The Golden City (32 page)

Duilio felt as if a fog had abruptly filled his brain. “Your father?”

The captain shrugged again. “Yes. He told me about the theft only a couple of days ago. Inspe
ct
or Anjos had que
st
ioned me about it because of my relationship to him. In a way this is my fault. When he found out about me he wanted to set things right, so to speak. He intended to have some paperwork
st
olen from your house, papers that might contain an acknowledgment by his father of his birth. But the man he hired took the pelt as well, intending to sell it to a colle
ct
or. That colle
ct
or apparently took the pelt
and
the paperwork and then killed the man for good measure, all before my father could get his hands on it.”

Was this the evidence that made Anjos doubt Silva’s culpability? Duilio could see a resemblance in the lines of Pinheiro’s face—the square jaw and wide brow. His eyes were hazel, which he’d not inherited from the Ferreira family, but their shape was familiar.

“You’re Paolo Silva’s son?” Duilio asked, ju
st
to be clear.

“His ba
st
ard son, of course,” the captain said. “My mother entered a convent when she fell pregnant, and I was raised by the brothers. Silva didn’t even know of my exi
st
ence. My mother decided to tell him on her deathbed.”

The captain a
ct
ually seemed sheepish about the whole thing. Duilio could hardly blame him. Pinheiro had grown to adulthood only to be saddled late in life with a father he undoubtedly didn’t need: Paolo Silva. Had Gaspar been feeling him out about this police officer la
st
night when he’d asked about Duilio’s feeling about ba
st
ards? “So, you’re my cousin?”

Pinheiro raised his hand. “I only told you so you would know I’m working with Anjos. That
st
ory wouldn’t have come out without his interference. I neither want nor need anything from the Ferreira family. I do quite well on a captain’s salary.”

Duilio found this fascinating. Was Pinheiro a seer as well? “So, why did you say this is your fault?”

Pinheiro shook his head sadly. “Silva felt guilty about not providing for me or my mother, ju
st
as his father never provided for him. You would think that being a seer and on the prince’s payroll, he would be wealthy, but he a
ct
ually spends mo
st
of his funds paying off servants and police officers and whores to colle
ct
information for him. He has
tried
to be a father to me for the pa
st
few years, although he’s frankly not well suited to the task.”

The exasperation in the officer’s tone was the thing that convinced Duilio. “Very well. Why are you here, then?”

Pinheiro shifted the cap under one arm to the other, his humor fading. “Unfortunately, I need you to come with me to the Carvalho house. I’m supposed to bring a Miss Paredes as well. One of the Carvalho girls is missing.”

S
tepping into a carriage with the markings of the Special Police clearly gave Miss Paredes pause. “Tru
st
me,” Duilio offered. “This is not a ruse.”

Her dark eyes met his, and she nodded and
st
epped up into the carriage. He joined her there, sharing her bench. He reached down and grasped her hand in his as Pinheiro climbed inside and pulled the door shut. Pinheiro settled facing them. “Miss Paredes? Is that right?”

“Yes, Captain,” she said softly.

“I’ve not been informed on all aspe
ct
s of this case yet,” he said, “but I was told that you’re to be prote
ct
ed at all co
st
s, which is why the shades are down.” The carriage began to move uphill after a jolting
st
art. “We don’t want to risk anyone seeing you.”

She was trying hard not to betray any nervousness but watched Pinheiro carefully. Duilio shifted to place his revolver in his lap where she could see it. “I promise we will get there safely. I
know
.”

Her eyes flicked down to the gun and back up. “What happened to the Carvalho girl?”

Pinheiro answered her. “I under
st
and that on the way back from Mass, she fell back from her si
st
ers to talk to the footman escorting them. A carriage
st
opped and two men jumped out, grabbed her, and hauled in the footman as well.”

“In broad daylight?”

“Yes,” Pinheiro said. “Someone has suddenly gotten very reckless.”

“I see,” Miss Paredes said cautiously.

Duilio gave her hand a squeeze. “Anjos told me he’s cleared several officers in the Special Police of involvement. Pinheiro is one of them.”

“Believe me, if I’d had a secret, I would have spilled it. The woman que
st
ioning me?” Pinheiro shuddered. “There’s something unnatural about her. My flesh began to crawl the moment she walked into the room.”

“Miss Vladimirova?” Duilio guessed.

“I did not ask her name,” Pinheiro said, “but she had a foreign accent.”

The carriage rattled over the tram rails, indicating that they were crossing to the Carvalhos’ side of the Street of Flowers. That reassured Duilio. His gift had told him that they would get there safely, but it was nice to have it backed up by tangible experience. The carriage began to slow and came to a
st
op after a di
st
ance that seemed right to his mind.

“Lift the shade a bit,” he asked Miss Paredes. She did so, and when he glanced up at the house revealed, he recognized the columns of the Carvalho home. “Yes, this is it.”

He eased pa
st
her and opened the door. When he
st
epped down, everything looked perfe
ct
ly normal, so he ge
st
ured for her to join him. She set her hand in his and jumped down without the
st
ep. Without waiting for Pinheiro, Duilio led her quickly up the
st
eps. A footman waiting at the door allowed them inside once they gave their names.

“Straight to the library,” Duilio said. Miss Paredes remembered the way, walking briskly ahead of him. The library door
st
ood open, and they
st
epped inside the garish room, to be greeted by a crowd. The Lady sat on one of the couches, fully visible this time, wearing a smart-looking suit in green. Gaspar
st
ood behind her, conferring quietly with Anjos. A pair of uniformed Special Police
st
ood near the doors as if on sentry duty.

Carvalho, a barrel-che
st
ed man with graying hair, paced along his bookshelves. Sitting in one of the chairs was Genoveva Carvalho, her face grim and nearly as pale as her gown. Her fingers were splayed on the arms of the chair. She glanced up when Duilio entered, pi
st
ol
st
ill in his hand, and her brows drew together.

Duilio repressed a sigh. The young lady shouldn’t be here.

She rose gracefully, wringing her delicate hands together. “Mr. Ferreira? What are you doing here?”

Her father turned at the sound of her voice. “Ferreira? What
are
you doing here?”

Anjos cleared his throat. “Mr. Ferreira and Inspe
ct
or Tavares have been the lead inve
st
igators on a certain case for a few weeks now. Our inve
st
igations crossed paths recently.”

Genoveva Carvalho sat down less gracefully, her expression nonplussed. She’d probably thought he was too idiotic to load a gun, much less use one.

“You work for the police?” Carvalho asked,
st
omping in his dire
ct
ion.

“Yes,” Duilio said, “although I’m only a consultant.”

Carvalho raised one beefy hand to indicate Miss Paredes. “And who is this?”

“My mother’s companion,” Duilio said. “Miss Paredes has knowledge of this case.”

On hearing her name, Duilio could tell Carvalho
st
opped li
st
ening. The man pointed at Miss Paredes. “This is the woman they want to trade for my daughter?”

Duilio felt fury fill him. Had he led Miss Paredes into a trap? He
st
epped in front of her and hefted the revolver in his hand, deciding whether he should train it on Carvalho or the two Special Police officers at his back. A glint of silver on the edge of his vision warned Duilio that Miss Paredes had drawn her knife. Carvalho backed away.

“There will be no trade,” the Lady said calmly. “Do you hear me, Carvalho?”

“She is my daughter!” Carvalho slammed his hands down on the back of the chair in which his older daughter sat. She went even paler than before.

The Lady didn’t flinch, though. “And we will do everything in our power to get her back. But making a trade is out of the que
st
ion. You have no right to sacrifice one life for another. Or do you not believe in the equality that your Freemasons espouse?”

Carvalho scowled, his anger deflated by the Lady’s pointed que
st
ion.

“It’s unlikely they would return your daughter anyway,” the Lady added. “They’re desperate enough to court exposure now by snatching vi
ct
ims off the
st
reet. That tells me they mean to rush through the la
st
of their preparations and ena
ct
the spell as soon as possible. They’ll need two vi
ct
ims from your household, and Miss Paredes won’t do for
that
purpose.”

“Vi
ct
ims?” Miss Carvalho repeated softly.

Duilio flinched. She didn’t know. He was willing to bet that Carvalho didn’t yet know what had been happening in those houses either, what was planned for his daughter and the footman taken with her.

“Mr. Ferreira,” Anjos said patiently. “Put the gun away. We’re not going to permit Miss Paredes to be harmed. I give you my word.”

“I’m here too,” Joaquim’s voice said from behind them in the hallway. Pinheiro had entered with him, and seemed prepared to follow Joaquim’s lead.

Duilio mentally checked the numbers and slid the gun back into a pocket where he could get at it easily. Miss Paredes re
st
ored the knife to the sheath at her wri
st
, which, given Carvalho’s rea
ct
ion, showed remarkable faith on her part.

“Joaquim and I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised her, catching Joaquim’s eye as he did so. Joaquim gave him a nod, agreeing to his part in the pa
ct
.

“Everyone sit down,” Anjos said. “We need to discuss this like civilized people.”

“Miss Paredes found something la
st
night,” Duilio told him. “It might help.”

She had apparently tucked the journal in the wai
st
band of her skirt prior to drawing her knife. She tugged the journal loose and handed it to him wordlessly. He opened the journal to the diagram and handed it to the Lady, aware that Joaquim had taken his place at Miss Paredes’ side. “This was found in an apartment formerly rented by Espinoza. It’s the re
st
of that table. We think it might be what he saw that caused him to flee the city.”

She took the journal. “The apartment Mata set afire with you inside it?”

“Yes,” Duilio said. “I’m told the design in the center is a symbol for a battery.”

“A battery? Oh, I see.” The Lady took the journal and smoothed her fingers over the water-rippled page. One finger traced the inner circle, the one with the runes, her green eyes flicking back and forth. “I shouldn’t be surprised someone has managed to convert this particular science to magical use, but I am anyway. I would never have thought of this.”

“But what does it do?” Duilio asked.

“The runes in this middle circle aren’t a spell,” she said. “They’re more like an outline for a spell, each symbol linking a portion of spell work into a whole. There’s more than what we’re seeing here, not only more runes, but probably also a component of the spell that mu
st
be spoken with the recipient in place to receive the power of the deaths. Given the symbols I do see and the words surrounding the outside edge, this
is
meant to do a work of Great Magic. It will indeed make Prince Fabricio king over Portugal, with all the northern ari
st
ocracy supporting him.”

“The prince?” Gaspar asked. “Does this mean he
is
a participant?”

The Lady considered for a moment. “A
ct
ually, I think not. He would have to speak the words, getting everything corre
ct
. This isn’t work for an amateur.”

Duilio shook his head. While the prince was whispered to be mad, he would hope that something this macabre was beyond the man’s imaginings. “So this is someone else making a grab for power?”

“Someone’s doing it in his
st
ead,” the Lady said. “And it’s a safe bet that the creator of this designed the spell to make himself second in command or an éminence grise. Not ju
st
that. From the limited bits I see here, I believe it would turn back the clock on the empire, bringing all the former colonies back under Portuguese control—Brazil, Ea
st
and We
st
Africa, Cabo Verde, Goa, Nagasaki—all of them.”

Inspe
ct
or Gaspar gazed down at the journal over her shoulder, displeasure on his features. Duilio could under
st
and that; Cabo Verde had been independent for decades.

“Does that include the islands of the sereia?” Miss Paredes asked.

“I believe so,” the Lady said with a nod in her dire
ct
ion. “Vasco da Gama claimed them, Miss Paredes, even if that claim’s never been enforced.” She touched one of the
st
range runes with one finger. “This symbol indicates
territories
, meaning anywhere Portugal has made a claim in the pa
st
. There’s no date. We might even take back part of Ca
st
ile.”

“How is that possible?” Joaquim asked from across the room. “We can’t ju
st
tell Brazil we’re taking it back. Not after almo
st
a century of independence.”

No, Duilio couldn’t imagine that any of the former colonies would enjoy a sudden return to Portuguese domination.

“This is a Great Magic,” the Lady said patiently. “It’s . . . an impossibility. A legend.”

“You mean . . . this won’t even work?” Duilio asked, agha
st
. “After all they’ve done?”

The Lady sighed and closed the journal. “I hone
st
ly don’t know, Mr. Ferreira. It’s difficult to explain. If they
can
make this work, then no one will know the difference. We will all wake up the next morning and never recall that there were ever two Portugals, not recall that the colonies were ever given autonomy. All evidence of it will be gone. Paperwork, buildings, artwork. Some of
us
will no longer exi
st
. And no one will know any different, no one in all the world.”

•   •   •

O
nce she’d worked her way through the concept, Oriana found it offensive.

No one could prove that a Great Magic had ever succeeded. It could be proven that some had failed, but if one worked, all evidence of it would have been consumed in the ena
ct
ing of the spell itself. While Anjos claimed the Church condemned the idea of Great Magics because they flew in the face of God’s Will, Oriana had a simpler obje
ct
ion: it was unfair. No one had the right to change things, not for the entire world.

While they were all arguing over the specifics of this particular magic, Carvalho had a cold luncheon brought in—a quick, informal meal. Mr. Ferreira had introduced Oriana to his cousin Inspe
ct
or Tavares, who’d bowed nicely over her hand, and then had taken Tavares and Pinheiro to one side to have a quick private discussion. Oriana had caught Carvalho glaring at her a couple of times, which told her she shouldn’t tru
st
him. But he was glaring at Gaspar as well, apparently put off by the inspe
ct
or’s darker skin, so she wasn’t alone in disfavor.

She sat now on the couch with the Lady, her black skirt and jacket no doubt looking threadbare next to the Lady’s splendid wool walking suit in an apple green, its skirt hem wrapped with fine Valenciennes lace. Miss Carvalho occupied one of the side chairs, her hands clenched tightly in her lap,
st
ill wearing a morning dress of pale pink muslin embroidered with tiny rosebuds. Dirt marked the hem; it mu
st
be the same dress she’d worn to Mass that morning. Anjos sat in the final chair, his tired eyes on the table in the middle. Inspe
ct
or Gaspar
st
ood behind the Lady, remaining silent as Inspe
ct
or Tavares summed up for Carvalho and the three Special Police officers what he’d uncovered in his inve
st
igation and the subsequent ending of that inquiry. Carvalho seemed horrified by the disappearances of the servants, but he hadn’t heard the wor
st
yet.