‘Then surely there’s little advantage in sailing under false colours?’
‘It helps in foreign ports. If Captain Vlucht goes into Canton, for example, and claims he’s a Frisian ship – not Dutch – then the local merchants can do business with him directly, instead of going through the Company’s local agent and paying a commission.’
Hector looked at Stolck thoughtfully. The Hollander seemed to be remarkably well informed about interlopers and the China trade.
They made their way back to the main deck. Maria had just emerged from the forecastle, where Vlucht and his crew had been holed up. ‘Hector, we need to attend to the sick quickly,’ she said firmly. ‘You should see for yourself how ill they are.’
Hector followed her through the open door to the crew accommodation. As he stepped inside the gloomy, unlit cabin, the rancid stench of damp, sweat and vomit caught him by the throat. With its low ceiling, the forecastle was so dark that it was difficult to make out any details. There was a rough table and two benches in the centre of the room, all of them fixed to the floor. Crude bunks like stable mangers extended along the bulkheads, and sick men lay in them all. On the floor were several shapeless bundles. One of them moved slightly, and Hector realized it was a man struggling to sit up.
‘There are very sick men in here,’ Maria said. ‘They must be cared for.’
Hector made no reply. He’d recognized one reason for the smell. It was the rotting stink of scurvy, mixed with a sweetish fetid odour that he knew was the smell of dead flesh.
‘It started with Batavia fever,’ said Vlucht. He’d come into the doorway behind them, blocking out most of the already feeble light. ‘A few of the men began to complain of headaches and bone pains when we were only a couple of weeks into the voyage. That’s normal enough in these waters. Nothing to worry about.’
The invalid on the floor held out a tin cup. His arm was shaking. Hector saw that the man’s mouth was deformed by some sort of soft growth bulging from his gums. Maria took the cup and went to find water.
‘The fever did the rounds, as we expected, and soon we were accustomed to it. But the Chinese customs people used it as an excuse to send us on our way,’ Vlucht continued. ‘Quarantined the ship for a month before obliging us to leave.’ He laughed savagely. ‘Of course that was after they had impounded our cargo.’
Maria returned carrying the water and knelt down by the sick man, holding the cup to his ghastly mouth so that he could drink. Even from a yard away, Hector could smell the foul stink of his breath.
Maria rose to her feet. ‘Hector, we must get these men onshore or they’ll not live.’ He didn’t answer, but took her by the elbow and gently led her outside. Speaking softly so that no one else could hear, he said, ‘Maria, I’ll do what I can. But this ship is a near-wreck, and I have no idea how far it is to the nearest port.’
She pulled her arm from his grasp. ‘Then find out. That Dutch captain has little care for his men.’
‘I’ll check if there are any medical stores aboard,’ he assured her. ‘Jezreel can help move the sick men out on deck so that the forecastle can be cleaned up. We might even be able to fumigate it, or spread some vinegar if it’s available. But don’t expect too much. Most of the invalids are likely to die.’
She glared at him. ‘Two of the men back in there are dead already.’
‘Captain,’ Hector called out. ‘What’s the Westflinge’s current position?’
‘I may be sick, but I can still navigate,’ said the Frisian sourly and set off at a slow shuffle towards his cabin. Hector followed him and helped spread out the chart that lay on the captain’s unmade bed.
‘This was our position yesterday at noon,’ said Vlucht, laying a grimy finger on the map. Hector took in the situation at a glance. The Westflinge lay a little south of the direct route from the Thief Islands to Manila, less than a hundred miles from the Philippines. The makhana had been a remarkable navigator. The sakman had followed the patache’s track like a bloodhound.
‘And where are you headed?’ Hector asked.
The Frisian’s finger hesitated and then slid across the map, south and west. It came to rest on a cluster of islands. ‘Tidore is our destination.’
Hector looked up at Vlucht in surprise. ‘But that’s in the Moluccas, the Spice Islands.’
‘Indeed it is,’ said the Frisian. A crafty look crept into his eyes. ‘Young man, I do not take you for a fool, and doubtless you have guessed already that I would seek to avoid anything to do with the Company. But I have had dealings with the Sultan of Tidore, and we have an understanding.’
Hector looked back down at the chart. It was all laid out before him. A series of small crosses and pin pricks marked the Westflinge’s outward track. The ship had sailed from the Spice Islands, visited the port of Hoksieu in China and then begun to retrace her route.
Vlucht guessed his thoughts. ‘The Chinese turned us away at the instigation of the Company’s agent of course, and because they saw a chance to get something for nothing. The contagion spread because my crew were denied a chance to go ashore and recuperate, or even to have a change of diet, because the port authorities also refused to let us take on fresh supplies. For the past month we’ve been limping south, with scarcely enough men to manage the ship.’
‘But you will find an agent of the Company in Tidore as well.’
Vlucht’s voice had a contemptuous edge. ‘The Company isn’t as all-powerful as it likes to make out. The Sultan of Tidore pretends to heed what their local agent says, and even allows the Company to keep a few soldiers on his island. But he has plenty of back-door dealings with the likes of me.’
‘Do you think the Westflinge in her present condition can make it as far as Tidore?’
‘We could always divert to Manila. That’s closer.’ A sly look passed across Vlucht’s face as he made the suggestion.
Hector thought about what might happen to Maria if they sailed into a Spanish-controlled port. She would be arrested as a runaway and a traitor. He felt the Dutchman’s eyes on him, watching for a reaction.
‘I believe my friends would be willing to help get the ship to Tidore,’ he said.
‘I thought you might prefer that course,’ said Vlucht meaningfully. ‘When I heard you and the young lady speaking Spanish together, and I took account of the strange circumstances of your arrival, it occurred to me that your own situation is similar to my own – there are certain places we would wish to avoid.’ He sat down heavily on his bed, beads of sweat breaking out on his grey face. ‘I’m in no condition to bring my ship to Tidore, so I would welcome your help. I suggest you check the hold. You’ll see there’s no time to be lost.’
Hector left the Frisian in his cabin, and went to find Dan. As he made his way across the main deck he noticed that Jezreel and Stolck had already carried several of the invalids out on deck, and that Jacques was stoking up a fire in the galley. Dan had filled a bucket with a mixture of wood chips, rags and tar, ready to fumigate the forecastle.
‘Dan, leave that to Jezreel. I think the two of us should take a look below,’ he said. Together they removed a hatch cover and descended into the darkness of the cargo hold. If anything, it was gloomier than the forecastle and it too had a strong smell. Hector pinched his nose.
‘Cloves. It’s lucky the ship was carrying a cargo of spice to China. This hold hasn’t been cleaned for years, and someone’s been using it as a latrine,’ he said. The distinctive fragrance of cloves was still discernible, overlying the stench of human waste.
Dan went forward, stooping low under the deck beams as he explored. ‘Nothing much here,’ he called back. ‘Just a few odds and ends. A couple of boxes. The ship is virtually empty.’ He paused. ‘Do you hear that noise? Let’s check the bilges.’ They could hear the slop and gurgle of water surging back and forth beneath their feet. Dan hooked his fingers underneath a deck board and prised it up. They peered down into the dark gap. A shaft of light from the open hatch above them glinted off a black, gleaming surface less than a foot below.