Voyage of Slaves

At the Inn of the Grey Swan, Annalisa was busy peeling and chopping vegetables for a lamb stew. She sat at the kitchen table, wiping her eyes as she peeled the outer layer from a second Spanish onion. The cat, Pandora, prowled around her feet, meowing for attention. The old lady spoke distractedly to her pet. “What? You don’t like raw vegetables? What is it that you want?”

Pandora hopped up onto the table, still meowing.

Annalisa pointed her knife at Pandora. “Now listen, madame, I don’t have time for all this yowling and mewing. Go on, be off with you!”

The cat leaped back down to the floor, trotted as far as the small scullery and continued its noise.

The old lady rose from the table impatiently. “In there, do you want to go in there?” She opened the door, still speaking to Pandora. “Is it a mouse? Show me, is there a mouse in there?”

The big Persian bounded up onto the window, which had been unlatched and was lying wide open.

Annalisa went to the window and shooed the cat off the sill. She shut the window and latched it. “I never left that open—ah, the boy and the dog!”

Pandora meowed even louder, setting her claws in the hem of the old lady’s skirt.

Annalisa nodded. “So that’s it, they’ve both gone out. After Janos Cabar telling them not to. Oh, wait until she hears about this, eh, Pandora!”

The cat arched its back, almost smugly. “Meoooowww!”

With an old turnip sack split and worn over his head and shoulders, Ben squatted behind a stack of sawn planking with Ned. They had been at the quayside for over an hour, watching the Sea Djinn being moored and a ramp being set up amidships.

Ned shook rainwater from his head, then stopped suddenly. “Look, mate, here comes the Rizzolis’ cart!”

The boy nodded. “They’ve got it well-guarded, too. Poor Poppea, she looks a bit shaky, don’t you think?”

Ned saw the mare being backed into the shafts. “Aye, after all that time on the rolling main, she’s probably trying to sort out her sea legs from her land legs. I hope the troupe are alright.”

Ben ducked his head below the timber stack. “I just caught sight of Al Misurata at the stern cabin window. He was eating something, an apple or a pear. I wonder why he never went with the cart?”

Ned chanced a peek around the edge of the stack. “Aye, and that scar-faced rascal, too, wotsisname. I’ve just seen him going into his cabin. Hmm, one or the other should’ve accompanied the cart.”

Ben licked rainwater from his upper lip. “Good job there’s two of us. Listen, you follow the cart to see where they’re taking it. I’ll stop here. If Misurata or the Scar-face come ashore, I’ll trail them to see what they’re planning. We’ll meet up back at the Grey Swan. Be careful, Ned, don’t let them catch sight of you!”

The Labrador shook himself resoundingly, wetting Ben further. “Hmph, careful yourself, my lad!” He slunk off, dodging between the cases and bales which were piled along the quayside.

A moment later, Ben saw Al Misurata leave the cabin and lock it. He moved further along the wood stack until he found a small gap in the planking. From there he could view the ship without taking the risk of being seen by anyone aboard.

The drizzle continued into the sombre afternoon. Ben rubbed his legs to keep them from cramping up. Then he saw Ghigno emerge on deck. The Corsair was dressed finely, carrying a scimitar at his side. He strode aft, sheltering beneath the stairs. Al Misurata appeared from his cabin, sporting his fine Toledo blade, with a red linen cloak covering his expensive outfit. The two men chatted a moment, then the pirate went to a cabin door and unlocked it. He tapped upon the door, calling out something which Ben could not hear. Two of the Arab steeds, which the Sea Djinn had been carrying as cargo, where led down the ramp by guards. Ben noted that both horses were saddled, then looked back to the ship.

Serafina came out of the cabin and took the hand which Al Misurata was offering. Ben’s heart was racing. He crouched there, staring at his friend—she had never looked so beautiful. The boy bit his hand to stop himself jumping up and calling out her name. Serafina! Serafina! She was here!

Clad in a gown of cream-hued silk topped by a soft, blue woollen cloak and hood, she walked slowly down the ramp like a saint descending from heaven. Hot tears ran down Ben’s cheeks, but they were tears of joy from seeing his Serafina once more. The guards held the horses; as Al Misurata mounted one, he leaned down and swung the girl up in front of him, sidesaddle. Ghigno got up on the other steed and they galloped off.