The Day of Atonement (13 page)

Inácio returned to the table, his expression neutral, as though he had only gone to relieve himself. “Pardon the interruption. Sometimes business cannot wait.”

Inácio was clearly inclined to play games. “That was for my benefit. You wanted me to know you are not a man to be toyed with.”

“Perhaps.” Inácio smiled. “But the man owes me money, and I have my interests to protect.”

“The fishing boats your father left you do not provide you with enough income?”

“My father left me nothing,” Inácio said, his voice becoming low and rough. “The Inquisition seized it all, and the loss of it killed him. He sat in those dungeons for over a year, and when they let him out, he was a pauper. He died of shame before another year had passed. The boats I have now, like everything else I have, I earned by my labor.”

“Then you have just as much reason to hate the Inquisition as I do.”

“Without a doubt,” Inácio agreed, “but I also have a great deal to lose. Look at you, Englishman. You will either die attempting to have your revenge, or you will live and return to England—and with money which you do not care for. All I am and have is right here. I cannot afford to make war on the Inquisition. I wish you well, and I hope you succeed in all you attempt, but I cannot spy on an Inquisitor. I would be discovered—make no mistake about that—and I will not land in the Palace dungeon for as same as my father did for your father.”

“I understand,” I said, and I did. My position here, my disguise within a disguise, protected me. Inácio was right. I did not plan to die, but I did plan to leave. I risked no more than I put upon the table, but a man who remained in Lisbon would risk everything he had. I did not much care for Inácio’s resentment, but I comprehended it well enough.

“Perhaps I can help you indirectly. I will not be your partner, for I dare not be, but I am your friend. If you think there is something I can do for you without inviting danger, you must let me know. If I can, I shall.”

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.

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 satisfying. “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.

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.