‘I failed Sander on the Saardam, because I wasn’t willing to do what was necessary,’ said Isabel. ‘I won’t make that mistake again.’
‘What are you planning?’ said Creesjie fretfully, casting around for Sara.
‘I won’t let anybody else be hurt. Whatever I have to do, I won’t let Old Tom leave this island.’
81
By the time evening threw its cape across the island, two camps had been established.
Jacobi Drecht and the musketeers surrounded a huge pyre, jesting and drinking jugs of wine they’d looted from the huts Arent had found. The passengers had been invited to join them, but Sara had spread word of Drecht’s plan, hardening most of their hearts. As she had predicted, though, a few of the passengers had joined Drecht anyway, and were happily carousing.
The rest of the passengers had built a much smaller campfire next to the treeline, sharing ale and roasted fish they’d caught earlier in the day. A ragged bit of sailcloth kept the swirling rain off their backs, but there was no disguising their misery. Chatter was muted, each person looking fearfully at the drunken musketeers, whose desires were revealed by the firelight.
The passengers knew what was coming – what was always coming when the strong were given free rein over the weak.
Only Isabel seemed oblivious.
Much to Creesjie’s chagrin, the young woman was singing, dancing and making merry amongst the musketeers, pouring their wine and letting herself be ogled.
Since their talk this afternoon, something had shifted within her. There was a desperation to her actions that struck Creesjie as reckless, but Isabel wouldn’t hear her pleas, or allow herself to be tugged away.
She was having fun, she claimed. More fun than she’d had in a long time.
Hugging Marcus, Osbert and Lia by their small fire, Creesjie could only pray she came to her senses soon.
Her eyes caught movement. Dorothea was going to see if Sara wanted any food or ale. Her friend was standing at the water’s edge with Arent, her head against his arm. They were staring at the wreckage of the Saardam and holding hands.
At least some good has come of all this, she thought.
A series of thuds came from the other camp, followed by groans and cries of alarm. Musketeers stumbled drunkenly, trying to catch hold of Isabel, who skipped away nimbly.
One by one, they began collapsing.
Drecht staggered forward, trying to draw his sword, but he sagged to his knees in front of her, then fell over.
Arent reached the musketeer camp at the same time as Sara and the rest of the survivors. Around the roaring fire lay dozens of unconscious bodies, their mugs spilled from their hands.
‘Are they dead?’ asked Sara.
‘No,’ said Isabel, nudging the body of Jacobi Drecht with her foot. ‘I poured a vial of Sara’s sleeping draught into their wine. Could somebody fetch some rope, so we can tie them up.’
Creesjie hugged Isabel fiercely. ‘I thought you’d lost your mind,’ she admitted giddily. ‘But this is … you’ve saved us all.’
‘Not yet,’ said Isabel sorrowfully. ‘But almost.’
She stepped around Creesjie, addressing the passengers. ‘Old Tom delivered us to this island thinking to doom us,’ she said. ‘But while it was the demon’s evil that steered our ship on to these rocks, it was God’s hand that spared us.’
Arent staggered, then fell. Some of the other passengers were moaning, the ground spinning beneath them.
‘What have you done?’ cried out Creesjie, as Marcus and Osbert crumpled on to the shoal.
‘Old Tom can shelter in any soul that has bargained with it,’ she said, as Sara collapsed. ‘But I can’t be sure which of you that is.’
Creesjie’s vision was becoming blurry.
‘The daemonologica taught me how to make holy fire,’ continued Isabel, smiling the smile of martyrs. ‘I’m going to cleanse your souls one by one until there’s no hiding place left. I’m going to put an end to the tyranny of Old Tom once and for all.’
Creesjie woke with a groan.
She’d been tied to a piece of the Saardam’s wreckage on the shoal. The knots were tight, and the wreckage was too heavy to move. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours, because the sky was still dark and their fire bright. Everybody else, passengers and musketeers alike, were equally bound.
‘Marcus! Osbert!’ she called out.
They were nowhere to be seen, though Sara and Lia were tied up nearby. She called to them, watching them stir slowly, blinking away their confusion as they whipped their heads from left to right, trying to make sense of what was happening.
‘Marcus! Osbert!’ cried Creesjie. ‘God, please answer me!’
Slowly, more people began to wake up. Creesjie couldn’t tell how many of them believed in Old Tom or not, but she knew they were afraid. An hour ago, they’d been convinced they would be raped or murdered by the musketeers. Now they were about to be burnt to death by a zealot.
It was a bargain worthy of Old Tom himself.
‘Isabel!’ screamed Sara, whose head was turned towards something Creesjie couldn’t see. ‘Isabel, stop this!’
A fire roared into life behind them, an agonising scream rolling up the beach. Creesjie craned her neck trying to see who it was, but she couldn’t twist far enough. All she could do was listen to Isabel’s strange chanting.
‘Mama,’ cried out Lia, terrified. ‘Don’t let her do this, please.’
‘Be brave, dear heart,’ called Sara, straining against her ropes. ‘Remember the courage you had on the docks when we comforted the leper. Close your eyes and pray with me. Pray with me!’
The scream cut off and Isabel emerged out of the gloom, wreathed in firelight. She’d made a torch from a tree branch and sailcloth, and it burnt in her hand, dripping flame on to the shoal.
‘Isabel, you don’t have to do this,’ cried Creesjie desperately, tears staining her cheeks. ‘Please, please, please, my friends are innocent, my sons are innocent. Let them go!’
‘Old Tom can hide anywhere,’ replied Isabel in that flat, broken voice. ‘This is our only chance to banish him.’
Going to Lia, she knelt down in front of her. ‘You may be innocent, and, if so, I’m sorry for what I must do.’ Her eyes were empty. ‘If it comforts you, know that the mercy God shows you in heaven, will be equal to the torment visited upon me in hell.’
Using her fingertip, Isabel drew a mark in dirt upon Lia’s forehead.
‘Isabel, please, she’s just a girl,’ screamed Sara hoarsely.
Isabel ignored her, lowering the burning torch towards the hem of Lia’s dress. ‘I am truly sorry.’
Lia screamed for mercy, as Sara cried out for Isabel to stop.
‘There’s no such thing as Old Tom,’ yelled Creesjie at the top of her lungs.
Silence fell upon them, as all eyes turned towards her. The burning torch paused on its way to Lia’s dress, confusion clear on Isabel’s face.
‘I made it all up,’ cried out Creesjie desperately. ‘I did it all. I wanted to kill the governor general and this was the only way. Lia’s not a devil. Don’t hurt her, please!’
The mania dropped from Isabel’s face. She peered at Sara winsomely.
‘How was that?’ she asked.
‘You did wonderfully,’ said Sara, pulling her hands out of the loose ropes and helping Lia to her feet.
Creesjie blinked at them in confusion. ‘Sara, what’s happening?’
‘It was a farce,’ said Sara coldly. ‘The same farce you performed on us. There couldn’t be any doubt. I had to know you were guilty.’