Voyage of Slaves Read online

  Ned huffed. “Snoring like a dog? I wonder if humans listen to themselves when they’re asleep. Still, you can’t help liking Kostas, the golden-mouthed rogue!”

  Ben curled up alongside his dog, thinking, “I wonder how the Rizzolis went on in that storm?”

  Ned opened one eye. “No, you mean you wonder how the beautiful Serafina went on, and does she still love you?”

  Ben tweaked the Labrador’s tail. “Silence, Bundi!”

  The day brightened as it progressed. Ghigno even allowed his captives out on deck to take the air. Serafina stared out over the sunlit waters, pointing.

  “Oh, look, Lindi, dolphins, aren’t they beautiful!”

  La Lindi joined her to watch the graceful mammals following the ship. The snake charmer lowered her voice. “They’ve stopped searching for Ben and Ned, I heard one of the guards chatting. We’re headed straight to Piran, with no stops in between. At least that’s good news for him, not being pursued anymore.”

  Serafina never took her eyes from the dolphins. “Not such good news for Otto, though—that leaves him only one chance to see that we escape.”

  La Lindi opened the basket lid to allow her python, Mwaga, a little warmth from the sun. “It’s just as well, I have a bad feeling about this idea of escape. It’s far too dangerous. Do you imagine Al Misurata would sit still and twiddle his thumbs if we were free?”

  Mamma Rizzoli had been eavesdropping close by.

  “We’ve got to do something, or face a life of slavery. Leave Otto to his plans, we are all in the hands of the good Lord above and his angels.”

  Ghigno passed the wheel to a crewman as Al Misurata appeared on deck. The pirate looked about him before addressing the Corsair. “What course did you set this morning?”

  Ghigno pointed. “Nor’east, out into the Adriatic. We’ll drift by the Dalmatians, and follow the coast up to Piran. Unless you’d like me to change course and stay on the Italian side, Master?”

  Al Misurata considered the alternative awhile. “No, you’re right, my friend. Nor’east it is. Those Dalmatian Islands, there are lots of small coves there where a ship might lie low to avoid pursuit.”

  Ghigno fingered the scar on his face. “You are still searching for the boy, then?”

  Al Misurata narrowed his eyes. “I have always succeeded—failure was never in my nature. If you are a fox seeking a rabbit, it does no harm to visit the places where that rabbit may be hiding.”

  Ghigno nodded. “We are bound for Kornat. From there we will follow the island coasts, past Dugi Otok and Losinj, then across to Pula and the Slovenijan mainland. Not far to Piran then, Lord.”

  Al Misurata dropped his tone to a murmur. “Not far, Ghigno. Send those entertainers back to their quarters. The snake lady has ears that hear too much.”

  25

  THE ISLE OF LOSINJ. DALMATIA.

  A CURVING INLET FORMED THE BAY where the Blue Turtle lay beached. It was a bright, sunny noon as Ben and Ned surveyed the beautiful island.

  Captain Alexi Constantinou called out from his ship, “You there, boy, cast off the tow rope. Let it drop into the sea, there’s nothing like salt water for cleaning up a rope from infection.”

  The boy unlooped the haltered tow rope from the prow and let it splash into the shallows, taking in Ned’s thoughts.

  “That’s a wise move, I’d do the same thing if I were cutting loose from an infected craft. He’s no fool, that Little Alexi!”

  Ben signalled the Callisto’s crew to haul in the line. “Aye, that’s why I’m keeping up the act of a stricken cabin boy. I hope Nico has the sense to do the same.” He had no need to be worried. The ship’s cook acted his role to the hilt. Hunching his body, he gave vent to a bout of rasping coughs, calling plaintively to the naval captain.

  “Don’t go and leave us here alone, sir. Surely you can spare a little food, and more water for sick men!”

  But the little captain had already ordered his ship to put about for sea. He replied impatiently, “I’ve given you all the help I can, fend for yourselves now. The island is sparsely populated, but I’ll wager there are farmers, shepherds and streams for your needs. If you survive the cholera, you can repair your vessel and carry on to Muggia. Good luck to you!”

  The Callisto’s master gunner whispered to the bosun, “Listen to that pompous little toad, wishing good luck to cholera victims. Still, better them than us, eh?”

  The bosun nodded sadly. “Aye, it’s like pouring water on a drowned man. Look at the state they’re in, that plague will kill them all soon, rest their souls!”

  Ben, Ned and Nico waited until the Callisto was out of hailing range, then hurried down to the cabin. Kostas was cleaning the mess from his face with a bowl of warm water. He replaced his gold teeth, whipped the turban from his red curls and danced a lively jig.

  “Hohoho, your plan worked well, boy! Ah, what I wouldn’t have given to fire a broadside at Little Alexi as a farewell. Oops! Get that puppy from under my feet!”

  Amico had joined in with the dance, almost tripping Kostas. He licked away at Ben’s face as the boy picked him up. “Amico! Amico!”

  Ben placed him down alongside Ned. “Here, mate, see to him before he gets trampled flat.”

  Ned gave a snort of disgust. “Yurgh! Look what the little savage is up to now. He’s eating the pork rind off my back! Oh well, carry on, you little horror, it’ll save me a job. Here, what about this bit that’s stuck to my tail? Yowch, go easy!”

  The crew waded ashore in good spirits, with Kostas carrying Nico on his back. They gathered driftwood and lit a fire, with Herakles standing in as cook and preparing a fish stew. The carefree Kostas opened a jar of retsina wine for his men. Borrowing a bouzouki from Babiko, he tuned it and began singing.

  “One day I met a pretty girl, who fell in love with me, I stole her father’s fishing boat, and off I went to sea!

  Away oh hey ho, yes off I went to sea!

  “I took her mother’s speckled hen,

  The one that lays so good, and borrowed her brother’s fine red coat,

  I think he wants my blood! Away oh hey ho, I think he wants my blood!

  “Farewell to all who seek my hide, fat mothers-in-law to be, far o’er the bounding main I’ll go, where you can’t follow me!

  Away oh hey ho, where you can’t follow me!

  “There’s pretty girls in foreign lands, they’ve kissed me lovingly, now I’ve a girl in every port, but my true love’s the sea!

  Away oh hey ho, yes my true love’s the sea!”

  Warm noontide progressed into early evening. Ben sat with his back against a rock, watching Kostas. The big Greek was splashing in the shallows, wrestling playfully with Ned and Amico. He came bounding up the shore, roaring with laughter, toward Ben. The boy held up a hand as Kostas shook himself like a dog, then flopped down beside him. “It’s a good life, my friend!”

  Ben wiped seawater from his face. “Don’t you ever worry about anything, Cap’n Krimboti?”

  The big Greek picked up the wine jar and drank. “Of course I do, boy! I’m worrying now about how to get my Blue Turtle seaworthy again. I tell you, that old lady is going to need a good patching up. It will take some time to finish the repairs. Which brings me on to my next worry.”

  Ben refused a drink from the proffered wine jar. “You have another problem? What’s that?”

  Kostas tapped a thick forefinger against the boy’s chest. “You, Ben! Oh, I may look carefree, but all the time this Krimboti is thinking. You are a good boy, and you have helped me, saved my life even. But you have things of your own to do. What about your friends aboard the slaver’s ship? They are bound for Piran, you must save them. I have to think of a way to help you to do this!”

  Ben was surprised at his friend’s thoughtfulness. “But how can you help, Cap’n, we’re on a lonely island with a broken ship—what can you do?”

  The gold coin teeth glittered in the evening sunlight. “Come with me, I’ll show you!”

&
nbsp; Ned trailed along behind Ben as they went aboard the Blue Turtle with Kostas. “Where are we off to, mate?”

  The boy helped his dog over the rail. “I’ll let you know as soon as the cap’n tells me.”

  Kostas searched his cabin, muttering as he opened drawers and cupboards. “Who ever needs charts except when you can’t find them? Ah, here it is!” From under the bunk mattress he pulled an untidy sheaf of parchment, riffling through until he found the one. Spreading it on the cabin table, Kostas pointed. “It’s many a day since I’ve seen this old thing. It’s the chart of the Adriatic Sea. This is where we are, Losinj, in the Dalmatian Isles. Now, this narrow strait is called the Kvarner, it’s not that far from the Slovenijan mainland. This place here, the town of Pula. I can take our ship’s boat, Yanni and me, we can row you there overnight. From Pula it’s only a couple of days’ travel by land to Piran. How will that do you, Beniamino, eh?”

  Ben stared at the chart, with Ned at his elbow. “It would do fine, Cap’n. Ned and I can walk to Piran if you get us to Pula. Thank you very much!”

  Kostas ruffled the boy’s hair. “Walk? Who said anything about walking, boy! No, you will ride like the wind!”

  Ned pawed his master’s arm. “Ride! How am I expected to ride? Ask him.”

  Ben stroked the Labrador’s head, asking, “What about Ned? I couldn’t go anywhere without him.”

  Kostas chuckled. “I meant you will ride on wagons, with the Istrani Wolves!”

  Ben’s words echoed his dog’s thoughts. “The Istrani Wolves, who are they?”

  Kostas Krimboti winked at his two friends. “Good people, smugglers and bandits. They are led by my dear friend Janos Cabar, a rare and bold one, believe me!”

  Ben scratched his tow-coloured mop. “Smugglers and bandits—you’re putting us with outlaws?”

  The big Greek looked indignant. “Aye, boy, the best smugglers and bandits you’ve ever travelled with. They run the coast between Pula and Trieste, over the border into Italy. The gang of Janos Cabar have never once been caught or imprisoned by the authorities on either side of the line!”

  Al Misurata took the wheel of the Sea Djinn, steering her toward the other ship. It was not wise to ignore the warning shot of a Greek navy warship. When both vessels were close enough, he had his crewmen bring lanterns. He watched as Little Alexi and three of his officers were helped aboard from a small cutter. Handing the wheel over to a crewman, the pirate went to meet them. As ever, Al Misurata was courteous and considerate to his guests. He bowed low to the diminutive captain.

  “I bid you a pleasant evening, and welcome aboard my humble vessel, friends. I trust you come in peace?”

  Little Alexi adjusted the collar of his fine tunic. “I am Captain Alexi Constantinou of the Greek warship Callisto. Please identify yourself, your destination and your cargo.”

  Al Misurata handled the navy man tactfully. “Sir, I am Mehmet el Jama, sailing out of Tunis. My ship is bound for Piran, in Slovenija. Our cargo is comprised of blood stallions and four men who are taking passage with us. Normally we would travel by way of the Italian coastline, but unfortunately we were set off course by the storm a few nights back. This is not a route I would normally take, I am not familiar with these waters. I would be grateful for your advice, Capitano.”

  Little Alexi puffed out his chest, toying with the tassels on his sword hilt, as if he was weighing up an important decision. “Set your course to the mid channel. When you sight the city of Venezia33 to your portside, change tack eastward. Piran is on the far side of the Gulf of Venice.”

  Al Misurata bowed low, touching his forehead respectfully. “I thank providence for the wisdom of a Greek navy commander. No doubt, vessels that could not take heed of your counsel would have perished in the storm. I sighted an old, blue-sailed merchant craft, directly before the tempest struck. Alas, it was probably sunk by the heavy weather.”

  Alexi took advantage of this statement to air his knowledge and expertise further. “I sincerely hope you did not board or have contact with that ship?”

  Al Misurata spread his arms. “No, we did not. But why?” The little captain strutted away like a bantam cockerel, then whirled to face the other man dramatically. “Because it was a plague ship, in the grip of cholera! Oh yes, my friend, count yourself fortunate that you stayed well away from the blue ship. When we encountered her, she was wallowing, leaking fit to sink. I saw only a few left alive, the captain and most of his crew had perished from the disease. I did what any right-thinking captain would—took the vessel in tow, gave them a cask of fresh water and left them quarantined on one of the Dalmatian Islands.”

  Al Misurata cut in smoothly on the narrative. “And there were only two left alive, you say, sir?”

  Alexi shook his head. “No, there were three in all, plus a dog. The ship’s cook, a crazy deckhand, and the young cabin boy. They all looked to be on their last legs to me, staggering about, pleading for water—even the dog was infested with huge scabs. A piteous sight indeed. Those old merchant ships are teeming with rats, no doubt the cause of their predicament. Nothing could be done for those who were still alive. They are more than likely dead now, all of them. Cholera, or whatever plague it was that visited them, had swept through that craft like a fire, speedily devouring every living thing it laid its foul hand on.” Little Alexi fell silent, staring at the deck, so that the other captain could see what a model of human kindness and compassion he was.

  Al Misurata murmured, “Truly you did all you could for them, Capitano. I will keep my course to mid channel and shun the islands, not having your courage and fortitude!”

  The little captain nodded solemnly. “I must bid you a safe voyage, there is other business I must attend to.”

  Al Misurata bowed low again. “May heaven reward you, sir. I am pleased to have made your acquaintance!”

  Once the Callisto was a safe distance from the Sea Djinn, Ghigno made an appearance. The pirate told him all that had transpired. His companion took the news pensively.

  “So we are finally rid of the brat and his hound. I’m not sorry, Lord, though I would not wish a fate like the plague on anybody, man or beast.”

  Al Misurata gazed out at the broad expanse of the Adriatic. “There was something about that boy, he intrigued me. Still, he brought it on himself—he should never have deserted me and escaped. Keep the course to mid channel, and await my orders.”

  Ghigno cast a glance to the midship hold. “Shall I release the women and let them rejoin the others?”

  The pirate stroked his beard, pondering before he answered. “Maybe not. Keep them apart, it will ensure the good behaviour of the menfolk. Particularly that German strongman, he could be dangerous.”

  Ghigno tapped the musket he kept stowed in his sash. “Rest easy, Lord, I’m not afraid of that one!”

  Al Misurata smiled thinly. “Neither was Bomba, and look what happened to him.”

  The scar-faced Corsair showed surprise. “You mean it was the German who did away with Bomba?”

  Al Misurata tapped the side of his head with one finger. “I did not get to be Lord of the Barbary Coast by going about with my eyes closed and my brain in a slumber. The next question you are going to ask is, why did I not put the German to death?”

  Ghigno stared at him in awed silence as he continued. “Bomba was worthless, a thief, a coward, one who would sell his mother for a crust. I would have had to kill him myself, sooner or later. However, the strongman will bring a good price, so I kept silent. Let him be someone else’s problem, he will go to his new owner unharmed. Remember, Ghigno, there is no profit in a dead man.”

  In the lower hold, Mamma Rizzoli banged upon the door of the cabin where she had been confined with La Lindi and Serafina. The guard, a lean, sombre Tunisian, refused to open the door. He tapped it sharply with the butt of his jezzail. “What do you want, woman, more food or water?”

  Mamma banged harder upon the door. “I want to go back to my husband. We want to be sent bac
k to our old cabin, where the men are!”

  The guard’s voice came back at her. “That is up to my master. I am only a guard who takes orders. It is no use asking me.”

  Mamma persisted. “Then let me speak with your master!”

  The guard squatted down against the doorpost, resting his brow against the muzzle of his rifle. “You have no say in this, woman. My master will speak with you when he is ready. Shouting and banging will do you no good. Now be silent!”

  Serafina put her arms around the older woman. “Do as he says, Mamma, come and sit down, you’ll only get splinters in your hands if you keep banging the door.”

  Signora Rizzoli allowed herself to be seated on some bales of carpet. She shook her head despairingly. “Why are they doing this to us, what has Misurata got to gain by locking us down here?”

  La Lindi took things more calmly, lying on the bales, with her head against the timbered wall. “We’re probably hostages against the men’s good behaviour. Maybe they’ve got wind that we might try to escape. I wonder if they’ve found Otto’s old gun. Useless thing, we should have thrown it into the sea. . . .”

  The snake charmer paused and sat up straight. “Serafina, listen, I think I heard a horse whinny, it sounded like our Poppea. Right here, in the cabin next to this one!”

  Serafina climbed up alongside her friend. She smacked on the bulkhead, calling softly, “Poppea, is it you, old girl? Poppea!”