He was coming apart at the seams.
‘You accused my wife of hysteria, Van Schooten,’ said the governor general sternly, earning a sharp glance from Sara, who remembered her husband agreeing with the chief merchant’s assessment. ‘And now you can’t even stand here sober. An apology is in order.’
Van Schooten shifted miserably.
‘I apologise, my lady,’ he mumbled.
Feeling ashamed of her pettiness, Sara looked towards the taffrail, where Arent was helping Crauwels over the side. The captain immediately inspected his beautiful clothes for marks and smudges, tutting at a tar blot on his shirt with profound regret.
‘Your apology is welcome, Chief Merchant,’ she said. ‘But, of greater concern, is what you plan to do next.’
‘This isn’t a matter for you, Sara,’ interrupted the governor general, waving her away with those sharp fingernails. ‘I’m certain you have other duties to attend.’
‘Husband –’
The governor general gestured to Guard Captain Drecht. ‘Escort my wife back to her cabin,’ he commanded.
‘Come, my lady,’ said Drecht, adjusting his sword.
Frustrated, Sara reluctantly fell in step behind the guard captain. She’d only bothered calling everybody on to the deck because she wanted to watch their reaction to the handprints being discovered.
Her husband had been startled, while Vos had waited quietly by the animal pens, obviously annoyed at being dragged from his work. If the handprints disturbed him, he didn’t show it. Drecht – who had so stridently claimed not to believe in devils – had blanched, but otherwise kept his own counsel.
Arent had loomed over them, listening to her story the way a mountain must listen to the wind howling around it. He’d been impossible to read. He didn’t fidget; he didn’t pace. His face was as expressive as armour. She supposed that was what happened when you worked with a man who could read your every thought from a twitch of the lips.
Drecht was moving languidly down the steps to the quarterdeck and Sara had to fight the urge to push by him. Instead, she watched as storeyed ranks of his musketeers slashed at the air with their blades. It was a curious sight, like they were beating back an invisible army.
‘This is your investigation, Arent,’ came the governor general’s voice from behind her. ‘What do you recommend we do next?’
‘We should search the ship for leper’s rags,’ he responded.
‘You saw the handprints,’ replied Vos. ‘They climbed out of the water, straight up the hull to the porthole. Likely, the leper went back the same way. That’s why we didn’t catch sight of it.’
‘Maybe, but Sammy Pipps suggested we search the ship and he’s right more often than he’s wrong.’
At the bottom of the steps, Drecht opened the red door to the passenger cabins and politely gestured to Sara to go ahead.
Lifting the hem of her dress, she stepped into the gloom.
A commotion erupted from the ranks of the musketeers, interrupting the conversation above. Two were fighting, the others immediately forming a whistling, jeering circle around them.
‘That’s Thyman,’ snarled Drecht, already taking a step towards them. ‘He can’t seem to keep himself out of trouble lately. With your permission, my lady?’
‘Of course,’ she said, glad to watch him rush into the fray.
Sara slipped into her cabin and latched the door, before flying to the porthole. The poop deck was directly above her, and, as she’d expected, she could hear everything they were saying.
‘Captain, organise the search for the leper’s rags,’ said her husband. ‘I want this ship shaken out like a pocket.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Footsteps carried him away. A moment later he was hollering for Isaack Larme.
‘Do you truly believe somebody on this ship is pretending to be a dead leper?’ asked Reynier van Schooten doubtfully.
‘Sammy does,’ corrected Arent. ‘And whoever it is, they’ve put a great deal of effort into the charade.’
‘Then how can Pipps be so certain this isn’t Bosey returned?’ wondered Van Schooten, sounding worried. ‘When I was a boy, a witch visited unholy terrors upon my village. Every evening, the children gathered in the woods, singing her name. Tame animals went rabid. Milk soured and crops were blighted.’
There was a contemplative pause, then her husband’s voice rang out.
‘What’s your thinking on this matter, Vos?’
‘There are powers upon this earth Samuel Pipps is hardly the equal of, and I’ll confess they make more sense to me than his far-flung theory.’ There was a tremor in his usually dull monotone. ‘Those handprints charred the wood. The leper’s fingers were strong enough to puncture the hull. Disguised or nay, that’s not a human feat.’
Arent made a sound to object but Vos spoke over him. ‘And if it’s a disguise, it’s a damn poor one,’ he added. ‘A leper arouses terror and rage wherever it goes. Where’s the benefit of dressing like one?’
‘Those are the questions Sammy usually asks, and answers,’ remarked Arent. ‘Whatever his crimes in Batavia, they’re of no importance now.’
‘An easy assertion for somebody who doesn’t know what they are,’ replied her husband. She knew this contemplative tone. He’d have closed his eyes and would be massaging his brow, trying to coax his thoughts forward.
When he spoke again, it was with the authority of somebody hearing God’s words in his ear. ‘I’m calling the fleet to a halt, Chief Merchant,’ he ordered. ‘Have the captains of every ship scour their hulls for any sign of this leper’s passing and tell them to search their vessels for these rags. They will report to me personally at eight bells, is that understood?’
The company murmured its assent.
‘Then you’re dismissed. Vos, abide a moment, we must speak.’
The wind came blowing into Sara’s cabin, the breeze strong enough to urge a note from her harp. Steps thudded across the deck above, the animals making a racket in their pens. The stairs crackled, voices fading.
Sara waited expectantly, her heart racing. She couldn’t imagine what her husband would do if he caught her eavesdropping, but the act was thrilling. There were so few ways to defy him safely, but, somehow, she’d managed it twice today.
‘You did well back there,’ he complimented Vos.
‘Thank you, my lord.’
There was a pause. It drew on and on. Sara would have believed they’d left, but she could hear her husband’s long fingernails scratching the wood – a sure sign that he was worried.
‘Do you know the problem with summoning a devil, Vos?’ he said, at last.
Sara’s breath lodged in her throat.
‘I can imagine one or two, sir,’ he responded drily.
‘They get loose.’ Her husband sighed, troubled. ‘Old Tom made me into the man I am’ – Sara had to cover her mouth to stifle a gasp of shock – ‘and now it appears somebody else on this ship has brought it aboard. The question is who’s behind it, and what do they want?’
‘Everything is occurring exactly as it did thirty years ago, my lord. I would suggest a bargain will be offered soon. For our part, we must anticipate what it will demand, and what we’re willing to pay.’
‘I’d prefer not to pay at all. It’s been a long time since anybody forced me to do anything. Did you assemble the names I asked for?’
‘As far as I could remember them. It’s been some time since we set Old Tom loose. They’re on your desk, though … if I might be so bold …’
‘What is it, Vos?’
‘There appears, if I may say, one obvious candidate.’
‘Arent,’ supplied the governor general.
‘It can’t be a coincidence that the mark appeared when he returned.’
‘I understand the implications, though I struggle to see a reason.’