The Golden City (16 page)

“Miss Paredes is supposed to meet someone regarding the table’s inscription tomorrow night,” he said. “So perhaps it will make more sense afterward.”

Joaquim nodded but didn’t ask about Miss Paredes’ unknown conta
ct
.

Duilio was grateful that Joaquim, such a
st
ickler in some areas, was willing to bend in the important matters. As a police inspe
ct
or, he was walking a fine line. He hadn’t asked why Miss Paredes was in the city, disguised as a human, but surely he’d guessed there was a chance she was a spy. Even so, the less he knew of her, the less he would have to hide.

Duilio had another concern to lay before him. “I should warn you, the man who pulled her out of the water wasn’t a fisherman, as I’d originally assumed. It was Paolo Silva.”

That made Joaquim set down his fork. “Silva? Your uncle Silva?”

Duilio was tempted to ask which
other
Paolo Silva it might be, but there were probably a hundred other men in the city with a name that common. “Yes, him. He told her he’d foreseen that a woman would be in the river in need of rescue, which Miss Paredes obviously was.”

Joaquim shook his head. “No good can come of that.”

“True. I’m worried he’ll try to make a public show of the fa
ct
that he ‘rescued’ her,” Duilio admitted. “She can’t afford that sort of attention.”

“Neither can we,” Joaquim pointed out. “Can you keep her hidden from him? If she
st
ays to the house . . .”

Duilio pushed away his plate. “I suspe
ct
that if we ask her to sit by and do nothing, Miss Paredes will disappear and go hunting Espinoza on her own.”

“I see,” Joaquim said. “A militant sort, is she?”

Duilio held in a laugh. He didn’t know enough of Miss Paredes to speculate on her relative militancy. Not yet. “She doesn’t
st
rike me as being willing to wait around merely because she’s female, and she knows another house will end up in the river in a week or so.”

Joaquim crossed himself. “Yes. We’ll simply have to work fa
st
er.”

Duilio only wished they had more to work with. “Will you tell Captain Santiago that I’m working on a new lead? I’d avoid telling him about Miss Paredes, though. He’d probably want to drag her into the
st
ation, and I’m not going to allow that.”

Joaquim ca
st
him a shrewd glance before turning back to his soup. “I’ll be discreet.”

•   •   •

O
riana sat in her bedroom, a blue silk dress in a mass on her lap. After consulting with Teresa about the
st
ate of Oriana’s garments, Felis had picked it from among Lady Ferreira’s out-of-date clothing and ordered Oriana to wear it. Since what remained of her wardrobe wasn’t suitable for a ball, Oriana acquiesced. The wai
st
needed to be taken in and the skirt was too short, but she could add a flounce made from part of the underskirt, alterations that she could easily do herself, since Lady Ferreira was napping. The dress would be presentable but somber, suitable for a companion in a house recently out of mourning.

The window seat on which Oriana perched looked out over the Street of Flowers, giving her an excellent view of the traffic passing the house. It also offered the be
st
light in the room. Working on dark fabric with dark thread was hard on the eyes, but she hated doing
nothing
.

She leaned forward again
st
the window to get a better view of two men
st
riding along the
st
reet. The
st
reets weren’t crowded at this hour, so she got a good look at them as they walked in the dire
ct
ion of the quay. One was a fisherman with gray hair and worn shoes—Heriberto. As he walked down the Street of Flowers, he talked quietly with the Amarals’ footman Carlos.

Oriana shoved the dress off her lap and
st
epped over the crumpled mass on the floor. Her mitts lay on the table next to the leather settee, so she grabbed those up and slid them on before leaving her room and dashing down the
st
airs. Cardenas gave her a
st
artled glance when she passed him in the hall. “I’m going out for a few minutes,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.”

“May I get you a hat, Miss Paredes?” he asked disapprovingly.

Bother. I am bareheaded
. She glanced into the sitting room and spotted Lady Ferreira’s mantilla lying on one of the tables. She grabbed that and settled the comb into her hair, hoping that the lady wouldn’t mind. She tugged the veil forward to cover her face and headed out the door, ignoring Cardenas’ worried eyes.

She hurried down the
st
eps and began walking as quickly as would be seemly. In a couple of minutes, she caught sight of the two men ju
st
as they turned down one of the side
st
reets toward the Golden Church of São Francisco. Oriana hopped over a pile of mule dung as she crossed the
st
reet a few feet ahead of an approaching tram. She didn’t want to lose them.

Was Heriberto looking for her again? She hated the idea of being caught unawares, as she had when he’d found her before. She needed to know what he was after.

The two men
st
opped at the corner, forcing her to walk more slowly. There were a few more words said, and then Heriberto dropped a handful of coins into Carlos’ hand. That verified her suspicion that Carlos had spilled her hiding place at his kinswoman’s boarding house. Carlos slipped the coins into his pocket and
st
rolled away toward the quay.

The money changing hands disabused her of any notion that his chat with Heriberto was a coincidence. Perhaps she should go to Heriberto and simply ask him what he was after now.

But once Carlos was out of sight, Heriberto walked around the corner onto Infante Henrique Street and up two levels of
st
eps to reach the terrace in front of the church. Under the rose window, he glanced about and walked over to the
st
one railing that ran along the side. He leaned on the railing, apparently to wait.
For whom?

On the
st
reet below, Oriana paused. Surely he would note a veiled woman walking back and forth. While the mantilla was commonly worn during Mass, it was too late in the day for that. She could go inside the church and pretend to pray, but then she wouldn’t learn what he was doing here. If only she’d thought to grab a sketchpad, she could pretend to be drawing the church’s
st
one facade or rose window.

She hesitated there at the base of the
st
airs, too long perhaps, because he leaned forward, as if he’d suddenly spotted her. She held her breath, prepared to run, but then realized he was gazing pa
st
her. Oriana glanced over her shoulder and felt her throat tighten.

Thank the gods she had the veil to hide her face.

The man
st
riding toward her along São Francisco Street was dressed elegantly, a tall hat on his head and a polished cane in his hand. His frock coat and pin
st
riped trousers could pass for a gentleman’s garb, although he was a
ct
ually a businessman. A handsome man in his late forties, he had only a touch of gray at his temples. He passed her with a tip of his hat and walked up the
st
eps to meet Heriberto.

Oriana pressed her hand again
st
her
st
omach and closed her eyes. Her father hadn’t recognized her, not with a veil hiding her face.

She made up her mind quickly, walking around the edge of the church grounds onto São Francisco Street. She leaned again
st
the wall of the fir
st
house before ca
st
ing a glance back.

It could be a coincidence. That was possible.

She laughed to herself and shook her head. She would have to be an idiot to believe this a coincidence. No, the only reason she could accept for her father to come so far from his home was to meet with the man.

So Heriberto
was
aware her father lived in the city. She had fervently hoped that he didn’t know, but Nela
had
commented la
st
night about not divulging information to Heriberto, so apparently the prohibition again
st
communicating with the exiles didn’t apply to him. It had been foolish to hope that her father, with his successful business and human lover, would have escaped Heriberto’s notice.

Then again, it meant that her father dealt with Heriberto on his own. Perhaps all her worries for his sake had been misplaced. She had feared that if Heriberto knew, he might turn her father in to the Special Police. It was the sort of underhanded thing Heriberto would threaten to get his way. But he hadn’t. Why not?

Realizing she’d been in one spot long enough to garner the attention of patrons of the small café, Oriana pushed herself away from the wall. She made up her mind quickly, going up the fir
st
flight of
st
eps but not up to the next level to the church. She walked to an inward corner of the wall and paused there, almo
st
dire
ct
ly under where Heriberto
st
ood. She wrung her hands together, hoping she looked like a woman left waiting for a lover who never showed. She held her breath.

“. . . and I wouldn’t tell you if I did,” her father was saying. Snapping, a
ct
ually. He was angry.

“You
will
tell me if you hear from her,” Heriberto said flatly, as if he had the upper hand.

“Or what? What more do you want? More money?”

Money? Her father was
paying
Heriberto? For what?

“I know your secret, Adriano,” Heriberto answered. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out about her?”

Oriana took a quick breath and didn’t catch what her father said in response.

“You want to keep your girl safe,” Heriberto said then, derision in his voice, “you’ll do what I say. I know where she lives.” Again, Oriana couldn’t make out her father’s response. Heriberto’s voice reached her ears clearly, though. “If Oriana comes to you, you tell me. You find out where she is, I want to know dire
ct
ly.”

Why
was
Heriberto suddenly looking for her? On Sunday he’d willingly given her two weeks to report in, yet now he needed to find her? Why so soon? Her father was speaking above her head, but Oriana couldn’t make out anything. She pressed her hands together, pacing again. When she turned in the dire
ct
ion of the café, she noted a woman watching her from one of the tables. The woman didn’t bother to look away when caught
st
aring.

Oriana turned back, her pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn’t panic. If she were to run, it would be a sure sign she wasn’t supposed to be there. She doubted she could outrun Heriberto anyway, not in these pinching shoes. So she let her pacing take her back toward the
st
airwell, losing any chance of overhearing the conversation. The woman was
st
ill watching her, but Oriana kept her head down, trying to look . . . troubled. Not difficult at the moment.

She turned as if she’d finally come to some decision and briskly headed back the way she’d come. Even as she walked away, she felt the unknown woman’s eyes on her back.

Her temples throbbed. She’d attra
ct
ed someone’s attention, something she couldn’t afford to do. The woman mu
st
have been watching Heriberto fir
st
, and spotted Oriana eavesdropping on his conversation.
Who is she?

Oriana glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t see anyone in pursuit. The woman was bold enough that she hadn’t even tried to hide her appearance. She had thick brows and very hard eyes in a pale oval face. Dark hair pinned up neatly. Well dressed, but in
st
ern black with a high collar. Her square jaw hinted that she could be a sereia, although something indefinable had been . . . off about her. Oriana would definitely recognize the woman should she see her again.

If the woman was watching Heriberto, the mo
st
likely explanation was that she was
his
superior, perhaps checking up on him. But Oriana had met mo
st
of those who currently spied here and in Sintra, to the south, and she was certain she’d never seen that woman before.

D
uilio had dropped by the house prior to dinner to return the sketch he’d borrowed from Miss Paredes, only to learn that she’d gone out. Cardenas didn’t approve, of course, but Duilio managed to convince the man that Miss Paredes had gone out to run an errand for him.

Unfortunately, a note from the young boatman, João, prevented him from
st
aying for dinner. Erdano had left a message reque
st
ing Duilio’s company, but negle
ct
ed to tell João the reason. Since Erdano seldom demanded his presence, Duilio thought it be
st
to find out what his selkie half brother had on his mind.

Erdano currently sprawled on the bench at the tavern, watching one of the waitresses. In human form he made a very large man, taller than Duilio by a hand and half again as broad. They didn’t resemble each other much, save about the eyes. He didn’t look back to Duilio when he said, “Tigana says Aga saw a woman on the water, a woman with webbed hands, so she sent her to you.”

“Yes,” Duilio said, not bothering to mentally untangle that sentence. “Tell Aga I appreciate her acuity, please.”

Erdano ca
st
a perplexed look at him then, heavy brows drawing together in an exaggerated fashion.

Poor choice of words
. Erdano didn’t read or write. Erdano’s father hadn’t seen any use for such things, and had won out over their mother’s urgings. Sometimes Duilio forgot that. “I appreciate that Aga was paying such close attention,” he clarified. “The woman with the webbed hands will be very helpful to my inve
st
igation.”

“Oh.” Erdano took another swig of his beer and licked his lips. “She’s a sereia, right? Is she pretty?”

Conversations with Erdano
always
followed this course. His brother had numerous females in his harem, but was perpetually eager to add more. “Yes,” Duilio admitted relu
ct
antly. “She’s attra
ct
ive.”

In the corner a woman sang about the old days when the Portuguese had conquered the world, accompanied by a man
st
rumming a guitar. Erdano could find this sort of e
st
ablishment as if he sensed them with his whiskers: crowded and a little run-down, excellent fish soup, salted cod served on platters of que
st
ionable cleanliness, plenty of beer, and appealing girls. Va
st
ly different from the café Duilio had visited with Joaquim that morning.

Duilio glanced at the waitress his half brother watched so avidly, a petite but buxom girl with dark hair and eyes that tilted upward. She wended her way gracefully through the crowded room with a tray perched on one hand. Erdano didn’t seem to prefer a specific type of woman; they all intere
st
ed him. And even dressed in a set of rarely washed clothes and with his long hair uncombed, Erdano attra
ct
ed them in turn. Women seemed to find him irresi
st
ible.
Selkie charm,
Duilio thought wryly.

“What are her markings like?” Erdano asked.

It took a second for Duilio to mentally chase down what Erdano meant. Sereia markings were said to mimic one predatory fish or another—tuna in this part of the world—which hinted that Miss Paredes would have a black or blue dorsal
st
ripe. Duilio sorely wished he’d gotten a look at her backside, but she’d managed to remain facing him. Now his mind burned with curiosity that he suspe
ct
ed wasn’t ever going to be satisfied.

He tried to sound dismissive. “I didn’t see her dorsal markings.”

Erdano regarded him with a surprised expression. “You haven’t bedded her yet?”

Duilio clenched his jaw, holding in his growing irritation. Given her sudden introdu
ct
ion into the household, some of the servants had assumed that motivation on his part as well. According to his valet, Marcellin, picking Alessio’s bedroom for her only fueled that speculation. Fortunately, while they might talk among themselves, the servants would never spread such rumors beyond the house. “She’s in my employ now, Erdano.”

Erdano craned his neck to get a better view of his waitress. “No, then?”

His relu
ct
ance about discussing Miss Paredes with Joaquim had involved his guilt over walking in on her nude in the bath. He didn’t want to discuss her with Erdano for fear of exciting his half brother’s intere
st
in her. “It’s inappropriate,” he said. “Besides, I don’t know how long she’ll be here.”

“You should go ahead and bed her now, then,” Erdano said. “No sense waiting.”

Duilio let out a laugh, amused out of his annoyance. There were times when Erdano’s simpli
st
ic view of life had its advantages. “That’s why you’re going to end up with a kitchen knife in your back someday, Erdano.”

His half brother laughed. “No woman would ever hurt me.”

To be truthful, Erdano did have a talent for finding women who didn’t seem to mind sharing him. “Her husband, then,” Duilio said. “I’ll keep my di
st
ance from Miss Paredes.”

“Your loss.” Erdano grinned at the waitress, who returned a saucy wink. “She hasn’t come back. Are you bedding
her
?”

Duilio
st
ared across the table at him, trying to follow that logic. “Who?”

Erdano blinked at him, head tilting to one side. “Aga. Tigana gave her to you, and she hasn’t come back. That’s why I wanted to see you.”

Duilio had qualms about Erdano’s casual way of referring to members of his harem like they were possessions, but as he didn’t live in Erdano’s world, he chose not to comment. “Aga didn’t
st
ay with me. Do you want me to look for her?”

Erdano shrugged. “She has to leave the harem eventually, but . . .”

“Wait . . . why does she have to leave?”

“She’s one of my father’s get,” Erdano said, as if that were patently obvious.

Duilio wished his mother were more aware of things about her, so he could ply her with que
st
ions about the rules inside a selkie harem. Evidently there were more than he knew. He’d never considered before what happened to all of Erdano’s half si
st
ers once their father died. “I’ll see if I can find out what happened to her.”

Erdano nodded briskly. “Thanks.”

Erdano rarely came to him with a problem, so Duilio didn’t mind pursuing the inquiry. Besides, he had a good idea where to
st
art. Aga was likely at João’s small apartment on the quay near the Ferreira boats. If Erdano had thought to ask João dire
ct
ly, Duilio probably could have ju
st
st
ayed home and talked with Miss Paredes all evening. Duilio dropped a handful of coins on the table to cover the tab, slid off the bench, and clapped his half brother’s shoulder. “Come on back to the house.”

With a dramatic sigh, Erdano joined him and headed toward the door. “I’ll have to come back for Eva later, I guess.”

Eva mu
st
be the petite waitress. “Mother
would
like to see you,” Duilio reminded him.

He waited on the threshold as Erdano mouthed something at the pretty girl, to which she nodded. And then a twinge hit him, a brief in
st
ant of premonition.

His blood roaring in his ears, Duilio sprang forward. He shoved Erdano over as a gunshot rang through the crowded room. Fragments of wood sprayed in all dire
ct
ions when a bullet hit the doorpo
st
where he’d
st
ood.

Amid the screams of the patrons, Duilio landed atop Erdano on the tavern floor. Everything seemed to move more slowly about him as he pushed away from his brother. He heard a second click, but nothing happened. Had the gun jammed? He couldn’t pinpoint the dire
ct
ion the sound had come from. His own breath sounded harsh in his ears now.

He was an easy target there on the floor. That realization sent cold rushing through his body. He rolled to one side to get back to his feet.

He’d barely risen to his knees when another body slammed into his from behind, sending him back to the ground. Searing pain burned through the back of his left shoulder—a knife. Duilio hissed in a tight breath. Gritting his teeth, he rolled away, drawing his revolver as he moved.

The sight of
that
was enough to fore
st
all his assailant, a burly, dark-haired man in a checked suit. After a split second of indecision, the man bolted out the tavern door and into the night. Duilio groaned and lay back on the floor, wondering how long it would take his heart to
st
op racing.
Damnation, that was close
.

There were people bu
st
ling pa
st
,
st
epping over him, belatedly trying to escape from danger that had already fled. Fortunately, no one
st
epped on him.

“You’re bleeding,” Erdano said helpfully from above. He offered Duilio a hand up.

Duilio took Erdano’s hand, grunting when Erdano pra
ct
ically jerked him off the floor. Erdano sometimes forgot how
st
rong he was. Once Duilio was on his feet, Erdano
st
arted looking about for his waitress, unconcerned by the aforementioned blood.

Duilio hol
st
ered his gun and raised his other hand to his
st
inging shoulder. It did come away bloody, but he doubted the wound was severe. Had the attack been linked to his recent discussion with Augu
st
us Smithson, tied to his search for the missing pelt? Perhaps he’d gotten too close, as Alessio had at the end.

Then he saw the dagger lying on the floor at his feet. He retrieved it, noting both his blood on the edge of the blade and the sigil
st
amped on the hilt—the open hand of the Special Police.
Not good
. He slid it into a pocket.

What had changed that had caused the Special Police to come after him? He doubted it was his selkie blood. They had no way to prove he wasn’t completely human. No, this had to be something else.

They patrolled the area around
The City Under the Sea
. Could his attacker be involved in that somehow? And if this attack was about that, why now? How did they know he’d made enough progress in the case to become a threat? And if that was it, would they come after Miss Paredes too? He wasn’t sure what to make of the timing. He turned to Erdano. “I suspe
ct
you shouldn’t go back to the house with me after all. I’ll send word when it’s safe.”

Which apparently suited Erdano’s plans for the night anyway. He shrugged and wandered off to find his Eva.

•   •   •

A
fter a nearly silent dinner, Felis had helped get Lady Ferreira settled in bed. Oriana spent the remainder of the evening in her bedroom,
st
ewing over the day’s happenings as she affixed the new ruffle to the blue silk dress. She was baffled by Heriberto’s a
ct
ions toward her father. What did it mean that her father had paid Heriberto money? And the woman who’d watched Heriberto and then Oriana herself? That was another my
st
ery that she was going to be picking at for some time. At lea
st
tomorrow night she might get answers about Isabel’s death from Nela’s my
st
erious Lady. That would be a leap forward.

And now that the household was mo
st
ly quiet, she could take a
st
ab at unraveling the my
st
ery of her employer’s family. In the silence, Oriana walked down
st
airs and entered a room that had been left off her tour, off-limits to the servants, according to Cardenas. The library had the same elegance as the re
st
of the house and smelled of ambergris cologne, a hint of lingering muskiness. Well-du
st
ed bookshelves lined the walls. A liquor cabinet held an assortment of bottles, and between the sets of shelves was a niche with a kneeler for prayer.

That niche held her quarry, the Ferreira family’s Bible. Oriana flipped through the fir
st
few pages and found the information she sought. Among the births and deaths, there were only two sons li
st
ed under Lady Giana Ferreira’s name: Duilio, who would be twenty-nine, and Alessio, who had died before his thirtieth birthday. No Erdano at all. No previous husband. So although this Erdano mu
st
exi
st
, he wasn’t recognized by the Church.

Oriana rubbed the back of her neck. Where could she look next?

Then she heard foot
st
eps in the hall. With a
st
artled gasp, she quickly ducked into the shadows on one side of the liquor cabinet, hoping not to be noticed.

Mr. Ferreira
st
rode into the library. He closed the door, trapping her there with him, but she was certain he hadn’t noticed her. He leaned on the table for a moment, one hand on its polished surface. Then he sighed, withdrew a hol
st
ered revolver from the wai
st
of his trousers, and laid it on the table. He shrugged off his frock coat, revealing a bloodied shirtsleeve. Oriana clapped one hand over her mouth. He tossed the coat over one of the chairs, then removed a small gun from an ankle hol
st
er. Apparently thinking he was alone, he pulled down his braces and unbuttoned his shirt, tugged it off, and laid it atop the coat.

He was a well-made man, athletic and lean. Oriana found herself
st
aring at his back, weighing whether the lack of a dorsal
st
ripe detra
ct
ed from its attra
ct
iveness.
No, it doesn’t
. There was something fascinating about that span of monochromatic skin.

Her eyes were drawn then to a narrow cut crossing the side and back of his left shoulder. It was
st
ill oozing, no doubt the source of the bloodied sleeve. Mr. Ferreira tried to inspe
ct
the wound, pulling his arm forward and craning his neck around to do so. Then he turned toward the liquor cabinet and spotted her there. He
st
arted and cursed under his breath.