Voyage of Slaves

29

LA LINDI HAD TAKEN HER PYTHON, Mwaga, out of his basket. The snake coiled around her waist and arm, swaying its blunt face in front of her and touching her cheek with its long, forked tongue. Signore Rizzoli watched Mwaga and his charmer, noting the interaction between them with interest.

“Your snake seems restless today, Lindi, is something the matter with him?”

The enigmatic black lady caressed her pet’s shifting coils. “I think it must be raining outside. Mwaga often acts like this when there’s rainfall.”

Buffo looked up from his task of brushing Poppea. “You could be right. I wonder what time it is. Down here you lose all sense of night or day.”

Mummo yawned. “Early morning’s my guess.”

Mamma commented wryly, “How would you know, you’re always asleep? Just before you close your eyes, you always say it’s late night. Then when you wake up it’s always early morning to you. Serafina, what time do you think it is?”

The youngest of the troupe replied promptly. “Almost midday—time moves like a snail when you’re cooped up and you can’t see daylight.”

Otto left off his moustache trimming, rubbing his stomach. “Ja, the Fräulein is right, it is time for lunch!”

Signore Rizzoli heard the key in the lock outside their cabin. “That sounds like them bringing food now.”

It was Ghigno and four armed guards. The scar-faced Corsair beckoned to them.

“Come on, all out, I’m taking you up on deck. One false move from any of you and someone will be feeding the fishes in the bay. Step out one at a time.”

Lunch was forgotten as the Rizzoli Troupe made their way up to the midship deck. Serafina had guessed right, it was midday. The world around them looked grey and overcast. A soft, steady drizzle was smoothing the sea into a waveless swell. They were herded in front of Al Misurata, who stood sheltered beneath the afterdeck stairs. He addressed them in commanding tones.

“In a few hours we will be docking at Piran. You will be confined to your cart until such time as we part company.”

Mamma Rizzoli spoke out. “What about our horse, Poppea? She must not be left aboard.”

The pirate held up his hand, silencing her. “Do not worry, the horse will be brought up and put into the shafts of your cart when we land.”

Mamma persisted. “And what are your plans for us?”

Al Misurata’s voice held no emotion. “I am not prepared to say right now, but you will not be harmed as long as you obey me. Let that be sufficient.”

Signore Rizzoli carried on where his wife had left off. “You are an evil man! We trusted you, and you repaid that trust by selling us into slavery. Deny it—I dare you!”

Ghigno rested his hand, meaningly, on the pistol that was thrust into his waist sash. “My master is the Lord of the Barbary Coast, he does not argue with poor fools such as you. Be silent!”

Despite the armed guards, Otto’s vise-like grip seized the Corsair’s arm, causing him to wince. The big German strongman was glaring at Al Misurata. “Otto Kassel always keeps his word, not like you. I make you a promise, mein Herr, you will pay for this!”

At a wave of the pirate’s hand, more armed men emerged from the cabin behind him. He smiled at Otto. “On the contrary, it is I who will be receiving payment. You are merely the merchandise that is being traded.” Al Misurata wandered fearlessly amid his captives. “The treatment you receive from your new master will depend on your own good behavior. Take the girl!”

With a quick movement he swung Serafina into the arms of the guards, then stepped back holding up both hands. “Do nothing foolish, the girl will not be harmed! I need her as a hostage. Behave yourselves, and I will return her to you in due course.”

Turning on his heel he went into the cabin, followed by three of the guards and Serafina.

Shortly before mid-noon, the Sea Djinn tied up at the harbour in Piran. Nobody paid much attention to the cart which was trundled down a ramp by a dozen well-armed men. With Poppea in the shafts, it rattled off, still with the men surrounding it. Once the cart was clear of the ship, Al Misurata dismissed the guards from his cabin. Serafina huddled in a corner watching his every move, her dark eyes fearful.

The pirate smiled benignly at her. “Why so frightened, my little African songbird? I have no intention of harming you, relax.” He gestured to a tray of food on the table.“Come, help yourself to this good food—eat, drink!” Serafina stayed where she was. He laughed, speaking to her as if she were a recalcitrant child. “There’s nothing wrong with the food, look.” Selecting a large, yellow pear, Al Misurata bit into it and ate with relish. He cast it aside half-eaten, wiping his lips on a silk kerchief. “Perhaps you don’t like me watching you. Alright, I will go and leave you alone awhile. Later on I will take you to see the town of Piran. Would you like that?”

Serafina was still frightened; her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I would like to go back to my friends, sir. Where have you taken them?”

The pirate answered like a kindly uncle. “You will see them tonight, I promise. First I want you to do something for me. It is a simple thing, a short trip into town. Then I will deliver you back to your friends. Agreed?” He watched until she nodded. “Good! I’ll leave you alone now. When you’ve finished eating, open that chest in the corner. You’ll find lots of pretty things for a beautiful young lady to wear. I want you to look good for our trip to the town.”

When he departed the cabin, Serafina heard him lock the door behind him. She ventured across to the food, picking up a few purple-bloomed grapes. However, before she had even tasted them, she broke down in tears. Overwhelmed by her loneliness and fear of the unknown, the beautiful black girl wept, thinking of the only family she knew, the Rizzoli Troupe, and the two friends she held dearest of all: Ben and Ned.

At the Inn of the Grey Swan, Annalisa was busy peeling and chopping vegetables for a lamb stew. She sat at the kitchen table, wiping her eyes as she peeled the outer layer from a second Spanish onion. The cat, Pandora, prowled around her feet, meowing for attention. The old lady spoke distractedly to her pet. “What? You don’t like raw vegetables? What is it that you want?”

Pandora hopped up onto the table, still meowing.

Annalisa pointed her knife at Pandora. “Now listen, madame, I don’t have time for all this yowling and mewing. Go on, be off with you!”

The cat leaped back down to the floor, trotted as far as the small scullery and continued its noise.

The old lady rose from the table impatiently. “In there, do you want to go in there?” She opened the door, still speaking to Pandora. “Is it a mouse? Show me, is there a mouse in there?”

The big Persian bounded up onto the window, which had been unlatched and was lying wide open.

Annalisa went to the window and shooed the cat off the sill. She shut the window and latched it. “I never left that open—ah, the boy and the dog!”

Pandora meowed even louder, setting her claws in the hem of the old lady’s skirt.

Annalisa nodded. “So that’s it, they’ve both gone out. After Janos Cabar telling them not to. Oh, wait until she hears about this, eh, Pandora!”

The cat arched its back, almost smugly. “Meoooowww!”

With an old turnip sack split and worn over his head and shoulders, Ben squatted behind a stack of sawn planking with Ned. They had been at the quayside for over an hour, watching the Sea Djinn being moored and a ramp being set up amidships.

Ned shook rainwater from his head, then stopped suddenly. “Look, mate, here comes the Rizzolis’ cart!”

The boy nodded. “They’ve got it well-guarded, too. Poor Poppea, she looks a bit shaky, don’t you think?”

Ned saw the mare being backed into the shafts. “Aye, after all that time on the rolling main, she’s probably trying to sort out her sea legs from her land legs. I hope the troupe are alright.”

Ben ducked his head below the timber stack. “I just caught sight of Al Misurata at the stern cabin window. He was eating something, an apple or a pear. I wonder why he never went with the cart?”

Ned chanced a peek around the edge of the stack. “Aye, and that scar-faced rascal, too, wotsisname. I’ve just seen him going into his cabin. Hmm, one or the other should’ve accompanied the cart.”

Ben licked rainwater from his upper lip. “Good job there’s two of us. Listen, you follow the cart to see where they’re taking it. I’ll stop here. If Misurata or the Scar-face come ashore, I’ll trail them to see what they’re planning. We’ll meet up back at the Grey Swan. Be careful, Ned, don’t let them catch sight of you!”

The Labrador shook himself resoundingly, wetting Ben further. “Hmph, careful yourself, my lad!” He slunk off, dodging between the cases and bales which were piled along the quayside.

A moment later, Ben saw Al Misurata leave the cabin and lock it. He moved further along the wood stack until he found a small gap in the planking. From there he could view the ship without taking the risk of being seen by anyone aboard.

The drizzle continued into the sombre afternoon. Ben rubbed his legs to keep them from cramping up. Then he saw Ghigno emerge on deck. The Corsair was dressed finely, carrying a scimitar at his side. He strode aft, sheltering beneath the stairs. Al Misurata appeared from his cabin, sporting his fine Toledo blade, with a red linen cloak covering his expensive outfit. The two men chatted a moment, then the pirate went to a cabin door and unlocked it. He tapped upon the door, calling out something which Ben could not hear. Two of the Arab steeds, which the Sea Djinn had been carrying as cargo, where led down the ramp by guards. Ben noted that both horses were saddled, then looked back to the ship.

Serafina came out of the cabin and took the hand which Al Misurata was offering. Ben’s heart was racing. He crouched there, staring at his friend—she had never looked so beautiful. The boy bit his hand to stop himself jumping up and calling out her name. Serafina! Serafina! She was here!

Clad in a gown of cream-hued silk topped by a soft, blue woollen cloak and hood, she walked slowly down the ramp like a saint descending from heaven. Hot tears ran down Ben’s cheeks, but they were tears of joy from seeing his Serafina once more. The guards held the horses; as Al Misurata mounted one, he leaned down and swung the girl up in front of him, sidesaddle. Ghigno got up on the other steed and they galloped off.

Ben dashed out from behind the timber stack, never once taking his eyes from the graceful form of the girl. He tripped and fell flat on his face in the rainy mud. Scrambling upright, he rushed in the wake of the horses, ignoring a cut on his leg. They cornered at the junction of two streets, momentarily lost to sight. Tearing around the corner, Ben ran smack into the cart of a salt vendor. With the wind knocked out of him, he rose, staggering, in pursuit of the horses, which he had lost sight of. He was forced to halt at the next corner. Standing ankle deep in a puddle, the boy looked wildly about. But they were gone.

Ben ran up to the first person he saw, a fussily overdressed woman, with a maid holding a parasol over her head. He gasped raggedly, “Quick! Have you seen two horses go by carrying two men and young girl? Tell me!”

The woman brought a lorgnette up to her eyes, gazing in disgust at the muddy-faced boy, his trouser leg torn out, blood gouting from one knee and his features smeared with the wet dirt of the streets.

Ben pushed the torn sacking back from his brow, shouting, “Well, have you? Two men and a girl on horseback!”

The fussy woman turned to the maid holding the parasol. “Go and get help, he’s mad, he’s going to attack me!”

Ben looked pleadingly at the maid. “Did you see them?”

She shook her head dumbly as the woman grabbed the parasol from her and began belabouring Ben with it. “Help! Help! I’m being attacked by a mad boy!”

He stumbled off through the mud-spattered drizzle, with the woman’s shouts growing fainter behind him. The boy hurried through a maze of streets, each one looking like the last, staggering into objects blindly, lumbering onward, until he finally tripped and fell headlong for a second time. He lurched upright, swayed, then sat down heavily, dragging himself backward until he felt a wall against his shoulders.

Licking the blood from a parasol wound on his lip, Ben sat wondering what to do next. Should he carry on searching, go back to the ship until they returned or go to the Grey Swan and get cleaned up? Yes, that was it, Ned might be back at the inn by now. They would carry on the search together—between them they would find Serafina. Groaning, Ben pushed himself upright and wiped mud from his eyes as he stared about. Then he realised—he was lost!

Nowhere was familiar. He had run willy-nilly around a strange town until all his bearings were completely turned around. There looked to be nobody abroad on the miserable streets, owing to the quagmire of mud and rain. Nobody except a ragged beggar, shuffling in his direction. Ben approached him and asked the way.

“Do you know the Inn of the Grey Swan? I need to get there.”

The man cast a withering glance at the boy, who appeared to possess as little as himself. Pushing Ben aside, he carried on along the street. Ben took out some of the small coins which Janos had given him and jingled them.

The beggar halted, turning to face him. “What did ye say the name of the place was?”

The boy showed him a silver coin, but held on to it. “The Inn of the Grey Swan.”

Gazing avidly at the coin, the beggar nodded. “Follow me, young sir, I know the place.”

He took Ben along a few back alleys and out onto a broader street. As they were passing a narrow passage to a courtyard, the boy glanced sideways. There was a covered section in the courtyard; the two Arab steeds were tethered there.

Ben grabbed the beggar’s grimy hand, pressing the coin into it. “Here, this place will do me!”

The man protested, “But the Grey Swan is only around the next corner on the right, sir.”

Ben patted his arm. “Thank you, I’ll find it myself.” He gave the beggar his coin and watched him shuffle off.

Ben’s mind was racing with excitement when an idea occurred to him. Mentally he projected his thoughts as he walked around to the front entrance to the building. “Ned, are you there? Speak to me, mate!”

Some jumbled phrases entered his mind—it was Ned. “Rotten old furryface, it was you who locked that window, I know it was. If I get my teeth around your tail. . . . Eh, what . . . Ben, is that you, can’t you get in here, either? Huh, that confounded Pandora!”

Ben interrupted his dog’s prattle. “Ned, listen to me. I’m just on the next street to you, outside a hotel called The Crown of Slovenija. Serafina’s in there, with Misurata and the Scar-face. I need to know why they’ve brought her here, so stop arguing with that cat and get round here quick!”

The Crown of Slovenija appeared to be a high-class establishment. Its front hall was thickly carpeted, the walls were hung with gilt-framed paintings and chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. The Major Domo who stood between Ben and the dining salon was a portly, uniformed fellow. He gave the ragged, mud-besmirched boy a jaundiced stare, then beckoned him to be off with a fluttering gesture of his white-gloved hand. Knowing there was no way to get by him, Ben went back to wait outside the courtyard entrance.

He did not have long to wait. The faithful Labrador came bounding out of the drizzly curtain to his side. “Well, I know where the cart is, mate, just outside of town, by a stream in some woodland. Where’s our girl, then, have you seen her?”

Ben crouched by his dog’s side as he answered. “She’s inside somewhere, but there’s no chance of me getting in, I’d be ejected on sight.”

Ned shook himself vigorously. “Right, you stay here, I’ll sneak in the back way and see what’s going on!”

Serafina sat at a corner table in the salon with Al Misurata. Ghigno had gone off somewhere to carry out his master’s wishes. The beautiful black girl had allowed an attendant to take her cloak. Other diners stared openly at the man in costly Arab garb and the fascinating girl. Al Misurata ignored them, indicating a selection of small frosted tarts and an ornate pot of hot chocolate which had been served to them.

“Help yourself, girl. One as pretty as you should get accustomed to a life of luxury.”

Serafina stared miserably at the woven damask table covering. “I’m not hungry, sir, all I want is to go back to the Rizzoli Troupe.”

The pirate poured himself a dainty cup of the hot chocolate. “All in good time, miss. Ah, here comes Ghigno.”

The Corsair was accompanied by a sallow-faced man whose attire suggested that he might be a country squire. Ghigno introduced him. “Lord, this is the head steward and aide to Count Dreskar. Ferenc Kuvan!”

Al Misurata viewed the aide with raised eyebrows. “I was told I would be dealing personally with your master?”

The aide bowed formally. “Sir, I am here to do business with you on Count Dreskar’s behalf. He sends his apologies and regrets, but he has been called away on urgent matters of state.”

Al Misurata appeared to digest this information for a time. Then he turned to Ghigno. “Take the girl and wait elsewhere for me.”

Ghigno escorted Serafina away. Al Misurata beckoned the aide to sit in her place, noticing the way he had appraised the girl.

“A real beauty, that one—I think your master would agree?”

Ferenc Kuvan got straight down to business. “What about the others, did you not bring them?”

The pirate wagged a finger, smiling. “Piran has many eyes and ears, it would be foolish to bring them all. I am merely showing you the jewel of the collection. The others are safe enough, my friend.”

The aide’s face disguised the fact that he did not relish being called the friend of a Barbary pirate. He tapped a finger on the tabletop.“How many are they, and what about the fair-skinned boy your report mentioned?”

Al Misurata found lying as natural as drawing breath. “Alas, he was lost overboard in a storm. But the others are a worthy addition to the girl. There are six of them, including a German strongman, a prime specimen. Then there is a dancer and snake charmer, older than the girl, but very attractive, a real Nubian lady. There are two brothers, acrobats, clowns, Count Dreskar would find them immensely entertaining. Then there is an older couple, man and wife, they are very obedient and have many years service still in them.”

Count Dreskar’s head steward cut the pirate short. “I will take the girl, the Nubian lady and the German. The others would not interest my master.”

Al Misurata sat back. Making a tent of his fingers, he stared at Ferenc Kuvan over it, speaking levelly. “You will take them all, that is the deal I agreed with Dreskar. Or I can make you another offer—your master can forget any arrangements we made, and be satisfied to have you back, plus the gift of a dagger, which you will carry in your heart.”

There followed a silence, in which the pirate watched the aide’s Adam’s apple bob up and down several times. When he had regained some composure, Ferenc Kuvan spoke.

“Let us discuss the price of your wares.”

Al Misurata nodded casually. “I warn you, I drive a hard bargain, my friend.”

Ben wandered up and down the mudwashed path outside, cold and hungry. It seemed an age since his dog had slunk inside from the courtyard entrance. Late afternoon was sinking toward evening when Ned emerged into the street. Ben hurried to him. “Well, did you see her?”

The dog grabbed Ben’s torn trouser leg. “Come with me, hurry up. And don’t stand gawping at her, or the Scarface’ll see you. Come on!”

He led Ben around to the front entrance. As they passed the hall doorway, the boy found himself staring straight into the eyes of Serafina. Ghigno was studying one of the paintings on the wall, but he had a firm grip on the girl’s arm. Her almond eyes grew wide at the sight of Ben, who had only enough time to wink and nod reassuringly at her. Then the dog dragged him away, communicating urgently. “Don’t stand there like a lovelorn duck. Move yourself!”

Serafina felt as though she was suddenly hovering on air at the sight of Ben. Ghigno turned and looked at her quizzically.

“What’s the matter with you, girl, do you feel faint?”

She quickly turned her eyes to the carpeted floor. “Er, no! Well, a little bit. Please could I have something to eat? I feel a bit hungry.”

On the way back to the Grey Swan, Ned explained what had taken place in the salon. “I managed to get into that room where old Miseryguts was sitting at a table with another fellow. I could see Serafina and the Scar-face waiting in the hallway. Anyhow, you know those long, padded seats that run along the walls? Well, I crawled under one end and bellied my way along. You’re lucky to have such a clever and resourceful dog as me. I got to within less than a yard of Miseryguts and the other one. And here’s what I learned . . .”

Nobody passing by would have guessed what was going on between the ragged, muddy boy and the saturated hound.