The Devil and the Dark Water

2

As if suddenly aware of the flames consuming him, the leper began beating at his robes.

He staggered backwards, falling off the crates, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Snatching up a cask of ale, Arent covered the distance in a few strides, tearing the lid free with his bare hands and dousing the fire.

The rags sizzled, the smell of charcoal singeing his nostrils.

Writhing in agony, the leper clawed at the dirt. His forearms were terribly burnt, his face charred. Only his eyes were still human – the pupils wild, thrashing against the surrounding blue, driven mad with pain.

A scream wedged his mouth open, but no sound passed his throat.

‘That’s impossible,’ muttered Arent.

He glanced at Sammy, who was straining against his chains, trying to see better. ‘His tongue’s been cut out,’ Arent hollered, struggling to be heard over the din of the crowd.

‘Stand aside, I’m a healer,’ came an imperious voice.

A noblewoman pushed past Arent, removing a lace cap and shoving it into his hands, revealing the jewelled pins glittering among her tight red curls.

No sooner was the cap in Arent’s possession than it was snatched away again by a fussing maid, who was trying to keep a parasol over her mistress’s head, while urging her to return to the palanquin.

Arent glanced back towards it.

In her haste, the noblewoman had yanked the curtain off its hook and spilled two large silk pillows on to the ground. Inside, a young girl with an oval face was watching them through the torn material. She was black-haired and dark-eyed, a mirror of the governor general, who sat stiff on his horse, examining his wife disapprovingly.

‘Mama?’ called out the girl.

‘A moment, Lia,’ replied the noblewoman, who was kneeling beside the leper, oblivious to her brown gown piled up in fish guts. ‘I’m going to try to help you,’ she told him kindly. ‘Dorothea?’

‘My lady,’ responded the maid.

‘My vial, if you please.’

The maid fumbled up her sleeve and removed a small vial, which she uncorked and handed to the noblewoman.

‘This will ease your pain,’ the lady said to the suffering man, upending it above his parted lips.

‘Those are lepers’ rags,’ warned Arent, as her puffed sleeves drifted perilously close to her patient.

‘I’m aware,’ she said curtly, watching a thick drop of liquid gathering on the rim of the vial. ‘You’re Lieutenant Hayes, are you not?’

‘Arent will do.’

‘Arent.’ She rolled the name around her mouth, as if it possessed an odd flavour. ‘I’m Sara Wessel.’ She paused. ‘Sara will do,’ she added, mimicking his gruff response.

She gave the vial a slight shake, dislodging the drop into the leper’s mouth. He swallowed it painfully, then shuddered and calmed, the writhing ceasing as his eyes lost focus.

‘You’re the governor general’s wife?’ asked Arent disbelievingly. Most nobles wouldn’t leave a palanquin that was on fire, let alone leap out of one to aid a stranger.

‘And you’re Samuel Pipps’s servant,’ she snapped back.

‘I –’ He faltered, wrong-footed by her annoyance. Unsure of how he had offended her, he changed the topic. ‘What did you give him?’

‘Something to ease the pain,’ she said, wedging the cork back into the vial. ‘It’s made from local plants. I use it myself from time to time. It helps me sleep.’

‘Can we do anything for him, my lady?’ asked the maid, taking the vial from her mistress and putting it back up her sleeve. ‘Should I fetch your healing sundries?’

Only a fool would try, thought Arent. A life at war had taught him which limbs you could live without and which nicks would wake you in agony every night until they killed you quietly a year after the battle. The leper’s rotting flesh was bad enough, but there’d be no peace from those burns. With constant ministrations he could live a day, or a week, but survival wasn’t always worth the price paid for it.

‘No, thank you, Dorothea,’ said Sara. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’

Rising to her feet, Sara gestured for Arent to follow her out of earshot.

‘There’s nothing to be done here,’ she said quietly. ‘Nothing left except mercy. Could you …’ She swallowed, seemingly ashamed of the next question. ‘Have you ever taken a life?’

Arent nodded.

‘Can you do it painlessly?’

Arent nodded again, earning a small smile of gratitude.

‘I regret I have not the fortitude to do it myself,’ she said.

Arent pushed through the whispering circle of observers towards one of the musketeers guarding Sammy, gesturing for his sword. Numb with horror, the young soldier unsheathed it without protest.

‘Arent,’ said Sammy, calling his friend closer. ‘Did you say the leper had no tongue?’

‘Cut out,’ confirmed Arent. ‘A while back, I reckon.’

‘Bring me Sara Wessel when you’re finished,’ Sammy said, troubled. ‘This matter requires our attention.’

As Arent returned with the sword, Sara knelt by the stricken leper, reaching to take his hand, before remembering herself. ‘I have not the art to heal you,’ she admitted gently. ‘But I can offer you a painless escape, if you’d have it?’

The leper’s mouth worked, producing only moans. Tears forming in his eyes, he nodded.

‘I’ll stay with you.’ She looked over her shoulder at the young girl peering at them from inside the palanquin. ‘Lia, join me, if you please,’ said Sara, holding out a hand to her.

Lia climbed down from the palanquin. She was no more than twelve or thirteen, already long-limbed, her dress sitting awkwardly, like a skin she hadn’t managed to quite wriggle out of.

A great rustling greeted her, as the procession shifted to take her in. Arent was among those curious onlookers. Unlike her mother, who visited church each evening, Lia was rarely seen outdoors. It was rumoured her father kept her hidden out of shame, but as Arent watched her walk hesitantly towards the leper, it was difficult to know what that shame could be. She was a pretty girl, if uncommonly pale, like she’d been spun from shadows and moonlight.

As Lia drew closer, Sara flicked a nervous glance at her husband, who was sitting rigid on his horse, his jaw moving slightly as he ground his teeth. Arent knew this was as close to fury as he’d come in public. By the twitching of his face, it was obvious he wanted to call them back into the palanquin, but the curse of authority was that you could never admit to losing it.

Lia arrived by her mother’s side and Sara squeezed her hand reassuringly.

‘This man is in pain,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘He’s suffering and Lieutenant Hayes here is going to end that suffering. Can you understand that?’

The girl’s eyes were wide, but she nodded meekly. ‘Yes, Mama,’ she said.

‘Good,’ said Sara. ‘He’s very afraid and this isn’t something he should face alone. We will stand vigil; we will offer him our courage. You mustn’t look away.’

From around his neck, the leper painfully withdrew a small charred piece of wood, the edges jagged. He pressed it to his breast, squeezing his eyes shut.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ she said to Arent, who immediately rammed the blade through the leper’s heart. The man arched his back, going rigid. Then he went limp, blood seeping out from underneath him. It was glossy in the sunlight, reflecting the three figures standing over the body.

The girl gripped her mother’s hand tightly, but her courage didn’t falter.

‘Well done, my love,’ said Sara, stroking her soft cheek. ‘I know that was unpleasant, but you were very brave.’

As Arent cleaned the blade on a sack of oats, Sara tugged one of the jewelled pins from her hair, a red curl springing loose.

‘For your trouble,’ she said, offering it to him.

‘Aint kindness if you have to pay for it,’ he responded, leaving it sparkling in her hand, as he returned the sword to the soldier.

Surprise mingled with confusion on her face, her gaze lingering on him a moment. As if wary of being caught in such naked observation, she hurriedly summoned two stevedores who’d been sitting on a pile of tattered sailcloth.

They leapt up as if stung, tugging a lock of hair when they were near enough.

‘Sell this, burn the body and see his ashes receive a Christian burial,’ commanded Sara, pressing the pin into the nearest calloused palm. ‘Let’s give him the peace in death he was denied in life.’

They exchanged a cunning glance.

‘That jewel will pay for the funeral with enough left over for any vices you seek to indulge this year, but I’ll have somebody watching you,’ she warned pleasantly. ‘If this poor man ends up in the undesirables lot beyond the city walls, you’ll be hanged – is that understood?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ they muttered, tipping their hats respectfully.

‘Can you spare a minute for Sammy Pipps?’ called out Arent, who was standing next to Guard Captain Jacobi Drecht.

Sara glanced at her husband once again, obviously trying to weigh his displeasure. Arent could sympathise. Jan Haan could find fault in a bold table arrangement, so watching his wife dash through the dirt like a harlot after a rolling coin would have been unbearable to him.

He wasn’t even looking at her. He was watching Arent.

‘Lia, return to the palanquin, please,’ said Sara.

‘But, Mama,’ complained Lia, lowering her voice. ‘That’s Samuel Pipps.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘The Samuel Pipps!’

‘Indeed.’

‘The sparrow!’

‘A nickname I’m sure he adores,’ she responded drily.

‘You could introduce me.’

‘He’s hardly dressed for company, Lia.’

‘Mama –’

‘A leper’s quite enough excitement for one day,’ said Sara with finality, summoning Dorothea with a lift of her chin.

A protest formed on her daughter’s lips, but the maid stroked her arm, encouraging her away.

The crowd melted from Sara’s path as she approached the prisoner, who was busy straightening his stained doublet.

‘Your legend precedes you, Mr Pipps,’ she said, curtsying.

After his recent humiliation, this unexpected compliment seemed to take Sammy aback, causing him to stumble on his initial greeting. He tried to bow, but his chains made a mockery of the gesture.

‘Now, why did you wish to speak with me?’ asked Sara.

‘I’m imploring you to delay the departure of the Saardam,’ he said. ‘Please, you must heed the leper’s warning.’

‘I took the leper for a madman,’ she admitted in surprise.

‘Oh, he was certainly mad,’ agreed Sammy. ‘But he was able to speak without a tongue and climb a stack of crates with a lame foot.’

‘I noticed the tongue, but not the lame foot.’ She glanced back at the body. ‘Are you certain?’

‘Even burnt, you can see the impairment clearly within his bandages. He would have needed a crutch to walk, which means he couldn’t possibly have climbed up on those crates without help.’

‘Then you don’t believe he was acting alone?’

‘I don’t, and there’s a further cause for concern.’

‘Of course there is,’ she sighed. ‘Why would concern want to travel alone?’

‘Do you see his hands?’ continued Sammy, ignoring the remark. ‘One is very badly burnt, but the other is almost untouched. If you look carefully, you’ll notice a bruise under his thumbnail and that his thumb itself has been broken at least three times in the past, rendering it crooked. Carpenters accrue such injuries as a matter of course, especially shipborne carpenters, who must contend with the unsteady motion of the boat while they’re working. I noticed he was bow-legged, another common trait of the sailing class.’

‘Do you believe he was a carpenter on one of the boats in the fleet?’ ventured Arent, examining the seven ships in the harbour.

‘I don’t know,’ said Sammy. ‘Every carpenter in Batavia likely worked on an Indiaman at some time. If I were free to inspect the body, I might be able to answer the question more definitely, but –’

‘My husband will never free you, Mr Pipps,’ said Sara sharply. ‘If that’s to be your next request.’

‘It’s not,’ he said, his cheeks flushing. ‘I know your husband’s mind, as I know he will not hear my concerns. But he would hear them from you.’

Sara shifted her weight uncomfortably, staring at the harbour. Dolphins were playing in the water, leaping and twisting in the air, disappearing back beneath the surface with barely a ripple.

‘Please, my lady. You must convince your husband to delay the fleet’s departure while Arent investigates this matter.’

Arent started at that. The last time he’d investigated a case had been three years ago. Nowadays, he kept out of that side of things. His job was to keep Sammy safe and trample underfoot whatever bastard he pointed his finger at.

‘Questions are swords and answers are shields,’ persisted Sammy, still staring at Sara. ‘I’m begging you: armour yourself. Once the Saardam sets sail, it will be too late.’