Voyage of Slaves

Warm noontide progressed into early evening. Ben sat with his back against a rock, watching Kostas. The big Greek was splashing in the shallows, wrestling playfully with Ned and Amico. He came bounding up the shore, roaring with laughter, toward Ben. The boy held up a hand as Kostas shook himself like a dog, then flopped down beside him. “It’s a good life, my friend!”

Ben wiped seawater from his face. “Don’t you ever worry about anything, Cap’n Krimboti?”

The big Greek picked up the wine jar and drank. “Of course I do, boy! I’m worrying now about how to get my Blue Turtle seaworthy again. I tell you, that old lady is going to need a good patching up. It will take some time to finish the repairs. Which brings me on to my next worry.”

Ben refused a drink from the proffered wine jar. “You have another problem? What’s that?”

Kostas tapped a thick forefinger against the boy’s chest. “You, Ben! Oh, I may look carefree, but all the time this Krimboti is thinking. You are a good boy, and you have helped me, saved my life even. But you have things of your own to do. What about your friends aboard the slaver’s ship? They are bound for Piran, you must save them. I have to think of a way to help you to do this!”

Ben was surprised at his friend’s thoughtfulness. “But how can you help, Cap’n, we’re on a lonely island with a broken ship—what can you do?”

The gold coin teeth glittered in the evening sunlight. “Come with me, I’ll show you!”

Ned trailed along behind Ben as they went aboard the Blue Turtle with Kostas. “Where are we off to, mate?”

The boy helped his dog over the rail. “I’ll let you know as soon as the cap’n tells me.”

Kostas searched his cabin, muttering as he opened drawers and cupboards. “Who ever needs charts except when you can’t find them? Ah, here it is!” From under the bunk mattress he pulled an untidy sheaf of parchment, riffling through until he found the one. Spreading it on the cabin table, Kostas pointed. “It’s many a day since I’ve seen this old thing. It’s the chart of the Adriatic Sea. This is where we are, Losinj, in the Dalmatian Isles. Now, this narrow strait is called the Kvarner, it’s not that far from the Slovenijan mainland. This place here, the town of Pula. I can take our ship’s boat, Yanni and me, we can row you there overnight. From Pula it’s only a couple of days’ travel by land to Piran. How will that do you, Beniamino, eh?”

Ben stared at the chart, with Ned at his elbow. “It would do fine, Cap’n. Ned and I can walk to Piran if you get us to Pula. Thank you very much!”

Kostas ruffled the boy’s hair. “Walk? Who said anything about walking, boy! No, you will ride like the wind!”

Ned pawed his master’s arm. “Ride! How am I expected to ride? Ask him.”

Ben stroked the Labrador’s head, asking, “What about Ned? I couldn’t go anywhere without him.”

Kostas chuckled. “I meant you will ride on wagons, with the Istrani Wolves!”

Ben’s words echoed his dog’s thoughts. “The Istrani Wolves, who are they?”

Kostas Krimboti winked at his two friends. “Good people, smugglers and bandits. They are led by my dear friend Janos Cabar, a rare and bold one, believe me!”

Ben scratched his tow-coloured mop. “Smugglers and bandits—you’re putting us with outlaws?”

The big Greek looked indignant. “Aye, boy, the best smugglers and bandits you’ve ever travelled with. They run the coast between Pula and Trieste, over the border into Italy. The gang of Janos Cabar have never once been caught or imprisoned by the authorities on either side of the line!”

Al Misurata took the wheel of the Sea Djinn, steering her toward the other ship. It was not wise to ignore the warning shot of a Greek navy warship. When both vessels were close enough, he had his crewmen bring lanterns. He watched as Little Alexi and three of his officers were helped aboard from a small cutter. Handing the wheel over to a crewman, the pirate went to meet them. As ever, Al Misurata was courteous and considerate to his guests. He bowed low to the diminutive captain.

“I bid you a pleasant evening, and welcome aboard my humble vessel, friends. I trust you come in peace?”

Little Alexi adjusted the collar of his fine tunic. “I am Captain Alexi Constantinou of the Greek warship Callisto. Please identify yourself, your destination and your cargo.”

Al Misurata handled the navy man tactfully. “Sir, I am Mehmet el Jama, sailing out of Tunis. My ship is bound for Piran, in Slovenija. Our cargo is comprised of blood stallions and four men who are taking passage with us. Normally we would travel by way of the Italian coastline, but unfortunately we were set off course by the storm a few nights back. This is not a route I would normally take, I am not familiar with these waters. I would be grateful for your advice, Capitano.”