Sara had wept all the way home, begging her father not to send her away.
It hadn’t made any difference. The dowry was too large. Unbeknownst to her, she’d been bred for sale and fattened like a calf with manners and education.
She’d felt betrayed, but she’d been young. She understood the world better now. Meat didn’t get a say on whose hook it hung from.
“Your display was unbecoming,” he rebuked her under his breath, still smiling for his courtiers. They were edging close, wary of missing anything.
“It wasn’t a display,” she muttered defiantly. “The leper was suffering.”
“He was dying. Did you think you had a lotion for that?” His voice was low enough to crush the ants crawling around their feet. “You’re impulsive, reckless, thickheaded, and softhearted.” He flung insults the way rocks had been thrown at Samuel Pipps. “Such qualities I forgave when you were a girl, but your youth is far behind you.”
She didn’t listen to the rest; she didn’t need to. It was a familiar rebuke, the first drops of rain before the fury of the storm. Nothing she said now would make any difference. Her punishment would come later, when they were alone.
“Samuel Pipps believes our ship is under threat,” she blurted out.
Her husband frowned, unused to being interrupted.
“Pipps is in chains,” he argued.
“Only his hands,” she protested. “His eyes and faculties remain at liberty. He believes the leper was a carpenter once, possibly working in the fleet returning us to Amsterdam.”
“Lepers can’t serve aboard Indiamen.”
“Perhaps the blight showed itself when he reached Batavia?”
“Lepers are executed and burned by my decree. They are not tolerated in the city.” He shook his head in irritation. “You’ve allowed yourself to be swayed by the ramblings of a madman and a criminal. There’s no danger here. The Saardam is a fine vessel, with a fine captain. There isn’t stouter in the fleet. That’s why I chose her.”
“Pipps isn’t concerned about a loose plank,” she shot back, quickly lowering her voice. “He fears sabotage. Everybody who boards today will be at risk, including our daughter. We already lost our boys. Could you really stand to…” She took a breath, calming herself. “Wouldn’t it be wise to talk to the captains of the fleet before we set sail? The leper was missing his tongue and had a maimed foot. If he served under any of them, they would certainly remember him.”
“And what would you have me do in the meantime?” he demanded, tipping his chin toward the hundreds of souls sweltering in the heat. Somehow, the procession had managed to edge within eavesdropping distance without making a sound. “Should I order this procession back to the castle on a criminal’s good word?”
“You trusted Pipps well enough when you summoned him from Amsterdam to retrieve the Folly.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“For Lia’s sake,” she continued recklessly. “Might we take quarters aboard another ship at least?”
“No, we will travel aboard the Saardam.”
“Lia alone, then.”
“No.”
“Why?” She was so confounded by his stubbornness, she failed to take heed of his anger. “Another ship will do well enough. Why are you so intent upon traveling—”
Her husband slapped her with the back of his hand, raising a stinging welt on her cheek. Among the courtiers, there were gasps and giggles.
Sara’s glare could have sunk every ship in the harbor, but the governor general met it calmly, retrieving a silk handkerchief from his pocket.
Whatever fury had been building inside him had evaporated.
“Fetch our daughter so we might board together as a family,” he said, dabbing the white powder from his hand. “Our time in Batavia is at an end.”
Gritting her teeth, Sara turned back toward the procession.
Everybody was watching her, tittering and whispering, but she had eyes only for the palanquin.
Lia stared out from behind the tattered curtains, her face unreadable.
Damn him, thought Sara. Damn him.
4
Oars rose and fell, sunlight sparkling in the falling drops of water as the ferry made its way across the choppy blue harbor to the Saardam.
Guard Captain Jacobi Drecht was in the center of the boat, a leg either side of the bench on which he was sat, his fingers absently picking out flakes of salted fish from his blond beard.
His saber had been unhooked from his waist and laid across his knees. It was a fine sword, with a delicate basket of metal protecting the hilt. Most musketeers were armed with pikes and muskets or else rusted blades stolen from corpses on the battlefield. This was a noble’s sword, much too fine for a humble soldier, and Arent wondered where the guard captain had come upon it—and why he hadn’t sold it.
Drecht’s hand was laid lightly on the sword’s sheath, and now and again, he would cast a suspicious glance at his prisoner, but he was from the same village as the ferryman, and the two of them were talking warmly of the boar they’d hunted in its forests and the taverns they’d visited.
At the prow, chains coiled around him like serpents, Sammy fingered his rusted manacles wretchedly. Arent had never seen his friend so dejected. In the five years they’d worked together, Sammy had proven himself vexing, short-tempered, kind, and lazy, but never defeated. It was like seeing the sun sag in the sky.
“Soon as we board, I’ll talk to the governor general,” vowed Arent. “I’ll put sense before him.”
Sammy shook his head. “He won’t listen,” he responded hollowly. “And the more you defend me, the harder it will be to distance yourself once I’ve been executed.”
“Executed!” exclaimed Arent.
“That’s the governor general’s intention once we reach Amsterdam.” Sammy snorted. “Assuming we make it that far.”
Instinctively, Arent sought out the governor general’s ferry. It was a few strokes ahead of them, his family sheltered beneath a curtained canopy. A breeze pushed at the gauzy material, revealing Lia’s head in her mother’s lap, the governor general sitting a little apart.
“The Gentlemen 17 will never let that happen,” argued Arent, recalling the esteem in which the rulers of the United East India Company held Sammy. “You’re too valuable.”
“The governor general sails to take a seat among them. He believes he can convince the rest.”
Their ferry passed between two ships. Sailors were hanging from the rigging, firing bawdy jokes at one another across the gap. Somebody was pissing over the side, the yellow torrent narrowly missing them.
“Why is this happening, Sammy?” demanded Arent. “You recovered the Folly, as you were asked. They held a banquet in your honor. How is it a day later, you walked into the governor general’s office a hero and were dragged out in chains?”
“I’ve thought on it and thought on it, but I don’t know,” Sammy said despairingly. “He demanded I confess, but when I told him I didn’t know what I was confessing to, he flew into a rage and had me tossed into the dungeon until I reconsidered. That’s why I’m begging you to leave me be.”
“Sammy—”
“Something I did during this case brought his wrath upon me, and without knowing what it is, I can’t hope to protect you from it,” interrupted Sammy. “But I swear, once he’s finished with me, our good works will count for nothing, and our standing in the United East India Company will be undone. I’m poison to you, Arent Hayes. My conduct was reckless and arrogant, and for that, I’m being punished. I won’t compound my failure by dragging you into ruin.” Leaning forward, he stared at Arent fiercely. “Go back to Batavia. Let me save your life for once.”
“I took your coin and made my promise to keep you out of harm’s way,” responded Arent. “I’ve got eight months to stop you from becoming a cr
ow’s banquet, and I mean to see it done.”
Shaking his head, Sammy fell into a defeated silence, his shoulders slumping.
Their rowboat approached the creaking expanse of the Saardam, its hull rising out of the water like an enormous wooden wall. Only ten months had passed since she left Amsterdam, but she was already ancient, her green and red paint flaked, the timbers warped from her passage through the freezing Atlantic into the steamy tropics.
That something so large could float was a feat of engineering akin to devilry, and Arent felt immediately diminished in its presence. He stretched out a hand and dragged his fingertips along the coarse planks. There was a dull vibration in the wood. He tried to imagine what was on the other side: the warren of decks and staircases, the stray beams of sunlight piercing the gloom. A ship this size would require hundreds of souls to sail her and would carry that many passengers again. They were all in danger. Even chained, even beaten and maltreated, Sammy was the only one who could help them.
Arent conveyed this thought as eloquently as he was able. “Somebody’s trying to sink this boat, and I swim like a bag of rocks. Any chance you can pull your head out of your arse and do something about it?”
Sammy grinned at him. “You could lead an army over a cliff with that tongue,” he said sarcastically. “Did your search of the leper’s body turn anything up?”
Arent withdrew a piece of hemp he’d hacked off a sack on the docks. Wrapped inside was the charm the leper had been holding when Arent killed him. It was too charred to make out any detail.
Sammy leaned forward, eyeing it intently. “It was snapped in half,” he said. “You can make out the jagged edges still.” He pondered it a moment, then swiveled toward Guard Captain Drecht. His voice was filled with authority despite the chains. “Have you ever served upon an Indiaman?”
Drecht squinted at him, as if the question were a dark cave he didn’t want to enter.
“I have,” he answered at last.
“What’s the fastest way to sink one?”
Drecht raised a bushy blond eyebrow, then nodded toward Arent. “Get your mate to ram his fist through the hull.”
“I’m serious, Guard Captain,” said Sammy.
“Why?” Drecht asked suspiciously. “Not a pleasant thing you’re going to, but I’ll not let you drag the governor general into hell with you.”
“My future is in Arent’s hands, which means I’ll fear for it no longer,” responded Sammy. “However, a threat’s been made to this ship. I’d like to ensure it comes to nothing.”
Drecht looked past Sammy to Arent. “Is that truly his intent, Lieutenant? On your honor.”
Arent nodded, causing Drecht to stare at the ships surrounding them. He frowned, adjusting the bandolier slung over his shoulder, the copper flasks rattling.
“Put a spark to the gunpowder store,” he said after a long pause. “That’s how I’d do it.”
“Who keeps watch on the gunpowder store?”
“A constable behind a barred door,” responded Drecht.
“Arent, I need you to find out who has access to that room and any grievances our constable may hold,” said Sammy.
Arent was encouraged to hear the eagerness in his friend’s voice. For the most part, they investigated thefts and murders, crimes long committed and easily understood. It was like arriving to the theater after the performance had ended and being asked to work out the story using pieces of discarded script and the props left on stage. But here was a crime not yet undertaken, a chance to save lives rather than avenge them. Here at last was a case worthy of his talents. Hopefully, it would be enough to distract him until Arent secured his freedom.
“You’ll need to get permission from Captain Crauwels,” interrupted Drecht, flicking a drop of seawater off his eyelash. “Only his good word will get you inside. Not that his good words are easy to come by.”
“Then start there,” Sammy told Arent. “Once you’ve spoken to the constable, see if you can identify the leper. I’m treating him as a victim.”
“Victim?” scoffed Drecht. “He was the one raining curses down on us.”
“How? His tongue had been cut out. All he really did was give us something to stare at while another voice issued the threat. We have no idea whether the leper shared its malice or not, though I’m certain he didn’t climb those crates by himself or ignite his own robes. His hands didn’t move from his sides until he hurled himself off the crates, and we all saw his panic as the flames consumed him. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him, which makes his death a murder—and a heinous one at that.” A small spider was scurrying along Sammy’s chains, and he made a bridge of his hand, letting it crawl onto the bench. “That’s why Arent’s going to find the name of the leper, then talk to any friends he had and piece together his final weeks. From those fragments, perhaps we’ll understand how he came to be on those crates, whose voice we heard, and why it harbors such hate for those aboard the Saardam.”
Arent shifted sheepishly. “I’m not certain I can do any of those things, Sammy. Maybe we can find—”
“Three years ago, you asked me to teach you my art, and I made you my apprentice,” said Sammy, irritated by his reticence. “I believe it’s time you acted as such.”
Old arguments rose up between them like noxious bubbles in a swamp.
“We gave up on that,” said Arent heatedly. “We already know I can’t do what you do.”
“What occurred in Lille wasn’t a failing of intellect, Arent. It was a failure of temperament. Your strength has made you impatient.”
“I didn’t fail because of my strength.”
“That was one case, and I understand that it dented your confidence—”
“An innocent man nearly died.”
“Innocent men do that,” said Sammy with finality. “How many languages can you speak? How easily did you collect them? I’ve watched you these last years. I know how much you observe. How much you retain. What was Sara Wessel wearing at our meeting this morning? Boots to hat, tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you do,” he said, laughing at Arent’s instinctive lie. “You’re a stubborn man. I could ask you how many legs a horse has and you’d deny having ever seen one. All that information, what do you do with it?”
“I keep you alive.”
“And there you are again, leaning on your strength when it’s your mind we need.” He lifted his heavy chains. “My resources are limited, Arent, and until I’m free to pursue my own enquiries, I’m expecting you to protect the ship.” Their boat bumped into the hull of the Saardam as the ferryman brought them alongside. “I’ll not have some bastard drown me before the governor general hangs me.”
5
Ferries swarmed the Saardam, crossing the water in a long chain, like ants attacking a dead ox. Each one teemed with passengers clutching the single bag they were allowed to bring. Hollering for the rope ladders to be thrown down, they found themselves mocked by the sailors high above, who made a great show of being unable to find the ladders or of simply not hearing the requests.
They were forgiven their sport by the Saardam’s officers, who were waiting for Governor General Haan and his family to finish boarding at the aft of the ship. No other passengers would be allowed up until they were comfortably housed.
A plank attached to four pieces of rope was currently hoisting Lia serenely upward, with Sara watching below, hands clasped, terrified that her daughter might spill or the rope would snap.
Her husband had already ascended, and she would follow last.
In boarding, as in all other things, etiquette demanded she be the least important thing in her own life.
When her time came, Sara sat on the plank and gripped the rope, laughing in delight as she was raised into the air, the wind plucking at her clothes.
The sensation
was thrilling.
Kicking her legs, she looked across the water at Batavia.
For the past thirteen years, she’d watched from the fort as the city spread like melting butter around her. From that vantage, it had felt huge. A prison of alleys and shops, markets and battlements.
But at this distance, it seemed a lonely thing, its streets and canals clinging tightly to one another, its back to the coast, as if afraid of the encroaching jungle. Clouds of peat smoke hung above the rooftops, brightly colored birds circling overhead, waiting to descend on the scraps of food left behind by the market traders, who’d soon be packing up for the day.
With a pang, Sara realized how much she was going to miss this place. Every morning, Batavia screamed itself awake, the trees shaking as thousands of parrots came screeching out of their branches, filling the air with color. She loved that chorus, as she loved the strange, lyrical language of the natives and the huge spicy pots of stew they cooked on the street of an evening.
Batavia was where her daughter had been born and where her two sons had died. It was where she had become the woman she now was, for better and for worse.
The seat delivered Sara to the quarterdeck, which lay under the shadow of the towering mainmast. Sailors were climbing the rigging like spiders, tugging ropes and tightening knots, while carpenters planed warped planks and cabin boys threaded caulk and slopped tar, trying to keep from a scolding.
Sara found her daughter at the railing overlooking the rest of the ship.
“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” said Lia in admiration. “But there’s so much unnecessary effort.” She pointed to a group of grunting sailors lowering cargo through a hatch into the hold, as if the Saardam were a beast that needed feeding before the voyage could begin. “A better pulley and joist and they’d need half the labor. I could design one if they’d—”
“They won’t. They never will,” interrupted Sara. “Keep that cleverness in your pocket, Lia. We’re surrounded by men who won’t take kindly to it, however well intentioned.”
The Devil and the Dark Water Page 3
