The Seat of Magic (18 page)

Duilio shrugged. “His superiors believe she was human. Erdano had asked me to look for her, so when Joaquim came across her body, he had a good idea she was the one. Another girl was killed several days before that in a related manner. Possibly an otter girl, although we can't be certain.”

“The otter folk have tails,” she said. He was holding something back. “It would be hard to miss that.”

He cast an apologetic look at her. “If she had a tail, it was removed.”

“Removed?” Oriana sat back, horrified.
What kind of person would do that?
“And the selkie?”

“They removed her skin. All of it.” He paused a moment, jaw working, and then asked, “Does that mean anything to you?”

Her stomach churned. “No, nothing. Are they only after nonhumans?”

“It seems likely that the two murders are related, given the manner of death. The killer would have known about the otter girl, if she was that. We can't know if he was aware Gita was a selkie. We're not sure what's unfolding here.”

Oriana looked down at hands, which clearly marked her as a nonhuman. Had Duilio been staying so close out of concern for her safety? “Please, tell me everything.”

After a brief pause, he began to speak, starting with the day before he'd come to find her. The web of incidents and evidence didn't make sense to her, but with Isabel's death she'd learned that things often looked far different in hindsight. What had seemed a random abduction that night turned out to be only one in a long series of murders.

“So there's a healer out there killing prostitutes,” she summed up, “and someone is mutilating nonhuman girls. Both are classes of women the authorities generally ignore.”

“Not us,” Duilio said. “Gaspar is looking into the healer, although he seemed to suspect . . .”

She waited for him to finish that.

“Well, he's got a few ideas,” Duilio equivocated. “Apparently the number of people who can do that is limited.”

Oriana found herself nodding, although she had no idea if that was true. Her people didn't have healers. “I'd like to tell my father, so he can get the word out among the exiles. Would you mind?”

“No,” he said quickly, sitting up. “I think it's an excellent idea.”

Surely she could do that without falling into a disagreement. Oriana's eyes fixed on the bruise darkening Duilio's cheek. “What does your infante have to do with all of this?”

Duilio groaned. “He wants something from me. He came to the house this past Sunday, but I didn't know who he was then. He asked me if I would serve the infante as Alessio had. Apparently Alessio
was a courier of sorts for him. I don't think he wants me to take over Alessio's work, but I don't know what else he'd need me for.”

“Other than a sparring partner?” She gestured toward the bruise. “What did that prove?”

“Well, it showed me that the guards allow him to practice with them. That suggests they prefer him over the prince. There were several present in their practice room when he sparred with me. They cheered when he scored that hit. It was genuine friendliness, not false praise.”

She sat for a moment in silence, puzzling at the mystery the infante posed and trying to pull together pieces. It was actually a relief to have something else to think about beyond her own problems. “He's the one who told you about the astrologers, is that right? What they claimed about my uncle killing the prince.”

“Yes. And if the prince were to die, the infante would inherit the throne.”

“But that's always been more a case of
when
the prince dies, hasn't it?” she pointed out. “He doesn't have any other heir.”

Duilio shook his head. “A moot point. However, if the astrologers were right, it will be sooner rather than later.”

“My uncle would never . . .”

He held up his hand as if something had just occurred to him. “What if someone did intend to kill the prince, perhaps one of your people
other
than the ambassador?”

“An assassin?” She thought immediately of Maria Melo, the sereia woman who had chosen her and Isabel to be among Maraval's victims. Heriberto had been afraid of Melo, and had warned Oriana against her, claiming that Melo's mission outweighed his authority. He'd believed the woman would kill her own people to protect her mission . . . and now he'd apparently fled. “Did the Special Police ever find Maria Melo?”

“No,” Duilio said softly. “Do you think she could be an assassin?”

Oriana weighed what little she knew about the woman. “She could be. But I can't imagine who in the government would sanction such a thing. We don't have a history of aggression against your people, and we stand no chance of winning an outright war, should an assassination trigger one.” Oriana rose and went to the hearth, her hands going cold. The death of the prince might benefit her and all the exiles, but it could be disastrous for her people as a whole. “Do you want the prince to live?”

Duilio stayed in his chair. “Not particularly, I admit.”

He
was
willing to ignore the rules if he believed the greater good was served, she knew. They had circumvented the prince's edicts when they'd gone after Isabel's killer. And she had ignored her own orders as well. “Mrs. Melo might have wanted to be rid of me. If she's high enough in the ministry, she would have the influence to order my execution.”

“Could she send a ship there to keep us from rescuing you?”

Oriana turned back to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head dismissively as if it was nothing. “When Joaquim and I found you, a ship chased us away from the island—a steam corvette or something about that size. They seemed to want to board us.”

“No, our navy's ships are small, built for stealth. I don't think we have anything that size.”

Duilio licked his lips. “The men aboard didn't speak Portuguese well, so we doubted it.”

Oriana shook her head. They'd been discussing the gender disparity among her people earlier that same evening, but apparently he hadn't worked out all the ramifications yet. “Men, Duilio. You said they were
men
. Our navy is almost all female.”

His mouth fell open into a rather comical “o.” “So the guards on the ship you were held on?”

“Were all female,” she said patiently.

“But your spymaster, Heriberto, was male,” he pointed out.

“Yes. Our government knows that humans expect to interact with males, so they bring in a few older males, mostly ones who've lost their mates . . . as figureheads.”

He gazed at her a moment longer as if all his understanding of her people had been overset. “So your father . . .”

“Holds the radical belief that males should have the same rights as females. That was why he was exiled.”

Duilio seemed to process that for a moment, then nodded. “Your father is an exception, then.”

“As is your mother, I think.”

He tilted his head and nodded as if allowing that truth. “She is. As to the ship, Joaquim has made inquiries, but hasn't heard of any vessel that size limping into a nearby port. Since we didn't see a flag, we wondered if they might be pirates instead, coming to collect a sereia who was too exhausted to defend herself.”

“Gods, I hope not.” Oriana laid a hand over her mouth, appalled.
What a horrid thought
. “How did you get away?”

“A leviathan attacked them,” he said. “The ambassador had warned me there was a leviathan near those islands. . . .”

Oriana gaped at him. “Are you sure?”

“We didn't get a good look at it, but I can't imagine what else it could have been.”

“Leviathans serve the gods,” she told him. “If it came to interfere, they would never have succeeded in taking me.”

Duilio nodded, although she guessed he didn't credit that. Leviathans were generally too shy to bother moving ships. This one had acted out of character, but Duilio wouldn't attribute that to the gods, or even to
his
God. He preferred scientific answers to his problems.

But if a leviathan had interfered to save her, it meant the gods had a plan for her. She needed to figure out what that was. Oriana returned to the couch and sat squarely facing him. “Let me help you try to find the truth, find out if my father knows anything.”

He didn't argue about letting her get involved. “No more rude gestures?”

“I promise I can be civil,” she said.

He didn't smile, but the corners of his eyes gave away his merriment. “Keep your hands behind your back,” he suggested.

She lifted her chin. “I will if he does.”

S
ATURDAY
, 25 O
CTOBER
1902

“I
t seems to me,” Lady Ferreira said the next morning at the breakfast table, “it might be better if Miss Paredes didn't speak with her father at all.”

She wore a cream-colored silk day dress with lace undersleeves, one of her new ones, the height of fashion. Oriana's garb was new as well, Duilio noted, a heathered teal skirt paired with a tailored teal jacket that emphasized her lovely figure.

“Mother, we do need to speak to him again.”

His mother sighed. “I meant that
you
should speak to him, Duilinho. Miss Paredes can talk to her sister. Does the girl not work in the same office?”

Duilio had been hesitant to suggest that, for fear Oriana might think he doubted her ability to control her temper. He was grateful his mother had done so. “Would he talk to me alone?”

“He might,” Oriana said hesitantly. “There might not be so many sparks.” Her sheepish expression hinted that she regretted her exhibition of temper on the previous visit. “I sat down last night and wrote out a list of questions I have for him. I could give
you
that, and I'll try to get Marina to talk instead.”

When they were preparing to leave, his mother drew him to one side. She brushed the lapels of his morning coat with her gloved fingers and sighed. “You have reason to be upset with this man, Duilinho, but I would counsel you to try to get along with him.”

He looked heavenward—or toward the plastered ceiling. “I know, Mother. He is her family.”

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “And don't walk away from him.”

So chastened, half an hour later he stood in the chilly morning fog at the gold-lettered door of Monteiro and Company, Oriana at his side. She seemed calm enough, and even managed to don a smile when he opened the door for her.

The same clerk met them inside the doorway, his expression quizzical.

Duilio supposed no one ever visited on two consecutive days—or else Monteiro never met with people on Saturdays. “I'd like to speak with Mr. Monteiro. And is Miss Arenias here?”

“Mr. Monteiro is with a client,” the clerk said, “but Miss Arenias is in the back room.”

“If you'll inform him I'd like to speak to him, I would appreciate it,” Duilio said.

“I'll talk to Miss Arenias,” Oriana added.

Oriana disappeared down the long hallway toward the back room, leaving Duilio perched on a wooden bench in the hallway. He was surprised when the clerk emerged from Monteiro's office with word that his employer would see him immediately. Duilio rose and walked into the office and was even more surprised to find that the previous client hadn't left; Lady Pereira de Santos sat in a chair to one side of the desk. He'd been correct; the two of them did make a handsome couple.

“Mr. Ferreira,” Monteiro began, his tone not as frosty as Duilio had expected. “I was surprised when Narciso told me you'd returned so quickly.”

As he didn't ask after Oriana, Duilio guessed Narciso had informed his employer where Oriana had gone. Duilio inclined his head toward Lady Pereira de Santos—who'd remained in her seat—and turned back to Monteiro. “Yesterday's meeting was not as productive as I'd hoped it would be. However, I have two objectives today, simple ones, and I'll be out of your way, sir.”

Monteiro gestured toward one of the chairs before the desk. Duilio sat as Monteiro settled in his own chair, his shoulders squared. “And what are those objectives, Mr. Ferreira?”

Ah, this is going to be civil.
“First, to give you a warning. We believe someone has murdered a selkie and one of the otter folk in the last week or so.”

“We?” Monteiro's tone was cool.

“I work with the police,” Duilio said.

Monteiro's eyes narrowed. “Do they care whether we live or die?”

Lady Pereira de Santos reached over and laid one black-gloved hand on his arm.

It must have been an admonishment to be polite, because Monteiro sighed. In a conciliatory tone, he added, “I understand the police are forbidden to investigate crimes that concern nonhumans.”

Duilio understood the man's vexation. “As long as the identity of the victim cannot be proven conclusively, we—well,
they
—can investigate. Unfortunately, the police don't have any means to get the word out to nonhumans if they are being targeted. I hoped mentioning it to you might help.”

Monteiro sat back in his chair, his dark brows drawn together. “I can take care of that.”

“I would appreciate it, sir. Unfortunately, the police aren't making much progress with this case, so I have no specific advice other than to be cautious.”

Monteiro nodded. “And your second objective?”

The man looked as if he were bracing himself, and Duilio had
the impression Monteiro expected a discussion of his intentions toward Oriana. He cast a quick glance at Lady Pereira de Santos. Her hopeful expression reinforced that idea. Even so, Duilio didn't plan to ask this man for permission to court his daughter. “Your daughter supplied me with a list of questions. They're personal, so it might be better if I left the list with you and you wrote the answers for her.”

Lady Pereira de Santos looked away, her brows drawn together and her lips pursed.

Monteiro seemed taken aback. “Is that all?”

“Well, you might be able to answer
my
questions,” Duilio said. “We need to find out who put Oriana on that island to die. Someone used her as a pawn. I want to know who.”

Monteiro gave him a measuring glance. “Why would you think I know?”

“Someone told you not to talk. Who was that? They had to have known what happened to her before anyone else did.”

Monteiro opened a desk drawer and withdrew an envelope with a broken seal. He held it out. “This was delivered to this office by a beggar boy. Narciso didn't get his name, so there's no way to track him.”

Duilio leaned forward and took the envelope. “May I give this to Oriana?”

Monteiro nodded. “If I knew who did that to her, I would have already turned them in to the Special Police.”

That was, Duilio realized, the only recourse a nonhuman would have. “Do you know a woman named Maria Melo?” he asked. “She's a sereia.”

“No,” Monteiro said. “Should I?”

It might be easier to come at the topic from the rear. “Are you aware that Oriana and Lady Isabel were among the victims trapped in
The City Under the Sea
?”

Lady Pereira de Santos closed her eyes and shook her head. She must have guessed what had happened to Isabel Amaral, even if the newspapers glossed over that fact.

Monteiro scowled. “We suspected.”

“Mrs. Melo was the one who selected her to be there—a saboteur within the organization that built the artwork. She was posing as an upper servant, meeting with servants from along the Street of Flowers at one of the local taverns. She picked Oriana specifically because she wouldn't drown. Heriberto later told Oriana that Mrs. Melo was higher than him in the ministry.”

“You're very much in my daughter's confidence,” Monteiro said in a guarded tone.

“I am. I was investigating the artwork when Oriana went missing, so I tracked her down. She agreed to help us stop Isabel's killer.”

“I see,” Monteiro said. “And you think the same woman might have been responsible for what happened to her on that island?”

“It occurred to me that should Oriana reach home, her testimony about being offered up as a sacrifice by a fellow sereia might be damaging. So they made certain she never reached home. She said there was no trial, no charges. Just a sentence of death.”

Her father's jaw clenched. “I would help you find the woman if I knew her, Ferreira.”

Well, that has to be considered progress.
“That gives me a plausible explanation for what happened to Oriana, but I still don't know why you and the ambassador were threatened. The only thing I can think of that would be important enough to warrant silencing you—and others—is an assassination attempt.”

“If one of my people were to attempt such a thing, Mr. Ferreira, it could go very badly for us.” Monteiro shook his head. “We would not allow it to happen—to protect ourselves and to protect the peace,
not
your prince. The alternative is too terrible to contemplate.”

*   *   *

T
he back room was full of filing cabinets—work relating to various clients, Oriana supposed. It smelled of musty paper and dust. Marina had turned away from her typewriter and sat sideways
in her chair, rubbing one hand with the other. “I haven't heard anything about anyone being killed.”

“They didn't want the newspapers to know,” Oriana told her. “Just remember to be careful. One of the girls was grabbed from a side street, so watch where you walk. Stick to the larger streets and stay with your friends.”

“A side street?” Marina's delicate brows drew together.

“That's what Mr. Ferreira told me,” Oriana said. Marina's face took on a worried look, her lips pursed and her eyes focused inward, so Oriana pressed further. “What is it?”

Marina shook her head. “You can't tell Father.”

Oriana gave her a hard look. “What
is
it?”

Marina swallowed, and then gave in. “Well, yesterday afternoon after you left, I went to see the doctor. My hands were hurting, so I wanted to ask if he could recommend anything. That's why I didn't tell Father. I didn't want him to know.”

Oriana waited, trying to decide whether her father needed to be throttled, or Marina.

“Well, after I came out, I was walking down the street when a man grabbed my arm and dragged me into an empty lot.” Marina took a deep breath. “He tried to steal my gloves, but another man came running into the alleyway and scared him off. The thief ran away.”

Oriana could only think of one reason for a man to steal Marina's gloves; he'd wanted a look at her hands. “He didn't take your handbag?”

“No, I dropped it. Well, I tried to hit him with it, and he grabbed it and threw it away.”

At least Marina had tried to defend herself. “Did you cry out for help?”

“Yes,” Marina said, flushing—she had thinner skin and actually
could
flush. “The other man, he'd heard me screaming. He found my handbag and walked me back to my flat to be certain I was
safe. It was very kind of him. He said he hoped he might see me again.”

See her again?
“And you didn't mention
him
to Father, either?”

“You know how protective Father is,” Marina said with a half shrug.

No, I don't.
Oriana pressed her lips together, trying to be like Duilio and limit the things that came out of her mouth. The glow in Marina's eyes hinted she'd found a new hero to worship. As a girl, Marina had always been prone toward mooning over males. Oriana rubbed her temple. “What was his name?”

“Mr. Tavares.”

Oriana felt her mouth fall open.
It can't be, can it?
“Did he tell you his given name?”

Marina shook her head.

Tavares wasn't a terribly common name, she supposed, but it wasn't uncommon either. “Did you
call
him?”

Marina rubbed her nose with one gloved finger—a gesture she always made when she was thinking hard. “I don't remember,” she finally admitted. “I was so scared. I may have used my voice, but . . . I don't remember.”

Oriana sighed. If Marina had used her voice to
call
, any human male nearby would have been compelled to come to her aid. Her attacker could have resisted her only if his ears had been plugged or he was deaf . . . or nonhuman. “Did he say anything to you, the man who grabbed you?”

“No.”

There was also the possibility that the two men could have been working together, but Marina wasn't cynical enough to believe that, so Oriana let it drop. “I need you to do something for me,” she said. “I'll not tell Father, but I need you to tell Mr. Ferreira about this. He may want you to talk to . . . a friend in the police. Would you be willing to do that?”

“Will it help?” Marina asked.

“I'd rather let them decide.” She got up and drew Marina toward the door, wrapping an arm through her younger sister's. “So what does Mr. Tavares look like?”

Marina went along willingly enough. “He's tall and handsome.”

That wasn't helpful. “Did he tell you anything about his family, or where he worked?”

“Not so much,” Marina admitted. “He did say he had brothers.”

“Come on. I'll pry Mr. Ferreira out of Father's office and we can get a cab.”

“But I have to work,” Marina protested.

“Marina, this could be
very
important. If you'd let me explain to them, I'm sure Father will let you come with us.” Oriana marched down the hall and knocked on the office door that bore her father's name before the attentive young clerk could intercept her.

“Come,” her father's voice called from inside.

Keeping one hand on Marina's arm, Oriana swung the door open. Duilio came to his feet, apparently unbloodied. He cast her a confused glance. This hadn't been their plan. “Mr. Ferreira, Miss Arenias and I need to talk to you.”

He turned back to her father. “Perhaps we can finish this another day, Mr. Monteiro. Thank you for your time.”

“Mr. Ferreira, surely we can all hear what Miss Arenias has to say.” For the first time Oriana saw that Lady Pereira de Santos was in the room, too, sitting in a chair next to her father's desk. “Why don't you close the door, Miss Paredes?” the lady suggested.

Oriana wasn't certain why it bothered her—the woman was, after all, both his wife and his client—but it did. She found herself obediently pulling the door shut.