Beneath an Opal Moon (19 page)

“No, no. I mean over and above his feelings of grief. He has become, I don't know, someone else—unrecognizable to any who knew him in the old time when the Senhor was alive. He is driven by an emotion I detest. Guilt.” He shrugged. “Over what, I do not know.”

Moichi looked over the other's shoulder at the gently rocking lorcha. “Perhaps we will never know now. Listen, Rohja, we should meet tonight. Can you suggest a place?”

The sailor thought for a moment. “Aye. There is a fisherman's taverna near here, along the docks. It is called
El Cambiro
. It lies at the foot of Calle Córdel, where the street ends at the sea.” He squinted up at the sun. “Give me until midnight, piloto. These matters, you know, cannot be rushed. Sailors are a stony lot on land”—he grinned broadly—“until the liquor loosens their tongues, eh?”

It took them some time but, at length, they were directed to the Plaza de la Pesquisa.

It was constructed of shimmering white cobbles which flashed in the sunlight like diamonds. In its heart was a thick copse of green olive trees, half hidden within which was a tiny bubbling fountain. This last was of a gray stone, rough-grained, almost like coastal granite, carved into the shape of a man with brawny shoulders, a full curling beard and the tail of a fish. He had deep-set eyes and arching eyebrows. His hair was composed of ringlets of tiny crustaceans. The stone swept up behind him, apparently left in its natural state so that it looked like a miniature cliff from whose lip the water spewed out and over him. His entire surface gleamed under the liquid lens of the font.

“The Daluzans are a religious people,” Moichi said to Chiisai when she commented on the statue, “much given to superstition, folklore and myths.”

“I heard about the Kay-Iro De of Sha'angh'sei from the Dai-San,” she said, still staring at the miniature figure.

“Yes, well I think that the time of her physical manifestation is gone now—though, no doubt, her spirit will never leave Sha'angh'sei.”

“But time is cyclic, don't you think? These creatures”—she indicated the fountain's figure—“or others very like them will return again in some other age.”

“No doubt,” Moichi said with a wry twist of his lips. “But not, I trust, in ours.”

The buildings around the Plaza de la Pesquisa were a good deal larger and more ornate than most they had seen on their way through the city and this oversize effect gave to the plaza a rather austere grandeur that was singular in Corruña.

There were benches of scrolled wrought iron scattered at different points around the copse. On one, two old men, small and with sun-dried skin like leather, sat smoking pipes and chatting idly in the shade. They were both dressed in pure white linen suits, as elegant and neat as if they were on parade. This color, Moichi knew, was reserved here for the elderly.

“Perdóname, senhores. Dón' está la casa de la Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara?”

They both looked up, ceasing their low chatter, staring at him from head to foot. They gazed at Chiisai for a time before returning their attention to him. One of the men pointed a bony finger at Moichi, said something to his companion in Daluzan dialect so rapidly that Moichi failed to understand it. The other man laughed shortly, not unkindly, cocked his head, his sea-blue eyes on Moichi.

The old man who still pointed at Moichi said, “You are not Daluzan. Not of the blood.” He tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “I can tell.” He smiled enigmatically. His square teeth were stained yellow by smoke. “But you could pass, I warrant, in a pinch. I'll just bet you could, yes.” He stretched backward, pointed over his shoulder. “There lies the house you seek. On the far side of the plaza.” He smiled again. “Is it not always so, in life?” His companion nodded sagely at his side, though he had been addressing Moichi. “Good day to you, senhor. Senhora. Good luck.”

Moichi nodded, murmuring his farewells, and, with Chiisai went out from the edge of the copse, across the sun-splashed plaza, past the rustling olive trees, the buzzing cicadas, the small black-winged birds flitting from tree to tree, leaving the figure of the fountain behind.

Moichi wore a sea-green silk shirt with wide sleeves and tight cobalt-blue trousers which he had tucked into his high brown sea boots. His sword hung, scabbarded, at his side and the twin copper-hilted dirks were thrust casually into his wide leather belt.

Chiisai still wore her armor breastplate but had changed into tight pants the color of palest sea foam, also tucked into her high boots. Over her armor she wore her Sha'angh'sei quilted jacket. Her twin scabbarded swords were clearly visible.

The Seguillas y Oriwara house was an enormous white-façaded two-story structure on the north side of the plaza. Its left side abutted another building but, on its right, a street led off the plaza. Lush trees lined this thoroughfare and what portions of the house Moichi could make out behind this verdant screen were covered in ivy, reaching around along the upper story on the front of the house.

One was obliged to approach the copper-and-hardwood staircase facing left, for it curved out and around as gracefully as a swan's neck as it ascended toward the high double doors at the front of the dwelling. These were wood-paneled, banded with bronze strips which, Moichi was certain, had at one time found service on an oceangoing schooner, for time and the minerals of the sea had combined to give them a greenish patina.

They went up the staircase and Moichi knocked on the doors. The small wrought-iron balconies projecting from the upper floor windows in front contrived to put them in an obliquely banded light.

The doors swung ponderously inward.

Two short, dark-haired Daluzans in black cotton one-piece suits held the doors but the man who confronted them was not Daluzan at all. He was tall, towering even over Moichi, dwarfing Chiisai. He was too thin for his height; this was one's immediate impression. His gaunt face was hairless except for a thin black mustache which drooped forlornly on either side of his mouth. His dark eyes were almond-shaped and his skin had a yellow cast. The vault of his domed heard soared upward above his narrow-bridged nose.

This man is from Sha'angh'sei, Moichi thought.

“Yes?” the man said in perfect Daluzan. “What is it you wish?”

Not the most cordial of welcomes, Moichi thought. The man wore a Daluzan suit in light yellow which consisted of high-waisted trousers and loose-fitting shirt tied about the waist with a narrow braided cord sash. If he was armed, he concealed it well.

“We wish to speak to the Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara,” Moichi said.

“I am afraid that will be quite impossible, senhor. The Senhora is entertaining no visitors.”

“Nevertheless, I believe the Senhora will wish to see us. We have come to Corruña aboard one of her own lorchas and bring news of her daughter.”

Something glittered far back in the man's eyes and he inclined his head. “Follow me, please. I will inform the Senhora.”

The doors were closed behind them as they went down a short vestibule and, passing through an arch of stained glass, entered into the main hall of the house. This was two stories high and was domed, almost cathedral-like, paneled in pecan wood and hung at regular intervals with small tapestries depicting scenes of the sea and its denizens: sea lions, porpoises, whales sounding. At the end of the hallway a most singular stairway wound upward. It appeared at this distance to be carved out of an enormous ship's figurehead, a maiden of the sea, long tangled hair blown back by the wind.

On either side of the hallway, rolling doors stood closed. As they passed the first one on the right, Moichi saw it slide open for just a moment and glimpsed within the shadows beyond dark flashing eyes in a young female face.

The man with the drooping mustache led them through a rolling door further along on the left and into a drawing room. Then, bidding them wait, he left them.

Here the plaster walls were painted green, as dark as the depths of the ocean, and were hung with paintings whose subject matter was invariably religious in nature.

“The Daluzans must have a very different feeling about religion,” Chiisai said, pacing from painting to painting. “How depressing. Is there no happiness associated with their gods?”

“They believe in the One God, Chiisai,” Moichi said. “As do my folk.”

“As yet, the kami are unknown to these people.”

“Kami.”

“Um-hum. The minor gods whose task it is to guide the souls of the dead back into their new lives.”

Moichi realized he knew very little of Bujun religious thought.

“We see existence as an enormous wheel; life is merely one part of it.” She was at the last painting now and she paused. “Death, we believe, brings an end to the corporeal only. The spirit lives on and is returned to life guided by the kami and the individual's
karma
. That is most important.”

She was interrupted by the sound of the door sliding back. They both turned. Framed in the doorway was the figure of a statuesque woman. Her hair was long, framing her oval face, and it was, startlingly, of the color and luster of silver. She had the kind of face which would shine through all around her no matter the circumstances. Moichi could feel her intense aura all the way across the room and was reminded piercingly of Aufeya. She wore a silk suit of deep green which perfectly matched her large, inquisitive eyes.

“I am the Senhora Seguillas y Oriwara,” she said in a voice like an ice floe. “May I know why you have come here?”

Somehow Moichi was not surprised by this abrupt and decidedly inhospitable greeting. The Daluzans were quite schizophrenic in this regard. They were fiercely polite, even to the point of exasperation. But on the other hand they could as easily be disconcertingly blunt when they so chose.

“My apologies for disturbing you, senhora,” Moichi said, inclining his head slightly. He used the polite grammatical construction. “I am Moichi Annai-Nin of Iskael and my companion is Chiisai of Ama-no-mori.” He paused, hoping for a reaction. He got one.

The Senhora's eyes widened a fraction and she stepped into the room. The mustachioed man stood just outside the room's threshold as still as a statue.

“An Iskamen and a Bujun,” the Senhora said. With some of the chill gone from her voice, Moichi could hear its true melodiousness. “An odd pair, to say the least.” She indicated the man behind her. “Chimmoku tells me you claim to have sailed here aboard one of my lorchas. Which one?”

“The
Chocante
,” Moichi said. “Armazón is the bos'un.”

“I see.” The Senhora glanced back at Chimmoku for a moment, her hands clasped against her long thighs. “I did not even know that particular craft had left Corruña.”

“Senhora, your daughter commandeered the
Chocante
.”

“Indeed.” The eyes flashed briefly. “And where was she headed, Moichi Annai-Nin?”

“That I do not know. I came across her in Sha'angh'sei.” No point in telling her about the Sha-rida. “She told me she had been blown off course by a storm. That she had not meant to come to Sha'angh'sei.” He took a deep breath. Now for the difficult part. “She also told me that she was being pursued by a man.” He paused again, expecting an outburst. But the Senhora stood calmly before him, her expression unchanged.

“Tell me, Moichi Annai-Nin,” the Senhora said slowly, “why have you come here?”

“Your daughter has been abducted,” Moichi said.

The Senhora turned and glanced at Chimmoku again before addressing Moichi. “I am afraid there has been some mistake.”

“Pardon me for saying so, senhora, but no mistake has been made. A man named Hellsturm—”

“Hellsturm—”

“Yes, you know him then?”

“What? No. No, I know no such person. The name—seemed odd to me, that is all.”

“This man Hellsturm snatched Aufeya—”

The Senhora drew herself up, her eyes imperiously cold. “What is it you want from me, senhor. Money? Ships? You have made a grave error. You will get nothing from me. Now if you will—”

“Senhora!” He felt as if reality were slipping through his fingers, dreamlike. “Perhaps my knowledge of Daluzan is inadequate. Shall I repeat myself? Your—”

“Yes, I know. My daughter has been abducted by a man with an odd name. Quite a fanciful story—a mer-man's tale, in Daluzan idiom.”

“My friend was murdered by this man Hellsturm. He gave his life to protect Aufeya.”

“I am sorry about your friend, Moichi Annai-Nin. Truly I am. But, you see, this has no interest for me.” The Senhora nodded in dismissal. “I have no daughter.” At last her hands unclasped. “Now good day to you both. Chimmoku will see you out.” With that, she turned and left them there.

Outside, they stood at the edge of the plaza for a moment. The Seguillas y Oriwara house towered over them, mute and mysterious.

They went toward the copse of olive trees, sat down on a bench near the fountain. The old men were gone but the blackbirds had not abandoned their arboreal world. Oblique light found its way into the plaza between the gaps of the surrounding buildings and the tops of the trees were aflame with the light of sunset.

“Were you able to understand what was said in there?” Moichi said.

Chiisai nodded. “Pretty much. I'm excellent in linguistics.” She changed into Daluzan to illustrate. “Why do you think the Senhora was lying to us?”

Moichi raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Well, I see you
are
a fast learner.”

She laughed. “I had Rohja teach me in the evenings when he was off watch.”

“Very clever of you.” His smile faded as he recalled the recent scene inside the Seguillas y Oriwara house. “Something is very amiss.”

“I'll say. The Senhora's daughter leaves Corruña secretly, is threatened by a strange man, is finally captured by him, and the Senhora's only reaction is to deny Aufeya's existence. It makes no sense.”