Voyage of Slaves (34 page)

“Go on, idle paws, go and catch a mouse, you’re not getting any of this. Mmm, tastes lovely, delicious!”

Just before midday, Janos Cabar arrived back with information for Ben. “The word is that this Misurata villain will dock in the harbour sometime tomorrow, maybe midnoon. That’s all I can tell you, my friend, so keep your head down until then. I’ve got to go to Trieste now—can’t hang about here too long, or folk will start asking questions, and word might get out to the authorities. You’re safe enough here, though.”

Ben took out the pouch of gold coins, which still weighed heavily in his hands. “Janos, when your business is done in Trieste, will you be coming back this way?”

The smuggler nodded. “Aye, I always come back through Piran. Why do you ask?”

The big gold coins clinked dully as Ben shook the pouch. “Listen, I have no need for gold, so I’ll make you an offer. If you meet me here when you come back, I may need your help to break my friends free. Would this money be enough to cover your services?”

The smuggler toyed with the leather plaiting on her whip handle. “You really don’t realise the value of Krimboti’s treasure, do you? What’s in that pouch is a fortune. If you don’t need it, I know lots of women with families who do. I’ll do it, boy, you’ll have the assistance of me and my Istrani Wolves. I won’t bother with a return cargo, I’ll meet you here tomorrow night. If we leave Trieste driving unloaded wagons, we’ll be here around seven of the clock. That’s a bargain, friend!”

Janos Cabar spat on her palm, holding it out. Ben did likewise and they shook hands.

Ned pawed at his master’s leg. “See, I told you she’d go for it. Who’s a clever dog, then?”

Ben grinned at him. “Yes, good dog, clever dog! Roll over and I’ll scratch your tummy.”

Ned stalked off with his tail in the air. “Hmmph! Not while that cat’s watching!”

LA LINDI HAD TAKEN HER PYTHON, Mwaga, out of his basket. The snake coiled around her waist and arm, swaying its blunt face in front of her and touching her cheek with its long, forked tongue. Signore Rizzoli watched Mwaga and his charmer, noting the interaction between them with interest.

“Your snake seems restless today, Lindi, is something the matter with him?”

The enigmatic black lady caressed her pet’s shifting coils. “I think it must be raining outside. Mwaga often acts like this when there’s rainfall.”

Buffo looked up from his task of brushing Poppea. “You could be right. I wonder what time it is. Down here you lose all sense of night or day.”

Mummo yawned. “Early morning’s my guess.”

Mamma commented wryly, “How would you know, you’re always asleep? Just before you close your eyes, you always say it’s late night. Then when you wake up it’s always early morning to you. Serafina, what time do you think it is?”

The youngest of the troupe replied promptly. “Almost midday—time moves like a snail when you’re cooped up and you can’t see daylight.”

Otto left off his moustache trimming, rubbing his stomach.
“Ja,
the
Fräulein
is right, it is time for lunch!”

Signore Rizzoli heard the key in the lock outside their cabin. “That sounds like them bringing food now.”

It was Ghigno and four armed guards. The scar-faced Corsair beckoned to them.

“Come on, all out, I’m taking you up on deck. One false move from any of you and someone will be feeding the fishes in the bay. Step out one at a time.”

Lunch was forgotten as the Rizzoli Troupe made their way up to the midship deck. Serafina had guessed right, it was midday. The world around them looked grey and overcast. A soft, steady drizzle was smoothing the sea into a waveless swell. They were herded in front of Al Misurata, who stood sheltered beneath the afterdeck stairs. He addressed them in commanding tones.

“In a few hours we will be docking at Piran. You will be confined to your cart until such time as we part company.”

Mamma Rizzoli spoke out. “What about our horse, Poppea? She must not be left aboard.”

The pirate held up his hand, silencing her. “Do not worry, the horse will be brought up and put into the shafts of your cart when we land.”

Mamma persisted. “And what are your plans for us?”

Al Misurata’s voice held no emotion. “I am not prepared to say right now, but you will not be harmed as long as you obey me. Let that be sufficient.”

Signore Rizzoli carried on where his wife had left off. “You are an evil man! We trusted you, and you repaid that trust by selling us into slavery. Deny it—I dare you!”

Ghigno rested his hand, meaningly, on the pistol that was thrust into his waist sash. “My master is the Lord of the Barbary Coast, he does not argue with poor fools such as you. Be silent!”

Despite the armed guards, Otto’s vise-like grip seized the Corsair’s arm, causing him to wince. The big German strongman was glaring at Al Misurata. “Otto Kassel always keeps his word, not like you. I make you a promise,
mein Herr,
you will pay for this!”

At a wave of the pirate’s hand, more armed men emerged from the cabin behind him. He smiled at Otto. “On the contrary, it is I who will be receiving payment. You are merely the merchandise that is being traded.” Al Misurata wandered fearlessly amid his captives. “The treatment you receive from your new master will depend on your own good behavior. Take the girl!”

With a quick movement he swung Serafina into the arms of the guards, then stepped back holding up both hands. “Do nothing foolish, the girl will not be harmed! I need her as a hostage. Behave yourselves, and I will return her to you in due course.”

Turning on his heel he went into the cabin, followed by three of the guards and Serafina.

Shortly before mid-noon, the
Sea Djinn
tied up at the harbour in Piran. Nobody paid much attention to the cart which was trundled down a ramp by a dozen well-armed men. With Poppea in the shafts, it rattled off, still with the men surrounding it. Once the cart was clear of the ship, Al Misurata dismissed the guards from his cabin. Serafina huddled in a corner watching his every move, her dark eyes fearful.

The pirate smiled benignly at her. “Why so frightened, my little African songbird? I have no intention of harming you, relax.” He gestured to a tray of food on the table.“Come, help yourself to this good food—eat, drink!” Serafina stayed where she was. He laughed, speaking to her as if she were a recalcitrant child. “There’s nothing wrong with the food, look.” Selecting a large, yellow pear, Al Misurata bit into it and ate with relish. He cast it aside half-eaten, wiping his lips on a silk kerchief. “Perhaps you don’t like me watching you. Alright, I will go and leave you alone awhile. Later on I will take you to see the town of Piran. Would you like that?”

Serafina was still frightened; her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I would like to go back to my friends, sir. Where have you taken them?”

The pirate answered like a kindly uncle. “You will see them tonight, I promise. First I want you to do something for me. It is a simple thing, a short trip into town. Then I will deliver you back to your friends. Agreed?” He watched until she nodded. “Good! I’ll leave you alone now. When you’ve finished eating, open that chest in the corner. You’ll find lots of pretty things for a beautiful young lady to wear. I want you to look good for our trip to the town.”

When he departed the cabin, Serafina heard him lock the door behind him. She ventured across to the food, picking up a few purple-bloomed grapes. However, before she had even tasted them, she broke down in tears. Overwhelmed by her loneliness and fear of the unknown, the beautiful black girl wept, thinking of the only family she knew, the Rizzoli Troupe, and the two friends she held dearest of all: Ben and Ned.

At the Inn of the Grey Swan, Annalisa was busy peeling and chopping vegetables for a lamb stew. She sat at the kitchen table, wiping her eyes as she peeled the outer layer from a second Spanish onion. The cat, Pandora, prowled around her feet, meowing for attention. The old lady spoke distractedly to her pet. “What? You don’t like raw vegetables? What is it that you want?”

Pandora hopped up onto the table, still meowing.

Annalisa pointed her knife at Pandora. “Now listen, madame, I don’t have time for all this yowling and mewing. Go on, be off with you!”

The cat leaped back down to the floor, trotted as far as the small scullery and continued its noise.

The old lady rose from the table impatiently. “In there, do you want to go in there?” She opened the door, still speaking to Pandora. “Is it a mouse? Show me, is there a mouse in there?”

The big Persian bounded up onto the window, which had been unlatched and was lying wide open.

Annalisa went to the window and shooed the cat off the sill. She shut the window and latched it. “I never left that open—ah, the boy and the dog!”

Pandora meowed even louder, setting her claws in the hem of the old lady’s skirt.

Annalisa nodded. “So that’s it, they’ve both gone out. After Janos Cabar telling them not to. Oh, wait until she hears about this, eh, Pandora!”

The cat arched its back, almost smugly. “Meoooowww!”

With an old turnip sack split and worn over his head and shoulders, Ben squatted behind a stack of sawn planking with Ned. They had been at the quayside for over an hour, watching the
Sea Djinn
being moored and a ramp being set up amidships.

Ned shook rainwater from his head, then stopped suddenly. “Look, mate, here comes the Rizzolis’ cart!”

The boy nodded. “They’ve got it well-guarded, too. Poor Poppea, she looks a bit shaky, don’t you think?”

Ned saw the mare being backed into the shafts. “Aye, after all that time on the rolling main, she’s probably trying to sort out her sea legs from her land legs. I hope the troupe are alright.”

Ben ducked his head below the timber stack. “I just caught sight of Al Misurata at the stern cabin window. He was eating something, an apple or a pear. I wonder why he never went with the cart?”

Ned chanced a peek around the edge of the stack. “Aye, and that scar-faced rascal, too, wotsisname. I’ve just seen him going into his cabin. Hmm, one or the other should’ve accompanied the cart.”

Ben licked rainwater from his upper lip. “Good job there’s two of us. Listen, you follow the cart to see where they’re taking it. I’ll stop here. If Misurata or the Scar-face come ashore, I’ll trail them to see what they’re planning. We’ll meet up back at the Grey Swan. Be careful, Ned, don’t let them catch sight of you!”

The Labrador shook himself resoundingly, wetting Ben further. “Hmph, careful yourself, my lad!” He slunk off, dodging between the cases and bales which were piled along the quayside.

A moment later, Ben saw Al Misurata leave the cabin and lock it. He moved further along the wood stack until he found a small gap in the planking. From there he could view the ship without taking the risk of being seen by anyone aboard.

The drizzle continued into the sombre afternoon. Ben rubbed his legs to keep them from cramping up. Then he saw Ghigno emerge on deck. The Corsair was dressed finely, carrying a scimitar at his side. He strode aft, sheltering beneath the stairs. Al Misurata appeared from his cabin, sporting his fine Toledo blade, with a red linen cloak covering his expensive outfit. The two men chatted a moment, then the pirate went to a cabin door and unlocked it. He tapped upon the door, calling out something which Ben could not hear. Two of the Arab steeds, which the
Sea Djinn
had been carrying as cargo, where led down the ramp by guards. Ben noted that both horses were saddled, then looked back to the ship.

Serafina came out of the cabin and took the hand which Al Misurata was offering. Ben’s heart was racing. He crouched there, staring at his friend—she had never looked so beautiful. The boy bit his hand to stop himself jumping up and calling out her name. Serafina! Serafina! She was here!

Clad in a gown of cream-hued silk topped by a soft, blue woollen cloak and hood, she walked slowly down the ramp like a saint descending from heaven. Hot tears ran down Ben’s cheeks, but they were tears of joy from seeing his Serafina once more. The guards held the horses; as Al Misurata mounted one, he leaned down and swung the girl up in front of him, sidesaddle. Ghigno got up on the other steed and they galloped off.

Ben dashed out from behind the timber stack, never once taking his eyes from the graceful form of the girl. He tripped and fell flat on his face in the rainy mud. Scrambling upright, he rushed in the wake of the horses, ignoring a cut on his leg. They cornered at the junction of two streets, momentarily lost to sight. Tearing around the corner, Ben ran smack into the cart of a salt vendor. With the wind knocked out of him, he rose, staggering, in pursuit of the horses, which he had lost sight of. He was forced to halt at the next corner. Standing ankle deep in a puddle, the boy looked wildly about. But they were gone.