‘The orders came from Guard Captain Drecht,’ said Eggert. ‘The musketeers are already moving. We need to put these people safe.’
A bolt slid back, candlelight pouring into the gloom of the orlop deck. ‘Mothers and children inside,’ said the constable. ‘I can’t fit any more, but the rest of the women can barricade themselves in the bread room below. The men better arm themselves. They’ll be fighting soon enough.’
73
Twelve bells rang amidships, summoning the entire crew on to the deck. It was a mournful sound, fit for the mood.
Rain battered down, the cold drops reflecting the change in latitude.
As sailors struggled to find space – their faces strangely angelic in the warm glow of the running lantern – the sails billowed, carrying them forward at a furious pace.
On the quarterdeck, Captain Crauwels gripped the railing and looked down at them, unsure where to start. He knew what had to be said, but he didn’t know how. He’d addressed his crew hundreds of times, but only ever with one speech at the start of the voyage. It was good luck and a blessing, the easiest thing in the world to say. This was different. The words were jagged. They’d draw blood.
‘The Saardam is doomed,’ he said, when everybody had gathered. ‘We all know what’s been happening on this ship, what stalks us in the dark water.’
A rumble of discontent rose up.
‘Have you all heard the whispers?’ There were nods and murmurs, only a few blank stares. Most had, a few hadn’t. It didn’t matter. They all knew what was being offered.
Crauwels shifted uncomfortably. He felt like he was trying to build a vase by spitting out bits of broken pottery.
‘I’ve made some mistakes,’ he admitted, the faces blurring before him. ‘Trusted the wrong people and led you astray, but now we have to make a choice for ourselves. What do we want? Not the nobles we carry, or those damnable musketeers. Us, alone. Sailors. We have to choose.’
The agreement was raucous.
‘Old Tom walks this boat, aint no denying that. Three miracles were offered to convince us of his power, that’s what he told us in the dark. Three chances for us to fly his flag and accept his protection.’ The crew watched, their breaths held in their throats. ‘There’s no more miracles left. Next time he comes, it’ll be to sweep away those who didn’t take his bargain.’
A great cry of fear went up.
‘It’s time we made our choice,’ boomed Crauwels, holding up that strange metal disc he liked to flip in the air. ‘Governor General Jan Haan gave me this for sailing him out to the Banda Islands,’ he said. ‘And you all know what happened there.’
Butchers, carnage, slaughter, came the cry.
‘We’ve all taken coin for things we aint proud of, but that’s the Company, aint it. They ask too much for too little. Them nobles in there are getting richer all the time off the back of our labour, and I’m sick of it.’
Captain, Captain, Captain, they hollered.
He tossed the disc into the crowd, sailors clambering over each to claim it. In its place, he held up his dagger and his palm.
‘Old Tom asks a favour and blood to show our devotion,’ he said, drawing his blade across his palm. ‘The favour is our service. Hold up your daggers if you’re ready to become crew to a new master, lads. A master who’ll see us clear of all this, who’ll ask us to do awful things, but, at least, reward us well for their doing.’
Hundreds of daggers were lifted into the air, slicing hundreds of palms.
Blood ran freely.
‘That’s it then,’ cried Crauwels. ‘We fly under Old Tom’s banner now, and it’s his voice we’ll heed.’
His back arched, blood spurting out of his mouth as a sword emerged through his chest.
The crew howled in rage, unsheathing their daggers and surging towards the quarterdeck, as Crauwels’s body slumped to the ground, revealing Jacobi Drecht behind him.
‘Musketeers, fire,’ hollered Drecht. Chaos erupted. Gunfire rang out across the deck, sailors screaming and collapsing.
From the corner of his eye, Drecht saw Isaack Larme charging towards him with his knife in his hand.
He thrust his sword towards Larme’s chest, only for Arent to pull the dwarf backwards, away from the blade. Pipps was sheltered behind him, the problematary tiny in his friend’s shadow.
‘What are you doing, Drecht?’ shouted Arent over the noise of the battle.
‘I can’t give this ship to Old Tom!’
‘Those musketeers were in position long before the captain’s speech started, before you knew what he was going to do,’ spat Arent, seeing him truly for the first time. ‘This is a mutiny.’
‘I want the fortune that was promised to me by the governor general,’ said Drecht. ‘I slaughtered children in their beds, so my children could have a better future. I don’t sleep any more, Arent. I can’t. And now I want what I paid so dearly to have.’
‘And who’s going to sail the ship when you have it?’ demanded Sammy, covering his ears against the clash of metal.
‘We’ll keep enough sailors alive to take us home.’
‘If they let you,’ said Sammy, watching the musketeers slashing at the massed ranks below.
Drecht stared at Arent, smearing Crauwels’s blood across his face as he tried to wipe it away. ‘Do you stand with us, Arent? Tell me now.’
‘I stand with the passengers,’ hollered Arent. ‘Keep your men away from them.’
Arent hauled Sammy off his feet and dropped him on to the deck below, before leaping over the railing after him. Musketeers had taken position near the bottom of the staircase, where they were battling wave after wave of enraged sailors. For the moment, the sailors seemed to have the best of it, but it wouldn’t last. The musketeers were capable of fighting two of them at once, and the sailors’ strength had been sapped trying to outrun the storm. They would be exhausted long before they ran out of enemies.
The ship lurched, sending them staggering.
The Saardam was charging through the water without anybody to guide her. Darting into the empty spaces in the fighting, Arent and Sammy found Larme pressed against the railing, jabbing at the thighs of musketeers with his knife.
Knocking the blade away, Arent grabbed the dwarf’s hand and stared at his palm. It was unmarked.
‘You’re not with Old Tom?’ he hollered over the fighting.
‘I’m with the Saardam,’ he said. ‘Everything else can go to buggery.’
A musketeer charged towards them, screaming. Arent grabbed him by the shirt and hurled him into the water.
‘If we get control of this ship, can you talk this crew back around and get us to Batavia?’ demanded Sammy, crouched before Larme.
‘Depends how many sailors are left alive,’ replied Larme. ‘But there aint a better plan I’m considering. Where are your people?’
‘Not sure, but I’m heading down to the orlop deck,’ said Arent.
He didn’t say more, but he didn’t need to. Everybody understood what a battle meant for those without the strength to defend themselves. Once blood was spilt, there were no more sins left. It was likely some of these men were already on their way down there, seeking a different sort of entertainment.
A sailor tried climbing over the railing onto the quarter deck, but Drecht put his sabre through his eye, pushing him back into the throng below.
‘You won’t have a chance of taking this ship while he’s still breathing,’ said Larme, nodding towards Drecht.
‘He’ll see reason,’ said Arent, ‘but –’
Wood shrieked and the deck exploded, a spear of rock shooting upwards, toppling the mainmast and pulverising everybody in its path. Diamonds flew into the air, gold chains and chalices raining down around them.