Sammy stared at the lanterns on the water again, frowning. ‘Our second avenue of investigation is simpler. If this leper is the threat, how does he mean to assail a ship this size? Did you talk to the constable in the gunpowder store?’
‘He reckons blowing the gunpowder wouldn’t do it,’ said Arent. ‘The constable believed the quickest way to sink the Saardam was to kill the captain. By his thinking, Crauwels is the only thing keeping this crew from mutiny.’
‘He’s got a fine head on his shoulders has our constable,’ said Sammy with admiration. ‘What else did he say?’
‘That the threat could come from the fleet.’
Sammy mulled it over. ‘Another ship turning its cannons on us, perhaps?’
‘It’s an idea,’ replied Arent.
‘A bold one,’ agreed Sammy. ‘And a troubling one.’
‘Why’s that?’
Sammy gestured to the lanterns on the water. ‘Do you remember how many ships left Batavia?’ he asked.
Arent shrugged. He hadn’t troubled himself to count.
‘Seven,’ supplied Sammy.
‘Okay, seven,’ said Arent, confused. ‘So what?’
‘So why are there eight lights on the water?’
Four men stood at the railing, water lapping beneath them. Three of them were staring at the Eighth Lantern in the distance, while Sammy stared down at the first mate. Feeling the itch of scrutiny, Isaack Larme peered up at him, that familiar scowl twisting his face.
‘What you looking at, prisoner?’
‘A dwarf,’ replied Sammy bluntly. ‘I’ve never seen a dwarf in the Company before. Mostly, your kind are –’
‘Fools,’ finished Larme. ‘It’s our job to call nobles like you cun—’
‘Isaack,’ growled Crauwels.
Arent had alerted the first mate to the mysterious light, and he’d fetched the captain in turn. Crauwels was more than halfway drunk still, irritable and missing his bed, but the last thing he wanted was Sammy’s blood on Isaack Larme’s dagger, which was usually the way arguments with his first mate finished.
‘I’m the first mate of the ship,’ spat Isaack Larme. ‘I’ll not be looked down on by a prisoner.’
‘That wasn’t my intent,’ said Sammy, as if surprised he’d given offence.
‘Isaack’s the best first mate I’ve ever had,’ said the captain, still staring at the lanterns. ‘And the only other person I know who can keep our bastard of a boatswain in line,’ he added darkly.
‘What do you think of the lights, Captain?’ asked Arent, hoping to change the topic before Sammy vexed Isaack Larme any further.
‘Well, it aint pirates,’ he said, scratching at his ginger whiskers. ‘Whoever it is wants us to know they’re there. Pirates come quiet and they don’t attack convoys. They pick off solitary ships.’
‘Could be a straggler out of Batavia,’ suggested Larme, fingering the half-face charm around his neck.
‘Could be,’ said Crauwels, running a hand through his hair, flexing the muscles in his arm.
Crauwels was clearly a man who admired himself a great deal and wanted others to do likewise, thought Arent.
‘Keep a watch on the fleet,’ continued Crauwels. ‘Just you, Isaack. I don’t want word of this getting around and spooking the crew. Might be nothing, but if anything changes tonight, I want to know.’
‘Aye, Captain.’
‘And first thing tomorrow, have a lookout lay eyes on her,’ he said. ‘Let’s see whose colours she’s flying.’
‘Captain,’ agreed Larme.
The four men dispersed, Arent accompanying Sammy back across the waist towards the bow of the ship.
Once they were out of earshot, Sammy nudged Arent. ‘Did you notice the charm Larme wore around his neck?’
‘I saw it this afternoon,’ said Arent. ‘Bit of cracked wood on a piece of string, isn’t it?’
‘It’s half a face, Arent. The matching half of the piece Bosey clung to for comfort on the docks. The edges married up.’
Sammy couldn’t have caught more than a glimpse of Bosey’s charm, but Arent didn’t doubt his recollection. Never forgetting was another of Sammy’s gifts. Maybe the most unfortunate of them. He could recall every conversation he’d ever had, every mystery he’d solved, every lunch and when he’d eaten it.
Arent would have envied him, except Sammy wasn’t somebody who wanted envying.
The past was filled with sharp things, he’d said.
The pain he’d felt when a thorn scratched him as a child was the same pain he felt remembering it. He couldn’t reach for a memory without drawing blood doing it. No wonder he was the way he was. Never looking back, always running forward.
A shriek came from behind them and turning around, they saw Isaack Larme trying to drag a young woman out of the shadows. She was broad and strong and taller than the dwarf, who was struggling to hold on to her.
Growling, he punched her in the stomach ending her resistance, then hurled her gasping on to the ground in front of Crauwels.
Arent moved to help her, but Sammy caught his arm and shook his head in warning.
‘You’re the predikant’s ward, aren’t you?’ said Crauwels, taken aback. ‘What are you doing out here after curfew? It’s dangerous.’
‘My name’s Isabel,’ she snapped, glowering at the dwarf as she tried to draw breath.
‘And it’s a fine name, but not an explanation,’ said Crauwels, crouching in front of her. ‘What are you doing lurking in the shadows, Isabel?’
‘Was just out walking and got startled,’ she gasped, rubbing her stomach. ‘That was all.’
‘Eavesdropping more like,’ snarled Larme, earning a filthy glare from Isabel.
Crauwels let out a long breath through his nose. ‘Ship’s rules are for your safety, and ours.’ He smiled a bright, dangerous smile. ‘Mainly your safety, though. This conversation was private and it needs to be kept that way. If word gets out, I’ll know exactly who needs talking to, understand?’
She nodded, somehow marrying simple acceptance with a burning fury.
‘Get away then,’ he said. ‘And don’t let me catch you skulking around the deck any more.’
Shooting a glance of misgiving at the forecastle, Isabel got to her feet and headed back towards the compartment under the half deck.
In the darkness, a figure slipped away unseen.
21
The Eighth Lantern vanished a few hours before dawn.
Fearing an impending attack, Isaack Larme summoned Captain Crauwels, who ordered all hands to battle stations. Signals were passed across the fleet to make ready, while Johannes Wyck kicked the crew out of their hammocks, manhandling them up the stairs in whatever they were wearing.
As the anchors were raised and the sails lowered for manoeuvring, hemp was yanked out of the cannon barrels and the wedges pulled from beneath their wheels. The gunpowder store was flung open, sailors rolling dozens of kegs through the ship, then pouring their contents into the cannons and ramming them solid.
Useless among the commotion, the passengers on the orlop deck huddled together, waiting for that first volley of cannon fire. In the cabins, Sara clutched Lia’s shaking body, whispering courage. Creesjie hugged Marcus and Osbert, soothing her two young sons with songs.
The predikant and Isabel prayed together, while Arent watched from the quarterdeck. He wasn’t one to turn his back on the enemy, no matter what size it was.
Governor General Haan woke early, as was his custom, then worked at his desk, issuing instructions to Chamberlain Vos as normal. Only the slight tremble of his hand suggested something was amiss.