The broad steps narrowed as they neared the summit, as if the builders had tired of dragging the heavy slabs up the hill, and had also realized that the traffic at that level did not warrant any more labor than was necessary. Nacio managed the last of them and turned wearily into the semi-protection of the doorway to the last house on his left. Beyond him the thick matto of the mountain ran up to a spur and then disappeared in the eerie fog of the rain.
He pushed at the bell for several moments before the darkness of the house struck him; his head swiveled sharply, almost animal-like, in sudden concern that Sebastian might be away and that his long climb had been in vain. But then he saw the flicker of a candle behind the heavy curtains of the house below, and a sigh of relief escaped him. It was only one of the periodic breakdowns in the services of the Companhia de Light, probably caused by the storm, or by an engineer pushing the wrong button. For some reason this assurance that his native city had not changed in his absence did nothing to soothe him; he withdrew his hand from the bell and pounded on the door instead, taking some of his pent-up frustration out on the peeling panel.
There was a slight twitch of a curtain at an upper window, and a few moments later the door opened to the restricted gap allowed by a chain bolt. In the opening an attractive girl in her late twenties stood, one hand behind her, as if demonstrating the possibility of a weapon for protection. Her large dark eyes took in the sodden figure, and then glanced down the deserted steps of the Ladeira before returning to his face warily. She pushed her thick hair back from her face, satisfied that this visitor offered no threat, unconsciously taking a slightly coquettish posture. Her voice was low and musical, although still slightly cautious. Visitors at this height were rare.
“Yes? What do you want?”
“Senhor Pinheiro. Is he in?”
She studied him a moment. “He’s sleeping.”
Nacio glowered, exploding. “Well, damn it, wake him up!” In the name of the sixteen saints blessed to Rio, was he expected to travel halfway around the globe and then stand out in a driving rain until Sebastian finished his beauty nap?
If he had hoped to impress the girl by either the harshness of his tone or the scowl on his face, he failed completely. There was a slight withdrawal in her appearance, but her black eyes continued to study his face with no expression at all.
“Wake him for whom?”
“Tell him that Nacio—” Nacio’s eyes narrowed a bit, flickering over the girl, over the empty doorway behind her, as if assessing every potential danger. “Tell him it’s a friend of his. From Lisbon.” A gust of wind drove water against the thin cover of his shirt; despite his intention to appear tough before this girl, he winced. “And tell him to hurry!”
“Momento.” The door closed slowly but firmly in his face.
He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets and hunched his shoulders against the rain, staring bitterly down past the stepped red roofs. Far below, hazy in the rain, a car passed the entrance to the Ladeira, sheets of water spraying from its wheels. He shook his head angrily. What a day to come home! What a miserable day to come home! And how could the warm rain of Rio that he remembered so well manage to chill so unaccountably? And, even more important, what in the devil was keeping Sebastian?
There was a more prolonged wait this time, and then at last the door was eased back slowly, suspiciously, and then hastily relaxed to allow the chain bolt to be removed. A heavyset, handsome man in his late thirties stood in the doorway, brown hair tousled. Astonishment fought with sleepiness on his fleshy face.
“Nacio! How in the devil—?” Sebastian seemed to realize at last that it was raining, and that not only his guest but he, himself, could get wet. “But get in here first!”
The soaked man pushed himself brusquely across the threshold, disdaining the proffered hand; Sebastian paused to peer down the empty granite steps — it was apparently an ingrained habit — and then slammed the door and reset the chain. He turned to the girl, standing quietly and watchfully to one side.
“Iracema! Some candles from the kitchen! And a drink of something warm!” He turned back, reaching out, taking the other by the arm. “Nacio! You made it! I never expected...”
Nacio shrugged himself loose from the unwelcome hand and looked about the dim room as if determining upon which chair he might discard his wet clothing. Sebastian for some reason seemed to understand this vague gesture.
“And get out of those wet clothes. Iracema! A robe—” It occurred to him that the soaked man might easily cause one of his robes to shrink, or to fade. “Or better yet, a blanket.” He turned back to the waiting Nacio; the thin man’s lips were curled, as if he could read the other’s mind. “Get out of those wet clothes. All we need at this point is for you to get sick.”
Nacio smiled grimly. “Don’t worry about me. If I haven’t gotten sick listening to you for the past few minutes, I’ll never get sick.”
Sebastian chose to disregard the comment. “Get out of them anyway.” He nodded as another thought struck him. “And don’t worry about Iracema. She’s seen men before.”
“I’m sure.” Nacio peeled off his shirt and followed it with his clinging trousers. The girl appeared from the stairway, walking with an even sway, carrying a folded blanket; she placed it on a chair and left the room for the candles. With the barest turn to allow himself to remove his underclothes with some semblance of privacy, Nacio wrapped himself in the blanket. Its soft weight felt good. He turned to face Sebastian. “And how about that drink?”
“The drink? Oh, yes, the drink. Iracema—”
The girl was already returning, her full hips moving sensuously, her large breasts a lush promise behind her loose sweater. One hand dangled a bottle; the other carried several candles. Sebastian bent to provide glasses from a sideboard as the candles were lit; the girl came forward, poured the drinks, and then stood back. Nacio eyed her calm beauty with inner wonder that a person like Sebastian had ever manged to get a girl like that, and then dismissed the thought, sinking into a chair. There was a time and a place for everything, and the present moment was not for girls. Right now the time was for doing the job and getting paid for it. If the fee were decent, he could have all the girls he wanted. He sipped his drink and felt the headiness of the raw pinga ease away the last vestiges of his weariness.
“Ah... that’s better!”
Sebastian was frowning at him. “I’m certainly glad you made it, but how the devil you did I can’t imagine.”
Nacio looked at him with a curiosity suddenly tinged with suspicion. “Why all the surprise? You’re the one who came to Lisbon and—” He stopped abruptly, his narrowed eyes moving to lock themselves on the silent girl.
Sebastian smiled faintly. “It’s all right. You can talk in front of Iracema.”
“I’m sure.” Nacio’s cold eyes hardened. “But I won’t.”
Sebastian’s smile faded. “I said you can talk in front of her. She knows who you are and why you’re here.”
Nacio’s face froze. For a moment it appeared as if anger might explode, but then his expression became calculating as he studied the girl. She watched him evenly, as one watches an inanimate object, curious, but not particularly interesting. Nacio swirled the liquid in his glass a bit and then nodded.
“All right,” he said at last, slowly. “We have to start this discussion someplace, and I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any. Iracema knows why I’m here? Good. Now suppose you tell me.”