Money, he thought with loathing. More than he’d ever seen, with the promise of more to come.
He’d worked his way from clerk to chief merchant without sponsor or favour, doing the work with a competence that couldn’t be ignored. His superiors had promoted him regretfully over their second cousins and brothers, allowing him to climb above those who sneered at him when he’d stayed in the counting rooms late, tending his accounts, always believing that one day he’d have his reward.
The governor general’s offer had seemed like a shortcut to that. One more voyage, and he’d never have to accept another crossing. There would be no more sleepless nights being harried by pirates. No more tropical maladies. No more arguments with greedy fools like Crauwels.
He could end his career before a wreck ended it for him.
But once he’d agreed to that, it had been easy to agree to the rest. That’s how the governor general worked. He handed you a coin covered in honey and before you knew it, you were stuck. Then he put the coin – and the greedy merchant – back in his pocket to be used whenever he needed them.
Van Schooten thumped the ledger, blotting his hand with ink. He was glad the bastard was dead. He was glad Cornelius Vos was dead. He only wished Emily de Haviland – whoever she was – had killed Guard Captain Drecht and completed the set. They’d brought nothing but bad fortune to this ship.
Knocks thudded through his door.
‘Go away,’ he hollered.
‘What was the secret cargo the governor general brought aboard?’ yelled Drecht.
Van Schooten slowly put down his quill. His legs were water.
‘If you make me break down this door, it will go badly for you,’ growled Drecht.
Pushing out his chair, Van Schooten went like a condemned man to the door. It had opened a crack when Drecht’s hand shot inside, crushing his throat.
His blue eyes bore into the helpless merchant, his face savage. He looked like a wolf fallen on a hare.
‘What was the cargo, Van Schooten? You helped him bring it aboard, and you know where it’s kept. What is it? Is it important enough for somebody to kill him for?’
‘It was treasure,’ gasped Van Schooten, trying in vain to peel Drecht’s fingers from his throat. ‘More treasure than … than I’d ever seen.’
‘Show me,’ snarled Drecht.
They went immediately, stopping only once for Drecht to whisper some instructions to Eggert, the musketeer guarding the door to the passenger cabins. Whatever was said sent Eggert scampering off towards the bow of the ship.
Once they were in the cargo hold, Van Schooten took a lantern from the peg at the foot of the staircase and led them through the labyrinth of crates, now almost entirely covered in the Mark of Old Tom. It was obvious they weren’t all by the original hand. Many were clumsy, others only half finished. Some were large, some tiny. Evidently, carving a mark had become a way of pledging fealty.
Van Schooten hadn’t been down here since boarding, and he was surprised at the change. Normally, a cargo hold was home to crates, rats and whatever stowaways had smuggled themselves onboard. It was unpleasant, but unthreatening.
This place felt damned.
The oily darkness and the rotten stink of spices made the atmosphere infernal.
‘This entire place has become Old Tom’s church,’ remarked Drecht. ‘Four bodies and it’s got a damn religion.’
By his tone, Van Schooten suspected that Drecht had killed a lot more than that and was beginning to wonder where his reward was.
Reaching the centre of the labyrinth, Van Schooten pointed to a large crate. ‘In there,’ he said, his voice quivering.
Slipping loose his dagger, Drecht found the edge of a board and pried it open, discovering dozens of hemp sacks inside.
‘Cut one open,’ said Van Schooten.
Drecht did so, his blade shearing through the material, before snagging on something metallic. Sheathing his dagger, Drecht tugged at the tear with his hands, causing silver chalices and gold plates to spill out, followed by jewel-encrusted necklaces and rings.
‘These are the same sorts of objects Vos had in his sack when the leper gutted him,’ said Drecht. ‘The chamberlain must have been stealing pieces from this stash. Didn’t think he had it in him. How much of this is there?’
‘There are hundreds of crates. They take up half the cargo hold,’ said Van Schooten, sounding sick. ‘Most of it’s hidden in hemp sacks and disguised as other things.’ Something fierce came into his tone. ‘This is the secret you murdered those sailors to protect.’
Drecht glanced at him, obviously amused to find a little courage lurking under all that cowardice. The governor general had wanted his cargo kept secret, which meant silencing those who knew about it, including those who’d loaded it on to the Saardam.
‘I was following orders,’ he said, turning one of the chalices over in his hands. ‘That’s what soldiers do. You’re the one who sent them to the warehouse where I was waiting. You’re the one they trusted, who took the governor general’s coin for doing it.’
He picked up a jewel, the sparkle reflected in his eyes. ‘A man with this wealth would never know want again,’ he said in wonder. ‘He could have servants, a grand house and a future for his children.’
His hand slowly began to unsheathe his sword. ‘Thing is, Van Schooten. It wasn’t only those sailors who knew about this cargo.’ He advanced on the merchant. ‘And it wasn’t only them I was supposed to kill.’
72
Dorothea was scrubbing clothes on the orlop deck, listening to Isabel sing. All the passengers were listening to her, transfixed by the beauty of her voice. It wasn’t a skill she’d mentioned before, nor was it one she seemed to take any great pride in. She just opened her mouth and out it poured. All the games and talk had stopped. The dice had clattered off the wall and lay still. In their hammocks and on their mats, people closed their eyes and savoured the only joy they’d known on this voyage.
‘Mistress Dorothea.’
Dorothea turned to find Eggert the musketeer hurrying towards her. She smiled warmly at him, warmer than she smiled at most.
‘I’m glad to see you, but it’s too early for our evening tea,’ she said, confused by his presence.
‘Something’s happening aboard ship, mistress,’ he said in a hush, his fear striking at her heart. ‘You need to put a thick door between you and what’s coming.’
‘What’s coming, Eggert?’
He shook his scabby head, terrified. ‘There isn’t time,’ he said. ‘Will your mistress shelter you in her cabin?’
‘Aye.’
‘Good,’ he said, grabbing her arm. ‘Then stay close to me.’
‘And what about these people?’ demanded Dorothea, planting her feet and gesturing to the other passengers. ‘What are they supposed to hide behind?’
‘I’ve got only one sword, mistress,’ he apologised.
‘I’ll not leave those who need help.’
Eggert looked around him desperately, then rushed over to the gunpowder store, hammering on the door. The panel slid back, a pair of wild white eyebrows on the other side.
‘What?’ asked the constable. Since his flogging he’d become surly and short-tempered.
‘Mutiny,’ declared Eggert. ‘Can you shelter these passengers in there?’
The constable glanced around the deck suspiciously. Isabel was still singing, and the passengers were watching her. There was no sign of trouble. He addressed Dorothea who was standing at Eggert’s shoulder. ‘He talking truth?’ he demanded.
‘Can’t see why he’d lie.’