‘I won’t,’ said Arent, surprised to discover Sammy’s aversion to small spaces. ‘I’ll go to the governor general now.’
Quivering, Sammy nodded, only to shake his head a moment later. ‘No,’ he croaked, then more firmly, ‘No. You have to save the ship first. Talk to the captain, then the constable. Find out why somebody would threaten us.’
‘That’s your job,’ argued Arent. ‘I save you; you save everybody else. That’s the way it’s always been. I’ll talk to the governor general. He’ll see sense, I’m certain of it.’
‘We don’t have time,’ said Sammy, as Drecht took hold of his shoulder, walking him towards the cell.
‘I can’t do what you do,’ said Arent, almost as panicked as Sammy had been.
‘Then you better find somebody who can,’ responded Sammy. ‘Because I can’t help you any more.’
‘In you go,’ said Drecht firmly.
‘Strike his manacles for pity’s sake,’ demanded Arent. ‘He’ll not know a moment’s peace with those on.’
Drecht considered it, staring at the rusted links. ‘The governor general didn’t give any specific orders regarding the manacles,’ he admitted. ‘I’ll send somebody down first chance I get.’
‘It’s up to you now,’ said Sammy to Arent, getting down on his hands and knees and crawling into the cell.
A moment later, Drecht closed and bolted the door, casting him into absolute darkness.
9
Sara paced her cabin from wall to wall, stopping occasionally to stare out of the porthole, relieved to find Batavia exactly where she’d left it. The Saardam hadn’t weighed anchor, which meant she still had time to uncover information on the plot threatening the ship. If she could find something solid before they set sail, she might yet be able to convince her thick-headed husband of the danger.
Unfortunately, the carpenter hadn’t arrived and she was growing impatient.
‘You’ll sink the ship pacing the way you do,’ chided Dorothea, who was kneeling on the floor, arranging Sara’s clothes in drawers.
The maid was forgiven such bluntness, for she’d been with the family so long Sara couldn’t remember life before her. She’d been part of her husband’s household when they wed, a comforting, bickering presence who’d been her only counsel in those vile early days.
Grey had overrun her plaited hair, but in every other way, she remained the same. She rarely smiled, never raised her voice and kept her past under her tongue. Despite this, they had grown close over the years for she was quick-witted, occasionally wise and unapologetic in her hatred of the governor general.
Three knocks sounded on the door, causing Dorothea to rise painfully – her knees were a constant frustration – and open it with a frown.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded through the gap.
‘Henri, the carpenter,’ said a sullen voice. ‘Your lady wants shelves building.’
‘Shelves?’ queried Dorothea, over her shoulder.
‘Show him in.’
Sara felt silly at the grandeur of the proclamation, as there wasn’t a great deal of showing to be done. This cabin would fit inside her changing room in the fort. Under a low-beamed ceiling, a single bunk had been built into the wall, two drawers beneath it. There was a desk near the porthole, one rack for storing drinks and a chamber pot pushed discreetly into an alcove built for the purpose. A rug had been thrown down to make it more comfortable and she’d been allowed to bring two paintings, along with her harp.
After years of living in the roomy fort, the interior of the Saardam felt like a coffin she’d been cast adrift in.
She intended on spending as much time as possible outside.
Henri slouched into the room, carrying a toolbox and several planks of wood under his arm.
He was terribly thin, his skin pulled taut across his ribs, his arms corded with muscle. Spots crowded around his nose like worshippers at church.
‘Where should the shelves go?’ he asked sulkily.
‘There and there,’ said Sara, pointing to the space above and below the existing rack. ‘How long will it take?’
‘Not long.’ He ran his hand across the uneven surface of the wall. ‘Boatswain wants me back to my duties before we cast off.’
‘Fine work deserves reward,’ said Sara. ‘A guilder for your trouble, if I like what you’ve done.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Henri, perking up slightly.
‘Yes, my lady,’ rebuked Dorothea, neatly folding one of Sara’s light dresses.
Sara considered sitting on her bunk, but hated the implication of intimacy, and pulled the chair out from the desk instead, placing herself primly on its edge.
‘You seem young for this work,’ she said, watching as he measured the length of the existing rack with his forearm and hand.
‘I’m a carpenter’s mate,’ he said distractedly.
‘Are you young for a carpenter’s mate?’
‘No.’
‘No, my lady!’ corrected Dorothea angrily, causing the boy to blanch.
‘No, my lady,’ he muttered.
‘What does a carpenter’s mate do?’ asked Sara pleasantly.
‘All the jobs the master carpenter doesn’t want to.’ A hundred grudges peeked out from beneath his words.
‘I think I’ve met the master carpenter,’ said Sara, trying to keep her tone bored and distant. ‘Lame foot, yes? Missing a tongue?’
Henri shook his head. ‘That’s Bosey you’re thinking of,’ he said, marking a piece of wood with a stick of charcoal.
‘He isn’t the master carpenter?’
‘Can’t get up the masts with a maimed foot,’ he scoffed, as if the responsibilities of a master carpenter were common knowledge.
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Sara. ‘Did this Bosey serve aboard this ship, or am I thinking of somebody entirely different?’
He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and flashed her a nervous glance.
‘What’s wrong, young man?’ she asked, becoming flint-eyed.
‘Boatswain said we shouldn’t talk about him,’ he muttered.
‘What’s a boatswain?’
‘He’s in charge of the crew on deck,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t like us talking about ship business with strangers.’
‘And what’s the name of this boatswain?’
‘Johannes Wyck.’
He spoke it reluctantly, as if the words themselves could summon him.
Henri picked up one of the planks and went into the corridor, where he began sawing it down to size, offcuts clattering on to the ground.
‘Dorothea,’ said Sara, her gaze on the carpenter. ‘Fetch two guilders from my coin purse, will you?’
Greed dragged Henri’s eyes upward, though he kept on sawing. Sara doubted he earned much more than this a week.
‘Two guilders, plus the one already promised, if you tell me what Wyck doesn’t want me to know about Bosey,’ said Sara.
He fidgeted, his will faltering.
‘Your shipmates will never know,’ said Sara. ‘I’m the governor general’s wife. I likely won’t speak to another sailor for the rest of the voyage.’ She gave that a minute to sink in, then held out the coins. ‘Now, did Bosey serve aboard this ship?’
He snatched them from her palm and jerked his head towards the cabin, indicating they should speak privately. She followed him in, closing the door as much as propriety would allow.
‘Aye, he served aboard the Saardam,’ said Henri. ‘Got the maimed foot in a pirate attack, but the captain liked him, so kept him on. Said nobody knew the ship like he did.’
‘An innocent story,’ said Sara. ‘Why doesn’t Wyck want me to know it?’
‘Bosey never shut up,’ said the carpenter, looking nervously at the slightly open door. ‘He’d brag about anything. If he beat you at dice, you’d have him in your ear for a week. If there was a whore he’d been’ – he blanched in the face of Dorothea’s glare – ‘well, he was always talking. Latest thing was some bargain he’d struck in Batavia that was going to make him rich.’