‘What’s wrong?’ asked Sara, concerned.
Creesjie had arrived in Batavia two years ago at the governor general’s request, falling on their drab lives like sunshine. Creesjie was a natural flirt with a gift for tall tales, and the skill to tell them well, something she practised daily. Sara couldn’t ever remember her being in a bad temper, or anxious. Her natural state was delight, and there was always some suitor around to provoke it.
‘I know what’s threatening this boat,’ said Creesjie, panting. ‘I know what Bosey’s master is.’
‘What? How?’ exclaimed Sara, her questions all elbowing out at once.
Creesjie rested herself on the railing, catching her breath. Directly beneath them were the square portholes of the passenger cabins and inside they could hear Crauwels continuing to bicker with Van Schooten about his cabin.
‘Did I ever tell you about Pieter Fletcher, my second husband?’ asked Creesjie.
‘Only that he was the father of Marcus and Osbert,’ replied Sara eagerly. ‘And he knew my husband at one time.’
‘Pieter was a witchfinder,’ said Creesjie, speaking his name painfully. ‘Thirty years ago, long before we were married, he arrived in the United Provinces from England investigating a strange symbol that was spreading across the lands of the noble families like a plague.’
‘Was it the symbol that appeared on the sail this morning?’ asked Lia.
‘Exactly the same,’ said Creesjie, glancing anxiously at the billowing white sheet. ‘When he was investigating the mark, my husband freed the souls of hundreds of lepers and witches, and they all told the same story. In their worst hour, when their hope was exhausted, something calling itself Old Tom had whispered to them in the darkness, offering to fulfil their heart’s desire in return for a favour.’
‘What kind of favour?’ asked Sara, unable to conceal her excitement.
She felt the way she did whenever a new Pipps case arrived in Batavia. She would play-act them with Lia, refusing to read the ending until they had devised their own theory. She was right more often than not, though she usually got the motive wrong. Jealousy and spurned passion weren’t concepts Sara could understand, let alone comprehend somebody murdering for.
‘My husband wouldn’t speak in detail of his work. He believed it wasn’t for a lady to hear.’
‘Wise counsel,’ said Vos, climbing the staircase. ‘My master requires your presence immediately, Mistress Jens.’
Creesjie acknowledged him with distaste.
Arent loomed up behind him, bowing his head to Sara. Something had changed since she’d seen him on the docks, she thought. He carried his body heavily, as if some fresh weight had fallen upon it.
‘Abide, Creesjie,’ said Sara, as the men joined them. ‘Have you met Lieutenant Hayes? He assisted me with the leper on the docks.’
‘Arent,’ he corrected in a low rumble, smiling at her. She found herself returning it.
Creesjie’s eyes shimmered as she took him in. ‘I hadn’t, but I’d hoped to,’ she said, curtsying. ‘The stories of your size aren’t overstated, are they, Lieutenant Hayes? It’s like God forgot to stop making you.’
‘Seduce him later, Creesjie,’ chastised Sara gently, before addressing Arent. ‘Apparently the mark on the sail belongs to a devil called Old Tom.’
Recognition flashed across Arent’s face.
‘You know the name?’ she asked, cocking her head.
‘The governor general gave me the story.’
‘Well, I spoke with a young boy today, who told me the leper on the docks had been a carpenter on the Saardam named Bosey,’ she said. ‘Before he died, he’d bragged that he’d struck a bargain with somebody in Batavia that would make him rich, and all he had to do in return were a few favours.’
Creesjie shook her head sadly. ‘Whatever favour Old Tom asked of this Bosey, its only end would have been suffering.’ She wiped sea spray from her face. ‘Once you bargain with Old Tom, you become its servant. You’re never free of it. It feeds on our pain, and those who don’t serve it a banquet are made to suffer themselves. Pieter was possessed of formidable will, but even he baulked at recounting the depravities he’d witnessed.’
If it was grievances Old Tom sought, it would have no want of them here, thought Sara. Everybody on this ship had cause for complaint. Everybody felt mistreated. Everybody wanted what somebody else had. She could only imagine the price these people would pay for a better life.
Look at the price she was willing to pay.
‘Plenty of grievances on the Saardam,’ rumbled Arent, echoing her thoughts. ‘Did your husband say what Old Tom actually was?’
‘A devil of some sort, but he never confronted it directly. Not until …’ Creesjie faltered, her eyes flooding with tears. ‘Four years ago, Pieter came home in a panic. We were living in Amsterdam, in a grand house filled with servants. He rushed us into a carriage leaving for Lille without any explanation, or any of our possessions –’
‘Lille?’ interrupted Arent, startled.
‘Yes.’ She tried to make sense of his discomfort. ‘Does that mean something to you?’
‘No … I …’ He shook his head, his expression that of a man who’d seen an awful shape flit across the window. ‘We investigated a case there once. I have bad memories of the place. I’m sorry to have interrupted your account.’
Sara knew all their reports by heart, so she knew he’d never written about Lille. She wondered what this lost case could be, and why it so unsettled him, but she had too many other concerns to linger on it.
‘My husband told me Old Tom had found him and we had to flee,’ continued Creesjie, a throb in her throat. ‘I begged him to tell me more, but he wouldn’t say another word. We travelled for three weeks to arrive at our new home, and two days later he was dead.’ She swallowed. ‘Old Tom tortured him and left its mark on the wall, so we’d know exactly what was responsible.’
Sara clutched Creesjie’s hand. ‘Do you have strength enough to tell my husband this?’ she asked. ‘It may be enough to convince him to turn back for Batavia.’
‘It won’t,’ said Arent. ‘The governor general already knows what that symbol represents. He’s asked me to investigate, but he won’t turn the ship around.’
‘That damn stubborn fool,’ cried Sara, glancing at Lia in concern.
‘It’s unbecoming to speak of your husband in such a manner,’ scolded Vos, earning a venomous glance from Creesjie.
The chamberlain wrung his hands, speaking quickly to disguise his embarrassment. ‘If it’s a devil we face, might I suggest we consult the predikant. Surely, this would be closer to his realm than our own.’
‘You believe in demons, Vos?’ asked Lia. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it. You’re so …’
‘Passionless?’ supplied Creesjie.
‘Rational,’ clarified Lia.
‘I have seen them first-hand,’ he said. ‘My village was beset when I was a boy. Only a handful of homes survived the assault.’
Sara addressed Arent. ‘I’ll speak to the predikant, if you wish,’ she said. ‘I need to arrange confession, anyway.’
‘That would be a help, thank you,’ said Arent. ‘I’ll keep asking around after Bosey. If his master really is Old Tom, one of his friends may know how they became acquainted.’
‘I may have some useful information on that also,’ replied Sara, who relayed to Arent what she’d learned about the carpenter that morning, including his last words before his tongue was cut out.
‘Laxagarr?’ mused Arent, when she was finished. ‘I know a handful of languages, but I’ve never heard a word like that.’
‘Neither have I,’ agreed Sara, gripping the taffrail as the ship smacked into a large wave. ‘The boy I spoke to thought it was Nornish and the only person onboard who speaks the language is the boatswain Johannes Wyck and he was the one responsible for cutting out Bosey’s tongue, so I doubt he’ll be amenable to our questions.’