Voyage of Slaves

Not many hours had elapsed since the Blue Turtle sailed from Melito when the Sea Djinn made landfall there. Al Misurata stood on the main quay, warming his hands by a fire, where some fishermen were cooking their catch. He strode impatiently from the firelight toward four men approaching him. It was Ghigno and two of his aides, who were frog-marching one of the locals between them. Al Misurata glared fiercely at the Scar-face. “Are you going to keep me waiting all the night? What’s going on, who’s this gutter rat?”

Ghigno took hold of his captive’s hair and shook him. “One who I’m told has information for us, Master.”

The pirate took a glance at the fishermen, who were craning to hear the conversation. He nodded toward his ship. “Get him aboard quickly!”

Once on board the Sea Djinn, Al Misurata listened briefly to Ghigno’s report.

“This one has news of the boy and his dog—they’re not travelling on the old man’s ship anymore.”

The man, realising that Al Misurata was a rich and important person, adopted a cringing attitude. “Lord, the dog and the boy set upon me, I was attacked, bitten and injured. Your servants dragged me from my sickbed and forced me to come with them. But I know where that whelp and his cur went, is that not worth a reward from one as magnificent as you, sire?”

The pirate’s tone did not warn the man of the danger he was in. “It might be worth some gold, if I had time to waste on wharf scrapings such as you. But I need information now. Bomba!”

The slaver whipped a noose around the man’s neck, and tossed it over a rigging spar. He heaved on it until the unfortunate was gagging on tiptoe, both hands trying feebly to loosen the strangling rope. Bomba raised his cane and laid a stroke across his victim’s back. At a nod from his master, Bomba let the fellow fall to the deck, where he lay gurgling with pain.

Al Misurata stood over him, speaking menacingly. “I’ll wager that hurt. There are ninety-nine more strokes to come, if you decide to play the fool with me, my friend. Bomba, hoist him up again!”

Before the slave driver had a chance to obey the command, the man was pleading in hoarse terror. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! Please, no more!”

When he had given his information, Al Misurata turned to Ghigno. “Well?”

The scar-faced Corsair nodded. “It must be the truth. Nobody saw the boy and dog return to the old one’s ship, it sailed off, bound south. This other one, the Blue Turtle, it’s captained by a Greek. He sailed just before sunset for a convent in Muggia. I spoke to a man who loaded cargo onto her. It looks like the boy is headed for Piran. If we cast off now we should be able to catch them—the Greek’s ship is nought but an old tub, it does not have our speed.”

The look on his master’s face caused Ghigno to fall silent. Al Misurata stirred the man lying on the deck with his boot. “Did you hear that?”

The fellow shook his head furiously, still in a panic. “No, sire, hear what? I heard nothing, I swear it!”

The pirate nodded noncommittally. “Go ashore, then, and speak no word to anybody.” He glanced significantly at Bomba, who touched the hilt of his curved dagger and nodded.

Al Misurata watched the man scrabble over the side to the quay. Bomba waited a moment before following him.

Confronting Ghigno, Al Misurata hissed savagely, “Why didn’t you shout our plans from the mast top, fool! Sometimes I think the older you get, the softer your brain becomes. What possessed you to gabble on like that?”

The scar-faced Corsair bowed his head. “It was stupid of me. I apologise, Master.”

The pirate sighed. “I’ll let it pass this time, but only because of our years together. Make ready to sail as soon as Bomba gets back.”

La Lindi had her ear to the cabin door; she had heard all that transpired on deck.

Otto put aside the loaded blunderbuss, knowing that any chance of a sudden escape had been foiled. “We will be under way shortly, there is no time for us to make a break. But it is good to know that our friend Ben is still trying to help us, ja!”

Mamma Rizzoli covered the gun with her shawl. “I know the convent at Muggia, a girl from my village went there as a novice. If only we could reach it, I’m certain we would be safe there. It is only a short distance from Piran, eh, Augusto?”

Signore Rizzoli was in total agreement. “Si, the Convento di Santa Filomena is a strongly built place. I think we should make our break when we come ashore at Piran, we’d stand a better chance there.”

Otto nodded. “I am with you, mein Herr.”

Even Serafina brightened up considerably. “Ben will be there to help us, I know it!”

Buffo interrupted. “Ssshh! Somebody’s coming.”

Bomba entered the cabin. He looked around, checking that everything was in order. Testing the blade of his curved knife on his thumbtip, he leered at Serafina. “We’re under way for the Adriatic Sea, it shouldn’t be too long before we catch up with your boyfriend and his hound. I’m eager to meet them, aren’t you, pretty one?”