However, they each have their favourites and the manoeuvring has begun. Once I die, I cannot guarantee the position.
Heed my advice and return to Amsterdam without delay. Bring your daughter, for she is of marriageable age and will serve you well when the bartering begins.
And 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
Sammy read the missive over Arent’s shoulder, becoming immediately awkward. Compassion wasn’t something he was versed in, being a man who saw bodies as clues and murder as an occupation, but he tapped his friend in a vague approximation of sympathy.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know you loved your grandfather. Hearing about this at the same time as –’
‘He’s not dying,’ interrupted Arent.
Sammy looked down at his impassive face.
‘It can be difficult –’
‘This parchment is dated a week before we sailed,’ he said, pointing to it. ‘It would have arrived in Batavia at the same time we did. I saw my grandfather a few days before we left Amsterdam. I was worried I might not survive the journey and I didn’t want him to think …’ Arent swallowed. ‘He was healthy, Sammy. Old, but not dying. He didn’t write this. He didn’t accuse you of being a spy.’
Sammy snatched the letter from his hand.
‘Then it was somebody who knew his mind intimately,’ said Sammy. ‘Was your uncle close to Emily de Haviland?’
‘He didn’t mention her, and far as I know their house fell into ruin long before my uncle’s stock rose far enough for them to have met. My grandfather might have known her. He’s about the right age.’
‘The letter mentions a great undertaking that was done. Any idea what that could be?’
‘My grandfather was friends with Jan Haan for years before I was born. They were even in business together briefly, though I don’t know what they did. They never told me, but it helped make both of them rich.’
Sammy rolled up the scroll, pressing the broken edges of the seal back together. ‘This is the official seal of the Gentlemen 17. Only the highest-ranking officials in the Company even know what it looks like, let alone how to forge the stamp, and even then, it has to be delivered by a trusted representative of the Company.’
‘Who could that be?’
Sammy blew a breath through his lips, throwing the ascension order back on the desk and walking over to inspect the wine mugs. ‘Vos could have done it, I suppose. Captain Crauwels. Reynier van Schooten. Me. They may not even be on the boat, any longer.’
‘Could Viscountess Dalvhain have delivered it?’ wondered Arent. ‘We know my uncle went to see her before he died. Maybe she wanted you in a cell, so you couldn’t investigate his murder.’
‘A fine notion,’ Sammy agreed. ‘If she had some connection to the Gentlemen 17 she certainly would have been trusted with the seal.’
‘My uncle was manoeuvred here, wasn’t he?’ said Arent suddenly. ‘Like Sander Kers. Old Tom wanted them both onboard.’
Sammy was sniffing the mugs again. ‘I doubt you’re here by accident either. Old Tom was your story. The mark is the same as your scar. Your father’s rosary was in the animal pens. The leper left you alive in the cargo hold. Everything that’s happening on this boat keeps coming back to you.’
‘But I’m only on this boat because you were locked up.’
‘Which brings us back to Dalvhain.’
Sammy considered the idea, while tipping the wine jug back and forth, and listening intently to the movement of liquid inside. He then upended the wine into an empty cup, watching the flow of liquid.
‘This is tainted,’ he said, peering into the cup. ‘Come, look.’
At first, Arent saw nothing, but Sammy drew the candle closer, revealing the viscous sediment that had settled on the bottom.
Using his fingertip, Sammy tasted it.
‘Can you identify it?’ asked Arent.
‘It’s the sleeping draught Sara gave me.’
‘Maybe my uncle took it, as well.’
‘And perhaps we should let the lady provide her own explanations,’ replied Sammy, opening the door and sauntering back into the great cabin. Everybody remained in the positions where they’d left them. Each was deep in their thoughts, their eyes unfocused. Fingers were tapping and feet jogging.
Sammy walked over to Sara, Lia and Creesjie, unobtrusively running his eyes across Isaack Larme’s clothes as he went. He stopped abruptly. ‘You have green paint flakes on your slops,’ he said, earning a scowl. ‘Why is that?’
‘None of your –’
‘Answer him,’ warned Van Schooten, who was standing at the windows with his hands behind his back.
Larme’s eyes were daggers. ‘I’m up and down this ship, aren’t I?’
‘The hull outside the governor general’s cabin is painted green.’
‘Aye, as is the forecastle, which is where I spend most of my time.’
Sammy watched his face for a moment longer than was comfortable, until Larme swore and stormed out of the room. Once he was gone, Sammy turned his attention to Sara. ‘Did your husband take a sleeping draught before bed?’
‘No,’ said Sara, reaching for the hands of Lia and Creesjie. ‘I was drugging my husband’s wine, so Creesjie could steal the plans to The Folly.’
She spoke as though this was perfectly reasonable. Creesjie picked up the tale.
‘Each night, I’d put one sheet in a scroll case attached to the inside of my gown, and then deliver them to Lia who would scribe a copy. I’d return it the next night, and do the same again.’
‘Why would Lia –’
‘I invented The Folly, Mr Pipps,’ said Lia, lowering her eyes, as if ashamed of the fact.
Van Schooten almost fell over.
‘I invent lots of things,’ shrugged Lia, glancing at him. ‘The Folly wasn’t my favourite, but my father seemed to like it.’
‘I intended on selling the plans to the duke Creesjie is going to marry, in return for sanctuary in France, along with my wealth and freedom,’ said Sara, her tone unwavering. ‘It seemed a small price to pay. I understand that you must suspect me, but, you see, there was really no reason for me to risk killing my husband.’
Silence descended on the company.
‘I thought I was marrying a count,’ said Creesjie quietly.
71
By a single candle in his cabin, Reynier van Schooten inspected the revised list of victuals in the hold. His head was in his hands, his temples throbbing. They’d lost most of their supplies to the storm. Even if they could find their way back to charted waters, they wouldn’t have enough to reach the Cape. The best they could hope for was a safe return to Batavia, wasting an entire shipment of spice.
The Gentlemen 17 wouldn’t care about devils, or storms. They cared only for the number in the ledger, and these numbers would not please them. Chief merchants were responsible for the cargo they delivered, and when it was lost, they were expected to earn back the loss. He was going to spend the rest of his life as an indentured servant to the Company.
Years of experience had taught him to treat a crossing from Batavia to Amsterdam with the utmost caution. He knew the dangers of the voyage, as he’d known the fleet would scatter, making resupply uncertain. Why had he agreed when the governor general demanded the extra cargo space?