The Golden City (39 page)

MONDAY, 6 OCTOBER 1902

O
riana had been sleeping, her head on his shoulder, for mo
st
of the trip. When they reached the house Duilio hated to wake her, but she probably didn’t want to sit there in damp clothing any longer than necessary.

Joaquim had been a font of information, mo
st
ly about what they’d learned in going through Maraval’s private papers. The papers cleared up any doubt of his having Alessio killed, as he’d kept thorough records of all Alessio’s movements for a few months prior to that date. Maraval had feared that Alessio might—at the infante’s reque
st
—seduce the prince out from under Maraval’s thumb. Ironically, it was Alessio’s death that had led the infante to bring in Anjos and his people, ultimately causing Maraval’s downfall.

Over the pa
st
few days, Joaquim had also learned a great deal about Anjos and his people. Having spent more time with them, he had several intere
st
ing observations. Duilio was mo
st
intere
st
ed in Miss Vladimirova, though, whom Joaquim told him was a Russian water nymph called a rusalka. Camões might have referred to Oriana’s people as sea nymphs, but Duilio suspe
ct
ed the similarity ended there. According to Joaquim, Silva had apparently been corre
ct
in calling Miss Vladimirova
undead
. And while Duilio had read several lurid
st
ories about vampires, he wasn’t sure he believed that something could be both dead and alive.

“All I know,” Joaquim said, “is that I’m glad I’m in this carriage, not the other. Ju
st
being around her makes me nervous.”

That Duilio
did
under
st
and. Of course, if Joaquim had been in the other carriage, then he might have had a chance for a private talk with Oriana. He could tell she was shaken after what had happened at the cove. He didn’t know whether she’d ever caused another’s death before, but he suspe
ct
ed not. He under
st
ood that. He’d never liked killing, no matter the situation.

But the carriage had been
st
anding for a couple of minutes now, and they should let the driver get his horses back to the police
st
ables. Duilio sighed and gently shook Oriana’s shoulder. She blinked at him but obeyed his in
st
ru
ct
ions when he helped her down onto the cobbles behind the house. He dragged the nearly dry pelt out as well, and then sent the driver on with orders to take Joaquim to his apartment. They could talk more later.

•   •   •

I
t was the one thing Duilio didn’t think should wait until morning, so in the early hours of the morning they
st
ood next to his mother’s bed. The lady slept silently, looking almo
st
like a painting in a museum, her braid trailing off the edge of the bed. Oriana touched her shoulder lightly. “Lady Ferreira?”

The lady moved as if in a dream, sitting up and
st
retching out her arms. Her eyes never saw Oriana there. She looked right pa
st
her.

Duilio held out the pelt. “See what we’ve found, Mother?”

He surrendered the damp pelt into her hands . . . or perhaps it moved into Lady Ferreira’s arms; Oriana wasn’t certain which she’d ju
st
seen. The lady gathered it close to her che
st
and curled around it like it was a lo
st
child finally found. Under her fingertips, it seemed almo
st
as though the pelt came alive, the fur shining again. “Mother, there are nail holes in it,” he warned, “so don’t try to wear it immediately.”

“No wonder my fingers always hurt,” Lady Ferreira said under her breath.

Tears
st
ung Oriana’s eyes, and she wiped them away with the side of her hand. Now Lady Ferreira’s life could resume. It mu
st
be an incredible relief to be able to move on. Oriana didn’t know when, if ever, her own life would be hers to dire
ct
again. She sorely wanted that.

“It’ll be better soon, Mother,” Duilio said, touching her hair lightly. “Re
st
now.”

The lady breathed in the scent of her pelt as if it were the sweete
st
perfume. She seemed too enraptured to speak at all.

“I’ll
st
ay with her for a while,” Duilio told Oriana as he dragged over a chair and set it next to the head of the bed. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

She nodded, feeling dull and drained. She left him there and headed to her own bed, only bothering to remove her waterlogged garments before crawling under the warm coverlet. And then it was morning, a dim light piercing the curtains and bidding her to wake. Oriana crawled from her borrowed bed and dressed in her black serge skirt and blue ve
st
. She braided her hair and was relieved when Teresa showed up with her morning coffee tray.

A short time later she left her room, unsure whether anyone would be awake this morning. Before she reached the
st
airs, Cardenas came up. “Good morning, Miss Paredes,” he said cheerily.

“Is anyone else up?” she asked.

“Mr. Duilio has an early caller,” he said, “but the lady apparently plans to sleep late.”

It
was
early for a caller, but Oriana supposed it might be his cousin, Inspe
ct
or Tavares. Or Gaspar or Pinheiro. “Very well.”

Cardenas reached into a jacket pocket and produced an envelope. “I have a letter for you, Miss Paredes. It was left la
st
night, but . . .”

Oriana cringed inwardly. She knew what that letter mu
st
be. She took the envelope Cardenas handed her and thanked him, and he walked on toward the end of the hallway. This card had a different seal from the other, Oriana noted as she made her way more slowly down the
st
airs. In fa
ct
, it looked like Heriberto’s seal and wax. Oriana
st
opped halfway down the
st
airs and popped open the envelope.

There will be a ship waiting for you, south-southwe
st
of the mouth of the river. Be there by noon on Monday, or I will do as I promised. MM

Oriana sighed and closed her eyes, fighting back the
st
ing of tears.
Today
. She had known this was coming. She had known it would be soon.

She turned to head back up the
st
airs when she saw Duilio emerging from the front sitting room with his gue
st
. It was Genoveva Carvalho, her companion trailing behind her, clutching a parasol in her hands. Miss Carvalho lifted tear-filled eyes toward Duilio, then leaned up and kissed his cheek, one of her gloved hands lingering on his coat lapel. Oriana couldn’t make out what the young woman said, but the admiration in her eyes was plain to see. Duilio was likely blushing. Then Miss Carvalho turned and led her companion out the front door.

Miss Carvalho was from a wealthy family, an ari
st
ocratic one with ties here. And there was an under
st
anding already, was there not? Even if Oriana had the time left, even if she wanted to court Duilio Ferreira, he had other choices for a mate—much better choices than a sereia with no money and no prospe
ct
s.

Swallowing, Oriana darted back up the
st
airs, not wanting him to turn and catch her watching. But Felis
st
opped her at the landing and asked if everything was well. Oriana managed to blurt out something about packing because she had to leave. She edged pa
st
the elderly woman to reach the privacy of her bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door and re
st
ed her back again
st
it.

She was nearly out of time. If she was going to swim the di
st
ance from the city out to the mouth of the river and from there to wherever the ship waited for her, she needed to go soon. And she hadn’t swum a long di
st
ance since coming to the city. What would have been easy when she was two years younger seemed daunting now. She was already so tired. She covered her face with shaking hands and began to cry in earne
st
. The note slipped to the table, atop the other, unopened note, forgotten.

•   •   •

D
uilio ached all over. His back hurt now too from when he’d slammed into one of the miniature houses, slid over its top, and then dropped to the floor. His hair was singed on the ends. Fortunately, he hadn’t lo
st
his eyebrows, which would have made him look ridiculous.

He sat back, moaning when his sore back touched the chair. He’d had to endure an uncomfortable interview with Genoveva Carvalho, who seemed to believe he’d saved her si
st
er single-handedly. He told the girl that Miss Paredes had done the difficult part, but she mu
st
have mi
st
aken that for mode
st
y on his part.

She’d called at his house far earlier in the morning than was proper, apparently on her way to Mass. Duilio sighed. Apparently she
had
transferred her affe
ct
ions from Alessio to him, which might have been desirable a year ago. Now it only seemed an annoyance. He was going to have to
st
art avoiding her.

He picked up the newspaper Cardenas had left on the table. The
Porto Gazette
had run an article on the front page, complete with a photograph of young Tiago Coelho, the footman, taken while he was
st
ill bound to the table in the house, blood
st
aining his swollen features. In the photographer’s flash Duilio could make out a few of the now-familiar symbols on that table. Markings ran along the pede
st
al of the table and across the visible walls of the house as well. The Lady had been corre
ct
about that—there was far more to the spell than ju
st
the table itself. And despite the scripture binding the edge of the table, it was clear that this was the sort of magical invocation that the Church found unacceptable.

The people of the city wouldn’t permit this to go on, no matter how their prince felt about the work of art. The City Council had recognized that fa
ct
.
The City Under the Sea
wouldn’t be growing. According to the paper, the police were making plans to dismantle it. They would bring up the houses and their contents onto the Gaia beach near the breakwater, far from the city, where fewer eyes would witness the grisly sight of bodies that had been in the water too long. Setting aside their usual antagonism, the Jesuits and the Freemasons were set to take possession of the houses to
st
udy the spell written on the tables and the walls, determine its intentions, and decide whether it would work at all.

He should be elated. They’d won. No more bodies would be buried in the river, and his mother had her pelt back. He’d even found his missing slippers hidden under his pillow la
st
night, no doubt thanks to Miss Paredes.

In
st
ead he felt a vague worry, as if his gift couldn’t yet define the threat that waited for him. Their a
ct
ions tonight had unleashed something to wreak havoc on the city. He asked his gift for some guidance but got nothing. He didn’t know what que
st
ions to ask. He’d ju
st
lifted his glass of brandy to his lips when Felis
st
rode into the library, a militant expression on her face

Duilio wondered what he’d done to offend his mother’s maid. He rose, fully expe
ct
ing to get his ears boxed.

Felis set her hands on her hips. “Duilinho, Miss Paredes tells me she has to leave. For God’s sake, boy,
st
op her.”

He had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, but somehow, given the way things were going, he wasn’t particularly surprised. He
was
shocked that Felis had used such
st
rong language. “She needs to return home, Miss Felis. I’ve known for some time she would have to leave. I can’t force her to
st
ay.”

The elderly maid thru
st
one hand into her apron pocket and drew out a tattered playing card. She held it up in front of Duilio’s face—the king of hearts. “Don’t you know what this means, boy?”

She had never told him the meaning of that card, the one she’d drawn for him the day he’d asked her to help him find Oriana, but he didn’t need her explanation. The import of the card was all too clear in his mind now. He nodded, his throat tightening. “I know what it means.”

Felis threw the card on the table. “Then why would you let her go?”

She turned and walked out of the library, leaving the card behind.