The Day of Atonement Read online

  “You say nothing, Factory man?” the Gypsy said, clucking his tongue like a disappointed grandmother.

  “I’m not with the Factory.” I slurred my words and struck a note of hesitant bravado. “I’ve just arrived in the city.”

  “And no one warned you for Lisbon night? Perhaps you’ve make for you enemies, but I assure, I am not one of them. My name is Antonio Alface de Dordia e Zilhão, and I am the enemy of no man who wants be my friend.”

  “I am an Englishman,” I said, with too much pride and volume, “and if you wish to be my friend, I suggest you release me. You walk a dangerous path, I promise you.”

  “Perhaps we make a mistake,” Dordia e Zilhão said. He pressed one hand to his heart and bowed. “Perhaps we should fear you.”

  “Do not mock me,” I said. “I merely tell you that an Englishman is not to be troubled as he goes about his business.”

  “Hmm.” Dordia e Zilhão ran a hand over his mustaches. “You have given me many ideas to think on. Now, shall I tell you what to think on?”

  “If you have terms, I shall hear them,” I said, standing up a little straighter.

  “Remove your clothes.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “What is your meaning?”

  “I might cut your throat,” Dordia e Zilhão said, “but then the clothes would be stained with your blood, making them have for no value. Hand me your purse and your clothes of your back, and perhaps we allow you live. If you can make it to home, naked, without much troubled, you will learn for you a lesson about Lisbon for which you will owe me thanks.”

  “And if I refuse?” I asked.

  “Then you will have learned a different lesson, but I fear for you it will do no good.”

  If I complied, did he mean to let me live? I could not say. I did not think even he knew yet what he would do. Such men are often creatures of caprice and whim.

  I hung my head, as if in defeat. “I cannot accept your terms. You have made a mistake in taking me, for I suffer from a terrible illness.”

  “What illness?” Dordia e Zilhão pretended toward bravado, but his tone became slightly more shrill.

  I spoke again, running together a string of garbled nonsense.

  “What? Speak, English fool.”

  I mumbled once more, but this time I met the eye of the boy and held it for an instant, hoping he would understand the significance.

  Dordia e Zilhão stepped closer and put his head near my own. “Damn you, what are you talking about?”

  I lurched forward and struck Dordia e Zilhão hard in the face with my forehead. The blow was sure and staggering. I felt the man’s nose pop like an egg, and I heard the satisfying crunch of bone and the warm spray of blood against my forehead as the Gypsy crumpled, coughing up a garbled, gurgling scream. He pitched forward, and the incline of the hill did the rest for me as he tumbled.

  The man holding me did not let go in surprise, as I had hoped. Instead, he tightened his grip, perhaps believing that one of the two remaining men would set upon the prisoner. I chose not to wait. I rotated my forearms with a sudden burst of strength, and the thief’s grip loosened, if only for an instant. I drove the heel of my boot into his shin, and feeling his hands slip away, I struck the Gypsy in the face with my elbow. I caught him in the teeth, and felt at least two come unmoored. The man dropped and rolled down the steep incline of the street and into the murky dark.

  I turned to face the remaining two men, but they had already fled into the night. It was all for the good, and it made my task easier. Though I had dispatched the first two men with relative ease, I could not depend upon my luck holding.

  The fight had been short and brutal. My elbow throbbed, as did my knuckles and my forehead. I hadn’t noticed the pain in the heat of the action—I rarely did—but now it washed over me. If anything, it was a comfort. I stepped over the groaning body of Dordia e Zilhão and approached the lad, the only one who remained present and conscious.

  The light was dim, but I could see the boy was tawny in color and had the high forehead of a Brazilian native, although his other features appeared more European. He was the sort of half-caste that Englishmen would have found shocking but was common enough in a Portuguese port city.

  “How old are you?” I asked the boy in Portuguese.

  “Fifteen, my master,” he answered, keeping his eyes cast down. He was thin, and his filthy clothes hung loose upon his frame. These things contributed to his look of terror, though no doubt he was frightened enough. Still, I detected that he was alert and ready to flee or, perhaps, spring upon an opportunity if one should appear. He was a creature of the streets, and so prepared to endure risk for the chance of reward.

  “Small for your age. What is your name?”

  “I am called Enéas.”

  “Well, Enéas, what is the largest sum of money you have ever held in your hands as your own to spend?”

  The boy took a moment to consider the question. “One real.”

  I put a purse in the boy’s hands. “Here’s ten. It is yours to keep regardless of what you choose. However, I am in need of a servant, one who knows the streets and who can get me information. Is that something you can do?”

  Enéas nodded eagerly, swallowing hard, perhaps at the thought of the food ten reais would buy. The boy’s muscles were still tense. He was clearly prepared to run, money in hand, should things go badly, but he was not leaving yet. Not until he heard more.

  “I can do all that and more,” he said, now sounding brighter. “There is no one who knows Lisbon better than I. I know every street and every vendor in every stall. I know every whore and every drunk. You need but say to me, ‘Enéas, fetch me the French whore who used to be a seamstress,’ and I shall know who you mean and run to her that very instant.”

  “I shall certainly keep that in mind. Here is what I propose. Come with me, and I shall not mistreat you or give you cause to complain, and in exchange I ask only for diligent labor and loyalty. If anyone offers you money to betray me, you must tell me, and I shall make it more profitable to reject that offer. If you should choose to betray me regardless, I can promise you a swift death. Is this a bargain you care to make?”

  The boy cocked his head as he considered the offer. “Will there be buggery?”

  “I shan’t indulge,” I said, “but you may pursue your own interests when you are not otherwise engaged.”

  Enéas snorted out a laugh. “I accept your offer. I was a slave to those men, and never earned a coin for my labor or my sorrow. It is said that the English treat their servants well.”

  “Some do, and some do not,” I said. “I do. You will return to my inn and sleep in my front room there. You will eat upon my bill, and rest until dawn. And then I shall put you to work.”

  “What manner of work, my master?”

  “Seeking information and not being detected.”

  The boy nodded and grinned as though this were the very thing of which he had always dreamed.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, I took a leisurely breakfast of bread and cheese. Enéas had settled into his new position with wonderful alacrity, waking early, preparing hot water and fetching my food. Naturally, I watched him for signs that he was merely biding his time, waiting to steal something of value and flee, but Enéas seemed to appreciate that fate had thrown an inexplicably good opportunity in his path, and he was not about to spurn it. Some men are born to cut purses and throats, and some to draw baths and pour tea. Enéas, I felt certain, was of the latter category.

  If anything, I would have to work on making certain he was not overly solicitous. I did not want him reordering my trunk or folding my clothes or dusting my desk. I explained to the boy that his task was to run errands, deliver messages, and bring my meals when I had chosen to eat in private. Otherwise, he was at his leisure. This concept confounded the boy. Leisure in his life among the Gypsies, I supposed, had been the time Enéas awaited his next torment.

  Having finished the last of h
is bread, I now looked at the boy, who appeared to have no other business at the moment than staring at me with his huge brown eyes, full of equal measures of fear and expectation. “You have eaten already?” I asked him.

  “Please forgive me!” Enéas cried, throwing his hands in the air. “You said last night that I might eat upon your bill, and so I took a portion for myself. If this was wrong, I beg you will work me day and night to make amends.”

  “You are of no use to me if you don’t eat,” I answered, perhaps a little sharply. I understood that half of this performance was genuine, the other half masquerade, and I found both parts equally tiresome. “Take your fill, and think no more of it. But eat no more than you require.” This last I added lest too much kindness make the boy mistrust me.

  “I shall be no glutton!” Enéas said. “I swear by all the saints.”

  I leaned forward. “Then you are ready to work?”

  Enéas clapped his hands together. “You must but tell me what to do.”

  “I need you to find someone for me. I will tell you what I know of him, but it is many years since I’ve seen him, so I cannot say the task will be easy, particularly because I wish you to be subtle. Ask no more than you have to of no people but those you must. Use your eyes and ears, and whenever possible, hold your tongue. Do you understand?”

  Enéas nodded. “My old master had me perform such tasks when looking for, well, certain things.”

  “Victims to rob?” I suggested.

  Enéas nodded. “Oh, yes. Victims to rob, children to abduct, functionaries to bribe. He had a great interest in such things, and I was very good at finding them.” He paused for a moment and looked at me. “I took no pleasure in doing evil, of course.”

  “Yes, well, this is nothing of that sort. I am looking for someone.”

  More than anything, I wanted to send the boy in search of Gabriela. The idea that I might see her, that I might see her soon, even in a matter of hours, made me feel drunk with excitement. After all these years, to look upon her again. And perhaps more? When I thought of being reunited with her, I thought of taking her in my arms, of holding her, of having the touch of her skin against mine drive away all that had changed me.

  I could not, however, send a Gypsy boy poking around New Christian business. Enéas would draw notice and would likely be arrested. He might cause Gabriela to be arrested too. Instead, I chose to send him after someone else from my past.

  “I’m looking for an old friend, one I haven’t seen in ten years, but I knew him well when I was a boy.”

  Enéas nodded. “Tell me what you can of him, and I shall find him. There is no place in Lisbon he can hide from my ever-watchful gaze.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “That is to say,” the boy corrected, “I shall do my best.”

  “His name is Inácio Arouca. His father worked as a factotum for various New Christians in the city, but he also owned a small fleet of fishing boats. He was an enterprising sort, as I recall, and it is likely his son joined the family trade or took it over if the father is not alive. Do you think that is enough information for you to begin with?”

  “Yes, my master,” Enéas said, now nodding eagerly. “That is your first task. Now you must think of a second task for me.”

  “Perhaps you should complete the first before you begin on the second.”

  “I have already completed it,” Enéas said. “I can take you to Inácio Arouca anytime you like. Right now, if you wish.”

  I sat up straight. “What? You know him?”

  “How should I not know him? Everyone knows him,” said Enéas. “At least men such as my old master. Thieves and cutthroats and poor slaves like myself. He may be your old friend, and I know you would have scorned him in your youth had he not been a good person. Now, however, Inácio Arouca is a terrible man.”

  We met when we were both eleven, and we became friends at once. Inácio was the son of João Arouca, a hard-bitten Old Christian whom my father had hired as a general agent, a man meant to smooth over rougher business transactions, especially with other Old Christian laborers and small merchants and dockworkers. It helped to have a tough-minded man like Arouca, who could make easy conversation and clarify misunderstandings, and perhaps use stronger tactics when necessary. A New Christian had to be on his guard at all times not to offend, and that was not always easy for a merchant. A disgruntled worker or trader might vent his anger, sharpened with a few embellishing falsehoods, to the Inquisition. Arouca therefore stood as my father’s proxy, using a glib tongue or a strong arm as was required.

  Arouca came to meet with my father one afternoon and brought Inácio in tow. In the way of boys, I sensed at once the presence of another child in the house. Though my English-born tutor was not present, I—ever diligent—had been at my studies for hours, writing a Latin essay in the style of Cicero. I had applied myself most of the day, but now I wanted to be outside. I wanted to run and climb and kick and throw. I crept down the stairs and saw him. There was something I liked at once about the boy. He had a hawkish nose and curious eyes, and he moved like a predator. Even at eleven, Inácio appeared muscular and powerful, whereas I was as thin as a stray dog. Watching him, I had the undeniable feeling that this Old Christian would be a good friend to have.

  I watched the boy, still unseen by him, as he reached out toward a dagger resting upon a stand in the hallway. It had a silver handle, laced with gold and encrusted with rubies, and had been in the family for many years. I was not permitted to touch the blade, and I understood the boy’s fascination.

  “You are Arouca’s son?” I asked.

  The boy started and took a step back. “I wasn’t going to steal it. I only wanted to hold it.” He met my gaze, and though his words had been apologetic, his expression spoke of defiance.

  “I’m not allowed to touch it either.” I grinned, trying to put the boy at his ease. “But, once in a while, I like to hold it anyway.”

  Inácio looked relieved. No doubt he had not expected to be believed. He had imagined this son of a rich merchant would assume he was a thief. “You will not tell my father?”

  “Tell him what?” I asked. “That you looked at a dagger? That would make me sound foolish.”

  The boy laughed. “I thought that because you are rich you must be cruel.”

  “It is a reasonable conclusion,” I said, “but we’re not that rich.”

  I walked with Enéas, and the boy prattled on endlessly about what he knew of Inácio—what everyone knew of him. He was a smuggler, and a successful one. He had bought a series of houses built up against the old seawall. During high tide, the river rose up to the outer wall of the property, and a false door there allowed Inácio’s boats to move in and out with ease, eluding the customs men. He was said to own a dozen or more—which meant he likely had no more than four or five—which he used to bring in goods from Spain.

  That, however, was only part of his business. He did not himself lend money or pimp or run gambling houses, but he took money from those who did, allegedly providing protection from interference, though the interference was more likely to come from Inácio himself than any other source. Every petty criminal in the city, including Enéas’s old master, had had dealings with Inácio, and they were never pleasant.

  I had less difficulty than I would have liked reconciling Enéas’s description of a violent enforcer with my memories of my friend. Inácio had never shied away from a fight, and he always had his eye out for a chance to make a few coins. Inácio’s father had tied his fortunes to my father’s, and when a New Christian fell, as Settwell had learned, he often took his friends with him. Inácio may have found himself without money or an honest means of getting it, and I knew all too well how one desperate choice could lead to another.

  We walked east, past the Palace and then the fine shops, gated off so that fidalgos and government functionaries might buy their clothes and furnishings without having to come in contact with the poor. Then we made our way into the
winding alleys of the Alfama, keeping close to the river. Finally Enéas led us up a narrow staircase, covered and nighttime dark, and stinking of the unwashed men and women who had slept there the night before. Beyond that was a small courtyard of uneven buildings made of warped wood and bricks stained by soot and overturned chamber pots. From there we followed another path down, back toward the river, until we came to a set of nondescript doors.

  “Here,” Enéas said.

  I knocked.

  A young man, hardly more than a boy, with a wispy beard, opened the door a crack. The smell of the river exploded from behind him. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I seek Inácio,” I said, straining to see past the man. My efforts yielded nothing.

  The man snorted. “Many men seek Inácio.”

  “Then they may knock on this door when it suits them,” I said. “It is I who knocks now.”

  “They may knock,” the young man said, “but they shan’t be admitted. What makes you think you deserve more than they?”

  “Do many Englishmen seek him?” I asked.

  The man at the door appeared puzzled.

  “That’s what makes me think I deserve more,” I said. “I’m English, and all Englishmen deserve whatever they desire. Surely you know that.”

  “Inácio does not see someone simply because he knocks upon the door,” the young man said. “English or otherwise.”

  The burden of refraining from violence began to tire me. “He will see me. Tell him his old friend Sebastião is here.”

  The man considered this. He scratched at the thin strands of his beard with a bony hand. “You know him, you say?”

  “It is what I say. I have just said it. I can say it again if you think it will help you to understand.”

  Having come to a decision, the man said, “He’s not here.”

  “Why did you not tell us this before?”

  “I am telling you now. He is at the Velha Baleia.”

  The old whale? “Is that a taberna?”

  The man studied him. “You speak Portuguese well, particularly for an Englishman, but you evidently don’t know the Alfama. That makes me doubt you are truly Inácio’s friend. Are you certain you wish to find him?”