‘Sammy?’
‘Battle stations!’ said Sammy, whirling on him. ‘An Indiaman on an eight-month voyage will call battle stations at least half a dozen times. Vos knew that, so he planned accordingly. It didn’t matter when he retrieved The Folly, as long as it was before we arrived in Amsterdam, so he hid the pieces in the kegs, then waited. The first time battle stations were called, he dressed in a sailor’s garb, then followed two accomplices into the gunpowder store. In the confusion, nobody would have noticed him under a hat.’
‘Why two accomplices?’ wondered Sara. ‘Why wouldn’t he take all three himself?’
‘He couldn’t risk somebody taking one of the kegs he wanted before he got it.’
Arent marched towards the door.
‘Where are you going?’ demanded Sammy.
‘To tell my uncle.’
‘He won’t listen.’ Sammy rushed after him. ‘Arent, stop! Your uncle won’t heed you. Vos is his most trusted servant. He wouldn’t believe this of him any more than he’d believe the Saardam could grow wings and fly. We need proof.’
‘They’re about to flog an innocent man,’ growled Arent, staring up the staircase. ‘A good man.’
‘He won’t be the last,’ said Sammy sorrowfully. ‘Besides, our theory doesn’t exonerate your friend. If anything, it puts him deeper in the conspiracy. Vos’s scheme would have been better served by paying the constable to put aside the kegs he wanted. If you try to tell the governor general what you suspect, it will alert Vos. If you stay quiet and watch, he’ll do something foolish. He’ll give you what you want.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Sara.
‘Because murderers can’t help but murder. Blackmailers can’t help but blackmail and thieves can’t help but thieve,’ said Sammy. ‘It’s the itch. The itch is what kills them all.’
Arent sagged.
Sammy was right, as usual.
Guilt was like dirt. It got under the skin and didn’t come clean. It made people second guess everything that was done, find fault where there was none and imagine mistakes that weren’t made. Soon enough, worries were worming out of them, growing fat on their doubt. Before long they were on their hands and knees at the crime scene, searching for clues they hadn’t left.
Sammy had caught a lot of guilty bodies because of the itch.
‘So what the hell do I do now?’ asked Arent.
‘The one thing you’re very bad at doing,’ said Sammy. ‘Nothing. Keep an eye on Vos. If he has accomplices as we suspect, the knowledge of the missing Folly will almost certainly send him scurrying to them, or them to him. Once that happens, you’ll have everything you need.’
‘Including Old Tom,’ added Sara. Seeing their curious faces, she added, ‘Sander said there would be three unholy miracles, each identified by the Mark of Old Tom. When the Eighth Lantern slaughtered the cattle, it left the Mark of Old Tom on the ground. That mark’s here again. If Vos did it, then maybe we’ve found our possessed passenger.’
‘Or he heard one of the whispers in the dark,’ disagreed Arent. ‘This could have been the price demanded for –’
From above them, the drums stopped.
50
Arent took a bottle of wine from his trunk and walked through the compartment under the half deck, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare.
Lia and Sara were still tending the injured on the orlop deck, and Sammy had returned to his cell, fearful of being noticed now the commotion was at an end. Arent had wanted to escort him, but he couldn’t let the constable suffer alone. For some reason, he felt responsible for what was happening to the old man.
The crew were packed tight on the waist, waiting silently. Dressed in slops, their torsos bare, it was difficult to pick one sailor from the next. Some were tall, others short, but life at sea had whittled them all down into the same malnourished shape, strong-shouldered and bow-legged, ruined for any other task.
The constable was having the shirt torn from his back, while Drecht waited nearby with the lash coiled in his hand. Evidently, the governor general had decided to give this job to somebody he trusted.
‘Please, sirs,’ the constable cried out. ‘I swear by my five daughters I didn’t do this, I didn’t –’
Voices urged him to be quiet, worried that his flailing tongue would earn him another dozen lashes.
Arent pushed towards him, whispered threats rising out of the crowd.
This wasn’t me, he wanted to tell them. I objected to this. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. By the crew’s reckoning, there was only them and us. Passengers and crew. Rich and poor. Officers and common sailors.
Didn’t matter how he dressed or how he spoke, Arent was one of them.
The only difference was that the others were gathered on the quarterdeck above, watching the performance below like they were in their boxes at the damn theatre.
His uncle was standing next to Vos, who was watching proceedings without emotion. It would be better if he was malevolent, Arent thought. Better if there were some enjoyment. Hate, malice, anything. But there was none of that. His face was passive. Those luminous green eyes were devoid of any feeling.
Captain Crauwels and the rest of the officers were standing behind, their postures suggesting in the strongest possible terms that they had nothing to do with any of this.
Only Van Schooten was missing. Apparently, the chief merchant had chosen to seclude himself in his cabin with a bottle of wine until it was over.
Emerging from the crowd, Isaack Larme whispered to the constable. ‘Courage,’ he said. ‘I’ll see that you get double rations when you’re done.’
The constable’s eyes caught Arent’s approach and became wild with panic.
‘Hayes!’ pleaded the constable, tears running down his grizzled cheeks. ‘Please, sir, don’t let ’em do this. I’ve not the strength.’
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ said Arent gently. He turned around, then lifted the hem of his shirt so the constable could see the scars on his back. ‘There’s fifty lashes on there and I screamed from the first to the last. You should do the same. Scream as loud as you can, else the pain’s got nowhere to go.’
He uncorked the wine and tipped it to the constable’s lips, only pulling the jug away when the man spluttered for breath. ‘Comes a day for bastards like the governor general and Vos,’ said Arent. ‘But it isn’t today. Today you have to endure them, understand? You’ve got the strength and you’ve got five daughters to get home for.’
The constable nodded, seeming to take courage from the thought.
Because of the constable’s missing arm, the sailors were unable to tie his hands around the mast, so they were using his waist instead, his belly sagging over the ropes. With each pass around, they apologised under their breath to the helpless old man.
Arent placed the jug of wine on the deck where the constable’s eyes could cling to it. ‘Rest of this bottle’s yours when this is over.’
Arent stepped away, watching as Drecht stuffed the constable’s mouth with a mound of dirty hemp. Whatever he thought about this, he didn’t let it show. He was just a soldier going about his duty.
Wind snapped the sails. The waves slapped the hull. Everybody was staring at the governor general, waiting for this sharp, thin creature to pass his sentence.
‘A heinous crime has been committed,’ he said, once the constable was gagged. ‘Something of great value has been stolen.’ He gave the accusation time to settle. ‘I believe the constable to be the culprit, but I do not believe he acted alone. Until the stolen object is returned, a random member of the crew will be lashed every morning, every day.’