Voyage of Slaves Read online

  Drawing back the heavy throwing knife, he raised his elbow to shoulder level. Holding the blade’s blunt back edge firmly with his whole hand, he felt the perfect balance between arm and knife. The assassin judged the distance, centering on the nape of the sleeping boy’s neck and tensing himself for the throw.

  Clad only in his nightshirt, Mummo padded out onto the deck barefoot. He leaned back against the midship rail, breathing deeply to rid himself of the nausea he was feeling. The clown avoided looking at the sea—it shifted too much. He glanced about the deck, and could not help seeing the man. Like a huge spider he was creeping up the forecastle steps, obviously up to no good. Reaching the fo’c’sle deck, he drew a long dagger and began hefting it.

  As a performer, Mummo had seen knife throwers before. Ben was up there, probably asleep. The clown’s brain was racing. What to do? He could not reach the man in time to halt his throw. Then he saw the belaying pins. There were several of them slotted through holes around the foremost of the midship masts. Mummo sprang forward and grasped one. It was a polished length of teak, about the same size and weight as the Indian clubs which he and his brother used in their act. He tossed it in his hand; it was a good weight, and had the right taper to it.

  The man still had his back to Mummo, unaware that he was being watched. Now his arm came back, he was making the throw. All feelings of seasickness had deserted Mummo. Twirling the belaying pin in one hand he uttered a low whistle and hurled the pin forcefully at the assassin. Abrit turned at the sound of Mummo’s whistle.

  Thwock!

  The teak belaying pin struck him squarely between both eyes. He fell sideways down the steps to the midship deck, where he lay still, his head twisted at a grotesque angle, his hand still clenching the knifeblade.

  Roused by the noise, Ben and Ned ran to the top of the steps. Mummo was standing below, looking up at them and holding a finger to his lips for silence. Boy, dog and clown all stood stock-still for several seconds, expecting crewmen to come running. However, the incident had passed unnoticed, nobody aboard had stirred.

  Ben and Ned descended the steps slowly and quietly. They found Mummo kneeling by the fallen Abrit. Tears were streaming down the face of the clown as he explained brokenly, “Holy Mother, have mercy on me, I have killed a man! I didn’t mean to, I only wanted to stop him throwing the knife at you, Benno. Lord forgive me, I have ended the life of a man, I’ve killed him!”

  Ben touched the big throwing knife with his foot; it fell from the assassin’s hand. He picked it up and threw it overboard. “But you saved my life, friend.”

  Mummo stared at the body blankly. “Look, he’s dead, and I ended his life. I’ve never killed anything before, not even a rabbit or a fish!”

  Ben latched his arm around the clown’s quaking shoulders and drew him upright, explaining gently to him, “Hush now, this is no time for sorrow or guilt. That man was going to murder me, but you did a brave thing, you saved my life. Would you rather that I was lying dead with that knife in me, or that he is lying here, dead by accident?”

  Ned interjected a thought. “Tell him he saved my life, too, that villain has another knife, see. I bet that was meant for me. Good old Mummo, well done, sir, that’s what I say!”

  The clown straightened his shoulders, drawing a sleeve quickly across his eyes and nose. “Sì! You are right, my friend, this fellow was a murderer. If I hadn’t stopped him you’d be dead now.”

  Ben patted Mummo’s back. “Right! Now let’s get rid of him before anybody comes. You take the feet, and I’ll get his arms. Luckily he wasn’t as big as Bomba.”

  Between them they lugged Abrit up to the rail and slid him over. He made only a slight splash.

  Ned sent out a quick, urgent message. “Look out, someone’s coming!”

  Ben picked up the belaying pin. Winking at Mummo, he spoke aloud. “See, I told you this isn’t the same as your Indian clubs!”

  The clown glanced over Ben’s shoulder at the approaching steersman, who was yawning and rubbing his eyes. He had obviously been napping on duty. Mummo returned Ben’s wink.

  “Look, these things are the same as my clubs, pass me two more and I’ll show you how to juggle with them!”

  The steersman pushed Mummo aside and snatched the belaying pin from Ben. He scowled at them sourly. “That’s a piece of ship’s equipment, not a toy. Get out of my sight, both of you, and take that flea-bitten cur, too. Huh, playing games in the middle of the night like two idiot children. Got no beds to go to, eh?”

  Mumbling excuses they climbed the steps, up to the fo’c’sle deck. Mummo sat on the blankets with Ben and Ned. He was still shaking with shock, but manfully trying to bring himself under control. He patted Ned and smiled nervously at Ben.

  “Do you think the steersman noticed anything, Benno?”

  The boy gripped the clown’s hand firmly, giving him reassurance. “No, no, if he’d seen us tossing the killer overboard he’d have raised the alarm straightaway. Put it all out of your mind, just remember that you were very brave back there.”

  Mummo nodded gratefully. “Thank you, my friend, you are both good fellows, you and Neddo. I’ll stay up here with you tonight, we’ll take turns to guard each other.”

  Ben agreed willingly. “Good idea. I’ll take the first hour.”

  The clown stretched out next to Ned. “I wonder why he wanted to kill you, Benno?”

  The boy shrugged. “That man had no reason, he was a complete stranger to me. But I think that somebody paid him to do the deed—pity we didn’t have time to search his pockets.”

  Mummo closed his eyes and lay back. “That makes sense. Still, I’d like to know who it was.”

  Ben scratched his head. “Aye, so would I!” he lied.

  Ned opened one eye as he transmitted a thought. “Huh, I’ll bet my tail that his name began with a B!”

  13

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING BEN SAW Bomba come up on deck. He watched surprise regster on the slave driver’s face as he saw his intended victim still alive. The big man looked for a moment as if he was going to kill Ben on the spot, personally. Bomba turned, going back into the stern accommodation.

  Gradually the ship came alive, with crewmen going about their duties. The troupe joined Ben and Ned on the fo’c’sle deck. Otto began his daily exercise routine, remarking to Mummo, “So, you are no longer sick, Herr Mummo?”

  The clown feigned astonishment. “What gave you the idea I was sick, Otto? I only came out on deck to escape the odour of your fiendish moustache lotion.”

  Signore Rizzoli raised an eyebrow. “Have you breakfasted yet?”

  Ben came to Mummo’s defence. “No, he hasn’t, but he’s ready for it, just like me and Ned, aren’t you, Mummo? Come on, let’s see what the cook is serving in the galley. The rest of you stay put, we’ll get breakfast for you today.”

  Ned stayed with the troupe, placing his chin in Serafina’s lap as Ben and Mummo hastened off.

  “Aye, there’s a good pair of fellows, go and fetch us beautiful ones some food. Step lively now, we’re hungry!”

  Ben’s parting reply flashed through his mind. “Beautiful ones indeed, you great lolloping hound!”

  The dog was about to reply when Serafina patted him.

  “Come on, Ned, let’s go and pay Poppea a visit!”

  A fragrant aroma of roasting meat and spices emanated from the galley. Mummo joined the line of men in the alleyway waiting to be served. Ben chose to stay outside. He went to a canvas spread upon a hatch cover, where a steward was serving drinks and fruit. The boy selected a few oranges, a large melon and a pitcher of sherbet. Intentionally, Ben positioned himself behind Bomba and Ghigno, eavesdropping on their conversation. The Corsair was being rather curt with the slave driver.

  “Why were you questioning my steersman about Abrit, eh?”

  Bomba tried to keep his reply casual. “Oh, no reason, it’s just that I haven’t seen him around this morning.”

  Ghigno was not satisfied wit
h this answer. “Abrit isn’t your servant. The crew of this ship are under my command, not yours. So, what did you want with him?”

  Bomba blustered under the scar-faced one’s interrogation. “Er, er, Abrit owed me some money.”

  Ghigno treated him to a withering look. “What money, how much, tell me.”

  The big man looked at the sky, as though he were trying to recall the sum. “Er, it was three gold pieces, I think.”

  Ghigno obviously enjoyed goading Bomba, he continued sneeringly. “Three gold pieces you think? Hah, when was the last time you owned three gold pieces—in fact, when did you ever loan anything to anyone, son of a motherless thief? Go on about your business and leave my crew alone, or I’ll lend you half the blade of my sword in your fat gut, you spawn of a camel tick!”

  Catching Ben’s smothered guffaw, Ghigno turned on him. “Have you nothing better to do than spy on men talking? Get out of my sight, infidel brother of a black dog!”

  Ben joined Serafina and Ned on the forepeak, sitting out above the bow wave. The food was good, spiced roast lamb with rice and fruit. He watched the beautiful black girl as she ate and chatted.

  “They don’t let you roam about this ship as you like. Do you know, we were hemmed in, Ned and I, by four guards when we went to see Poppea. They wouldn’t answer any questions or let us put a step out of place. It’s as if they’re hiding something from us.”

  Ben did not want to upset the girl by talking about Al Misurata’s business. He tossed melon rind into the sea. “So, how is Poppea? Well, I hope?”

  Serafina showed her flawless white teeth smilingly. “Oh, she’s living the life of a queen, with lovely food, and four fine Arab horses for company!”

  Ben ignored Ned’s paw, which was prodding his back. “That’s good, I’m glad she’s happy.”

  Now the black Labrador’s message entered his mind, accompanied by more paw prods. “Ship ahoy, mate, off the starboard bow, headed this way!”

  Ben grasped a line and stood up on the bowsprit, his blue-grey eyes watching the approaching vessel as he exchanged thoughts with Ned. “She’s a big ship, flying the Spanish flag, I think.”

  The Labrador jumped up beside him. “Dog’s eyes are the best, let me take a look. Hah, I see officers standing on the bridge, and those sailors in the rigging, they’re dressed in uniform issue. Y’know, if I’m right, that’s a naval craft. What d’you think, mate?”

  Ben felt hope surging through him. “Marvellous, Ned! It looks like she’s going to lay alongside of us. At last! If I can get to the captain, or an officer, I’ll expose Al Misurata as a slaver. This could be the saving of us and the troupe. Come on, let’s go down to the midship deck!”

  He turned to Serafina. “Excuse me, I have to attend to something!”

  The pair hurried off, leaving behind them a slightly perplexed girl.

  The Santa Veronica del Mar halted three shiplengths from the Sea Djinn. Like most Spanish men-o’-war, she was impressively large, bristling with cannon and ornate superstructure. Al Misurata appeared on the afterdeck, richly clad in flowing blue and emerald silks. Ben was surprised that the pirate showed no apprehension at being accosted by the Spanish navy. He gave no orders to run or fight. Highly unusual for one who plied his trade. Ned had his nose through the rails, watching the approaching ship.

  “Look, they’re lowering a boat, Ben, there’s the captain and two officers getting into it. What’s your plan, mate?”

  The boy thrust out his jaw resolutely. “The first chance I get, I’m going to have a word with the captain, or one of those officers. Wait’ll I tell them about what Misurata’s up to, that should set the cat among the pigeons!”

  The black Labrador wagged his tail furiously. “Hoho, I’ll wager it will. I can’t wait to see old Al Miserable, and Bomba, and that scar-faced rogue, led off in chains to a slaver’s reward. I hope the authorities have a nice, damp, gloomy cell waiting for ’em!”

  The jollyboat hove alongside, allowing the visitors to be assisted aboard the Sea Djinn. The captain stepped aboard, flanked by his aides.

  Ben dashed forward, calling out urgently in Spanish, “Capitano, I must speak with you, señor!”

  The captain, a tall, slender, grey-haired man with an elegant bearing, stared down his aquiline nose at the strange tow-haired boy, then swept past on his way to the stern deck. Ben tried to follow, but he was tripped from behind by Ghigno. Ned leaped forward. He was in midair when a cruel kick from Bomba sent him through the rails, splashing into the sea.

  Laughing, the Spanish sailors pulled the dog into the jollyboat. A burly bosun lifted Ned, heaving him back aboard the Sea Djinn.

  “Not a good place to jump ship, you silly old seadog, out here days from land!”

  Ben lay on the deck, clutching the soaking dog to him. The opportunity had been lost. He felt foolish, surrounded by Bomba, Ghigno and several crewmen. Serafina pushed her way through to Ben. One of the crewmen tried to stop her, but she evaded him.

  Ghigno warned her, “Get back to the fo’c’sle deck, girl!”

  She ignored him and helped Ben up, whispering to him, “Ben, what’s the matter, are you hurt?”

  He rubbed his shin, where it had struck the coaming. “You shouldn’t be here, get back to the troupe right now. Leave me alone, I can handle this. Now go!”

  Stunned by his sharp rebuke, Serafina hurried off.

  Al Misurata bowed to his visitor. “Capitano Mira, a pleasure to meet you again. Allow me to offer you some refreshment in my cabin.”

  Removing his high-sided hat and stowing it beneath one arm, the captain signalled his two officers to stop on deck. “Thank you kindly, señor, please lead on!”

  Ned shook himself vigorously as he watched the two men go into the cabin. “Hah, there’s something odd going on here, they know each other well. Maybe you’d have been better off holding your tongue, mate?”

  Ben’s clouded eyes watched the cabin door close. “Maybe so, Ned, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  It was not a long visit. Shortly thereafter, Al Misurata and Captain Mira emerged from the cabin. The Spaniard wiped his lips delicately with a lace kerchief, which he stowed into his brocaded sleeve. Still with his hat under one arm, he bowed briefly. “A delightful meeting, Señor Misurata, but alas I have duties at Cadiz which cannot be delayed further. Adios, my friend, and may success attend your voyage.”

  Al Misurata touched fingertips to his heart, lips and forehead, bowing in a dignified manner. “You grace my humble vessel with your presence, Capitano. My apologies for the boy, he is troubled in the brain. Good-bye, and may fair winds be ever at your back.”

  The two officers fell in behind their captain as he descended to the jollyboat amidships.

  Bomba placed himself in front of Ben, blocking access to the Spaniard, but the captain gestured him aside. He spoke patronisingly to the boy, patting his cheek gently.

  “You speak Spanish very well, for one who is weak in the head!”

  Ben’s heart sank as he saw the chamois bag and heard the gold clink. It was in the man’s hat; the captain bent his head swiftly and donned it. Without another word, he stepped into the boat.

  Ned gave himself a final shake, he was disgusted. “A bribe, eh, payment in gold for his silence. I thought so. That captain is as bad as Al Miserable!”

  Al Misurata leaned over the stern gallery. He caught Ben’s eye and shrugged mockingly. “Well, who did you expect him to listen to—the Lord of Misurata, or a feeble-minded infidel brat?”

  When Ben made his way back to his friends on the fo’c’sle deck, he found his woes were increased. Serafina brushed past him and went to sit in her cabin. Formerly she had been very friendly and close to him. However, he guessed by her expression that she did not want to talk to him. He looked around at the others, but they averted their eyes. All except La Lindi, who gave forth a deep, bubbling laugh, and came over to sit by him.

  “So, what have you done to upset our Serafina, eh?”
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br />   Ben stared at her blankly. “Me, upset Serafina, why should I do such a thing?”

  La Lindi shrugged. “I don’t know, boy, but if you haven’t upset her, why is she avoiding you, and walking round with a face that would bring bad weather?”

  Mamma Rizzoli looked up from darning a shirt. “You must have said something hurtful to her.”

  Ben spread his arms appealingly. “I’d never do that!”

  Augusto Rizzoli smiled at Ben’s wobegone face. “Poor Benno, you have much to learn about the ladies.” Tuning the heads on his mandolin, he began singing.

  “O who knows the mind of a lady, alas I am nought but a man, and a lady’s a beautiful puzzle, so please tell me now if you can, why when she says never it’s maybe, though often her yes is a no, and her no is a yes, which could be more or less, so how’s a poor fellow to know? Yes, who knows the mind of a woman, just give me a lifetime or so, and I’ll find out why her lips say come, when her eyes are telling me go. She’s the only one who can explain it, I care not what any man thinks, but if you wish to know, then you’ll just have to go off to Egypt to question the Sphinx!”

  Ben sighed ruefully. “Well, if I’ve got a lot to learn about ladies, that song wasn’t much help, signore.”

  Always the clown, Buffo put on a tragic face, staggering about with one hand clasped to his heart, and the other held out trembling, as he sobbed in mock grief. “My mind will not rest! My lips will not let food pass them! Cast a single white rose upon my grave! I die for love! Ah, the sweet agony of it all, my friends, addio!”23 He collapsed in a heap upon a coil of rope, but sprang up smartly when Mamma jabbed his bottom with her darning needle. She levelled a stern finger at her husband and the clown.