“Nein, nein, Mädchen, I would not kill him in front of one so gentle. Not this time, at least.” Leaning over the defeated slave driver, Otto twisted his ear hard. “Say thank you to the pretty girl for saving your worthless life. Speak up, I can’t hear you!”
With his head twisted to one side and tears coursing through his dust-coated face, the big man babbled out as Otto applied more pressure to his ear, “Thank you thank you thank you! Yeeeeaaaargh!”
The strongman released him. Retrieving the riding crop, he snapped it like a twig, tucking the broken halves in Bomba’s waistband. “You may go now!”
Ben read Ned’s thoughts as they watched the slave driver limping off, clutching his bottom. “Yukk! I think I’ll wash my mouth out at the trough. Three cheers for our big Otto, eh mate?”
Ben patted dust from his dog’s flank. “Aye, but it’s thanks to you, too, mate. That villain was going to flog me, and he would have, but for you!”
Serafina wiped the dust from Ben’s face with her silk scarf. “You were very brave. Bomba is such a big man!”
Ned’s indignant thoughts intruded on Ben’s mind. “Er, excuse me, but what about the faithful dog’s part in all this? Go on, you tell her, mate!”
But Ben did not have to, the girl was already fussing over Ned. “You were so fierce and courageous, good boy, Ned!”
The black Labrador licked her hand cheerfully. “Ah, that’s better. Us heroic dogs deserve our due, y’know!”
Calling to him, Serafina led Poppea off to the trough at the rear of the stables. “Come on, boy, I think you should wash your mouth out!”
Wagging his tail, Ned bounded after her. “Hah, she’s a mind reader, too. I think we should ask her to join our act, Ben. The Magnificent Neddo, the Mysterious Benno, and the Sensational Serafina. Sounds rather good, eh?”
11
MIDMORNING OF THE FOLLOWING DAY found the troupe outside their guest quarters. They were rehearsing some routines, when the stern-faced Jasmina came with news from Al Misurata for Augusto Rizzoli. “My master orders me to inform you there will be no entertainment today. You will be leaving here to board his ship. Pack all your belongings, and be ready to travel this evening after the noon heat dies down.”
Ben was helping Serafina to groom Poppea. He scratched the mare’s muzzle. “Do you hear that, old girl? You’re going to become a sea horse shortly.”
Mamma Rizzoli questioned Jasmina. “Where will we be sailing from, how long will it take for us to get to the ship?”
The servant woman replied curtly. “The Sea Djinn is anchored at the pier near the town of Misurata. It is no great distance, you should arrive about dawn tomorrow.”
Ben looked up from his work. “Will you be coming, too?”
Jasmina shook her head. “You never learn, do you, boy? Still asking questions.”
The boy’s curious eyes shone disarmingly. “Sorry!”
She drew him to one side, her severe face softening for awhile. Dropping her voice, she spoke to him confidentially. “My place is here, as a servant, I will not be going on the voyage. But Bomba will be sailing with you, boy. Watch your back, and sleep with one eye open—he will kill you and your dog if he gets the chance. I know Bomba, he is a dangerous man. He blames you for all his woes, and the master’s loss of respect for him. Believe me, Bomba will not rest until he has had his revenge upon you. He carries grudges like a camel carries its hump.” Jasmina avoided Ben’s searching gaze as he replied.
“Thank you, marm, but why do you concern yourself about me? We’ll probably never meet again once I leave here.”
She lifted Ben’s chin lightly with her cane. “Truly you are a mysterious one, so bright and clever. I feel that the fates have marked you for better things than death at the hands of a thick-brained idiot. Go with your God, young infidel, and may his shadow protect you!” The woman’s face returned to its customary stern cast. “As for that dog, I do not like it, I have always feared dogs. As far as I am concerned, its fate is in the wind. But you remember my advice and tread carefully!” She turned, hurrying off back to the big house.
Ben stroked Ned absently as they watched her go indoors. The Labrador commented mentally, “What a shame, oh dearie me, so she doesn’t like dogs, eh? Well, I’m not too fussy on hatchet-faced harridans who go about waving canes, so there!”
Ben tugged his dog’s ear. “Still, it was good of her to warn me—she could have just tended to her own affairs.”
Augusto Rizzoli beckoned Ben to sit beside him on the wagon step. He nodded knowingly. “So, it seems trouble is about to cross your path, Benno. These old ears are keener than they have a right to be. Didn’t I hear the lady mention Bomba’s name more than once?”
Ben sighed. “Yes, Signore, Bomba has become my enemy.”
The showman began packing his mandolin carefully into its travelling case. “Ah, but I feel you are not telling me all. There is more, eh, Benno? Something tells me you are concerned about our little family . . .”
Ned placed a paw on Ben’s foot. “Go easy, mate, don’t tell him too much—think of what you say!”
Holding the mandolin case as the showman secured it, Ben made his decision. “Signore Rizzoli, Ned and I owe you a great deal, so I will try to be as frank as I can with you. The troupe will be in no danger until we dock at Piran, in Slovenija. Al Misurata is not what he seems, he is a pirate and a slave trader. But you must keep this knowledge to yourself, or it will cause hardship and misery to your wife and friends. I cannot tell you any more at the present, but I promise you that Ned and I will see that the Rizzoli Troupe reach Italy together. Show Al Misurata that you suspect nothing, act normally, but do not trust him or the one they call Ghigno. At the moment my life is in great danger. Ned and I need to escape Bomba—also, we must be free if we are to help you. So, if at some time I go missing, please do not think badly of me, but rest assured my dog and I will return to your aid.”
Ned’s thoughts interrupted Ben. “Oh, so we’re going to escape. Thanks for telling me!”
Ben sent a silent plea to the dog. “Can we discuss this later, Ned, please?”
Augusto Rizzoli sat staring at Ben in silence for an uncomfortably long time. Then he took the boy’s hand firmly. “Benno, where do you come from, who sent you to us? I understand little about all you have told me, but I see the wisdom of ages in your strange young eyes. Know that you have my trust. I could not bring myself to think badly of you, or this good dog. Do what you must, Benno, for yourself, and for all of us!”
The hot Libyan day gradually faded to eventide coolness. Through the open compound gates, the caravan made its way into the dunes and desert scrubland. Mounted on a superbblack Arab stallion, Al Misurata cut a dashing sight. He was dressed in a blouse and pantaloons of crimson silk, covered by a high-collared black cloak, topped off with a turban of white cotton.
The pirate rode at the head of the cavalcade with an escort of four horsemen. Behind them came three wagons, the middle one of which was the Rizzoli cart. To the rear were more fine-looking horses, presumably to be used in trade. Either side of the procession was a score of camel riders. These wore hooded burnooses and had dust bandannas pulled up to their eyes. They were hard-looking men, armed with the long, ornamented, flintlock rifles called jezzails.
Two more guards walked alongside Poppea, holding her halter on either side. Ben and Ned enjoyed the welcome evening breeze as they sat on the back step of the wagon, exchanging thoughts. At first Ned had been slightly huffy about not being told of an escape attempt. He regained his composure, however, not being able to stay silent for any great length of time.