Excerpt from The Devil and the Dark Water by Stuart Turton, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The procession was being led by Governor General Jan Haan, who was stiff backed on a white stallion, a breastplate fastened above his doublet, a sword clattering at his waist.

Thirteen years ago, he'd purchased the village that had stood here on behalf of the United East India Company. No sooner had the natives signed the contract than he'd put a torch to it, using its ashes to plot out the roads, canals, and buildings of the city that would take its place.

Batavia was now the Company's most profitable outpost, and Haan had been called back to Amsterdam to join the Company's ruling body, the enigmatic Gentlemen 17.

As his stallion trotted along the boulevard, the crowd wept and cheered, stretching their fingertips toward him, trying to touch his legs. Flowers were thrown on the ground, blessings bestowed.

He ignored it all, keeping his chin up and eyes forward. Beak-nosed and bald-headed, he put Arent in mind of a hawk perched atop a horse.

Four panting slaves struggled to keep pace with him. They were carrying a gilded palanquin with the governor general's wife and daughter inside, a red-faced lady's maid scurrying alongside it, fanning herself in the heat.

Behind them, four bow-legged musketeers gripped the corners of a heavy box containing the Folly. Sweat dripped from their foreheads and coated their hands, making it difficult to hold. They slipped frequently, fear flashing across their faces. They knew the punishment should the governor general's prize be damaged.

Trailing them were a disorderly cluster of courtiers and flatterers, high-ranking clerks and family favorites, their years of scheming rewarded by the opportunity to spend an uncomfortable afternoon watching Haan leave Batavia.

Distracted by his observations, Arent allowed a gap to form between himself and his charge. A stone whistled by, hitting Sammy on the cheek, bringing a trickle of blood and jeers from the crowd.

Losing his temper, Arent scooped up the stone and hurled it back at the thrower, catching him on the shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground. The crowd howled in outrage, surging into the watchmen, who struggled to hold them back.

"Good throw," murmured Sammy appreciatively, ducking his head as more stones rained down around them.

Arent was limping by the time they reached the docks, his huge body aching. Sammy was bruised but mostly untouched. Even so, he let out a cry of relief as the gates swung open ahead of them.

On the other side was a warren of crates and coiled ropes, piled-high casks, and chickens squawking in wicker baskets. Pigs and cows stared at them mournfully as bellowing stevedores loaded cargo into rowboats bobbing at the water's edge, ready to be transported to the seven Indiaman galleons anchored in the glistening harbor. Sails furled and masts bare, they resembled dead beetles with their legs in the air, but each would soon teem with over three hundred passengers and crew.

People rattled their coin purses at the ferries rowing back and forth, pushing forward when the name of their ship was called. Children played hide-and- seek among the boxes or else clutched their mothers' skirts while fathers glared at the sky, trying to shame a cloud out of that fierce, blue expanse.

The wealthier passengers stood a little apart, surrounded by their servants and expensive trunks. Grumbling under their umbrellas, they fanned themselves futilely, sweating into their lace ruffs.

The procession halted and the gates began to close behind them, dimming the sound of the braying mob.

A few final stones bounced off the crates, bringing the assault to an end. Letting out a long sigh, Arent bent double, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his forehead into the dust.

"How badly are you hurt?" asked Sammy, inspecting a cut on Arent's cheek.

"I'm fair hungover," grunted Arent. "Otherwise, I'm not too bad."

"Did the watch seize my alchemy kit?"

Excerpted from The Devil and the Dark Water by Stuart Turton . Copyright © 2020 by Stuart Turton . Excerpted by permission of Sourcebooks Landmark. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.