comes to arrest you they will have to drag you out over my dead body.’
I sat down heavily next to her. ‘I’ll have to talk to Fra Clement. Perhaps I can pacify him, make him think we’re no threat to him or his precious Church.’
‘I can’t see that ending happily,’ said Willem.
‘Have faith. I know how to handle him.’
‘I noticed that, when you were throwing a flaming torch at his head.’
‘I didn’t throw it at him as such,’ I said. ‘Just nearby.’
‘A fine distinction,’ said Willem. ‘But by all means, try talking to him. I, for one, can’t wait to see how this turns out.’
3
I N WHICH HARSH WORDS ARE SPOKEN
‘Please don’t do this,’ said Pietro, when we told him of my plan over coffee the next day. ‘If you anger the Inquisitor, even I may not be able to protect you.’
‘We won’t make him angry,’ I said.
‘It’s not possible to make him any more furious than he already is,’ said Willem. ‘But now you mention it …’
‘It is a peace mission,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘Although that makes me sick to my stomach.’
‘Me, too,’ said Willem. ‘I prefer the assassination option.’
He was joking — I hoped.
‘I don’t see any alternative,’ I said. ‘All we can do is be as virtuous as possible while he’s here, try not to print anything too outrageous or objectionable for a while, and hope that he doesn’t stay long.’
‘Isabella, almost everything we do is objectionable to Fra Clement,’ Willem argued. ‘So many books are banned by the Church.’
‘I know, but surely we can take on some other work, just for a while. What about those medical theories Al-Qasim is translating?’
‘They are banned,’ said Willem.
‘Then Pliny’s Natural History ,’ I suggested. ‘Or Luis could translate Aristotle again, or Dante?’
‘The world is already full of their books,’ he said. ‘At least, those that aren’t forbidden.’
‘Why not just confine ourselves to printing invitations and prayer sheets?’ asked the signora . ‘We’ll all die of boredom, and Fra Clement won’t have to worry any more.’
‘We’ll think of something innocuous to publish,’ I said. ‘That’s not the point. We just have to tell Fra Clement that we’re no threat to him, but that we won’t be frightened away.’
‘Very well,’ said the signora . ‘Let’s go.’
‘Now?’ Suddenly I felt a little queasy.
‘Yes, why wait?’
‘Agreed,’ said Willem.
‘Pietro, if we don’t come back by evening,’ said Signora Contarini, ‘you will know he has sent us straight to the dungeons — you must talk to the Council and get us released.’
‘I will try.’
Willem and I swapped glances.
‘Do you think that’s likely?’ Willem asked.
‘I am just being practical,’ said the signora . ‘Pietro knows what to do.’
‘Yes,’ said Pietro. ‘But I don’t like it.’
‘Willem, call the boatmen, please.’
He nodded and ran out of the room.
Al-Qasim was staring out at the sunlight glinting on the canal.
‘My friend,’ Luis said softly, ‘you do not have to come.’
Al-Qasim wrapped his arms tightly around himself as if against a cold wind. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he said.
‘You have faced Fra Clement enough for one lifetime,’ said Luis. ‘You’ve been braver than all of us. Stay here.’
Al-Qasim closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you.’
He had never spoken about the horrors he had endured in Fra Clement’s torture chamber in Seville, and I never wanted to ask. Every day I saw the scars on his hands and the places where his fingernails had never grown back. I’d watched him learn, all over again, how to hold a pen, tie a knot, fold a piece of paper. I’d seen him struggle to find meaningful work now that he could no longer paint intricate maps or charts of the night sky. I couldn’t ask him to face his torturer again.
‘Luis,’ I said, ‘you should stay here, too. If Clement recognises you from Seville, you could be in real
I sat down heavily next to her. ‘I’ll have to talk to Fra Clement. Perhaps I can pacify him, make him think we’re no threat to him or his precious Church.’
‘I can’t see that ending happily,’ said Willem.
‘Have faith. I know how to handle him.’
‘I noticed that, when you were throwing a flaming torch at his head.’
‘I didn’t throw it at him as such,’ I said. ‘Just nearby.’
‘A fine distinction,’ said Willem. ‘But by all means, try talking to him. I, for one, can’t wait to see how this turns out.’
3
I N WHICH HARSH WORDS ARE SPOKEN
‘Please don’t do this,’ said Pietro, when we told him of my plan over coffee the next day. ‘If you anger the Inquisitor, even I may not be able to protect you.’
‘We won’t make him angry,’ I said.
‘It’s not possible to make him any more furious than he already is,’ said Willem. ‘But now you mention it …’
‘It is a peace mission,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘Although that makes me sick to my stomach.’
‘Me, too,’ said Willem. ‘I prefer the assassination option.’
He was joking — I hoped.
‘I don’t see any alternative,’ I said. ‘All we can do is be as virtuous as possible while he’s here, try not to print anything too outrageous or objectionable for a while, and hope that he doesn’t stay long.’
‘Isabella, almost everything we do is objectionable to Fra Clement,’ Willem argued. ‘So many books are banned by the Church.’
‘I know, but surely we can take on some other work, just for a while. What about those medical theories Al-Qasim is translating?’
‘They are banned,’ said Willem.
‘Then Pliny’s Natural History ,’ I suggested. ‘Or Luis could translate Aristotle again, or Dante?’
‘The world is already full of their books,’ he said. ‘At least, those that aren’t forbidden.’
‘Why not just confine ourselves to printing invitations and prayer sheets?’ asked the signora . ‘We’ll all die of boredom, and Fra Clement won’t have to worry any more.’
‘We’ll think of something innocuous to publish,’ I said. ‘That’s not the point. We just have to tell Fra Clement that we’re no threat to him, but that we won’t be frightened away.’
‘Very well,’ said the signora . ‘Let’s go.’
‘Now?’ Suddenly I felt a little queasy.
‘Yes, why wait?’
‘Agreed,’ said Willem.
‘Pietro, if we don’t come back by evening,’ said Signora Contarini, ‘you will know he has sent us straight to the dungeons — you must talk to the Council and get us released.’
‘I will try.’
Willem and I swapped glances.
‘Do you think that’s likely?’ Willem asked.
‘I am just being practical,’ said the signora . ‘Pietro knows what to do.’
‘Yes,’ said Pietro. ‘But I don’t like it.’
‘Willem, call the boatmen, please.’
He nodded and ran out of the room.
Al-Qasim was staring out at the sunlight glinting on the canal.
‘My friend,’ Luis said softly, ‘you do not have to come.’
Al-Qasim wrapped his arms tightly around himself as if against a cold wind. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he said.
‘You have faced Fra Clement enough for one lifetime,’ said Luis. ‘You’ve been braver than all of us. Stay here.’
Al-Qasim closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you.’
He had never spoken about the horrors he had endured in Fra Clement’s torture chamber in Seville, and I never wanted to ask. Every day I saw the scars on his hands and the places where his fingernails had never grown back. I’d watched him learn, all over again, how to hold a pen, tie a knot, fold a piece of paper. I’d seen him struggle to find meaningful work now that he could no longer paint intricate maps or charts of the night sky. I couldn’t ask him to face his torturer again.
‘Luis,’ I said, ‘you should stay here, too. If Clement recognises you from Seville, you could be in real
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