The Young Adult Award-Winners Megapack

by Emily Cheney Neville

  “I used to pray Allah that we wouldn’t!” the Girl said under her breath.

  The sailor’s face softened. “I expect so… I expect so,” he murmured, while Ruth silently drew her nearer.

  “You see,” he told the room in a low aside, “Arab women of rank are brought up not to go out unless they’re veiled. This girl had probably never been in the streets at all. And there she was, set down, all of a sudden, in the roughest gang I ever saw—not to mention what she’d suffered in the slave markets. I could tell from her face the hell she was going through, and sometimes I ’most wished she’d die. So, all those shrieking hours, that my hands were around the tiller head, there wasn’t a minute that they weren’t ready for the business end of—this!” Scander tapped the knife handle in his belt. “I’d pretty well made up my mind that seeing her dead was better than—than— Anyhow, I kept my knife ready.

  “Well, it cleared, and when we reached Tripoli, the expected merchantman hadn’t arrived. Right away, the captain and this chap, Abdul—first mate he was—held council, and I hung around to listen. They were considering offering the girl to the Bey of Tripoli. It was the captain who made the proposition. Slaiman, they called him.

  “They talked all around the subject, and finally Abdul says, ‘Let’s wait till we get to Tunis. We might get better terms there.’ But at the next port”—Scander’s eyes narrowed—“it was the same thing over. The same thing over,” he repeated. “And then I knew what was up: each man was blocking the other to get the girl for himself. From that minute, I lived with just two things in my mind: to get her away from that hell-ship, and to keep my knife sharp.

  “I used to manage to be in the same place, just at sunset, fiddling with the rigging or something or other, but ’twas always at the same time, in the same spot, right opposite her cage, and—”

  Puzzled voices stopped him: “Cage?” “How do you mean—cage?”

  For an instant the Girl’s downcast eyes were raised, and between her and Nicolo shot a swift glance.

  “She’d have thrown herself overboard. It didn’t take half an eye to see that. So, first thing, they’d built her a cage of spare timbers they had in the hold, and they kept her in it day times. Well, one sunset, I caught her looking at me; next evening, same thing. Then I knew she understood that—that—”

  “That I needn’t be afraid!” The Girl’s eyes, shy and tender, were raised to his.

  He, in turn, for a moment, looked at her, and under his deep tan they saw him slowly redden. Then his head went up, and he plunged on.

  “Well, finally, something happened. One day the lookout called a merchantman bearing to the west. Everybody was excited, and crowded forward. The captain ordered all sail made and the grappling irons got ready. I knew that my chance to save—or to kill—her was coming. I pressed up to her and whispered—speaking Arabic, of course—that when I opened her cage, to follow me.”

  The Girl’s hands clasped and unclasped on her lap. “You said something else, too,” she reminded him, in a low voice: “that nothing should harm me.”

  “Did I?” he asked, brusquely. “Well, by this time ’twas agreed that this was the ship they’d missed at Tripoli, and on her way to Malaga.”

  At mention of Malaga, Nicolo folded his arms across his chest, and leaned forward, as if to lose no word.

  “We crowded sail and ranged alongside. Our long boats were lowered and manned, and then, from port and starboard at the same time, the crews closed in—and there she was, caught between our jaws! I hung back, thinking that in the scuffle I’d get the girl away, when, all of a sudden, there was Abdul, talking low and fast in my ear:

  “‘What’ll you take, pilot,’ says he, ‘to keep everyone—friend or foe—out of the cage?’ Of course, I knew he meant Slaiman. Before I could speak, he put a sword in my hands. ‘A double share of the spoils, pilot,’ says he, ‘but if anything happens to her, I’ll spit you through like a roasting capon!’ It flashed through my mind that he’d guessed my thoughts, but, with his sword and my own knife, I was ready to take chances.

  “By that time, men from the long boats were hanging to the San Marco’s forechains, knives between teeth, waiting for orders to board. Then, both crews were fighting like cats, and the passengers were hiding in corners, and scrambling into the rigging. A shot or two plopped down on our deck, and I heard a blade sing past, but it was mostly slashing right and left with cutlasses. I managed to keep my eye on both the mate and the captain. Here was my chance, plain enough, to clear out with the girl. But where to? If the San Marco’d had a ghost of a show, I could have got aboard her, but she was having the worst of it, and I saw that, presently, we’d be towing her back to some pirate nest. The Sultana’s men had pinned some of the crew clear through to the rail with pikes. They’d bound one poor devil to the mast and knocked his teeth out—so’s he couldn’t untie knots, I figured.”

  “Heavens, man,” Gama exploded, with a grimace, “leave a little paint out of your picture!”

  “’Twas a mess, sure enough,” the other impartially conceded. “But just like that,” striking his palms together, “something happened. In the thick of the fight, and before anyone saw her coming, right down on us bore a big merchantman, the Venezia!”

  In the absorbed interest of the room, no one noticed that Nicolo’s eyes flashed, and his fingers tightened on his folded arms.

  “’Twas a surprise all around.” Scander’s burnt gimlet holes twinkled. “The Venezia swept up, grappled the Sultana, and on to our deck burst her whole crew. When I saw those grappling irons, I knew my chance had come. I ran below, snatched a pair of breeches, and climbed back with them to the girl. It took about two shoves to pry loose the cage bars, and then, with my coat over her head, and my arm around her, we were ducking through a shrieking hell to the rail where the fighting had slowed up.” He paused to draw a long breath. “Saint Vincent, but ’twas a hell!”

  “I was figuring,” he went on, “that we’d both jump overboard and then find some way of boarding the Venezia. All of a sudden, something made me look back, and there—”

  “It was so horrible!” the Girl shuddered out. “That long knife, up to its very hilt…”

  Scander assented. “We were just in time to see Abdul bury his knife in Slaiman’s back. I didn’t wait for more. We sprang for the rail, and were all but clear of it, when there was a yell from behind: ‘You’d take her from me would you, you—‘and there he was on top of me—Abdul. I can feel his boots in my face now, as he wrenched her away, and sent me into the water.”

  She leaned suddenly toward him, her eyes large with profound excitement. “I thought he killed you!” she cried. “What happened then?”

  “Great heaven! What difference does it make what happened to me?” he choked out. “What happened to you is what I’ve asked myself ever since I felt that devil wrench you from me.”

  “But he didn’t! It was I who tore loose from you!” she exclaimed.

  In the stillness the sailor’s lips moved without sound. “He—he—didn’t—didn’t get you?”

  “I never saw him again! You see I— But first, what happened, when you fell overboard?”

  “Well, you see the San Marco’s mainmast had been cut down and the mains’l was trailing, and when I came up, I was under it. I worked around to the Venezia, and finally climbed up her forechains—and took my passage to Lisbon!” he ended, with a grin.

  At these words, Nicolo’s face cleared. Now he remembered!

  “Incidentally,” said he, raising his voice a little, “you did a first class job after the regular helmsman was disabled in the fight!”

  The sailor stared stupidly at the laughing eyes, while the others looked on, dumbfounded.

  Suddenly, Ferdinand started up. “The Venezia!” he shouted. “Why, Nicolo, that was the ship you came on!”

  “Of course! And Scander brought her in over the bar as smooth as silk, though the captain had expected to take on a pilot.”

  A qui
ck little cry broke from the Girl. “You were on the big ship, both of you?… So was I!”

  Out of the bedlam that followed, Nicolo recalled only one thing: the Girl’s question had included both him and Scander—but she had looked only at him.

  “But from the Sultana to the Venezia?” Ferdinand asked her. “How did you manage that?”

  “All I knew was that I must get away from the Sultana! I ran through the fighting and the noise, and I got across to the Venezia. I’d pushed my hair under the coat, and no one seemed to notice me. At first I hid behind some rope. Then I noticed a ladder leading below, and when it was dark, I crept out and slid down it. I could feel boxes and cases, and I could hear the water so plainly that I knew I was in the bottom of the ship. I don’t know how long I stayed there.”

  “It was several days before we docked at Lisbon,” Nicolo quietly said.

  Ruth’s hands flew up in consternation. “And you had nothing to eat, child?” she cried. “No wonder warm milk tasted good to you, that first night! Do you remember?”

  “I shall never forget it,” the Girl said, fervently. “There were some barrels of water, and I used to steal out and drink, when no one was about. But what was I going to do when the cargo was moved? That was all I could think of. What if—those—men—on the Sultana should find me again?”

  “Didn’t you know?” Scander broke in. “The Venezia’s men scuttled the Sultana! She went down like a pup with a stone ’round its neck!”

  There was a long sigh of relief from the Girl; then, “And Abdul—”

  Scander’s tone was dubious. “Wish I could say as much for him and his crew, but—”

  “You don’t mean they were too quick for you?” Ferdinand exclaimed.

  “Wait till you see those pirates in action, young fellow,” countered Scander. “They take the edge off a streak of lightning. Isn’t that so?” he demanded of Nicolo. “Besides, there was a plenty to do, without chasing them, what with nursing the San Marco along to Malaga, and a storm coming up, and all. Well,” picking up the Girl’s story, “when the ship docked?”

  There was a quick gleam behind the dark eyelashes. “I was part of the cargo—then!” she announced. “I was a barrel of sugar!”

  “Sugar!” Nicolo repeated. “Sugar!” He looked hard at Ferdinand.

  Ferdinand was staring back. “By Saint Vincent—that ‘short’ barrel!” He whirled on Abel. “Do you remember, Master Abel, Aunt Ruth, my telling you of the row on the quay about the shipment of sugar?”

  “The time you were trying to find a clue to this child?” exclaimed Abel.

  “Yes! When the merchant who’d bought the sugar was threatening trouble for the Venezia’s captain, and Nicolo paid—” He checked himself awkwardly at a sign from Nicolo, but not before the Girl had caught at the word.

  “Paid?” she repeated, while the colour mounted to her forehead.

  “How did you make room for yourself in the barrel?” Nicolo hastily interposed.

  She made no answer at once, but her puzzled eyes searched his. “I scattered the sugar here and there,” she said at last, “where it wouldn’t be noticed. The hardest thing was to knock the top in. I was so afraid I’d be heard.”

  “You managed that, child—with those hands?” cried Abel. He unclasped them from where they lay clasped on her knees, and measured their slenderness on his own broad palm.

  She smiled faintly. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted, “but I found a piece of iron. Besides, that was nothing to what I had to think of: how to get ashore, without being seen.”

  “There!” Ferdinand exploded. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for!”

  “At first,” she went on, “I thought I could be taken off in the barrel, with the rest of the cargo. I thought I could somehow pull the head in, after I was inside, but—”

  “You poor waif,” Diaz interrupted her, “didn’t the risk of that occur to you? Freight piled on top of you, for instance?”

  She regarded him for a long moment. “Nothing seemed a risk after Aden, or the Sultana!”

  An impatient movement from Ferdinand roused her. “But when the Venezia began to unload?” he reminded her.

  “As soon as I felt the ship stop, I knew they would unload, and I got into the barrel. I tried and tried to put the head in, but I couldn’t!”

  “Of course you couldn’t,” Abel murmured, pityingly, “Nor anyone else—from the inside.”

  “Then I heard them begin to move things in the hold, and I knew that unloading had begun. I was frightened, oh, frightened!” The delicate ivory face contracted with the terror of the memory. “I saw that all I could do was to hide as far back as possible in the hold. And I kept hoping that before they got to me, something would happen. By and by the noise died away, and everything was quiet, and I was sure it must be night.”

  “Yes!” Nicolo exclaimed. “That was it. We had to stop at dark.”

  Even in the hushed suspense of the room, the Girl’s voice was a whisper. “I waited. Then, I felt my way forward and, all at once, I looked up—and there were the stars!”

  “Yes,” Nicolo said, again. “They’d left the hatches open.”

  “I climbed over the cargo,” the low voice went on, “to a rope that was hanging from above, and, finally, I pulled myself up by it to the deck.”

  There was a low exclamation from Ferdinand, and his sombre eyes, fixed on the Girl, were very soft. “That was why your palms…that first night…”

  “Ah,” Ruth murmured, “do you remember how bruised and bleeding they were?”

  The Girl contemplated her hands. “I didn’t notice, then, how I’d torn them,” she said, reminiscently. “I was too afraid someone would see me. But I remember, when I got up on deck, I crouched down behind something, and wiped them on my coat. For a long time I waited there, and listened. It was very quiet, and no one seemed to be about, so I crept along behind a row of barrels, and, at the last one, I saw a plank between the ship and the dock. I went across, but after that I can’t remember—my head was so dizzy. But at last, I found myself climbing stairs, climbing, climbing.… And then—I saw a light!” She caught her breath sharply. “There was never anything quite so beautiful as that light—and Master Abel’s face!” Her voice broke pitifully. “I wanted to stay here, always, until—until I heard you and Ferdinand say those dreadful names.”

  “What names?” Ferdinand began in a puzzled way, while a quick glance shot between Ruth and Abel.

  Very gently, Ruth put her arm around the Girl. “My child, can’t you trust us enough now to tell us everything?”

  “I did trust you,” she faltered, “but when I heard them talking of those places on that map—I was afraid. Afraid! I didn’t dare to stay here, for if my father had never gone down to—to the Devil’s Cave and Sofala—”

  “What?” cried Diaz. “Sofala—of which Covilham sent us word?”

  The Girl turned amazed eyes on him. “Covilham? Pedro de Covilham? Why, he was my father’s friend!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Nejmi

  In the stunned silence the faces around the table stared at the Girl, and then at each other. Their ears had heard her; but their minds still groped for her meaning.

  At last: “Covilham was your father’s friend?”

  Diaz’ gruff voice was so shaken that, involuntarily, the others glanced at him. He, himself, was oblivious of anyone except the Girl—but on her his whole rugged self was focused.

  “Yes, my father’s friend.” She waited, looking from him to the others. “Why?” she asked, timidly. “What of that?”

  “Nothing—nothing,” he murmured, “or perhaps everything!”

  He rose from the table and went to her, and, as if in reverent acknowledgment that this moment was his own, the others drew aside for him.

  “Child, will you tell me about—about him? All that you can remember?”

  The very room held its breath for her first, quiet words:

  “He came to our house in
Aden, I don’t remember how long ago, but when I was a little thing, and he and my father talked a great deal together in a strange language. I couldn’t understand what they said, for my father always spoke Arabic with us. You see, my mother was an Arab.

  “After Covilham went away, my father kept saying to my mother, ‘If he finds what he expects, I shall build warehouses down there.’ By and by, he got a letter. He rushed to us with it. He was more excited than I’d ever seen him. ‘Covilham has been to Sofala, and he says what he hoped is true,’ he told my mother. ‘Think of the business that it will bring me!’”

  A strange sound from Diaz interrupted her. His breath was coming fast, and the pupils of his eyes were dilated.

  She studied him a moment. “That was the way my father looked, when he got that letter—his eyes on fire, like yours.”

  A little impatiently he motioned her to go on.

  “One day I heard him say, ‘I must go and see for myself.’ And he did go, in a ship. It was a long time before he got home, and my mother was frightened about him. When he came back, he was grave and quiet. He said he would need a great deal of money because he was going to build a warehouse at”—her voice suddenly sank—“at Sofala.”

  At the familiar name, Ferdinand impetuously leaned forward, as if to speak.

  “Let her tell her story!” Diaz sternly ordered him, without taking his eyes from the Girl.

  “My mother kept begging him to stay in Aden, and at last he said, ‘In a short time everything is going to be changed. The Franj are going to take trade away from Aden.’ ‘What makes you think they will come?’ she asked him. I remember that he didn’t answer for some time, and at last he said, very low, ‘They have already come! Their ship was seen some time ago by the natives.’”

  “There! What’d I tell you?” the sailor broke in.

  “Then he said that a native pilot had sailed with him from Sofala to a place, near the Devil’s Cave, where there were two white stones with Franj writing.”

  “Name of heaven!” Diaz sprang to his feet, seized her arm. “‘Sailed,’ did you say?” he cried. “Are you sure he told you, ‘sailed’ from Sofala to the Devil’s Cave?”