They murmured in dismay, but none dared voice their displeasure too loudly.
‘Tell me now, or –’
He stopped mid-threat, staring at the congregation in astonishment.
Sara tried to follow his glare, but Wyck was already backing away. Catching her staring, his eyes snapped to her. They were dirty things, sparkling with menace. He saluted her mockingly, a strange smirk on his lips.
The predikant coughed, regaining their attention.
‘As I was saying, we should accuse not, for judgement is the Lord’s work.’ He seemed to miss the irony. ‘Serve Him with compassion. Serve Him with forgiveness and know, that in His love, you are saved! For, as surely, as timbers nailed together keep this ship afloat, so the bonds of brotherhood will keep us safe against what trials are to come,’ he finished.
Sara shuddered as the sermon continued. There’d been something oddly threatening in this passage. Others must have felt it too, because they were glancing at each other uncomfortably.
He went on for an hour, until, finally, his voice faded.
The congregation broke apart like lumps of fat in a stew. Sara wanted to speak with the predikant, but he was immediately accosted by Reynier van Schooten, who dragged him off to one side.
‘I need to speak with you, privately,’ he said, under his breath.
‘Of course, of course,’ said the predikant. ‘What’s the matter, my son?’
Van Schooten glanced around furtively. His eyes passed across Sara as if she wasn’t even there, then snagged on Guard Captain Drecht, widening in alarm. ‘Can we speak in my quarters?’
‘I must offer confession to the passengers and crew, but when my duties are settled, I’ll seek you out.’
‘Confession is what I require.’
‘For what sin?’
He leant closer, whispering the answer. Alarm showed on the predikant’s face. ‘How could you not know?’ he demanded.
‘Just come, please. As soon as you can.’ Before Sander could question him any further, he darted away.
Isabel appeared out of the crowd and handed Sander his cane. He was dabbing sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his tattered robe. He was red-faced and breathless, as if the sermon had taken all his strength.
‘Fine sermon, Predikant,’ said Sara, nodding a greeting.
Her husband and Vos were heading back towards the great cabin, their heads bowed in conversation.
‘It was insufficient.’ Sander was visibly annoyed at himself. ‘There are many souls to be saved aboard a ship such as this, and I’m afraid stronger words may be necessary.’
Sara shot Dorothea a meaningful glance, and the maid took Marcus and Osbert to see the sniffling sows on the poop deck.
When they were out of earshot, Sara bluntly asked, ‘Do you have any knowledge of devils?’
Sander cast an anxious glance at Isabel, who tightened her hands around her satchel. ‘What specifically do you speak of?’ he asked.
‘A leper cursed the ship in Batavia, claiming his master would bring us all to ruin. The same leper appeared at my porthole last night. We think he is connected to the symbol that was drawn on the sail yesterday. This symbol first appeared in the Provinces thirty years ago, and carnage followed in its wake. It’s said to herald the arrival of a demon called Old Tom.’
‘No, no, I’ve no knowledge of that,’ said Sander, waving his hand, as though Sara were a smudge he was trying to wipe away.
Sara couldn’t remember having met a worse liar.
‘Please, Predikant,’ interjected Creesjie. ‘My husband battled this creature and lost his life doing so. Now I think it’s come for my family.’
Recognition flickered on the predikant’s face. He took a painful step towards her. ‘Who was your husband?’
‘Pieter Fletcher.’
Sander touched his hand to his mouth, his eyes brimming over. Blinking the tears away, he looked to the heavens, then Isabel. ‘Did I not tell you our faith would be rewarded?’ he said jubilantly. ‘Did I not say that our mission was divine?’
Creesjie peered at him inquisitively. ‘Did you know my husband, Predikant?’
‘Oh, yes, we were great friends once. He’s the reason I’m aboard this ship.’ Sander became suddenly fretful, casting around for danger. ‘Is there somewhere we might speak privately. I have much to tell you, much that can’t be said openly.’
‘I’m supposed to breakfast with my husband,’ said Sara, gritting her teeth. ‘If I’m not there, he’ll send Guard Captain Drecht to fetch me. If you tell Creesjie –’
‘I’ll not do this without you,’ said Creesjie, clinging to her arm.
Sara stared at her friend. She was deathly afraid. ‘Very well,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘But we’ll have to be quick.’ Sara sought Dorothea. ‘Would you take a message to Arent Hayes –’
‘No!’ cried out the predikant. He flushed, embarrassed by his outburst, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘There are matters here you do not fully understand. Let me explain, then you may decide whether to deliver the information to Lieutenant Hayes.’
23
‘How did you know my husband?’ Creesjie asked the predikant, closing the door behind them. ‘You called yourself a great friend of his.’
Dorothea had stayed on deck with the boys, but the rest of them had retired to Creesjie’s cabin, which was identical in proportions to Sara’s, but didn’t have a huge harp in the corner, making it seem almost spacious in comparison. A comfortable rug was laid across the floor, wooden toys littering it. Pictures hung on the wall, including one of Creesjie’s second husband, Pieter.
He was standing among his hounds in front of their magnificent house in Amsterdam. Aside from his resplendent dress, he was the image of his boys, sharing their prominent ears, mischievous eyes and the half-smile that suggested some mishap was on the horizon.
Something about the picture bothered Sara, but she couldn’t immediately say what it was. Perhaps it had to do with the contrasting fates of the witchfinder in the picture and the witchfinder looking up at him. Sander’s robes were a few stitches away from being rags, and his frail old limbs were crooked. Everything he did seemed to cause him pain.
‘Predikant!’ said Creesjie, drawing his attention.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, looking away from the picture with a sorrowful expression. ‘You’ll forgive me, but I haven’t put eyes on my friend for a very long time. Seeing him again, even like this, well … it brings back memories.’
‘Of what?’ asked Lia, who shared her father’s impatience for sentiment.
‘Pieter was my student for a time,’ he replied, ‘though I’ll freely admit he was far more accomplished than I.’ He shook his head, unable to keep his eyes from the painting. ‘He was a great man; a hero.’
Creesjie was pouring herself wine, her hand shaking.
She didn’t talk about Pieter a great deal, but Sara understood how deep their love had been. Creesjie had been born to prosperous farmers who needed sons for the fields, not daughters for the hearth. They’d married her off young, then forgot about her. Her first husband had been a beast, but as her beauty had blossomed and she began to perceive its power, she realised that she need not suffer.
Fleeing to Rotterdam, she’d become a courtesan.
Officially, she’d met Pieter at a ball. Unofficially, she’d met him in a brothel, the two of them captivating each other from the first. From this unusual soil an unusual life grew. Sara never met him, but by all accounts, Pieter was a generous, good-natured soul, free with his coin and his laughter, and entirely devoted to destroying maleficium wherever he found it.
Sander sighed, running a wrinkled grey hand across his equally grey face.