‘What is this place?’ Arent demanded, barely able to hold his temper. Officers captured on the battlefield were entitled to treatment equal to their rank, which meant respectable quarters for the duration of their imprisonment. He’d expected the same for Sammy.
‘I’m sorry, Hayes, those are the governor general’s orders.’
Sammy’s face fell, panic showing for the first time. He backed away from the door, shaking his head.
‘Guard Captain, please, I can’t …’
‘Those are my orders, sir.’
Sammy turned his wild eyes on Arent. ‘It’s too small, I’ll …’ He eyed the ladder, clearly considering fleeing.
Drecht tensed and gripped the hilt of his sword. ‘Calm him down, Lieutenant Hayes,’ he warned.
Arent took his friend by the shoulders, staring him full in the face.
‘I’m going to talk to the governor general,’ he said soothingly. ‘I’ll see you’re moved, but I can’t do that if you’re dead.’
‘Please …’ pleaded Sammy, clutching his friend desperately. ‘Don’t let them leave me here.’
‘I won’t,’ said Arent, surprised to discover Sammy’s aversion to small spaces. ‘I’ll go to the governor general now.’
Quivering, Sammy nodded, only to shake his head a moment later. ‘No,’ he croaked, then more firmly, ‘No. You have to save the ship first. Talk to the captain, then the constable. Find out why somebody would threaten us.’
‘That’s your job,’ argued Arent. ‘I save you; you save everybody else. That’s the way it’s always been. I’ll talk to the governor general. He’ll see sense, I’m certain of it.’
‘We don’t have time,’ said Sammy, as Drecht took hold of his shoulder, walking him towards the cell.
‘I can’t do what you do,’ said Arent, almost as panicked as Sammy had been.
‘Then you better find somebody who can,’ responded Sammy. ‘Because I can’t help you any more.’
‘In you go,’ said Drecht firmly.
‘Strike his manacles for pity’s sake,’ demanded Arent. ‘He’ll not know a moment’s peace with those on.’
Drecht considered it, staring at the rusted links. ‘The governor general didn’t give any specific orders regarding the manacles,’ he admitted. ‘I’ll send somebody down first chance I get.’
‘It’s up to you now,’ said Sammy to Arent, getting down on his hands and knees and crawling into the cell.
A moment later, Drecht closed and bolted the door, casting him into absolute darkness.
9
Sara paced her cabin from wall to wall, stopping occasionally to stare out of the porthole, relieved to find Batavia exactly where she’d left it. The
Unfortunately, the carpenter hadn’t arrived and she was growing impatient.
‘You’ll sink the ship pacing the way you do,’ chided Dorothea, who was kneeling on the floor, arranging Sara’s clothes in drawers.
The maid was forgiven such bluntness, for she’d been with the family so long Sara couldn’t remember life before her. She’d been part of her husband’s household when they wed, a comforting, bickering presence who’d been her only counsel in those vile early days.
Grey had overrun her plaited hair, but in every other way, she remained the same. She rarely smiled, never raised her voice and kept her past under her tongue. Despite this, they had grown close over the years for she was quick-witted, occasionally wise and unapologetic in her hatred of the governor general.
Three knocks sounded on the door, causing Dorothea to rise painfully – her knees were a constant frustration – and open it with a frown.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded through the gap.
‘Henri, the carpenter,’ said a sullen voice. ‘Your lady wants shelves building.’
‘Shelves?’ queried Dorothea, over her shoulder.
‘Show him in.’
Sara felt silly at the grandeur of the proclamation, as there wasn’t a great deal of showing to be done. This cabin would fit inside her changing room in the fort. Under a low-beamed ceiling, a single bunk had been built into the wall, two drawers beneath it. There was a desk near the porthole, one rack for storing drinks and a chamber pot pushed discreetly into an alcove built for the purpose. A rug had been thrown down to make it more comfortable and she’d been allowed to bring two paintings, along with her harp.
After years of living in the roomy fort, the interior of the
She intended on spending as much time as possible outside.
Henri slouched into the room, carrying a toolbox and several planks of wood under his arm.
He was terribly thin, his skin pulled taut across his ribs, his arms corded with muscle. Spots crowded around his nose like worshippers at church.
‘Where should the shelves go?’ he asked sulkily.
‘There and there,’ said Sara, pointing to the space above and below the existing rack. ‘How long will it take?’
‘Not long.’ He ran his hand across the uneven surface of the wall. ‘Boatswain wants me back to my duties before we cast off.’