Voyage of Slaves Page 18

  Though Ben felt sorry for it, he knew there were far more important things to occupy him. “It’s the oddest little dog I’ve ever seen, eh, Ned? Go on, mate, back to town with you, we can’t take you with us, I’m sorry.”

  The pup took no notice of the boy, and frisked around Ned, snapping at his tail.

  Ben sent his companion a thought. “Tell it to go away, please.”

  Ned returned the thought. “What d’you think I’m doing? I can’t get any sense out of the rascal. Listen to him yapping, d’you know what that bark means?”

  “I don’t even know what it means when you start barking. I never learned dog language. What’s he saying?” Ben replied.

  Ned whisked his tail away from the little dog’s teeth. Amico, that’s what he’s saying—friend. I don’t suppose the good Brother wants a dog?”

  As if preempting Ben’s enquiry, Fra Salvatore shook his head pityingly. “I can’t take him, that cruel fellow will claim him as soon as he gets back to the town.”

  They were getting close to the ship now. Ben urged Ned, “Listen, mate, you’ll have to have a serious word with that pup. Tell him we’re sorry, but he can’t come with us.”

  Ned sat down on the path, pinning the puppy with a paw and holding him still as he informed Ben, “It’s no good, this wretch’ll soon have my lovely tail chewed to the bone. I’ve tried to reason with him, but all I get from the villain is that one word. Amico!”

  Kostas Krimboti was a jolly giant of a man. He welcomed them aboard with a smile which beamed out like the midday sun. His teeth were all pure gold. Ned pointed this out to Ben.

  “Good grief, what a set of choppers! They’re not very well-made, though, you can see they were once gold coins. Look, there’s heads, writing and shields on some of them. He must have carved them himself. I like him, though, what d’you think, mate?”

  Ben sized Kostas up as the Greek captain and the monk spoke together about taking them as passengers. Kostas Krimboti was a formidable-looking fellow. He was dressed in fisherman’s garb—open shirt, baggy, knee-length pantaloons and a broad green sash into which many lethal pointed and curved knives were thrust. His huge head of curly red hair was complemented by a pair of thick, gold, hoop earrings. He laughed constantly as he conversed with the old monk, finally hugging him and declaring aloud, “For my sins, which are many, I will do what you ask, my friend! My father was a very holy man, it will rest his memory to know that his bandit of a son is doing some good in this miserable world, eh!”

  Still laughing uproariously, he tweaked Ben’s cheek. “Welcome aboard the Blue Turtle, Beniamino, and your wonderful Ned, whom Fra Salvatore has told me about.”

  He swept the puppy up in one big, calloused hand, and kissed it resoundingly on the nose. “Hohohoho! I have many rats for you to catch aboard this ship, bambino. So, what is your name, eh? Are you a son of the noble Ned?”

  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.

  “O take me away from the land, ye four winds that blow mightily, to the isles I’ve seen only in dreams, far away o’er the deep rolling sea.

  O ship. Carry me!

  “Where waves like tall mountains abound, with dolphin and many blue whale, while gales through the rigging do sing, wild songs to a vessel in sail.

  O ship. Carry me!

  “For my hand finds no rest on a plough, and my heart knows no joy on the shore, like the seabirds which soar in my wake, I will follow the sea evermore.

  O ship. Carry me!”

  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?”

  22

  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!”

  He took the wheel, roaring out orders. “Kristos, Babiko, put on every stitch of sail, quick now! Fotis, Herakles, haul in those fenders. We’re bound for Kérkira with a good breeze behind us. Hohohoho!”

  Ben and Ned helped the sailors to pull the heavy rope fenders aboard. Ned passed his master a thought. “Does that Kostas never do anything except laugh? Here we’re in dea
dly peril, and he’s guffawing again!”

  Digging both hands into the saturated fenders, Ben hauled swiftly. “I’d sooner have him laughing than crying, mate, he can’t help being a happy type.”

  The black Labrador growled. “Talking about happy types, there’s one hauling on my tail instead of the fender. What d’you think, would it lighten our load if we slung him overboard?”

  The boy cast a reproving glance at his dog. “Really, Ned, were you never young once?”

  Ned sighed resignedly. “Aye, almost a hundred years ago!”

  As evening approached, the lookout had good news to shout down to his captain. “No sight of the red sails, I think we’ve lost her!”

  Kostas played the wheel skillfully to and fro. “Keep tacking like this and we may sight Kérkira by tomorrow night. Let’s hope Al Misurata thinks we’ve kept to the Italian mainland side, up Brindisi and Bari!”

  A thought from Ned reached Ben. “Huh, I’d steer clear of either coast with the weather we’re due to have. We’d be smashed on the rocks!”

  The boy answered his dog urgently. “What weather? Speak out if you know something we don’t!”

  Ned pointed with his muzzle. “Sorry, mate, I’d forgotten that humans don’t have the same senses as dogs. For awhile I’ve felt it brewing out there to the southeast. I know it’s going dark, but look at the cloud building up over there. I’ve heard thunder, too, bit of a distance away, but you’ll be hearing it before too long.”

  The boy patted his dog’s head. “Well spotted, mate, I’d best go and inform our cap’n.”

  Kostas Krimboti continued to steer the vessel as he listened to Ben’s report.