The Devil and the Dark Water

41

Creesjie Jens sniffed her pomander, trying to banish the memory of the slaughtered animals. It was the blood that tormented her. Not the sight, but the smell. It was in her hair and on her skin. She felt it trickling down her dress, even though she hadn’t touched it. It was as if she’d bathed in it.

‘You’re shivering,’ said Vos solicitously.

‘It’s shock,’ said Creesjie, descending the staircase on to the quarterdeck. ‘I’ve never been that close to death before.’

She’d left to attend the governor general, as was her duty, only to find Vos trailing behind her silently. This was the first time he’d spoken, and, as usual, she found his presence hugely discomfiting.

‘May I speak to you about a personal matter?’ he asked, in that same bland tone he used for everything else.

He really was made of cogs and springs, she thought. After everything they’d just seen, he spoke as if they were taking a promenade. Why couldn’t he see that she was upset and wanted to be left alone?

‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow, I’m –’

‘I’m about to come into a sum that will change my position quite considerably,’ he interrupted, watching her face for a reaction.

‘How?’ responded Creesjie, short of anything better to say.

‘I have been making plans for some time,’ he said. ‘And they’ll come to fruition when we reach Amsterdam. Using my newfound wealth, I intend on pressing my suitability to become the next governor general of Batavia to the Gentlemen 17. I’m counting on Jan Haan’s support, of course.’

She stared at him, bludgeoned by this new information. ‘Why are you telling me this, Vos?’

‘Because I would like to ask for your hand in marriage.’

Her mouth fell open.

‘I realise you’re promised to the Duke of Astor, but my research suggests the duke’s accounts are a war away from ruin, and he’s never far from a war.’

Creesjie could only stare at him. She was being proposed to by an abacus. Oblivious to her bafflement, he pressed his case.

‘The Duke of Astor is a fine match, but what will you do when he dies on the battlefield in three years’ time? You are beautiful, but beauty fades. And when that happens, how will you live, how will you eat, where will your money come from? What I propose is a mutually beneficial marriage. I admire you, and would give you rein, while you helped me build the career I consider my destiny.’

‘I … I …’ Creesjie flailed. She couldn’t find the words. She wasn’t even certain she would recognise them if she did.

‘I thought he was a count?’ she said, lamely.

‘A mere count would be beneath you.’

Creesjie’s eyes roamed Vos’s bland face, as if seeing it for the first time.

‘I didn’t realise you had such ambition,’ she said, her interest showing itself for the first time.

‘The governor general does not tolerate it and I’m not fool enough to displease him.’

‘The wealth that you’d require –’

‘I have made the calculations. I know what I’m asking, and what is offered. I could show you my figures, if you’d prefer.’

They passed awkwardly through the helm into the great cabin. The candelabrum had been snuffed and put away, along with all the plates and good cheer. The chairs were stacked, the cabin lit solely by moonlight, the lattice windows carving it into a web of shadow.

‘You understand how dangerous this proposition is,’ said Creesjie, lowering her voice. Candlelight snuck beneath the governor general’s door. ‘I’m only onboard the Saardam because Jan Haan wished it so. He bought my ticket and he pays my allowance.’ Vos frowned slightly at this, his fingers doing their strange little dance at his side, as if these were not taboos he’d previously considered. ‘If he discovered you’re attempting to woo me while I’m still his mistress –’

‘I’m not asking for an answer now, but a promise of your consideration would help me sleep easier,’ said Vos.

‘You have it,’ said Creesjie, inclining her head. Vos beamed, returned the nod, then disappeared back the way he’d come.

Creesjie breathed out in relief, his arguments still clattering around her thoughts. It had been a good proposal, she thought. He’d put words around every doubt she’d harboured, then sucked the sting out of them. For the first time since they’d met, she found herself smiling at the memory of him.

Crossing the room, she arrived at the governor general’s door.

‘Good evening, madam,’ said Guard Captain Jacobi Drecht, in that slightly disapproving tone he always adopted with her.

It was Creesjie’s power to be desired by every man she met, so when she’d first encountered Drecht’s scorn, she’d considered it a challenge. She’d flirted with him, brought him food, invited him to functions, but everything had failed.

The only thing he wanted from Creesjie was a wall between them.

Through one of his men, she’d discovered that he had a wife and daughter in Drenthe, both of whom he loved without reservation. Four years since they’d seen each other last, but he’d never taken his pleasure elsewhere. The soldier – in an incredulous tone – had claimed it wasn’t something Drecht boasted of, as he didn’t boast of breathing, or being able to speak. It was simply the vow he’d taken.

And that was where Creesjie’s campaign had ended. Men such as Guard Captain Drecht were rare and dangerous. They would do their duty no matter how much misery it caused them, or those around them. His wife was welcome to him.

Standing aside, Drecht allowed Creesjie inside.

Once the door shut behind her, Creesjie’s face changed. Abandoning the winsome smile, her eyes became coals.

As Sara had promised, her draught had put Jan Haan into a deep sleep, his thin chest rising and falling, every rib showing.

She looked at him distantly, like he was a bluebottle flapping its last on the window ledge. Whatever strength Jan Haan once commanded had long ago left him, but he disguised the fact with his accomplishments, his abrupt manner and the willingness of hounds such as Drecht and Vos to acquiesce to his every whim. She tried to imagine what they’d think if they knew why he really summoned her every night. It wasn’t because of his virility, or because of his unquenchable appetites.

It was because he was afraid of the dark.

Most nights, she simply undressed and lay beside him, so that when he woke in fright, he’d have somebody to wrap a thin arm around.

Occasionally there was sex, but Creesjie was convinced Jan only called on her because Sara wouldn’t stay the night with him.

The thought of her friend’s stubbornness lit a fierce pride in her.

Any other woman would have submitted to his demands without complaint, believing it worth the life offered in return.

Not Sara, though.

Throughout the beatings, scoldings, humiliations and tantrums, she’d held strong, like a block of stone refusing to yield to the sculptor’s hammer. Many a night, Creesjie had arrived to find Jan raging against his obstinate wife, revealing a passion he would be mortified to show in public. All these long years, his arrogance had convinced him he was tormenting her, but Creesjie knew it was the other way around. Sara was the only enemy he’d never been able to best.

Jan murmured in his sleep, rousing her from her thoughts.

Hurrying to the desk, she’d found the list of names Sara had seen earlier that afternoon. Her friend had asked her to copy them, and Creesjie was in the habit of doing nearly everything Sara asked without question. For the truth was, Sara was more like her husband than she would admit, though her authority was built on a foundation of kindness rather than greed.

Picking up the quill, her eye landed on Jan’s armour stand. A piece of folded parchment was tucked behind a strap on his breastplate.

‘Now, what’s that?’ she wondered.