The Devil and the Dark Water

by Stuart Turton

  “Isabel!” screamed Sara, whose head was turned toward something Creesjie couldn’t see. “Isabel, stop this!”

  A fire roared into life behind them, an agonizing scream rolling up the beach. Creesjie craned her neck trying to see who it was, but she couldn’t twist far enough. All she could do was listen to Isabel’s strange chanting.

  “Mama,” cried out Lia, terrified. “Don’t let her do this, please.”

  “Be brave, dear heart,” called Sara, holding Lia’s gaze and straining against her ropes. “Remember the courage you had on the docks when we comforted the leper. Close your eyes and pray with me. Pray with me!”

  The scream cut off, and Isabel emerged out of the gloom, wreathed in firelight. She’d made a torch from a tree branch and sailcloth, and it burned in her hand, dripping flame onto the shoal.

  “Isabel, you don’t have to do this,” cried Creesjie desperately, tears staining her cheeks. “Please, please, please, my friends are innocent. My sons are innocent. Let them go!”

  “Old Tom can hide anywhere,” replied Isabel in that flat, broken voice. “This is our only chance to banish him.”

  Going to Lia, she knelt down in front of her. “You may be innocent, and if so, I’m sorry for what I must do.” Her eyes were empty. “If it comforts you, know that the mercy God shows you in heaven will be equal to the torment visited upon me in hell.”

  Using her fingertip, Isabel drew a mark in dirt upon Lia’s forehead.

  “Isabel, please, she’s just a girl,” screamed Sara hoarsely.

  Isabel ignored her, lowering the burning torch toward the hem of Lia’s dress. “I am truly sorry.”

  Lia screamed for mercy, as Sara cried out for Isabel to stop.

  “There’s no such thing as Old Tom,” yelled Creesjie at the top of her lungs.

  Silence fell upon them, as all eyes turned toward her. The burning torch paused on its way to Lia’s dress, confusion clear on Isabel’s face.

  “I made it up,” cried Creesjie, desperately. “I did it all. I wanted to kill the governor general, and this was the only way. Lia’s not a devil. Don’t hurt her, please!”

  The mania dropped from Isabel’s face. She peered at Sara winsomely.

  “How was that?” she asked.

  “You did wonderfully,” said Sara, pulling her hands out of the loose ropes and helping Lia to her feet.

  Creesjie blinked at them in confusion. “Sara, what’s happening?”

  “It was a farce,” Sara said coldly. “The same farce you performed on us. There couldn’t be any doubt. I had to know you were guilty.”

  85

  The charade at an end, Lia and Dorothea immediately set about untying the other passengers, while gently explaining what had happened. It was quite a story, and most took it in openmouthed.

  “Where are my boys?” asked Creesjie, straining to find them.

  “With Arent,” explained Sara. “We didn’t want them to see this.” She whistled into the dark, receiving one back. “They’re coming now.”

  Creesjie sagged, suddenly exhausted. “Thank you, Sara.”

  “Don’t thank me. This isn’t over.”

  “And when will it be over?”

  The light of the Eighth Lantern burst into life, then immediately exploded. Flaming pieces dropped into the ocean.

  “When that happens,” said Sara.

  Another lantern was lit away to its port side, followed by a dozen more, illuminating the masts and decks, the beakhead, and even the sailors on the waist. From being terrible, the Eighth Lantern was immediately transformed into something mundane. It was an Indiaman. Exactly like the Saardam. It had rigging and sails and had clearly been maltreated by the storm, much as they had.

  “It’s just a ship,” said somebody behind her. They sounded disappointed.

  “It’s the Leeuwarden,” came another voice. “I recognize the colors. She was part of the fleet that left Batavia. I thought we lost her in the storm.”

  There was a murmur of agreement, then surprise. A second smaller boat was crossing the water, approaching the island.

  “The Leeuwarden was the Eighth Lantern from the start,” said Arent, emerging from the darkness with Marcus and Osbert. The boys were jogging to keep up with his long strides. Seeing their mother, they immediately ran to her side, becoming confused when they found her tied to a piece of wreckage.

  “It’s just a game we’re playing,” said Creesjie, trying to be reassuring. She cast an appealing glance at Sara, who nodded toward Arent.

  The mercenary took a knife out of his boot and severed the ropes tying Creesjie’s hands, allowing her to hug her sons.

  “But we saw eight lanterns on the water,” argued Lia. “How was that possible if there were only seven ships?”

  “The Eighth Lantern was just a lantern mounted on a specially rigged yawl,” replied Arent, going to the water’s edge. “I saw a broken version of it in the jungle. Creesjie’s crew must have built a few on this island before they got it right and transported it over to the Leeuwarden. When they needed the Eighth Lantern to terrify us, they rowed it out onto the water and set it alight. That’s how it appeared and disappeared so quickly. It was only ever coming and going from the Leeuwarden.”

  Closer and closer came the boat, oars splashing. Somebody was holding a lantern at her bow. Arent watched it, a grim expression on his face.

  Sara was staring at Creesjie with daggers in her eyes. “You put my daughter in danger!” she hissed.

  “No,” said Creesjie pleadingly. “No, that was never the intent. Do you think I’d have brought my own boys aboard if I thought to do the ship harm? Old Tom was all theater, just a shadow playing on the walls. There was never supposed to be a mutiny, or a shipwreck. I planned it so carefully, Sara. Crauwels was paid to sail us here, then disembark everybody claiming he needed to thoroughly search the ship for Emily de Haviland. I assumed everybody would be so afraid, they’d agree willingly. This island isn’t dangerous. It doesn’t really resemble the mark of Old Tom; that was just to convince any last doubters that the demon was real and had killed Jan Haan. There are supplies on this island, and the Leeuwarden was going to stumble upon us in a day or so. It would have taken everybody back to Amsterdam, leaving Crauwels and a skeleton crew to unload the treasure, minus his payment. Once that was done, they were supposed to sail the Saardam back safely, delivering the cargo and appeasing the Gentlemen 17. The only people who were supposed to get hurt were Jan Haan and Sander Kers.” Hatred seethed in every word. “I didn’t know Johannes Wyck would be aboard, and I didn’t expect Crauwels to betray me. He wanted the treasure and the Folly for himself, and he thought he could get it by inciting his crew to kill the nobles, including me. Believe me, Old Tom was for your husband’s benefit alone.”

  “What about Bosey? You bu—­” Sara’s fury was quashed by the sight of Marcus and Osbert, peering up at her wide eyed. They were clinging to their mother, firelight playing on their innocent, frightened faces.

  “Me and your mama need to settle a few matters,” she said, her heart aching. “Will you play with Dorothea for a little while?”

  They glanced at their mother uncertainly, but Creesjie smiled at them. “Off you go, boys. I’ll be along to collect you soon.”

  Dorothea took each boy by the hand, her expression betraying neither dismay nor confusion at the circumstances. She would have questions later, Sara knew, but for the moment, Marcus and Obsert were her concern. They usually were.

  A crowd of passengers had encircled them, forcing Dorothea to push through. They were curious for the minute, still numb from everything that had happened, but their rage wouldn’t keep in its kennel long, thought Sara. Not once they realized they had somebody to blame for their misery.

  Sara glanced at Arent near the waterline, wishing he were closer. Though only a few steps away, she felt she might
need him soon.

  “Why did you kill Bosey?” asked Sara, watching as Creesjie got to her feet.

  Seeing the faces around her, Creesjie lifted her chin haughtily, as if they were servants to be stared down.

  “I needed somebody to introduce our demon, so I asked Crauwels to recommend the worst man he could. He gave me Bosey. Believe me, murder was the least of his sins. I didn’t enjoy what I did to him, but he was drugged insensible. There was mercy in it.”

  “I looked into his eyes as he died,” argued Sara, offended by her dismissive tone. “He was in agony. There was no mercy there.”

  “How did you do it?” interrupted Lia, her keenness betraying her fascination for the mechanics behind the crime. “Nobody went near him. How did you make him catch flame the way you did?”

  “The stack of crates he was standing on had been hollowed out and a ladder built inside. A confederate of mine was inside. He was responsible for the voice you heard. When the time came, my confederate simply opened a small hatch and lit Bosey’s robes from the inside.”

  The crowd muttered angrily. Many of them had been on the docks when Bosey caught fire, and such suffering wasn’t easily forgotten.

  “Why did you hide Sander’s body?” pressed Lia.

  Sara stared at her daughter uneasily. There was something terrible in her eagerness for answers. It was as if this was just another of Sammy Pipps’s cases, empty of consequence, existing only for her amusement.

  “Sander Kers was the last of his witchfinding order,” said Creesjie, whose expression suggested she felt the same unease as Sara. “They tortured and butchered without care, and I thought the world best rid of them. By careful planning, I’d managed to slaughter the others, but I wanted to take Sander’s life personally. He taught Pieter every vile trick he knew, so I lured him to Batavia. I’d intended to kill him the same night as Jan Haan, but when he heard Reynier van Schooten’s confession, he went down to investigate the treasure in the cargo hold. By terrible coincidence, he overheard me talking with”—­she faltered, almost tripping over a name—­“an accomplice. I managed to get behind him and slit his throat, but it was clumsy. In the darkness, I couldn’t be certain I hadn’t left something incriminating behind, so we dragged the body into one of Bosey’s smuggling compartments until we knew what to do with it.”

  From beyond the circle of spectators came a muffled howl of pain. Arent darted toward it, Sara’s eyes following him.

  Drecht was bleeding from a gash on the head made by a rock now sitting innocuously beside him. Somebody had thrown it at him.

  Arent’s eyes passed across the crowd slowly, causing them to shy back.

  “You’ve got the right to be angry at him,” said Arent. “After what he did. You’ve got the right to be angry at her, as well.” He jerked his thumb toward Creesjie. “But enough blood’s been spilled already. There’s wrongs need righting, and we’ll come to that soon enough, but it won’t be done in anger. That’s how Old Tom got loose in the first place, and real or not, look at the damage that was done.” He let the words settle, then crossed the space toward Creesjie. He was grim-­faced and huge, and she shrank away from him.

  “Do you have my father’s rosary?” he demanded.

  “I threw it away,” she said, sounding genuinely remorseful. “It was among Pieter’s possessions. Your uncle hired Pieter to kill your father, and your grandfather asked for the rosary as proof he’d completed his contract. Once he’d seen it, Casper ordered Pieter to destroy it, but he kept it for some reason. A trophy, perhaps. It wasn’t left in the animal pens to hurt you, Arent.” There was a throb in her throat. “I wanted Jan Haan to know why this was happening to him. The assassination of your father is what started everything. When Pieter stabbed him, you leapt at Pieter with an arrow. He had to half drown you in a stream to keep you from killing him, and he was so injured it was all he could do to drag himself away. He was afraid of you; that’s why he left you in the woods alone. A jagged rock made that scar on your wrist as you thrashed in the water. It shouldn’t have led to anything, but you drew it on some doors in a village, and when Jan saw the chaos it caused, he realized he had a way to make himself a fortune. He brought the scheme to Casper van den Berg and Pieter. Casper provided the necessary funds, and Pieter spun a tale of possession and rituals out of it, using his fellow witchfinders to terrorize the lands of those Jan sent him after. Together, they drove Jan’s and Casper’s competitors out of business, including my family.”

  “Your family?” queried Drecht, still tied to his rock.

  “Creesjie Jens was born Emily de Haviland,” said Sara, examining every twitch of Creesjie’s face, trying to find the woman within. For the past two years, she had looked on these features with love, thinking she knew every thought that lay behind them. Now she realized how foolish she’d been. She’d been used and betrayed.

  She felt like she’d lost Creesjie, not her husband.

  Creesjie examined her admiringly. “I knew you were clever,” she said. “Though I’ll admit that innocent girl’s name fits ill the sinful woman I’ve become. How did you know I was behind this?”

  “Vos’s records. Our passage receipts were on his desk after he died, as if they’d been troubling him. There were bills for my cabin, Lia’s, and even my husband’s. I didn’t know why, but when Arent told me he suspected you, I had a thought. Vos kept all my husband’s accounts, so he knew exactly what my husband had purchased, and what he hadn’t. You kept telling us that you were only on board because my husband had demanded you sail with us, and that he’d paid for your passage. Why, then, was your receipt of passage not among Vos’s records? It was because my husband had made no such demand and hadn’t paid for your cabin. You mistakenly mentioned the lie to Vos, didn’t you? And he realized. That’s why the leper had to kill him.”

  Creesjie murmured her agreement. “And if he hadn’t, Arent very likely would have died at his hands. Strange how fate works, isn’t it?” She looked across at Arent, who had returned to the sea’s edge to watch the yawl approach. He was holding himself tense, his fists clenched.

  “What made you suspect me?” she asked. “I thought I’d been so careful.”

  Arent was so intent on the approaching yawl, he didn’t notice people were waiting for him to talk until Isabel tugged his sleeve. “They want to know how you realized Creesjie was responsible for the governor general’s death,” she said.

  Arent’s gaze passed across the expectant faces before him, his thoughts obviously still far afield. “My uncle was killed in his bunk by a long blade thrust down through the bottom of Sara’s bunk, then drawn back up again. I realized the dagger had to have been plunged into the wound after my uncle was already dead, and there was only one chance to do it—­when Creesjie first found the body. That’s why the candle had to be snuffed. If the room had been lit, Drecht would have immediately seen that there was no dagger in his chest. It would have taken Sammy minutes to work out how the crime had been committed. After the leper killed my uncle, he climbed down to my uncle’s porthole and used a candlesnuffer stored above it to extinguish the light. Creesjie forced Drecht to leave the room to get another, then stabbed my uncle in the existing wound.”

  “Outlandish, I admit,” sighed Creesjie, rubbing her eyes. “But there was no other way of killing him without getting caught. Drecht dogged his steps whenever he left the fort, and he wore that damn breastplate everywhere except bed.”

  “If Aunt Creesjie wasn’t the leper, who was?” demanded Lia, bewildered.

  “The answer’s in that boat,” said Sara, pointing to the yawl. “A little patience won’t hurt you.”

  “It might,” disagreed Lia irritably. “How did you come to be my father’s mistress? I’m assuming it wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “Without family, I had no wealth or influence, so I had to rely on my beauty. My first husband was a holy terror, but I used his we
alth to hunt down the witchfinder. Once I knew where to find him, I left my husband and reinvented myself as a courtesan. I seduced Pieter, intending to kill him when I had the opportunity, but…” She growled, like an animal in a trap. “I fell in love with him. He’d given up his work, and he was kind and generous and…he made me feel like somebody new. I allowed myself to believe he’d changed, that I’d changed. Then our funds grew short, and he started talking of a scheme he’d used to make himself rich. He sent a missive to Arent’s grandfather, and I knew he was going to start again. He was planning to destroy more families the way he’d destroyed mine. I called”—­she almost stumbled into the name again, before recovering—­“an old friend, who tortured Pieter for the names of his associates. We then set about our vengeance.”

  There were tears in her eyes. The same tears that had been there every time she’d talked about Pieter in the past. She really had loved him, thought Sara in bewilderment.

  “And that brought you to my husband?” she asked.

  “I’d met your husband years earlier through Pieter and knew he had an eye for me. After I killed Pieter, I wrote to him and professed an adoration. He had me on the first boat to Batavia.”

  “Then why wait? Why not kill him when you arrived two years ago?”

  “Because I would have been caught, and I loved my boys—­and now you and Lia—­far too much to be parted from you. I needed to wait for the right moment.”

  Arent waded into the water to help pull the yawl up the shoal. Larme jumped out, holding a lantern. Manning the oars were Eggert and Thyman.

  “You were right about everything,” said Larme, shaking Arent’s hand. “He was exactly where you said he’d be. He wants to see you.”

  “Who wants to see us?” demanded Lia, vexed. “Who was helping Aunt Creesjie?”

  “You’ve read all our cases, Lia,” replied Arent. “Do you know how many things Sammy Pipps has ever overlooked in our history together?”

  “None,” she said, as if offended by the notion of fallibility.