Voyage of Slaves

In the hour preceding dawn, Count Dreskar’s aide rode into the devastated camp. Both he and his servant were mounted on horses. Four more horses followed, harnessed to a forbidding-looking coach. It was plated with metal and iron bars for the transport of wild animals—or slaves. Two men sat on the front driving seat, another two sat on the back steps. They were dressed like footmen, but armed with swords and muskets.

Ferenc Kuvan stared about at the ruined camp and the two men who stood awaiting him, Al Misurata and Ghigno. Observing no courtesies and giving Al Misurata no formal title, the aide asked abruptly, “Where are the slaves, what happened?”

The pirate folded his arms, looking disdainfully away as Ghigno replied.

“We were ambushed, they escaped. My master will have them back with you before eventide. Wait here with your men, we will need your coach and horses to hunt them down.”

Emboldened by the sight of the pair in their sorry state, the aide forgot his fears of the previous day. His hand strayed toward the butt of the musket he had tucked into his belt as he addressed them scornfully. “You are in no position to demand anything from me. No one in the employ of Count Dreskar would permit common slaves to attack them and run off free!”

Ghigno nodded. “So you refuse the requests of Al Misurata, Lord of the Barbary Coast?”

The aide’s confidence was growing. “I could pursue the slaves and take them myself. Your lord has lost them. Only a fool would agree to such outrageous terms!”

Al Misurata raised his arm and dropped it suddenly. The air resounded to the crash of rifle fire from the surrounding trees. When the last echo had died, Ghigno and the guards hurried forward and subdued the whinnying horses. Al Misurata slit open the shirt of the dead aide and retrieved the pouched money belt from about his waist. He hefted it in one hand, remarking to the corpse of Ferenc Kuvan, “Only fools defy the wishes of Al Misurata.”

The bodies of the servants were thrown from the coach as the pirate’s guards manned it. Mounting the two spare horses, Ghigno and Al Misurata raced off along the northeast road immediately.

32

OUTSIDE THE TOWN OF MUGGIA, ON THE ITALIAN BORDER.

IT WAS AN HOUR AFTER DAWN ON A misty summer morn when the cart and the two wagons halted. Above them on the brow of the hill stood a walled building. Ben and Ned jumped from their wagon, but before they could reach the troupe’s cart, Otto had broken the doorlock with a single heave of his mighty shoulders. The troupe tumbled forth, cheering and laughing as they were reunited with the boy and his dog. Serafina reached Ben first and embraced him, shedding tears of joy upon his face and kissing them away. “Oh Ben, Ben, I knew you’d save us!”

Augusto Rizzoli held the rest back. “Look at the young ones, such a sight, eh?”

Buffo caught sight of Ben’s face over Serafina’s shoulder. “Magnifico! His face is on fire!”

Mummo did a handspring on the path. “He’d make red pepper look pale!”

Mamma cuffed both the clowns’ ears. “Leave the children alone, were you never young?”

Ned was sending out frantic messages. “Will someone kindly tell Otto to put me down!”

Janos Cabar shook hands with the rescued slaves. “My friends, I think you’ll be safe in that place up there. I have heard the Sisters are kind folk!”

Mamma raised her hands to the building, as if in prayer. “The Convento di Santa Filomena, heaven be praised!”

“Vagabonds! Bandits! Be off, go away!”

A very old nun had the main gate slightly open. She was waving a broom at them, shouting, “I warn you, go away, or I’ll set Sansone³⁵ on you!”

Janos approached, calling back to the ancient Sister, “Mind your manners, old lady, go and tell your Mother Superior that some friends of Kostas Krimboti wish to speak with her. Hurry now, we haven’t got all day!”

The old Sister vanished, slamming the gate behind her.

Magda chewed on her pipestem, scanning the road behind them. “She’d better put a move on, those slavers could be right on our tail!”

There was a pause, then the main gate reopened. The Mother Superior came out to meet them. She was a small, well-built lady, not unlike Mamma Rizzoli, with lots of laughter wrinkles around her eyes. She pointed a finger at Janos. “Only you look wild enough to be a companion of the rascal Krimboti. I am Mother Carmella. What can I do for you, my child?”

The smugglers’ leader was rather taken aback at being referred to as a child, so Ben answered for her.

“Marm, we are seeking sanctuary from a Barbary slave lord. Kostas Krimboti recommended your convent to me.”

Mother Carmella linked her arm in Ben’s, smiling benignly.“Santa Filomena would never fail to open its doors to the needy and oppressed. You are welcome here, signore.”

The boy waved to the troupe. “Come on, everybody!”

Only Janos and her Istrani Wolves remained out on the path. Ben went to her. “Won’t you come inside for just a moment, friend? Who knows, they’re probably serving breakfast about now.”