The Golden City (37 page)

“Do you
want
to leave?” Duilio asked softly then. “Are you being blackmailed?”

She clenched her hands together, wishing she dared to give him the true answer. “I mu
st
go home,” she said in
st
ead.

Erdano shifted suddenly, making the boat li
st
, forcing Oriana to grab the side rail to
st
eady herself. He yawned widely and pointed at the cliffs. “There. That’s where the ship went in.”

•   •   •

D
uilio turned his eyes to the rocks. They were approaching the mouth of the cove, so he cut the motor. He and Erdano each took an oar and rowed, and the paddleboat slipped quietly into the cove in the twilight. And once inside, Duilio saw what he’d expe
ct
ed. At the end of a wide pier built in the center of the cove, the blue yacht was moored.

Erdano pointed. “There it is, the boat from la
st
night. See the
st
range arm?”

They guided the small boat behind the larger one, so that someone on the shore wouldn’t be able to see it. Duilio slipped off his frock coat. He laid it across the quiescent motor’s housing, then climbed atop that and jumped to catch the ship’s railing. He pulled himself up enough to scan the yacht’s deck and glanced back. “I’m going to see if anyone’s aboard.”

Oriana had her mouth open to prote
st
, but he’d already swung one leg over the rail and pulled himself up. He signaled for her to
st
ay in the paddleboat and slipped over to the side of the cabin. When he didn’t hear any movement within, he climbed the ladder into the
st
eering compartment of the ship.

Dusk had fallen, but in the dim wheelhouse, he spotted a chart on a low table—a map of
The City Under the Sea.

It was evidence. Duilio rolled up the chart and tucked it under his arm. He quickly surveyed the wheelhouse but decided that anything of value would be in the cabins below, so he headed for the
st
air leading down to the captain’s cabin. It was dark, but on a shelf fixed to the wall near the door, he spotted a box of matches. He
st
ruck one and in the sudden flare of light could make out the entire room for an in
st
ant.

That was all it took, showing him exa
ct
ly what he’d hoped he might find, the item that Maraval hadn’t left behind in his colle
ct
ion. He mu
st
have hidden it
here
to fru
st
rate and annoy Silva, with no care whatsoever for the damage his a
ct
ions had. Tears
st
ung Duilio’s eyes.

On the wall above the captain’s bed, a seal’s pelt hung.

O
riana
st
epped into the center of the paddleboat. A wave of seal musk warned her a second before Erdano came to
st
and next to her. His hand touched her shoulder in an overly friendly fashion and then slid down to the small of her back.

“I’ve never had one of your women before,” he said, “but I hear you’re not as cold as you appear.”

Of all the times!
Oriana gave him a hard look. “I have very sharp teeth.”

He smiled down at her, apparently undeterred. “Perhaps later, then.”

She
st
epped out of his grasp. “I wouldn’t make any plans.”

Duilio slipped over the yacht’s rail and dropped to the paddleboat’s decking then, a bundle tucked under one arm. “Plans for what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Duilio turned a vexed expression on his brother. “Erdano, keep your hands off her.”

“She’s too pretty not to have a man,” Erdano said, hands wide. “I had to try.”

“No, you didn’t,” Duilio snapped.

“Don’t argue over me.” Not wanting to further discuss Erdano’s heavy-handed attempt at sedu
ct
ion, Oriana pointed to the bundle. “What is that?”

Duilio inclined his head as if to acknowledge her ability to take care of herself. He set a rolled chart atop the boat’s engine housing and shook out the du
st
y bundle he held—a pelt. Oriana reached out to touch the soft fur, glancing up at Duilio’s face.

His expression was hesitant—hopeful. “Erdano, is this what I think it is?”

Oriana
st
epped back, not wanting to intrude.

Erdano leaned down and sniffed the pelt almo
st
reverently. “It’s Mother’s.” Then he slapped Duilio hard on the shoulder. “You found it!”

Duilio rocked forward from the force of the blow but didn’t prote
st
. He embraced his brother, laughing. Erdano let out a whoop. Oriana feared he would alert anyone li
st
ening to their presence, but Duilio pulled away and grabbed Erdano’s shoulder to get his attention. He lifted one se
ct
ion of the pelt for Erdano to see it more clearly. “There are nail holes in it.”

“They’ll heal,” Erdano said, sobering. He
st
roked the recovered item and then tugged it from Duilio’s grip to embrace it like it was his mother herself. “They’ll be painful,” he said, “but in time they’ll heal.”

Any damage to the pelt mu
st
translate into damage to the wearer, Oriana realized with a pang. She hated the idea of gentle Lady Ferreira suffering such pain. It was bittersweet, but
st
ill a vi
ct
ory for Duilio.
One good thing to come out of all this horror.

“My father’s
st
olen
st
rongbox was also there,” Duilio told her. “Filled with ashes. Silva’s de
st
ined to disappointment, it seems.” He frowned and added, “I was expe
ct
ing more than ju
st
the yacht.”

Erdano pointed toward the beach that would be on the other side of the yacht. “There’s a big building in a space inland. I saw it when I came here la
st
night, all lit up. People moving around.”

That had to be the workshop where the houses were being built. After a quick conference, they rowed the boat to the shore where a large boulder gave it cover, although not much. They had to hope that would hide it from casual observers. Duilio pointed toward the pelt his brother grasped. “Can you take that out into the water and wait for our return? I don’t want Maraval recapturing it.”

Erdano didn’t argue. Still clothed, he slipped into the water and a second later was gone from Oriana’s view. She climbed from the boat and
st
ood barefoot on the sand next to Duilio. “Getting rid of him?”

He ca
st
a glance after his brother. “I don’t want to lose that pelt. But, yes, he’s not a quick thinker, even when he’s being shot at. It would be better if he’s not around to run into any of Maraval’s Open Hand.”

She should be pleased he considered
her
a quick thinker. “This could be a trap.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Duilio said with a short laugh. After donning his coat, he drew his revolver and checked to be sure it was loaded. “Maraval would expe
ct
us to come here. It’s ju
st
a matter of how well we anticipate him.”

Oriana grimly drew her knife. “Let’s find him, then.”

A wide pathway led inland from the center of the beach and the pier where the yacht waited. After a brief consultation, they decided that it would be safer to approach the workshop obliquely, so they would skirt the cliffs in
st
ead and climb up to where the scrub gave way to cultivation. The crescent moon had risen, granting them ju
st
enough light to guide their
st
eps without making them visible to watchers. No one appeared on the sands in response to their presence. It looked like the gods were granting them luck.

After a moment they reached a fall of rocks that looked scalable. Low scrub grew there, not lending much cover, but only a
st
one’s throw inland
st
ood high trellises for grapevines. The landowner mu
st
produce
Vinho Verde
by squeezing trellises into every spare inch of his land.

Duilio reached a hand back to help Oriana up a
st
eeper
st
retch. “Will this hurt your feet?” he whispered.

“No, they’re very hard.” That was one advantage of growing up rarely wearing shoes: her feet could handle rough terrain. They hurried to the cover offered by the tall trellises. Oriana let loose a breath of relief when they got there. A few brown leaves lay scattered across the ground, but she could see that the grapes hadn’t been harve
st
ed yet. Did the grower know of the workshop built on his land? Was he
st
aying away because of it?

Duilio pointed toward a light visible through rows of vines. “That’s got to be it there.”

She crept under the trellis and they skirted the rows of vines. As they got closer they could see the light came from a new-looking building. Wholly utilitarian, it had no embellishment, simply plain wooden walls with wide-opening doors, more like a warehouse than anything else. Holding his revolver ready, Duilio gave her a quick nod. He edged around the side of the building toward the large open door on the nearer side. Oriana
st
ayed back out of the way until he peered around the corner and then
st
raightened and waved her closer.

“I don’t see any movement,” he told her. “Come on.”

The workshop was indeed empty. Lamps blazed inside, ca
st
ing a flickering glow over the wooden rooftops. Duilio
st
epped over the threshold into the big main room, where six completed replicas waited. With the house dropped into the river the previous night, that would make thirty-three houses con
st
ru
ct
ed. Duilio had said something about thirty-two being a likely total, but she supposed one could have been built as a failsafe. He walked around them, glancing between them to see if anyone hid within. Nothing moved.

“It looks abandoned,” Oriana said, which didn’t explain why all the lamps were burning.

Duilio nodded, his eyes
st
ill roving the room. Oriana slid her knife back into its sheath. He walked on toward the far wall of the workshop’s main room, so Oriana followed. He leaned closer to examine the roof of one of the houses—the Cordes manor house, Oriana guessed—inspe
ct
ing the metal framework extending from the roof that would be attached to the chain.

She walked on toward the far wall of the building. There it smelled of sawdu
st
. A dozen tables and benches arranged into working areas held neat colle
ct
ions: saws, hammers, and nails, as well as dozens of tools for which she had no names. She
st
opped cold a few feet from the outside wall.

Several small casks were
st
acked at the base of the beam that
st
retched up to and across the ceiling, rags
st
uffed between the casks. Each of the major support beams had a similar adornment. Oriana’s
st
omach fluttered with anxiety. “Duilio,” she called over her shoulder. “You need to look at this.”

He jogged over to her side. “Oh. That can’t be good.”

A concise assessment.

•   •   •

D
uilio picked at one of the yellowed labels. It was a cask of turpentine. A slender cord emerged from the top cask and led up the wall. Fuses wrapped the entire ceiling, he realized, conne
ct
ing all the weight-bearing beams. “I’d definitely call this getting rid of evidence.”

Oriana pointed. “There are a couple of rooms at the back. We should check to make sure there aren’t any ho
st
ages back there.”

He could make out the two doors to which she ge
st
ured. One was an office, with windows that would allow the occupants to look out over the workroom floor, much like those at the Tavares boatyard. The other was windowless, perhaps a
st
oreroom. Oriana went ahead of him, her bare feet making no sound on the clean-swept floors. When they reached the windowless door, she ge
st
ured for him to wait.

“Be
st
ill,” she whispered. She laid one hand again
st
the door, her fingers spread wide, showing the webbing. “I don’t sense any movement inside.”

She’d told him before that her senses didn’t work as well through the air as in water. “Are you sure?” he whispered back.

She
st
epped to one side of the door. “I didn’t feel
movement
. That doesn’t mean they’re not very
st
ill.”

Duilio raised his revolver as she turned the latch. He shoved the door inward and quickly
st
epped over the threshold. No bullets greeted his entry into what appeared to be a tidy bedroom. Lining one wall were piles of foolscap, a pra
ct
ice he recognized. “This looks like the apartment that burned.”

Oriana hadn’t entered the room with him, he realized then. Worry
st
reaked through him and he
st
epped back into the main room, but she
st
ood only a few feet away, peering into one of the office windows.

“I believe I’ve found Espinoza,” she said sadly.

Duilio joined her, holding up one hand to cut the glare from a flickering kerosene lamp overhead. A lean, white-haired man lay facedown on the floor amid a dark pool of blood. His feet were cuffed, joined by a couple of feet of chain.
Poor fellow.
Duilio sighed, wondering if Maraval had kept Espinoza prisoner here since January. Clearly the man hadn’t been a willing participant in his plans. “I’ll go see if he’s alive.”

“I don’t think he is,” Oriana said. “I don’t see him breathing.”

He
st
ill needed to check. It was the proper thing to do. Duilio made his way to the office door. He turned the latch, pushed open the door . . . and the room exploded about him.