‘My mother was a healer, and that often brought her into conflict with devils,’ continued Sara. ‘She told me stories about children dragging their own parents into the woods to be slaughtered. She told me about possessed adults whose skin would tear, because the demon could barely fit inside them. We’re mice to them, to be played with and ripped apart. That mark on the sail is how is starts. It’s meant to scare us because scared people will do anything to stop being scared, and they’ll do it to almost anybody.’
Arent murmured his agreement and became thoughtful. Sara looked at him shyly from the corner of her eye. It was rare she spoke so freely to anybody aside from Creesjie and Lia, and she was surprised – and pleased – to see how deeply he was considering what she’d said. Side by side, they admired the night’s beauty in silence for a few moments, then continued on.
Eggert – the musketeer whose throat Arent had nearly slit this afternoon – was guarding the entrance to the passenger cabins and he glared at the mercenary, touching his neck self-consciously.
‘I shouldn’t have taken hold of you the way I did,’ said Arent, stopping in front of him. ‘It weren’t right, and I’m sorry about it.’
Sara cocked her head, impressed. She hadn’t heard a lot of apologies in her life, certainly not from those who had no compelling reason to offer them.
Eggert’s expression very clearly suggested that he believed this was a trick.
‘Is all right,’ he said nervously, shaking Arent’s proffered hand.
Fearing some assault, he turned his face slightly away and braced himself. The mercenary smiled at him good-naturedly, then followed Sara through the red door, leaving Eggert blinking after them in bewilderment.
Arent escorted Sara a little way down the corridor, though not to her door.
She was glad of that. Those final few steps would indicate an intimacy she was keen to avoid. A solitary evening in his company and she already felt a strange tangle of emotions twisting in her breast.
She promised herself she would take shears to this tangle over the next few days. She had a purpose aboard the Saardam and she wouldn’t compromise it for a childish infatuation. No matter how much she had enjoyed his company tonight.
‘Goodnight,’ said Arent, returning her hairpins.
‘Goodnight,’ responded Sara.
He obviously wanted to say something more, but, in the end, he inclined his head and walked back up the corridor, his hulking figure blocking the view outside.
Sara watched him depart, then opened her cabin door. She screamed.
Staring at her from the porthole, covered in the same bloody bandages she remembered from the docks, was the leper.
19
‘Nerves?’ repeated Sara, batting the word back at Reynier van Schooten with icicles on it.
Van Schooten and Captain Crauwels had come clattering into the cabin after hearing her scream, finding Creesjie and Lia comforting her. Arent had been the first to arrive, but he’d stuck his head out of the porthole, then run up on deck hoping to catch sight of the leper, taking the musketeer guarding the cabins with him.
Sara hadn’t stopped shaking. Before Van Schooten had arrived, it had been fear. Now it was anger.
‘It’s been a gruelling day,’ interjected Crauwels, in a pacifying tone that would make an angel throw its cloud at him. ‘No one would blame you for having weary eyes, my lady.’
‘You think I imagined it?’ she said incredulously. Nobody else had seen the leper. Even Arent had been too slow. It had scrambled away when she screamed, frightening the animals in the pens above them, which were making an unholy din.
‘Of course not, my lady. I simply think you mistook the …’ Crauwels crouched a little, putting his head at the same level as Sara’s, and stared through the porthole. ‘The moon!’ he declared triumphantly, seeing it outside.
‘Does the moon wrap itself in bloody bandages?’ demanded Sara witheringly. ‘How strange I’ve never noticed that before.’
‘My lady –’
‘I know the difference between a face and the moon,’ she yelled, furious at having to defend herself against so ridiculous a charge. If the leper had appeared at her husband’s porthole, the Saardam would already be sailing back to Batavia.
‘The only thing out there is a long drop,’ grunted Van Schooten, his breath thick enough to make her eyes water. ‘There’s no ledge to stand on, and no way to climb down from the poop deck.’
Creesjie laid a gentle arm on Sara’s. ‘Calm now, dear heart,’ she soothed.
Sara took a breath.
It wasn’t the done thing to shout at a man in public, especially not high-ranking Company officers. Deference was something she was supposed to put on every morning, along with her cap and bodice.
‘Please understand, my lady,’ said Crauwels ingratiatingly, ‘Indiamen sail on superstition as much as wind and waves. Won’t be a man onboard who doesn’t have a piece of the hull he kisses for luck, or a token he swears saved him from some catastrophe on his last voyage. If word gets around you saw a leper, whether it exists or not, these men will create it.
‘Every dead bird as hits the mast, every broken arm, every bit of blood spilt on a crooked nail, they’ll collect in a pile and claim it’s the work of something malign. Next thing you know, sailors are getting their throats slit because they babbled in their sleep and it sounded like devilry.’
Dorothea bustled into the cabin with a mug of spiced wine for her mistress. She’d gone down to the galley to fetch it. Sara had tried to dissuade her, but Dorothea believed spiced wine was the best thing for a nasty shock and wouldn’t be dissuaded from her errand.
‘Whatever you think you saw, keep it in this cabin,’ demanded Van Schooten.
Dorothea handed the mug of spiced wine to Sara, then turned her iron glare on van Schooten. ‘Know your place, merchant,’ she warned. ‘This is a high-born lady you’re addressing. My mistress knows what she saw. Why do you think you know better?’
Van Schooten bore down on her. By his expression, it was obvious he thought that indulging the nonsense of a spoiled noble was intolerable enough without being ridiculed by an insolent servant.
‘Listen to me –’ he said, pointing.
‘No! You listen to me, Chief Merchant,’ interrupted Sara, stepping between them and jabbing her finger into his chest. ‘Bosey threatened the Saardam in Batavia. That strange symbol appeared on the sail and now he’s peering in portholes. Something’s happening on this ship and you need to take it seriously.’
‘If the devil wants to sail aboard the Saardam, he buys a ticket like everybody else,’ snapped van Schooten, his jaw clenched. ‘Speak with your husband. If he tells me to investigate, I will. Until then, I’ve got real problems to attend to.’
He stalked out. Crauwels bowed courteously and followed.
Sara tried to chase after them, only to be held back by Lia and Creesjie.
‘It won’t do any good,’ advised Creesjie. ‘Anger makes good men stubborn and stubborn men petty. They won’t hear you.’
Feeling wretched, Sara stared into Lia’s concerned face. Her only duty aboard this ship was to protect her daughter, but nobody wanted to listen. They seemed hell-bent on sailing into whatever dark water awaited them.