Chapter 11.
The Ana Sofia
“Which one do you think she is, Balderthump?” asked Lord Wrinklebottom waving his umbrella at the row of sailing ships lining the busy dock at Casablanca.
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Almost two weeks had passed since Lord Wrinklebottom had made his purchase in Marrakech. In the intervening time they had made their way back to Casablanca by means of a series of swift night camel rides. Izem had learned that the slave caravan was to depart Marrakech around midnight on a moonless night and they had immediately set out themselves for Casablanca. Lord Wrinklebottom was confident of arriving well before the caravan by virtue of their swift mode of transport. Now they were scanning the sailing ships docked at Casablanca and trying to determine which one their slaves were most likely to be transported on.
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“None are likely to advertise they are boarding slaves in the current climate,” opined Balderthump.
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“I should think not,” agreed Lord Wrinklebottom. “Not with Her Majesty’s Royal Navy waiting out there to intercept them. They will be very careful indeed.”
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“Indeed, m’lord, though I understand the Royal Navy is operating well south of us here.”
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“Perhaps. Nonetheless, I doubt slavers will be operating openly. As you well know, what is said in Whitehall and done on the high seas may be two different things.”
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“Indeed, m’lord.” Balderthump paused for a moment as if thinking. “If I may be so bold, m’lord, might I suggest it is unlikely the merchandise will be loaded in broad daylight. Perhaps we would be better served continuing our observations later this evening?”
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“Yes, perhaps you’re right, Balderthump. In the meantime, we might see if we can find a good cup of tea somewhere, eh?”
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“A most sensible suggestion, m’lord. And might I also suggest some discreet enquiries may narrow down our search?”
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Several hours after the sun had set that evening Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump were again walking along the Casablanca docks, though this time attired in loose djellabas, their faces hidden inside the hoods.
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“An excellent idea coming in mufti, Balderthump.”
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“Thank you, m’lord. I suspect we shall be a little less conspicuous in this attire.”
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“So which of these ships did your informant say was being used to load our cargo?” asked Lord Wrinklebottom.
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“The Ana Sofia, m’lord, docked towards the southern end.”
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They walked slowly along the dock, winding their way through piles of wooden crates, coiled ropes, barrels and sacks. Though it was now dark, there was still activity around some ships, lit by an occasional lantern.
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“Perhaps this one, m’lord?” suggested Balderthump gesturing discreetly towards a modest, two-masted boat squeezed between two larger ships. They made their way slowly and inconspicuously to the stern where the name could just be made out by the light of a lantern on the bow of the neighbouring ship.
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“This would appear to be her,” agreed Lord Wrinklebottom.
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“May I suggest we make ourselves comfortable, and see what happens, m’lord?”
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“Indeed, Balderthump, lead on.”
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A large pile of sacks and crates back from the edge of the dock provided perfect cover for observing the boat without being seen.
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“May I suggest a sack for comfort,” murmured Balderthump, gesturing towards a conveniently placed sack of what felt like grain of some kind.
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“Most kind of you, Balderthump. An excellent suggestion.”
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They made themselves comfortable and began their vigil. Before long, Lord Wrinklebottom was leaning back against the pile of sacks, snoring gently. Balderthump remained alert as he peered out from under his djellaba hood. It was well past midnight when Balderthump gently roused Lord Wrinklebottom.
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“M’lord, m’lord.”
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Lord Wrinklebottom mumbled groggily.
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“M’lord, it appears the slaves are being loaded.”
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“Eh? Slaves you say, Balderthump? What slaves?”
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“Your slaves, m’lord.”
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“But I don’t agree with slavery, Balderthump. You know I don’t have slaves.”
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“The ones you bought last week, in Marrakech, m’lord.”
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“Eh? Oh, those ones. Yes, yes, I remember now. Jolly nice little dream I was having. I dreamt old Claphoussen had sent some more tea.”
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“Indeed, m’lord, that would be most pleasant. For the moment it might profit us to pay attention to what is going on over by the Ana Sofia.”
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“Yes, yes of course, Balderthump. What is going on over there eh?” Lord Wrinklebottom took off his spectacles which had become rather fogged during his little nap and began to clean them on his djellaba.
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“A number of people have been brought to the boat, m’lord. They are being taken on board and appear to be bound together.”
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“Let us go and have a closer look,” suggested Lord Wrinklebottom, standing up.
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“A good idea, m’lord, provided we are very careful. Let us stretch our legs with a short stroll along the dock in this direction.” He led Lord Wrinklebottom slowly past the Ana Sofia, pretending to be in deep conversation.
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“It is as you described, Balderthump,” agreed Lord Wrinklebottom when they were a safe distance away. “Those were slaves being loaded onto that boat. But where are they hiding them? Surely, they are not openly operating as a slaver?”
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“I would think not, m’lord.”
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“Then we shall find out,” stated Lord Wrinklebottom firmly.
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“I suggest some caution might be advisable, m’lord. Perhaps we should wait until the captors have left the boat. There must be more to be loaded as there could not have been more than twenty in that group.”
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“Another excellent suggestion, Balderthump. Let us discreetly return to our comfortable observation post.”
It was some time before the four captors returned down the gangplank onto the dock and disappeared into the back streets. After a few moments Lord Wrinklebottom spoke.
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“Come on, Balderthump, let us see what’s going on.”
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“Caution, m’lord, caution,” urged Balderthump.
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“You worry too much, Balderthump,” reprimanded Lord Wrinklebottom. “Action is what is required here!” And without another word, Lord Wrinklebottom walked confidently across to the Ana Sofia, up the gangplank and dropped below deck.
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Balderthump hesitated briefly, carefully looking around for signs of danger, and when he was satisfied they had not been observed, joined his master on the boat. Lord Wrinklebottom was already making his way along a very dark and cramped corridor with cabins on either side when Balderthump joined him.
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“Silence is paramount, m’lord,” whispered Balderthump.
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They felt their way along the corridor towards a glimmer of flickering light. A large hatch was open in the deck and the light came from a single lantern hung above the hatch.
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“The hold area, m’lord.”
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Lord Wrinklebottom grunted and began to feel his way down the steep steps which led into the bowels of the boat. They moved very slowly trying to avoid making a noise which might reveal their presence to anyone nearby. Balderthump knew there must be crew sleeping on board somewhere and was surprised there was no watch on duty.
“I can’t see a thing, Balderthump,” whispered Lord Wrinklebottom as he reached the bottom of the steps. It was pitch black.
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“One moment, m’lord.” Balderthump fumbled underneath the heavy djellaba. “Shall I light a match, m’lord?”
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“Of course, Balderthump.”
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Balderthump extricated the matches from under his djellaba and struck one. At first it was hard to see, but as it died down and their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw before them a large and partly empty hold area. Towards the bow of the boat large rectangular cases had been stacked, with sacks filling the odd-shaped spaces along the side of the hull. To the left and right were other stacks of sacks and crates which looked like they were in the process of being stowed.
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“Where can they have gone?” wondered Lord Wrinklebottom in a whisper. The match flickered and went out.
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“Hard to say, m’lord,” replied Balderthump. “Perhaps …” But he was interrupted by the sound of many feet moving on the deck above.
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“Quickly, m’lord!” whispered Balderthump and bundled Lord Wrinklebottom to one side behind a row of barrels. He was not a moment too soon.
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