Voyage of Slaves Page 19

  “I think we’re in for some heavy weather soon. I can tell by the way Ned keeps looking southeast and whining.”

  “Excuse me, young man, but when did you last hear me whine? I’m a barker, a growler, but a whiner, never!”

  Ben ignored his dog’s indignant complaint as he watched Kostas scanning the horizon on the port side.

  “By all the powers that be, boy, that Ned of yours is a truly wonderful creature. Look, there it goes again!”

  There was a dull, distant boom, followed by a faint flash of lightning. Kostas began taking the wheel around, sending his vessel head-on into the increasing breeze. “Hah, no wonder I had to tack to keep her on course. I should have known, Ben, the air was becoming warmer, being driven onward by the colder front. Well, boy, we’re in for real trouble this night, we’ll have to keep to the open sea and ride out the storm. My Blue Turtle is an old lady now, so pray to any saints you know that she’s not overwhelmed by the storm. Get your dogs below decks, it’s going to get pretty rough!”

  Kostas bellowed orders to his crew. “Take her down to half sail, look lively! Kristos, batten everything down! Herakles, run out some lines across the decks for hand holds! Nico, secure your galley! Babiko, lend a hand with this wheel!”

  Ben gave an involuntary smile as he saw Ned lift the puppy by its neck scruff. He read his dog’s thoughts.

  “Come on young ’un, you’ll be safer in the galley with the cook. Be still, you little worm, I’m not hurting you. Oh, another thing, I wish you’d learn a few more words. Amico, Amico! Is that all you can say?”

  Within half an hour of Ned’s warning, the evening calm of the Ionian Sea was transformed into a roaring thunder-storm. Suddenly the waves became an endless panorama of foam-torn hills and valleys. Cold rain in blinding sheets whipped the vessel from stem to stern as howling gale-force winds battered the weathered old craft. Blinded by the salt spume, Ben joined Kostas and Babiko as they battled to keep the ship bow on into the storm. It was like being on some mad fairground ride, tossed high on the towering wave crests, then falling, with frightening speed, into the deep troughs below.

  Memories of his time aboard the Flying Dutchman filled Ben’s thoughts. The accursed Captain Vanderdecken, yelling insults at the Lord as his vessel foundered in the meeting place of three mighty oceans, at the foot of the world, off Tierra del Fuego. Mutiny and murder, starvation and desolation, with one boy and his dog being swept overboard at the command of heaven’s angel.

  A splintering crash from up for’ard snapped Ben back into reality—he heard it clearly, even over the noise of the gale. Then Ned’s voice was in his brain. “Quick, mate, help, the galley’s been broached!”

  Scuffing spray from his eyes, the boy left the two at the wheel. Grabbing a handline, he pulled himself across the heaving midship deck, toward the shed-like structure which formed the galley. A heavy mast spar had snapped off and fallen onto the galley roof, caving it in. The rough-hewn door was jammed shut. Ben banged upon it, sending out an urgent message. “Ned, are you alright, mate? Answer me, Ned!”

  The Labrador’s answer came straight through to him. “The place is on fire, Nico’s been knocked out, I think his leg’s hurt. Hurry, this pup’s panicking, he’s jumping all over the place!”

  Ben replied as he dashed for the for’ard accommodation. “I’ll be with you quickly, stay away from the door!”

  A big axe was held to the bulkhead by a cord and a staple. Ben tugged it loose and lumbered back to the galley. He struck the door several hefty blows with the axe. It splintered and leaned crazily on one hinge. Kostas, who had delegated his turn at the wheel to Herakles, came staggering along to Ben’s assistance. Smoke was pouring out of the galley. The rain and spray blew in, causing a pall of hissing steam as it hit the big iron stove. The Greek captain pulled Ben to one side, shouting, “Here, boy, leave this to Krimboti!”

  Disregarding the splinters and burning wood, he grabbed the door with his bare hands and tore it off the remaining hinge with a powerful tug. Amico, with his coat aflame, came skrieking out. Hardly touching the deck, he flew through the rail into the sea. Before Ben could catch his breath, Ned followed, like a streak of black lightning, straight in after the puppy. Without thinking, Ben vaulted over the rail after the two dogs.

  Still with the noise of the storm ringing in his ears, Ben shot beneath the surface. Something brushed his face; his hand reached out and grabbed it as he clawed his way to the surface. It was the pup—for the first time he heard its tiny, shrill voice echoing through his head. “Amico! Amico!”

  “Be still, you pestilence! Ned, I’ve got him!”

  He saw the black Labrador pawing the stormswept waters alongside him. Ben and Ned held the little dog between them. Ben saw the side of the ship thundering toward him, he could not avoid it. Bump! It struck the boy’s forehead, stunning him.

  Then the ghostly Vanderdecken had him, the black-edged fingers of his skeletal hands latching into his victim’s hair as he laughed triumphantly. “Come with me, boy, sail into the seas of eternity. You and the dog were always part of my crew!”

  For a second, Ben felt himself losing his grip on reality. He called out, “Ned, save me!”

  Fiery needles of pain pierced the back of his hand, then Ned’s voice intruded into his consciousness. “Get off, you little savage, or I’ll chew your head off!”

  Spluttering seawater, racked almost double with coughing, Ben woke. He was on the deck of the Blue Turtle, with Kostas leaning over him, chuckling.

  “There, my friend, you’ll live. Hah, it’s amazing how a little dog’s bite can bring you round. That Amico, he has teeth like small needles, eh!”

  The puppy was flat on the deck, with both of Ned’s front paws holding him there. “Be still, you confounded cannibal. Huh, talk about biting the hand that saved you!”

  The gold teeth of Kostas shone in a flash of lightning. Kostas called to a crewman, “Yanni, get our friend out of the storm, into my cabin with Nico!”

  Ben, Ned and little Amico were bundled into the captain’s cabin, where the cook, Nico, lay fast asleep. He had his leg bandaged up in a splint, and an empty brandy bottle lay by his side.

  Ned licked the patient’s hand. “Good old Nico, hope he recovers speedily. He does the best pork crackling I’ve ever tasted, what d’you think, mate?”

  The puppy growled as he tugged at the cook’s bandaged leg. “Grrr, Amico, Amico!”

  Ned cast a despairing glance at Ben as he cuffed the pup away from Nico with a sweep of his paw. “Hmph, not very good at the art of conversation, is he?”

  Despite being buffeted about the cabin as it rolled about in the storm, Ben could not help smiling. “Good old Ned. Pass me some of that sheet, will you, mate?”

  The Labrador used his teeth to tear off some of the bedsheet, which had been used to bind Nico’s leg. “Sorry I can’t help you, Ben, but paws aren’t much good for bandaging up wounds. Besides, I’ve got this little nuisance to deal with. Gerroff my tail, Amico!”

  The puppy, none the worse for his scorched coat and dip in the sea, was worrying at Ned’s tail again. Ben bandaged his hand, laughing as Ned tangled Amico up tight in the remainderof the sheet. The boy winked at his dog. “You seem to be doing a fine job there!”

  After awhile Kostas popped in to see Ben and check on Nico. “How are you doing my friend, eh?”

  Ben nodded toward the sleeping cook, who every now and then let out a groan. “Better than him I think, Cap’n. Is the storm showing any signs of letting up out there?”

  Kostas shrugged. “I’ll give it until dawn, if it hasn’t stopped by then we’re sunk. Just look at that bulkhead.”

  The boy followed the captain’s finger. The bulkhead, which was the wall protecting the side of the vessel from the sea, was leaking. Dribbles of seawater were seeping their way through into the cabin. Ben shook his head. “Is it very serious?”

  Kostas scratched his mop of red curls. “Bad enough, boy. As I told you, she’s an
old lady, and past her best days now. It’s worse in some parts than in others. The stern chain locker is almost rotted through. I’ve got all hands bailing out to keep her afloat. We’ll last until dawn, but no longer.”

  Ben rose swiftly. “I’ll come and lend a hand, Cap’n!”

  Kostas pushed him back down. “No no, you’ve been through enough for a young fellow.”

  Ben pulled himself back up, declaring firmly, “Sorry to disobey orders, sir, but I’m going to help the bailing gang!”

  The Greek captain allowed Ben to pass, patting his back. “You’re a good boy, Ben. Ned can stay here and watch Nico. Oh, I see you’ve got the little Amico to lie still, eh?”

  Ben took responsibility for the bundle. “Aye, Cap’n, he kept leaping about, I had to do it.”

  The puppy attempted to rise, but fell back whimpering. Ned cast a stern eye at him. “Be still, rascal, or I’ll put splints on your legs, just like poor Nico. D’you want me to come, too, Ben?”

  The boy shook his head. “No, mate, you play nursemaid here.”

  23

  WITH THE ADVENT OF THE STORM, the Sea Djinn had put about, not venturing into open sea but taking refuge in the Gulf of Taranto, which forms the arch in the foot of the Italian mainland. Ghigno, an experienced seaman, ordered the anchor to be dropped where there were no reefs or hazards. This allowed the big ship to ride out the foul weather, partially shielded in the lee of the gulf.

  Al Misurata instructed Ghigno to head the vessel bow on to the open sea. Lookouts were placed to scan the waters in case the Blue Turtle was sighted. The pirate knew there was little chance of this during the heavy, windswept rain and high-running seas. However, he hoped that when the weather turned for the better, they might spot their quarry floundering somewhere out there.

  With such bad weather, even the Sea Djinn took a considerable pounding. In the cabin accommodation, the Rizzoli Troupe were a sorry sight. Only Otto and Signore Rizzoli somehow managed to avoid seasickness. Mama, La Lindi, Serafina and the two clowns were all pale and wan about the gills. They rocked back and forth with the constant heaving of the ship, with fumes from the oil lamps making the atmosphere warm and smoky.

  Augusto Rizzoli made his way from one to the other, constantly wringing out a dampened cloth as he bathed their faces, comforting his friends. “There there, be brave, this storm will soon pass and the sea will go calm again.”

  His wife lifted her head miserably. “You’ve been saying that for three hours now. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for just a whiff of fresh air!”

  La Lindi agreed with her. “Even if we get drenched by cold rain, it would be good to stand in the open air.”

  Otto lifted Serafina’s chin with a thick forefinger. “Is this what you want also, Mädchen?”

  The beautiful, dusky-skinned girl nodded. “Yes, please.”

  The big German strongman spoke softly. “Then you shall have it, all of you.”

  The cabin door was locked, but that did not seem to bother Otto. One thrust of his mighty shoulders burst the lock. He beckoned them to follow him.

  Finding a heaving line, he rigged it from the foot of the stern steps to the lower mid-deck rail. One by one they ventured out into the stormy night air, where they stood, faces up to the pouring rain, breathing gratefully. Otto kept his eyes on the backs of the lookouts, who were posted for’ard, thankful that the rest of the crew were in the mess below decks.

  Signore Rizzoli was watching in the other direction, when he saw a shaft of light from the galley door. He whispered urgently, “Otto, someone is coming!”

  It was Bomba. The slaver was staggering slightly, and looked as if he, too, was suffering the effects of seasickness. He carried a half-empty wine bottle in one hand, steadying himself against the rail with the other. The troupe began hurrying back to their cabin, but Otto stopped them.

  “You must stay here awhile until you feel better. Leave this one to me.”

  Bomba spotted them immediately. Grabbing a belaying pin, he lurched up to confront them. “Who gave you permission to be out here?”

  Otto stared levelly at him. “I did. These people are sick, they need to stand out in the air awhile.”

  Bomba brandished the belaying pin, snarling. “Back inside now, all of you!”

  Signore Rizzoli appealed to Otto. “Do as the man says, Herr Kassel, we are not looking for trouble. Let’s go inside.”

  Otto turned to Serafina. “Do you want to go back to the cabin, Fräulein?”

  The girl caught the pleading look in Mamma’s eyes. “Yes, I feel much better now, let’s go inside.”

  The strongman shrugged. “As you say, Fräulein.”

  Bomba stood with a smug look on his face as he watched them file past him. He nodded at Otto. “A wise decision, eh?” He chuckled drunkenly, then halted Serafina by placing the pin under her chin. “Not you, pretty girl, you can come to my cabin and sing for Bomba.”

  Otto moved as quick and silent as a big cat. Cupping one hand around the slaver’s mouth, he grabbed him by the back of his neck and twisted.

  Bomba went limp in his grasp, his neck broken. The bottle smashed as it fell to the deck.

  Otto murmured, “Inside, quickly!”

  From the cabin doorway, Serafina saw him heave the body of Bomba over the side. Swiftly loosing the heaving line, Otto hurried to the cabin. He murmured something to Buffo, who suddenly shouted, “Man overboard!”

  Mummo fiddled momentarily with the lock, then closed the cabin door. He shook his head doubtfully. “It won’t stand close inspection.”

  Mamma adjusted her shawl decisively. “Sit quietly, all of you, I’ll deal with this!”

  The sound of footsteps pounding the deck outside came to them, mingled with the shouts of the lookouts, who had come to see what was happening.

  “Man overboard, who is it?”

  “I don’t know, did you shout out?”

  “Not me. There’s no sign of anything in this storm!”

  “Get back to your posts, Ghigno’s coming!”

  The sound of Ghigno’s voice came next. “Stand fast, all of you. What’s going on here?”

  The answer sounded rather lame. “Er, man overboard, I think—we saw nothing, sir.”

  The cabin door opened, and Mamma Rizzoli bustled out in an agitated state. She waved her hands in Ghigno’s face. “It was that Bomba fellow, signore. He came to our cabin, drunk as a pig. Look!”

  The scar-faced Corsair stared down at the broken wine bottle in the scuppers. “Drunk eh, well, that’s nothing new for Bomba. But what did he want, did he say anything?”

  Mamma’s voice went shrill. “I’ll tell you what the drunken beast wanted—he wanted to take young Serafina back to his cabin! Our menfolk tried to send him away, they locked the door on him, but he smashed the lock. I fixed him, though. Hah, I said I’d report him to you. He hurried off when he heard that. My husband saw him stumble and trip, didn’t you, dear?”

  Augusto Rizzoli backed his wife to the hilt stoutly. “Yes, signore, I saw it all, the man struck his head and went straight into the sea. It was me who called out the alarm. The rest of my troupe were too seasick to do anything. Look at them, Capitano!”

  Ghigno hustled the Rizzolis back into the cabin. “Yes yes, now go inside, or you might be washed overboard. Stay in your quarters until the storm dies down. And you up there, get back to your watch, never mind what’s going on down here. Huh, it’s not enough that we’re in the middle of a storm, but we have some drunken fool going over the side. It’s his own fault!”

  Al Misurata sat in his lavishly appointed cabin, watching the pale wine slopping back and forth in its goblet as he listened to Ghigno’s report. He took a sip, glancing at his companion over the rim. “Why do you look so happy at our friend’s untimely end—were you not fond of Bomba?”

  The Corsair’s scarred face twisted into a sinister grin. “Lord, I did not notice you shedding any tears at the news. Bomba was a pig and an oaf. I miss him like one who has
rid himself of a rotten, aching tooth.”

  Al Misurata laughed. “And I do also. Tonight that fool will be in pig paradise. I pity the other pigs!”

  Both men laughed then. Seeing his master in a good mood, Ghigno took advantage to press a point. “A great man like you does not have to worry about minor things. Why don’t we just press on to our destination after the storm? The boy and his dog are probably drowned by now. Why let them bother you?”

  Al Misurata put aside his wine. “Because he is no ordinary boy, and because he defied my will. He escaped and got the better of me. I cannot allow anybody, boy or man, to do that. You should know me well enough to understand that by now, my friend.”

  Ghigno traced his facial scar with a finger. “Aye, Lord, I know it well, but if anything goes further wrong on this illstarred voyage, you may lose the slaves—and the respect of Count Dreskar, which I think you value highly. I am only trying to help, Lord.”

  The pirate gazed out of the stern windows at the wild night, stroking his sword hilt. “Maybe you are right. I thank you for your counsel. So be it then—if we do not find the Greek’s ship or the boy by tomorrow, we will sail on to Piran.”

  Ghigno stood and bowed. “It is not my counsel that speaks, O Master, it is your wisdom!”

  After the Corsair had departed to his own cabin, Al Misurata continued looking out at the storm, ruminating aloud. “Then I will find you tomorrow, boy, and your dog!”

  BOOK THREE

  ISTRANI WOLVES

  24

  BEN SPENT MOST OF THE NIGHT AS part of a human chain, passing bowls, buckets, ewers and pans up from the chain locker and stern cabins. It was heavy, remorseless labor, sometimes almost waist-deep in cold seawater, passing brim-slopping containers from hand to hand. Alternately sweating and shivering, the boy toiled doggedly on, sometimes being hurled flat in the wild motion of a storm-rocked ship. He could hear the gale, still howling furiously. It was becoming obvious that the Blue Turtle would be lost, but the bailing crew battled on desperately against their inevitable fate, even joking about it.