The Day of Atonement by David Liss Page A

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