The Golden City (33 page)

Mr. Ferreira set one hand on Oriana’s shoulder. “Do you want me to tell them?”

My part,
she realized. He was offering to tell them of their capture and Isabel’s death, to spare her the anguish of telling the
st
ory yet again. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know everything, and this day had already made her weary. “Go ahead,” she whispered.

He did so. On hearing of Isabel’s death, Miss Carvalho crossed herself and began to cry silently, but Oriana felt numb.

There were three officers of the Special Police in this room, all li
st
ening to Mr. Ferreira’s version of her
st
ory. She could see their eyes turn toward her when Mr. Ferreira explained why she’d been chosen to sabotage the artwork, because she was a sereia. For years they’d been hunting down nonhumans like her. None of them jumped to arre
st
her, though. It seemed unreal.

They moved on pa
st
her part in this, discussing what had been done since. Anjos had been put in charge of clearing undesirable elements out of the Special Police—a separate inve
st
igation altogether. He was meant to find officers who abused their power or a
ct
ed for reasons beyond the group’s mandate, mo
st
specifically members of a shadowy group called the Open Hand. “Our arrival on the scene, however,” Anjos said, “was concurrent with the failed house going into the river. Word of our inve
st
igation traveled through the ranks, and several officers disappeared before they could be que
st
ioned, which only made us wonder what they were involved in. Captain Rios—who has now vanished as well—learned that Mr. Ferreira was following a new lead. Several attacks on Ferreira followed, meant, I think, to slow the inve
st
igation rather than end it. They needed time to complete the artwork and ena
ct
the spell. Once we learned what Mr. Ferreira and Inspe
ct
or Tavares had been inve
st
igating, we realized there were ties between our inve
st
igations, so we attempted to capture one of the conspirators—Officer Donato Mata, who’s a
ct
ed as an assassin before—using Mr. Ferreira as bait.”

Miss Carvalho gasped softly. Oriana glanced up at Mr. Ferreira, who merely shrugged.

“Unfortunately, that didn’t work as planned.” Anjos said. “They mu
st
have seen Mata’s death as a sign that we’re closing in on them. Today’s abdu
ct
ion sugge
st
s they’re now willing to risk exposure to complete this. After all, if they make it work, no one will recall the abdu
ct
ions or deaths.”

“And we’re sure now that the Open Hand is behind this?” Mr. Ferreira asked.

“Yes,” Anjos said. “Of the officers we’ve que
st
ioned so far, almo
st
all were aware of the group’s exi
st
ence and that it was a very small sele
ct
body of officers, but none knew its purpose. All the information we’ve colle
ct
ed so far points to eight or so officers, along with a handful of outsiders who are providing the funding and
st
rategic support.”

“But we don’t know who those outsiders are?” Inspe
ct
or Tavares asked.

A hush fell over the room. Oriana joined the others in looking toward the library door, where Paolo Silva, resplendent in a frock coat of black superfine wool and an ecru wai
st
coat embroidered with gold thread,
st
ood with one hand poised on the door frame.

“It might be beneficial at this point,” he announced, “to put me under guard. I’m almo
st
certain you’ll find evidence pointing to me as the cause of this mess.”

Genoveva Carvalho pushed herself out of her chair, cheeks flaming scarlet. “Get out of this house, you . . . you . . . devil,” she demanded, her hands clenched in fi
st
s at her sides. “If you’re responsible for this I’ll shoot you myself.”

Anjos rose as well. “Let’s hear him out, Miss Carvalho,” he said. “I believe Silva’s had a finger on this longer than any of the re
st
of us. I want to hear his side.”

Miss Carvalho sat again, her lips in a thin line.

“So gracious of you,” Silva said acerbically. He
st
rode into the room, as much at ease as an a
ct
or on the
st
age. He turned his gaze on the Lady. “You’ve got the Special Police turning themselves inside out, girl. Where did you find that undead creature you’ve been using to terrify them into talking?”

Undead?
Oriana kept her mouth shut.
Could he mean this Miss Vladimirova?

“In a library,” the Lady answered coolly. “Where else?”

“I had little use for your father,” Silva said. “Always tinkering around with his magical toys and colle
ct
ing books. A dilettante, but at lea
st
he wasn’t murderous. Your godfather, Maraval, is another matter. My prince would never approve of what Maraval has con
st
ru
ct
ed, what he’s doing. I want to assure all of you that no matter Maraval’s intention, His Highness is not involved.”

That
st
atement set off murmurs about the room that died out when Silva raised a hand for silence. “This morning,” he said dramatically, “I managed to find someone in the Open Hand who was willing to talk.
She
arranged for Miss Paredes to be abdu
ct
ed in hopes that her survival would trigger the failure of Maraval’s witchcraft.”

Ah, he’d talked to Maria Melo
. Oriana didn’t bother to look in his dire
ct
ion. Did he know that Mrs. Melo was a sereia spy? Would it make any difference?

“And what did she tell you?” Anjos asked.

“That they planned to grab one of Carvalho’s daughters, since the young ladies walk to Mass every morning, and see if Carvalho would fall for the promise of a trade. But you already know that,” he added, “else you’d not be gathered here. Still, they don’t know that
you
know what they’re doing. They know you have part of the spell—a very small part—but not enough to tell you the truth about what they’re trying to accomplish.”

“Enlighten us.” Anjos drew out a handkerchief and coughed.

“They want to override reality,” Silva said, sweeping one arm out grandly. “And change hi
st
ory—”

“We already know about the spell,” Pinheiro interrupted. “Do you have something new to tell us?”

That was the fir
st
time the captain had spoken. Oriana wondered at the irritation in his tone. Mr. Ferreira laid a hand on her shoulder, warning her not to speak.

“That was hardly necessary, Captain Pinheiro,” Silva rebuked him gently. “My source says they intend to
st
art putting one house in the water per night. They’re prepared to break into houses and
st
eal vi
ct
ims from them if need be. They’ll place the copy of the Carvalho house in the water tonight, and take the Amaral one back out of the water so it can be, shall we say, repaired.”

Although he didn’t say
how
they were planning to repair that house, Silva’s eyes slid toward Oriana. She did her be
st
not to rea
ct
.

“So, how do I get my daughter back?” Carvalho demanded, arms crossed over his wide che
st
.

“We’ll have to time it carefully,” Anjos said, “but we might be able to rescue your daughter when they drop the house into the water.”

“Why not ju
st
surround the boat and arre
st
them all?” Carvalho asked impatiently.

Anjos sighed wearily and rubbed one temple. “Because while they have your daughter on their ship—or, frankly, within rifle range—she’s a ho
st
age. If we try to arre
st
them, they will threaten to kill her outright. An impasse.”

Silva nodded sagely. “You’ll have to let the ship—it’s a medium-sized yacht with a crane affixed to the deck, by the way, painted dark blue—slip away fir
st
, I’m afraid.”

“You’ve seen it?” Inspe
ct
or Tavares asked.

“I had a source on the inside,” Silva said with a wicked smile. “The selkie they hired to attach the chains to weights on the riverbed. A
st
ounding how easy it is to buy a selkie’s loyalty. A few fish and a girl to bed and they’re mo
st
cooperative. Unfortunately he seems to have changed loyalty again, so I’ve had to find other sources.”

Oriana expe
ct
ed Mr. Ferreira was clenching his fi
st
s. Pinheiro rolled his eyes.

Anjos ignored the commentary, though, likely irritating Silva terribly. “Inspe
ct
or Tavares, what grade of chain did you say they used?” Inspe
ct
or Tavares supplied a number that meant nothing to Oriana. Anjos clearly under
st
ood it, though. “Good,” he said. “That’s not too large. We wait for them to drop the house in the water. As soon as the ship has pulled away far enough, we cut the chain. The main ob
st
acle is getting a diver with bolt cutters into position without him being seen.”

“I can row close in a dory,” Mr. Ferreira volunteered.

“And I will cut the chain,” Oriana added, and was gratified when Mr. Ferreira refrained from prote
st
ing her involvement. She wasn’t going to let the threat of capture
st
op her from doing this.

“And how do you manage that without being seen?” Captain Pinheiro asked.

“Discreetly,” Mr. Ferreira said. “If they come before the moon rises, they won’t be able to see much. It’s far enough from the city that we won’t have any ambient light to contend with, and out of the way of river traffic. We ju
st
sit on the water, no lanterns, and wait for them to come to us. I might be able to find a selkie or two willing to give chase afterward.”

“Why bother?” Carvalho asked.

“If we
st
op them tonight,” Mr. Ferreira said patiently, “they’ll know it’s over. They’ll
st
art preparing to flee. We have to find the workshop where they’re assembling the houses before they get a chance to de
st
roy all the evidence.”

“Maraval won’t be there, even if the yacht is his,” Silva inserted. “He lets Captain Rios do mo
st
of his dirty work.”

Oriana wondered whether they were a
ct
ually going to take Silva at his word—that Maraval was to blame and the prince knew nothing of what was being done in his name. Or were they going to put Silva under guard, as he’d sugge
st
ed when he’d walked into the room? She wished she could see Mr. Ferreira’s face to judge his rea
ct
ion. Then Anjos tilted his head to peer up at Silva.

Of course!
Anjos was a Truthsayer. He could weigh Silva’s veracity.

Apparently Anjos believed him. “Leave Maraval to us,” Anjos said. “It’s well known that you have a long-running adversarial relationship with the man. Carvalho, do you have a room secure enough to keep Silva locked up?”

Carvalho made some growling noises that Oriana took for assent.

“Promise that you won’t even try to escape,” Pinheiro said, arms crossed over his che
st
.

“My dear boy,” Silva said smoothly, “how can you think . . . ?”

“Promise,” Pinheiro insi
st
ed.

“I give my solemn word,” Silva said with a half bow in the captain’s dire
ct
ion.

As the afternoon crept on, the police officers began to break down the new undertaking into tasks, finding boats, finding appropriate tools. Oriana li
st
ened, trying to remember where each person would be. Evidently the Lady couldn’t join them, as being on water made her ill, but Gaspar would be in the patrol boat. They might be able to keep other patrol boats at bay. Carvalho insi
st
ed on being on the water as well, which Oriana didn’t think would be helpful. Carvalho bellowed at them all until they agreed.

“I’ll keep the rowboat behind the patrol boat until the yacht closes in,” Mr. Ferreira said, “then row close enough to dive in.”

Oriana lifted her eyes to meet his. Was he going to try to cut her out of the a
ct
ion? “For
me
to dive in.”

“You don’t need to do that, Miss Paredes,” Inspe
ct
or Tavares inserted quickly.

“I do,” she insi
st
ed. It would be full circle for her, back into the death-laden waters near
The City Under the Sea
.

“I was counting on your company,” Mr. Ferreira told her.

Thank the gods she didn’t have to argue about this. She
was
the be
st
choice for working under the water, but there was more to it than that. She hadn’t been able to save Isabel. She was going to do whatever was needed now to save the Carvalho girl. It was her chance for redemption.

D
uilio needed a favor, and he suspe
ct
ed he was going to have to pay for it. As they were leaving the house, he asked Miss Paredes to wait for him in the hallway. Carvalho had already
st
ormed out, dragging Silva along with him. Anjos had taken his crew of approved Special Police off in search of a patrol boat to commandeer, which left Duilio more or less alone, save for Miss Paredes and Captain Pinheiro, who was to escort them safely back to the house.

After a moment’s consideration of the room, Duilio settled on the curtains . . . or, rather, the tiebacks. They were thick braids, burgundy shot with gold, each end capped with a tassel almo
st
a foot long. He carefully picked one in a corner of the room and liberated the braid from its hook, allowing the drapery to fall loose. There was no way to
st
uff it in a pocket, so he coiled it up and tucked it inside his coat again
st
his body. Perhaps the
st
aff would be too busy to notice.

“What are you doing?” a soft voice asked from the doorway.

Duilio sighed inwardly. It was Genoveva Carvalho. He pulled the coil from under his coat and walked to where she
st
ood. He could see Miss Paredes and Captain Pinheiro watching from farther down the hallway. “I need to make a trade, Miss Carvalho, and don’t have time to
st
op by my own home to find something suitable. Your father can send me the draper’s bill.”

She nodded and
st
ood to one side of the doorway to let him pass. He moved to join the others, but she laid one hand on his arm. “Thank you for going after them,” she said. “This is my fault. I let Con
st
ancia fall back to talk to Tiago. I shouldn’t have, but they’re friends, and he’s too kind to take advantage of her naïveté. Please . . . bring her back.”

Duilio patted her hand. “We will do our be
st
, Miss Carvalho. I promise.”

Her hand slid off his arm, and he hurried to join the other two. Miss Paredes gave him a
st
range look, but said nothing about the encounter. A few minutes later they were all in the captain’s carriage again, heading in the dire
ct
ion of the Bicalho quay.

Duilio figured Pinheiro had never met a sereia before, but the man seemed unfazed by the revelation of Miss Paredes’ identity. “So, what will happen to Silva?” he asked Pinheiro cautiously.

Pinheiro sighed. “He’ll probably get several fine meals out of this, have a nice nap, and gather a lot of gossip to spread about. I’m sure he’ll come out of this smelling like springtime.”

Duilio almo
st
laughed at Pinheiro’s vexed tone.

“Do you know Silva well?” Miss Paredes asked the policeman.

“I didn’t tell her,” Duilio inserted quickly.

“Ah,” Pinheiro said. “I have the di
st
in
ct
ion of being his son, although he wasn’t aware of that until about three years ago, when my mother died.” He crossed himself at the mention of his mother’s death.

“I’m so sorry,” Miss Paredes said politely.

“That makes Captain Pinheiro my cousin,” Duilio told her. “And it puts a different complexion on the theft at our house three years ago.” He explained about Silva’s attempt to create an inheritance for his son and its tragic, even if unintended, consequence. Miss Paredes shot a glance at the captain’s face, possibly noting the resemblance to Silva. “So, some colle
ct
or has my mother’s pelt.”

“Yet she
st
ill blames Silva,” she said.

“It is, ultimately, his fault,” Pinheiro said. “I won’t make any excuses for him. I think larceny ju
st
comes more naturally to him than hone
st
effort.”

“So, how do we find this colle
ct
or?” she asked.

Duilio was pleased that she’d automatically said
we
.

“My father,” Pinheiro said, “has had an ongoing feud for decades, he claims, with the Marquis of Maraval, who has been slowly eroding his influence with the prince. Silva claims that Maraval has a huge colle
ct
ion of magical items secreted away in a basement, but that the item you want isn’t there. He’s checked; I’m afraid my father has a side career of breaking into others’ homes. I expe
ct
Maraval knew he would come looking for it and hid it elsewhere, along with the
st
olen
st
rongbox.”

“And Silva knew my family would never deal with him while we suspe
ct
ed he had my mother’s pelt,” Duilio told her. “None of us would believe him if he claimed innocence, because he
did
arrange the theft in the fir
st
place.”

“He didn’t want to admit he’d lo
st
that round to Maraval,” Pinheiro said. “He hadn’t told anyone until I became involved in this inve
st
igation. He told me only then to convince me that Maraval is behind these evil a
ct
s.”

“I see,” Miss Paredes said. “And Silva’s not behind any of it?”

“To be hone
st
, miss,” Pinheiro said, “he’s not clear of all of this. He suspe
ct
ed that murder was happening for a long time but wanted to tie it to Maraval fir
st
. He didn’t report the crimes he suspe
ct
ed. Then again, to whom could he have reported them?”

Duilio had to agree. Silva couldn’t report it to the Special Police because he wouldn’t know which of those officers were part of the Open Hand, and the inve
st
igation by the Security Police was shut down. The carriage rattled to a
st
op. They’d reached the quay where his family’s boats were moored.

“We’ll ju
st
be a few minutes,” he warned Pinheiro, and then opened the door and invited Miss Paredes to join him.

His family kept three boats here in a small marina that had been used by his father and his grandfather before. One of the three was a shallow-drafted paddleboat, one of Cri
st
iano’s experimental designs. It was good for river traffic and for travel near the coa
st
line when the water was glassy, but in rough water the thing was prone to capsizing. There was also a twenty-six-foot sailboat, but the family’s pride was the yacht, a long, graceful ship that Duilio had learned to sail as a young man. Commissioned by his grandfather, the
Deolinda
was nearly sixty years old, yet
st
ill tugged and bobbed at its moorings.

Miss Paredes seemed suitably impressed at the sight of the yacht. Duilio hone
st
ly preferred the smaller boats; they felt closer to the water. So the yacht had spent mo
st
of the la
st
year moored here, only going out when Cri
st
iano or Joaquim had the time to sail.

Fortunately, Aga was on the yacht with João, who rose when he saw them approaching. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing her out here, sir,” João said quickly, “but she was intere
st
ed in the boats.”

Not a surprise. His own mother found boatbuilding a subje
ct
of endless fascination. “I’m certain she would make an excellent boatman. Perhaps you could take out the sailboat tomorrow and show her how it handles under full sail.”

João’s eyes lit. “Yes, sir. She would love that.”

“Good. I need you to gather any bolt cutters we have, and if you could have the dory ready by sunset, that would be helpful. Also, I need to ask Miss Aga a favor.”

The young man nodded and held out his hand toward where she sat coiling a line on the deck. The girl was barefoot, wearing a pair of trousers, a man’s shirt and ve
st
, and a woolen cap. They weren’t hugely oversized, so they mu
st
be João’s spare garb rather than Erdano’s. Aga took one look at Duilio and turned up her nose. Evidently she hadn’t forgotten being passed over.

Duilio held up the tieback he’d liberated from the Carvalho library. “Aga, I need to ask a favor. Please?”

Her eyes flicked toward the heavy braid, and she returned to her coiling as if he hadn’t spoken. Duilio handed the tieback to Miss Paredes. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her.”

She leaned closer to him. “Why won’t she talk to you?”

“She’s effe
ct
ively queen of João’s harem now, so she won’t take gifts from me.”

“I see,” she said, a smile tugging at her full lips. “And what do you need asked?”

“I need her to go and fetch Erdano for us. We need his help tonight, and any of his harem that’s willing. They can meet us here at sunset.”

Miss Paredes crouched next to Aga. She asked the que
st
ion, offering the braid in exchange. “It would make a nice belt,” she added.

Duilio noted that she’d taken Aga’s measure quickly enough.

Aga snatched the length of braid from her hand. “Now?”

“As soon as you can,” Miss Paredes said. “Please.”

Aga immediately began to unbutton her borrowed shirt, provoking João to rush over and launch into a le
ct
ure on where and when it was proper to disrobe, which made Aga turn her pretty pout on him. Feeling they’d created enough chaos for one day, Duilio led Miss Paredes off the yacht and up the ramp to where the carriage waited.

“She’s very pretty,” Miss Paredes noted as he helped her up the la
st
st
ep.

“Not very clever, though,” Duilio added. “I’m afraid Erdano’s father wasn’t known for his deep thinking.”

“My people tend to think of selkies as . . .” Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Duilio raised one brow as he opened the carriage door. “As?”

“Well, rather savage,” she admitted. “They choose to live on the sea rather than in homes, as we do.”

He helped her up. “Anything different is barbaric, Miss Paredes. You should see the Scots.” He
st
epped up after her, to be greeted by Pinheiro’s quizzical look. “Of course, the Scots invented the
st
eam engine, which shows that generalizations are made only to be defied.”

“Did they?” she asked. “Amazing. Wearing skirts all the while?”

“Kilts, Miss Paredes,” Duilio corre
ct
ed. “Kilts.”

Pinheiro rolled his eyes. Duilio had a di
st
in
ct
feeling that as much as he disliked Paolo Silva, he was going to find Pinheiro an excellent addition to the Ferreira family. “So, Pinheiro, do you sail?”

•   •   •

O
riana changed to the mo
st
worn of her clothing, the shabby black skirt and black shirtwai
st
that had made up her housemaid co
st
ume. It was the same garb she’d worn that night, bringing a sense of completion to the choice. She checked the knife’s sheath to make certain it was securely
st
rapped on, buttoned the sleeve, and tugged on her mitts. Everyone who would be on that patrol boat tonight already knew she was a sereia, but she didn’t intend to rub it in their faces.

A knock at her door heralded Teresa’s entrance. The maid waited until Oriana had emerged from the dressing room. “There’s a woman in the sitting room who wishes to speak with you,” she said. “A Mrs. Melo.”

Oriana felt like the world shook. She gripped the edge of the door. “Is she alone?”

“Yes, miss,” Teresa said.

She took a deep breath. “I’ll go down dire
ct
ly,” she said. “Could you advise Mr. Ferreira as well?”

Teresa headed off to find one of the footmen to talk to Mr. Ferreira, who mu
st
st
ill be changing clothes. Oriana
st
ripped off her mitts in case she had to get at her knife quickly and headed down
st
airs to the front parlor. When she pushed the sitting room door wide open, she found the woman from the church sitting comfortably on the couch.

Oriana
st
opped at the threshold. Should she go in? Would that put her in a more vulnerable position than
st
anding in the doorway? But surely remaining outside would tell this woman she was afraid. She leveled her shoulders and
st
epped inside. “Mrs. Melo, I believe it is?”

The woman had been watching her, dark eyes hard as
st
one. She was an attra
ct
ive woman, but not
st
riking enough to draw attention. Her brows were thick, which lent her a look of intensity that Oriana had noted before. “You’ve done well so far, Oriana.” The woman surveyed the contents of the sitting room with an appraising eye. “I have to say, I’m impressed that you managed to land in a wealthy household following the incident with the Amaral family.”

The incident with the Amaral family? Is that how she saw Isabel’s death?
An incident?
Oriana forced her fi
st
s to unclench. “What do you want?”

“I want to know if Silva spilled everything I told him,” the woman said as she rose. “Did he tell you that we’ll be putting out the new house tonight?”

Oriana suspe
ct
ed her rea
ct
ion—or lack of one—gave away the answer to that. “Yes.”

“And will Anjos and his colle
ct
ion of freaks move to rescue the girl?”

Colle
ct
ion of freaks?
What an odd thing to say. “I’m sure they’ll try.”

“You’ll have to leave here,” the woman said, her eyes fixing on Oriana’s. “You know that, don’t you? Once the press gets wind of Isabel Amaral’s death, they’ll want you hauled in and que
st
ioned. You’ll be exposed for certain, and the Special Police—well, mo
st
of them—haven’t given up their persecution of our kind. I don’t want to see someone who’s done so much for the cause hanged.”

Done so much for the cause
. “You let them kill Isabel. You were there and didn’t
st
op it.”