‘Old Tom?’ responded Lia.
‘Nobody knows. It was too distant to make out what colours it was flying.’
‘It would have to be Old Tom,’ she murmured, her brow knotted in thought. ‘The wind was southerly last night, and a fully laden Indiaman weighs –’
‘Lia!’ warned her mother.
‘I just meant there’s no way it could have sailed beyond our sight in the time it had,’ said Lia, abashed.
Arent glanced between them, registering the discomfort, but politely saying nothing. Sara tried to keep the fear from her face. It was muttered comments like this, betraying the cleverness lurking within, that had caused her husband to trap Lia inside the fort. More than once as a little girl, she’d been accused of witchcraft, an accusation that could easily taint their good name if it was allowed to catch hold.
Sara took the opportunity to change subject. ‘Did you tell Pipps what you’d discovered?’
‘What we discovered,’ corrected Arent. ‘He has some questions he wants us to find answers to.’
‘Us?’ she said, surprised.
Arent became flustered. ‘Sorry, I assumed you wanted to …’ He trailed off uncertainly.
‘I do,’ she interjected quickly, touching his arm reassuringly. ‘Of course I do. I’m just not used to …’ Her green eyes scoured his face, searching for the lie behind it. ‘Nobody’s trusted me with anything more pressing than small talk for a very long time.’
‘I can’t do this alone,’ said Arent, unable to meet her gaze. ‘I don’t know how, and you have a knack for asking the right questions. I’d like your help, if you’ll give it?’
‘Most men would say this isn’t women’s work.’ There was no mistaking the challenge in her tone.
‘My father was one of them,’ admitted Arent. ‘He taught me that women were frail creatures, purposely crippled by God that men might prove their virtue by protecting them. Sounded right enough, until I went to war and saw men pleading for their lives while women swung hoes at the knights trying to take their land.’ His tone hardened. ‘Strong is strong and weak is weak, and it doesn’t matter if you wear breeches or skirts if you’re the latter. Life will hammer you flat.’
His words fell on Sara like the first touch of sun hitting a plant after a long winter. Her back straightened. She lifted her chin. Her eyes glittered and her skin flushed with colour. So often in the fort, she had had woken up feeling empty, as though she’d left her soul in bed. On days like that she’d wander the corridors endlessly, peering into rooms and out of the windows, yearning desperately for the world beyond the walls.
Usually, she’d find a way to sneak past the guards into town, accepting the inevitable beating from her husband when she returned after dark. But speaking with Arent, she felt the opposite of empty. She had so much life, it was bursting through the seams of her.
‘How can I help?’ she asked.
‘A few ways. We need to find out more about Bosey. Where he’s from, who his people are, his friends and what Old Tom asked of him. Sammy’s treating him as a victim in all this.’
‘I’ll talk to the senior officers at dinner,’ said Sara. ‘Their tongues will be loose with wine. Anything else?’
‘Sammy wants us to know why so many people connected to Old Tom are on this boat, starting with my uncle. Do you know why he chose to sail aboard the Saardam rather than another ship?’
‘He admires Captain Crauwels a great deal.’ She fidgeted with her cap, which was being tugged at by the wind. ‘He mentioned something to Reynier van Schooten about having cargo onboard. He went to check on it the moment we boarded.’
‘The Folly?’
‘Something else. Something bigger.’
‘I heard Captain Crauwels grumbling about that. We’re short of food because of the space it’s taken. Do you know what it is?’
‘I don’t, but I’ll endeavour to find out. What will you be doing?’
‘Trying to find out if Bosey had any friends onboard who can tell us about this bargain he struck, and who he struck it with. Then I have to find some way of convincing Johannes Wyck to tell me what Laxagarr means.’
‘You could try bribing him, I have plenty more jewellery to give away.’
She smiled at him conspiratorially and he laughed in spite of himself. ‘I’ll make sure to mention it. Can you come up to the quarterdeck after dinner again, tonight?’ He coughed, suddenly realising the implications of what he was asking. ‘I meant we can share what we’ve learnt.’
‘I understood,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there.’
Sara nodded, and Arent departed with the stride of somebody chased away by his own embarrassment.
‘He doesn’t seem like a devil to me,’ said Lia, watching him duck through the arch and disappear down the stairs on to the orlop deck.
‘Nor me,’ admitted Sara.
‘I actually rather like him.’
‘Yes,’ said Sara. ‘So do I.’
‘Do you think we should tell him about our plan to –’
‘No,’ snapped her mother. Then, more gently, ‘No, that’s ours alone. Ours and Creesjie’s.’ The sharpness of Sara’s tone rose between them like a mountain range. ‘I’m sorry, dear heart,’ she said, putting her head on Lia’s shoulder. ‘I’ve shouldn’t have barked at you.’
‘No, that’s Father’s job.’
Sara smiled at her sadly. ‘Not for much longer.’ The smile fell from her face. ‘Do you have everything you need?’
‘I do. It’s a simple enough task.’
‘Only for you.’ Sara stroked her daughter’s black hair, her hands strangely cold in the humid air. ‘We’ll start tonight.’
They climbed on to the quarterdeck, where Eggert, the musketeer guarding the passenger cabins, was busy picking scabs from his scalp. He didn’t notice them until the last minute, almost dropping his pike when he did. He fumbled a clumsy salute while trying to prevent his pike from falling, nearly impaling himself.
From the poop deck, they heard Creesjie and Dorothea talking. By unspoken agreement, they climbed the stairs and found their friends sitting with their backs against the animal pens. Creesjie had a crochet ring on her lap and a parasol over her head, while Dorothea was darning one of Osbert’s jackets.
‘Is Arent our demon?’ asked Creesjie, as they appeared.
‘If he is, he’s doing a fine job of hiding it,’ said Sara. ‘Where are the boys?’
‘Vos is showing them the cargo hold,’ said Creesjie, in that dismissive tone of voice she always used for the chamberlain.
‘Vos? Does he even like the boys?’
‘I don’t think so, but he’s trying to impress me. Anyway, they wanted to go, and it’s funny watching him bark commands at them like they’re dogs.’
‘I think Father’s the demon,’ decided Lia, who’d clearly carried on their earlier discussion in her head.
‘Your father?’ said Creesjie, whose surprise at the statement lasted only as long as it took her to consider it.
‘It’s not your father,’ interrupted Dorothea sagely, sucking a thumb she’d pricked on her needle. ‘I’ve lived with his malice a long time. It’s his and only his. Believe me.’
‘Arent said he’d changed,’ said Sara thoughtfully. ‘Do you remember him being different, Dorothea?’
‘Different?’
‘Kinder.’
‘I was taken on after the boy had already gone to war,’ said Dorothea. ‘If there was kindness in him, it went with Arent.’
‘Why couldn’t Father be the devil?’ demanded Lia petulantly. ‘The predikant said Old Tom was malevolent and wouldn’t be able to hide it.’
‘Truth is, it could be anybody,’ said Sara, staring at the water. ‘Or nobody. For all we know, Sander Kers is lying. If I were Old Tom, I’d be cunning enough to point the finger elsewhere. Or it could all be a deceit in service of some greater evil.’