefully under his nose and stood on his toes to make himself taller. He turned to the left, then to the right ... and he became so engrossed in his reflection that he only heard the steps on the stairs when they stopped outside of his door.

Clients. Blast! Why did they have to bother him now of all times?

With a deep sigh he sat down behind his desk. Someone was whispering in front of his door. They're probably admiring my nameplate – Victor thought. A black, shiny sign adorned his door, with his name engraved in golden letters.

Victor Getz

Private Detective

Investigations of any kind

He'd had this put in three languages. After all, he often had clients from abroad. Next to the sign was a knocker - a lion's head with a brass ring in its mouth. Victor had just polished it that morning.

What are they waiting for? – he thought, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. Finally, he called out: 'Avanti!'

The door was opened. A man and a woman stepped into Victor's office, which also doubled as his living room. They looked around warily, taking in the cacti, the beard collection, the coat stand with his caps, hats, and wigs, the huge street map on the wall, and the winged lion that served as a paperweight on Victor's desk.

'Do you speak English?' the woman asked, although her Italian sounded quite fluent.

'Of course!' Victor answered, indicating towards the chairs in front of his desk. 'English is my mother tongue. What can I do for you?'

They both sat down hesitantly. The man folded his arms and looked rather sullen, the woman stared at Victor's walrus beard. 'Oh, that's just for camouflage,' he explained, pulling the beard from his lip. 'Quite a necessity in my field of work. Well, what can I do for you? Anything lost, stolen, run away?'

Without saying a word, the woman reached into her purse. She had ash blond hair and a pointed nose. Her mouth didn't look like she used it for smiling much. The man was a giant, at least two full heads taller than Victor. His nose was peeled from sunburn and his eyes were small and colourless. Doesn't look like he can take a joke – Victor thought as he committed the two faces to memory. He could never remember a phone number, but faces stayed with him forever.