An Officer's Room in Belem

"Thank you." Stephen smiled. "If there is anything you think you would like, I could try to find it in a market on my way back to Belem tonight," he offered in a cajoling tone of voice.

"No. No, thank you." Padstowe could not bring himself to smile.

Stephen watched Padstowe's face with a sinking heart, and his own grew somber to match. He turned to the mirror, brushing lather over his cheeks, hoping activity would stave off melancholy.

Padstowe gave up his attempts to shift himself up along the bed and sighed, staring up at the ceiling again.

"Have you decided on a course of action?" he asked, hoping the subject would remain changed.

"I will certainly go to des Sablières first," Stephen said, very slowly, as he drew the blade across his cheek. "And then more of the list. It seems more simple this morning. I shall just have to act with greater celerity."

Padstowe nodded.

"Clarity always comes with the morning, I find," he said, for lack of anything else to find. "I pray that you will be successful."

Stephen did not reply for a moment, as he shaved the difficult place beneath his nose. "I suspect I may be late again tonight, I am afraid. I intend to deal with at least one of the French spies, and it will be easier after dark."

"Of course. You should not let me detain you in any way - I am looked after well enough here. You do not need to apologise to me for doing what is required."

"I know; it was just in case you-" Stephen smiled, then went back to shaving.

"In case I what?" Padstowe asked, puzzled.

You assume too much, Maturin, too much by far, Stephen thought as he carefully shaved along his jaw. "Nothing, Jonathan."

"What? In case I worried?"

Padstowe frowned.

"I know that you are a grown man, Stephen, and know that to a certain degree can take care of yourself. But with your injuries, and after last night... I assumed you might find someone to go with you? Do you mean to say that you intend to continue on your own?"

Stephen looked down, carefully wiping the lather from the blade. "I do. I do not have a choice in the matter, and even if I did, I would have to still go about this alone."

"But, your injuries..." A slashed hand, side and leg were not to be treated lightly. "...surely there must be someone else?"

Stephen wiped his face with the cuff of his shirt, then looked at Padstowe. "Who?" he asked, quite serious.

He was not entirely certain himself. He did not yet know all those who were present or could be trusted in Lisbon; but there was one faint hope that sprung to mind.

"Your Portuguese friend," he said, not willing to say his name, even though they were alone. "Is he still in Lisbon? Are you able to contact him?"

Stephen shook his head sadly. "He... I do not say that we argued, but there is a matter of trust between us - an action of his that I still do not understand and deemed threatening, and after what the ordenanca did... I have no idea if he is even in Lisbon any more, and if he was, I do not know how I was contact him. Besides, he is a scout, a low-level intelligence gatherer, not a-" He swallowed. "There is no one else."

Padstowe wracked his brains, desperate to think of someone else; but there was no other name that presented itself. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"Then so it must be. I wish that I knew of someone else, but I have not been here long enough..."

"As much as I trust your judgment, Jonathan, I still would not work with them. I have my pistol, and the resources for providing a plausible motive. Would you perhaps be able to tell me which areas are safe; and which are generally inhabited by the poorer part of the population, especially?"

Padstowe sadly gave an account of the city's quarters; explaining that the better areas were generally to be found up be the castle and the Cathedral - being, as they were, on the higher ground and so somewhat removed from the closer heat and stench of the lower, tighter streets of the poorer quarters - along with a general warning not to go near the docks late at night, and to watch himself should his business take him near the Capuchines.

"The Capuchins? Really? I mean, I know they are Franciscans, but they can generally be trusted."

"It is not to the monks that I refer personally," Padstowe said flatly. "But to the streets that surround their monastry. They are not a place one wihes to be caught unawares."

"Why is that?" Stephen asked curiously. It would be instinctive in him to go to a monastery or church if in need of sanctuary, not to go away from such a place in case of danger.

"They are particularly dark and narrow streets. It is very easy to lose one's way, even in daylight, and almost impossible to orientate yourself again. It is a place made for ambush - were a footpad an architect he could not have designed better."

"Thank you; I will keep it in mind." Stephen paused for a moment, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages. "Do you think that you might be able to locate addresses in the city? I remember you directed me to my own lodgings that night we returned to Lisbon. If only to tell me which are in dangerous areas."