The Day of Atonement Page 10

  I took his hand. “It is all I can ask.”

  Inácio looked away thoughtfully. “And although I cannot ask many questions without attracting notice, if I hear anything unbidden, I shall pass the information along at once.”

  “Thank you.”

  “This Jesuit you seek,” Inácio now said very quietly. “I know him. We know them all, of course, but this one. He’s different. It is said he hates Englishmen. He may well seek you out if you stir the pot.”

  “I’m counting on it,” I said.

  Inácio laughed. “Same old Sebastião. I beg your pardon. Sebastian.”

  “Do you know why he hates the English?”

  Inácio shrugged. “He’s mad. They’re all mad. Maybe hating Jews was too ordinary for him. But you, Senhor Foxx—a New Christian turned into an Englishman—if he were to learn the truth of who you are, he would come looking for you sure enough, and he would not come alone.”

  “He cannot learn that,” I said, leaning forward.

  Inácio’s gaze went dark. “Do not insult me. I may slap a few debtors, but I shall never earn a coin from them.” He would not even say the word now. Instead he gestured toward the outside with his chin.

  “I would not think otherwise,” I said. Perhaps Inácio did not think I was the same friend he had lost ten years before. Regardless, he hated the Inquisition, and that would be reason enough for him to keep my secret.

  Inácio remained motionless for a moment, as if deciding if honor was satisfied. Then, once more, he slapped the table and raised his wine. “Then we shall drink with joy to your success.”

  I drank, but I did so without joy.

  Chapter 7

  I gave Enéas some money and rattled off a list of items for him to buy. I wished to be alone, and wanted to offer no excuses. The boy was either oblivious to my moods or pretended to be. I didn’t care which, and I hardly noticed him disappear into the crowd.

  Inácio had become a thief, a pimp, and a fence, and no doubt indulged in all the terrible crimes such men must, but I could not mourn my old friend’s transformation. Not now. Gabriela was dead. It had seemed near impossible she would be alive and unmarried and ready to run away with a man she had not seen since we were children. Yet part of me had not only hoped it might be so, but believed it had to be. I had been able to see our reunion in my mind.

  As I made my way back toward Chiado Hill, I passed a man roasting skewers of fish and vegetables over a waist-high flame set upon a pile of bricks. I stopped and stared, feeling the heat against my hands and face. The fire crackled and hissed as the juice dripped from the charring and shriveling meat. I had seen flesh roasted a thousand times, but only now did I notice the sights and sounds in such detail, taking in their peculiar qualities. This familiar thing was suddenly new and vile. How did no one notice it? How did they not find it repulsive? How was it that people could eat what had been so violated?

  The vendor, an old man with tufts of white hair on his thin face, looked up, his eyes alight with hope. “You like, Englishman? I make with you good price?”

  Hardly aware I was doing so, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Gabriela’s scarf. I dropped it directly on top of a piece of fish. The scarf appeared for a few seconds to resist the fire, and then, all at once, it gave in and burst into flame. The fire consumed the fabric, turning its blue to gold and then black. Then it was ashes.

  “You are madman!” the vendor was shouting. His face had gone red, and he waved his hands about wildly.

  A crowd gathered to watch the scene. For someone who wished to avoid attention, I was doing a shoddy job. Children and laborers and slaves, a fidalgo, a priest, a man in a long leather coat with his face obscured under a wide-brimmed hat—they all stared at me.

  “I apologize,” I muttered, and handed the man a few coins, enough to pay for all the fish, with a fair amount besides.

  The vendor was mollified, and now bowed and thanked me and called after me as I walked away. The Englishman was welcome to burn his rags there any time he wished.

  I hated that I made myself the object of gawkers and pointers. I vowed that with the scarf, all my sentiment had been burned away. I would make no more mistakes. I would feel nothing now but resolve and purpose. I had nothing to hope for, and so nothing to lose.

  Lest any familiar of the Inquisition had taken an interest in my display, I decided I would not return directly to the inn. Instead I would take a circuitous route, heading upward toward the old castle and then over back toward the Rossio. I lost myself in the crowds. When I passed the massive Palace of the Inquisition, the very building in which my parents had been murdered, I cleared my mind. I was past idle thoughts and feelings and speculations. I was there to accomplish certain tasks. Nothing else. I was not even a person anymore; I was an embodied goal, and I decided I would stay so until I had finished my work.

  As I crossed the Rossio and headed back toward the inn, I saw the man in the leather coat, the one I had noticed when I was burning my scarf. He was turned away from me, so his face was still obscured beneath his hat. He was likely a peasant or laborer, but something about him made me uneasy. Perhaps it was that I had taken such a roundabout route, and yet there he was. There was but one conclusion I could draw. This man was following me.

  I walked down a side street quickly, and then turned and turned again. I hurried toward a cluster of boys who played dice in the street, shoving past them and turning again down a tight alley. I did this several more times until I was certain no one had followed. To be absolutely safe, I walked up Chiado Hill to the fine homes of the Bario Alto, and then slowly strolled back down.

  When I returned to the inn, I quickly bypassed the common room and climbed the stairs. Outside my closed door, Enéas, who had taken a much more direct route home, waited for me. He had clearly been pacing, and he rubbed his hands together with worry like a comic character in a stage play. His naturally large eyes were like twin saucers.

  “My master, I am so sorry. I have failed you.”

  “In what?” I demanded. I hated how sharp I sounded.

  “He insisted he be let into your rooms, and when I told him no, he said that I had not the power to resist his will.”

  I asked no more questions. I pushed past the boy and entered the room, where Kingsley Franklin sat in the too-small armchair by the window, enjoying the cool breeze from the ocean. Panting heavily within his long coat, he fanned himself with a wide-brimmed straw hat. Franklin gave every indication of enjoying my confusion.

  “Olá, Sebastião,” he said. “É hora de falar.” It is time for us to talk.

  I slammed the door and would have accidentally crushed Enéas’s head had the boy not dashed out of the way. Franklin was now holding a hand up, perhaps to pacify me, perhaps to give himself a chance to catch his breath.

  “Peace,” he gasped. “I walked quickly to get back here, and I am not so fit as I once was.” He bent forward and breathed hard for a minute, and then looked at me. His face was apple red, but he was grinning, and now he pointed. “But I knew I recognized you. I knew it. I said you looked like a New Christian, but I had no idea it was because you are one.”

  “What do you think you are doing?” I demanded, more because I needed time to think than because I actually wanted an answer. “Following me upon the street? Have you any notion of how you risked my life as well as yours?”

  Franklin continued to jab at the air with his index finger. “I do now, I can tell you. No doubt about it. And no offense meant there. I’ve always been of a curious nature, so I followed you. That’s all. No harm done, Mr. Sebastian Foxx. Perhaps a false name that is not a direct translation of your true name would have been a sounder course.”

  “Sebastian Foxx is my true name now,” I said. “And the disguise holds, for no one will look to link me to that forgotten child.”

  Franklin clapped his hands together. “Well, I did. I linked you indeed.”

  It was now my turn to jab a finger. It was quite sa
tisfying. “Listen to me. You must forget what you saw and forget what you know. I am Sebastian Foxx, Englishman, and that is all. Nothing more. Do you understand me?”

  “I’ll not so quickly forget what I know. Nor have I forgotten your father. He was a good man, to be sure, and a good friend. Any son of his, and so forth. If you’ve come back for some reason, to serve some purpose, you must only tell it to me, and I shall serve you as best I can.”

  I took a step back and rubbed a hand over my face. I had only just learned of Gabriela’s death, and now I must deal with this buffoon.

  “My business is my own,” I said. “And you truly would be wise to forget you know me. I need not tell you how word of my presence would invite the Inquisition’s attention, and you of all men know the harm that could do to you and your business.”

  “You needn’t threaten me,” Franklin said. “I’m not your enemy. I only say that if I may be of service, for the friendship I felt for your father, you must tell me, and I will serve.”

  “I can only say again that my business here is my own,” I told him. “If you value your own safety, you will tell no one what you have discovered.”

  Franklin pushed himself out of the chair. “I can’t make a man accept friendship, though the offer stands.” Still breathing heavily, he crossed the room to the door. “As does the offer for women.” He winked. “I’ve of late begun frequenting this new establishment, and the Negresses there are—”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, holding open the door.

  Franklin shrugged and walked out into the hall. I closed the door, went to a chair, and threw myself into it. I leaned back and shut my eyes, and tried hard not to predict what sort of disaster this absurd man was going to bring down upon me. Then I realized the idea of being taken in chain, the idea that Franklin might say the wrong thing to the wrong person, pushed the memories of Gabriela away, and so I indulged in a thousand variations of my arrest and torture and public burning. It was a comfort to me.

  Chapter 8

  That afternoon I received a note from Settwell saying only that there was an urgent matter we needed to discuss. Eager to distract myself from my brooding and the mistakes I had made that day upon the street, I hurried over to Settwell’s house. He attended to me at once, wearing the same faded suit from the previous night, and very likely the same shirt, with the same stains about the cuffs.

  Settwell ushered me into his sitting room, and soon the two of us were sipping wine together. It was a congenial but silent meeting, for Settwell said nothing. He smiled hesitantly, looked out his window, and drank more wine. Then he repeated the process. I observed that his eyes were red, as if he had been sleeping badly or crying or drinking far too much—possibly all three.

  As he appeared to have difficulty in beginning the conversation, I chose to put him at his ease. “Sir,” I said. “I know well that it can be difficult to ask a man for money, even when he has offered it, so if you have invited me here because you have made arrangements to depart, you need only name the ship, and I shall make certain your berth is secured.”

  “It is not how I should most like to proceed,” said Settwell. He set down his glass of wine and rubbed his face vigorously, sending his wig slightly askew. Without troubling himself to correct it, he picked up his glass and drank deeply. “In fact I may not have need of your money. I have asked you here upon a more delicate matter. I hope you will indulge me by hearing what I would say.”

  “Of course,” I said, somewhat surprised. “You need but tell me how I might serve you.”

  “You know of my predicament,” Mr. Settwell began. Now, with one hand, he began to fuss at his wig. “You know I have been ill used and impoverished through treachery. I am at the mercy of vile men. Of course I want to take my daughter to safety, but how much safety will there be in England? I will be free of the Inquisition, but we will face poverty and want, and for a girl, someday a young lady, I think you know what that means.”

  “You are not friendless,” I said. “There will be opportunities.”

  Having, at last, pushed the wig into something like its previous position, he returned to clutching his drink with both hands. “I do not relish a life of depending upon charity.”

  “I doubt that you asked me here so that you might bemoan your situation,” I said. “If you desire something of me, you need only ask it.”

  Settwell finished his wine, poured himself another full glass, and then patted my arm. “You are a good man. I hope you will not regret these words.”

  “I could not,” I said. “I owe you my life, and I owe you for giving my parents the knowledge that their son was safe. It must have been their only source of comfort in the last days.”

  “Very well,” Settwell said, his voice now growing hard. “I despise that I must flee this city with my money in the hands of the thieves that took it of me. My daughter will be denied the comfort and freedom that is rightly hers, a state of ease for which I labored all my life. When I lost my wife, I was able to take some solace in the knowledge that Mariana would do well. Now that too is gone, and I cannot endure it.”

  My pulse quickened and there was a mild throbbing in my temples. I had come to Lisbon to free myself from my own worst self, to exorcise my darkness entirely, but I was yet in Lisbon, and if I could also punish those who had harmed my friend, then I would do so. Gladly. This very moment. I sipped from my neglected glass of wine. “Have you a plan?”

  “I do,” Settwell answered, “but to succeed, I will need your help.”

  “You shall have it.” I did not hesitate, and I did not lie. The thought of doing something for this man, who had done so much for me, was like a balm. Let him ask me to throw myself into the sea, and I would embrace the opportunity.

  Settwell’s face lit up. “You are very like your father, Mr. Foxx. Very like him indeed. He, too, was nice in the matter of honor.” He took another gulp of wine to steady his nerves, and then began. “There is a pair of merchants, upstarts who have been in Lisbon for but three years and who have prospered beyond all reason. They have used some fair means, but mostly foul. The husband, Mr. Rutherford Carver, is but a straw man, agreeable enough, but not overly clever, I’m afraid. It is his wife who is the mastermind, and she is both cunning and lovely to look upon. Her beauty is such that there is not a man among the Factory who is not enamored of her, which explains, in some small part, why my accusations fall upon deaf ears.”

  “And how did they cheat you?” I asked, finding myself growing even more eager. A chance to help Settwell and scoundrels to be punished. This was a balm indeed.

  “The scheme was simple enough. I was in the process of arranging to trade port wines for English woolens. As you know, I’d already been at a disadvantage after my conversion to Catholicism, and much rested upon my success. The Carvers approached me and claimed they could significantly increase my profits if I went into a venture with them. These sorts of joint operations are very usual, and the truth is, Roberta Carver can be quite persuasive. We invested our money, purchased port, and then sold it to an English merchant for woolens, dramatically increasing our profits by taking our payment in gold rather than negotiable notes. We were then to export the gold back to England. The Carvers made sure I understood the shipment was insured, so there was no fear of loss.”

  “I suspect,” I said, “that all was not as it appeared.”

  “There were no woolens. They bought the port upon my credit and then sold the goods to another merchant for gold. The gold was then warehoused. Using Mrs. Carver’s charms, they managed to falsify shipping manifests to make it appear that the gold was on a ship—a very ship that was then seized by Portuguese customs for the crime of exporting gold.”

  I knew that it was, in theory, illegal to export gold from Portugal. The Portuguese customs agents generally winked at the offense, however, as their economy depended upon foreign, and especially English, trade. Nevertheless, from time to time such shipments were seized to remind the English that Port
uguese laws had teeth and that foreigners thrived only by the grace of the Portuguese crown. Such seizures were rarely random, and only those out of favor with the crown ever fell victim.

  “So, they claimed the shipment was lost, while they actually retained it in their possession. But surely it was insured. Were you not protected?”

  “This is where Mrs. Carver’s influence is most pernicious. They have simply refused to pay me what they owe. They are not subject to English law as long as we are here, but to the ruling of the Factory and the consul. The consul dismissed my claim as nonsensical, and, in truth, I was not as careful as I should have been when reviewing that portion of the contract, for insurance in these matters is so standard that I failed to notice its omission.”

  “Some of this you could not have prevented, and some you might have, but you now have no recourse?”

  “That is the sum of things precisely.”

  “And what do you propose?”

  “It is all very simple,” said Settwell. He now leaned forward, and for an instant he appeared much like his younger self—energetic and enthusiastic, ready to take on the next great venture. “You have already come here in disguise as a young man of business. We shall take advantage of that. I ask that you present yourself as a man of property, but not liquid wealth, looking to make his way here. The Carvers will seek you out, and because you have no connections, you will have no allies. They will not be able to resist the scent of a naïve and eager young man. You will have to establish lines of credit with a New Christian merchant for this to work, but you are clever, and I do not doubt you can do this. Once you have their trust, they will offer you some kind of bargain, with enough truth to it that they will have to make investments of their own. That means they must accumulate gold. When they have it warehoused, you, sir, will steal it using the skills I know you to have gained in Mr. Weaver’s service. The Carvers will lose some portion of what they took of me, and I shall have the means to leave the country. I will not be as rich as I once was, but my daughter will not be a pauper.”