Voyage of Slaves

The Santa Veronica del Mar halted three shiplengths from the Sea Djinn. Like most Spanish men-o’-war, she was impressively large, bristling with cannon and ornate superstructure. Al Misurata appeared on the afterdeck, richly clad in flowing blue and emerald silks. Ben was surprised that the pirate showed no apprehension at being accosted by the Spanish navy. He gave no orders to run or fight. Highly unusual for one who plied his trade. Ned had his nose through the rails, watching the approaching ship.

“Look, they’re lowering a boat, Ben, there’s the captain and two officers getting into it. What’s your plan, mate?”

The boy thrust out his jaw resolutely. “The first chance I get, I’m going to have a word with the captain, or one of those officers. Wait’ll I tell them about what Misurata’s up to, that should set the cat among the pigeons!”

The black Labrador wagged his tail furiously. “Hoho, I’ll wager it will. I can’t wait to see old Al Miserable, and Bomba, and that scar-faced rogue, led off in chains to a slaver’s reward. I hope the authorities have a nice, damp, gloomy cell waiting for ’em!”

The jollyboat hove alongside, allowing the visitors to be assisted aboard the Sea Djinn. The captain stepped aboard, flanked by his aides.

Ben dashed forward, calling out urgently in Spanish, “Capitano, I must speak with you, señor!”

The captain, a tall, slender, grey-haired man with an elegant bearing, stared down his aquiline nose at the strange tow-haired boy, then swept past on his way to the stern deck. Ben tried to follow, but he was tripped from behind by Ghigno. Ned leaped forward. He was in midair when a cruel kick from Bomba sent him through the rails, splashing into the sea.

Laughing, the Spanish sailors pulled the dog into the jollyboat. A burly bosun lifted Ned, heaving him back aboard the Sea Djinn.

“Not a good place to jump ship, you silly old seadog, out here days from land!”

Ben lay on the deck, clutching the soaking dog to him. The opportunity had been lost. He felt foolish, surrounded by Bomba, Ghigno and several crewmen. Serafina pushed her way through to Ben. One of the crewmen tried to stop her, but she evaded him.

Ghigno warned her, “Get back to the fo’c’sle deck, girl!”

She ignored him and helped Ben up, whispering to him, “Ben, what’s the matter, are you hurt?”

He rubbed his shin, where it had struck the coaming. “You shouldn’t be here, get back to the troupe right now. Leave me alone, I can handle this. Now go!”

Stunned by his sharp rebuke, Serafina hurried off.

Al Misurata bowed to his visitor. “Capitano Mira, a pleasure to meet you again. Allow me to offer you some refreshment in my cabin.”

Removing his high-sided hat and stowing it beneath one arm, the captain signalled his two officers to stop on deck. “Thank you kindly, señor, please lead on!”

Ned shook himself vigorously as he watched the two men go into the cabin. “Hah, there’s something odd going on here, they know each other well. Maybe you’d have been better off holding your tongue, mate?”

Ben’s clouded eyes watched the cabin door close. “Maybe so, Ned, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

It was not a long visit. Shortly thereafter, Al Misurata and Captain Mira emerged from the cabin. The Spaniard wiped his lips delicately with a lace kerchief, which he stowed into his brocaded sleeve. Still with his hat under one arm, he bowed briefly. “A delightful meeting, Señor Misurata, but alas I have duties at Cadiz which cannot be delayed further. Adios, my friend, and may success attend your voyage.”

Al Misurata touched fingertips to his heart, lips and forehead, bowing in a dignified manner. “You grace my humble vessel with your presence, Capitano. My apologies for the boy, he is troubled in the brain. Good-bye, and may fair winds be ever at your back.”

The two officers fell in behind their captain as he descended to the jollyboat amidships.

Bomba placed himself in front of Ben, blocking access to the Spaniard, but the captain gestured him aside. He spoke patronisingly to the boy, patting his cheek gently.

“You speak Spanish very well, for one who is weak in the head!”

Ben’s heart sank as he saw the chamois bag and heard the gold clink. It was in the man’s hat; the captain bent his head swiftly and donned it. Without another word, he stepped into the boat.

Ned gave himself a final shake, he was disgusted. “A bribe, eh, payment in gold for his silence. I thought so. That captain is as bad as Al Miserable!”

Al Misurata leaned over the stern gallery. He caught Ben’s eye and shrugged mockingly. “Well, who did you expect him to listen to—the Lord of Misurata, or a feeble-minded infidel brat?”