Voyage of Slaves

Ben dashed out from behind the timber stack, never once taking his eyes from the graceful form of the girl. He tripped and fell flat on his face in the rainy mud. Scrambling upright, he rushed in the wake of the horses, ignoring a cut on his leg. They cornered at the junction of two streets, momentarily lost to sight. Tearing around the corner, Ben ran smack into the cart of a salt vendor. With the wind knocked out of him, he rose, staggering, in pursuit of the horses, which he had lost sight of. He was forced to halt at the next corner. Standing ankle deep in a puddle, the boy looked wildly about. But they were gone.

Ben ran up to the first person he saw, a fussily overdressed woman, with a maid holding a parasol over her head. He gasped raggedly, “Quick! Have you seen two horses go by carrying two men and young girl? Tell me!”

The woman brought a lorgnette up to her eyes, gazing in disgust at the muddy-faced boy, his trouser leg torn out, blood gouting from one knee and his features smeared with the wet dirt of the streets.

Ben pushed the torn sacking back from his brow, shouting, “Well, have you? Two men and a girl on horseback!”

The fussy woman turned to the maid holding the parasol. “Go and get help, he’s mad, he’s going to attack me!”

Ben looked pleadingly at the maid. “Did you see them?”

She shook her head dumbly as the woman grabbed the parasol from her and began belabouring Ben with it. “Help! Help! I’m being attacked by a mad boy!”

He stumbled off through the mud-spattered drizzle, with the woman’s shouts growing fainter behind him. The boy hurried through a maze of streets, each one looking like the last, staggering into objects blindly, lumbering onward, until he finally tripped and fell headlong for a second time. He lurched upright, swayed, then sat down heavily, dragging himself backward until he felt a wall against his shoulders.

Licking the blood from a parasol wound on his lip, Ben sat wondering what to do next. Should he carry on searching, go back to the ship until they returned or go to the Grey Swan and get cleaned up? Yes, that was it, Ned might be back at the inn by now. They would carry on the search together—between them they would find Serafina. Groaning, Ben pushed himself upright and wiped mud from his eyes as he stared about. Then he realised—he was lost!

Nowhere was familiar. He had run willy-nilly around a strange town until all his bearings were completely turned around. There looked to be nobody abroad on the miserable streets, owing to the quagmire of mud and rain. Nobody except a ragged beggar, shuffling in his direction. Ben approached him and asked the way.

“Do you know the Inn of the Grey Swan? I need to get there.”

The man cast a withering glance at the boy, who appeared to possess as little as himself. Pushing Ben aside, he carried on along the street. Ben took out some of the small coins which Janos had given him and jingled them.

The beggar halted, turning to face him. “What did ye say the name of the place was?”

The boy showed him a silver coin, but held on to it. “The Inn of the Grey Swan.”

Gazing avidly at the coin, the beggar nodded. “Follow me, young sir, I know the place.”

He took Ben along a few back alleys and out onto a broader street. As they were passing a narrow passage to a courtyard, the boy glanced sideways. There was a covered section in the courtyard; the two Arab steeds were tethered there.

Ben grabbed the beggar’s grimy hand, pressing the coin into it. “Here, this place will do me!”

The man protested, “But the Grey Swan is only around the next corner on the right, sir.”

Ben patted his arm. “Thank you, I’ll find it myself.” He gave the beggar his coin and watched him shuffle off.

Ben’s mind was racing with excitement when an idea occurred to him. Mentally he projected his thoughts as he walked around to the front entrance to the building. “Ned, are you there? Speak to me, mate!”

Some jumbled phrases entered his mind—it was Ned. “Rotten old furryface, it was you who locked that window, I know it was. If I get my teeth around your tail. . . . Eh, what . . . Ben, is that you, can’t you get in here, either? Huh, that confounded Pandora!”

Ben interrupted his dog’s prattle. “Ned, listen to me. I’m just on the next street to you, outside a hotel called The Crown of Slovenija. Serafina’s in there, with Misurata and the Scar-face. I need to know why they’ve brought her here, so stop arguing with that cat and get round here quick!”

The Crown of Slovenija appeared to be a high-class establishment. Its front hall was thickly carpeted, the walls were hung with gilt-framed paintings and chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. The Major Domo who stood between Ben and the dining salon was a portly, uniformed fellow. He gave the ragged, mud-besmirched boy a jaundiced stare, then beckoned him to be off with a fluttering gesture of his white-gloved hand. Knowing there was no way to get by him, Ben went back to wait outside the courtyard entrance.