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 pla

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 ca

“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 pla

“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.