The Devil and the Dark Water

17

Dusk arrived in ribbons of purple and pink, a few stars puncturing the sky. There was no land in sight. Only water.

Captain Crauwels ordered the sails furled and anchors dropped, bringing their first day of sailing to an end. The governor general had demanded to know why they couldn’t continue their journey at night, for he knew captains who made good time sailing by moonlight.

‘Is your skill not equal to theirs?’ he’d said, trying to needle Crauwels into rashness.

‘Skill’s no use when you can’t see the thing trying to sink you,’ he’d responded calmly, before adding, ‘If you tell me the names of the captains who sail by night, I’ll tell you the names of the ships they’ve sank and the cargo they’ve lost.’

That had put a swift end to the argument, and now Crauwels was listening to Isaack Larme ringing eight bells, summoning a new watch.

Crauwels loved this time of evening, when his duties to the crew had ended and his duties to the damned nobility had not yet begun. This was his. One hour, around dusk, to smell the air and feel the salt on his skin and find some joy in this life forced upon him.

Going to the railing, he watched the weary crew pass on orders, rub their charms and say their prayers, tapping whatever part of the hull they could reach for luck. Superstition, he thought. It’s the only thing keeping us afloat.

From his pocket, he removed the metal disc he’d given to Arent. Vos had returned it to him earlier, obviously annoyed that he was treating a gift from the governor general so carelessly. He rubbed its surface with his thumb and forefinger, then examined the sky, a troubled frown on his face.

For the past few hours, he’d felt that familiar itch on his skin telling him a storm was building beyond the horizon. The air was growing prickly, the sea subtly changing shade. Opening his mouth, he’d tasted the air. It was like licking a piece of iron dredged up from the seabed.

It would be here in a day, maybe less.

A cabin boy walked past him, carrying a flaming torch to the back of the ship, stretching on his tiptoes to light the huge lantern hanging there.

One by one, the other ships in the fleet followed suit until seven flames burnt in the endless dark, like fallen stars adrift on the ocean.