Free Voyage of Slaves by Brian Jacques

his eyes. His manner became businesslike. “So, what’s the plan?”
    All this time Ned had not stirred, though he dearly wished he could sink his teeth into the hand that was stroking him. He continued to listen as the pirate outlined his scheme.
    “What we must do is keep them completely in the dark regarding their fate. If they knew they were being sold into slavery, it would make them troublesome on the voyage. We’ll keep everything friendly, and treat them with respect. They must not suspect anything. When we dock at the port of Piran, I will tell them that to avoid the authorities, and any trouble about not having papers for the two African women, they must stay in their wagon. Bomba!”
    The big slave driver hurried forward. “Master?”
    Al Misurata gave him his instructions. “Once they are inside the wagon you will lock them in. Harness the horse and drive the wagon to the outskirts of Piran, then wait in the old woods by the stream for me.”
    Bomba nodded. “I know the place, master.”
    The pirate turned to Ghigno. “You will come with me. I will be meeting Count Dreskar in the town, at the Crown of Slovenija hotel.”
    Ghigno tapped the jagged scar on his face. “I’ll have the crew with me, we’ll stay in the background in case of trouble. Right?”
    Al Misurata stroked his beard. “Right, my friend, and when our business is done . . .”
    The Corsair chuckled. “We’ll kidnap a few of the good townsfolk of Piran, take them on board and sail for home!”
    This time Bomba joined in the laughter. Al Misurata poured drinks, and they toasted the coming enterprise.
    “To trade, and to the gold to be made on both sides of the sea. A successful voyage!”
    As Bomba took a pace back, Ned saw his chance to get out. He yelped aloud, as though the Corsair had trod on his paw.
    Bomba drew his dagger. “Whining cur, get from under my feet!”
    Al Misurata chided the big slave driver. “Bomba, don’t be cruel to poor, dumb animals, put that knife away and open the door for our friend Bundi, or is it Ned?”
    Bomba opened the door and Ned trotted down the stairs, thinking to himself, “I wish Otto had given his childhood pet a better name. Bundi? Ugh, it makes me sound like an old, fat donkey!”
    When Ned arrived back at the wagon outside the guest accommodation, he found himself in the middle of a very welcoming troupe. They all patted and stroked him as he wagged his tail furiously, enquiring of Ben, “This is all very nice, but what’s all the fuss about?”
    The boy sent him a mental reply. “They’re welcoming us as part of the troupe, mate. We’re going to become performers, the great Neddo and Benno. But you haven’t reported back yet, did you hear anything of value over at the house?”
    The dog avoided Otto’s ham-like hand playfully. “I certainly did, and none of it’s good news. These nice people wouldn’t be celebrating if they’d heard what I’ve just listened in to.”
    Ben took Ned’s chin in one hand. He dipped a scrap of rag in some warm water and began cleaning the corners of the Labrador’s eyes, communicating impatiently, “Well, are you going to sit there hinting all day, or are you going to tell me what they said?”
    Ned launched into his mental account of what was planned for the Rizzoli Troupe, finishing with his assessmentof Al Misurata. “You wouldn’t believe the way old Miserable changed the minute Signore Rizzoli left the room. He’s a very evil man, sly and greedy, he’ll do anything for gold.”
    The news came as no surprise to Ben. He stared into his friend’s eyes. “I knew it. Though for awhile I thought there might have been some good in that man. Now I’m certain that Al Misurata is a cold, treacherous snake. His only god is gold, he is ruled by his greed.”
    Ned placed a paw on Ben’s arm. “But what are we going to do—how can you tell our friends what we know? You can’t very well announce that I told you I’d overheard a conversation.