The Day of Atonement by David Liss

Author:David Liss [Liss, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-58836-963-5
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2014-09-22T16:00:00+00:00

When I stepped inside my rooms at the Duke’s Arms, I found the curtains drawn and several lamps burning, a pointless waste of oil, for it was not yet fully dark. I was about to call out to Enéas to scold him, but then I saw a man sitting in the dim light of the room, apparently waiting for me. I straightened my back. My muscles tensed, and my breath came slow and deep. Weapons, exits, advantages. I took it all in. And yes, the opportunity to strike at someone felt like a balm. Inácio was—perhaps—guilty of nothing, but the rage was still there, seeking an outlet.

The man sat at my writing desk, with his feet propped up, and a glass of my wine in his hand. One of the lamps rested but a few feet away, illuminating half his face, making his features twist and contort with the flames.

It was Azinheiro.

No doubt he expected groveling and obeisance. I should now genuflect, make certain his wine was sufficiently full. Perhaps he would like some bread and cheese. Might I call for some cold meat?

Let him menace another man if he wanted that. The only courtesy I would show him was forbearance from breaking his neck. “What are you doing here?”

Through the curtains, the last of the day’s light began to dim. Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, would soon begin, and I stood talking to a priest of the Inquisition.

“I am told you took dinner this afternoon with the merchant Nobreza,” said Azinheiro.

I said nothing, waiting to see if he knew about my detour to visit Inácio.

“Your meal was, I hope, productive for your business,” the Inquisitor pressed.

“It was,” I said. “And now I am eager to return to my work, which is why I rushed home.”

I grabbed the bottle of wine off the writing desk and poured myself a glass. The sun had not set, so the Yom Kippur fast had not yet begun. I swallowed my drink and counted off all the reasons why I could not kill this man right now. Chief among these, of course, was that murdering an Inquisitor would interfere with my ability to help Charles Settwell. There were others too. I would become a wanted man, and fleeing the country would be difficult. It had all seemed so simple when I first conceived the notion: Get Azinheiro alone and kill him. Well, here we were, alone. A thrust of a blade or a twist of the neck. It hardly mattered. But then, what of poor Mariana? What of Gabriela? What of the man who had betrayed my father? That simple plan had built itself layers and complexities.

There was no helping it. There was nothing to do but drink more wine with a murdering Jesuit. I poured another glass for Azinheiro and handed it to him, wishing it were poisoned.

“I do not like you coming here uninvited,” I told the priest. I did not know if it was dangerous to be so blunt or if it helped preserve my disguise, but I wasn’t worrying about a little breach of decorum.

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