Until then, Arent had been arrogant. He’d seen Sammy’s talents and thought them magnificent, but only in the way a fine display of horsemanship was magnificent. They were something admirable, but learnable.
He was wrong.
What Sammy did couldn’t be trained or taught. His gifts were his alone.
Sensing Arent’s discomfort, Vos took pity on him and turned his hard gaze on the constable.
‘Know that Arent Hayes comes at the behest of Governor General Jan Haan himself,’ he said. ‘Whatever his questions, you will answer them thoroughly and with courtesy, or we’ll see you flogged. Do you understand?’
The old man blanched.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he stumbled. ‘I didn’t mean no offence.’
‘Answer the question.’
‘No lepers, sir. No plots, neither. And I’ll tell you this, if I wanted to kill myself, I’d spend a night whoring and drinking with the bastards out there,’ he continued, pointing past the barred door. ‘I don’t because I’ve got coin enough and family waiting; plenty of reasons to go home.’
Arent had none of Sammy’s gifts, but he had his own talent for spotting lies. People had been trying to deceive him his entire life, whether to persuade him into a bad deal when working for his grandfather, or to convince him that the dagger held behind their back wasn’t meant for him. Upon the old man’s wrinkled face, he saw hope and nervousness, but nothing to suggest he was lying.
‘Who else can get in this room?’ asked Arent.
‘Nobody most days; everybody when battle stations are called. Crew would be in and out collecting gunpowder for their cannons. Only folks with a key are myself, Captain Crauwels and the first mate, though,’ he said, wriggling his toes.
‘Do you know a carpenter called Bosey. Had a lame foot? Might have a grudge against the
‘Can’t say I do, but I’m new to the crew. Only joined in Batavia.’ The constable chewed more fish, saliva running down his chin. ‘You worried somebody wants to sink the ship?’
‘Aye.’
‘Then you’re seeing this all wrong,’ he said. ‘This room’s got bread either side, and tin all around.’
‘I don’t –’
‘Bread is packed in the compartments either side,’ he clarified. ‘Even if a spark did ignite it, the explosion would be snuffed out by the tin and the bread. Wouldn’t put a hole in the hull. The fire wouldn’t be a charm, but we’d have time to douse it before it ate us up. That’s why they build them this way.’
‘You understand I’ll be putting this same question to Captain Crauwels?’ asked Vos sternly.
‘And he’ll say the same, sir,’ replied the constable.
Arent murmured. ‘Can you think of a better way of sinking the
‘Few ways,’ said the constable, fingering the dirty twist of hair around his neck. ‘Another ship could turn cannon on us, sink us the honest way.’ He mulled it over. ‘Could leave us be and trust pirates, storms or pox to finish us. That happens more often than not, or …’ He became troubled.
‘Or?’ prompted Vos.
‘Or … well, if it were me, and it aint me, I’m just talking.’ He looked up at them for acceptance that he was ‘just talking’.
‘Tell us your idea,’ demanded Vos.
‘Well, if it were me, I’d try and put the captain out of the way.’
‘Crauwels?’ said Arent, surprised.
The old man picked at a splinter on the table. ‘How much do you know about him?’
‘Only that he dresses like he’s at court and hates the chief merchant,’ responded Vos.
The constable slapped his thigh in mirth, stopping when he noticed that Vos’s blunt assessment hadn’t meant to be humorous.
‘True words all, sir, but Captain Crauwels is the finest sailor in the fleet, and everybody knows it, including that whore’s son of a chief merchant, Reynier van Schooten. Could sail a longboat back to Amsterdam and arrive safe with his cargo, could Crauwels.’ There was awe in his voice, but it was gone when he spoke again. ‘Company pays poorly, which means the
‘Which are you?’ asked Vos.
‘Thief.’ He tapped his stump. ‘Once. But here’s what matters. Bad as this crew are, every one of them respects Captain Crauwels. They’ll grumble, they’ll plot, but they’ll never move against him. He’s fierce, but he’s fair with the whip hand, and we know he’ll get us home, so these animals bow their heads and accept the leash.’
‘What would happen if he died?’ asked Arent. ‘Could the first mate keep this crew together?’
‘The dwarf?’ spat the constable scornfully. ‘Not likely. If the captain dies, this boat burns, you mark me.’
15
Sara and Lia were standing on the poop deck at the very rear of the ship watching Batavia recede into the distance. Sara had expected it to disappear by degrees, like a blot being scrubbed out of cotton. Instead, its chimneys and rooftops had simply vanished between blinks, leaving no time for goodbyes.
‘What’s France like, Mama?’ asked Lia, for the hundredth time that week.