The Devil and the Dark Water

39

No sooner was the cell door open than Sammy came scrambling out, sucking in the clean air. Despite the humidity, he was clammy. His eyes were large as plates, his hair lank, his breath rancid. He was clutching the vial of sleeping draught Sara had given him.

‘By God, it’s good to be out of there,’ he proclaimed, using Arent’s outstretched arm to clamber to his feet.

Arent tried to keep the despair from his face.

His only job was to keep Sammy Pipps from harm, but every hour he was locked in this cell was another hour he failed in that task. Yesterday, he’d been convinced his uncle’s affection for him would be enough to win Sammy’s freedom. Today, he knew it wouldn’t even parlay him a cabin.

As he had the night before, Sammy demanded that Arent turn his back when they reached the weather decks, so he could drop his breeches and relieve himself over the side of the ship.

‘Eighth Lantern’s back, I see,’ he said, counting the flames in the distance.

‘They’re putting a yawl in the water to investigate,’ said Arent. ‘If you hurry, we can watch them.’

‘Never rush a man while he’s on the privy,’ scolded Sammy, as a torrent of piss arced over the side of the ship. ‘Tell me what you’ve learned.’

‘I met the leper today. It led me to an altar it had built in the Saardam’s cargo hold.’

‘Is it still there? Can I inspect it?’

‘Captain Crauwels ordered it destroyed.’

‘Of course he did.’ He sighed. ‘Anything else?’

‘We think Bosey built smuggling compartments around the Saardam, and was in business with Isaack Larme, the first mate. We found –’

‘Who is we?’

‘Sara Wessel.’

‘Ah.’ His voice became knowing. ‘Sara Wessel.’

‘Yes, Sara Wessel.’

‘Very good.’

Arent blinked. ‘What’s very good?’

Sammy spread his arms joyfully. ‘You’re as dense as the mountains you were carved out of.’ He peered at his friend, lamenting the lost cause before him. ‘What was inside Larme’s secret compartment?’

‘It was empty. Larme had already got to it by the time we arrived, but he seemed surprised to see the marks of Old Tom around it.’

‘Then Old Tom may have used Bosey to smuggle something without Larme’s knowledge.’

‘And then killed him to keep from talking about it,’ agreed Arent. ‘Oh, and Reynier van Schooten has a secret that’s eating him from the inside out. We almost had it, but …’ He gestured to the Eighth Lantern.

Sammy pulled up his breeches, rejoining his friend. Arent gave him piece of the untouched bird he’d stolen from the dinner table, along with a hunk of bread and a jug of wine.

‘And I think I’ve found a way to make Johannes Wyck tell me why he cut out Bosey’s tongue,’ he said, as they crossed the waist.

‘How?’

‘I have to lose a fight.’

Sammy swallowed the bread he’d been eating. ‘Have you ever done that before?’

‘I think it’s like winning, except you fall over at the end.’

They were close enough now to see the yawl being lowered into the water. It was far larger than it had appeared when covered up, and had three benches inside, capable of seating three sailors each, with room enough at the prow for another to crouch. Obviously, Crauwels didn’t want to risk that many bodies, because there were only three people climbing down the rope ladder.

They did not look happy to be doing it.

Isaack Larme was clucking like a mother hen. ‘Row to within sighting distance, no closer,’ he said to them, genuine concern in his voice. ‘Take note of its colours and what language you hear being spoken on deck, best you can.’

It, thought Arent. Larme had called the ship it. Not ‘her’, as was usually the case with ships, or even ‘their’, in reference to the crew. That was the power the Eighth Lantern already held over them.

Vos emerged from the compartment under the half deck. In the moonlight, he appeared ghastly, like he had too much skin on too little skull.

‘Where’s the governor general?’ demanded Crauwels.

‘I couldn’t wake him,’ said Vos.

Sammy prodded Arent’s arm, jerking his chin to the quarterdeck where Lia and Sara were watching with Creesjie. Evidently, the ladies weren’t interested in staying inside for the post-dinner drinks.

Below them, the yawl hit the water with a soft splash.

‘Captain,’ cried Isaack Larme. ‘Look!’

He was pointing in the direction of the Eighth Lantern. The orange glow had turned blood red.

A second later an agonising scream carved through the air, only to be abruptly cut off.

Everybody covered their ears, but Arent knew better.

A scream was a warning.

You either needed to be running towards it, or away from it. Pretending it wasn’t happening wouldn’t help anybody.

‘Arent!’ hollered Sara from the quarterdeck. ‘It came from behind us!’

He was up the stairs in a few strides, Sammy running after him. Hindered by her dress, Sara followed them to the poop deck. Lia and Creesjie came clattering behind.

Something squelched under Arent’s feet. He reached down to touch it, but Sammy’s voice stilled him. ‘It’s blood,’ he said, sounding sick. ‘I can smell it.’

He’d always been squeamish.

Pulling open the door to the pens, Arent found every animal dead, their guts spilled across the straw. The poor sow had it the worst, he thought. That must have been what they heard scream.

Creesjie ran to the railing and vomited, while Sara took a step back in horror.

‘Arent,’ she said.

He turned, expecting her to need comfort, but she was pointing at their feet. Drawn in blood, was an eye with a tail.

‘The Mark of Old Tom,’ whispered Lia, aghast.

‘We were standing twenty paces away,’ said Sara, glancing back at where they’d been. ‘How could something have slaughtered the animals and drawn this mark without us hearing?’

She stared at Arent, as if hoping he might have the answers she lacked.

He didn’t. He was as unnerved as she was. For all the years he’d worked with Sammy – all the impossible things he’d witnessed – he’d never seen anything on this scale, or anything so strange that didn’t immediately explain its purpose. A dead body meant somebody wanted that person dead. A theft meant somebody wanted the thing that was stolen. How it was done may have been bewildering, but at least he’d always understood why it was happening.

This was different.

This was chaotic, and spiteful. Strange marks and slaughtered animals weren’t clues, they were messages. Whatever was behind this – whether it was a devil or not – wanted them to know how powerless they were. How trapped. It wanted them to know how easily it could strike at them. It was trying to frighten them.

And it was succeeding. Arent’s skin was crawling. He wanted to leap off the boat and swim back to Batavia. He just wasn’t sure how many people he could carry on his back.

‘This is it, isn’t it?’ said Lia, clinging to her mother. ‘This is the first of the unholy miracles. It’s happening exactly as the predikant said it would.’

‘What’s an unholy miracle?’ asked Arent.

‘Sander warned there would be three of them,’ said Sara. ‘They’re meant to convince us of Old Tom’s power, so more people accept his bargains. Each one bears his mark.’

‘Why only three?’ asked Sammy.

‘Because after that, anybody who didn’t bargain is slaughtered by those who did.’

Finally shaking off his shock, Captain Crauwels called down to the yawl. ‘Get over to that lantern double quick, I want –’

‘It’s too late, Captain,’ said Vos. ‘It’s already gone.’

Crauwels looked past him.

Where the red glow had been, there was now only darkness.