Voyage of Slaves Page 11

  “Shame on you both for tormenting the boy, were you never young yourselves?”

  For the rest of that day Ben sat alone in the bows, moping, whilst Serafina kept to her cabin. At one point, just before evening, he looked about, noticing that he had not seen Ned for hours.

  Towards sunset, Otto came ambling along. He placed a hefty hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Come and eat, my friend. Everything will turn out for the best, you’ll see. It is not good for one so young to sit brooding over a maiden’s frown.”

  Ben stared out at the last fiery remnants of the sun sinking below the horizon. “I’m alright, Otto, you go along. I may join you later.” The desire for food had left Ben. Wrapping himself in a blanket, he lay down and slept.

  Sometime during the night a cold, wet nose nuzzling his cheek aroused Ben. It was Ned. The boy sat up. “Oh, you’re back, thanks for your support and company to me, mate. Where’ve you been all day?”

  The black Labrador gave him what passed for a lolloping grin. “Oh, just round and about, y’know, gathering information that could help you. Hah, you’d be surprised at what I’ve heard. I’m a pretty good listener!”

  Ben yawned. “Go on then, surprise me.”

  Ned recounted his exploits. “Well, after you fell asleep, Serafina came out for supper. I sat with her on the fo’c’sle steps, just the two of us. After awhile she began talking to me, sort of telling me her troubles. Do you know why she was angry with you?”

  Ben replied eagerly. “No, tell me!”

  The dog explained. “After Ghigno tripped you this morning, she ran to help you, but you spoke sharply to her. I saw it myself, Ben, you were very short with the girl, though she was only trying to help you.”

  The boy shrugged. “Huh, was that all? I was trying to get her out of harm’s way. Men like Ghigno and Bomba don’t care who they kick out at, it wasn’t safe for her to be there.”

  Ned shook his head. “But you never apologised later, that was what really hurt Serafina. She’s never shouted at you. As far as I can see that girl has always tried to be your friend. She never expected you to act like that toward her.”

  Ben had been reliving the scene in his mind. Now the truth of it dawned on him. He ruffled Ned’s ears warmly. “My good old mate! Thanks for telling me, I’ll make it up to her first thing tomorrow.”

  The dog allowed himself to be patted before he continued. “Ah, but that isn’t all. I heard another conversation this afternoon, while you were sitting up here wanting to be alone. It was between Ghigno and Bomba.”

  Ben felt suddenly apprehensive. “Go on, what did they say?”

  The dog paused. “The news isn’t good, mate. I was lying in the shade under the steps when those two blackguards came along. They leaned on the midship rails, talking together. So I listened in—they never even noticed me. Ghigno was saying that you were a danger to them, because you knew too much. He said, if that captain today had been a stranger, and listened to you, then they would all have their necks in a noose. Bomba agreed with him, but said that Al Misurata said you weren’t to be harmed. The scar-faced one wasn’t too pleased at that. He said that Misurata was putting them at risk through his greed for gold. Bomba’s head was bobbing up and down like a pigeon pecking corn. He felt that you would get to someone who would take notice of your accusations, and what then? After all, it was a long journey to where they were bound, and who could stand guard over an infidel boy who was so clever and devious?”

  Ben took hold of Ned’s paw. “So what did they decide?”

  The dog’s answer came as no surprise to him. “By tomorrow night we should make Valleta harbour at Malta. Now I don’t know the exact details, but that’s where we’re both going to be murdered and tossed into the sea. The sharks should take care of our bodies. All Ghigno has to do is to tell Al Misurata that we’ve escaped and gone ashore.”

  Ben looked grim. “Aye, that would work for them. Al Misurata could only stop for so long to have the island searched, then he’d have to leave. Very crafty, mate, nobody would ever be sure what really happened to us.”

  Ned placed his head in Ben’s lap. “Poor old us, served up as shark stew just for being too knowledgeable. So, when do we jump ship?”

  Ben answered promptly. “First chance we get as soon as we sight land. We’ll have to take our chances quickly.”

  The dog raised his eyebrows. “Without a word to anyone, I suppose. It won’t do your romance much good, mate, going off without so much as a fond farewell to that lovely girl.”

  Ben nodded. “She’ll understand in time, I hope.”

  Next morning, Ben was up as dawn spread over the Mediterranean Sea. He saw Otto come out on deck and start his exercise routine. Then Serafina emerged from her cabin, calling to the strongman.

  “When you’ve finished we’ll go and get breakfast for the troupe.”

  Ben hastened to her side. “Leave Otto to his training. We’ll go and fetch the food, you and I.”

  Ned sent the boy a thought. “That’s the stuff, I’ll stop here with Otto and allow you to make up.”

  They descended the steps in an awkward silence, then Ben turned and found his tongue running away with him.

  “Serafina, about yesterday, I’m sorry I spoke sharply to you but I wanted to get you away, to save you being hurt by Bomba and Ghigno. I didn’t mind being knocked about a bit but I couldn’t bear the thought of anybody trying to hurt you. But I had no time to explain gently, so I spoke harshly and I didn’t get a chance to apologise later, you looked so cold and distant, you went into the cabin, and I couldn’t follow you inside . . . and . . . and . . . I’m sorry!”

  The girl covered her mouth, stifling the laughter that was bubbling out. Ben stared at her, nonplussed.

  “What?”

  “Oh, haha . . . oh, I’m sorry . . . Hahaha! Poor Ben, standing there gabbling away with your cheeks as red as tomatoes. How could I not forgive you, my friend? But can you forgive me? Flouncing off with my lip pouting, when all you were trying to do was to protect me. It was a silly thing for me to do.”

  Ben looked at the deck. “You could never do anything silly, Serafina. Are we still friends?”

  She took his hand and squeezed it lightly. “Of course. Come on, let’s get some breakfast for the starving players.”

  They walked hand in hand to the galley, though Ben could not feel the deck beneath his feet, and his heart was singing.

  They set all the food on a piece of planking and carried it between them. Before they reached the steps Ghigno stepped out, barring the way. The awful scar made his face crease into a sardonic sneer as he stepped aside and did a flourishing bow.

  “Good morning to you, pretty miss, and you, young sir!”

  They passed by him in silence. At the top of the steps, Serafina turned to see Ghigno enter the galley.

  “I wonder what made him do that?”

  Ben shook his head. “Probably the sight of us made him feel unusually happy, what d’you think?”

  Serafina reflected. “Hmm, perhaps it did, though I couldn’t imagine the sight of him would make anybody unusually happy, not even his mother!”

  Simultaneously the two young people took a fit of laughing.

  Ned bounded around them, wagging his tail as he contacted Ben. “Well, thank goodness you two are happy again. Hurry up with that breakfast, please, there’s a poor, starving dog aboard.”

  The infectious laughter had Buffo up cavorting about the deck. A wide grin split the clown’s face as he danced around Ben and Serafina, strewing petals from an imaginary basket of flowers.

  “The young lovers are joyfully reunited once again! I hear harps and violins, birds twittering and fish leaping gaily from the sea! No longer is my heart broken!” He tripped, and would have tumbled over the for’ard rail.

  Luckily, Otto was nearby and hauled him back by the seat of his trousers. “Ach, your silly neck will be broken if you prance about like that much more. Sit still now, Herr Buffo!”

 
; After breakfast Serafina went off to visit Poppea, whilst Ben and Ned sat on the fo’c’sle steps, discussing their escape. Ben watched Ghigno, Bomba and three crewmen, who were obviously meant to feature in their murderous plans.

  “They’re watching our every move, Ned, it’s going to be hard for us to slip away unnoticed.”

  The black Labrador began grooming himself. “We’ll just have to distract their attention when the time comes. Surely we can think of something.”

  Ben kept the men under observation as he replied. “That’s a good idea, mate, create a diversion. But how?”

  The dog raised a paw to scratch the back of his ear. “Patience, m’boy, let me think!”

  Scarcely an hour later, a lookout with a spyglass cried out from the main topmast, “Land ahoy off the starboard peak!”

  The two friends went up into the prow. Ben shaded his eyes, peering ahead at the grey smudge on the horizon. He felt the Sea Djinn shift as the steersman took her bow on to the island of Malta.

  “If we want to stay alive we’d better think of something fast, Ned!”

  BOOK TWO

  A DANGEROUS FREEDOM

  14

  NINETY-THREE KILOMETRES SOUTH OF SICILY. THE ISLAND OF MALTA.

  A STIFF BREEZE WAFTED THE SEA Djinn into maltese waters late that evening. The darkened waves, slightly choppy, reflected waterfront tavern lights. Other ships showed stern and bow lights as they lay at anchor or stood moored to the quay in the harbour of Valletta. As sometimes happens, the night temperature had dropped, leaving the air rather chilled. The Rizzoli Troupe stopped in their cabins, but Ben and Ned stayed up on the fo’c’sle deck. Serafina brought them extra blankets. No sooner had she delivered them and gone back inside, than the boy and his dog went into action. Ben knew they were being watched by their enemies, so he took extra care whilst rigging the diversion which he and Ned had planned.

  Standing with his back against the foremast, Ben felt behind his back until he touched the stout length of hempen rope which ran up the rear of the mast to a pulley right at the top. There the rope was secured to the long mainspar of the huge sail billowing out over the vessel’s bow. The sail could be raised or lowered only by this line. Ben felt the curving iron cleats around which the remainder of it was wound. It would take fully seven or eight sailors to hoist or lower the big sail on this rope.

  Whilst Ned kept watch at the top of the fo’c’sle steps, Ben began sawing at the tough cord with a sharp knife, which his dog had taken from the galley. Making as little movement as possible, the boy tried to appear as if he was merely leaning against the mast, though behind his back he was pushing the blade back and forth across the thick rope. Ned sent him an enquiry.

  “How’s it going back there, mate, having any trouble?”

  Ben tried not to grimace as he exerted pressure on the blade. “The hard part is trying to keep my body still. But this rope’s as tight as a fiddle string, so it’s cutting through pretty well. Won’t be long now. When I cough, get ready to move.”

  Gripping the knife hard, Ben continued sawing away, feeling the bushy fibres brushing against his wrists as the rope began to part. On the other side of the mast the big red sail towered over the fo’c’sle deck, straining against the breeze, as taut as a drumskin. Ben heard the rope creak drily. This was what he had been waiting for! Stowing the knife in the back of his belt, he coughed aloud, moving away from the mast.

  Ned turned and barked defiantly at him, then bounded off down the steps. Ben ran to the top of the steps, calling angrily, “Stay, Ned, stay!”

  The black Labrador nipped at a passing sailor and ran down the lower deck barking. Ben came running down the steps after him, shouting commands.

  “I said stay! Stop right there, Ned! D’you hear me?”

  Gaining the steps to the stern deck, the dog raced up them and poked his head between the gallery rails, barking and snarling disobediently.

  Crewmen left off their tasks, laughing at the infidel boy as he yelled at his dog.

  “Come back here now! Bad dog, come here, Ned!”

  The breeze halted for an instant, then it renewed; the sail slacked momentarily, then bellied forward. Under the sudden pressure, the rope’s last strands parted, and the huge sail came toppling down. It came with such a flapping and rattling of rigging that it caught the attention of every man on deck. Cracking like a whiplash end, the severed rope flew upward. Jumping through the eye of the pulley block, it snaked out and down, following the confusion of sailcloth, spar and rigging. The entire thing crashed clumsily over the bowside and began sinking into the sea.

  The steersman quickly lashed the wheel steady and ran for’ard, roaring, “Foresail down! Foresail down! All hands to the fo’c’sle deck!”

  The Sea Djinn began yawing in an arc to port as crewmen leapt up the fo’c’sle steps to help rescue the big foresail. Ben and Ned crouched behind a capstan on the stern deck, watching the whole thing. They saw Ghigno and Al Misurata, both still holding glasses of wine, staggering out to stand not five paces from where they lay hidden. The pirate peered blearily toward the bows.

  “What’s going on up there?”

  Ghigno groaned. “Looks like the foresail has broken loose!”

  Al Misurata knocked the glass from the Corsair’s hand. “Well, don’t stand there, get up for’ard and see they fix it back right. And tell someone to drop the anchor, we don’t want that sail trapped under our bows. Hurry!” He watched Ghigno dash off, then shuddered as the keen breeze pierced his silken garments. Draining the goblet, he flung it into the sea and stormed back inside to the warmth of his cabin.

  Ned’s paw nudged Ben. “Time to abandon ship—let’s go swimming, mate!”

  They hit the water with a splash which went unnoticed in the confusion at the vessel’s other end. Ben felt himself plummeting downward into Stygian blackness with bubbles rushing by his ears. Then there was silence as he hung suspended, fathoms down in the sea’s cold, dark realms. Scenes of the Flying Dutchman, wallowing in the icy ocean off Tierra del Fuego, flashed through his mind. Screaming men, frostbitten faces, tattered rigging and groaning timbers stricken by mountainous waves. Vanderdecken lashed to the wheel as he shook clenched fists at the storm-bruised skies, damning his crew, cursing the ship and bellowing oaths at heaven, at the very Lord who had made him.

  Then Ned’s urgent call cut through it all. “Ben, where are you, mate? Ben!”

  Dragged back from his horrific memories, the boy struck upward for the surface, his legs and arms moving like pistons. He surfaced, gasping for air, to find himself facing the black Labrador, who was treading water alongside the rudder at the Sea Djinn’s stern. Grabbing on to a line hanging from some rope fenders, Ben allowed Ned to cling to his shoulders. They hung there, regaining breath and listening to the voices from on deck.

  “Ahmed, hook that rope. Have you got it? Ali, Razul, help him. Now all together. Pull!”

  It sounded like Ghigno giving the orders. Then they heard Bomba. “Look at the end of this rope—it’s been cut!”

  There was a brief silence, followed by Ghigno shouting. “Where’s that brat and his hound? Where are they?”

  This was followed by the sounds of running feet.

  Ben sent Ned a thought. “I never allowed for this, they’re searching for us. We’d better stay put under here, they’d spot us if we tried swimming out into the open.”

  Ned’s reply registered in his mind. “It’s cold here, but I’ll stick it out with you, mate. We’ll probably have to wait an hour or two, though.”

  Now they heard Bomba’s voice again. “They’re not in the cabins, I’ve searched!”

  Serafina’s plaintive call cut through Ben like a knife. “Ben, where are you? Ben! Ned! What have you done with them?”

  Ghigno’s irate snarl followed her plea. “Done? We haven’t done anything, girl. See this mess, this whole sail, that broken spar and all that tangled rigging my crew are trying to salvage from the water? Well, they did this,
I’m sure of it! I’ll skin them alive when I catch them! Go on, get back to your cabins, all of you!”

  Placing Serafina behind him, Otto faced the angry Corsair. “We will stay here on deck, to make sure nothing happens to the boy and his dog!”

  Ghigno sneered at the strongman. “You’ll do as I say, you big ox, unless you want to stop here and argue with musket balls. Guards!”

  Al Misurata’s men hurried for’ard, carrying their long rifles.

  Signore Rizzoli cautioned his troupe, “Do as he says, friends, we cannot argue with armed men!”

  Treading water beneath the stern, Ben and Ned heard the alleyway door slam as the guards locked the Rizzoli Troupe away.

  Al Misurata joined Bomba and Ghigno. Once he had apprised himself of the situation, he began issuing orders. “Drop anchor here, out in the bay. If they’re not aboard the ship, then they’re in the water. They won’t get far. Bomba, you see to salvaging the sail with the crew. Ghigno, spread my guards at the rails from stem to stern. We’ll fire some rockets out over the bay—give my men orders to shoot them on sight, the boy knows too much to be left alive now. Keep the others in their cabins, don’t allow them out. We’ll rig the foresail up tomorrow and sail into port. I’ll be in my cabin. Keep me informed.”

  Ned peered at Ben in the darkness. “Well, there’s no going back now, mate, we’ve really done it this time. Whoo! Look at that!”

  The boy backed water, pulling them both in close to the ship’s hull as the rockets were discharged. Incandescent plumes of white fire burst over the waters, illuminating everything briefly. Then they sputtered and fell hissing into the bay. More rockets went up.

  Two guards, leaning over the stern gallery, sighted their long musket barrels out, sweeping them back and forth. Ben heard one speaking.

  “Do you think there’ll be a reward for whoever hits them?”