The Devil and the Dark Water

71

By a single candle in his cabin, Reynier van Schooten inspected the revised list of victuals in the hold. His head was in his hands, his temples throbbing. They’d lost most of their supplies to the storm. Even if they could find their way back to charted waters, they wouldn’t have enough to reach the Cape. The best they could hope for was a safe return to Batavia, wasting an entire shipment of spice.

The Gentlemen 17 wouldn’t care about devils, or storms. They cared only for the number in the ledger, and these numbers would not please them. Chief merchants were responsible for the cargo they delivered, and when it was lost, they were expected to earn back the loss. He was going to spend the rest of his life as an indentured servant to the Company.

Years of experience had taught him to treat a crossing from Batavia to Amsterdam with the utmost caution. He knew the dangers of the voyage, as he’d known the fleet would scatter, making resupply uncertain. Why had he agreed when the governor general demanded the extra cargo space?

Money, he thought with loathing. More than he’d ever seen, with the promise of more to come.

He’d worked his way from clerk to chief merchant without sponsor or favour, doing the work with a competence that couldn’t be ignored. His superiors had promoted him regretfully over their second cousins and brothers, allowing him to climb above those who sneered at him when he’d stayed in the counting rooms late, tending his accounts, always believing that one day he’d have his reward.

The governor general’s offer had seemed like a shortcut to that. One more voyage, and he’d never have to accept another crossing. There would be no more sleepless nights being harried by pirates. No more tropical maladies. No more arguments with greedy fools like Crauwels.

He could end his career before a wreck ended it for him.

But once he’d agreed to that, it had been easy to agree to the rest. That’s how the governor general worked. He handed you a coin covered in honey and before you knew it, you were stuck. Then he put the coin – and the greedy merchant – back in his pocket to be used whenever he needed them.

Van Schooten thumped the ledger, blotting his hand with ink. He was glad the bastard was dead. He was glad Cornelius Vos was dead. He only wished Emily de Haviland – whoever she was – had killed Guard Captain Drecht and completed the set. They’d brought nothing but bad fortune to this ship.

Knocks thudded through his door.

‘Go away,’ he hollered.

‘What was the secret cargo the governor general brought aboard?’ yelled Drecht.

Van Schooten slowly put down his quill. His legs were water.

‘If you make me break down this door, it will go badly for you,’ growled Drecht.

Pushing out his chair, Van Schooten went like a condemned man to the door. It had opened a crack when Drecht’s hand shot inside, crushing his throat.

His blue eyes bore into the helpless merchant, his face savage. He looked like a wolf fallen on a hare.

‘What was the cargo, Van Schooten? You helped him bring it aboard, and you know where it’s kept. What is it? Is it important enough for somebody to kill him for?’

‘It was treasure,’ gasped Van Schooten, trying in vain to peel Drecht’s fingers from his throat. ‘More treasure than … than I’d ever seen.’

‘Show me,’ snarled Drecht.

They went immediately, stopping only once for Drecht to whisper some instructions to Eggert, the musketeer guarding the door to the passenger cabins. Whatever was said sent Eggert scampering off towards the bow of the ship.

Once they were in the cargo hold, Van Schooten took a lantern from the peg at the foot of the staircase and led them through the labyrinth of crates, now almost entirely covered in the Mark of Old Tom. It was obvious they weren’t all by the original hand. Many were clumsy, others only half finished. Some were large, some tiny. Evidently, carving a mark had become a way of pledging fealty.

Van Schooten hadn’t been down here since boarding, and he was surprised at the change. Normally, a cargo hold was home to crates, rats and whatever stowaways had smuggled themselves onboard. It was unpleasant, but unthreatening.

This place felt damned.

The oily darkness and the rotten stink of spices made the atmosphere infernal.

‘This entire place has become Old Tom’s church,’ remarked Drecht. ‘Four bodies and it’s got a damn religion.’

By his tone, Van Schooten suspected that Drecht had killed a lot more than that and was beginning to wonder where his reward was.

Reaching the centre of the labyrinth, Van Schooten pointed to a large crate. ‘In there,’ he said, his voice quivering.

Slipping loose his dagger, Drecht found the edge of a board and pried it open, discovering dozens of hemp sacks inside.

‘Cut one open,’ said Van Schooten.

Drecht did so, his blade shearing through the material, before snagging on something metallic. Sheathing his dagger, Drecht tugged at the tear with his hands, causing silver chalices and gold plates to spill out, followed by jewel-encrusted necklaces and rings.

‘These are the same sorts of objects Vos had in his sack when the leper gutted him,’ said Drecht. ‘The chamberlain must have been stealing pieces from this stash. Didn’t think he had it in him. How much of this is there?’

‘There are hundreds of crates. They take up half the cargo hold,’ said Van Schooten, sounding sick. ‘Most of it’s hidden in hemp sacks and disguised as other things.’ Something fierce came into his tone. ‘This is the secret you murdered those sailors to protect.’

Drecht glanced at him, obviously amused to find a little courage lurking under all that cowardice. The governor general had wanted his cargo kept secret, which meant silencing those who knew about it, including those who’d loaded it on to the Saardam.

‘I was following orders,’ he said, turning one of the chalices over in his hands. ‘That’s what soldiers do. You’re the one who sent them to the warehouse where I was waiting. You’re the one they trusted, who took the governor general’s coin for doing it.’

He picked up a jewel, the sparkle reflected in his eyes. ‘A man with this wealth would never know want again,’ he said in wonder. ‘He could have servants, a grand house and a future for his children.’

His hand slowly began to unsheathe his sword. ‘Thing is, Van Schooten. It wasn’t only those sailors who knew about this cargo.’ He advanced on the merchant. ‘And it wasn’t only them I was supposed to kill.’