‘I’m not saying it aint, but your theory still leaves plenty of questions Sammy won’t be happy without answers to,’ replied Arent, taking a swig of wine. ‘Not least how the ship’s lame-footed carpenter became a leper, then ended up climbing a stack of crates to doom the Saardam without a tongue.’
‘He wasn’t a leper,’ said Sara. ‘At least not in the traditional sense. Leprosy is a dreadful thing that worsens over years. If he’d had it on Saardam, the crew would have known. If he developed it in Batavia, it wouldn’t have been advanced enough to require those rags.’
‘Do you think it was a disguise?’ asked Arent.
‘Or a uniform,’ suggested Drecht. ‘Every army has one.’
‘Johannes Wyck probably knows,’ said Sara, picking at a loose pearl on her dress. ‘He must have cut out Bosey’s tongue to stop him saying something, and he likely knows what favours were asked in return for the riches Bosey was promised. And he definitely knows what Laxagarr means.’
‘Laxagarr?’ queried Drecht. ‘Is that a name?’
‘Could be. Or a place,’ Sara shrugged, her dress rustling. ‘Apparently, it’s Nornish.’
‘I’ll ask my musketeers. Somebody might recognise it. Everybody’s from everywhere down there.’ He finished off his wine. ‘What about you, Arent? Do you believe we’ve a devil onboard?’
‘I’ve seen Sammy pick apart too many ghost stories to believe there’s one happening here,’ said Arent, the flame reflected in his eyes.
Drecht yawned and stood up stiffly. ‘I best relieve the musketeer on the governor general’s door.’ He offered an arm to Sara. ‘May I escort you to your cabin, my lady?’
‘I’d like to stay in the fresh air a little while longer, Guard Captain,’ she demurred. ‘I’m certain Arent will escort me when I’m ready to leave.’
Drecht flashed him an enquiring glance, earning a nod.
‘Very well,’ he said a little uncertainly. ‘Goodnight, my lady. Goodnight, Arent.’
Arent nodded and Sara waved, both of them watching in amusement as he stopped halfway down the stairs and glanced over his shoulder.
‘Is it me he doesn’t trust, or you?’ wondered Sara.
‘Oh, you, certainly,’ said Arent. ‘Me and Jacobi Drecht are the best of friends now.’
‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘Didn’t he have a sword to your chest this morning?’
‘And he will again if I cross him,’ replied Arent cheerfully. ‘Most cold-blooded man I ever met.’
‘Strange sort of friendship.’
‘Strange sort of day.’ He plucked at his fiddle, clearly itching to play. ‘Would you like a song?’
‘Do you know “O’er the Gentle Water”?’
‘I do,’ he said, finding those first notes.
Some songs weren’t mere songs. They were memories curled tight and set alight. They made you heartsick. ‘Gentle Water’ did that for Sara. It carried her back to childhood, to her parents’ grand house and her sisters, the five of them coming home bone weary and shivering cold after a day’s riding, creeping into the kitchen to eat stew under the table with the dogs.
Her own daughter had never had that innocence, she thought sadly. Nor that happiness. Her father had jailed her behind the fort’s stone walls for fear she’d be accused of witchcraft if she were allowed into the world. Once they were free of him, Sara intended on giving Lia every childhood experience she’d been denied.
Arent played his fiddle softly.
‘Why didn’t you come to dinner tonight?’ she asked him, surprising herself with her candour.
Arent flicked her a glance, then returned his attention to his playing.
‘Did you want me there?’
She bit her lip, only able to nod.
‘Then I’ll come tomorrow,’ he said softly.
Sara’s heart was beating furiously. For something to do, she started tugging the jewelled pins out of her hair, allowing her red curls to come tumbling free, easing the pressure on her scalp.
‘Is that one of the pins you offered me on the docks?’ asked Arent.
‘I had thirteen of them,’ said Sara, moving one of them around to catch the firelight. ‘They were a wedding gift from Jan.’ She smiled slightly. ‘After fifteen years I finally found a use for them.’
‘Those pins must be worth a fortune,’ he said. ‘But you traded one for a funeral that would have cost three guilders.’
‘I didn’t have three guilders on me.’
‘But –’
‘I haven’t worn these pins since my wedding day,’ she interrupted, still staring at the one in her palm. ‘My husband asked me to wear them today, so I fetched them from the treasury this morning, blew the dust off and put them in my hair. Tonight, they’ll go back into their case and I won’t wear them again for another fifteen years.’ Sara shrugged, placing the pins near the candle on the cask. ‘Perhaps you see some value in that, but I don’t. I saw value in putting them to a Christian purpose and treating an unfortunate soul with dignity and respect, however late it may have come.’
Arent stared at her admiringly. ‘You’re the wrong kind of noble, Sara.’
‘I certainly hope so. Oh, that reminds me.’ From her sleeve, she withdrew a vial of the sleeping draught she’d given the leper on the docks. The viscous brown liquid glittered in the candlelight. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘I meant to give you this at dinner, but here will do well enough. It’s for Pipps.’
He stared at it uncomprehendingly, the vial tiny in his scarred palm.
‘It will help him sleep,’ she explained. ‘My cabin is a coffin, so I can’t imagine how dreadful his cell must seem. A drop of that and he’ll sleep all day or night. Two drops and he’ll sleep half of the next.’
‘What happens if he takes three drops?’
‘He’ll make a grand mess of his breeches.’
‘Three drops it is.’
Her rich laughter became a yawn, which she swiftly covered with her hand. She wanted to stay there all night, talking and listening to him play, and that alone was reason enough to leave. ‘I should sleep,’ she said, annoyed by how formal she sounded.
Arent carefully leant his fiddle against the keg. ‘I’ll escort you.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘I promised Drecht,’ he said. ‘And it would put me at my ease. Besides, I don’t think you can get up without help. That dress looks heavy.’
‘It is!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why don’t tailors ever think of these things? And you know, amidst all this brocade, it doesn’t even have pockets. Not one.’
She tugged at the material where the pockets should have been.
‘It’s a scandal,’ said Arent, taking her hands and helping her stand. His skin was coarse. She reddened at his touch, then marched ahead to hide it.
Arent scooped up the discarded hairpins from the cask and went after her.
It was a beautiful night full of stars, all of them reflected on the still water. Among them were the seven fleet lanterns, their golden flames strangely comforting in the black.
They slowed on the staircase to admire the view.
‘You didn’t answer Drecht’s question about whether you believed in demons,’ said Arent, glancing at her.
‘If you’d listened carefully, you would have noticed he didn’t actually ask me,’ she said, smiling slightly.
‘Well, I’m asking,’ he said. ‘Do you believe there’s a demon on this boat?’
Her hands curled around the railing. ‘Yes,’ she said.
Growing up, she’d been taught that demons walked the earth to torment sinners. Off forked tongues came alluring promises, but they were tricks with only hell waiting at the end. Those who trusted in God’s love would see through their deceits and be sheltered from harm. She believed that, as she believed that those who fell prey to the wickedness of demons were somehow deserving of it, but that hadn’t saved Creesjie’s husband. And if Old Tom was willing to sink the Saardam to hurt Creesjie, it wouldn’t save anybody else.