The Golden City (36 page)

Duilio was glad to hear that Erdano had gone after them. He hadn’t dared to ask.

“We’ll have to hope that one plan or another gives us an answer,” Gaspar said, “or Maraval will get away before we have a chance to get our hands on him.”

•   •   •

T
hey planned to take no more than an hour to return to the house, change clothes—or, in her case, put some on—and head back out to find Erdano and his harem. Oriana only hoped that Erdano had been able to follow that yacht. Inspe
ct
or Gaspar claimed that the regular police were watching all train routes out of the Golden City to prevent Maraval from escaping that way. But why bother with a train when he had a yacht at his disposal?

The police had a carriage waiting when the rowboat reached the Bicalho quay, so a couple of minutes later they were rattling across the cobbles, heading toward the Ferreira house in the morning fog. The road was rough, causing her shoulder to bump again
st
his. Oriana clutched the blanket closer; it was chilly.

“I did offer you my shirt, Miss Paredes,” Duilio reminded her.

“And how would you explain
your
returning to the house half-naked?” she asked. “Would that be any easier?”

“I will, of course, replace the garments you lo
st
, Miss Paredes,” he said magnanimously.

“So you don’t have an answer either,” she surmised. If he’d been caught in this situation with a young Portuguese woman of any social
st
ature whatsoever, he would be expe
ct
ed to marry her to prote
ct
her from scandal. No one would expe
ct
the same for a hired companion.

“We should simply say nothing,” he said mischievously, “and let the servants wonder.”

Well, they would probably come up with their own interpretation anyway. “I am far more comfortable in this situation,” she said, “than you would be. More accu
st
omed to such garb.”

“You mean wearing a blanket?” He regarded her with raised brows. “What exa
ct
ly
do
people wear on your islands?”

She smiled, gazing down at the one hand in her lap. She
st
ill had the dagger’s sheath
st
rapped to her arm, but the blade had been forgotten in the river. “That book you read as a boy was right in that those who work near the water often do so unclothed. Otherwise one usually wears a pareu.” When he opened his mouth to ask, she explained. “A length of fabric wrapped about the wai
st
. It would cover from the wai
st
to the knees, or ju
st
below.”

“Ah,” he said. “Do you mean the men? Or the women?”

“Both,” she said with a shrug. “When it becomes cooler, one wears a loose ve
st
over that, or even a jacket.”

He shifted in his seat to look at her. “The islands
mu
st
be warmer than Portugal. No shirts?”

“They come into fashion now and then but aren’t essential.” She shot a swift glance at him, trying to gauge his rea
ct
ion. “A human would be quite uncomfortable dressing so.”

His lips pursed. “Probably at fir
st
. I suspe
ct
I would enjoy it after a while. No need for a valet, certainly.”

She plucked at the blanket with her free hand. “Yes, the many layers your people wear are rather . . . redundant.”

“You mu
st
hate our clothing.”

“At fir
st
I did, a bit,” she admitted. “But I’ve grown accu
st
omed to it.”

It was an ordinary conversation, a break from all the other things they didn’t want to discuss
. As if we’d simply met at a café,
she thought, wishing with a sudden pang that her life could be that simple. Would she have the nerve to court this man if she had the chance?

The carriage drew into the alleyway behind the houses on the Street of Flowers, getting them quite close to the back door. Cardenas was outside on the
st
eps, sneaking a cigarette, as he did when upset. The butler
st
ubbed it out on the wall and came to meet the cab. When Duilio opened the door and
st
epped down, Cardenas embraced him and bur
st
into tears. He drew back quickly, though, apparently recalling his
st
ation. “We feared the wor
st
, sir, when João told us the rowboat hadn’t returned.”

Oriana
st
ayed in the carriage, giving the butler a private moment with his ma
st
er. Duilio kept his hands on the man’s shoulders, reassuring him. “I’m well enough, old friend. I need to get Miss Paredes inside,” he said. “We’re only here to change clothes and get right back out on the water.”

Cardenas nodded and
st
epped back. Duilio returned to the carriage and insi
st
ed on helping her out, lifting her down with an ease that surprised her. She might expe
ct
that of the big selkie, but perhaps Duilio was
st
ronger than he looked. He set her on the ground, and she clutched the blanket close. Cardenas went up ahead of them, clearing the servants out of the kitchen so Oriana could dash through in her inappropriate garb.

Duilio led her up the back
st
air to the second floor, and fortunately no one intercepted them. “I’ll wait for you in the library,” he said when they
st
ood outside her bedroom door.

She showed him her wri
st
. “Do you have another spare dagger?”

“I’ll find something,” he promised, opened the door for her, and then headed down to his own room.

Oriana went inside. She was short on clothing. If she were
st
aying she would have to ask for an advance on her fir
st
quarter’s pay, but she knew better. She closed the bedroom door, dropped the blanket across the settee, and paused.

There, on the small table next to the settee, lay a notecard addressed to Oriana Arenias Paredes.

Her breath went short. It had come from someone who knew both of her mother’s surnames, Paredes
and
Arenias. Mo
st
people paid little attention to the surname a female received from her father. Oriana picked up the note, impressed by the fine quality of the paper and the author’s neat hand. Surely this was from Maria Melo, who’d implied an acquaintance with her mother.
Her orders.
The ones that would tell her how to get out of the city, where she would be sent, and to whom she would report. Perhaps they would say she had to leave
now
. How long had this been sitting here?

She ran her fingers over the lettering and then turned the envelope over to break the blue wax seal marked with the letter M. She slid one finger under the flap.

What if I’m supposed to leave immediately?
This could order her to leave this morning, an hour ago or an hour hence.

I am not letting Isabel’s killer get away.

Oriana set the note back down on the silver salver on the table and went to the dressing room to find something to wear.

She’d hated these garments at fir
st
, so tight and uncomfortable. Now she saw them as a symbol of all the things she would miss from this place. She’d even miss the silk mitts that pinched her webbing. She would miss . . . many things. Once dressed, Oriana gazed at the tired face in the mirror, determined not to let her emotions get the better of her. She inhaled deeply, taking in the masculine smell of her borrowed room. Then she pla
st
ered a serene look on her face and went down to the library to meet Mr. Ferreira.

D
uilio brought his la
st
knife for Miss Paredes to use. His favorite revolver had been in the pocket of his frock coat la
st
night, now lo
st
forever in the water of the Douro. He would miss that gun, but he had an Enfield revolver that would do well enough until he could get a replacement sent over from England.

The carriage was waiting for them behind the house and bore them out to the quay, where Gaspar and Pinheiro were
st
ill waiting. Gaspar had a wooden box about the size of a football in his hands. He opened it up to reveal a golden device sitting atop what looked like a pincushion. A colle
ct
ion of gears with a coil of metal inside, the device ticked and trembled like the works of a watch. “I’d like you to take this along with you,” he said.

Duilio surveyed the clockwork device doubtfully. If it was valuable, he didn’t want to take it out on the water, not on the paddleboat. “What is it?”

“It’s called a blood compass. A clever little device that Anjos and I have found useful,” Gaspar said. “They come in a pair. The other follows this one. In essence, it mi
st
akes this one for the northern pole. Sadly, it only works one way.”

Oriana came to look into the box with him, her brows drawn together. “You can track us up the coa
st
?”

“Precisely,” Gaspar said. “Wherever you end up, we can follow.”

How incredibly clever
. Duilio wondered if the box might be one of the magical “toys” that the Lady’s father had tinkered with. Unfortunately, magical items usually came with a price tag. “Do we have to wind it?” Duilio asked cautiously.

Gaspar grinned. “It won’t bite you, Ferreira. I’ve already wound it, so to speak. Or, rather, Pinheiro did.”

Pinheiro held up a bandaged hand. “I had to bleed on it. On both of them.”

Duilio ca
st
a quizzical look at the African inspe
ct
or.

“Magic doesn’t work on me,” Gaspar said, “so it had to be him. Ju
st
try not to lose the thing.”

Duilio grimaced. “If it gets wet?”

“It will
st
ill work,” Gaspar said, “unless all the blood is washed off.”

Duilio glanced at Oriana, who ju
st
shrugged. He closed the box and tucked it under one arm, nodded once to Pinheiro and Gaspar, and then led Oriana down the ramp to the paddleboat. At lea
st
this increased the chance that if they did find Maraval, they wouldn’t have to face the man alone.

Half an hour later, they’d pulled out pa
st
the breakwater and traveled north up the coa
st
. The wind was lacking and the water glassy, the reason he’d chosen the paddleboat rather than the sailboat. Oriana had taken off her shoes to keep them from the water, exposing her silvery feet again. From what he could see, the black dorsal
st
ripe came to a point on the inside of her heel. Duilio could make out a rippled edging between the black and silver skin, a narrow border of brilliant blue. She looked up from where she sat by the wheel compartment and caught him
st
aring at her bare feet. She immediately tucked them back under her skirt.

He didn’t know if he should be blushing or not. She had been with him the entire morning—unclothed—and had somehow managed never to turn her back to him, as if she were hiding her dorsal
st
ripe. Was there some risqué aspe
ct
to curiosity about a sereia’s dorsal
st
ripe? Her behavior was beginning to make him think so.

And that made him burn with curiosity

“So, where will we find your brother?” she asked.

“I expe
ct
he’s gone back to Braga Bay,” Duilio answered. “Where his harem lives.”

“A harem? Truly?”

“It’s the way they live,” he said, feeling a flush creep up from his neck. “The way they’ve lived for centuries. Males are rare, so there are sometimes as many as fifty females in a harem.”

“Fifty?” she asked, sounding appalled. “With one male?”

“Well, to be hone
st
, I don’t think Erdano has nearly that many in his harem. But he does have a number of human lovers as well. It’s natural for selkies to compete.”

“I see,” she said, then shook her head. “No, a
ct
ually, I don’t. Why would a female share her male with another? Or fifty others?”

“I’ve never under
st
ood it,” he admitted. “Selkie charm?”

“What exa
ct
ly
is
selkie charm?” she asked.

“Selkies don’t talk about it,” Duilio said. “It’s not a talent or a skill; it’s ju
st
the way they are. Their powers of sedu
ct
ion are quite real, but I don’t know to what they can be attributed.”

She looked at him from under a lowered brow. “Do you . . . Have you . . . ?”

He clamped his lips together, holding in the urge to laugh at her hesitance. She was apparently shy when it came to matters of sex, which sugge
st
ed a mode
st
y sailors believed sereia didn’t possess. If he recalled corre
ct
ly, the English even used the symbol of the sereia to indicate houses of pro
st
itution. It pleased him that Oriana Paredes didn’t fit that
st
ereotype. “No,” he answered. “I don’t have it, whatever
it
is. Alessio did, though. No one could resi
st
him.”

She smoothed her skirt. “Is it something to do with the way you smell, perhaps?”

He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks. “Well, we do smell.”

She looked up then, her lips falling open. “I didn’t mean that badly. It’s ju
st
that I thought at fir
st
you were wearing cologne—ambergris cologne. It took me time to realize you weren’t. Your mother, as well.”

Duilio supposed he should be relieved she hadn’t meant that as an insult. “I do bathe regularly, which limits the smell, but you should hear my valet grumble about it.”

“
I
am not complaining,” she said.

Duilio chuckled. “So, may I ask, is your ability to
call
something that your people simply do or a skill?”

Oriana didn’t answer immediately. They’d passed the port of Leixões and were nearing Braga Bay, so Duilio watched the cliffs more carefully. He didn’t want to miss the narrow opening. But he
st
ole a glance at her face and decided she was
st
ill unsure whether to answer his query. “You don’t need to answer,” he said. “I’m simply one of those inquisitive people who wants to know everything.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said in a dry tone. “We’re all born with a voice, but we mu
st
learn to use it. It’s a combination of natural talent and skill. Some females can
call
ships from afar. Others can’t get the attention of a man two feet away.”

He was tempted to ask into which category she fell, but decided it would be rude. She’d said she could coax a human into answering que
st
ions, so she mu
st
have
some
talent. But she probably wasn’t supposed to have said as much as she already had. “Why do you suppose it affe
ct
s humans?” he asked in
st
ead. “I’ve always wondered why selkie charm seems to be aimed at humans rather than other selkies. Does the
call
affe
ct
males of your own kind?”

“Not as much,” she said. “It is specifically pitched for humans. Our lore says it’s because you’re the main danger to us. We’re relatively harmless. Before your Vasco da Gama, we simply di
st
ra
ct
ed sailors into sailing
pa
st
our islands.”

Even when he couldn’t see the webbing, he liked watching her hands. They were long and slender. Capable hands. “Being half-selkie,” he said, “I mu
st
have some immunity.”

“I know we’re not supposed to affe
ct
them,” she said. “Or the otterfolk, for that matter.”

“Good to know,” he murmured.

•   •   •

O
riana wished there had been more time, but they’d reached their de
st
ination. Braga Bay was surrounded by cliffs, the narrow
st
rip of sands melding into rock. It was more of a cove than a bay, but the name had
st
uck, Duilio told her. Despite the
st
orm clouds rising out at sea, the water was calm and cry
st
al clear. Inaccessible to larger boats, it made an ideal spot for seals to bask in the sun.

Duilio drew the boat up onto the shore before helping her to the beach. She waited, enjoying the feel of the sand under her bare feet while he grabbed a chart from the boat. Then he dire
ct
ed her toward the center of the narrow beach, where at lea
st
two dozen seals waited. They grunted in surprise at the humans’ approach. Then the large
st
rose on its flippers and began to
st
rip off its pelt.

Oriana
st
ared, mouth agape. She didn’t see how it happened, but one moment she was looking at a large seal; the next at a man unwrapping a pelt from about his body.

“I
st
ill can’t figure it out,” Duilio said in her ear. “It’s magic.”

She turned back to the seal man. He was definitely the selkie who’d fondled her rump after helping to cut loose the floating house the night before. He ca
st
his pelt onto the sand, and two female seals moved to
st
and guard over it.

Erdano approached them then, eyeing her. No, he was
leering
at her. Several inches taller than Duilio, he was broader as well and heavily muscled. There wasn’t much resemblance to Duilio, save about the eyes. They both had their mother’s eyes, clear and warm, with thick, dark lashes. He
was
a
st
rikingly handsome man, but even so, he wasn’t to her ta
st
e.

He grinned down at her. “You’re much prettier than I remember.”

Oriana could smell the seal musk on him too. If that
was
a component of selkie charm, it didn’t work on her. However, having seen Erdano nude, she’d begun to formulate a new theory about selkie charm, one she wouldn’t embarrass Duilio by discussing. Hoping to discourage the selkie at the outset, Oriana firmly told him, “I am not intere
st
ed in being part of your harem.”

Erdano ca
st
a sly smile at her, one surprisingly like his brother’s, and then turned to Duilio. “Are you
st
ill not . . . ?”

“No,” Duilio interrupted him sharply, flushing. “Thank you for helping Oriana with the house.”

Oriana tried to catch Duilio’s eyes, wanting to know what Erdano had been about to ask. Duilio seemed determined to avoid her gaze.

Erdano crossed his muscular arms over his bulky che
st
. “You didn’t tell me Kerridan was there.”

Kerridan?
“Who?” she asked.

“The other male that was trying to kill you,” Erdano said, giving a name to the selkie who’d been working with the Open Hand. “Thought I’d scared him out of my territory before. Got him this time.”

Erdano leered down at her as if expe
ct
ing her to be impressed by that. Duilio cleared his throat and asked, “Were you able to follow the ship?”

“It went far down the coa
st
to the green
st
one cove,” Erdano answered.

“Which one is that?” Duilio asked, unfolding the chart.

His brother scowled dramatically at the chart. “On that? I can’t tell you.”

“The one with the hooked cliff, right?” Oriana asked Erdano. When he nodded, she pointed it out on the chart. It had to be the site of the workshop.

Duilio’s expression went pensive. “This map doesn’t show any buildings there.”

“Well, there is one now,” Erdano said. “I can show you where.”

Half an hour later, Erdano lounged in the boat’s prow, dressed in a loose tunic and trousers. After another conference with his brother, Duilio came back to the rear and settled on the wide bench next to Oriana. He took the tiller from her and thanked her for holding on to it while he spoke with Erdano. The motor rumbled as the paddles splashed quietly in the water.

The green
st
one cove was farther up the coa
st
, and she’d only seen it from a ship before, but a layer of copper deposit made it di
st
in
ct
ive. It would take some time for this paddleboat to reach it. The clouds that had been gathering all afternoon had come closer, blocking out much of the sun. They consumed the meat pies that Mrs. Cardoza had packed for them, and after a time Erdano fell asleep, snoring loudly, in the prow of the boat. The boat’s paddle splashed on as the afternoon waned toward evening, and they could only hope that Gaspar was following. Oriana pushed her skirts aside to double-check the box tucked under the bench on which she sat. It was
st
ill there and, fortunately, not wet.

“I know you’re expe
ct
ed to leave soon,” Duilio said,
st
artling her. “But our house is open to you for as long as you need it. We should be able to keep your name out of the papers. You’d be safe.”

Such a tempting offer
. She could hide in the Ferreira home, pretending to be a companion ju
st
as she had with Isabel. Perhaps no one would come asking que
st
ions about Isabel. But Maria Melo would know she hadn’t obeyed orders and would make her father pay—a threat that Oriana didn’t doubt. She
st
ared down at her webbing.

She wanted out of the intelligence mini
st
ry, she admitted to herself, but she didn’t know if they would let her go. And until she could extricate herself, her presence in the Golden City would only be a danger to her father. She couldn’t afford to take Duilio up on his offer. “Thank you,” she said. “I will remember that you offered.”