Their final stop was the great cabin, where the huge table had tipped on to its sides. The windows were smashed, the raging sea slate-grey beyond.
The governor general’s cabin appeared as comfortable as it ever had, though his scrolls were now scattered across the room. His quill pot was upended, the wall and desk stained with ink.
Sara poked the narrow slit in the wood above her husband’s bunk. ‘But the handle of the dagger wouldn’t fit through here,’ she grumbled.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘That’s the clever part. That’s why the candle’s flame had to be snuffed, but I’m still not sure how that was done. There was no way to do it without entering the room, and it couldn’t be done from the porthole because the desk was too far away.’
‘I do,’ said Sara, smiling. ‘I saw it. Then I heard it being built.’
‘I don’t –’
‘When were you last in church, Arent?’
‘It’s been a while,’ he admitted.
‘Have you ever seen those long-poled snuffers they use to put out the candles on the chandeliers?’
Realisation washed across his face.
‘That pole I saw fall out of Viscountess Dalvhain’s rug was a candle snuffer.’ She went to the porthole, looking up at the three widely spaced hooks above it that Sammy had spotted after her husband died. ‘The leper was probably supposed to collect it from Viscountess Dalvhain’s room, then lay it on these hooks for when it was needed, but he didn’t know our cabins had been swapped. That’s why he was there that night.’
‘But you said it got broken. Did they repair it?’
‘No, they stole one of the handles from the capstan wheel in the cargo hold. I heard Johannes Wyck raging about it during the first sermon. Then they used a carpenter’s plane to make it into a manageable size. Dorothea heard the noise when she was passing Dalvhain’s cabin, but she couldn’t place it. It was probably the only thing they could easily steal that was long enough.’
‘To think,’ said Arent, glumly. ‘If they hadn’t got their hands on that damn handle, there’s a chance none of this would have happened.’
80
Arent and Sara spent the afternoon together, walking up and down the beach, making their plans. They held hands and spoke in a hush, frequently glancing at the Saardam.
Everybody left them alone.
Most had mistaken their pacing for romance, an idea swiftly put to the sword by their expressions. Such fury they hoped never to see again.
It wasn’t until Jacob Drecht told them the rescue boat was ready to depart that they finally separated, each burdened by their dreadful purpose. Arent sought out Isaack Larme, who was sitting alone at the far end of the beach. He had found a new block of wood and restarted his whittling. He’d been trying to make a Pegasus for years, without any success.
Upon seeing the mercenary, he scowled, remembering how easily Arent had gone along with Drecht’s brothel proposition, but his dismay evaporated when he listened to Arent’s idea. By the time Arent finished talking, he was open-mouthed with surprise.
‘I’d have to be insane to do what you ask,’ he said, trying to make sense of it.
‘If you don’t, everybody dies,’ argued Arent. He cast a glance towards Drecht, who was growing impatient, waiting by the rescue boat for him.
‘And if I do, I likely die.’ Larme eyed Drecht with disgust. ‘But I would love a chance to piss in his hat.’ He nodded. ‘And I reckon that’s reason enough. Where do you want me?’
‘Furthest left,’ replied Arent. Seeing Larme’s confusion, he tapped his left hand for him. ‘Portside, this one,’ he said.
As Larme departed, Arent went to the cave where Sammy was murmuring on his mat. Sara had applied a poultice to his injured face and balmed it with the piss-smelling salve from his own alchemy kit.
Arent picked him up from the cave floor and carried him towards the rescue boat, where Thyman and Eggert were being given orders by Drecht.
‘Ah, Arent, you no doubt know our volunteers,’ he said.
‘I do,’ said Arent, acknowledging them. ‘They brought Sammy onboard the Saardam. We had a little disagreement about their treatment of him. Seems fitting they should be the ones taking him home.’
He laid Sammy flat on a bench at the back of the yawl. He hadn’t woken up and Arent was glad of it. He didn’t know what to say. He was supposed to protect him, but he couldn’t think how to do that any more. He felt like he’d failed.
‘I’ve found a hut full of supplies in the forest,’ said Arent, addressing Drecht. ‘Salted meat, ale, everything. Enough to feed us for a few months, if needs be.’
‘Truly!’ Drecht’s face lit up. ‘That’s a grand stroke of fortune, my friend. It must be a pirate’s store. Not that I’ll turn my nose up at provisions.’
Arent looked at the meagre supplies in the boat. ‘I think we can spare these men a barrel more of ale, and some bread. Don’t you? Their journey will be arduous.’
Drecht considered it, but nodded, happy to have Arent on side.
The supplies had been grouped at the treeline near the woods and Arent heaved a keg over his shoulder and picked up a basket of tack and dried meat, which he placed carefully into the boat.
Satisfied that he’d given them the best chance he could, he placed his large flat hand against the problematary’s thin chest.
It was a coward’s goodbye, but he had little else to offer.
Wishing Eggert and Thyman good fortune, he gripped the bow of the boat with both hands and single-handedly pushed it into the rough ocean.
Creesjie watched the rescue boat disappear over the horizon, overwhelmed by concern.
Marcus and Osbert were skipping rocks beside her. Being boys, they had recovered quickly from the shock of the mutiny and the wreck, and now believed themselves engaged on some grand adventure. She hoped she could always keep them so sheltered from fear.
Away to her left, she noticed Isabel walking towards her, a vacant expression on her face. She didn’t know the girl very well, but she liked her. Since Sander’s death she’d taken on many of his duties, showing a zeal that would have put her master to shame.
Crossing the slippery shoal, Isabel arrived at her side. She’d been speaking with Sara earlier on, and whatever she’d said had sent Sara away dismayed.
‘Are you well, Isabel?’ she asked, when the young girl didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence. She was simply standing there, staring at the Saardam.
‘Do you think Emily de Haviland died on that ship?’ asked Isabel.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Creesjie, unnerved by the flatness of her voice.
‘Sander took me in when nobody else would,’ said Isabel. ‘He gave me a craft, he taught me how to battle evil, but I’ve failed him. I allowed him to be murdered, then Old Tom slaughtered everybody, just as Sander said he would.’
‘Most of the passengers died in the wreck,’ said Creesjie, unsure how to console her. ‘I’m certain Emily must have been among them. We certainly haven’t seen any old woman with long grey hair among the living.’
‘Then Old Tom has found another host.’
‘Isabel –’
‘Who knows which of these men pledged themselves to its service before we ran aground,’ she said ferociously. ‘It could be curled up in any of their rotten souls.’ Her eyes were wild, frightening. Her voice shook with righteous anger. Staring at her, Creesjie wondered if the wreck had shaken something adrift within the girl.