Voyage of Slaves

Al Misurata joined Bomba and Ghigno. Once he had apprised himself of the situation, he began issuing orders. “Drop anchor here, out in the bay. If they’re not aboard the ship, then they’re in the water. They won’t get far. Bomba, you see to salvaging the sail with the crew. Ghigno, spread my guards at the rails from stem to stern. We’ll fire some rockets out over the bay—give my men orders to shoot them on sight, the boy knows too much to be left alive now. Keep the others in their cabins, don’t allow them out. We’ll rig the foresail up tomorrow and sail into port. I’ll be in my cabin. Keep me informed.”

Ned peered at Ben in the darkness. “Well, there’s no going back now, mate, we’ve really done it this time. Whoo! Look at that!”

The boy backed water, pulling them both in close to the ship’s hull as the rockets were discharged. Incandescent plumes of white fire burst over the waters, illuminating everything briefly. Then they sputtered and fell hissing into the bay. More rockets went up.

Two guards, leaning over the stern gallery, sighted their long musket barrels out, sweeping them back and forth. Ben heard one speaking.

“Do you think there’ll be a reward for whoever hits them?”

His companion in arms muttered grimly, “I don’t know, but I wager there’ll be trouble if they aren’t spotted and killed.”

A voice broke in on them. It was Ghigno. “Stop gossiping and pay attention to your duties!”

One of the guards replied, “Aye, Captain, though it’s not much use lookin’ out to sea for the boy and the dog. If they were swimmin’ for it, surely they’d be headed for land?”

Ghigno nodded. “You’re right, but the master is giving the orders, we’re not here to argue. They’ll be running out of rockets soon, but he’s told me you must stay at your posts.”

The other guard spoke hopefully. “Will we be going in to land then?”

Ghigno sounded tired. “No, we’re anchoring out here. Tomorrow I’ll be taking her in, though not with all our sails. Bomba told me they only recovered half of the top spar, it broke in two when it fell. I’ll have to wait until we’re docked to have it fixed and rigged properly.”

He wandered off, leaving the two guards at the stern. Soon the rockets ceased, and they put up their rifles. Sitting on the stern deck they eased their vigilance.

Ned’s paw pressed against Ben’s shoulder. “Stay here, mate, I’ve got an idea!” The dog began paddling silently away.

Ben called to him mentally. “Ned, where are you going? I’ll come, too!”

His friend returned the thought. “No, Ben, stay put, a black dog in the sea at night is harder to spot than a boy and a black dog. I’m going to get that broken spar—it’s our only chance. Trust me!”

Ben had no other choice; he knew what Ned said was true. He clung to the fender rope, his mind harking back to a century ago.²⁴

A ship’s timber had saved their life then, when they were swept overboard from the ill-fated Flying Dutchman, into the icy seas off Tierra del Fuego. Ned had dragged him, half-conscious, onto a spar which had fallen from the vessel. They had both drifted to shore, clinging to it. Good old Ned—Ben knew with a certainty that there had never been another dog like him, before or since.

The smooth end of the spar brushed against Ben’s back as Ned’s voice took his attention. “Ahoy, shipmate, one seadog coming in on your stern!”

The boy gripped onto the rope-tangled timber. “Well done, mate. It’s a stout old piece of wood, sure enough. Are the guards still watching up there?”

The black Labrador scoffed. “Still watching? Listen, I’ve just paddled underneath their very noses and pushed this thing the length of the ship, and not one of ’em noticed. If you look up, you’ll see the legs of those two above us, dangling through the gallery rails. Not a pretty sight, I’ll grant you, but they’re both snoring!”

Ben grinned. “Good, the angel’s on our side tonight. What we’ll do is, we’ll swim out to sea a bit behind this spar, say six shiplengths away. Then we’ll strike out in a curve toward the island. If anyone is still awake and watching, they’ll be looking the other way. Right, I’m ready, are you?”

Keeping the spar between themselves and the Sea Djinn, they back-paddled away, toward the open sea. Ben was glad of the exercise—it took the numbness from his limbs. Ned gripped a rope between his teeth, doggy paddling away carefully, trying not to splash. He gave Ben the benefit of his opinion as to their progress.

“We’re doing well, the tide’s on the turn. Get a bit furtherout, then we’ll run into land on the flood, it’ll save a lot of paddling.”

Ben flicked matted hair from his eyes. “Let’s hope so, we don’t want to be caught out in open water once it’s daylight. What I wouldn’t give to be on warm, dry land right now!”

The black Labrador mused, “Me, too, mate. Hmmm, I wonder if there’s any sharks around here?”

Ben shot him a glare. “Thanks for that comforting thought!”