“Er, this plan of yours, tell me more about it. I’m with you of course, just say the word, mate!”
Ben glanced at the armed riders surrounding them. “We’ll have to watch for a chance. Not now, but when the right opportunity presents itself. I know you’re with me, Ned, I wouldn’t dream of making a move without you.”
The black Labrador settled his chin on his friend’s knee. “Maybe just before we sail would be a good time. If we could slip away unnoticed, it’d be too late for old Al Miserable to turn the ship around and search for us.”
Ben dismissed the idea. “That would leave the whole of the Mediterranean Sea between us and the troupe. How could we help them then?”
Ned’s tongue lolled out to one side of his mouth. “Silly me, I never thought of that. So, go on, what’s the plan, O Mysterious Benno?”
Ben still had no formulated idea. “I’m not sure, Ned, but if we do try an escape, it’ll be at either Malta or Sicily, before we reach Slovenija.”
The Labrador gave a startled wuff. “What’s all this about Malta and Sicily, mate? First I’ve heard about us going to either place.”
Ben explained. “I overheard two of the guards talking. One of them hadn’t made the trip before, but the other was an old hand. He said the voyage is always made in two stages. Al Misurata goes ashore to meet with his agents while the ship takes on fresh supplies. Usually they put in to Valletta in Malta, but sometimes they visit Siracusa in Sicily. It all depends on how Al Misurata feels. Nobody knows until he tells the helmsman to alter course. Either place would be suitable for us to make the break, because I’ll wager there’s lots of ships go to Slovenija and Italy from Malta or Sicily.”
Night fell over the desert. A three-quarter moon illuminated the dunes eerily, casting pale light and deep shadow on both sides of the caravan trail. Mamma opened the half-door of the wagon.
“Come on in, you two, get a bite to eat and some rest.”
There was not much room inside, but it was a cosy, lantern-lit atmosphere. Ben and Ned sat between Serafina and Otto, sharing some flat bread and fruit. Buffo and Mummo began to sing. They had good voices, and could harmonise cleverly, without the aid of instrumental accompaniment. Both men were from Vicenza, like their brother Augusto and his wife. They sang a local ballad extolling the virtues of home.
“Soft as the breath of angels, breezes drift o’er my land, grape-laden vines entwining, await the harvester’s hand.
Sweet as the kiss of sunlight, gently caressed by the rain,
O vale of my home, Vicenza, when will I see thee again?
“O bella mamma mia, I hear the bells ring clear, the chapel of Santa Vicenza, calls to her children dear.
Echoes from snowy mountains, cross pastures of peaceful green, to the poor wand’ring exiles, my children, where have you been?”
The cart trundled on into the star-strewn desert night. One by one its occupants dropped into slumber, lulled by the gentle, jogging motion of its spell.
It was almost dawn when Bomba banged on the door of the wagon, haranguing them. “Come on, out with the lot of you. We’ve got to get this cart loaded on board, move yourselves!”
Serafina hurried to the door. “Listen, can you hear the waves? Ben, Ned, let’s go and see the big ship!”
The Sea Djinn was truly a massive and curious-looking vessel. Al Misurata and Ghigno had stripped the superstructure from a captured Spanish galleon, and rigged it to suit their purpose. From the stern, right through the midships, four large masts had each been fitted with a large triangular sail, like a yacht or a dhow. On the forecastle deck was another mast, rigged with a big, single, square sail, like a Viking ship. The huge vessel was moored alongside a long jetty, which ran out into the sea. Sea Djinn loomed large and sinister in the gloomy half-light which heralded day.
Ben stared up the tarred black timber sides and ornamental rails to the dark red sails. He was filled with an unreasoning dread, which he conveyed to Ned.
“This is a big ship sure enough, but I don’t like it, I can’t say what it is. The Sea Djinn has a feeling of evil about it. What do you think, mate?”
The black Labrador shuddered, then shook himself. “Aye, you’re right, it’s a bad ship!”
Serafina stared upward, wide-eyed, at the mighty vessel. “It’s the biggest boat I’ve ever seen in my life!”
Ghigno appeared at the stern gallery. He smiled down at the girl, his scarred face contorting into a horrid leer. “It’s a ship, pretty one, not a boat. I hope you’ll enjoy your voyage on Sea Djinn. Now you’d best move off this jetty before they start loading cargo.”
Poppea reared and whinnied when she was brought to the jetty. Digging her hooves in, the mare refused to go any further. Ned sent a comment to Ben. “You see, even the horse can feel it’s a bad ship!”
Otto soon solved the dilemma. Unfastening Poppea from the cart shafts, he blindfolded her with his waistcoat and passed her into the care of Serafina. Ben and the girl stroked the mare, whispering softly to reassure her. The big German strongman stood in the shafts, pulling the cart along the jetty to where the midship rail had been removed. Whilst the crew wheeled the cart on board, Serafina and Ben walked the blindfolded horse along the narrow jetty, leading her aboard behind the cart.
By mid-afternoon the vessel was fully laden. She set sail, outward bound on the rising tide. It was smooth going, with a fair wind at their stern. The Rizzoli troupe were in high spirits, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being afloat. Ben stayed on deck with Ned whilst the entertainers went to explore their cabins, which were in the forecastle. It was not long before Serafina came hurrying out on deck. She waved to them.
“Ben, Ned, come and see our cabins. They’re rather small, but very comfortable. Come on, I’ll show you!”
Ben got as far as the alleyway between the cabins, then peered into the semidarkness, drawing back as a feeling of dread overcame him. “Er, no, thank you. Ned and I prefer it out here on deck.”
Serafina began harmlessly teasing him, pulling Ben into the alleyway. “What’s the matter, are you afraid of the dark? Come on, Ned, stop hanging back!”
However, Ben was unaware of her voice. Suddenly his entire being was filled with visions of Vanderdecken, the captain of the Flying Dutchman, and his ghastly crew.
They were lurking in the gloom of the passage, waiting for both him and Ned. Hands with clawlike nails, bitten black and puce by frostbite, scrabbled to grab them. Grimacing faces of the long dead hissed curses of hatred at the pair, who had, by the grace of the Lord’s angel, escaped the eternal voyage of the damned aboard the hellship.
Ben and Ned stood petrified within the alleyway opening as Captain Vanderdecken, master of the Flying Dutchman, loomed large in front of them. His insane eyes glittered balefully, and he snarled at them through bloodless lips.
“I have been waiting for you, my children, always waiting, knowing you would return to the sea, where I can claim you as my own forever. Come to me!”
Serafina left off teasing her friends, suddenly frightened and concerned for them. They were both trembling as if in the grip of a severe fever. Ben’s face was ashen, coated in icy sweat, while Ned was whining, cowering like some beaten cur. The girl shook them, calling out in alarm.
“Ben! Ned! What is it, are you ill?” She tugged them bodily out onto the sunlit deck.
The black Labrador gave a long, piteous moan, and the boy collapsed in a heap. Alerted by the dog’s howl and the girl’s shouts, the troupe came hurrying from their cabins.