Voyage of Slaves

9

BOMBA GESTURED THE SHOWMAN INTO the palatial upstairs room. He put out his foot to bar the dog entry, but Ned bounded over it, baring his teeth and showing his contempt of the slave driver with a low snarl. The big man backed away as Ned ambled in behind Signore Rizzoli. Al Misurata was seated on his divan, while the scar-faced Corsair, Ghigno, stood behind him. Augusto Rizzoli bowed formally to the pirate, who patted the cushioned divan.

“Sit here, my friend, and let us talk business.”

Ned lay on the floor between the two men.

Al Misurata smiled briefly. “So, you have brought a companion?”

Augusto stroked the dog’s head. “He followed me.”

Ned lounged casually, his tail wagging lazily, tongue hanging out, just like any dog would. Except that he was watching, and taking in every word that was spoken.

Signore Rizzoli held out the little purse. “I brought the gold you asked for. It is not a lot, we are after all only entertainers.”

Ghigno took the purse and turned out its meagre contents on a small coffee table nearby. Al Misurata sorted through it with a fingertip. The coins were mainly gold, with a few silver ones thrown in—they were all very old and thin. The pirate raised his eyebrows. “Truly this is a pitiful sum. If you were not my friend I would feel insulted by such an offering.”

Signore Rizzoli replied, his voice a humble murmur, “It is all we have, Commendatore.”

Ghigno insinuated slyly, “Don’t you have any other valuables, a ring or two, maybe a necklace?”

Al Misurata frowned at the Corsair reproachfully. “Ghigno! You can see our friend is an honest man. If that is all the wealth he possesses, how could I doubt his word?”

He patted Augusto’s hand reassuringly, then went on to stroke Ned’s ears as he continued. “Signore Rizzoli, I accept this money in exchange for the boy, because I know you will treat him kindly. As I told you, I am a simple horse trader, it is not in my nature to buy or sell human beings. This sum you offer me is not even a quarter of what I paid to save the boy from being sold on the block in some slave market. But, like you, I am a soft-hearted fellow, and I can afford to take a slight loss now and then. It is all in a good cause. Take the lad, and take with you my good wishes for a happy visit to your homeland.”

Augusto Rizzoli stood, extending his hand to Al Misurata. “May the good Vicenza, patron saint of my town, bless you, Signore Misurata!”

The pirate returned his handshake solemnly. “Go now, and tell that young man your good news.”

Signor Rizzoli hurried from the room. But Ned stayed. The black Labrador closed his eyes, allowing Al Misurata to stroke his head. However, he was fully alerted.

There was silence in the room as the sound of the showman’s footsteps receded down the stairs. Ghigno swept the money back into the worn, leather purse. He handed it to the pirate, imitating Signore Rizzoli’s voice as he did. “It is all we have, Commendatore.” Both men suddenly burst out into coarse laughter. Al Misurata grabbed the purse from Ghigno, who shook his head in amazement.

“Is there nothing you wouldn’t do for gold? You should have heard yourself. ‘I am a soft-hearted fellow, I can afford to take a slight loss now and then.’ Hahaha, you almost had me weeping!”

The pirate spread his arms expressively. “What would you have me do, Ghigno? Sell them on to Count Dreskar, who would immediately search them for any gold they were hiding? This way I get two lots for the boy, the pittance from that Italian jackass and the proper price from Dreskar. Gold is gold, no matter where it comes from!”

The Corsair wiped tears of merriment from his eyes. His manner became businesslike. “So, what’s the plan?”

All this time Ned had not stirred, though he dearly wished he could sink his teeth into the hand that was stroking him. He continued to listen as the pirate outlined his scheme.

“What we must do is keep them completely in the dark regarding their fate. If they knew they were being sold into slavery, it would make them troublesome on the voyage. We’ll keep everything friendly, and treat them with respect. They must not suspect anything. When we dock at the port of Piran, I will tell them that to avoid the authorities, and any trouble about not having papers for the two African women, they must stay in their wagon. Bomba!”

The big slave driver hurried forward. “Master?”

Al Misurata gave him his instructions. “Once they are inside the wagon you will lock them in. Harness the horse and drive the wagon to the outskirts of Piran, then wait in the old woods by the stream for me.”

Bomba nodded. “I know the place, master.”

The pirate turned to Ghigno. “You will come with me. I will be meeting Count Dreskar in the town, at the Crown of Slovenija hotel.”

Ghigno tapped the jagged scar on his face. “I’ll have the crew with me, we’ll stay in the background in case of trouble. Right?”

Al Misurata stroked his beard. “Right, my friend, and when our business is done . . .”

The Corsair chuckled. “We’ll kidnap a few of the good townsfolk of Piran, take them on board and sail for home!”

This time Bomba joined in the laughter. Al Misurata poured drinks, and they toasted the coming enterprise.

“To trade, and to the gold to be made on both sides of the sea. A successful voyage!”

As Bomba took a pace back, Ned saw his chance to get out. He yelped aloud, as though the Corsair had trod on his paw.

Bomba drew his dagger. “Whining cur, get from under my feet!”

Al Misurata chided the big slave driver. “Bomba, don’t be cruel to poor, dumb animals, put that knife away and open the door for our friend Bundi, or is it Ned?”

Bomba opened the door and Ned trotted down the stairs, thinking to himself, “I wish Otto had given his childhood pet a better name. Bundi? Ugh, it makes me sound like an old, fat donkey!”

When Ned arrived back at the wagon outside the guest accommodation, he found himself in the middle of a very welcoming troupe. They all patted and stroked him as he wagged his tail furiously, enquiring of Ben, “This is all very nice, but what’s all the fuss about?”

The boy sent him a mental reply. “They’re welcoming us as part of the troupe, mate. We’re going to become performers, the great Neddo and Benno. But you haven’t reported back yet, did you hear anything of value over at the house?”

The dog avoided Otto’s ham-like hand playfully. “I certainly did, and none of it’s good news. These nice people wouldn’t be celebrating if they’d heard what I’ve just listened in to.”

Ben took Ned’s chin in one hand. He dipped a scrap of rag in some warm water and began cleaning the corners of the Labrador’s eyes, communicating impatiently, “Well, are you going to sit there hinting all day, or are you going to tell me what they said?”

Ned launched into his mental account of what was planned for the Rizzoli Troupe, finishing with his assessmentof Al Misurata. “You wouldn’t believe the way old Miserable changed the minute Signore Rizzoli left the room. He’s a very evil man, sly and greedy, he’ll do anything for gold.”

The news came as no surprise to Ben. He stared into his friend’s eyes. “I knew it. Though for awhile I thought there might have been some good in that man. Now I’m certain that Al Misurata is a cold, treacherous snake. His only god is gold, he is ruled by his greed.”

Ned placed a paw on Ben’s arm. “But what are we going to do—how can you tell our friends what we know? You can’t very well announce that I told you I’d overheard a conversation. Who’d believe us, mate?”

Ben sighed. “You’re right, but it’s still up to us to do something about the problem. I think it’s best that Signore Rizzoli and the others know nothing about it for the moment. It would only create a lot of trouble and worry for them. We must really put our minds to reaching a solution. Let’s discuss this tonight, when everybody’s asleep.”

They joined the rest of the troupe, who were sitting about on the wagon steps. Mamma looked curiously at the pair. “Well, have you finished your talk?”

This took Ben by surprise. “Talk, Mamma, what talk?”

She smiled shrewdly. “I was watching you both, you can’t fool me. Oh, your lips weren’t moving, there was no sound. It was the way you were staring at each other. You were making a contact somehow, I’m sure of it.”

Serafina saved Ben further embarrassment. “I know what you mean, Mamma. I stare into Poppea’s eyes a lot, and she looks back at me. We don’t have to say anything, it’s just a feeling of friendship. Some animals have the most gentle eyes—Poppea does, and Ned, too.”

Buffo interrupted. “Oh, I know that. I stared into the eyes of La Lindi’s serpent once, they were fascinating.”

Mummo shuddered. “Ugh, that awful python, what happened?”

Buffo grinned. “It hypnotised me and tried to swallow me whole!”

Mamma cuffed him playfully. “A pity it never did, you great fool!”

Signore Rizzoli began tuning his mandolin busily. “Come on, you lot, let’s work out this evening’s show.”

Passing a huge hand over his shaven head, Otto flicked perspiration from it. “Ach, it is too hot to think in this heat of Libya, can we not just sit and rest awhile?”

La Lindi stretched out lazily. “A good idea, Herr Kassel. Serafina, sing us a pretty song, you know, the one which goes, lala, lala, laaa . . .”

Augusto picked up the melody on his mandolin. “You mean this one? It’s a sad song, but nice. Sing it for us, bella ragazza.”

The beautiful black girl waited for him to finish the introduction, then sang slowly in her hauntingly husky voice. It was a song of forlorn love.

“A long time ago, a lifetime away, I knew one who loved me, could it be the same today?

Why does my heart still yearn, the way it used to do, old songs make teardrops fall, when I remember you.

Lala lala lalala laaaaaaaah.

“If I saw you now, my poor heart would say, stay with me forever, never ever go away.

Fools say that love is blind, I know that isn’t true, your face would tell me so, if I could look at you.

Lala lala lalala laaaaaaaalah!”

The echoes of Serafina’s voice hung on the still, warm air. A feeling Ben had never known came over him; it was like an actual ache in his chest as he gazed longingly at the girl. Suddenly, Ned’s calls were echoing through his bitter-sweet thoughts.

“Ben, Ben! Wipe it from your mind, it’s impossible! You know we will have to move on someday without her. Remember the angel’s command! You would have to watch Serafina growing older. What would happen if she saw the years passing, and you hadn’t aged by a day, what then?”

Ben continued looking at the girl. However, he heard his dog’s impassioned plea, and cast his eyes down, blinking. “The angel’s command, eh, Ned, the words that change my blessing into a curse!”

The faithful dog felt his friend’s single tear dampen his outstretched paw.

Augusto Rizzoli broke the spell. Putting aside his mandolin, he rose energetically. “Friends, we cannot sit here idle all day. Ben, have you been thinking about an act for you and your fine dog? That is, if you wish to take part in our show?”

The boy strove to shake off his feeling of sorrow and appear both eager and happy. “I’ll help with any work that needs doing, signore, but I haven’t really thought about performing.”

Mamma shook a finger at her husband. “Augusto, leave the boy alone, maybe he doesn’t want to be a trouper like us.”

Ned’s indignant thoughts cut across Ben’s mind. “Huh, does nobody care about my wishes? I don’t know about you, but I rather fancy being an entertainer. The applause, the admiration, the fame. . . .”

Ben replied to his friend’s thoughts. “I wouldn’t take up singing if I were you, mate, you’ve got a dreadful voice.”

The Labrador sniffed disdainfully. “Hah, speak for yourself, m’boy, your voice sounds like the creaking of a rusty gate. Wait, I’ve got an idea!”

Ben became aware of Serafina encouraging him. “I think you and Ned could work up a great act, Ben. Come on, give it a try, please!”

Ben glanced at the troupe’s expectant faces. “Well, alright,leave us to practice a bit first. Ned and I will try out a few ideas behind the stables.”

From the window of the upstairs room, Al Misurata and his two associates had been watching the group on the wagon steps. Ghigno nodded toward Serafina.

“That pretty girl is worth her weight in gold. She has a voice that would put the birds of paradise to shame.”

The pirate nodded agreement. “As long as Count Dreskar meets my price. Then he can lock that beautiful songbird in a gilded cage where she will sing only for him. We must treat her with extra-special care.”

Bomba snorted. “Slaves are all alike, master, give them cosseting and wrap them in silk if you want trouble. Special treatment makes slaves insolent and moody.” The big man knew he had spoken unthinkingly when Al Misurata’s withering glance fell on him.

“Your mother bore your father a fool, jackass! The girl does not yet know she is to be a slave. If she knew she was going to be sold off, she would grow troublesome and sullen. I have seen it happen before. Once Dreskar has paid for her, it is his own affair how he treats her. But I get the top price for slaves by selling my goods in perfect condition. Then there can be no dispute about their quality. We will keep her, and all of them, blissfully ignorant.”

Ghigno chuckled, looking pointedly at Bomba. “Just like him, eh?”

The pirate shook his head. “Blissful ignorance is a condition even sensible people can feel. But Bomba is stupid, he was born a fool. Right?”

The big man shuffled uncomfortably, muttering, “It is as you say, master.”

It was mid-noon. La Lindi sat watching the stables as she anointed her python’s scales with a mixture of sweet oil and warm water. “How long is that boy going to take?”

Mummo spotted Ben and Ned emerging from the rear of the stables. “Here they come now!”

The pair paced up with majestic slowness. Ben bowed to the company, and announced in a theatrical tone, “Eminent people, exalted guests, pray give attention to Benno, Master of Mystery, and the Magnificent Neddo!”

The good-natured group applauded encouragingly.

Ben appealed to them. “Would some kind person like to step forward and blindfold me?”

Folding her silken neckscarf several times, Mamma obliged, binding it firmly across Ben’s eyes.

Mummo held up his hand, calling out, “How many fingers am I holding up, O Mysterious Benno?”

Ben smiled. “Fifteen, my good fellow, and I noticed your hands never once left your wrists while you did it.” The audience chuckled as Ben waved his arms for silence. “Silence, please, my assistant and I do this at great risk to our health. And now, the Magnificent Neddo is going to visit you in turn. Give him any little piece of your property, a trinket, a keepsake, a priceless jewel. Anything . . . and I will attempt, whilst blindfolded, to identify it. Magnificent Neddo, you may proceed!”

Ben heard Otto whispering. “Hoho, this I must see, ja?”

Then he heard Serafina’s soft tones. “Please, Otto, silence, give Ben a chance!”

Ned went immediately to Otto. The German strongman placed in the dog’s jaws an object. The dog communicated what it was to Ben as he trotted back and dropped it on the ground behind the boy.

Ben placed his index finger in the centre of his forehead. He appeared to be concentrating as he spoke. “The spirits of air and water tell the Mysterious Benno that a bent iron nail lies on the ground behind me!”

Applause, coupled with puzzled whispers, greeted Ben’s announcement. Ned went to each of the troupe in turn, placing the objects he collected behind Ben, who identified them all accurately.

A spool of cotton from Mamma.

A small, blue button from Buffo.

La Lindi’s earring.

Augusto Rizzoli’s pocketknife.

A woven cord bracelet from Serafina.

And, finally, a cheap metal ring from Mummo.

They clapped and cheered heartily, until Ben removed the blindfold and called for silence once more. “Your attention, my friends. The Magnificent Neddo will now return your property correctly. Observe!”

He picked up the cotton spool, declaiming dramatically, “O Magnificent Neddo, to whom does this thing belong?”

A flash of the black Labrador’s humour came to Ben. “I think I may have a thread of an idea!”

Picking up the spool, Ned delivered it to Mamma. There were gasps of astonishment as he restored each item to its owner at Ben’s command. Amid rapturous cheers, Ned held up a paw in salute, and Ben bowed, touching his fingertips to heart, lips and forehead in the Eastern manner.

Signore Rizzoli was elated, but very perplexed. “Benno, truly you are mysterious, and Neddo is surely a dog among dogs. Anybody would swear you were both highly skilled magicians. I hope you will perform your marvellous act in our show this evening. But how do you both do it?”

Ben was aware that questions would be asked. He had spent most of the time behind the stables working out an answer with Ned. Now he winked broadly at the showman. “Oh, it’s an old trick really, and quite simple. But if I were to tell you how I did it, the mystery would be gone. The magic becomes just a trick once the secret has been told to everybody.”

La Lindi made an eloquent gesture with her expressive hands. “He speaks truly, Signore, you especially should know that good performers do not willingly give away their secrets. Benno is Mysterious, and Neddo is really Magnificent. Why not leave it at that, and preserve the illusion?”

Buffo offered an explanation. “It’s not Benno who’s the brains, it’s Neddo. Let me have a word with him.” Wagging a stern finger at the dog, the clown put forth the question. “How did you do those tricks, Signore Neddo? Confess!”

Standing on his hind legs, Ned put his forepaws on Buffo’s chest and barked. “Woof! Woof! Woof! Gurrrr!”

The clown pulled a wry face at Augusto Rizzoli. “There, now you know!”

The tubby little showman laughed. “What did he say?”

Buffo grinned. “Neddo told you to mind your own business!”

Ben sent a thought to his dog. “Did you, really?”

Ned replied, “Aye, I did, though we’ll have to watch that Buffo. I didn’t know he could translate doggy language!”