The Devil and the Dark Water

34

‘The secret compartment in the cargo hold was empty?’ asked Drecht, who was perched on a stool, buffing the nicks from his sabre with a stone. The guard captain was shirtless, thick whorls of blond hair covering his chest. As always, he was wearing that wide-brimmed hat with the red feather in it.

He had entered the compartment under the half deck an hour ago, finding Arent sitting alone, staring into space. Drecht hadn’t mentioned what he’d heard in the great cabin. He’d simply thumped a jug of wine on to the keg they used as a table and asked, seemingly without irony, how Arent’s day had gone. The mercenary had told him about the leper’s altar – which Crauwels had ordered destroyed – and the compartment he’d found with Sara.

‘Completely empty,’ confirmed Arent, tearing the cork from a second jug. The afternoon heat was beating at the deck, and most of the sailors were indoors, or else hiding in whatever pitiful scrap of shade they could find. As a result, the Saardam – usually so alive with sound – was eerily quiet, aside from the splashing of waves.

‘How big was the compartment?’ asked Drecht.

‘Could probably fit a sack of grain inside.’

‘Smuggler’s compartment,’ confirmed Drecht knowledgeably, scraping the stone down his blade. ‘The Saardam will be riddled with them. Every Indiaman is. The senior officers use them so they don’t have to pay the Company for shipping space.’

Arent took a swig of the wine, then spluttered. It was boiling hot after having sat in his trunk. ‘What do they transport?’ he asked, wiping his lips.

‘Whatever can turn a profit.’

‘Bosey and Larme were friends,’ said Arent, thoughtfully. ‘And Bosey was a carpenter. If Bosey built the smuggler’s compartment, maybe Larme used it to transport cargo illegally, splitting the profits with his mate. But what did Larme take out of it this morning?’

Drecht grunted, having lost interest.

‘Do you know why my uncle threw Sammy Pipps into a cell?’ asked Arent abruptly.

‘Was a favour to somebody, way I understand it. Though for who, I couldn’t tell you. The governor general doesn’t tell me things like that,’ muttered Drecht, frowning at a problematic chip in the blade. ‘Vos keeps his secrets for him. I just kill them who carry them away.’

A favour, thought Arent. Who on earth would his uncle do that kind of favour for? Whoever it was, they clearly had some nefarious purpose in mind.

‘I’ll trade you a question for a question,’ continued Drecht. ‘Do you know what this secret cargo is that he brought aboard?’

‘The Folly?’

‘No, something else. Something much bigger.’

‘Never heard of it,’ said Arent.

Drecht paused in his work, annoyed. ‘Whatever it is, it took three days of moving. He had it snuck out of the fort in the dead of night and now it’s taking up half the cargo hold.’

‘Why are you concerned about it?’

‘I can’t protect him if I don’t know why people are trying to kill him. Whatever that cargo is, it’s important.’ He shook his head irritably. ‘There’s too many damn secrets on this ship, and I swear all of them are marching towards him with swords in their hands.’

‘How long have you watched over him?’

‘Lost track,’ he replied somewhat sourly. ‘When did we capture Bahia?’

‘About seventeen years ago.’

‘That was it, then.’ He scowled at the memory. ‘Your uncle needed somebody to escort him out of Spain and I still had all of my limbs, unlike most of them that survived the battle. Told my wife I’d be back in six months, but I’ve been with him ever since. How long have you been with Pipps?’

‘Five years,’ said Arent, taking another gulp of the terrible wine. ‘He heard the songs about me and decided he needed somebody like that standing in front of him when he accused people of murder.’

Drecht laughed. ‘You never put that in your stories.’

‘Good sense sometimes sounds like cowardice when you write it down.’ Arent shrugged his massive shoulders.

‘What’s he really like?’ asked Drecht, dragging the stone along his blade again.

‘Depends on the day,’ replied Arent, carefully. ‘He was born with nothing and he’s terrified of going back to it. I only write about the interesting cases, but he’ll take any puzzle that pays well. Most of them he solves after a few minutes, then he sulks because he’s bored, so he spends the money he earned indulging any vice that’s near at hand.’

Drecht appeared a little crestfallen. ‘The tales make him sound so noble,’ he said.

‘He can be, when the sun’s right, and the wind’s at his back.’ Arent blew out a long breath. Truth was Sammy was kind infrequently, and nearly always unthinkingly, but such were his talents that the effect was life-changing. Once Sammy had overheard an old woman wailing for her dead husband, who’d been struck down in a street and had his purse stolen. Within the hour, Sammy had solved the murder, found the coins and returned them with a hundred more from his own pocket. He’d claimed the mystery had been so diverting it was worth paying for, but Arent had seen the look on the old woman’s face. Sammy had reached out his hand and tipped over the world.

And that was the tricky part. Drecht wanted to know what Sammy was like, but it was too small a question. Arent could say that Sammy was clever, unique or special, or he could say that he was vain, greedy, lazy and, sometimes, cruel. Every word would be true, but none would be adequate.

The sky wasn’t merely blue. The ocean wasn’t merely wet. And Sammy wasn’t like anybody else. Wealth, power and privilege didn’t matter to him. If he thought somebody guilty of the crime he was investigating, he’d accuse them.

Sammy was what Arent hoped the entire world could be. If an old woman was wronged, she should have her recompense, whether she was rich or poor, strong or weak. The weak shouldn’t have to fear the powerful, and the powerful shouldn’t simply take what they wanted without consequence. Power should be a burden, not a shield. It should be used to everybody’s betterment, not merely for the person who wielded it.

Arent shook his head. He hated it when his thoughts fell down this hole. It made him maudlin. He’d lived too long and travelled too far to believe in hearth tales, but while Sammy was alive, kings and nobles had somebody to fear. That was a comforting idea.

Arent passed Drecht the jug of wine, then asked, ‘How did you end up in Batavia?’

‘The alternative was another damn battlefield,’ he replied sourly, taking a swig. ‘And I’ve seen too many of them to relish going back to another. Besides, if I get him to Amsterdam in one piece, he’s promised to make me rich. I can have servants of my own, my wife could come out of the fields. My children could look forward to something more than their father had. Aye, it’d be a fine thing.’

He lifted his sword, so that he could peer along the edge. Sunlight danced on the blade.

‘Did my uncle give you that?’ asked Arent.

‘Reward for my loyalty these past years.’ Drecht’s eyes narrowed, coming, at last, to the real point of this visit. ‘Your uncle is powerful, and powerful men have more enemies than friends. One in particular, I think.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know, but whoever it is, he’s been afraid of them for a long time. Got so he stopped leaving the fort. That’s the reason every member of his household guard is travelling on this boat, instead of the handful who would actually fit. He’s terrified of something. The kind of terror even high walls and a company of soldiers doesn’t fix. Now, you tell me what could do that.’

‘Old Tom?’ guessed Arent.

Drecht grunted, then went back to buffing his sword.