‘Then I’m being hunted by Old Tom,’ said Sander. Fire came into his eyes, and he glanced at Isabel. ‘The demon has made a grave miscalculation by delivering itself to God’s judgement.’
‘You have to find it first,’ murmured Sara, unnerved by his zeal. ‘If Old Tom could be possessing anybody on this ship, why do you trust us?’
Sander peered at her. ‘You’re unimportant,’ he said bluntly. ‘Old Tom is prideful. Those he possesses are powerful, or strong. They have influence enough to go where he wishes, and that influence grows in power the longer he controls them. Rancour and ruin emanate from Old Tom the way shadows follow us across the deck. I’ve heard the stories about you, Sara. Your husband beats you, isn’t it so?’
She flushed. Sander continued relentlessly. ‘Old Tom would never have allowed such a thing to persist. Mistress Jens is absolved of suspicion because of her husband. He was the foremost expert on Old Tom, and would not have been fooled.’
‘Is it not conceivable Old Tom took control of Creesjie after Pieter was murdered?’ asked Lia, who had taken a seat on the bunk.
Creesjie shot her a glance, but Lia shrugged. ‘I don’t believe you’re a devil, but somebody had to ask the question,’ she said seriously.
‘Only a soul that bargains with Old Tom can be possessed by it, and I can see little in your personal circumstances to suggest you’ve acquired that kind of power,’ he said. ‘The same reasoning absolves Isabel, who was a beggar when I apprenticed her into my order.’
‘And you, Sander Kers?’ asked Sara. ‘Why should we trust you?’
She’d expected him to become angry, but he laughed merrily. ‘A question worthy of a witchfinder,’ he said. ‘If I were Old Tom, I would have little reason to divulge what I have, and besides’ – he plucked at his tatty robes – ‘witchfinding offers few rewards. I had to beg alms enough for our berths from my congregation in Batavia.’
Lia fidgeted. ‘Mama, we have to go, we’re going to be late for breakfast.’
‘We’ve a few minutes yet,’ said Sara. ‘If you don’t know who Old Tom’s possessing, why did you react so badly when I suggested Arent accompany us?’ asked Sara. ‘He’s strong, I’ll grant you, but a servant nonetheless. Besides, I’ve seen little from him that wasn’t honourable, courageous or kind.’
Her stout defence of him earned a glance from Creesjie. Even Sara was surprised by her own words. They’d only known each other a day. They’d met over a burning body. He was the loving nephew of the most dreadful man she knew. Truth was, aside from his loyalty to Samuel Pipps, his ability to play a song she’d enjoyed as a girl, and his refusal to take payment for helping her on the docks, she didn’t know anything about him at all.
‘You mustn’t be fooled by Arent’s demeanour,’ Sander said, rebuking her. ‘Demons disguise themselves in all sorts of ways. I’ve seen it time and again. It’s their skill to make themselves as appealing as possible, so we follow them willingly into damnation.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I don’t know if Arent is the demon, only that he could be. Any of the wealthier passengers or the senior crew could be. Any soul that bargains with Old Tom can shelter it. Thirty years ago in the Provinces, Pieter chased it from noble to noble and was constantly surprised by the petty trifles they agreed to give their souls away for. Arent Hayes is a famous soldier, with a life lived entirely in bloodshed. Through Samuel Pipps he has access to any king in the land. He cannot be discounted.’
‘And how do you think we three powerless creatures unworthy of Old Tom’s attention can help you?’ asked Creesjie mischievously.
‘We need to uncover the demon’s identity.’
‘How?’
‘Questioning. This devil is a capricious creature, malevolent and spiteful, intent on spreading suffering wherever it goes. Even when hiding, it cannot conceal its true nature for long. If pressed, the devil will reveal itself.’
‘And then?’
‘I kill it,’ said Isabel.
Sander demurred. ‘Once Old Tom takes possession of a body, it does not give it up, even in death. Look to Bosey, if you doubt me. To save the soul, we need to slay the body, then perform a banishing ritual contained in the daemonologica. Old Tom will be sent back to hell until some fool chooses to summon it again.’
Sander flipped through the book, then called Sara over.
The page was split into a triptych of tragedies: the first showed a village filled with mothers wailing at empty cots while lepers carried their babies into the forest, where Old Tom was waiting for them. Next to this was a picture of their river burning, and, finally, a picture of men tending fields, where the crops had turned to snakes.
‘Close it, close it!’ demanded Creesjie in disgust, whipping her head away.
Sander ignored her. ‘After Old Tom’s herald announces its presence – as it did on the sail – three unholy miracles always follow, each carrying its mark. They’re different every time, but they’re meant to convince us of its power.’
‘Like the burning bush that appeared to Moses,’ supplied Isabel.
‘Once the unholy miracles begin, that’s when we’ll hear Old Tom’s voice offering our heart’s desire in return for some terrible deed.’
He turned over the page.
The village burnt, bodies piled up on the ground. The villagers were attacking one another with hoes and pitchforks, setting fire to their own homes with torches. Lepers circled them, holding hands, watching the carnage in delight. And behind them the demon prowled, its tongue lolling.
‘After the third unholy miracle is performed, anybody who didn’t bargain with Old Tom is slaughtered by those who did,’ said Sander. ‘And those who survive are dispatched to sow the seed of his malevolence elsewhere. This is what awaits the Saardam, if we don’t act.’
Sara reached out a hand to touch the drawing. Unbidden, her imagination painted those she loved among the dead. Tears pricked her eyes.
‘When will these unholy miracles start?’ she demanded, dashing them away.
‘I’m not certain,’ he said. ‘That’s why we cannot tarry. Old Tom is on this boat, and the longer he goes undiscovered, the closer to ruin we come.’
25
‘Tell me!’ Jan Haan banged the table, rattling his plate.
‘Uncle –’ protested Arent.
‘Say it,’ demanded Jan, laughing. ‘Say I was wrong.’
Sitting beside her, Sara felt Lia lean forward to stare at her father. Confusion was plain on her face. As usual, they had gathered to eat breakfast, it being the one meal of the day they shared. Most mornings, she and Lia talked while her husband ate silently, rushing through his food as quickly as decorum would allow, so he could be free of them.
This morning was different. They were the ones who were distracted; their thoughts still trying to make sense of what Sander Kers had told them. In contrast, her husband was full of cheer.
Unlike the dining hall in the fort, which smelt of stone and dust, they were eating in the great cabin, with sunlight streaming through the four lattice windows. The ocean was turquoise, the ship’s wake forming a foamy trail all the way back to Batavia – or so Sara liked to imagine.
But the real reason her husband was so cheerful was Arent. He was seated on the opposite side of the table, taking up the space of two ordinary-sized people.
Oblivious to family etiquette, he had immediately started joking with her husband, speaking to him in a way she’d never heard anybody else dare. Her husband was typically a distant, formal presence at breakfast, but he had responded in boisterous fashion, reminiscing about Frisia, where he and Arent had grown up. He’d told stories about fighting the war of independence against the Spanish, then more stories about becoming a merchant and after that the governor general of Batavia.