The Devil and the Dark Water

70

A grim-faced company had gathered in the great cabin under a swaying lantern, shadows leaping across the walls. The book they’d found in Viscountess Dalvhain’s cabin was centred on the table, and everybody was keeping their distance. They’d all seen what was inside and all of them would rather they hadn’t.

With the governor general dead, the chief merchant was absolute master of the vessel, though he didn’t seem pleased about it. He was ashen-faced, pacing back and forth in front of the windows, while rubbing his hands through his thinning hair. There wasn’t any wine left for him to drink, though his fingers obviously itched for it.

Even those jewelled rings had lost their lustre, thought Arent.

‘Dozens dead, and the governor general among them,’ said Reynier van Schooten. ‘We have to put a stop to this before it consumes the ship.’ He turned on Arent, pointing an accusing finger. ‘Didn’t your uncle put you in charge of finding this devil when its mark first appeared on the sail? How did you miss the fact that Viscountess Dalvhain was actually Emily de Haviland?’

‘Aye, because the rest of you were probably burning with suspicion,’ snorted Sammy sarcastically, his feet on the table.

Despite everything that was happening, he’d taken the time to wash in saltwater and change his clothes for the spare set Arent had brought. He was bathed, powdered and perfumed, which meant for the first time in weeks, he was almost his own self, though there was no disguising the frailness of his body, or the slight tremor in his voice.

‘Besides, we don’t know the two are the same,’ he continued. ‘We only know that somebody came aboard using an anagram of Haviland’s name. It could be Emily de Haviland playing games, or it could be somebody else trying to fool us. Assume nothing, Chief Merchant.’ He chortled and rubbed his hands together. ‘This really is a wonderful case. If it had been brought to me in Amsterdam, I’d be jumping up and down in glee.’

‘Who in the seven hells let you out?’ snapped Van Schooten, irritated by his flippant demeanour.

‘I did,’ said Arent, his arms folded across his massive chest. ‘My uncle is dead and with him the only reason to keep Sammy imprisoned. Now that the three unholy miracles have passed, we need him out here investigating, not rotting in some dank cell.’

The room murmured its agreement, forcing Van Schooten to concede defeat, but only grudgingly.

‘So where is the passenger who was in that cabin now?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Sammy. ‘Did anybody ever meet her?’

‘Once,’ said Crauwels, roused from his thoughts for the first time since they’d come up from the orlop deck. The captain was standing at the head of the table, his palms flat on its surface. ‘Long grey dress and long grey hair. Resembled Vos in a strange sort of way. Had that odd, blank way of looking at you. She sat in the gloom and barked at me to leave her alone.’

‘What about the cabin boys? Did one of them tend her room?’ asked Sammy.

‘They were forbidden from entering,’ replied Van Schooten, ruefully.

‘Then who emptied her chamberpots?’

‘They were left outside her door each night,’ said Creesjie, wrinkling her nose, as if she could still smell them.

‘If she was so eager to stay hidden, why would she take the risk of booking a cabin?’ wondered Sara.

‘When did we start letting women into these meetings?’ demanded Van Schooten, freshly outraged as he realised Sara, Lia and Creesjie had taken chairs at the opposite end of the table from Crauwels. ‘This isn’t women’s business.’

‘Will it be women’s business when Old Tom sinks the ship?’ shot back Creesjie.

‘It doesn’t matter who’s here, or not,’ said Crauwels in a flat voice. ‘It matters what we do next. How do we save the Saardam? So far Old Tom’s been able to come and go as it pleases, slaughtering at will. I’ve heard the stories about you, Pipps. I need you to help me ferret out Emily de Haviland from wherever she’s hiding.’

‘She won’t be found, Captain,’ scoffed Sammy. ‘Emily, Old Tom or whoever is behind all of this, has planned everything meticulously.’ He waved his hand to the night sky beyond the windows. ‘There’s a ship out there that’s presumably under her control. She’s got a leper doing her bidding, who we haven’t been able to find. She stole The Folly without anybody realising, slaughtered our animals while we were standing twenty paces away and has now managed to murder the most powerful man onboard, without needing to enter his cabin. She disappeared because it was time for her to disappear. Do you think we’re going to find her hiding in the crow’s nest?’

‘We have to do something,’ yelled Crauwels, who’d grown increasingly irate the longer Sammy spoke.

‘And I will,’ laughed Sammy. ‘But stupidity isn’t ever the straight line it first appears. As I see it, there are three important questions, and the location of Emily de Haviland is not one of them. The first is what links the unholy miracles: why did our enemy steal The Folly, slaughter some animals and then murder the governor general?’

‘I thought they were random acts,’ said Creesjie, fanning herself.

Sammy peered at her, then dragged his feet from the table, stood up and bowed exquisitely. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met, madam. I’m Samuel Pipps.’

She inclined her head, laughing prettily. ‘Creesjie Jens,’ she said. ‘You live up to Arent’s reports, sir.’

‘It grows ever more difficult with each one he writes. A few more years under Arent’s quill and I’ll be nothing but cleverness and virtue.’ They grinned at each other, a friendship having clearly been struck. ‘To answer your question, the unholy miracles seem to have been random, but very little else in this case has been. I rather doubt Old Tom’s started now. The miracles were planned, which means they were deliberately chosen.’

Now he was standing, he began to pace. His finger stabbed the air as he spoke. ‘My second question is how was the governor general murdered? My third is why the leper killed Cornelius Vos, yet let Arent live? Once I have the answers to those questions, I’m certain the rest of this fascinating puzzle will arrange itself.’

‘That’s it!?’ demanded Crauwels. ‘Solve a murder and you think it will end our torment? Every time that damn Eighth Lantern burns red, my ship rips itself apart. The leper climbed up out of the sea to reach Sara’s cabin, and now Emily de Haviland’s loose on my ship. Sending Arent to fight it was like sending a child to war and now I see you’re no better.’ He scowled at everyone, then stormed out

‘Get to work, Pipps,’ said Van Schooten, staring after him. ‘I’ll calm Crauwels down. Larme, we need to get the lads back to sailing and not worrying about demons. Finding a new boatswain would help.’

‘Candidates usually stab each other until there’s only one left, but I’ll try to hurry it along,’ grunted Larme, who was leaning against the doorway into the helm.

Sammy signalled to Arent, the two of them making their way to the governor general’s cabin. Sammy strode straight in, but Arent couldn’t make it past the threshold. His sense of dread was choking, his eyes lurching away when he tried to look at the bunk.

When he did eventually see his uncle, the pain made him want to howl.

Clamping his jaw shut, he blinked back tears, trying to reason with his grief.

In every way that mattered, this wasn’t the uncle he remembered. Cruelty had replaced the kindness. He’d beaten Sara and locked Lia away, and made a deal with Old Tom. He had turned his back on the ideals he’d espoused to Arent as a boy, and yet … Arent had loved him.

And that love endured. Whether it was earned, or worthy, or right, it sat at the heart of him, and, try as he might, he couldn’t dislodge it.

For fifteen minutes, Arent watched Sammy put his eyes on everything, touching and caressing, lifting and staring, passing through the room like an inquisitive breeze, leaving the objects he inspected precisely in their original place. Once he was satisfied, he tugged the dagger out of the governor general’s body with a sickening squelch, then investigated the wound.

‘Splinters,’ he said, delicately removing a small sliver of wood from the governor general’s chest. ‘Possibly from the hilt of the murder weapon. See what you make of it, Arent.’

Preoccupied, Sammy pressed the dagger and splinters into Arent’s hands. Sammy always asked him to examine the murder weapons in case his insight as a soldier should prove useful, but this was different.

This wasn’t a weapon. It was guilt.

His uncle had been murdered two decks from him. How could that be? Arent had once saved him from the entire Spanish army, so why hadn’t he been able to protect him from a whisper in the darkness?

Deep down, where his grief became blame, a voice suggested that maybe he hadn’t wanted to. Now he was dead, Sara was free of him.

‘Stop it,’ he said to himself.

‘Hmmm?’ asked Sammy, who was creeping along the floor on his hands and knees, his eyes almost touching the wood as he searched for clues.

‘Nothing,’ mumbled Arent embarrassed, examining the dagger. It was shorter than normal, the blade thinner. Much too thin, he realised. It was almost brittle. No smithy would make a weapon this way, it was no good. It would snap when it hit armour.

‘I know this weapon,’ said Arent, weighing it in his palm. ‘The leper threatened me with it in the cargo hold.’

‘That’s interesting, because the leper’s handprints climb up to the porthole, and above it are seven widely spaced hooks. I don’t know what their purpose is, but we’ll need to find out.’

‘Then you’re blaming the leper for my uncle’s murder?’

‘The creature must be considered. By the coldness of the governor general’s body and the degree to which his blood has congealed, I would suggest he had been dead some hours by the time Creesjie and Guard Captain Drecht lit the candle.’

‘So, you think he was murdered during dinner?’ asked Arent. ‘That would exonerate all of the passengers. They ate together.’

‘We should confirm that none of them left the dinner for any reason. If they didn’t, I’m afraid it places Sara Wessel in rather a bad spot.’

Seeing Arent’s objection, he held up a placating hand. ‘I know you’re fond of her, but you were unconscious for a majority of the evening. She could easily have slipped away from your side. For all we know, she saw a chance to murder a devil and blame another devil for the work, and she took it.’

Arent shuddered, remembering how Vos had planned to do the same thing. He would have succeeded had the leper not interrupted them.

‘Now, to the matter of the snuffed candle,’ said Sammy, peering out of the porthole. ‘Sara said her husband never slept without a light. Not a single day in all the years she knew him. Creesjie confirmed this. Apparently he was afraid of the dark, something only those closest to him would have known. Was there a strong wind tonight?’

‘No.’

Sammy placed his body equidistant between the porthole and the writing desk, extending his arms. Even then, he couldn’t reach the candle. ‘And it would be impossible to lean in and snuff it from outside.’

Sammy plucked a scroll case from behind the netted shelf and tossed it to Arent. ‘We’ll have to search everything in this room, so start here,’ he ordered.

Arent took himself to the writing desk and sat down heavily. Removing the cap from the case, he unrolled the scroll within. It was a plan for The Folly, he realised. Or at least one very small part of it.

‘Arent?’ said Sammy, who was gazing up at the porthole with his chin pressed to the floor. ‘How did Isaack Larme feel about your uncle?’

‘He hated the slaughter my uncle ordered at the Banda Islands,’ said Arent. ‘Other than that, I don’t know. Why?’

‘Because with a little wriggling, our dwarf could have got through this porthole.’

Arent eyed it, trying to imagine Larme squeezing through.

‘The clatter would have woke my uncle and brought Drecht running,’ disagreed Arent, picking up the next scroll.

My dearest Jan,

My health is failing. I will not see another summer.

Upon my death, my place among the Gentlemen 17 will fall vacant. In keeping with the vow I made you, and in recompense of our great undertaking all those years ago, I have nominated you for the post and my colleagues have agreed.

However, they each have their favourites and the manoeuvring has begun. Once I die, I cannot guarantee the position.

Heed my advice and return to Amsterdam without delay. Bring your daughter, for she is of marriageable age and will serve you well when the bartering begins.

And put manacles on Samuel Pipps. I’ve come across accusations that he’s a spy for the English. Not only a traitor to our noble enterprise, but our nation. It’s not yet common knowledge, but I’ve verified the claims and will put them before my fellows soon. Execution awaits. Drag him before the Gentlemen 17 and your position will be vastly improved. Do these things and come quickly.

Yours in expectation,

Casper van den Berg

Sammy read the missive over Arent’s shoulder, becoming immediately awkward. Compassion wasn’t something he was versed in, being a man who saw bodies as clues and murder as an occupation, but he tapped his friend in a vague approximation of sympathy.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know you loved your grandfather. Hearing about this at the same time as –’

‘He’s not dying,’ interrupted Arent.

Sammy looked down at his impassive face.

‘It can be difficult –’

‘This parchment is dated a week before we sailed,’ he said, pointing to it. ‘It would have arrived in Batavia at the same time we did. I saw my grandfather a few days before we left Amsterdam. I was worried I might not survive the journey and I didn’t want him to think …’ Arent swallowed. ‘He was healthy, Sammy. Old, but not dying. He didn’t write this. He didn’t accuse you of being a spy.’

Sammy snatched the letter from his hand.

‘Then it was somebody who knew his mind intimately,’ said Sammy. ‘Was your uncle close to Emily de Haviland?’

‘He didn’t mention her, and far as I know their house fell into ruin long before my uncle’s stock rose far enough for them to have met. My grandfather might have known her. He’s about the right age.’

‘The letter mentions a great undertaking that was done. Any idea what that could be?’

‘My grandfather was friends with Jan Haan for years before I was born. They were even in business together briefly, though I don’t know what they did. They never told me, but it helped make both of them rich.’

Sammy rolled up the scroll, pressing the broken edges of the seal back together. ‘This is the official seal of the Gentlemen 17. Only the highest-ranking officials in the Company even know what it looks like, let alone how to forge the stamp, and even then, it has to be delivered by a trusted representative of the Company.’

‘Who could that be?’

Sammy blew a breath through his lips, throwing the ascension order back on the desk and walking over to inspect the wine mugs. ‘Vos could have done it, I suppose. Captain Crauwels. Reynier van Schooten. Me. They may not even be on the boat, any longer.’

‘Could Viscountess Dalvhain have delivered it?’ wondered Arent. ‘We know my uncle went to see her before he died. Maybe she wanted you in a cell, so you couldn’t investigate his murder.’

‘A fine notion,’ Sammy agreed. ‘If she had some connection to the Gentlemen 17 she certainly would have been trusted with the seal.’

‘My uncle was manoeuvred here, wasn’t he?’ said Arent suddenly. ‘Like Sander Kers. Old Tom wanted them both onboard.’

Sammy was sniffing the mugs again. ‘I doubt you’re here by accident either. Old Tom was your story. The mark is the same as your scar. Your father’s rosary was in the animal pens. The leper left you alive in the cargo hold. Everything that’s happening on this boat keeps coming back to you.’

‘But I’m only on this boat because you were locked up.’

‘Which brings us back to Dalvhain.’

Sammy considered the idea, while tipping the wine jug back and forth, and listening intently to the movement of liquid inside. He then upended the wine into an empty cup, watching the flow of liquid.

‘This is tainted,’ he said, peering into the cup. ‘Come, look.’

At first, Arent saw nothing, but Sammy drew the candle closer, revealing the viscous sediment that had settled on the bottom.

Using his fingertip, Sammy tasted it.

‘Can you identify it?’ asked Arent.

‘It’s the sleeping draught Sara gave me.’

‘Maybe my uncle took it, as well.’

‘And perhaps we should let the lady provide her own explanations,’ replied Sammy, opening the door and sauntering back into the great cabin. Everybody remained in the positions where they’d left them. Each was deep in their thoughts, their eyes unfocused. Fingers were tapping and feet jogging.

Sammy walked over to Sara, Lia and Creesjie, unobtrusively running his eyes across Isaack Larme’s clothes as he went. He stopped abruptly. ‘You have green paint flakes on your slops,’ he said, earning a scowl. ‘Why is that?’

‘None of your –’

‘Answer him,’ warned Van Schooten, who was standing at the windows with his hands behind his back.

Larme’s eyes were daggers. ‘I’m up and down this ship, aren’t I?’

‘The hull outside the governor general’s cabin is painted green.’

‘Aye, as is the forecastle, which is where I spend most of my time.’

Sammy watched his face for a moment longer than was comfortable, until Larme swore and stormed out of the room. Once he was gone, Sammy turned his attention to Sara. ‘Did your husband take a sleeping draught before bed?’

‘No,’ said Sara, reaching for the hands of Lia and Creesjie. ‘I was drugging my husband’s wine, so Creesjie could steal the plans to The Folly.’

She spoke as though this was perfectly reasonable. Creesjie picked up the tale.

‘Each night, I’d put one sheet in a scroll case attached to the inside of my gown, and then deliver them to Lia who would scribe a copy. I’d return it the next night, and do the same again.’

‘Why would Lia –’

‘I invented The Folly, Mr Pipps,’ said Lia, lowering her eyes, as if ashamed of the fact.

Van Schooten almost fell over.

‘I invent lots of things,’ shrugged Lia, glancing at him. ‘The Folly wasn’t my favourite, but my father seemed to like it.’

‘I intended on selling the plans to the duke Creesjie is going to marry, in return for sanctuary in France, along with my wealth and freedom,’ said Sara, her tone unwavering. ‘It seemed a small price to pay. I understand that you must suspect me, but, you see, there was really no reason for me to risk killing my husband.’

Silence descended on the company.

‘I thought I was marrying a count,’ said Creesjie quietly.