Brian Jacques - Voyage of Slaves

Clad in a baggy peach-and-brown silk suit, Signore Rizzoli strode in. Strumming on his mandolin, he bowed to the company, and announced in a singsong voice, “Signores, it is my pleasure and honour to present to you, for your diversion, the esteemed Troupe Rizzoli!”

Serafina entered, carrying a long, narrow Kongo drum. Every eye was on the startlingly beautiful black girl as she knelt and began beating a roll on the drum with her palms.

Signore Rizzoli called out, “Herr Otto Kassel, the Teutonic Samson!”

Draped in a leopard-skin costume, Otto paraded in, followed by the two clowns, Buffo and Mummo, who between them were rolling the strongman’s huge barbell. This was a long steel bar with a big cast-iron ball on either end. Otto stood to one side, watching in amusement as the two clowns tripped and fell over the mighty weight. They immediately leaped up, their painted faces trying to look strong and dignified. Buffo waved Otto out of his way. Pointing to himself, then indicating the barbell, he pantomimed that he, Buffo, was going to lift it. Mummo expressed scorn. He felt Buffo’s arm muscles, then shook with silent laughter. Placing his thumb in his mouth, Mummo began blowing hard. His biceps began to swell. Buffo did likewise, and his arm muscle began to swell also. Both clowns continued puffing until each had an enormously swollen muscle ballooning at their tight stretched sleeves.

Together they strained at the barbell, trying to lift it. The mighty weight never budged a fraction. Buffo and Mummo straightened up painfully, pulling droll faces and rubbing at their backs. Otto prodded at both clowns’ inflated muscles as Serafina struck the drum hard. Bang! The false muscles exploded simultaneously, causing the clowns to collapse in a comical faint. They lay draped over the steel bar as everybody, even Al Misurata, laughed.

Then Otto crouched over the bar, gripping it tight. With a sudden roar he lifted the entire thing, barbell and clowns, swinging it high over his head and holding it there. Buffo and Mummo hung like two pieces of washing on a line. The onlookers applauded Otto’s fine feat of strength.

The clowns went into their routine, causing much merriment with their antics. Otto did more of his strongman act, which included pulverizing a coconut with a single blow of his fist, and bending a metal spear in his teeth. He concluded by lifting the Kongo drum on the outstretched palms of his hands, with Serafina sitting on it. The strongman and the clowns made their bows and departed.

Signore Rizzoli then began picking a poignant melody on his mandolin, whilst Serafina accompanied it with a slow, muffled drumbeat. A rapt silence fell over the audience as she sang an old love song. Her voice sounded young, but very appealing, with a sweet, husky quality. Even Jasmina was distracted by the singing, relaxing her vigil over Ben. The tow-haired boy was enchanted by Serafina. His eyes and ears were filled with the sight and sound of the slender, beautiful black girl as she sang her sad song.

“Oh love is a mystery nobody knows, who sees the dew making tears on a rose.

Through night’s dark veil see a maiden forlorn, ever seeking a key to the gates of the dawn.

As she waits for her love from the sea.

Away in the east comes the sunrise anew, gently painting the skies gold and blue.

Waves whisper secrets of old to the shore, telling of ships that will sail there no more.

As she waits for her love from the sea.

Under the bridge of a rainbow so fair, he comes bringing spices and ribbons for her.

A ring set with pearls to adorn her young hand, and words sweet as honey, but worthless as sand.

Then she knows he’ll return to the sea.”

A brief silence ensued as the last tremulous notes floated on the warm, tropical evening, then there was appreciative applause, interspersed with cries for an encore. Al Misurata leaned down and whispered something in Ghigno’s ear; both men nodded and smiled.

Unfortunately, Ben had not been able to hear what it was about—he was diverted by the dramatic entrance of La Lindi. Tinkling two tiny cymbals attached to her thumbs and index fingers, she glided in. Draped across her shoulders and both arms was an enormous snake. This was Mwaga, her green-gold python, a fearsome-looking reptile. The pair were almost as one, each as sinuous and graceful as the other. La Lindi undulated among the guests, with Mwaga swaying and coiling about her.

Serafina provided a soft, rapid drumbeat, the cadence of her voice rising and falling in an eerie, wordless chant. One or two of the braver guests reached out to stroke the snake. Each time they did, La Lindi would make a clicking noise with her tongue, and Mwaga would hiss fiercely, coiling as if to strike. This soon made the bolder spirits withdraw their hands swiftly.

That evening, Al Misurata and his guests were thoroughly entertained by the Travelling Rizzoli Troupe. When the performance was ended they all came on to take a bow: Otto, Buffo, Mummo, La Lindi, Serafina and Mwaga. They waved and smiled, then began to make their exit.

However, as a new finale to the act, Serafina had thought of a novel idea. La Lindi held the python as if its weight was becoming too much for her. Otto tried to pick Mwaga up, but at La Lindi’s signal, it hissed and bunched up for a strike. The strongman took a step back, calling out, “Where is the basket for this monster?”

That was Mamma Rizzoli’s cue. She opened the door, allowing the basket carrier to enter. Wearing a tiny conical hat on his head and sporting a ruffle about his neck, Ned trotted in, holding the big wickerwork basket in his jaws.

The roar of Ben’s voice shocked everybody with its intensity. “Ned! My Ned, you’re alive!”

7

IT WAS AS IF LIGHTNING HAD RIPPED the dark curtain from the dog’s mind—everything came back to him in a brilliant flash. Dropping the basket he rushed in the boy’s direction, barking aloud as his senses shouted out, “Ben! Ben!”

Jasmina was standing in the black Labrador’s path. Quickly assuming that it might attack her master, she swung her cane, whipping it across Ned’s back. Raising the cane again, she yelled, “Guards, get this evil spirit out of here!”

Ben was rushing to stop her when he was knocked aside by Al Misurata. Bounding forward, he snatched the cane from his housekeeper’s grasp and struck her with it.

Jasmina fell to her knees. Ashen with shock, she stared up at him. “Master, I thought the beast was going to savage you!”

The pirate’s eyes flashed angrily as he brandished the cane over her, his voice thick with scorn. “And did you think that I, Al Misurata, needed a woman to protect me against a dog?”

The unfortunate woman touched her forehead to the pirate’s feet. “Master, I am sorry, I did not think. . . .”

He flung the cane at her head. “Am I to be shamed in front of my guests by a stupid servant? Begone from my sight, fool!”

The unpredictable Al Misurata turned to Ben, who was hugging Ned tightly. “I thought this dog belonged to the entertainers, but evidently you seem to think he is yours?”

The boy’s eyes glared defiantly at his captor. “He is mine, he was always mine!”

Al Misurata returned to his divan. “We will see. Guards, hold the creature until I command you to release him. Keep him to one side.”

Two guards looped a belt around the Labrador’s neck and held him midway between Ben and the Rizzoli Troupe. Ned sat placidly between the guards, sending a mental message to Ben. “Don’t worry about me, mate, I’ll do the right thing. You just stay calm.”