The Day of Atonement (45 page)

He came back over to us and took hold of his daughter’s hand. “I should not choose to take her to India, but I think a run along the coastline should prove manageable,” he said.

Mariana looked at the boat, and then her father. She leaned against him hard, and he crouched down to whisper encouraging words into her ear.

“Even a lion may love its young, but that makes it no less dangerous.”

It was Roberta. She stood next to me, as unkempt and filthy as the rest, though no less lovely for it. She was raw now, wild and unbound by society’s restraints on her femininity. There was a pure and raging beauty to her.

“There must be a truce between you,” I said. “We must work together.”

“Yes, I know. Still, quite a band of followers you’ve assembled.”

“I am attempting to do what’s right. You must promise me there will be no trouble.”

“I shall make none,” she assured me. “I want to live. And the truth is, I cannot say how much harm your friend has really done me. I would have been ruined in the quake, and Rutherford—that was not his doing. No one could have predicted or prevented it. I am too tired, too frightened, to hate anyone.”

I looked at her. “Not even me?”

“You least of all,” she said with a sad smile. “Perhaps when this is all over, I will hate you, or perhaps my feelings will be of an altogether different nature. I cannot know, but I look forward to the leisure of discovering what I feel when I’m not fatigued and terrified.”

“It was not long since that England was the last place you wished to go.”

“And now I cannot see it too soon,” she said. She leaned toward me, her face tilted up toward mine, and whispered, “Get me there quickly. Please.”

Her voice, her breath, were like cold water on a sleeping man. I roused myself from my reflection and began to direct my survivors to make ready. I had some load the boat, others check the rigging. Franklin I sent to seek out the latch that released the secret door. He found it along the river side of the house, not well hidden. It was a circular crank with a handle, which the big man rotated in a few massive heaves, lifting up the false stone barrier.

Light now streamed in. The Tagus was still choppy and rough, but the sky beyond was blue and nearly free of clouds. A beautiful day for sailing.

“Everyone but Franklin, climb in,” I said. “It’s time to go.”

Eusebio was first, and offered a hand to Gabriela. Settwell and Mariana followed. And then Roberta and finally Luis. They sat there on the splintering wooden benches, all of them, not just Mariana, looking like children, hands in laps, waiting for the adult to tell them what to do. How had I become that person? I was now the responsible one. Heaven help us.

“We are joining them, yes?” Franklin asked me.

“Not quite yet,” I said. “You have to help me untie the ropes.”

He snorted. “I thought you were worried I was too fat to take with you.”

I smiled at this. “I suspect you will be thin before we get to the end. Now, let’s get to it.”

The ropes were bound tightly, and untying them was hard work. I was bent over, negotiating a particularly stubborn knot, when I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway. I ignored it for a moment, continuing the work, and I did not look up until I was ready.

When I turned, I saw Inácio, who stood five feet behind Franklin, pistol out. A broad grin spread across his imposing features. The arm that held the pistol was steady, but the other was wrapped in bloody bandages, still wet. I took no small amount of pleasure in the knowledge that Roberta had hurt him, perhaps badly.

“This is the end for you,” Inácio said. “Did you not think trouble would come?”

“I expect it every moment,” I said. “Now is as fine a time as any.”

“Brave talk, but talk accomplishes little. You came to me with your talk.
Oh, let us be friends. Let us forget how you suffered while I prospered
. That talk meant nothing to me.”

“Yes, I worked that out,” I said.

“It’s sad, do you not think? Everything you’ve done and endured, and it comes down to this.”

I turned to Franklin. “Get on the boat, and take her out. Leave without me. Get them safely to Spain and then France. I’ll find another way out of the country.”

Franklin stood frozen. “If I attempt to take the boat out, he’ll shoot us.”

“If he turns his gun on you long enough to shoot you, he’ll be dead. He won’t take the chance. It’s me he wants.” I presumed that was the case. This was his boathouse. If he had wanted to leave, he would be gone already. Had he been lingering here, hoping I would show? Had he waited outside Settwell’s house, thinking I might take refuge there? However he had found me, he had set about the task with a single-minded determination, and that meant it was me he wanted to hurt, not my friends. So, let him hurt me. I was done hurting others.

“No,” Inácio said. “I understand you too well, Sebastião. You care nothing if you live or die, but your friends—that is another matter.” He stepped back slowly. “Everyone gets off the boat now, or someone dies. Maybe her.” He gestured the gun toward Roberta. “You remember me, my sweet lady, don’t you?”

Roberta rose and leapt awkwardly from the boat, walking to my side. None of the others moved.

Inácio grinned. “Ah, the lady. If there was but one I would have with me, it is you. Now, the rest of you, get out, or one of you dies.”

“No one else leave the boat,” I said. “I will manage this.”

“How will you do that?” Inácio asked. “I have more pistols in my pockets, and I believe I can take two or three of you before you can reach me. You see, you are not the only one who does not fear death.”

I studied him, his bandaged arm, his posture, the bulges in his pockets. It was possible he could do what he said, but he would be slow, uncertain. Even so, there were lives not my own in the balance, and if he was determined to hurt one of the others, I might not be able to stop him in time.

“Maybe instead of the pretty lady, I shall aim first for the child,” Inácio said. “Or perhaps the Jewess. That would trouble our friend Sebastião, I think.”

Roberta took a tentative step toward Inácio and swallowed hard.

“Roberta,” I said. “Stay here.”

She ignored me and took another step. She was pale, her lips almost white, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. “He says he loves me,” she told Inácio. “So if you want to hurt him, take me.”

Inácio studied her, trying to figure out the puzzle. “And what would I do with you once I had you?”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I have nothing left, but I know that if you take me, it will torment him. Even though I say this in front of him, it will still kill him to know you have me. That’s enough.”

“Perhaps you enjoyed my attentions more than you wish to admit,” Inácio said.

“Believe what you like,” Roberta returned.

Inácio was now laughing softly, shaking his head in wonder. Did he truly believe that after all he had done, Roberta felt some strange desire for him?

“We shall see,” Inácio said to her. “I shall give you an opportunity to prove your loyalty, and if you do—”

“Careful, Inácio!” Roberta cried out. “Foxx has a knife.”

Inácio, whose eyes had drifted toward Roberta, returned his gaze to me and raised the pistol. His eyes were narrow and intense, his muscles hard. Until that moment, I had not moved, but now I did. I had more than one knife, of course. I had many knives. I began to reach for one in my belt. Let him fire his pistol at me. Either he would hit me or he would not.

Neither of us saw Roberta coming. She lunged forward and thrust her own blade, the replica of the one that had once belonged to my father, into Inácio’s thigh, all the way to the hilt, and then yanked it out in a single, fluid motion. Without stopping to see the damage she had inflicted, she leapt away and began to work at the ropes toward the aft of the boat. Understanding his role, Franklin moved to its front. I ran toward Inácio.

Inácio had been staggered by the wound, but only for a second. It must have been horribly painful, but he was not going to let it deter him. He took two steps back and then raised his pistol at me. I was now less than ten feet away from him. “One more step and you die.”

I stopped and raised my hands, letting my blade drop. From the corner of my eye, I saw Franklin finish with the ropes and jump on the boat, wobbling and nearly falling in the water. It would have been comic under any other circumstances. Roberta was already on board. Inácio saw it too, but dared not react. He knew better than to take his eyes off me.

“Clever,” Inácio said, trying not to grimace. “But your friends leave without you. She tricked you and escapes without you.”

“It is what I want,” I said. “And she knows it. She knows that I can be trapped here forever, so long as they are safe.” I turned my head slightly. “All of you, go.
Go
, and do not stop. Do not look for me to catch up with you. I shall go another way and meet you in London.”

I heard movement behind me. Settwell cried, “What are you doing? We can’t leave him.”

“It is what he wants,” Roberta said.

“He is just saying that to deceive Inácio!” Settwell again. “We must wait.”

“You don’t know him. He wants us to make our escape. If we wait for him, and we fail, it will kill him. If you want to help him, then go!”

I did not turn to look at her, but I did not have to. I knew she understood. It wasn’t callousness but tenderness that made her want to leave me behind, and I thought of my own departure ten years earlier. It was the one thing she could do for me, and for herself, and though I knew it was hard, she did not flinch. I kept my eyes on Inácio and listened to the sound of waves lapping, but there were no more voices. They were silent, I imagined, as they drifted out of the boathouse and toward the river. Were they watching me or had they turned away already? I hoped it was the latter.

Inácio scowled. Blood ran down his trouser leg, pooling about his boot, but he appeared unconcerned. “You want to be abandoned, despised by the people you protect?”

“This is how I protect them. You were right, you know. I could have endured anything but to see them harmed. Now I need not fear it.”

We glowered at each other like two tomcats preparing for an inevitable fight, a conflict with no goal but victory. We kept our gazes locked while almost everything I cared about in the world slipped further away.

“Your friends left you,” Inácio said. He grinned crookedly. “Just as you knew they always would. You are all alone. Abandoned.”

“So it seems.”

“How does it feel to be cast aside?”

“I am pleased,” I said, utterly without inflection.

“You may pretend to be unaffected, but I know the truth. I was wrong. There is one thing harder for you than seeing your friends hurt. It is seeing how little they care for you.”

“You know it is not so,” I said. “I am content.”

“Then be content to get on your knees.” He flicked the pistol slightly downward.

“No,” I said.

Inácio’s face darkened. Perhaps he had expected that this would be easier. “If you do not, I shall shoot you.”

“Then shoot me,” I told him. “You said yourself that I care not if I die.”

“Even such men as you will prefer to live.”

“Perhaps so. I shall not be toyed with, however. If you mean to shoot me, then do so. If you think you, who have been beaten and stabbed so many times in the past few days, can do what a half dozen soldiers could not, then go ahead and defeat me in unfair combat. But I don’t believe you have the courage. I believe you are a coward, Inácio. I believe you know that unless you drop your weapon and flee, you are going to die.”

Inácio hesitated. Then he lowered the pistol. He quite clearly meant for the ball to strike me below the waist, a wound that would immobilize but not kill me. He did not want me dead yet. He had set out to hurt and betray me, and though he had caused me pain, it had gained him nothing. He had no gold for all his efforts, only wounds and humiliation, and he wanted me to suffer for it.

As Inácio prepared to fire, I dropped to my knees and leaned forward, throwing my arms wide and presenting my heart. So intent was Inácio not to kill me yet that by instinct he twitched to the right even as he pulled back on the hammer and fired the weapon. There was the pop of exploding gunpowder and the crack of the ball striking wood. Acrid smoke puffed out of the pistol in a diabolical belch. Inácio would know that this mishap was the best he would have to show for his efforts. I had defeated a half dozen soldiers, I had taken
on the Inquisition in their own Palace, and I would be more than a match for this wreck of a man with but one good arm and one good leg.

Inácio was not prepared to surrender, however. He dropped the expended weapon and reached into his pocket for his second pistol. I was already there, ripping the weapon from his hand and tossing it into the water. It was now a fight of brute strength. I grinned, though I felt no pleasure.

I was tired. I was tired of death and suffering and misery. I was tired of Lisbon, and I was tired of attempting to do what was right and failing miserably time after time. I had come to Portugal because I believed it my obligation. I had no choice but to try to make things right, to restore order, to atone. Instead, I did nothing but leave a path of destruction behind me. I was weary, so weary, of trying and trying and destroying all I encountered. I was tired of disappointing the people who trusted me. I was tired of my own heart, which knew only broken love.

I leapt forward and grabbed Inácio by his left forearm, guessing where the worst of his wound was, and squeezed hard. At the same time, I kicked the flat of my foot brutally into the fresh wound on his thigh. His face went pale. His mouth slackened. Somehow, through force of will, he shook his head, keeping himself conscious, but it was not enough.

I took another step forward, and struck him in the side of the head. He stumbled backwards and fell to his knees. His face had gone white, and his eyes were wide, darting rapidly, as though he had forgotten where he was. This was not an honorable fight between equals, but I no longer cared about honor. I was angry and unafraid.