“Governor general tested it on the Saardam. Not that I was allowed to use it. Captain Crauwels does all the navigating. Rest of us just sail in the direction he points.”
“Sander Kers was murdered and stuffed into one of your compartments,” said Arent bluntly. “What do you know about that?”
“Nothing,” Larme said. “I’ve no reason to hurt anybody.”
“Except Bosey,” said Sara. “You ordered Johannes Wyck to cut out his tongue, didn’t you?”
The jug of wine stopped halfway to Larme’s lips. Sara wasn’t even looking at him. She was still stitching Arent’s wound.
“That’s how you work, isn’t it?” she said, her tongue pressing against her top lip in concentration. “Wyck does nasty things to people when you think they need doing, and you put an arm around whatever’s left of them. That trick with the knife in the crowd showed that. What was Bosey saying that you wanted kept quiet?”
Larme leaned forward, lowering his voice. “The Saardam’s my home. Only one I’ve ever had where I wasn’t kicked for sport. It’s my job to keep her safe, and Bosey put her in danger.”
“How?”
“He was recruiting my lads. Twisting them around.”
“How?” insisted Sara.
“He had coin, too much for a simple sailor. He was buying them, getting them to do strange jobs for him on board.”
“Your talent for vagueness is both admirable and irritating,” said Sara.
“I don’t know what the jobs were specifically, but we caught him and a few of the others in parts of the ship they shouldn’t have been in after we docked in Batavia. They were searching for something, I reckon. Tapping the walls and kicking the floorboards. Whatever it was, it was big, judging by the tools they were carrying. I even caught them measuring the aft of the ship, but I couldn’t get a word out of them as to why.”
“What happened to these other sailors?” asked Arent eagerly. “Could we talk to them?”
“They vanished,” said Larme sorrowfully. “Marched off the ship one morning like they’d heard the devil’s whistle. They never came back. That was Bosey’s doing, I’m telling you. Never met a man with fewer principles when coin was flashed before him. He killed those boys. I know he did. That’s why I ordered Wyck to cut his tongue out. I didn’t want any more of my lads disappearing with that bastard’s coin in their hand.”
“I thought he was your friend,” said Arent. “You built those smuggler’s holes together, didn’t you?”
Larme whistled, impressed despite himself. “Aye, we built those holes together and made fair coin doing it, but that was as far as it went.”
Scratching his belly, Larme hopped off the stool.
He glanced at the arch leading out onto the waist, then sighed, obviously losing the tug-of-war his conscience had been playing with him. “Be careful of your new friend Jacobi Drecht,” he said.
“Drecht? Why?”
“You ever hear of the Banda Islands?”
Arent shared a glance with Sara, remembering their breakfast discussion. His uncle had massacred everybody who lived there when they refused to honor a spice contract that would have left them starving.
“What’s that got to do with Drecht?”
“It was the Saardam they sent when the population revolted,” said Larme. “Governor general was aboard; that’s how he knows the captain. He gave the order to slaughter everybody, and he sent Jacobi Drecht and his musketeers to do it. Your friend butchered his way across those islands, then drank and sang the night away with his friends. Governor general gave him that sword for his loyalty, and he pledged more besides.”
“More?”
“A king’s fortune. More wealth than Drecht could ever spend, so long as he got him home safe. Turns out that’s how much it costs to convince somebody to slaughter children in their beds.” Fury pulsed through Larme. “Old Tom’s welcome to the lot of them.”
58
Arent, Sara, and Sammy were kneeling on the waist, staring at the body of Sander Kers. The predikant had been laid in a hemp cocoon, which would be stitched tight and dropped over the side at first light. Dozens of them were lined up on the deck, and more were being carried up all the time. Most of them belonged to people who’d succumbed to injuries inflicted during the storm, and Sara imagined them settled on the seabed, like one of the dotted lines Crauwels used to mark their course on a chart.
“Are you certain it’s safe for me to be out of my cell?” said Sammy, glancing nervously at the crowd of sailors who’d turned out to watch him work.
The sun was sinking behind the horizon, and Sammy hadn’t seen it for so long that he’d burst into tears when Arent had brought him outside.
“If word reaches your husband that I’m ignoring his commands, he’ll toss me back into that cell without any hope of light again,” concluded Sammy.
“My husband has locked himself away to brood,” said Sara. “He believes the theft of the Folly was part of some grand campaign Old Tom is waging against him.” She could not conceal her delight at his discomfort. “You have nothing to fear for the next hour at least. Drecht watches his door, and Vos is inside, listening to him rant. You’ll have to go back into your cell when their meeting breaks up, but you’re safe for now. As am I.”
Sammy ran his eyes across her peasant clothing. “This voyage has changed you a great deal, Sara Wessel,” he said, lifting Kers’s shoulder to resume his study of the body. After a moment, he let it drop. “This body has nothing more to tell us. His throat was slit approximately two weeks ago, and he was stuffed into a secret compartment.”
“But why was the body hidden?” muttered Sara, who had to repeat herself to be heard over the hammering and chiseling of the repairs. In truth, the sound suggested a greater array of activity than could currently be seen. If Sara had to guess, she’d have said less than ten sailors were actually on deck. After their exertions during the storm, the captain was letting most of them sleep.
“There must be something we’re not supposed to find,” said Sammy. He got to his feet, dusting his hands off. It was a futile effort. They were coated in grime and slop, the accumulated filth of two weeks in his cell. “Did Kers have any enemies?”
“We think Old Tom lured him to Batavia,” replied Sara. “I saw the letter myself. Our devil wanted him here, and now he’s dead. It would seem to me that was its intent all along.”
Sammy put an aggravated hand through his hair, dislodging some of the lice that had taken residence there. “Try as I might, I’m struggling to make any connections between the facts of this case,” he said, pacing the deck.
Sara wished Lia was here to see this. Arent described Sammy’s short-legged but energetic walk with great detail in his reports, and when they playacted them, they always strode about with such vigor that they fell about laughing.
“From the first, my concern has been with the murder of Bosey, a carpenter who accepted an offer of great wealth from a voice in the darkness in return for making this boat ready for his passage. Quite what that entailed we’re unsure, though Isaack Larme described finding Bosey and his acolytes in strange places around the ship and said he thought they were searching for something. When asked what he was doing, he told them ‘trap.’”
“Maybe he was building one,” mused Sara.
“Or finding one,” countered Sammy.
“Or disarming one,” added Arent.
Sammy glanced between them, then murmured, “Both fine ideas. Either way, he was doing his work at the behest of something calling itself Old Tom, which was the name of a beggar Arent inadvertently caused to be beaten to death when he was a child. After Arent was removed to his grandfather’s estate, this demon apparently swept across the Provinces, possessing the bodies of a number of wealthy merchants and nobles, causing them to commit unspeakable horrors, before leaving their lives in ruins. It
announced itself with a mark that resembles an eye with a tail, and that same mark was etched into Arent’s wrist after his father disappeared thirty years ago. His father’s rosary was found in the animal pens after the Eighth Lantern attacked us. Those animals were slaughtered without anybody going near them.”
So fierce was his concentration, it was as if he were walking back through the events, thought Sara.
“The slaughter of the animals was the first of three unholy miracles, according to our dead predikant here. The second was the disappearance of the Folly from a locked room, which would appear to have been the work of Cornelius Vos, undertaken in a bid to marry Creesjie Jens. And we’re expecting a third, after which anybody who didn’t bargain with Old Tom will be slaughtered. Are there any details I’ve missed?”
“That it’s possessing one of the passengers,” ventured Arent.
“And my husband apparently summoned it all those years ago, but now it wants him dead. Old Tom asked me and Creesjie to kill him with a dagger that it would leave in a drawer under his bunk.”
“Ah yes,” said Sammy happily. “Have you looked in the drawer?”
“Guard Captain Drecht does every night, but he swears there’s only clothes.” She peered at him. “Tell me, Mr. Pipps—”
“Sammy, please.”
“Sammy.” She curtsied, honored by the offer. “Do you believe there’s a devil at work aboard this boat?”
“Of one kind or another.” He smiled grimly. “The truth is, I find myself facing an opponent beyond any I’ve encountered before, and it would flatter my ego to believe it was supernatural. The question is, if I may say without insult, irrelevant though. Whether this is a devil dressed as a man or a man dressed as a devil, our course of action remains the same. We must investigate each incident, then follow the clues back to the truth.”
Sara could only marvel at the confidence in his voice. Listening to him, she truly believed they would do it. For the first time, she wondered if maybe the accusation of spying leveled by Casper van den Berg was part of all this. Had the charge been intended to put Pipps out of the way so Old Tom could go about its scheme without interference? If so, did that not suggest Arent’s grandfather was somehow bound up in all of this?
“If Old Tom truly is a devil, what will we do then?” wondered Sara aloud.
“I don’t know. That’s beyond my realm, though it would explain why the one man versed in banishing devils was killed.”
“We still have Isabel,” said Sara. “She’s studied the daemonologica and is as zealous as Sander in her duty, if not more so.”
“Let’s hope she’s enough.”
“How do we proceed, Sammy?”
The deference in Arent’s tone was strange for Sara to hear. Normally, he was so forthright. Whether he could see the path or not, he charged forward. It was something she admired about him. But speaking to Sammy, it was like he couldn’t think for himself, couldn’t conceive a way forward without his friend.
But why would that be? Everything they knew about Old Tom they’d learned while Pipps was locked away. Her husband respected Arent, and he’d never respected a stupid man in his life. Arent was the heir to his grandfather’s fortune, chosen over five sons.
She examined the slight figure beside him, talking so quickly, the words seemed to tumble out of his mouth. It must be hard to stand next to Sammy Pipps and call yourself clever, she thought. Five years they’ve worked together. Arent had witnessed one miracle after the next. She could see why you’d start to mistake yourself for stupid.
“Follow Vos and hope he delivers us the next part of this strange puzzle before the third unholy miracle happens. Our only aim now is to prevent a slaughter.”
59
Under the starlight, sailors carried the last of the bodies onto the waist, laying them in hemp sacks side by side. Mourners were few. The dead were bad luck on an Indiaman. Every sailor on watch had their head turned away. The sailmaker stitched up their sacks with his eyes closed, and even Captain Crauwels and Isaack Larme made sure to peer over the bodies rather than at them.
Isabel said a prayer for those lost, having taken up many of Kers’s duties since his death. Sara, Creesjie, and Lia watched with their heads bowed respectfully.
When all was done, Crauwels nodded to the sailors, who lifted the bodies one by one, dropping them over the side with a splash.
Five minutes after the funeral began, it was over.
There was no point lingering. They all knew there would be plenty more before the voyage was over.
60
As Vos dined with the other passengers, Arent crept into his cabin, finding a room that perfectly reflected its owner. There were no decorations, no fripperies of any kind. Upon the desk were a candle on a tray, a quill, an ink pot, and a bag of pounce. Shelves had been built, each one overflowing with scrolls.
Arent wasn’t sure if he believed Vos was a demon as well as a thief, but his cabin rejected vice of any sort. It spoke of obsession and order, a towering ambition that would be achieved through hard work. If Sammy had seen this place, he would have screamed and hurled himself over the edge of the ship, for nothing could be so antithetical to his own tastes, which veered toward sensuous, distracting, and entirely unworthy.
The desk was tidy except for a ledger and three bills. Unfolding them, he discovered they were receipts of passage for Sara, Lia, and his uncle, along with their cabin assignments. Apparently, Sara was supposed to have been in Viscountess Dalvhain’s cabin, but they’d been switched around. The ledger listed orderly lines of profit and expense, no doubt representing his uncle’s wealth and trades.
Abandoning the documents, Arent tapped the floorboards and panels, inspecting them for secret compartments as Sammy had taught him. He shifted a few scroll cases, but it was pointless. The remaining pieces of the Folly weren’t hidden in here. There wasn’t the space.
Departing the cabin, he heard a strange sound coming from across the corridor. It sounded like…hissing, perhaps. A long hiss, then silence, then it started again.
He knocked.
“Viscountess Dalvhain.”
“How many times must I tell you people to leave me be?” came a feeble voice.
“I can hear hissing.”
“Then stop eavesdropping,” she snapped.
He considered pressing the matter, for no strange occurrence aboard the Saardam could be overlooked any longer, but he knew he had to keep watch for Vos.
Returning to the quarterdeck, he slipped into the shadows near the mainmast and waited for Vos to finish dinner.
Arent was good at waiting. Half of everything he did for Sammy was waiting. Putting his hands in his pockets, he felt the now familiar wooden beads of his father’s rosary and tried to imagine how it could have arrived in those animal pens.
Short of his grandfather having snuck aboard without him realizing, he couldn’t think of a way.
He felt an old warmth in the pit of his stomach.
Right now, he’d have welcomed the old man’s gruff advice.
After he’d left his grandfather’s business, Arent hadn’t returned to Frisia until shortly before boarding the Saardam. He’d found his grandfather much older, but far more forgiving of his choice than he once had been.
They’d talked for two days, and departed as friends.
Now, for the first time in years, Arent missed him.
Dinner ended, the passengers emerging into the darkness. They were somber, speaking in hushed tones. Sara appeared, clinging to Lia.
Vos followed on Creesjie’s arm. She was laughing gaily, giving every indication of delight in his company. After a few awkward words at the door to the passenger cabins, Vos came back down the stairs, his entire demeanor shifting. Becoming furtive, he swept the deck for any observation. Arent stayed perfectly still, trusting to the darkness to disguise him.
/> Vos darted away.
On soft feet, Arent went after him, following him cautiously onto the staircase leading into the hold.
From beneath him, he heard water sloshing.
Staring down the staircase, he saw Vos remove a candle and striker from his pocket, creating a flame at the fourth try. Of course he’d come prepared, thought Arent, almost admiringly. He’d have to forgo a light of his own for fear of alerting his quarry.
Arriving at the bottom of the staircase, he found the cargo hold restored, the warrens of crates rebuilt. Most of the bilgewater had been pumped out, but it was still higher than it had been before the storm. Dead rats floated on the surface.
Thankfully, Vos moved cautiously. It was obvious he hated being down here. Every drop of water and skittering claw caused him to stop and peer around.
One passage looked much the same as another to Arent, but Vos soon found what he was searching for. Kneeling in the bilgewater, he began hammering on one of the crates with the pommel of his dagger, listening for the sound it made.
When one struck hollow, he let out a cry of relief, only to immediately shush himself and place a hand to his lips.
As he pushed the dagger under the edge of the crate’s lid, Arent crept forward, hoping to better see what was in there.
Vos stopped. Frowned.
He cocked his ear, then sheathed his dagger and took off around the corner with his candle.
Arent considered going after him, but he had what he wanted.
Lacking any sort of light, he felt his way along the passage to the crate Vos had cracked open. All he had to do was scoop up the pieces of the Folly and somehow find his way back before Vos returned.
With proof of Vos’s wrongdoing to present to his uncle, Arent could free the constable and have Drecht shackle up the chamberlain.
The jagged edges of the torn-open crate arrived beneath his fingers.
Pushing his hand inside, he heard the slightest of noises behind him and realized he’d been tricked.
The Devil and the Dark Water Page 32