The Devil and the Dark Water

58

Arent came awake groggily, waves of pain greeting the smallest movement of his head. He was still in the cargo hold, but he’d been tied to a beam, a gag stuffed in his mouth.

He struggled, but the bonds were knotted tight.

Vos was standing next to him, carving the Mark of Old Tom on to a pillar. He’d already completed three of them, though this one was coming along better. The others were clumsy.

Arent wriggled, trying to loosen the ropes. When that failed, he wondered whether he’d been able to stretch his neck and bite Vos’s ear off.

Hearing him struggle, Vos looked over at him. Fear showed on his plain face.

He put the dagger to Arent’s throat.

‘I’ll pull down the gag so we may speak,’ he said urgently. ‘If you try to call for help, I’ll slit your throat, is that understood?’

For all his fear, the threat came easily enough.

Arent nodded.

Tentatively, Vos pulled the gag down, the material scraping across Arent’s whiskers.

‘Not many men can get behind me,’ said Arent. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘I’ve learned to go unnoticed in my years of service to the governor general.’

‘Handy talent for a thief.’

Vos’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. He relaxed.

‘Then you do know,’ he said. ‘Good, that makes this easier. Who else knows? Who’s waiting for me upstairs?’

‘Everybody,’ said Arent. ‘Everybody knows.’

‘And yet you came alone,’ said Vos, tipping his ear to the air. ‘And I hear no steps, no distant chatter, none of the sounds that would indicate anybody else is down here.’ A horrifying grin split his face. ‘No, you’re alone. I think you saw poor, wretched little Vos and mistakenly thought him no threat.’ He wagged his dagger at him. ‘You’re not the first, but one does not rise out of the mud to become the governor general’s chamberlain without putting a few rivals out of the way.’

‘And now you have The Folly, you won’t have to be the governor general’s chamberlain any longer.’

Vos became confused. ‘The Folly? Is that why –’ He burst out laughing. It was a wholly unnatural sound coming from him. ‘Oh, my dear Arent. Fate has no love of you, does she? I didn’t steal The Folly, though I’m honoured you think I could. I’m afraid you’ve hit upon the right criminal, but the wrong crime.’

The idea obviously tickled him, for he was still chortling as he tugged the gag back over Arent’s mouth, then returned to carving the Mark of Old Tom on the pillar.

‘Odd as it may sound, I’m glad of this,’ he went on. ‘My work requires that I hide myself and pretend to be less than I am, but I was always thinking about my future. I was never content to be the governor general’s favourite hound for ever. It’s pleasant to finally be seen, however accidentally.’

A candle appeared in the distance. A tiny spot of light coming steadily closer.

Vos traced the point of his dagger over the Mark of Old Tom. ‘Fear not, I haven’t succumbed to the creature’s whims, if that’s what you’re thinking. The beautiful thing about fear this large is that nobody will look beyond it. It can explain anything. I’ll carve this mark on to your chest, and everybody will believe the demon killed you. They won’t even think to question it. They’ll want to believe it. People like stories more than they like the truth.’

The candle came closer, rags emerging out of the darkness, the light illuminating the bloody bandages around the leper’s face. Vos had his back to it. Enthralled by his own voice, he didn’t heed Arent’s muffled cries of warning. ‘Old Tom whispered to me, you know. Creesjie’s hand for the governor general’s life. It even offered to leave a dagger under his bunk to use.’ He became thoughtful. ‘I’ll confess I was tempted by its offer, but thankfully I have my own plans.’ He sighed, tapping the dagger against the wood ecstatically. ‘I knew Creesjie would accept me eventually. It was a matter of patience, that’s all.’

The leper was only two paces behind him. Arent strained, jerking his head towards it, screaming through the gag.

Vos furrowed his brow, as if perplexed by a man in Arent’s situation making a fuss. ‘Calm yourself and you may have your final words,’ he said.

The leper was a solitary step away. Arent stopped trying to yell long enough for Vos to tug the gag down.

‘Behind you!’ roared Arent. ‘Behind you, you damn fool!’

Startled by the terror in Arent’s voice, Vos spun around, coming face to face with the leper. From somewhere under the bandages, it hissed, driving a dagger into Vos’s chest, before twisting it.

The chamberlain screamed in agony, the sound echoing around the cargo hold. His body went limp and the leper slowly withdrew its blade, letting Vos collapse with a splash.

The leper stepped over his body, bringing its bloody bandages within touching distance of Arent’s face. It stank of the midden.

Its knife appeared in front of Arent’s face, Vos’s blood still dripping off the edge. It had a crudely carved wooden handle and a strange thin blade that looked like it would snap the very second it was used.

The leper touched the point of the dagger to Arent’s cheek, the metal cold against his flesh.

Arent squirmed trying to pull his head away.

The blade ran down his cheek and along his neck, crossing his stomach. Through its bandages, Arent could hear its rasping breaths. The dead don’t breathe, do they, he thought triumphantly.

The dagger pressed against his stomach, then it stopped suddenly. The leper sniffed him. Then again, deeper this time, as if surprised by something. A hand snaked its way into Arent’s pocket, slowly pulling out the rosary. Cocking its head, it stared at the beads in fascination, letting out that strange animal growl he’d heard with Sara.

For a second, it considered him.

Hissing, the leper blew out the candle and disappeared.