Arent shrugged. ‘You’re asking the wrong man. Nobody ever told me what it was, and I never asked. I’ll tell you this, though, the governor general thought it important enough to call Sammy Pipps all the way from Amsterdam when it was stolen.’
‘Aren’t you curious what’s inside?’
‘Curiosity’s Sammy’s job,’ replied Arent. ‘Up until yesterday, I just punched the things he was curious about. Speaking of which, have you ever heard the word Laxagarr?’
‘Nope.’
‘In that case, do you know what it means when two sailors carry two halves of the same charm?’ he asked, recalling how Sammy had noticed that Isaack Larme’s half-face charm fitted perfectly into Bosey’s.
‘Oh, aye,’ he said. ‘Means they’re married.’
‘Married?’ exclaimed Arent, his eyebrows shooting up.
‘Not land married, sailor married,’ he said. ‘If one dies on the voyage, the other gets his pay, any booty he’s earned and his death pouch. Doesn’t mean they share a hammock or anything, though I dare say it’s happened.’
‘Then they’d be close.’
‘Have to be,’ he agreed. ‘You don’t make that sort of pledge without being certain. Get it wrong, and you’re liable to end up with your blood on their hands and your coin in their pocket.’
Arent paused in his work to wipe the sweat from his forehead. ‘Why are you so loose-lipped? The rest of the crew would rather spit in my face than talk to me.’
‘Good question, that.’ He grinned toothlessly. ‘Seems like you’re getting the hang of being on an Indiaman. Soldiers and sailors are fire and fuses. Been that way since the first boat, and it aint going to change on this voyage. These boys hate you, Hayes.’ He touched the twist of hair he kept on a string around his neck. ‘Now me, I’m old. Too old to be told who to hate. I just want to get home to my daughters, play with my grandchildren and live with the dirt under my feet a little while. If some bastard’s trying to sink this boat, then I’m with the man who’s trying to stop them, whether he’s a sailor or a damn soldier.’
‘Then tell me how I get Wyck to talk. He knows what Laxagarr means, and he cut out Bosey’s tongue for some reason.’
‘Wyck.’ The constable clicked his tongue in thought. ‘Funnily enough, Wyck I might be able to help you with. Open that door for me.’
Arent pulled it open, and the constable leant his head forward.
‘Is there a cabin boy out there?’ he hollered, tipping his ear, listening for a response. None came. ‘I know there is. There’s always one of you little bastards shirking your duty in the gloom. Get in here now.’
Tentative footsteps sounded on the wood, a young, nervous face appearing at the door.
‘Go fetch Wyck for me,’ commanded the constable. ‘He’ll be in his cabin. Tell him the constable needs him, urgent business.’
‘What’s your notion?’ asked Arent, while they waited, but the constable shook his head, practising what he was going to say when Wyck arrived.
They didn’t have to wait long.
‘What do you think you’re doing,’ screamed Wyck, from halfway along the orlop deck, his steps thudding through the wood. ‘You don’t ever summon me! You don’t –’
Wyck stormed into the gunpowder store in a towering fury, his fists clenched and shoulders heaving. When Arent had confronted Wyck last night, the gloom had helped conceal his size, but in the light of the orlop deck, he was enormous. While not Arent’s height, he was about his width, with thick arms and legs, a bald head and round body. He was a rockslide in piss-stained slops.
Taking fright, the constable leapt up from his stool and scrambled backwards into the wall, holding his hands up defensively.
Before Wyck could wring the poor man’s throat, Arent slammed the door shut behind him.
‘He didn’t summon you,’ he said. ‘I did.’
Wyck spun, withdrawing a dagger quicker than a wolf could bare its teeth.
‘There’s no need of that, Johannes,’ implored the constable, who was still trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the enraged boatswain.
Arent’s eyes travelled from Wyck’s pitted face, down to the dagger, then back again. ‘What does Laxagarr mean?’ he asked. ‘And why did you cut out Bosey’s tongue?’
Wyck blinked at him, then at the constable in confusion. ‘You woke me up for this?’
‘I woke you up, because I’ve got an idea,’ said the constable.
‘You’re wasting my time.’
‘You’re going to fight and Arent’s going to lose.’
Arent’s eyes narrowed in surprise. The constable finally came away from the wall, trying to soothe Wyck like he was a bull gone mad in the field.
‘Boatswain’s a position you take by force, not promotion and I’ve heard there’s a couple of lads with an eye on your throat.’ The constable licked his lips nervously. ‘What you need is a show of force. Lay Arent low in a fight, and everybody will fall in line, you know they will.’
Wyck’s expression flickered. He was tempted, it was obvious.
‘This is your last voyage, you said it yourself,’ pressed the constable. ‘You’ve got a family depending on you, and not enough money to keep them.’
‘Spill more of my business and your blood will follow,’ growled Wyck but it was obvious some internal scale was tilting.
Arent knew the effect his size had on people, and had learned to spot whether somebody would be cowed, or become belligerent, as if offended by his refusal to shrink in their presence.
Wyck’s calculating eyes were running him up and down, noticing how he had to hunch to even fit in the room, and how he was so wide, he blocked the door entirely. ‘In return for losing our fight, I assume you want your questions answered,’ he asked, scratching his ear with a grubby finger.
Arent nodded.
‘And what else?’
‘Nothing else,’ said Arent. ‘I’ll pay for answers in humiliation.’
Wyck turned his glare on the constable. ‘And what do you get out of this, you greedy old sod?’
‘I’m going to bet against Arent,’ he laughed. ‘I guarantee, nobody else will be doing that.’
Wyck grunted, nodding slyly. ‘Aint no fights on this ship allowed without a grievance,’ he said. ‘Otherwise it’s a flogging. Give me a few hours and I’ll come up with something you can take to Isaack Larme.’ He withdrew a blob of wax from his ear and flicked it away. ‘If either of you bastards tries to betray me, I’ll gut you.’
Wyck stomped out of the store, almost colliding with Dorothea, who was looking around frantically. Upon seeing Arent in the gunpowder store, relief washed over her face. ‘Lieutenant Hayes, I’ve been searching for you. My mistress has news about the leper.’
29
Suspended by a rope tied to the mizzenmast, Crauwels emerged on to the roof of the governor general’s cabin, foamy water rushing by beneath him. He’d been inspecting the lower half of the hull for any traces of the leper’s passing.
‘Well, Captain?’ Sara Wessel called down to him from the poop deck.
‘They run all the way from the railing to the waterline,’ he hollered, sticking his fingers into the holes left by the leper’s ascent. ‘You were right, my lady. For any doubts I harboured last night, I apologise.’
Sara wasn’t typically vindictive, but the memory of Reynier van Schooten’s sneer rankled still. She spun on him. ‘And you, Chief Merchant? Do you still think I imagined the leper at my porthole?’
‘No,’ he grunted, kicking his own ankle. He was already swaying drunk, and though his clothes were on the right body parts, that was the best that could be said for them.
Last night Creesjie had claimed the chief merchant was in pain. Sara wondered what was causing it.