Voyage of Slaves (22 page)

Mamma held up her hands. “Keep your voices down, please. Maybe the gun is a good idea, but will they let us into the hold to get it? I don’t think so.”

La Lindi spoke up. “I have an idea. Otto, where exactly is the gun?”

“Just under the platform by the back door of the wagon. It hangs upon two hooks. There is also a little bag with it, containing powder, flint and musket balls. How do you plan on reaching it, Frau Lindi?”

The snake charmer looked to the large basket in which her python was coiled. “If Mwaga got loose and slithered down into the hold, I don’t think any crewman would be willing to go after him. But I would.”

Serafina was beginning to see the possibilities of her friend’s scheme. “Of course! You are the only one who could handle Mwaga. Let’s go down onto the hatch covers and pretend we’re rehearsing our act. Everybody will be doing something, it will create a diversion.”

Otto beamed at his beautiful young friend. “
Sehr gut, Mädchen!
²⁹
Let us get our equipment,
ja
!”

The vessel was riding easily under a steady breeze, sails thrumming tautly in the fine weather. Most of the crew were not busy, so they gathered to watch the free show put on by the troupe. Buffo and Mummo had mops and buckets; they played the part of two stupid sailors, mopping the deck. Amid hearty laughter from the onlookers, the two clowns slipped and slithered in an imaginary storm at sea, arguing and buffeting one another with the damp mops.

La Lindi opened the basket and took the giant python out, as Signore Rizzoli tuned his mandolin and Serafina began setting up a rhythm on her Kongo drum. La Lindi found a space in the hatch boards. She was getting ready to slip Mwaga between them when she heard Mamma’s urgent whisper.

“Be careful, that Bomba fellow and the scar-faced one are watching us!”

The pair were leaning on the rear deck gallery rail, viewing the show.

Signore Rizzoli nodded to Serafina. “Come,
cara mia,
let’s divert them with your voice. Sing!”

Together they strolled aft along the hatch tops, halting close to Bomba and Ghigno. Mounting the stairs to the rear deck, the beautiful black girl broke out into song.

Serafina’s vibrant, husky voice clung to the final note, as Bomba and Ghigno stood caught in its spell. Signore Rizzoli cast a swift glance back to the hatch tops. Mummo nodded to him—both La Lindi and Mwaga were nowhere to be seen.

Fully dressed in black and white robes and turban, Al Misurata appeared behind both his henchmen. His mood had not improved greatly; he scowled sourly at them.

“Haven’t you seen enough of these fools performing? Get to my cabin, we have things to discuss!”

Neither man argued. They went dutifully ahead of him into the captain’s quarters.

Otto lay flat on the hatch cover with his back against the boards. He held a weighted barbell, with Buffo and Mummo sitting atop the iron balls at either end. The crew were counting aloud as he performed a number of press-ups with the formidable weight. “Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen!”

La Lindi’s voice reached him from beneath the board below his head. “I’ve got it, bring me up, the gun is in the basket!”

The strongman carried on until he had done thirty presses with the barbell. He put it aside and allowed the two clowns to roll it away. Still lying flat out, Otto waved to acknowledge the crew’s cheers, then he made as if to rise, but fell back, calling to them, “Enough, I’ve done enough. Oof! My back hurts, I’ll lie here awhile. The show’s over, thank you!”

The sailors drifted off gradually. When they had gone, Mamma tapped Otto’s shoulder. “Now, quickly!”

He leaped up with a bound, which belied any injury to his back. Buffo and Mummo whipped back the section of hatch cover speedily, as Otto hauled La Lindi, her snake and the basket onto the deck with a single jerk. The clowns slid the hatch cover back into place, and the Rizzoli Troupe wandered casually back to their accommodations.

Signore Rizzoli examined the gun, which was an old blunderbuss his father had used for scaring birds from the crops on their land. He shook his head doubtfully.

“This gun will need a lot of attention. All the rust must be scraped off, and it will have to be cleaned and oiled, especially the mechanism.”

Otto had been checking the pouch. “At least the powder’s still dry, and the flint is in good order, the balls, too. So, once the gun is cleaned up we will have something to fight back with.”

Mamma frowned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that!”

Signore Rizzoli patted his wife’s hand comfortingly. “Justice will prevail,
cara mia,
don’t fret. We are all in the hands of the Almighty, He will help.”

Otto looked up from inspecting the bore of the gun. “That is true, Mamma, though sometimes the Almighty does not mind us helping ourselves!”

IT WAS TWILIGHT OF THE FOLLOWING evening when the White Ram’s lookout spotted land. He bellowed out from the masthead, “Cape Passero, Sicily, sighted off the for’ard bow!”

Eli followed Joshua, Ben and Ned to the prow. He complained affably as Ned dropped behind to accompany him, “You young fellows are forever dashing places. Have a little respect for your elders and wait for me!”

Ned nuzzled the old man’s hand, which pleased Eli. “Ah, here is the only one aboard with any manners. Thank you, my friend.”

Ned sent him a thought, which he had no means of hearing. “Think nothing of it, sir, though you’d be surprised to know just how old I am!”

They stood gazing at the approaching coast as Ben questioned the patriarch. “So that’s Sicily? I’ve not been there before—have you, sir?”

The old man nodded. “Oh yes, I know Sicily well, Ben. It is an ancient and beautiful island that has seen much hardship through conquest and oppression. The people are a hardy race, and do not trust strangers on sight. For the most part they are good and simple folk, though a few can be very dangerous.”

Joshua tugged at his grandfather’s sleeve. “Will we be going ashore? I want to see what it’s like for myself!”

Eli stroked Ned’s head absently. “Not in Sicily—we’ll skirt the coast, past Siracusa and up to Catania, then we’ll change course for Italy. There’s a place called Melito, down at the southern tip of Calabria. Perhaps we’ll call in there to stock up on supplies. We’ll spend the better part of a day there. You’ll like Melito, I have friends there.”

Eli broke off to issue orders for the evening. “Abram, don’t take the ship in too close to shore. Post a watch for reefs and shallows, we’ll take her up the coast under half-sail for tonight.”

The trusty Abram bowed, and strode off to do his captain’s bidding.

Eli had noted Joshua’s disappointment at not being able to go ashore. His eyes twinkled as he ruffled the boy’s curls. “What would you say if I told you that we’ll roast some lamb and fish, up here on deck? We’ll sing a few songs, tell a few tales and you can stay up late, eh?”

The lad smiled happily. “Good old Grandad! I’ll go and get charcoal and lemons and olive oil. Let me be cook, you know how you like my cooking!”

As he ran off, Eli called after him, “Don’t forget my wine, it’s the only thing that soothes my digestion after your burnt offerings!” The old fellow turned to Ben, winking. “I was only joking—my Joshua inherited his cooking skills from his mother. He’s a very good cook.”

In later years, Ben would remember it as a lovely evening, drifting up the Mediterranean Sea on the calm neap tide, with a few shorelights twinkling on one side and the air still warm from the day’s heat. He and Ned sat with Eli and the crew, some of whom were playing flutes or strumming guitars. Ezekiel rigged a contrivance up over the midship rail—a grill with a charcoal fire burning beneath it, a sort of barbecue set up over the water to protect the deck from being burned. Ned pawed impatiently at Ben’s hand; as usual he was ready for food.

“Mmmmm, smell that lamb, mate, Joshua’s got it crackling well. I hope that shoulder’s for me!”

Ben could not fail to inhale the aroma: roasting meat and fish, with the sweet scent of oregano, lemon rinds, rosemary and olive oil, all cooking over the coals. He tugged Ned’s tail playfully. “Be quiet, you great walking stomach, I’m trying to listen to this song which the crew are singing.”

Actually, it was only one of the crew, a young man with a deep, rich, bass voice, who sang the verse. The rest hummed along, joining in on the chorus.

Joshua turned from the meal he was tending and called out, “Sing a song for us, Ben, do you know any good ones?”

The crew began cheering and encouraging Ben, but Eli called for silence.

“Let Benjamin be, perhaps he does not want to sing.”

Ben thanked the old man, then stood up to speak. “I have a dreadful voice, and Ned’s is no better. But I will show you some magic, performed by the Mysterious Benno and the Magnificent Neddo.”

As he spoke, Ben caught an indignant thought from his dog. “Well, thank you very much for asking me did I want to be a magician again. Hmph! It would be good if I were allowed to make a few decisions for this team now and again. Pray tell, what’ll you do if I don’t feel like performing the act?”

Ben sent the black Labrador a ready reply. “Oh that’s easy, I’ll tell them you don’t want any food, that you just want to go to our cabin and sleep, and that your real name is Bundi!”

Ned leaped upright smartly, trying to appear casual. “Oh well, just this once, but in future, would you please consult me first? And one other thing—don’t ever dare to refer to me by that dreadful name again!”

Ben took Ned’s head in both hands, staring into his eyes. “I’m sorry, mate, it was thoughtless of me not to ask you. I apologise. Of course I’d never mention that name to a living soul, ever!”

Ned treated him to a doggy grin. “Well, what are you waiting for, ask them for a blindfold and tell them to have their trinkets and objects ready!”

Eli, his grandson and the entire crew were astonished at Ben and Ned’s act. Joshua immediately professed a desire to become a magician, just like his friend Ben.

Then the food was ready. They had a glorious late meal, sitting there on the deck, laughing and talking and congratulating the boy and his dog who had entertained them so well. The evening wore on, and whilst the men continued talking, Ben, Ned and Joshua curled up on some rope-matted fenders and dozed.

Surrounded by such safety and happiness, Ben was not expecting what happened next. Straight out of his dreams, the ghostly apparition of Captain Vanderdecken appeared, grinning evilly.

It was so sudden that Ben sat straight up, wide awake. Beside him, Joshua slumbered on, but Ned was up, teeth bared, and hackles rising. He shot Ben a thought. “Did you see that, too, mate? What’s it all about?”

The boy glanced around. However, nothing had changed—Eli and his crew were still gossiping idly, whilst two flutes played a quiet duet in the background. He shook his head at the dog.

“I don’t know, but whenever the Dutchman shows up, it usually means trouble, or danger nearby. You check for’ard, Ned, I’ll check aft!”