The fact that I had saved his life from the dreaded northern mines had not endeared me to him because he was a street animal. However, knowing how the mind of a lepero works, not just the avarice but the tainted logic, rather than paying him in the hopes he would not run away but remain faithful to the sentence imposed, I provided the opportunity for him to occasionally steal from me.

One of his most important benefits, besides the fact that his criminality and fear of going to the mines gave him a small amount of obedience, if not loyalty, to me, was the fact that he could not read or write.

"That means he won't know what's he's printing. I told him we are printing nothing but copies of the lives of saints and I have an engraving of the stigmata of San Francis that we will use over all our books."

"If he can't read or write, how can he set type?" Mateo asked.

"He doesn't read the books he's setting the type for, he's merely duplicating the letters in the book with letters from the type tray. Besides, I will set much of the type myself."

The first book we published in New Spain, which while not having the solemn tone of Bishop Zumarraga's work on Christian doctrine, and would have been considered scandalous by respectable people, was a great success.

Mateo was deeply impressed by the pile of ducats that was left over after paying our expenses. "We have cheated the author of his due, the publisher of his profit, the king of his fifth, the custom officials of their bite.... Cristo, you are a gifted scoundrel. Because of your talent as a publisher, I am permitting you to publish my own novel, Chronicle of the very remarkable Three Knights Tablante of Seville who defeated Ten Thousand Howling Moors and Five Frightful Monsters and set the rightful King upon the throne of Constantinople and claimed a Treasure larger than that held by any King of Christendom."

My dismay was revealed on my face.

"You do not want to publish a literary masterpiece that was proclaimed the work of angels in Spain and sold better than anything those dolts Vega and Cervantes ever wrote-or stole-from me?"

"It's not that I don't want to publish it, it's just that I don't think our little printing venture could do justice to-"

Mateo's dagger blade appeared under my chin.

"Print it."

We had been in the business for some months when we received our first visit from the Inquisition.

"We did not know you were in the business of printing," a fish-faced man wearing the uniform of a familiar of the Inquisition told me. His name was Jorge Gomez. "You have not submitted your materials to the Holy Office and obtained from it permission to print."

I had carefully prepared a cover story and had prominently displayed, the "book" on saints that we were printing. I apologized profusely and explained that the owner of the shop was in Madrid to obtain exclusive rights to print and sell in New Spain matters concerning saints.

"He left Juan and me here to prepare for full printing of the tomes when he returns with the royal license and presents it to the viceroy and the Holy Office."

I again expressed my regret and offered the man a gratis copy of the book when printing was completed.

"What else do you print while your master is gone?" the Inquisition official asked.

"Nothing. We cannot even print the complete book on saints until our master returns with enough paper and ink to finish the job."

Familiars were not priests but technically just "friends" of the Holy Office, volunteers who a.s.sisted the inquisitors. In truth, they wore the green cross of the Inquisition and acted as a secret constabulary who performed services ranging from acting as bodyguards to inquisitors, to breaking into homes in the middle of the night to arrest those accused and haul them to the dungeon of the Holy Office.

Familiars were feared by all. Their reputation was so dreadful that the king occasionally used the terror they strike to keep those around him from swaying in their loyalty.

"You understand that you are forbidden to print any books or other works without first obtaining the proper permission. If it should be found out that you were in fact involved in any illegitimate printing..."

"Of course, Don Jorge," I said, rewarding the honorific to a peasant whose closest encounter with being genteel was stepping in the manure of a gentleman's horse. "Frankly, we have so little to do until our master returns, if there are any simple printing jobs that we are capable of and can do as an accommodation for the Holy Office, we would be happy to do so."

Something stirred deep in the familiar's eyes. The eye motion, which I could not have defined at the time but that I have come to realize is a slight widening of the inner circle of the eye, is a reaction that few people except successful merchants and successful leperos would recognize.

The common name for the phenomena is greed.

I had been trying to think of a way to offer the official mordida but had hesitated. Some of these familiars had the reputation of being such zealots that they would refuse their own mother the mercy of the garret and let them burn slowly from the toes up. None the less, I had given "Don Jorge" an opening.

"The Holy Office does need a.s.sistance with certain printing jobs. We once used the printer who occupied these very premises, but he proved to be a tool of the devil."

I crossed myself.

"Perhaps I can a.s.sist until my master returns..."

He took me aside so that Juan could not hear.

"Is that mestizo a good Christian?"

"If his blood were untainted, he would be a priest," I a.s.sured him. He had a.s.sumed I was Spanish, and of course that made me a defender of the Faith unless I acted contrary.

"I shall return later with two doc.u.ments that I will need copies of for priests and nuns throughout New Spain. The contents change occasionally and will need to be updated." He stared at me narrow-eyed. "To uncover blasphemers and Jews, the workings of the Holy Office must remain a secret. Any failure to maintain the secrecy would be akin to doing the devil's work."

"Of course."

"You must take an oath of secrecy never to reveal what you have been given to print."

"Of course, Don Jorge."

"I will bring you two doc.u.ments today. These doc.u.ments require a large number of copies, and you will be paid a modest recompense to cover the cost of ink. The Holy Office will supply the paper."

"Thank you for your generosity, Don Jorge."

So that was it. He would be collecting the full amount of printing costs from the Holy Office but only pa.s.sing on to me enough to pay for supplies to keep me in business. And a.s.suredly the excess would not find its way to a poor box.

Oh, the wiles and intrigues of men! While this sort of intrigue is expected from any official in the realm, one would think that those who served the Church would hold themselves in better stead with G.o.d.

"What are these doc.u.ments?"

"The list of people suspected of being blasphemers and Jews," he said, "and the list of books prohibited by the Holy Office."

EIGHTY-EIGHT.

"Converso. Suspected marrano. Accused by Miguel de Soto."

Mateo finished reading the entry about Don Julio on the Inquisition's black list. I had naturally kept a copy of the list of suspect people after printing it.

"Who is Soto and why has he made an accusation that Don Julio is a secret Jew?" Mateo pondered.

"I spoke to an auditor in the viceroy's countinghouse, whose tastes in reading would make Lucifer blush and repent. He says Soto buys and sells workers. He deals in bond servants, landless indios, luckless mestizos, anyone or group that is helpless and can be roped into a project. He contracted with the tunnel project to provide indios-thousands of them. Even considering that he had to bribe half the city's officials to get the contract, he still made an enormous amount of money. Why he would make an accusation against the don, I don't know, but I can guess."

"The don has accused him of providing poor materials and workmanship on the tunnel, causing it to fail?" Mateo said.

"No, he only provided workers for others. My guess is he's doing Ramon de Alva a favor."