Aside from her beauty, she was a fine musician, a witty conversationalist and, by her own admission, talented in the bedchamber. Such women came around rarely, and their value was considerable.
Her first husband had been a staggeringly wealthy merchant and her second the world’s foremost witchfinder. Jan had summoned Creesjie to Batavia to be his mistress after he’d heard of the witchfinder’s unsolved murder, and now she sailed back to wed a duke in the French court.
Poor, dull Vos, writhing in his adoration, might as well have fallen in love with the moon itself. It would have been easier to talk into his bed.
Spotting Sara in the chair, Creesjie begged a moment from her companion and flounced over.
‘What a wonderful company,’ she said gaily, her eyes watering with wine. ‘Why are you skulking in the shadows?’
‘I’m not skulking.’
‘Brooding?’
‘Creesjie –’
‘Go find him.’
‘Who?’
‘Arent Hayes,’ she said in exasperation. ‘He’s the one you want to talk to, so go find him. You can lock eyes and talk chastely of lepers and demons and other dreadful things. It would do my heart glad to think of you two battling this evil together.’
Sara reddened, earning a sly laugh from Creesjie, who took her hands and hoisted her out of the chair. ‘It’s my understanding that he’s staying in the compartment under the half deck,’ her friend said. ‘That’s two walls away, on the other side of the helm.’
‘I can’t go,’ protested Sara half-heartedly. ‘I’m the highest-ranking noble here.’
‘Of course you can.’ Creesjie adopted a pompous tone. ‘As the highest-ranking noble here, you can do what you wish. Besides Jan is in bed, so it really doesn’t matter. I’ll tell everybody you felt faint.’
Sara touched her friend’s cheek in gratitude. ‘You are marvellous.’
‘I know.’
‘Keep Lia away from the chief merchant,’ she said, taking a step towards the door. ‘He makes me queasy.’
‘Oh, leave Reynier be. He deserves pity, not scorn.’
‘Pity?’
‘Can’t you see the pain that beats where his heart should be? He’s hurt, so he’s hurting others.’ She mulled it a second. ‘Besides, he’s drunker than a king on his wedding night. He couldn’t carry himself back to his bed, let alone Lia, but I’ll do as you wish.’ Anticipating Sara’s next question, she added, ‘And I’ll ensure somebody of merit escorts us both back safely. Now, go find your brute.’
From the candlelit brightness of the great cabin, Sara entered the darkness of the helm, where she heard a distant fiddle being played, accompanied by somebody singing in a low, rough voice. At first, she mistook it as coming from the bow of the ship, but she realised it was drifting down from the quarterdeck.
The captain had warned the women not to move around by themselves at night, but curiosity was ever her vice.
Hitching her gown, she climbed the staircase and walked straight into the song.
Arent was playing the fiddle by the light of a candle melted to a cask. His eyes were closed, those large fingers moving deftly across the strings. Guard Captain Jacobi Drecht sat opposite, singing a maudlin song. He was slouched forward, his clasped hands dangling between his knees, his magnificent sabre laid at his feet. Two empty jugs of wine lay on the floor and there was a third on the cask, suggesting they’d been here for some time.
Seeing Sara, Drecht leapt up, knocking his stool backwards.
The music stopped immediately. Arent peered at Drecht, then over his shoulder at Sara. He smiled with genuine pleasure. She mirrored it, surprised by how pleased she was to see him.
‘My lady,’ stumbled Drecht, who was obviously drunk and obviously trying not to be. ‘Did you need assistance?’
‘I never knew you could sing, Guard Captain,’ she said, clapping her hands delightedly. ‘All these years you’ve protected my family, how did I not know?’
‘The fort’s a large place, my lady,’ he said. ‘And I sing very quietly.’
She laughed at his jest, before turning her attention to Arent.
‘And you, Lieutenant Hayes.’
‘It’s still Arent,’ he corrected gently.
‘You play beautifully.’
‘Only useful thing I brought back from war,’ he said, stroking the neck of his fiddle. ‘Well, this, and an excellent recipe for mushroom stew.’
‘Are you returning to your bedchamber, my lady?’ wondered Drecht. ‘May I escort you?’
‘I actually came to speak with Arent,’ she said.
‘Then you should sit,’ said Arent, pushing a stool towards her with his foot.
‘I’ll help you, my lady,’ said Drecht solicitously.
‘Very kind, Guard Captain, but sitting down is one of the few things I’m still allowed to do for myself, so I’m reasonably skilled at it.’
Eyeing the low stool, Sara cursed her pride. Her petticoat was made of red brocade and inlaid with pearls, and her bodice was covered in a waterfall of lace. The entire outfit was only slightly lighter than a suit of armour. Very awkwardly, she lowered herself on to the stool, the candle’s golden light washing over her. Amid the waves and twinkling stars, the formal chatter of the great cabin felt like a very distant life.
‘Drink?’ asked Arent, passing her a jug.
‘I’ll find you a mug,’ said Drecht.
‘The jug will be fine,’ she said soothingly. ‘Just don’t tell my husband.’
Tipping it to her lips, she braced herself for the dreadful taste of whatever swamp water soldiers drank, but it was wonderful.
‘It’s from Sammy’s stash,’ explained Arent, who was plucking the strings of his fiddle experimentally. ‘If you want to try real soldier swill, you’ll have to wait until next week when we’ve run out of this.’
There was that smile again. It started in his eyes, she realised. They were green with golden centres, strangely delicate considering the brutal face surrounding them.
‘Have you told the guard captain about Old Tom?’ asked Sara, handing the jug back.
‘Didn’t need to,’ said Drecht. ‘The governor general’s already had a word. Told me about the symbol on the sail and how it ravaged the Provinces thirty years back. Can’t say I believe any of it, but he’s afraid. He’s demanding I personally escort him whenever he leaves his cabin.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Sara sarcastically.
‘You don’t believe in devils, Drecht?’ asked Arent, holding his fiddle to his ear as he tightened one of the strings.
‘Don’t see the use of them,’ he said, picking a trapped moth out of his beard and crushing it in his fingers. ‘I’ve never seen one standing over a dead child. I aint ever seen one ravage a woman or set fire to a hut with a family still inside. You’ve been on the battlefield, Hayes. You know what men are when there’s nobody ordering them to be better. They don’t need Old Tom whispering suggestions in their ear. Evil comes from in here’ – he hammered his chest – ‘it’s born in us; it’s what we are when you take away the uniforms and the ranks and the order.’
Sara hadn’t needed a battlefield to teach her that lesson. Her entire life had been spent in study of men. Not from love or admiration, as was the proper way for a woman, but from fear. Men were dangerous. They were fickle of mood, liable to lash out when disappointed, and they were frequently disappointed – most often by their own shortcomings, though only a fool would tell them as much.
‘If you don’t think a devil’s prowling this boat, what’s responsible for that mark on the sail?’ prodded Arent.
‘I reckon one of the crew’s got hold of the story and is playing tricks on his betters.’ Drecht flung his hand towards the waist of the ship. By the reaching flame of the running light, Sara could just about see the crew singing and dancing to flutes and drums. The shrieks, laughter and sudden eruptions of violence made Sara’s skin crawl. ‘Nothing but spite and boredom at work on this boat, you mark me.’