Voyage of Slaves

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.

 

“Sandalwood from Lebanon, fragrant and sweet,

ripe pomegranates delicious to eat,

and oh, the aroma of Rahat Lakoum,

roses which grow ’neath Anatolia’s moon.

Silks from Cathay and the flow’rs of the East,

spread o’er the table of our wedding feast.

Bear them o’er deep seas and wild bounding main,

tell me, o tell me, you love me again.

And again . . . and again.

 

“Laden with spices and incense so rare,

ivory combs to grace long raven hair,

camels and caravans traverse the sands,

out of the dust of old Egypt’s far lands.

Bright are the stars in the dark skies above,

yonder the ship comes which carries her love. She sings as the waves softly break on the shore,

O tell me you’ll care for me, love evermore.

Evermore . . . evermore.”

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!”