Run Afoul (30 page)

One big house dominated the scene, and was obviously where the Vieira de Castro family lived, when in residence. The stables were on the opposite side of the square from this, while the sides were taken up with servants' quarters, kitchens, and storerooms. Beyond the compound, plantations swooped up to the highest foothills of the mountain—growing the coffee that Josefa had talked about, Wiki supposed.

A bell began to toll, the noise a rhythmic accompaniment to the clatter of hooves as he led the horse into the courtyard. Servants appeared from all directions, and formed a ragged line behind Josefa, who was giggling immoderately at his bedraggled appearance. The reason she had been able to ride astride, Wiki saw, was that her shortened skirt was divided into two. Beneath it, she was wearing shiny black boots that were scarcely muddy at all.

“Why are they ringing the bell?” he asked.

“Oh, in the old days they used to fire a cannon when someone arrived, but now they use a bell,” she replied. Waving a hand at the assembled servants, she went on, “Just as in the old days, they have come out to welcome you.”

Feeling hot, sweaty, and dirty, Wiki bowed to the assemblage, who smiled vaguely and then disappeared, save for a man who took away his horse. He noticed that the beast cast a triumphant look over its shoulder as it went.

Josefa said in a thoughtful kind of tone, “You won't see the servants again for quite a while, as we don't eat until ten.”

“I thought you said the scientifics would be here?”

“I didn't say that—what I said is that you will see them soon enough. I thought perhaps they might be here, but they are not. Perhaps they will join us for supper, but I don't think they like to travel in the dark.”

So Dr. Olliver had delayed them yet again, Wiki mused—which meant that he and Sir Patrick's sister-in-law were alone for the night. When he looked at Josefa, she was watching him with a definitely wicked twinkle in her eyes.

She murmured, “So how would you like to fill in the time?”

“Swim,” Wiki said, and jerked his chin at the darkening pool.

“But it's freezing, and the insects will eat you to pieces. The servants use it for laundry. Come inside, and see the bathing pool that my brother-in-law designed. There is glass in the roof, so the sun warms the water by day, and it is very pleasant and pretty. You will enjoy a swim there.”

Before following her inside, Wiki kicked off his boots and washed his muddy feet in the pool the servants used for laundry. As predicted, the mountain water was icy. Then he went barefoot into the building, stepping from the great entrance door straight into a reception room with white-plastered walls and black beams in the roof. Bizarrely, it was furnished with gilt chairs, tables, and settees in the current French mode.

There was a row of French doors, too, leading to an inner courtyard, which was floored with flagstones and tiles, and had baskets of plants hanging from the beams. As Josefa had said, a decorative pond rippled quietly in the middle of this. Panes of glass had been let into the roof, so that the sunset light reflected on the water, which was edged in places with ferns and tropical flowers. Fallen blossoms floated.

“It's romantic, don't you agree?” she said.

Wiki said sincerely, “Your brother-in-law is a very talented designer.”

On the three far sides of the courtyard, the doors that were open revealed bedrooms, a dining room, and an office. “Take what bedroom you like,” she said with a casual flip of her hand. “Help yourself to whatever you need.” Then she walked around the pool and disappeared through one of the doors, closing it behind her.

Wiki went inside the nearest bedroom, dropped his kit bag on the floor, stripped to the skin, and made a great splash as he executed a shallow dive into the pool. The water was like silk, just warm enough not to shock the breath out of his chest, but cool enough to be refreshing. It was deep enough to swim, and he stroked lazily to and fro a few times. Feeling clean at last, he floated with his eyes shut.

The soft step could have been a servant—or one of the survey party arriving—but Wiki thought he knew better. He heard the rustle of silk as the intruder perched on the edge of the pool, and then Josefa said in her challenging way, “I think perhaps you won't let me wash your hair.”

Wiki smiled, still with his eyes shut. “Your rank is higher than mine.”

She laughed, and her hands gripped his shoulders and floated him closer. His hair was lashed into a ponytail, now very wet. He felt the tug as the yarn was pulled free, and then she dunked his head. He relaxed, and didn't resist her. She pulled him up again, and poured a cold liquid onto his scalp. There was a smell of rosewater, and foaming noises as her fingers slid through his hair. She pushed him under again, and then repeated the process, massaging while he luxuriated.

A second rinse, and then she said, “Am I allowed to comb it, too?”

“There are no
tohunga
here.” He felt the comb teeth set in, pull, yank, and tug, and opened his eyes a fraction as he winced. Then the tangles and knots were sorted out, and he felt the comb run smoothly to the ends of his long, black hair. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of metal.

A knife!
Wiki whipped around, grabbed, and jerked her into the water. Through the great splash, he heard the rattle and plink as something fell into the pool. Then, as the water stilled, he saw it through the ripples—not a knife, but scissors. “Damn it,” he exclaimed in English, and accused in Portuguese, “You were going to cut my hair!”

Josefa's only reply was a giggle. She was wearing a blue gown which clung wetly, making it obvious that she had stripped completely when taking off her riding clothes, and was naked beneath the thin silk. She laughed up at him through the dripping strands of her drenched hair, which hung down to her waist. When he kissed her in the European fashion, she wound her arms around his neck, and pressed her taut, wet breasts against his chest.

“Mischievous little witch,” said Wiki, and she chuckled in his ear. Then, with a movement that was so abrupt it took him by surprise, she jerked out of his arms, leapt out of the pool with marvelous litheness, and ran like a gazelle into the bedroom he had chosen. By the time he caught up with her, the gown was lying in a puddle on the floor.

*   *   *

When Wiki woke for the second time, it was almost dawn. The graying light was what he noticed first. Then he thought about how quiet it was, with no servants moving about. While their mistress was otherwise occupied, they were taking things easy, he thought—and it also meant, thank God, that the survey party hadn't arrived. There had been times in the night when he had listened for the warning clatter of hooves, and other times when he wouldn't have cared—or even noticed—if the whole complement, including his father, had been crowded about the bed.

After that, he thought about the mistress of this establishment—the sister-in-law of his father's good friend Sir Patrick Palgrave. He was sprawled over and around and beside Josefa, with his head nestled in the hollow of her shoulder. Slender white legs were entwined with his muscular brown ones. When he shifted, he realized she was awake—and, when he tried to sit up, he realized that Josefa had been busy.

“What the devil?” Wiki said, and felt and heard her giggle. He opened his eyes and tucked in his chin to look down at his chest, and saw she had braided their hair together. Her copper tresses merged with his snaky black hair, woven into a variegated plait that gleamed exotically in the light that slanted across the bed.

“You were drooling on my breast,” she accused, and he laughed. Then he realized he had a problem, but when he tried to unreeve the braid, her fingers stopped him.

“I have to get up,” he said.

“Why?”

“Don't ask,” he said. “It's indelicate.” He was hungry, too. A feast of beef, beans, and vegetables had been served at ten, but he and Josefa had been seated at either end of a long refectory table, forced to communicate in shouts, and they had both found it so funny that they hadn't eaten much.

“Kiss me first,” she teased—and he heard a queer thud at the outside door.

Though the sound wasn't loud, it echoed from beyond the front room. Another thump, and a low, hoarse, muffled cry. “What's that?” whispered Josefa.

“Someone—something at the door,” he said. This time, she allowed him to unravel the braid, but his fingers were thick and clumsy, and she had to take over, while all the time the desperate thump-thump echoed. Then, when he was halfway out of the room, Wiki realized he was naked. It seemed to take an age to get his legs into his trousers and get the trousers buttoned, while he heard rustles as Josefa found her gown and hurried into it.

Wiki didn't wait to put on anything else. The flagstones felt gritty under his feet as he ran around the pool. He slipped on wet tiles, but managed to keep his balance. Then he was hurrying across the dark reception room. The gilt furniture glittered in glimpses of light. He found the latch of the front door, but when he jerked at the handle, the door wouldn't budge. It took him two heartbeats to realize what was wrong. Then the bolts at both top and bottom screeched as he hauled at them. The thudding on the other side had ceased, but there was still a strong sense of a presence.

Finally, he got the heavy wooden door opened—but the rectangle that should have let in the early light was blocked by a great form that seemed to be wedged there. The fat surgeon. Dr. Olliver. His eyes were staring unseeingly, and blood ran from his nose and ears and matted his beard. Paralyzed, Wiki watched the small, plump-lipped mouth open wide.

Dr. Olliver shrieked in a tone of utter disbelief and horror,
“William!”

He began to fall, very slowly, his massive shape inclining forward. For a horrible moment Wiki thought the great mass was going to collapse on top of him, and smother him with its weight. Instead, however, the scientist buckled at the knees, and the great body slowly folded. The sightless eyes turned upward, and suddenly focused. It was as if Dr. Olliver recognized him in the throes of his last extremity. A painfully intense expression crossed his bloodied face and his mouth opened again.

“I
killed
for him,” he husked, so low that Wiki had to strain to hear him. Then, with a heartbreakingly soft sigh, Dr. Olliver fell the rest of the way to the floor, landing facedown so that Wiki could see the gash in the back of his head. It was a terrible wound; it was a miracle that he had stayed alive long enough to get to the door and deliver his enigmatic message.

An awful silence had descended. Then Wiki heard clattering in the outer courtyard, and looked up to see that the survey party had arrived. The closest man to the door was his father.

He was holding a bloodied cudgel, and looked dazed. Someone cried, “What's happened?” No one answered. Instead, someone called to William Coffin, “I heard him shout out your name.” The tone was puzzled, but definitely accusing.

Captain Coffin didn't answer. Instead, he looked confused. Then, like everyone else, he turned as the thump of hooves came fast down the track from the forest. A horse burst out of the tangled trees, with Sir Patrick Palgrave in the saddle. Instead of heading for the courtyard gateway, he drove the steed right at the pool where the mountain water gathered. Then, right in the middle of the thigh-deep water, he hauled the horse to a stop, and stood in the stirrups, a magnificent silhouette in the light of the rising sun.

“In God's name, what happened?” he cried.

No one answered. Instead, everyone looked at Captain Coffin, who stared back numbly with the murder weapon in his hand, while Forsythe, closely pursued by two officers of the law, came galloping down the track.

Twenty-three

Wiki did not have a chance to talk with his father until they were back at Rio, and then it was in his father's cell in the jail on Praça Quinze. The warder, rattling keys, let him in, and Wiki looked about curiously. The cool little room was irregular in shape and walled with stone, but was reasonably comfortable, with a narrow bunk at the back, and a small table with two kitchen chairs in the middle. Wiki supposed that was because Captain Coffin was quite well known about town as a respectable and affluent shipmaster—and, indeed, he still had the bearing of a man of dignity and substance, even if he had been charged with the murder of Dr. Winston Olliver.

Now, he indicated one of the chairs as if he were the master of this domain, and Wiki sat down. Then, when they were both seated, they contemplated each other in silence. To Wiki, it felt as if they had never studied each other properly before, and that they were both worried that the other would disappear forever if they stopped looking. He had dressed for the occasion in his best black broadcloth, because visiting someone in prison had seemed oddly like going to church, and his hair was neatly clubbed into the back of his neck. His father was similarly attired, except that one of his favorite brocade vests glinted secretly in gold and silk beneath the open front of the jacket. The heavy-lidded left eye was lowered even more than usual, so that he looked older, and very wise.

Then he said abruptly, “Son, I swear I didn't kill Olliver.”

“Of course you didn't,” Wiki replied readily. He hadn't believed it for an instant, even when the two guardsmen had hauled his father off in shackles.

The soldiers had come to the estate with Forsythe, after he had reported to the justice of the peace in the village on Rio Macae that the scientific party was being shadowed by cimarrons, who had shot at them twice. There had been a lot of trouble with the desperadoes locally, and so the justice had immediately assigned two soldiers to the job of providing an armed escort until the time that the scientific party was safely on board the brig. Instead, they had arrived at the fazenda to find that they were faced with a case of murder.