Brian Jacques - Voyage of Slaves

At the Inn of the Grey Swan, Annalisa was busy peeling and chopping vegetables for a lamb stew. She sat at the kitchen table, wiping her eyes as she peeled the outer layer from a second Spanish onion. The cat, Pandora, prowled around her feet, meowing for attention. The old lady spoke distractedly to her pet. “What? You don’t like raw vegetables? What is it that you want?”

Pandora hopped up onto the table, still meowing.

Annalisa pointed her knife at Pandora. “Now listen, madame, I don’t have time for all this yowling and mewing. Go on, be off with you!”

The cat leaped back down to the floor, trotted as far as the small scullery and continued its noise.

The old lady rose from the table impatiently. “In there, do you want to go in there?” She opened the door, still speaking to Pandora. “Is it a mouse? Show me, is there a mouse in there?”

The big Persian bounded up onto the window, which had been unlatched and was lying wide open.

Annalisa went to the window and shooed the cat off the sill. She shut the window and latched it. “I never left that open—ah, the boy and the dog!”

Pandora meowed even louder, setting her claws in the hem of the old lady’s skirt.

Annalisa nodded. “So that’s it, they’ve both gone out. After Janos Cabar telling them not to. Oh, wait until she hears about this, eh, Pandora!”

The cat arched its back, almost smugly. “Meoooowww!”

With an old turnip sack split and worn over his head and shoulders, Ben squatted behind a stack of sawn planking with Ned. They had been at the quayside for over an hour, watching the Sea Djinn being moored and a ramp being set up amidships.

Ned shook rainwater from his head, then stopped suddenly. “Look, mate, here comes the Rizzolis’ cart!”

The boy nodded. “They’ve got it well-guarded, too. Poor Poppea, she looks a bit shaky, don’t you think?”

Ned saw the mare being backed into the shafts. “Aye, after all that time on the rolling main, she’s probably trying to sort out her sea legs from her land legs. I hope the troupe are alright.”

Ben ducked his head below the timber stack. “I just caught sight of Al Misurata at the stern cabin window. He was eating something, an apple or a pear. I wonder why he never went with the cart?”

Ned chanced a peek around the edge of the stack. “Aye, and that scar-faced rascal, too, wotsisname. I’ve just seen him going into his cabin. Hmm, one or the other should’ve accompanied the cart.”

Ben licked rainwater from his upper lip. “Good job there’s two of us. Listen, you follow the cart to see where they’re taking it. I’ll stop here. If Misurata or the Scar-face come ashore, I’ll trail them to see what they’re planning. We’ll meet up back at the Grey Swan. Be careful, Ned, don’t let them catch sight of you!”

The Labrador shook himself resoundingly, wetting Ben further. “Hmph, careful yourself, my lad!” He slunk off, dodging between the cases and bales which were piled along the quayside.

A moment later, Ben saw Al Misurata leave the cabin and lock it. He moved further along the wood stack until he found a small gap in the planking. From there he could view the ship without taking the risk of being seen by anyone aboard.

The drizzle continued into the sombre afternoon. Ben rubbed his legs to keep them from cramping up. Then he saw Ghigno emerge on deck. The Corsair was dressed finely, carrying a scimitar at his side. He strode aft, sheltering beneath the stairs. Al Misurata appeared from his cabin, sporting his fine Toledo blade, with a red linen cloak covering his expensive outfit. The two men chatted a moment, then the pirate went to a cabin door and unlocked it. He tapped upon the door, calling out something which Ben could not hear. Two of the Arab steeds, which the Sea Djinn had been carrying as cargo, where led down the ramp by guards. Ben noted that both horses were saddled, then looked back to the ship.

Serafina came out of the cabin and took the hand which Al Misurata was offering. Ben’s heart was racing. He crouched there, staring at his friend—she had never looked so beautiful. The boy bit his hand to stop himself jumping up and calling out her name. Serafina! Serafina! She was here!

Clad in a gown of cream-hued silk topped by a soft, blue woollen cloak and hood, she walked slowly down the ramp like a saint descending from heaven. Hot tears ran down Ben’s cheeks, but they were tears of joy from seeing his Serafina once more. The guards held the horses; as Al Misurata mounted one, he leaned down and swung the girl up in front of him, sidesaddle. Ghigno got up on the other steed and they galloped off.

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.”