The Coffee Trader

28

One week later, Miguel received a note from Geertruid. She had returned from her trip, all was well, and she wished to meet later that day at the Singing Carp.

When he arrived, Miguel thought she looked uncommonly beautiful in a gown of bright red with a blue bodice and a matching blue-trimmed red cap. Her lips were deep red, as though she had been biting them.

“It’s good to be back,” she said, kissing him on his cheek. “My ailing aunt in Friesland has made a complete recovery-so complete I wonder if she was ever truly sick at all. And now”-she took Miguel’s hand-“tell me what news, my handsome partner.”

Miguel wished he could have doubted his own eyes, but he had seen what he had seen. Geertruid had tricked Miguel into their friendship, and Miguel still did not know why.

“I’m happy your aunt is well.”

Miguel had spent some time thinking about this problem, and he had come to a comforting conclusion: if Geertruid worked for Parido, she would provide any reasonable amount he asked for; otherwise whatever scheme the parnass hatched would fail. Miguel would get the money he needed to cover his own investments, and then he would show Parido how foolish it was to attempt to outwit a man who was well read in the stories of Charming Pieter. But after days of thought, he was still unsure how to make his request.

“Well, then,” Geertruid said. She took a long drink of beer. “Any news of our shipment? Any news upon the Exchange? I am feverish with the desire to press forward.”

“There has been some news,” Miguel began, “though not as good as I would like. You must understand that these arrangements almost never happen as smoothly as planned, and as a merchant runs along, he must always do his best to avoid hidden dangers.”

Geertruid licked her lips. “Hidden dangers?”

“You see, the price of a commodity is subject to any of a variety of changes over a period of time. No one can truly predict its movements-that is, unless one has a monopoly, as we plan to do-though we do not have one yet.”

“The price of coffee has risen?” she asked flatly.

“It has, and somewhat more than I could have predicted. Then there is the matter of the shipping costs, which have turned out to be significantly more than I had been led to believe. And secrecy-that costs money too. A palm greased here and a palm greased there-a man looks down and his purse is empty.”

“I begin to suspect where this conversation is taking me.”

“I thought you might. You see, I think we must have more money to make this thing certain. For just a little bit more, we can remove any element of doubt.”

“A little bit more?”

“Fifteen hundred guilders,” he told her breezily, though when he saw the look on her face he realized he might have been too ambitious. “Although a thousand might do our business.”

“You must think me a far greater woman than I am,” she said. “I told you how difficult it was to raise the three thousand. Now you casually ask me for half again as much.”

“Is this money to gratify my own needs, madam? No, it is to assure our wealth. You asked me to work with you because you trusted that I knew how to order matters of business. I do know how, and I tell you we need this money if we want to depend on victory.”

Miguel had expected her to be sulky and chastising but also amused. Instead, she glared at him in anger. “When we began I asked you how much you required, and you told me three thousand guilders. I committed that money to you. If you had told me forty-five hundred, I would have said the thing could not be done. Will not the three thousand I gave you carry this? Is the money lost?”

“Not lost,” he told her hurriedly, “I promise you that. The worst danger we face is that we make not so much as we wished, and that you return your investment whence you got it. I only thought that if more money was to be had, it would serve us well.”

“More money is not to be had,” Geertruid said, “and I need you to speak truthfully to me. I know the truth comes hard to a man who has been a Secret Jew.”

“That is unkind,” Miguel protested.

“You’ve told me so yourself. You told me that out of necessity you were schooled in the arts of deception. I want no deception now, however. I want the truth.”

“Just because a man knows how to deceive doesn’t mean that he has forgotten how to be truthful. I would not lie to you, just as I know you would not lie to me.” He probably should not have said it, but he felt sure that his face betrayed nothing of the irony. “Your money is safe, and though more money would have made my task far easier, I believe I can still order everything.”

“Better to do it, then,” she said. “You cannot eat the same rabbit twice, Miguel. You’ve got all there is to get from me.”

“Then I will have to make do,” he said, with an easy grin.

Geertruid said nothing for a moment. She took a deep drink of her beer and stared past Miguel. “I believe you,” she said. “I know you are my friend, and I know you would not hurt me. But if there is something I must know, you had better tell me, because if you do hurt me-if it even appears to unschooled eyes that you have hurt me-you must understand that Hendrick will kill you, and I won’t be able to stop him.”

Miguel affected a laugh. “He’ll have no cause to resent me when all is done, and neither will you. Now, if things are to be this way, I had better go and make certain all is in order.”

“When will the shipment be in port?” she asked.

His speculations on coffee came due in three weeks’ time. He had planned originally that the coffee be in port some two weeks later. It would not happen, but no one need know that. Not for what he had in mind.

“A month,” he said. “Maybe less.”

The meeting left a sour taste in his mouth, but that could not be helped. As he crossed the Warmoesstraat, Miguel saw a pair of men who pretended that they did not keep their eyes upon him-surely Ma’amad spies. It was no matter. There was no crime in being on the street. Still, he felt compelled to lose them, and ducked into a side alley that led to a back street. He took another alley and then another side street, which took him back again to the main road.

He turned around, and the spies were still behind him. Perhaps they had never turned in the alleys, knowing Miguel would come back to where he started. He picked up a flat stone and tossed it into the canal to make it skip, but it sank the instant it hit the murky water.

Miguel lifted up the sack of coffee berries. It was light, light enough to toss from hand to hand. He would have to start being careful how he used it or he would soon have none left. Perhaps the people at the Turkish coffee tavern would allow him to buy for his own use.

Having taken an inventory of the problems before him, Miguel now saw what he faced: his coffee scheme was on the brink of foundering, owing to late shipments and insufficient funds; his partner, Geertruid, was not what she seemed, perhaps in league with Parido, perhaps not; Joachim was certainly in league with Parido, but that made Miguel’s life easier, not harder, since Parido’s money seemed to have returned the fellow’s sanity; Miguel could not pay his debt to Isaiah Nunes because he had used the funds to pay off his brother and to pay his Muscovy agent; the money he’d earned from his brilliant whale-oil trade was unavailable because the broker Ricardo would not pay Miguel or reveal the name of his client; Miguel could do nothing about Ricardo’s treachery since using the Dutch courts would bring upon him the anger of the Ma’amad, and going before Ma’amad was too risky because of Parido.

Rather, it had been too risky.

Miguel swallowed the last of the coffee in his bowl. There was at least one thing he could resolve, he realized, and he could do so at once.

After searching a half dozen taverns, Miguel called on Ricardo at his home. The broker was notorious for hiring the cheapest servants he could find, and the creature who opened the door must have been a rare bargain: well into her last years in life, she was hunched and trembling. Her eyes were mere slits, and she had trouble propelling herself forward.

“What is it?” she asked Miguel in Dutch. “You here for the Jew’s supper?”

Miguel smiled brightly. “Certainly.”

“Come in then. The rest are already eating. The Jew doesn’t like for the people he invites to be late.”

“Has it occurred to you,” Miguel asked, as he followed her along at her shuffling pace, “that as you speak of ‘the Jew,’ you are speaking to yet another Jew?”

“Take that up with him,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”

The woman led him down a long, brightly tiled hallway and into a spacious room, furnished with hardly more than a large table. The walls, however, were thick with paintings: portraits, landscapes, biblical scenes. Miguel recognized one portrait, a painting of Samson, as being in the style of that curious fellow who had lived in the Vlooyenburg and was in the habit of paying poor Jews to model for him.

The models, however, were the only poor Jews who graced the inside of this house; surrounding the table, which seemed to Miguel to have relatively little food on it, were some of the wealthiest men of the Portuguese Nation, including Solomon Parido. From the volume of the conversation, Miguel guessed that Ricardo had been more liberal with his wine than with his food.

The broker, who had been laughing at something, now looked up and saw Miguel standing with the old servant.

“It’s another Jew for you,” she announced.

“Lienzo.” Ricardo spat. “Surely I didn’t invite you here.”

“You told me to come join you and your friends for a merry feast, so here I am.”

Parido raised his glass. “Let us toast Lienzo, then. Amsterdam ’s most uncanny trader.”

Ricardo pushed himself to his feet. “Walk into my private chambers for a moment.” He lurched forward, stumbling briefly, and then, after taking a breath, seemed to have regained his balance. Miguel bowed at the guests and followed.

Ricardo let him up a narrow half flight of stairs to a smallish room, furnished with a writing table, a few chairs, and piles of papers that rested on the floor. The windows had been pulled shut, and the room was nearly entirely dark. The broker opened one of the shutters so there was just enough light for them to see each other, but hardly more than that.

“I’m beginning to suspect,” Miguel said, “that you drink more wine than is healthy for one of our nation. The Dutch are bottomless vessels, but you seem to have reached your limit.”

“And I think,” Ricardo said, “that you may be more of a rascal than I had first suspected. What do you mean coming here while I am entertaining my friends, a category, I might point out, that certainly does not include you?”

“I had no idea you had friends here. I was merely looking for you in some obvious places. Had you not hired your serving girl out of the graveyard she might screen your visitors a little more thoroughly.”

Ricardo lowered himself into a chair. “Well, what is it you want? Speak quickly, but if it is about that cursed money again, I will have to tell you what I’ve told you before: you’ll get what you have coming in due time and not before.”

Miguel chose not to sit but, instead, paced back and forth in the room like an advocate making a speech before the burgomasters. “I have thought about what you’ve said and found it wanting. You see, I am owed money, and if I cannot have it I am entitled at the very least to know who is my debtor.”

Ricardo’s mustaches twitched with superior amusement. “You may think so, but we both know there is nothing you can do about it.”

“So you say. You believe I won’t risk the anger of the Ma’amad by going to the Dutch courts, and I won’t go to the Ma’amad because one of its members might lead the council against me. That, at any rate, is what you think. I suppose you also know about my recent encounter with the council and my daylong banishment, but because those proceedings are held secret, you don’t know what was revealed. So let me tell you this: my enemy on that council betrayed himself and revealed his antipathy for me to the other parnassim. That man would be unable to lead the council against me.”

Ricardo made a hissing noise like a snake. “Very well. If you want to take that chance, you may bring your complaint forward. We will see what happens.”

Miguel nodded. “I thank you for your courtesy. I am sure the council will find this case very interesting. As it will find it interesting when it learns that you have hidden behind that man’s protection in order to avoid giving me my due. That will be very embarrassing for him, and I’m sure he will resent your having put him in so awkward a position. But,” Miguel said, “then again, he may not resent it at all. As you say, we’ll see what happens.”

Ricardo pulled himself to his feet. “Are you threatening me, senhor?”

Miguel belched out a laugh. “Of course I am. I am threatening you with the very thing you have challenged me to do. Not much of a threat, really, but it does seem to have you agitated.”

Ricardo nodded rapidly, as though discussing something with himself. “You don’t want to bring this before the Ma’amad,” he said.

“No, I don’t, but if you give me no choice, I will do it, and watching you and Parido squirm will prove more than ample compensation for my trouble. I have nothing to lose in this, Ricardo, but you do. You can pay me, you can give me the name of your client, or you can allow the Ma’amad to compel you to do both while embarrassing you and making Solomon Parido your enemy. It is your choice, but I intend to request a hearing first thing in the morning. You might want to make your decision soon.”

Miguel turned to leave, not that he thought Ricardo would let him but his statement required a pretended exit.

“Wait,” Ricardo said. He slowly lowered himself back into his chair. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.”

“I’m waiting. I’ve been doing a great deal of it.”

“I understand.” He held up a hand in a stay-your-tongue gesture. “Here is what I will offer you. I will tell you the name of my client, and you may pursue your debt yourself, but you must not tell him I was the one who betrayed him. And you must not say anything to Parido. He doesn’t know I’ve used his name in this, and I would have him continue to not know.”

Miguel swallowed hard. At last this money would be his. And he had won-something that happened far too infrequently of late. “I agree,” he said.

Ricardo sighed. “Very well. Understand that my client instructed me very clearly to keep this information a secret. It was not my choice or my doing.”

“Just give me the name.”

“I said I would. The name,” he said, “is Daniel Lienzo.” He let out a squealing little laugh. “It is rather funny, when you think about it. He put the squeeze on you for the thousand you had borrowed of him, but all the while he owed you more than twice that. He has been lording it over you because you are in his debt, but these past weeks he has been your debtor. Do you find that as amusing as I do?”

Miguel picked up a stack of papers and threw them at Ricardo, scattering his notes and ledgers and correspondence all over the room. By doing so he hoped to indicate that he did not, in fact, find it as amusing as Ricardo did.