“Where do I sign?”

A few days later, after a succession of sleepless nights, remorse, and speculations, Mataix could bear it no longer. He went to see his publisher in Ediciones Orbe. Revells hadn’t lied: the offices exuded a delicate perfume straight from the gardens of the Ampurdán. Whole crates from Badens’s vegetable sanctuary were lined up along the corridors, among piles of books and heaps of unpaid bills. Revells listened carefully to Mataix’s account while he sniffed a splendid tomato that he shifted playfully from hand to hand.

“What do you think?” asked Mataix when he finished his story.

“Divine. Just smelling it makes me feel hungry.”

“I’m referring to my dilemma,” Mataix insisted.

Revells set the tomato on the table. “That you had no choice but to accept.”

“You’re saying this because you know it’s what I want to hear.”

“I’m saying this because I like to see you alive, and because we’ve advanced you a lot of money that we hope to recoup someday. Have you received the stack of papers yet?”

“Part of it.”

“And . . . ?”

“They make you want to throw up.”

“Were you expecting Shakespeare’s sonnets?”

“I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“At least you must have started guessing. You must have figured out who the person is.”

“I have an idea,” said Mataix.

Revells’s eyes shone in anticipation. “Tell me . . .”

“From what I’ve read, I suspect it’s Ubach.”

“Miguel Ángel Ubach? Holy shit. The Gunpowder Banker?”

“I don’t think he likes being called by that name.”

“Too fucking bad. If he doesn’t like it, he should have financed a welfare fund and not a war.”

“What do you know about him—you who know everything about everyone?” asked Mataix.

“Only about those who matter.”

“I know the world of nobodies and good-for-nothings has no romance for you.”

Revells ignored the jibe, fascinated as he was by this high-flying thriller. He leaned his head outside his office door and called one of his trusted staff, Laura Franconi.

“Laura, come here a sec, if you can . . .”

While they waited, Revells walked restlessly around the office. After a few moments, dodging a couple of crates full of onions and leeks, Laura Franconi came through the door. Seeing Mataix, she smiled and went over to give him a kiss. Petite and vivacious, Laura was one of those active minds that makes an establishment work as smooth as silk.

“What do you think of our fruit and vegetable stall?” she asked. “How about some zucchini?”

“Our friend Mataix here has just made a deal with the war gods,” said the publisher.

Mataix sighed. “Why don’t you look out of the window and blare it out through a megaphone?”

Laura Franconi closed the office door and looked at him anxiously.

“Tell her,” said Revells.

Mataix gave her a summary of the facts, but Laura didn’t need any help to fill in the bits between the lines. When he’d finished, she just put her hand on his shoulder, looking concerned.