Voyage of Slaves

The answer sounded rather lame. “Er, man overboard, I think—we saw nothing, sir.”

The cabin door opened, and Mamma Rizzoli bustled out in an agitated state. She waved her hands in Ghigno’s face. “It was that Bomba fellow, signore. He came to our cabin, drunk as a pig. Look!”

The scar-faced Corsair stared down at the broken wine bottle in the scuppers. “Drunk eh, well, that’s nothing new for Bomba. But what did he want, did he say anything?”

Mamma’s voice went shrill. “I’ll tell you what the drunken beast wanted—he wanted to take young Serafina back to his cabin! Our menfolk tried to send him away, they locked the door on him, but he smashed the lock. I fixed him, though. Hah, I said I’d report him to you. He hurried off when he heard that. My husband saw him stumble and trip, didn’t you, dear?”

Augusto Rizzoli backed his wife to the hilt stoutly. “Yes, signore, I saw it all, the man struck his head and went straight into the sea. It was me who called out the alarm. The rest of my troupe were too seasick to do anything. Look at them, Capitano!”

Ghigno hustled the Rizzolis back into the cabin. “Yes yes, now go inside, or you might be washed overboard. Stay in your quarters until the storm dies down. And you up there, get back to your watch, never mind what’s going on down here. Huh, it’s not enough that we’re in the middle of a storm, but we have some drunken fool going over the side. It’s his own fault!”

Al Misurata sat in his lavishly appointed cabin, watching the pale wine slopping back and forth in its goblet as he listened to Ghigno’s report. He took a sip, glancing at his companion over the rim. “Why do you look so happy at our friend’s untimely end—were you not fond of Bomba?”

The Corsair’s scarred face twisted into a sinister grin. “Lord, I did not notice you shedding any tears at the news. Bomba was a pig and an oaf. I miss him like one who has rid himself of a rotten, aching tooth.”

Al Misurata laughed. “And I do also. Tonight that fool will be in pig paradise. I pity the other pigs!”

Both men laughed then. Seeing his master in a good mood, Ghigno took advantage to press a point. “A great man like you does not have to worry about minor things. Why don’t we just press on to our destination after the storm? The boy and his dog are probably drowned by now. Why let them bother you?”

Al Misurata put aside his wine. “Because he is no ordinary boy, and because he defied my will. He escaped and got the better of me. I cannot allow anybody, boy or man, to do that. You should know me well enough to understand that by now, my friend.”

Ghigno traced his facial scar with a finger. “Aye, Lord, I know it well, but if anything goes further wrong on this illstarred voyage, you may lose the slaves—and the respect of Count Dreskar, which I think you value highly. I am only trying to help, Lord.”

The pirate gazed out of the stern windows at the wild night, stroking his sword hilt. “Maybe you are right. I thank you for your counsel. So be it then—if we do not find the Greek’s ship or the boy by tomorrow, we will sail on to Piran.”

Ghigno stood and bowed. “It is not my counsel that speaks, O Master, it is your wisdom!”

After the Corsair had departed to his own cabin, Al Misurata continued looking out at the storm, ruminating aloud. “Then I will find you tomorrow, boy, and your dog!”

BOOK THREE

ISTRANI WOLVES

24

BEN SPENT MOST OF THE NIGHT AS part of a human chain, passing bowls, buckets, ewers and pans up from the chain locker and stern cabins. It was heavy, remorseless labor, sometimes almost waist-deep in cold seawater, passing brim-slopping containers from hand to hand. Alternately sweating and shivering, the boy toiled doggedly on, sometimes being hurled flat in the wild motion of a storm-rocked ship. He could hear the gale, still howling furiously. It was becoming obvious that the Blue Turtle would be lost, but the bailing crew battled on desperately against their inevitable fate, even joking about it.

Herakles handed a bucket to Ben, remarking as he passed it up to the next man, “One bucketful out, two bucketfuls in, eh, Ben!”

The boy licked a skinned knuckle, commenting, “Aye, if they find any fish down there let’s hope somebody saves them for supper!”

Babiko took the bucket from Ben, reaching back for another. “Huh, by the look of things it’ll be the fish having us for supper!”

Kostas Krimboti came clambering down the water-loggedstairway. As usual, the big Greek was laughing. “Hohoho, if I were a fish I’d let you go, old Babiko skinny bones. No, my friend, those fish will be looking for a fine, big, meaty fellow like me!” Shoving Ben aside, Kostas took his place on the line. “Go on, young ’un, up on deck, you’ve had enough for now.”

The boy protested, “I can work, Cap’n, let me carry on.”

The big Greek flashed his golden smile. “Yanni, tell this little fish what happened to the last fellow who dared to argue with Krimboti!”