Voyage of Slaves (31 page)

Janos played with strands of her long black hair. “Oh, good enough, I suppose. It keeps long-nosed officials off my back, seeing I’ve got an honest trade.”

The Greek dropped his voice. “But it’s only a blind, to hide your real business. Do you still run a gang?”

Janos Cabar coiled the bullwhip and hung it over her shoulder. “Ah, you rogue, I knew you wanted something the moment you walked in here. Yanni, bring the food and follow us, we’re going downstairs. Too many little pigs with big ears around waterfront taverns these days.”

They reached the basement by a trapdoor, set into the floor of a back room. It was a spacious chamber, with bales, barrels and chests stacked against the walls. There were about twenty women sitting at various tables, eating, drinking and gossiping. Every one of the women was garbed in men’s riding clothes, well-armed, too, by the sight of blades and muskets tucked into their belts. They fell quiet as the visitors entered, but at a nod from Janos they carried on talking. Ned did the rounds of the tables, and was rewarded with choice morsels from many plates.

Kostas clacked his gold teeth happily. “Aye, I see you’re still in the highway trade. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about, my friend.”

Janos draped an arm around Ben’s shoulders. “Go on.”

Kostas pointed at the boy. “He needs to get to Piran, and he wants to be there soon. That’s why I’ve brought him to you. I require passage for Ben and his dog.”

The woman turned to Ben. “You must have urgent business in Piran. Tell me, will it keep until just before dawn after tomorrow night?”

Ben nodded eagerly. “That would be marvellous, marm!”

Janos pulled him close, muttering with dark humour. “Just you marm me one more time, lad, and I’ll break every rib that you possess!”

By the strength of the hold she had on him, Ben never doubted her word. He forced a smile. “Not one more marm, I promise, Mrs. Cabar.”

She gave him a final squeeze as a reminder. “Call me Janos, that’ll do.”

Kostas interrupted, “What do I owe you, friend?”

The tough woman shook her head. “I don’t take payment from friends, you should know that.”

Ned nuzzled her hand until she stroked his ears. “This is a very wild and wonderful dangerous lady, Ben.”

Ben turned his attention to Kostas Krimboti.

“How can I thank you for all that you’ve done for us, Cap’n?”

The gold teeth flashed in a wide grin. “Me, helped you? It’s the other way around, Beniamino. You gave me the gift I have always longed for. Something my parents would not allow me to have—a puppy dog! Once I have the old
Blue Turtle
fixed up, I will be Kostas Krimboti, the man who got everything he always wished for. To be captain of his own ship, and to own a dog that will become the terror of all seagoing rats!”

Ben shook the big Greek’s hand fondly. “I’m sure he’ll be a fine dog for you, Cap’n.”

Kostas stood up. “And now I must go, my friend. You’ll need to rest up before tomorrow evening, and I must get back to my ship and heal her wounds. Janos, I’m taking the boy outside to have a final word with him.”

Ben and Ned followed Kostas and Yanni back to the boat in the harbour. Out of sight from prying eyes, Kostas held out his hand. “Yanni, my pocket money.”

From inside his billowing shirt, Yanni brought forth a heavy leather pouch.

Kostas instructed Ben, “Now listen to me, boy, if you refuse my gift I’ll be very sad, and angry, too. Here’s gold for you. Don’t look so surprised, did you think I was a poor man? I was a treasure hunter, you know. I’ve got gold and jewels that I’ll never be able to count. Janos Cabar must be paid, her business is risky. She won’t take money from me, so you pay her. Keep some for yourself, you may need it before you and your friends are safe. Now don’t argue!”

Ben accepted the pouch. “Thank you, Cap’n.”

Kostas stared long and hard at the strange boy with the clouded eyes, regretting that he had no children. “Should you get to the Convent of Santa Filomena, tell the Mother Superior that you are my friend. Say that I will deliver her supplies as soon as I can.”

Yanni was already in the boat, manning an oar. “Kostas Krimboti, are you coming? The tide’s beginning to turn. Good-bye, boy, good luck to you and your fine dog!”

The big Greek captain scratched Ned’s ear gently. “Ah yes, such a fine dog. I hope you don’t get lonely without the little puppy, Ned. I think he will be as good a friend to me as you are to your master.”

The black Labrador looked soulfully up at Kostas, knowing he could not read his thoughts. “I resent that remark, sir, no dog is more friendly or faithful than I am to this wayward youth. And as to the dreaded Amico—well, I may miss him now and again, but at least my tail won’t be chewed to the bone!”

Ben held forth his hand. “You’d best be going, Captain, good-bye and may good fortune follow you.”

Kostas pulled the boy to him and kissed the top of his head. “Good-bye, Beniamino, the son I never had. I hope you will remember the Krimboti in the years that lie ahead of you. Go now, don’t look back!” He leaped into the boat, sniffing audibly. Grabbing his oar, he pulled away with might and main. “Well, are you going to sit there complaining all night, Yanni? Come on, bend your back, man!”

Ben and Ned strolled back to the taverna, exchanging thoughts.

“Something in your eye, mate?”

Ben wiped his sleeve roughly across his face.“Oh, you know how it is, Ned, always hard to part with good friends.”

The dog nodded. “Aye, it is indeed. D’you know, Ben, I’ve just had a thought. We’ve hardly seen the ghost of the Dutchman lately, nor have we heard from the angel. Who knows, maybe the spell of wandering for eternity might be wearing off?”

The boy stopped. He sat down on the front steps of the taverna, resting his head against Ned’s neck and sighing wistfully. “If only it was! Imagine being able to live your life like others. Never having to keep on the move in case they see you staying young forever. I’m tired, Ned.”

The faithful dog nuzzled his master’s face. “Oh, come on, or you’ll have me moping about soon. Who ever lived through the adventures and excitement that we’ve had together?”

The boy rose slowly and went inside, adding to his friend’s thoughts. “Nobody, I suppose. Nor have they had the sorrow and hardships we’ve been through. Being chased through our dreams by an accursed captain. Hungry, thirsty, frozen by cold weather, roasted by tropical climes. Being enslaved, losing good friends, ordered to travel hither and thither by an angel. . . .”

Ned threw back his head and bayed sorrowfully. It caught the attention of all the taverna customers. Ben tugged at his dog’s tail.“What are you doing?”

Keeping up the mournful din, Ned told him. “I’m yowlingand moaning of course, just like you’re doing, and I won’t shut up until you do, mate, so there!”

Ben was forced to smile—his friend was right. He tugged hard on the drooping tail. “Oh, alright, I’ll quit if you will. Come on, let’s go and see if there’s any of that nice fried beef left before we turn in for the night!”

Ned immediately ceased the noise he had been making. “Now you’re talking, mate. One thing about being a creature of respectable age, you get to taste some pretty decent stuff. Lead me to it, comrade. Or on second thoughts, you follow and I’ll lead you, us dogs have a finer developed sense of smell than mere humans!”

They were halfway through their second supper, accompanied by two portions of cherry pie which a friendly cook had found for them, when Janos Cabar appeared, accompanied by an older woman who looked very hard and capable. Janos whispered to her, “Round the rest of the pack up, we meet down below for the midday meal.”

She turned her attention to Ben and Ned. “You two, clean your plates and get up to bed. Upstairs, second room to the left. You’ll need all the rest you can get if you’re to ride with the Istrani Wolves. Good night!”

Uncoiling her bullwhip, she cracked it several times above her head, shouting in a harsh voice, “Taverna’s closed now, everyone out. Come on, haven’t you got homes or ships to go to? Move!”

No man seemed prepared to argue with her; the customers left immediately. Ned picked up his piece of pie in his mouth and headed for the stairs. “Quick, mate, before she makes us scrub the place out!”

It was a quiet little room, rather sparsely furnished, but spotlessly clean. Ned settled down at the foot of the bed, dropping off into a slumber without further ado. Ben sat up, gazing out of the open window at the harbour and the sea beyond. A half-moon flecked the countless acres of water with silver radiance; the horizon betwixt sea and sky was barely visible. He had seen many such nights over the years, it usually was a calming influence on his mind. Yet Ned’s former thoughts had made him restless. Suppose the visions and voices had left him? Maybe the angel’s command had been brought to an end.

Then he saw it. A pale, cold patch of light, far off, illuminating the
Flying Dutchman.
The doomed vessel appeared in the apparently calm main, its tattered sails billowing and flapping. Still on an endless voyage, captained by the wraith of Vanderdecken, crewed by lost souls. Ned whimpered in his sleep, breaking the spell, and the boy knew what his dog’s dream was. He was yearning after the puppy, Amico. All his disdain for the little dog had been only bravado. Ben smiled, smoothing his friend’s back lightly. When he looked again, the phantom ship had disappeared. He lay back and sought sleep. However, it was a long time coming—a sight of the
Flying Dutchman,
no matter how far off, was always a precursor of ill fortune lurking ahead.

AL MISURATA BROUGHT A CHART OUT onto the deck. Sheltered from the blustery breeze in the lee of the stairs leading to the afterdeck, he outlined the route to Ghigno.

“Soon the city of Venice will be visible on our port side. That is our marker. Set a course eastward, for Piran, here!” He was marking the chart with his finger when Augusto Rizzoli’s voice rang out from behind.

“Take us to the women, signore, or you are a dead man!”

The pirate and his aide turned to see the male members of the troupe confronting them. Otto headed the group, holding the blunderbuss levelled at both men.

Ghigno’s face twisted into a contemptuous sneer. “What do you propose to do with that rusty old fossil?” He gave a sharp whistle. Within moments the troupe were surrounded by guards, their long jezzails primed and ready.

Otto stood his ground, drawing back the weapon’s hammer. “
Mein Herr,
this gun is old and rusty, but it has a loud bark, and a fatal bite. I can take you and your master out with one blast!”

Al Misurata held up both hands, speaking reasonably. “Then we would all die. The moment you pull the trigger, my men will fire also. What would we all have gained by such a foolish act?”

Signore Rizzoli repeated his demand. “Take us to the women. We do not wish to see death and bloodshed, only to be reunited with my wife and our other two friends. But Otto will fire if he has to!”

Al Misurata did not seem unduly disturbed. “Then I concede to your wishes. Follow me, please.”

The entire assembly moved awkwardly to the midship hold, the guards trying to keep the troupe hemmed in, and Otto still menacing both pirate and Corsair with his ancient firearm. On reaching the stable cabin, Al Misurata ordered the guard to open the door, which he did. Before anybody could even guess at his intent, Al Misurata strode inside, grabbed the closest woman—La Lindi—and held her in front of him. Ducking his head so that he was at shoulder level with the snake charmer, the pirate called out, “Ghigno, tell one of the guards to shoot her in the skull unless the German surrenders his gun!”

Otto was loathe to release the blunderbuss. Signore Rizzoli placed his hand on the big man’s arm. “Please, my friend, give up your gun. These are wicked and godless men, they will kill La Lindi. Do as he says or she will die!”

The strongman relaxed his hold on the blunderbuss. Ghigno took it gingerly from him. Al Misurata let go of La Lindi and strode out of the cabin. “There are your women, now get in there with them, or I will order my men to fire on them!”

The troupe were left with no choice—they filed dejectedly into the cabin. Al Misurata smiled. “Pigeons should never try to defy hawks. Signore, you will all stay together until we reach our destination. It will not be long, I assure you.” He signalled to the guard, who slammed the door and locked it. As they went back upstairs, a cry rang out from the lookout.

“Land ho off the port bow! Land ho!”

There was a gloomy silence in the cabin below decks. The awful finality of their plight had finally come home to the Rizzoli Troupe. Short of a miracle, their fate was sealed now. Their last slim chance had gone with the loss of the gun—ancient and rusty as it was, the weapon had come to symbolise their hope of freedom.

They sat quietly, each with his, or her, own thoughts. Mamma and her brothers-in-law, Buffo and Mummo, still looked to Augusto Rizzoli; the plump little showman had always been their source of inspiration, it was he who made most of the troupe’s decisions. But even he was stuck for any solution, the glum expression on his normally cheerful face telling its own story. La Lindi attended to the python Mwaga, her face like an Egyptian carving in black jet, impassive and resigned.