The Devil and the Dark Water

42

Sara didn’t hear the whisper at first.

It was almost dawn, but the sleeping draught had drowned her mind. One drop was all she ever took, though some days in Batavia she had itched for more. Bad days, dark days, when the boredom had crushed her and she’d gazed out at the horizon, wishing she could choose any other life than the one that had chosen her.

On those days, she would stare at the vial for what felt like hours, until eventually she had Dorothea hide it. Far away from her longing.

– Sara –

The whisper crawled up the walls and along the ceiling, running over her body on a thousand legs.

Blinking, she came awake, unsure at first what had woken her.

The room was still dark, the hour uncertain. With the deadlight across the window, it could have been one hour or seven since she’d fallen asleep.

It was stuffy, her mouth dry. She reached for the jug at her bedside.

– Sara –

The whisper caused her to freeze, her skin prickling.

‘Who’s there?’ she demanded, blood thumping in her ears.

– Your heart’s desire for a price –

The whisper was jagged, the words raking across her. She slowly felt around her bedside table for the dagger, her fingers curling around its hilt.

Last night it had felt reassuringly heavy, but now it just seemed clumsy.

Summoning her courage, she sprang off her bed, searching the four corners of the cabin. It was empty. Her only company was the moon, the tattered edges of the clouds giving it teeth.

– What do you yearn for? –

She rushed to the door, yanking it open.

A candle guttered in its alcove, revealing an empty corridor.

– What do you yearn for? –

Sara clutched her ears. ‘Go away!’ she demanded.

– What do you yearn for? –

Freedom. She almost said it out loud. She almost shouted it. She wanted to go where she desired without being told she couldn’t. She wanted to decide each day how she wanted to live it. She wanted to pursue her talents without judgement and be the mother she wished to be rather than the mother she had to be.

– What do you yearn for? Tell me and I’ll depart –

‘I want freedom,’ she said quietly.

– And what would you give for it? –

Sara’s mouth opened, then shut. Even in the dark. Even terrified, she was a merchant’s wife. She knew what bargaining sounded like.

‘What would it cost?’

In his nightshirt, Vos clutched his hands to his ears, trying not to listen to the whisper.

– She’ll reject you –

‘She won’t,’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

– She’s laughing at you –

‘No.’

– Blood spilt and a bargain sealed, and she’ll be yours –

– I would place the dagger under the bed –

Eyes wide in the candlelight, Lia held tight the model of the Saardam she was carving. It was such a simple offer, she thought. Such little effort for so great a reward.

– What do you yearn for? –

Johannes Wyck rolled off his mat and spun towards the door with his blade drawn, immediately alert.

A boatswain couldn’t afford to sleep deeply. Those that did usually died mid-snore.

Wyck’s compartment was below the forecastle, where the crew took their recreation. He could hear the fiddle and the skitter of dice above him.

– What do you yearn for? –

‘Who’s that?’ he demanded, throwing open the door to the sailmaker’s compartment. That useless sod was snoring in his hammock, as usual.

– Old Tom –

‘Old Tom,’ repeated Wyck, his expression changing. He returned to his compartment. It was pitch black, but he didn’t mind the dark. They had an understanding.

‘Aye, I know you of old, don’t I?’ He tapped his eyepatch. ‘Was wondering when you’d come find me, though I didn’t expect it to be like this.’

Silence met this declaration.

‘Did you think I didn’t recognise you on deck?’ gloated Wyck. ‘I kept your secret once and lost an eye for it. That was the last honourable thing I ever did. I know what you’re doing on this boat, and I reckon I know what you’re doing it for.’

Wyck turned in a circle, searching the cabin. There was a cunning leer on his face. Devils didn’t frighten him. Not after the life he’d led. There was no fresh sin to enjoy. No more depravities to tempt him with. He’d tried every terrible thing he could think to try, and he knew hell was waiting for him come what may. Now, he was on a different path.

The silence seemed to shift, gathering itself.

– What do you yearn for? –

‘Something you’re going to give me.’ He touched his eyepatch again. ‘Something owed.’

Down on the orlop deck, Isabel rolled over on her mat, finding herself staring directly into Dorothea’s sleeping face. She was lit by the full moon, giving her a fey quality, and Isabel half expected the older woman to wake up and offer her a wish.

The maid had moved her mat beside Isabel’s that afternoon, telling her she felt safer sleeping near a friendly face. Isabel had recognised the lie immediately. As Dorothea had said yesterday afternoon, there were only two types. This one was too sharp.

Sara must have sent her.

On the deck above, the two bells sounded. From other side of the wooden curtain, she heard sailors shifting, grumbling, coming awake. Footsteps thudded down the steps, as the watch changed.

Keeping her eyes on Dorothea’s face, she got up silently. From the hammocks and mats around her, snores issued, a few people spouting words in their sleep. The only light came from under the door to the gunpowder store, where the constable sang softly to himself.

She’d run into him last night and hadn’t stopped cursing herself since. That was likely why Dorothea now lay where she lay. Isabel swore to be more careful tonight. She had to be, otherwise she’d have to stop going.

Offering Dorothea one last, cautious look, she disappeared down the staircase into the cargo hold.

Sara was stepping into the corridor to check on Lia, when Creesjie flew out of her cabin and into her arms, sobbing.

‘Old Tom whispered to me,’ she cried in fright, clinging to her friend.

‘And me,’ said Sara, still shaking. ‘What did he promise you?’

‘That the boys would be spared if I killed your husband!’ She heaved her chest, trying to gather her breath. ‘What did it want from you?’

‘The same,’ said Sara. ‘It even told me how to do it.’

‘A dagger under his bunk,’ repeated Creesjie, horrified. ‘If your husband summoned Old Tom, why does it want him dead?’