‘Like who?’
‘Them!’ exclaimed Van Schooten, throwing a hand towards the great cabin. ‘The thrice-damned nobility. I wanted what they had. I almost had it too.’ His head dropped, so his chin pressed against his chest. ‘I didn’t realise what they did to get it. How much they ask of you. What it costs.’
Arent took a step towards him. Old Tom offered a person their heart’s desire for a favour. He knew from Bosey’s warning on the docks that it planned to bring merciless ruin to the Saardam, and the ship’s master would be a fine ally in that cause.
‘What did it cost, Van Schooten?’ he demanded.
Van Schooten’s head snapped up. ‘What do you care? The boy who gave up being a Berg, to be what? What are you now? Pipps’s lapdog.’
‘What did it cost?’ persisted Arent.
Van Schooten laughed, pulling at his soiled clothing, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘I hate this Company, you know. Always have. Profit comes before principle, pride and people. My mama would have been ashamed to see me now. Would have been ashamed of what I’ve done.’
Arent was surprised to find common ground between them. His father would have been the same, he thought. Every Sunday at Mass, he’d railed against the United East India Company, calling it the ‘company of want’. It was his belief that everything needed by mankind had been freely given by God. Food hung on trees, grew in the soil and skipped through the forest. God’s bounty, given to them by birthright. It was the devil brought want, he preached. Tempting people with fripperies: sugar, tobacco, alcohol; things that distracted them, that disappeared too quickly, that always needed replacing, things to go mad chasing. In the United East India Company, he saw the devil’s hands at work, caging humanity with want, persuading them to buy their manacles new every month.
Arent hated his father, but he’d ended up half agreeing with the mad old bastard. He’d seen farmers work themselves to death in the fields, because they were paid a pittance for what they produced. Those who refused were forced. Those who stood in the way were murdered because progress demanded sacrifice.
Van Schooten was right. People didn’t matter to the Company. They were commodities like everything else: free to produce and cheap to replace. Only what they dug out of the ground had value.
‘You know what,’ slurred Van Schooten. ‘Truthfully, I’ll be glad when Old Tom pulls this ship to the bottom of the ocean. Isn’t anybody aboard worth saving.’
‘It’s not going to come to that,’ argued Arent.
‘Because you’re going to stop it?’ There was something almost pitying in his voice. ‘Pipps’s dancing bear thinks he’s the one holding the chain now. That’s rich.’ His eyes narrowed, his tone becoming sharp. ‘I heard a story about you. About the last case you took, something to do with a man named Edward Coil and a missing diamond.’
Arent tensed. ‘That was a long time ago,’ he said.
‘And the jewel was never recovered. Did you steal it, Arent? That’s what they say.’
‘I arrived in Lille three months after it was stolen. Sammy arrived a month after that. It was long gone. Coil had thousands of guilders in a case under his bed.’
‘Family wealth.’
‘That’s what Sammy discovered.’ Arent spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I made a mistake.’
‘What happened to Coil?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You ruined his good name, and you don’t know,’ hooted Van Schooten.
‘He fled before Sammy could reveal his innocence. We don’t know where he went.’
Arent felt somebody push by him. The overpowering pomander immediately told him it was Captain Crauwels.
‘Christ, Reynier,’ said Crauwels, looking down at Van Schooten pityingly. ‘What’s happened to you? You’ve been a donkey’s dick for the last two weeks.’
Van Schooten looked up at him pleadingly, tears welling.
‘I –’
He was interrupted by a clatter of footsteps, the door banging open as Isaack Larme burst inside.
‘It’s back, Captain,’ he said, out of breath. ‘The Eighth Lantern is back!’
39
No sooner was the cell door open than Sammy came scrambling out, sucking in the clean air. Despite the humidity, he was clammy. His eyes were large as plates, his hair lank, his breath rancid. He was clutching the vial of sleeping draught Sara had given him.
‘By God, it’s good to be out of there,’ he proclaimed, using Arent’s outstretched arm to clamber to his feet.
Arent tried to keep the despair from his face.
His only job was to keep Sammy Pipps from harm, but every hour he was locked in this cell was another hour he failed in that task. Yesterday, he’d been convinced his uncle’s affection for him would be enough to win Sammy’s freedom. Today, he knew it wouldn’t even parlay him a cabin.
As he had the night before, Sammy demanded that Arent turn his back when they reached the weather decks, so he could drop his breeches and relieve himself over the side of the ship.
‘Eighth Lantern’s back, I see,’ he said, counting the flames in the distance.
‘They’re putting a yawl in the water to investigate,’ said Arent. ‘If you hurry, we can watch them.’
‘Never rush a man while he’s on the privy,’ scolded Sammy, as a torrent of piss arced over the side of the ship. ‘Tell me what you’ve learned.’
‘I met the leper today. It led me to an altar it had built in the Saardam’s cargo hold.’
‘Is it still there? Can I inspect it?’
‘Captain Crauwels ordered it destroyed.’
‘Of course he did.’ He sighed. ‘Anything else?’
‘We think Bosey built smuggling compartments around the Saardam, and was in business with Isaack Larme, the first mate. We found –’
‘Who is we?’
‘Sara Wessel.’
‘Ah.’ His voice became knowing. ‘Sara Wessel.’
‘Yes, Sara Wessel.’
‘Very good.’
Arent blinked. ‘What’s very good?’
Sammy spread his arms joyfully. ‘You’re as dense as the mountains you were carved out of.’ He peered at his friend, lamenting the lost cause before him. ‘What was inside Larme’s secret compartment?’
‘It was empty. Larme had already got to it by the time we arrived, but he seemed surprised to see the marks of Old Tom around it.’
‘Then Old Tom may have used Bosey to smuggle something without Larme’s knowledge.’
‘And then killed him to keep from talking about it,’ agreed Arent. ‘Oh, and Reynier van Schooten has a secret that’s eating him from the inside out. We almost had it, but …’ He gestured to the Eighth Lantern.
Sammy pulled up his breeches, rejoining his friend. Arent gave him piece of the untouched bird he’d stolen from the dinner table, along with a hunk of bread and a jug of wine.
‘And I think I’ve found a way to make Johannes Wyck tell me why he cut out Bosey’s tongue,’ he said, as they crossed the waist.
‘How?’
‘I have to lose a fight.’
Sammy swallowed the bread he’d been eating. ‘Have you ever done that before?’
‘I think it’s like winning, except you fall over at the end.’
They were close enough now to see the yawl being lowered into the water. It was far larger than it had appeared when covered up, and had three benches inside, capable of seating three sailors each, with room enough at the prow for another to crouch. Obviously, Crauwels didn’t want to risk that many bodies, because there were only three people climbing down the rope ladder.
They did not look happy to be doing it.
Isaack Larme was clucking like a mother hen. ‘Row to within sighting distance, no closer,’ he said to them, genuine concern in his voice. ‘Take note of its colours and what language you hear being spoken on deck, best you can.’