was to keep my Christian identity intact and not jeopardize the plan.
“May God repay you,” I said, taking one of the sausages. I started to say a silent brukhe, and had to stop myself. What’s the blessing for pork? There wasn’t one, of course. So I bit through the crisp skin and chewed, the warm juices spilling across my tongue and down my gullet. It tasted just like any other sausage meat, really.
So I stood there munching on pork sausage and watching the flow of people shrink to a trickle as the ghetto was emptied of Jews. The two street boys grew bored with their game and drifted back across the square.
My companion took a swig from an earthenware jug, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and offered me a swallow. “Here, this’ll take the wax out of your ears,” he said.
“Ne, dkuji, it’s a little too early in the morning—”
“Don’t they celebrate Easter in Poland?”
I had to keep up appearances, so I took a swig of the raw alcohol, which cut through the pork fat and burned all the way down. I shivered a bit, which made the eelmonger laugh.
“What’sa matter? You never had slivovice before?”
“Ours is smoother,” I said, coughing.
He laughed and slapped me on the back, hard. Right on my bruised shoulder. It hurt so much tears came to my eyes, and I figured it was time to jump feet first into the void before he noticed anything.
“You know, forty days of Lent is an awfully long time to go without certain pleasures,” I said. “And I’m looking to buy some top-quality meat.”
“With what money?” he said. “You look like you don’t have a half-a-pfennig to sew up the holes in your breeches.”
I dug into my pocket, took out one of Meisel’s silver dalers, and dropped it into the metal tray.
One of his eyebrows arched, then he plucked the coin from the tray and put it in his mouth to suck the grease off it. He took it out of his mouth and examined both sides of the coin, and his lips curled up into a lopsided smile.
“Well, that changes things now, don’t it?” he said. “How much meat were you looking for?”
“A whole cartload.”
His eyes became two slits.
“What do you need that much meat for?” he asked.
“Actually, I’m more interested in the two men who were driving the cart.”
His eyes looked east, west, and south.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just that the sheriff’s men came around yesterday, poking into everything and asking a lot of questions about a cartful of meat.”
“The municipal guards are no friends of mine.”
“I bet they’re not. But you can’t be too careful.”
“No, you can’t.”
His gaze became distant.
I waited for his answer while my stomach grumbled, punishing me for eating that treyfene sausage.
Finally, he called out to one of the street boys: “Marko!”
He tossed the kid a copper farthing.
“Watch the stand till I get back.”
THE PUBLIC BATHS THAT MORDECAI Meisel had built for the community lay empty and abandoned, and the rowboat heaved against the dock as we climbed aboard. I grabbed the bowsprit and got a palmful of splinters for my trouble. Carved into the main beam above my hand was a creature with three faces, sharp ears, and a pointed tongue. It was wielding a sword and a drinking horn, like a pagan idol.
“I see you’ve met Svantovit,” he said. “Our protector since the olden days. He’s got three faces because he watches over the past, the present, and the future.”
And from where I was standing, the future didn’t look too good.
I pulled some of the splinters out of my palm and squatted on the bench seat for a closer look at the three-faced idol. It was skillfully crafted, though not by a master.
“I carved that myself,” he said.
“It’s pretty good. You should have been apprenticed to a woodcarver.”
“My old man made damn sure to crush that idea pretty early on,” he said, handing me a piece of kindling from the cooking fire. Its tip was glowing reddish orange.
“That’s too bad.”
“What’s the difference?” he said, slipping the paint er and shoving off. “Make sure you keep that ember protected from the wind.”
“That would have made me angry as hell.”
“What’d you say your name was?”
“Vasil.”
“Well, listen to me, Vasil. I could teach you things about anger that would curl your hair,” he said, putting his back into it and steering us in the direction of the old mill on the other side of the river.