The sailors howled in protest.
The governor general has just set fire to the Saardam, thought Arent.
‘Twenty hard lashes whenever you’re ready, Guard Captain,’ demanded the governor general, nodding to the drummer to begin again.
Drecht uncoiled the lash and drew back his arm.
He timed his strike to match the beat of the drum. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. Knowing when the pain was coming would help the constable brace himself for it.
The whip cracked, ripping into the constable’s flesh, bringing a scream of agony and groans of disgust as blood splattered the faces of the nearby sailors.
‘Does anybody wish to confess or admit knowledge of this crime?’ said the governor general, making the offer of a drawn-out, painful, death sound benevolent.
Meeting no response, Drecht raised the whip again.
Twenty were ordered and twenty were given, despite the constable collapsing unconscious after twelve.
It was a mercy.
When all was done, Drecht dropped the lash on the ground.
A cold breeze was swirling, raising goosebumps on the constable’s skin, which was now slick with sweat.
Arent took out his dagger and sawed through the ropes binding the old man to the mast, catching his limp body before it fell. Gentle as he could, he carried him through the crowd and towards the sickberth.
The drumbeat stopped, the crew dispersing back to their duties, carrying their hatred with them.
High up on the quarterdeck, Vos watched them go with his hands clasped behind his back, his face a veil, his thoughts shifting darkly behind it.
51
Hunched over her writing desk, Lia hummed happily as she copied the artificer’s instructions from one parchment to another. The original was by her left hand and it was covered in odd sketches of cogs and tracks, suns and moons and stars, instructions written in Latin. Most people wouldn’t have thought the symbols any less infernal than those in the daemonologica.
Not that Lia let herself be distracted by such thoughts. She concentrated on what was before her, for it was an exacting document, perfect in every detail. It had taken her three weeks to scribe the original in Batavia, each blotted letter, drop of sweat and smear of ink reminding her of that awful period. Despite the terrible heat, her father had confined her to a locked room, refusing to allow her to leave until the work was done.
Lia hadn’t been allowed any company, for fear it would distract her into making a mistake, but her mama came anyway, singing softly, cradling her when she was tired, and hiding under the bed when her father came. Even now, the thought of her mother, emerging from under the bed covered in dust, filled her with such an overwhelming love, she almost had no place for it.
There was an insistent knocking.
Lia quickly began covering everything up, but Creesjie’s voice quelled her panic. ‘It’s me, dear heart,’ she said, opening the door a crack and slipping through quickly.
Behind her, Lia saw Marcus and Osbert playing with the pair of spinning dancers she’d made for them in Batavia. They were chasing them up and down the corridor under Dorothea’s supervision. The boys thought them magic. Lia thought them a nimble piece of woodworking. Sometimes she wished she were young enough to share in their glee. Her mother had tried to occupy her, but the fort had been a lonely place for a little girl to grow up.
Still, it had given her more time to build.
Coming up to the writing desk, Creesjie picked up the almost-finished model of the Saardam, turning it around in her hands. It was perfect in every detail. Even the string rigging was in order.
‘Is that what Sara asked you to build?’ she asked, amazed.
‘Yes,’ said Lia. She reached over, removing a hidden clasp that allowed the ship to break in half. Within, Creesjie could make out all the decks. Lia tugged open a small door.
‘I’ve calculated the spaces in the hull where a smuggler’s compartment could be built and cargo stored without it affecting the ballast of the ship.’
‘There are dozens,’ said Creesjie.
‘Yes,’ agreed Lia.
Putting the wooden ship down, Creesjie stared at the plans scattered around her desk, running an affectionate hand through Lia’s long black hair. ‘You’re a wonder to me,’ she said. ‘You make such miracles.’
Lia blushed, enjoying the compliment.
Smoothing her dress, Creesjie sat down on the edge of bunk. ‘I wanted to …’ She reconsidered. ‘I shall see your father tonight. Should I bring back more plans?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Lia, sifting through documents. ‘I need another hour or more on these, but then I’ll be done.’
Creesjie coughed awkwardly. ‘I never asked whether you were … I mean, are you comfortable with what we’re doing?’
‘Comfortable?’ asked Lia, tipping her head in almost exactly the same way her mother did when she was uncertain of what was being asked of her.
‘Is it what you want?’ asked Creesjie forthrightly. ‘Your mother’s been very adamant, but I thought, perhaps, you might have some other ideas.’
‘Mama says if I go back to Amsterdam, Father will eventually make me marry somebody I don’t want to,’ said Lia, struggling to see Creesjie’s point.
‘Your mother says that,’ said Creesjie, leaning forward. ‘What do you think? Do you think it’s bad to marry somebody chosen for you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lia carefully, this entire conversation a labyrinth. ‘You’ve had arranged marriages before, haven’t you?’
‘My first. The second I chose. And, perhaps, the third if I throw over Count Astor for Vos.’
‘He’s a duke, Aunt Creesjie.’
‘Vos said he was a count.’
‘I’m certain he would have said a duke. He’s usually quite reliable.’
‘Well, then, I’d be tossing away a duke,’ continued Creesjie, waving the rank away.
‘But I thought you hated Vos?’
‘Yes, part of me does,’ she acknowledged, her tone suggesting that part of her was of little importance. ‘He always struck me as the smallest of men, but his proposal is very appealing. And it shows an ambition I didn’t think he had, which was the thing I disliked most about him.’
‘But you don’t love him,’ said Lia, puzzled.
‘Oh, you truly are your mother’s daughter,’ said Creesjie, watching her affectionately. ‘Love can be feigned, dear heart. You can even convince yourself of it, if you try hard enough, but it’s impossible to spend an imaginary fortune. Marriage is an inconvenient convenience. It’s the shackle we accept for our safety.’
‘Mama says she’d rather be free than wealthy in a cage.’
‘An argument we frequently enjoy,’ Creesjie snorted. ‘Unlike your mother, I don’t believe women can be free, not while men are stronger. What use is the freedom to be assaulted in the first dark alley we come across? We can’t fight, so we sing, we dance – and we survive. Cornelius Vos adores me, and, if he becomes wealthy, he would make for a fine marriage. My sons will be well educated, protected and heirs to a future worthy of them. If I cast off that protection for some imaginary freedom, what will become of them? Where will they live, how will they eat, what will their future be? And what of myself? I’d be at the mercy of any lustful man who had the strength to put his hands upon me. No, no, no. Marriage is the price I pay for the privilege of nobility and I consider the price well spent. Poverty is the most dangerous thing for a woman. We’re not well suited to a life on the streets.’