The Bellini Card

46

Palewski walked slowly back to his apartment. It had occurred to him, ironically, and with curiosity, what might be done with six thousand pounds.

Now and then he heard footsteps approaching; a dark figure would loom out of the narrow passage, his shadow lengthening with every step, and he would pass with a muffled greeting. Sometimes he heard footsteps behind him. He walked slowly, savoring the money, and let them pass.

Six thousand would buy him a regiment, or a library, or an assassin. He wondered about that. He wondered, too, what it would be like to own a newspaper, perhaps in France, editions in Polish and French, articles about poetry and music, and above all the truth about Poland and the Poles. Mickiewicz was a good poet. Herzen-he’d contribute on the Russian side. Yes, six thousand pounds would go a long way in the diaspora, into garrets and drawing rooms.

And then again, not far enough. Better, perhaps, to go to New York, like Signor Brett, selling Canalettos to the newly rich? He smiled broadly and turned left. Australia! A new life. A new life certainly, but even in his dreams he was unclear what a life in Australia might entail.

Six thousand: two dropped on opium from Bengal, two on a cutter. Sold to China. Palewski Taipan, the richest man in Amoy! He gave a short laugh.

Footsteps again rang out on the cobbles behind him.

He stopped to look about and failed to recognize the alley. There were no lights beyond. He realized he’d taken a wrong turning; to make sure he went to the end of the alley and found himself looking through an archway at a set of slimy steps and a canal.

He swiveled around and began to retrace his steps, hearing their uneven echo in the dark ahead.