Cold rain was beginning to fall. Cracks of sunshine could be seen here and there, but it couldn’t break through the black clouds.
It was an ill omen, they whispered.
Standing next to Creesjie and Lia, Sara watched the congregation become restless. A devil had whispered to her in the night. It had whispered to Sara and Lia, and it had no doubt whispered to these people as well. From the guilty looks on their faces, it was obvious that they’d been tempted.
She wondered if they’d been given the same offer as her, Creesjie and Lia.
I will place the dagger under his bunk. That’s what the voice had said.
Her eyes travelled beyond the mainmast. Sailors watched them, their gazes predatory. How many of them had come out this morning, expecting to see the governor general among the congregation? How many of them were thinking of killing him? What had they been offered to do it? Watching their eyes paw Creesjie and Lia, she suspected she knew the answer.
Johannes Wyck was up on the forecastle deck. She didn’t know why he’d chosen that spot. He wouldn’t have been able to hear the sermon, though it gave him a good view over the passengers.
Had he heard Old Tom’s voice last night? Part of her assumed Wyck and the devil were in more regular contact than that.
Isabel pushed through the crowd towards Sara. ‘I’ve searched the orlop deck,’ she said, flustered. ‘I can’t find Sander. Nobody’s seen him.’
‘Arent’s berth is beside his,’ said Sara. ‘Perhaps he knows something.’
Creesjie coughed, gesturing for Sara to delay a moment. ‘Before you talk to Arent, I have something you should see. Last night, in your husband’s cabin, I spotted a parchment folded up in his breastplate. You know I’ve been curious as to why Pipps is imprisoned … well.’ She handed her a piece of vellum. ‘I copied this while Jan slept.’
Sara read, as rain blotted the words.
Put manacles on Samuel Pipps. I’ve come across accusations that he’s a spy for the English. Not only a traitor to our noble enterprise, but our nation. It’s not yet common knowledge, but I’ve verified the claims and will put them before my fellows soon. Execution awaits. Drag him before the Gentlemen 17 and your position will be vastly improved. Do these things and come quickly.
Yours in expectation,
Casper van den Berg
‘Pipps is a spy?’ gasped Sara.
‘You can’t show this to Arent,’ warned Creesjie. ‘If your husband were to find out I was stealing documents from his cabin he’d throw me over the side of the ship.’
‘Then I’ll devise some other lie to explain it,’ said Sara. ‘Arent has to know about this, Creesjie. He worships Pipps.’
The four women went to the compartment under the half deck, but Sara found herself hovering on the threshold. Her husband had strictly forbidden her from seeing Arent, or talking to him again. She’d given him a double dose of her draught, which meant he should still be asleep. Even so, it was a risk to defy him so openly.
Vos could be abroad, and his eyes were practically her husband’s.
Her heart tugged her forward and her fear backwards. If she were to carry on investigating Old Tom, she’d need a way to go about inconspicuously. She looked at Lia. ‘Would you go to the helm, dear heart, and keep watch for your father, Vos or Drecht.’
Lia grinned. ‘This is like being in one of Pipps’s stories,’ she said, taking her position.
The curtain surrounding Arent’s berth was open, revealing him snoring on a mat. The floor around him was wet with recent cleaning, but a faint odour still hung in the air.
‘Oh my, the fun you’d have,’ said Creesjie, eyeing Arent’s huge chest and thick arms. Sara blushed.
‘Arent,’ said Sara softly, trying to wake him.
He didn’t stir.
‘Arent!’ Sara kicked the bottom of his foot impatiently. ‘Wake up.’
‘Isssss early,’ he slurred, moving his leg out of range. ‘I only just … was asleep.’
‘Sander Kers is missing. We need your help.’
Arent came around grudgingly, wiping his blurred eyes to peer up at them. The smell of paprika hung thick in the air. Somebody must have broken open a case in the cargo hold.
‘Sander went shuffling out of here first thing,’ he said, coming up on his elbows. ‘I heard his steps on the staircase down to the orlop deck.’
‘I’ve searched the orlop deck,’ said Isabel accusingly.
Arent sat up, resting his head in his hands tiredly. ‘Maybe he went down to the cargo hold, or past the divide? Have you searched afore the mainmast?’
‘I’m not allowed that far,’ said Isabel frantically.
‘I’ll go ask after him,’ he said. ‘Soon as I work out how to put my boots on.’
Sara gave him the parchment Creesjie had scribed. ‘Before you do that, read this,’ she said. ‘It’s a letter from your grandfather to my husband. It explains why Sammy is imprisoned.’
Becoming alert, he took the missive, reading it twice. He laughed, suddenly. ‘I don’t know how my grandfather came by this information, but it’s a lie. Sammy isn’t a spy.’ Arent’s tone was amused. ‘He’d be useless at spying. He doesn’t care for nations or kings. He cares about coin in his pocket, and interesting puzzles.’
‘Ask him about it,’ requested Sara. ‘And don’t tell my husband what you know. I stole it from his cabin.’
Arent dropped the note out of the window, the wind carrying it away. ‘Of course not. Thank you Sara,’ he said.
Sara, Lia, Isabel and Creesjie returned to the deck, where the rain had grown spiteful enough to wash away the disappointed congregation. ‘We still don’t know for certain Arent isn’t the demon,’ said Isabel.
‘He isn’t,’ said Sara, her tone ending any further debate.
Her certainty took them all by surprise, but she faced their doubt down. Two days in Arent’s company and she already knew him more deeply than she knew her husband after fifteen years of marriage.
‘Trust me, if Sander can be found, Arent will find him,’ she said. ‘We should talk to Reynier van Schooten, though. He was begging confession from Sander. He may know where the predikant went this morning.’
‘Can we send the boys inside first?’ said Creesjie, as they were pelted by rain. ‘It isn’t very welcoming out here any more.’
Marcus and Osbert were on the quarterdeck, chasing each other in circles, playing some variation of tag only they knew the rules to. Dorothea was watching them fretfully, believing they would eventually run straight through the gaps in the railings and over the edge of the ship.
Considering the boys’ gift for mishap, it wasn’t an unfounded concern.
They were at the foot of the stairs when the boys came running down under instruction from Dorothea. ‘Think we best be getting inside, mistress,’ she said, her white cap held tight in her hand against the wind.
Sara caught her arm.
‘Could you find time today to make me some practical clothes, Dorothea?’ She gestured to Isabel’s loose cotton shirt and hemp skirt. ‘Something like those. And I’d need a hat, a bonnet or something with a brim that covers my face and hair.’
‘A disguise, you mean?’ said Dorothea, who had experience of such things, having helped Sara sneak out of the fort on more than one occasion.
‘Exactly.’
‘I’ll have to sacrifice a dress or two,’ she warned.
‘Tear up whatever you need,’ said Sara.
After Dorothea had ushered the boys inside, Creesjie cleared her throat awkwardly.
‘Sara …’ she began in an enquiring voice.