Miguel smiled at Parido, who turned away in disgust. But Miguel would not let him walk away. He pushed through the crowd. He heard sales at twenty-nine and twenty-eight. He looked at the clock on the church tower. Half past one. Only thirty minutes remaining.
“I believe the day is mine,” Miguel called.
Parido spun around. “Not yet, Lienzo. There’s still time.”
“There may be time, but I don’t believe you have any more options.”
Parido shook his head. “You think your little tricks will save you? Relish this moment, Lienzo. I think you’ll find you are not nearly so clever as you think.”
“No, probably not. But I have the distinct pleasure this day of being cleverer than you. I wish to take possession of those barrels of coffee you promised me by this time tomorrow.”
“You haven’t the money to pay for them,” he spat. “If you look at your copy of our contract, you will note it specifies the exchange must take place within seventy-two hours of the end of market today. I frankly don’t believe you will be able to raise the money. Indeed, in seventy-two hours in the eyes of the Ma’amad you may no longer be a Jew.”
So Parido planned to use the council to avoid his debts. The council would never stand for it. “You may believe what you wish, but I’ll transfer the amount to your account by this time tomorrow. I expect you to transfer ownership with a similar punctuality, or you will have to honor the contract and pay me an additional thirty-eight hundred.”
Miguel stepped away and glanced toward the crowd of buyers and sellers. The price appeared now to have stabilized at a remarkable twenty-six, with very little time left to trade. If the price only stayed there, he would earn a profit of almost seven hundred guilders from his puts alone, another two thousand from the futures. Now, too anxious to simply stand and observe, he thought to take care of one last bit of business.
Isaiah Nunes had been speaking quietly with some acquaintances, attempting to ignore the selling frenzy. Miguel smiled and asked Nunes to walk with him a moment privately. The two stepped away behind a pillar.
Miguel allowed his face to brighten into his best merchant guise. “I would like you to transfer ownership of the coffee I contracted with you to deliver. I would like ownership papers in my hands no later than tomorrow morning.”
Nunes straightened his posture, as though making some effort to align himself perfectly with the earth, and then took a step forward. “I’m sorry you find yourself in a difficult situation, Miguel, but I can’t help you. I told you the shipment never arrived, and your needs cannot undo what has been done. And if I may be so bold, you are hardly a man to demand prompt action in any regard. Getting you to pay what you owed me has been no easy task, and I feel that you’ve abused my friendship unforgivably.”
“An odd comment from a man who sold my contracted goods to Solomon Parido.”
Nunes tried to show no expression. “I cannot understand you. You are talking like a madman, and I’ll not be insulted.”
“You’re overplaying your part, senhor. You should appear confused, not horrified.”
“Nothing you say may horrify me.” He took a step forward. “I once looked upon you as a friend, but I see you are only a cheat and I’ll discuss nothing further with you.”
“You’ll discuss it with me, or you will discuss it in the courts,” Miguel answered. He saw at once that he had Nunes’s attention. “You took the coffee I had contracted for and delivered it to Solomon Parido. You then lied and told me my shipment had never been acquired. I presume you then arranged for another shipment, but I know the cargo that belongs to me by legal right came in on a ship called the Sea Lily. I have witnesses who will testify to hearing Parido discuss the matter. If you refuse to comply, my only question will be whether to bring you before a Dutch court or the Ma’amad, or both, and force you to provide not only the coffee but pay such damages that result of my not having the original shipment.” Miguel showed Nunes the contract he had made with Parido. “If I lose money on this contract, I’ll be able to sue you for the losses, for if you had not deceived me I should surely have won. And you may wager that once this matter goes to court, your reputation as a trustworthy merchant will be utterly dashed.”
Nunes flushed. “If I withhold the coffee from Parido, he will make me an enemy. What of my reputation then?”
“Surely you can’t expect me to care. You’ll transfer ownership to me by morning, or I’ll see you ruined.”
“If I give you what you ask, you’ll say nothing? You’ll not tell the world of this?”
“I ought not to keep quiet, but I’ll do so out of memory of our friendship. I never would have expected this from you.”
Nunes shook his head. “You must understand how difficult it is to resist Parido when he wants something. I dared not say no to him. I have a family, and I could not afford to put myself at risk by protecting you.”
“I understand his influence and power,” Miguel said, “and I have resisted him just the same. And he did not ask you to refrain from protecting me, he asked you to lie to me and cheat me, and you agreed. I never thought you a particularly brave man, Isaiah, but I was still shocked to learn the extent of your cowardice.”
As he walked away he heard the clock tower strike two. He asked a man standing near him how coffee had closed: twenty-five and a half guilders per barrel.
Miguel would look at once into renting a splendid house on the shores of the Houtgracht. He would contact his debtors to offer some small payment to the most anxious. Everything would be different now.
And there was his brother. He turned around. Daniel stood no more than an arm’s length away. Daniel looked at his brother, tried to lock eyes with him, but Miguel could not bring himself to say anything. The time for reconciliation was over; there could be no forgiveness. Daniel had bet his own future against his brother’s, and he had lost.
Miguel moved away. Crowds of men swarmed around him. Word had begun to spread; already every man upon the Exchange understood he had had a great victory. Even if they did not know what he had won or whom he had defeated, these traders knew they stood in the presence of a trader in his glory. Strangers whose names he barely knew clapped him on the shoulder or pumped his hand or promised they would call upon him soon to speak of a project whose value he could scarce believe.
And then, through the thickness of the traders, he saw a haggard Dutchman in fine clothes grin widely at him. Joachim. Miguel turned away from a triumvirate of Italian Jews who wanted to speak to him about figs, uttering some polite excuse and promising to call on them at a tavern whose name he forgot the moment the men spoke it. He pushed on until he stood facing Joachim, who appeared both greater and smaller than he had in his impoverished madness. His grin appeared not so much triumphant as sad. Miguel returned it with a smile of his own.
“I told you I would make things right,” he said, “if you would but trust me.”
“If I had done no more than trust you,” Joachim replied with equal cheer, “I would still be a poor man. It is only because I hated you and hounded you that you have won this victory. There is a great lesson to be learned here, but I shall burn in hell if I know what it may be.”
Miguel let out a bark of a laugh and stepped forward to embrace this man who, not so long ago, he had wished dead with all his heart. For all he knew, he might wish him dead again, and soon. For the moment, however, he did not care what Joachim had done or would do, and he did not care who knew of their hatred and their friendship. He cared only that he had righted his own wrongs and unmade his ruin in the process. Miguel would have hugged the devil himself.
32
The new girl spoke no Portuguese but made herself content with a rough exchange of signs. Catryn had a dour face, closer to plain than homely, but unpleasant enough to suit her mistress. It hardly mattered. Miguel was out of the house now, and the prettiness or plainness of the maid meant nothing to anyone.