Voyage of Slaves (25 page)

The black Labrador gave an indignant bark. “I should sincerely hope not! That creature, a son of mine? But what do you suppose the pup’s name is, Ben?”

“Amico!” The word slipped out as Ben said it aloud. “Aye, Cap’n, that’s what his name is, Amico.”

Kostas bent to kiss the puppy again—it bit his nose.

He went off into gales of laughter. “Hohohoho! What fangs! When he sees the rats he will be like Achilles among the Trojans, won’t you, Amico!”

The little fellow yapped, renewing his assault on the big man’s nose. Kostas was delighted.

“See, he understands me. Take your dogs to the cook, boy. Tell him to feed them the crackling off the pork we had last night. Here, Saint Salvatore, let me help you ashore. My
Blue Turtle
must sail the seas now!”

The old monk stood on the jetty, waving to Kostas and Ben as the blue-sailed ship turned bow on to the sea and put out into deep water. The big Greek captain sang aloud in a fine baritone.

The wind stood fair in the cool late evening, as Kostas and Ben sat sharing a basket of almonds and raisins on the foredeck. The Greek captain tossed a nut high; catching it in his mouth, he winked at Ben. “So, my friend, where are your two faithful hounds, still feeding their faces in the galley, I wager, eh?”

The boy tried catching a nut, but it bounced off his lip. “Aye, Cap’n, your cook, Nico, is very pleased with them. Little Amico chased a big rat out from behind the stove. He couldn’t catch it, but Ned batted it over the side into the water. Nico said it’s just as well he did, because it was so large that it might have eaten Amico. Nico’s rewarding them, though if he doesn’t stop feeding them pork rinds, they’ll both be sick.”

Kostas laughed heartily. “Sick as dogs, eh. Hohohoho!”

Ben questioned him about their destination. “Where’s this convent, I’ve forgotten the name of the place. Is it far from Piran?”

Kostas picked his gold-coin teeth with a dagger tip. “Not far at all, less than a day’s walk. It’s the Convento di Santa Filomena at Muggia. You’ll like it there, Ben, the good nuns are excellent cooks, and their Abbess is a very charitable lady. She thinks I’m a villainous pirate who has reformed. Hah, I ask you, do I look like a pirate?”

The boy regarded his friend’s thick, red curls, jangling earrings, gold teeth and the daggers which bristled from his sash. He tried to stifle a smile. “Well, you don’t exactly look like the Archbishop of Greece!”

Kostas put on what he thought was a soulful look. “Maybe not, but I’m piling up rewards in heaven for myself. Carrying cargo from Fra Salvatore to the nuns, and helping you to rescue your friends from a life of slavery. What could be more noble than that, eh?”

Ben also adopted a pious expression. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, you’re right, Cap’n. I wouldn’t be surprised if you came to be known as Good Saint Kostas of the High Seas.”

Starlight reflected off the gold teeth as the big Greek went into another fit of laughter. He cuffed Ben playfully. “Away, you mocking wretch, off to your bunk before I have you keelhauled!”

Kostas had not seen Ned and Amico loping up behind him. The black Labrador knocked him flat and began jumping on him, sending messages to his master. “Grr, d’you want me to chew off both his legs, mate?”

Ben could not help chuckling as he replied, “You don’t have to, Ned, Amico’s doing the job for you!”

The puppy was joining in the fun, growling as he nipped at the fallen captain’s ankles. Kostas was laughing again as he pleaded with Ben. “Help, I’m being attacked by wild dogs! Mercy!”

Not many hours had elapsed since the
Blue Turtle
sailed from Melito when the
Sea Djinn
made landfall there. Al Misurata stood on the main quay, warming his hands by a fire, where some fishermen were cooking their catch. He strode impatiently from the firelight toward four men approaching him. It was Ghigno and two of his aides, who were frog-marching one of the locals between them. Al Misurata glared fiercely at the Scar-face. “Are you going to keep me waiting all the night? What’s going on, who’s this gutter rat?”

Ghigno took hold of his captive’s hair and shook him. “One who I’m told has information for us, Master.”

The pirate took a glance at the fishermen, who were craning to hear the conversation. He nodded toward his ship. “Get him aboard quickly!”

Once on board the
Sea Djinn,
Al Misurata listened briefly to Ghigno’s report.

“This one has news of the boy and his dog—they’re not travelling on the old man’s ship anymore.”

The man, realising that Al Misurata was a rich and important person, adopted a cringing attitude. “Lord, the dog and the boy set upon me, I was attacked, bitten and injured. Your servants dragged me from my sickbed and forced me to come with them. But I know where that whelp and his cur went, is that not worth a reward from one as magnificent as you, sire?”

The pirate’s tone did not warn the man of the danger he was in. “It might be worth some gold, if I had time to waste on wharf scrapings such as you. But I need information now. Bomba!”

The slaver whipped a noose around the man’s neck, and tossed it over a rigging spar. He heaved on it until the unfortunate was gagging on tiptoe, both hands trying feebly to loosen the strangling rope. Bomba raised his cane and laid a stroke across his victim’s back. At a nod from his master, Bomba let the fellow fall to the deck, where he lay gurgling with pain.

Al Misurata stood over him, speaking menacingly. “I’ll wager that hurt. There are ninety-nine more strokes to come, if you decide to play the fool with me, my friend. Bomba, hoist him up again!”

Before the slave driver had a chance to obey the command, the man was pleading in hoarse terror. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! Please, no more!”

When he had given his information, Al Misurata turned to Ghigno. “Well?”

The scar-faced Corsair nodded. “It must be the truth. Nobody saw the boy and dog return to the old one’s ship, it sailed off, bound south. This other one, the
Blue Turtle,
it’s captained by a Greek. He sailed just before sunset for a convent in Muggia. I spoke to a man who loaded cargo onto her. It looks like the boy is headed for Piran. If we cast off now we should be able to catch them—the Greek’s ship is nought but an old tub, it does not have our speed.”

The look on his master’s face caused Ghigno to fall silent. Al Misurata stirred the man lying on the deck with his boot. “Did you hear that?”

The fellow shook his head furiously, still in a panic. “No, sire, hear what? I heard nothing, I swear it!”

The pirate nodded noncommittally. “Go ashore, then, and speak no word to anybody.” He glanced significantly at Bomba, who touched the hilt of his curved dagger and nodded.

Al Misurata watched the man scrabble over the side to the quay. Bomba waited a moment before following him.

Confronting Ghigno, Al Misurata hissed savagely, “Why didn’t you shout our plans from the mast top, fool! Sometimes I think the older you get, the softer your brain becomes. What possessed you to gabble on like that?”

The scar-faced Corsair bowed his head. “It was stupid of me. I apologise, Master.”

The pirate sighed. “I’ll let it pass this time, but only because of our years together. Make ready to sail as soon as Bomba gets back.”

La Lindi had her ear to the cabin door; she had heard all that transpired on deck.

Otto put aside the loaded blunderbuss, knowing that any chance of a sudden escape had been foiled. “We will be under way shortly, there is no time for us to make a break. But it is good to know that our friend Ben is still trying to help us,
ja
!”

Mamma Rizzoli covered the gun with her shawl. “I know the convent at Muggia, a girl from my village went there as a novice. If only we could reach it, I’m certain we would be safe there. It is only a short distance from Piran, eh, Augusto?”

Signore Rizzoli was in total agreement. “
Si,
the Convento di Santa Filomena is a strongly built place. I think we should make our break when we come ashore at Piran, we’d stand a better chance there.”

Otto nodded. “I am with you,
mein Herr.”

Even Serafina brightened up considerably. “Ben will be there to help us, I know it!”

Buffo interrupted. “Ssshh! Somebody’s coming.”

Bomba entered the cabin. He looked around, checking that everything was in order. Testing the blade of his curved knife on his thumbtip, he leered at Serafina. “We’re under way for the Adriatic Sea, it shouldn’t be too long before we catch up with your boyfriend and his hound. I’m eager to meet them, aren’t you, pretty one?”

Otto stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger. “
Ja,
and I am eager to meet you,
Dummkopf,
your knife does not scare me!”

Bomba backed out of the cabin hastily, slamming the door behind him.

Otto smiled at Serafina. “Pay no attention to him,
Schatze,
he is only a big windbag who loves the sound of his own voice.”

La Lindi put her arm around the girl. “Maybe he is, but the scar-faced one said that Ben is on a ship, which he called a leaky old tub. What chance does it stand against this
Sea Djinn
?”

THE IONIAN SEA. SOUTH OF THE GULF OF TARANTO.

KOSTAS KRIMBOTI LEANED OVER THE stern rail, pointing at the water. “I can always tell when we are getting into deep seas, Ben. This Ionian Sea gets even deeper. In my treasure hunting days I was told of a Roman galley which went down in this area many centuries ago, carrying the gold of Egypt in her hold.”

Ben stared at the dark blue water. “And you never tried to hunt for it?”

Kostas flashed him a gold-toothed smile. “No, but someday I will—the thought of all that treasure lying down there, it is a challenge to me.”

“But a very dangerous challenge,” Ben replied.

The Greek captain shrugged. “Danger is the spice of life to Krimboti. Hah, here come our rat seekers, maybe they have rid my
Blue Turtle
of pests, eh?”

Ned looked appealingly to Ben. “I’m doing all I can, mate, but this little villain must think my tail’s a rat, he keeps attacking it. Gerroff, you young pestilence!”

Ned shook Amico off his tail. The puppy, thinking it was some sort of game, went straight back to the attack.

Ben’s attention was distracted by the lookout, who called down to his captain, “Ship astern!”

Kostas avoided the two dogs as he ran for the mainmast. “Come on, boy, let’s take a look!”

As they mounted the rigging, a glimpse of the
Flying Dutchman,
floundering in the icy waters off Cape Horn, flashed across the boy’s mind, accompanied by a thought from his dog. “That can only mean one thing, mate!”

High on the mast head, Ben and Kostas clung to the rat-lines as the lookout passed the spyglass over. Kostas gave it to Ben. “What do you make of it, my friend?”

A single glance through the lens at the five dark red sails—four triangular and one square—told Ben all he needed to know. He returned the glass to Kostas. “That’s Al Misurata’s ship, the
Sea Djinn.
I wonder how he knew to follow us? It was supposed to be a secret that we were on your ship.”

The Greek squinted his eye to the glass. “Hah, who can keep a secret in a small port such as Melito? Coins change hands there at a single whisper!”

Ben had gained sufficient knowledge of ships and the sea to voice an unhappy opinion. “At the rate she’s travelling we’ll be run down within a day. The
Blue Turtle
couldn’t make it in a sea chase with that vessel.”

Kostas clacked his golden dentures noisily. “That’s right, boy, but there’s something you haven’t realised yet. We are a small craft compared to her, we’re only a third of the
Sea Djinn
’s size. We can see them, but I’ll wager they haven’t spotted us yet.” Kostas descended to the deck, with Ben close behind.

“So, it’s only a matter of time before they do. Have you got a plan, Cap’n?”

The Greek laughed. “I wouldn’t be Kostas Krimboti if I hadn’t. We’ll pile on all sail and make for the isle of Kérkira, just off the mainland of my country. If we keep far enough ahead, we won’t be sighted. Maybe my
Turtle
isn’t the fastest ship, but once I’m in Greek waters I’ll lose that
Sea Djinn.
Watch me!”