Merely, thought Sara. As if there could be some grander ambition for a ship than to keep it from sinking.
But, of course, there was.
This was a merchant vessel flying United East India Company colours, which meant profit went before every other consideration. It wouldn’t matter if the ship made it back to Amsterdam if the cargo had spoilt, or if the trade at the Cape had been handled badly. The Saardam could drift into port full of bodies and the Gentlemen 17 would still call it a success so long as the spices weren’t damp.
‘Could I show you around our ship?’ asked Reynier van Schooten, extending an arm to Lia and making sure every one of his jewelled rings were on display. Unfortunately, they couldn’t distract from the sweat patch under his armpit.
‘Mama, would you like a tour?’ Lia asked, turning her back to the merchant and screwing her face up in revulsion.
‘My wife and daughter can acquaint themselves with the vessel later,’ interrupted the governor general impatiently. ‘I’d like to see my cargo.’
‘Your cargo?’ Confusion became realisation. ‘Ah, yes. I can take you directly.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘My daughter, you’re in cabin three.’ He waved vaguely to a small red door behind them. ‘My wife, you’re in cabin six.’
‘Cabin five, my lord,’ corrected the chief merchant apologetically. ‘I had it changed.’
‘Why?’
‘Well …’ Van Schooten shifted uncomfortably. The shadow of the rigging made it appear he’d been thrown under a net. ‘Cabin five is more comfortable.’
‘Nonsense, they’re all identical.’ The governor general was infuriated that any order of his – however small – should be so overruled. ‘I specified cabin six.’
‘Cabin six is cursed, my lord.’ The chief merchant spoke quickly and blushed with embarrassment. ‘In our eight months from Amsterdam, it had two occupants. The first was found hanging from a hook on the ceiling and the second died in his sleep, eyes wide with fright. Steps sound from inside at night, even when it’s empty. Please, my lord, it’s –’
‘I care not!’ interrupted the governor general. ‘Take whichever cabin suits you, my wife, and consider yourself at your liberty. I’ll have no further need of you until this evening.’
‘My husband,’ acknowledged Sara, inclining her head.
Sara watched Reynier van Schooten lead him down the steps, then she clutched Lia’s hand, dragging her as quickly as their cumbersome skirts would allow towards the passenger cabins.
‘Mama, what’s the rush?’ fretted Lia, almost tugged off her feet.
‘We need to get Creesjie and the boys off this ship before it sets sail,’ she said.
‘Father will never allow it,’ argued Lia. ‘Creesjie told me she wasn’t meant to leave Batavia for another three months but Father wanted her here. He demanded it. He even paid for her cabin.’
‘That’s why I’m not going to tell him,’ said Sara. ‘He won’t even know Creesjie’s disembarked until we’ve set sail.’
Lia planted her feet, clutching her mother’s hand with both of her own, forcing her to stop.
‘He’ll punish you,’ said Lia fearfully. ‘You know what he’ll do, it will be worse than –’
‘We have to warn Creesjie,’ interrupted Sara.
‘You couldn’t walk last time.’
Sara softened, cupping her daughter’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry, dear heart. That was … I wish you hadn’t had to see me like that, but I can’t allow our friend to be put in danger because your father is too stubborn to hear reason from a woman.’
‘Mama, please,’ pleaded Lia, but Sara was already tearing her ruff off and ducking through the low red door.
On the other side lay a narrow corridor lit by a solitary candle, guttering in an alcove. There were four doors on either wall, each marked by a Roman numeral scorched into the wood. Trunks and furniture were being delivered by grunting stevedores, cursing the weight of wealth.
Sara’s maid harried them, pointing and arranging on behalf of her mistress.
‘Which cabin is Creesjie in?’ asked Sara.
‘Seven. It’s opposite Lia’s,’ said Dorothea, before stopping Lia to enquire about some small matter, leaving Sara to press on alone.
A harp twanged under its protective cloth as Sara pushed through the confusion, only to find herself blocked off by a large rug tied with twine, which was being manoeuvred into a cabin far too small to house it.
‘It won’t fit, Captain,’ whined one of the sailors, who had it on his shoulder and was trying to bend it around the doorframe. ‘Can’t we put it into the cargo hold?’
‘Viscountess Dalvhain won’t be without her comforts,’ came the captain’s vexed voice from inside. ‘Try standing it up.’
The sailors strained. There was an audible crack of wood.
‘What in the seven hells have you done?’ barked the captain angrily. ‘Did you break the doorframe?’
‘Wasn’t us, Captain,’ protested the nearest sailor. A thin rod slid out from the centre of the rug, clattering on the floor. One end was snapped.
One of the sailors hastily kicked it away with his heel. ‘It’s only to keep the rug straight,’ he explained, a small grimace betraying his uncertainty.
‘Bugger this,’ growled the voice inside the cabin. ‘Just lay it corner to corner. Dalvhain can find a place for it when she comes aboard.’
As the rug was swallowed by the cabin, a broad-shouldered, well-muscled man stepped into the corridor, coming face to face with Sara. His eyes were ocean-blue, his hair lopped short to fend off lice. Ginger whiskers covered his cheeks and chin, leaving a face that was sun-browned and angular, fadingly handsome, much like the ship he commanded.
Seeing Sara, he bowed floridly, as if at court. ‘I apologise for my language, madam,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise you were out here. I’m Adrian Crauwels, captain of the Saardam.’
The corridor was narrow and busy, forcing them to stand awkwardly close.
His pomander draped him in the smell of citrus, and his teeth were unusually white, his breath suggesting he’d been chewing on water mint. Unlike the chief merchant, his clothing was expensive, his doublet dyed rich purple, golden embroidery catching the candlelight. His sleeves were paned, and his trunk hose tied above cannions with silk bows. The buckles of his shoes shone.
Such fine dress suggested a successful career. Fleet captains earned a percentage of the profits they safely delivered. Even so, Sara wouldn’t have been surprised to discover Crauwels was wearing his entire fortune.
‘Sara Wessel,’ she said, introducing herself with a dip of the head. ‘My husband speaks highly of you, Captain.’
He beamed in delight. ‘I’m honoured to hear it. We’ve sailed together twice before, and I’ve always enjoyed his company.’
He nodded to the ruff clutched in her hand. ‘The tight quarters of the Saardam aren’t best suited to fashion, are they?’ From somewhere outside, a coarse voice hollered for the captain. ‘I’m afraid my first mate requires my attention. Will you be attending my table tonight, my lady? It’s my understanding the chef has prepared something special.’