‘Or Vos was Old Tom,’ speculated Creesjie. ‘Could that have been it?’
‘I caught him carving its mark on to the crates,’ supplied Arent. The others could barely understand him. His words were running together. ‘But he denied being our devil. He said fear was a great cover for a crime.’
‘Come with me, Arent,’ said Sara, worried. ‘We need to get you to your berth.’
‘I’m going to see Sammy first. Can somebody tell my uncle about Vos? Let him believe Vos stole The Folly. I don’t want another innocent person getting flogged.’
As he staggered off, Sara ran after him. He was having to balance against the wall to stay upright.
‘Will you be okay?’ she asked.
He laughed grimly. ‘It’s been a long day and a lot of people have tried to kill me.’ He considered it. ‘Vos may, or may not, have been Old Tom, a demon which may, or may not, exist. If it does exist, it was summoned by my uncle – a man I loved once, but who now seems to be a vindictive, callous, murdering bastard. Vos has treasure stolen from a family Old Tom destroyed nearly thirty years ago; my newest friend butchered an island full of people; and we’re a solitary unholy miracle away from everybody being slaughtered, according to the prophecies of a murdered predikant. Worst of all, the only man who could hammer a beam to this mess is locked away in the dark under false accusation from my grandfather, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to help him.’
With that, he collapsed.
60
The governor general was disturbed by three polite knocks on his cabin door, which he recognised from their swiftness as belonging to Guard Captain Drecht.
‘Come, Drecht,’ he said.
After two weeks of being pecked at by his own thoughts, the governor general had become whiskery and gaunt, with deep, dark circles under his eyes. What little weight he’d carried from Batavia had fallen away, leaving a body made of bones and will.
He was working by the light of a solitary candle, comparing the list of people Old Tom had possessed and the passenger manifest. An old debt was being called in, and somebody onboard was responsible. The Mark of Old Tom had been daubed on to the sail to let him know his past had swallowed his present, and was now coiling around his future. He’d trusted Arent would put a sword through Old Tom before that happened, but he hadn’t given him enough information. Arent was strong and clever, but even he couldn’t fight with a hood over his head.
Jan Haan carried few regrets, but lying to Arent all these years was one of them. The past was poisoned ground, that’s what Casper van den Berg had taught him. God chose every individual’s path, so what use was worrying about those who fell by the wayside, those you hurt or caused to be hurt, those who had to fall so you could climb?
The governor general believed this, but he’d longed to tell Arent the truth about the forest and his father, and the bargain that had been struck. So armed, Arent would surely have discovered who was threatening this ship, but the secret was buried too deep. Try as he might, Jan Haan couldn’t tug it loose.
And now Old Tom had stolen The Folly.
His ascension into the ranks of the Gentlemen 17 was predicated on delivering that device to them. It was the only reason they’d looked past their distaste for him in the first place.
He couldn’t return to Amsterdam empty-handed.
He wasn’t sure if the constable had bargained with the devil or was innocent, as Arent insisted. It didn’t matter. Fear was contagious. The crew had seen what he’d done to the constable and they knew it would be one of them tomorrow. In their foul hearts, one of them held the information he needed. After enough of them had bled, they would bring it to him.
In the meantime, he stared at the manifest and the list of possessed souls. Old Tom was on this boat, and Old Tom always bargained. The governor general just had to work out what to tempt him with.
Drecht jangled into the room, dragging a heavy sack behind him. Halfway inside, it tipped over, a cup tumbling across the floor and landing at the governor general’s feet. He scooped it up and held it to the light. Turning it over, he saw the crest on the other side.
‘Dijksma,’ he murmured.
‘You know it, sir?’
‘From long ago. Where did you come by it?’
Guard Captain Drecht straightened and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. This was the posture he always adopted before delivering bad news. ‘Your nephew recovered it from Cornelius Vos, sir. He identified Vos as The Folly’s thief, but Vos tried to kill him.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘Vos is dead, sir. Killed by the leper.’
‘And Arent?’ he asked in concern.
‘A fever has him, my lord.’ Drecht’s face twitched beneath his beard. ‘He’s being tended to.’
The governor general leant back in his chair. ‘Poor Vos. Ambition is a burden few can carry. I’m afraid his crushed him.’ He shook his head. ‘He was an excellent administrator.’ And there ended his eulogy, for his thoughts had already moved on.
‘Was the Folly recovered?’
‘No sir.’
Haan cursed. ‘How did he steal it?’
‘Apparently, he hid the three pieces in three separate kegs, then had accomplices roll them out when battle stations were called.’
‘Three?’ he murmured. It had taken three of them to summon Old Tom all those years ago. That couldn’t be a coincidence. ‘The others must have turned on him. Do we have these accomplices?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘Then flog two men at the mainmast each day. I want them found.’ He drummed the table with his sharp fingernails.
Vos had betrayed him. Could it really be so simple? It had always struck him as a waste to kill those you’d defeated, for how else would they understand the totality of their loss. Mercy, he believed, was the gravest wound you could inflict, for it was the only one that wouldn’t heal. Had that mercy back in the Provinces brought this upon him? Would it also point the way out?
He looked out of his porthole at the full moon, prowling behind tattered white clouds.
‘Old Tom,’ he muttered, as if he saw the devil’s face floating there. ‘We should have been more careful,’ he said to nobody in particular. ‘We should have known that something that powerful would get free of us eventually. That’s the problem with summoning demons, you see. Sooner or later somebody else raises them against you.’
Drecht’s face moved from bafflement to concern as the governor general’s gaze drifted to the names of those the demon had possessed over the years.
Bastiaan Bos
Tukihiri
Gillis van de Ceulen
Hector Dijksma
Emily de Haviland
‘Who were his collaborators?’ he muttered, comparing the names to those on the passenger manifest. ‘Where are you hiding, my devil?’
His eyes widened in surprise, as specific letters swam into focus. For two weeks, he had stared at these two documents, trying to drag out information that was being given to him plain. How had he missed what was so obvious?
‘This isn’t about The Folly,’ he said sickly. His face had gone pale. He ran a trembling hand across his eyes, then looked up at the worried guard captain. ‘Come, Drecht, we’re going to the passenger cabins.’
Outside, rain tapped the wood, as if trying to get inside. The ship groaned unnervingly. It hadn’t been the same since the storm. The creaks had become shrieks, the rigging messier, like a broken cobweb.
Like everything on this ship, the solidity had been an illusion. They’d encased themselves in wood and nails, throwing themselves into the sea, believing their courage would see them safe. And then their enemy had raised its hand and showed them how foolish they’d been.