By Fire, By Water by Mitchell James Kaplan Page B

done so.”
    “Zaragoza is not Sevilla,” insisted Felipe. “The New Inquisition hasn’t made a single arrest in our kingdom.”
    “Why tempt them?”
    “That is not our intent.”
    “What is your intent, then?” It was all Santángel could do not to raise his voice.
    Felipe took the battered Hebrew prayer book from the table, leafed through a few pages, read something to himself, and placed it back on the table. He looked the chancellor in the eye and replied, “I should have thought you’d guessed.”

     
    Upstairs, Gabriel half-heartedly played hide-and-seek with Felipe’s children. Midway through their game, he found himself in Felipe’s woodworking studio. In the trembling brown light of his small candle, the faces of incomplete seraphim and cherubim scowled, leered, and glared. Certainly a frightening place, but like most frightening places, also magical.
    At the rear of the room, Gabriel discovered a closet with a key in its door, full of trinkets and books. He crept inside.
    He saw volumes in Latin, a silver cross dangling on a chain, rosaries made of gold and rubies. Tucked behind them, other books, with strange writing on their spines. Scattered on the shelves, brass stars, silver hands and eyes, candelabras. An oval wooden spice box, adorned with miniature carved lions. Gabriel gazed at these anomalous objects, disturbed and transfixed. The giggle of Felipe’s daughter broke the spell.
    “I’m going to find you! I know you’re here.”
    Breathing audibly, Gabriel reached out and took hold of a small, silver hamsa hand. An amulet, terrifying and beguiling, in the shape of a flat upturned palm, with a lapis eye in its center. He wondered, was this the work of the devil? Of an angel? He felt an icy coldness.
    “I can smell you,” said Felipe’s daughter, just outside. She giggled again.
    Gabriel could not remain in this place, holding this strange object. He knew he should put it back.
    He had heard of amulets that could make a man wealthy, a field fertile, or a knight courageous. He did not know whether this was such a talisman, but he was sure it had special powers. There were so many strange objects in this room. He doubted anyone would notice, or care, if this one disappeared. He slipped it into the pocket of his jerkin.
    “Here I am!” he announced, throwing open the door, wearing a smile to hide the turmoil in his heart.
    “I got you!” The dimpled, blue-eyed little girl grabbed his arm and pushed the door closed behind him. Its lock made a small clicking sound as it fell into place.

     
    As his father tucked him into bed that night, Gabriel asked, “What was that about, Papa? That … that gibberish before dinner, that book, those prayers. Was that … Are they …?”
    “Just a tradition in their family.” Santángel stroked his son’s hair. “Señor de Almazón may come from a distant land, with different customs.”
    “What if they’re heretics?”
    “Who spoke to you of heresy?”
    “Brother Pablo.” One of Gabriel’s tutors. “He said we’re all guards in the lookout tower of our faith.”
    “And what are we watching for?”
    “Secret prayers. Strange foods. Statues. Magical rings, necklaces, cups.” He frowned, remembering the hamsa hand he had pocketed, worried but also excited to possess such an object. “Were those people heretics, Father?”
    Luis let out a forced laugh. “Felipe? He’s as Catholic as any of us. Now go to sleep.” Santángel kissed his son on the forehead.
    Gabriel closed his eyes, shuddering inwardly. His father seemed not to take his concerns seriously. He found something troubling, frightening, dishonest in that dismissive chuckle. After Luis left his bedroom, Gabriel silently uttered a prayer. Having been raised as much by his seminarian tutors as by his father, having absorbed more of their conviction than of his father’s confusion, Gabriel prayed as he had never prayed before. He asked God whether contact with these unusual people