The Shores of Spain (14 page)

“I can hear her,” Marina said to them both. “You’ll hear it in a moment.”

Joaquim moved between João and the rail, blocking his path. “João, just go below and fetch that cotton we set out earlier.”

“We need to change course,” João insisted, punctuating that with a shove.

Joaquim took a step back, surprised. João was usually an easygoing young man. “You’re not thinking straight.”

João answered that with a swipe of one fist, and Joaquim didn’t hesitate. He leaned out of the way of the punch and answered with a cut to João’s chin. The young man’s head snapped back and he crumpled toward the deck. Aga, halfway up the steps, grimaced at Joaquim and made an angry sound, halfway between a grunt and a scream.

Joaquim blinked, too startled to respond. He’d certainly never heard Lady Ferreira make a sound like that.

“Aga, the sereia at the blockade are calling him,” Marina inserted
quickly. “We need to keep him from listening to them. Can you go get that cotton?”

Aga turned swiftly, her braid spinning out behind her. The sound of her feet hitting the floor below hinted that she’d simply jumped down. After only a couple of seconds, she emerged from the cabin, cotton in one closed first and a coiled line over her shoulder.

Marina reached out to take the cotton from her and knelt next to João. The young man’s eyes fluttered open. He shook his head and touched a hand to his reddened jaw, groaning. Marina rolled up a small ball of cotton and proceeded to stuff it in João’s ear as if he were a child. For her part, Aga stood on the deck with her arms folded over her chest, watching Marina with narrowed eyes.

Her task done, Marina rose and stood next to Aga. “Do you think we need to tie him up?”

For a moment they gazed down at the still-dazed João. Then Aga knelt down next to her husband and began running loops of line about his chest to secure him to the railing.

Joaquim watching her work, a knot of worry in his stomach. Apparently neither of the women thought it necessary to tie him to the railing.

The ethereal sound of a sereia’s
call
brushed his ears, but the magic didn’t latch on to him.

Why not?

CHAPTER 12

                   T
HE
OPEN
OCEAN                   

M
arina waited until Aga had João securely tied before turning to Joaquim. He stood at the rail a few feet away, arms folded over his chest and jaw clenched. “Are you . . .”

“I’m fine, it appears,” he said. “I can hear it, but it’s not bothering me. Not like it did him.” His eyes met hers, a thin line between his brows as if he wondered why that was the case.

Marina licked her lips. “I—”

A shout from nearby saved her from having to explain. Marina went to the rail and glanced over. There, to the aft, was a small naval vessel. It was single-masted, but she could hear an engine pushing the boat to keep up with the much faster
Deolinda
.

The call came again from a sailor using a bullhorn. It was more distinct this time, a request for them to drop their sails and prepare to be boarded. Marina looked back at Joaquim. “They’ll put a pilot aboard. That’s the only way we’ll be allowed closer to the islands.”

He nodded once and gestured for Aga to take the end of the main boom while he headed to the mast. After a moment of his fiddling with a rope, the sail began to slide down the mast while Aga furled it with quick and clever hands.

Marina sighed. O
nce again, I’m of no use
. She waited as Joaquim and Aga lowered the other sails. João tugged at his bindings, the scowl back on his face. Clearly the blockade was still affecting him.

The ship slowed and the smaller vessel came alongside. Once Joaquim pointed the rope ladder out, Marina flipped it overboard. A moment later, a sailor in a tan
pareu
and vest stood on the
Deolinda
’s deck—the pilot who would take them into harbor. She surveyed João’s bound form with amusement. An older woman, she had a touch of gray in the brown hair twisted into a tight knot atop her head. She was career navy, a fact given away by the webbing missing from either side of her index finger. That allowed her to handle a firearm yet preserved the webbing between her other fingers so she wouldn’t be water-blind.

She turned to Joaquim and yelled, “Why are you crossing our territorial boundary?”

Apparently she believed his ears were stuffed. Joaquim looked startled, as if unsure how to respond.

“We’re on our way to Amado,” Marina answered instead. She adopted the firm tone she used with her father’s clients, her
business
voice. “We’re to meet with the Portuguese ambassador there.”

The sailor cast an appraising eye over her, one eyebrow lifted. Marina knew what the woman must see—a smallish human woman, dressed in borrowed clothes. “Embassies are all on Quitos,” the woman protested.

Marina lifted her chin. “The Portuguese ambassador and her mate are currently on a retreat to Amado, to visit with the ambassador’s grandmother.
My
grandmother. Her house is on Cartas Bay, so we don’t even need to enter the harbor at Porto Novo.”

“Ah,” the sailor said, eyes sliding back toward Joaquim. He remained silent, but was clearly following the conversation. “Now I understand. That one’s yours.”

Marina crossed her arms over her chest, feeling Joaquim’s eyes on her. “Yes.”

The sailor grinned. “The gods favored you, little one. Human or not, he’ll make pretty daughters.”

Marina felt a flush creeping up her cheeks.
Will the woman never stop talking
? “Could we get back under way? We’d like to reach the bay before sunset.”

“Fine,” the sailor said briskly. “I’ve got some paperwork you’ll need to fill out, and then we’ll set sail again.”

Marina sighed inwardly.
There’s always paperwork
.

*   *   *

O
ne of the sailors had boarded the ship to act as pilot. She’d leered at him and João both, but Joaquim held his tongue. Among Marina’s people he was expected to be quiet, wasn’t he? Marina dealt with the woman firmly—surprising him, he had to admit—and soon they were passing the harbor of a rocky island.

After an hour or so, the
calling
that had itched at the back of his mind ceased, and he realized they’d reached the far side of the magical blockade. Joaquim let loose a breath. He hadn’t realized how much it had nagged at him until that moment. João looked far worse, slumping against his ropes. After Aga conferred with Marina, she went and freed him. The young man seemed unnerved, but quickly got to his feet and took stock of their location. He came over to Joaquim’s side and apologized for his earlier actions, eyeing the pilot warily the whole while. But his attention was soon drawn away as they sailed past the breakwaters of a large port.

Joaquim stared. The nearest pier in the harbor was busy with bare-chested men with silvery legs bared by tucking up their wraps. They labored alongside the sailors unloading the English ships docked there. From a distance it seemed very chaotic, although in Joaquim’s experience, most cargo exchanges happened in an orderly fashion, no matter the outer appearance. But as they eased past the harbor, he realized he’d been fooled by one aspect: those weren’t bare-chested
men
out working the freight. They were women, or rather,
sereia
.

Duilio had told him the women on the islands often went scantily
clad, but for some reason he’d expected they would alter that custom when working with human sailors. The sailor piloting the
Deolinda
wore a vest, after all. But apparently on the docks that didn’t apply.

Marina grew up dressed like that.

He hadn’t put his limited knowledge of the sereia’s customs together with her. She seemed so proper and modest that he couldn’t imagine her doing such a thing. Surely when she’d been on that English ship, around English sailors, she’d dressed more like she did now.

Joaquim shot a quick glance at her as they sailed into a bay with a beach. She peered out toward the sands, one hand held up to shield her eyes from the sun. Months ago, he would never have believed her a sereia if she hadn’t told him. She seemed completely human, with human ideals and morals. What had that effort to fit in cost her? When she’d arrived in Portugal, she had her webbing cut away to protect her safety. He knew that her hands often ached with ghost pain from her missing webbing. And even now she wore his shirt with the neck buttoned to the top to keep anyone from seeing her gill slits.

Does she regret that? Why have we never talked about that?

“Over there,” she said, pointing toward the shore.

The mountains marched away from that bay in all directions, but Joaquim could see a few houses built there. Children played at one spot on the beach, and at the far edge of the bay, a single figure stood waiting. It was Duilio, dressed in native garb. Farther back on the sands, two Portuguese soldiers waited, his guards.

The pilot relinquished the wheel as the ship moved farther into the bay, and then they were busy with the anchor and sails, and he didn’t have time to worry any longer.

CHAPTER 13

                   I
LHAS
DAS
S
EREIAS                   

D
uilio stood on the beach, his bare feet on the sand, as he watched the
Deolinda
striking sails. Another small boat had followed them into the bay, a patrol boat. A pilot boarded every incoming ship to guide them the final distance into Amado’s harbor. When Duilio lifted his looking glass, he saw a sereia woman in a tan
pareu
and vest climb down the
Deolinda
’s ladder and jump to the deck of the small boat. After a moment that boat began moving away.

Once the ship was anchored and all the sails furled, he saw the dory being lowered to the water. He turned back to the two guards who’d accompanied him to the beach. “Time to send for Lady Monteiro.”

Corporal Pinho headed back up toward the house, floundering in spots. His boots weren’t as well suited to the sand as Duilio’s bare feet.

Duilio turned his looking glass back to the ship and nearly laughed in surprise. Joaquim had already clambered down to the dory. For a second Duilio thought Aga was following him, but quickly realized it wasn’t the selkie girl climbing down that ladder. It was another girl dressed in men’s garb, her hair darker than Aga’s.
Why did my gift not warn me of that?

Duilio returned to watching as Aga handed a single piece of luggage down to Joaquim. He set it on a thwart, settled at the oars, and began rowing the distance from the edge of the bay to shore.

“Is this your brother after all?” Grandmother Monteiro called from the house’s deck.

“Yes, Grandmother,” Duilio called back. “And he’s brought a surprise for you.”

*   *   *

D
uilio stood on the beach waiting, arms folded over his tattooed chest. Now that he’d gotten close enough, Joaquim could see Duilio hadn’t had his hair cut in some time. And yes, he had cosmetics about his eyes. He looked perfectly comfortable, though, as if he’d worn this garb his entire life. That was Duilio’s chief talent, greater than his seer’s gift—he could make himself at home anywhere.

Joaquim tossed him the painter and clambered out of the boat into the water. Together they pulled the dory up onto the beach, and then Joaquim threw his arms about Duilio.

Duilio laughed and pounded him on the back. “God, it is good to see you.”

Joaquim drew away to look at him. “You too.”

Duilio’s eyes slid past him, fixing on the boat’s rather bedraggled occupant. “And you brought Marina?”

Feeling guilty, Joaquim went back to help her out of the boat. She’d waited for him to do so, although she could have managed by herself. Then again, he liked helping her. He lifted her into his arms and conveyed her to the sand without dumping her in the water. And when her shoes touched the beach, she smiled up at him brilliantly. Yes, that made it worthwhile.

She shifted to face Duilio, brushed her hands down her borrowed shirt, and licked her lips nervously before holding out a hand to him. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Ferreira.”

Duilio grinned and shook her hand firmly. “And you as well,
Miss Arenias.” He turned to Joaquim, one hand lifted to shield his eyes. “Is João out on the yacht? I only see Aga.”

Joaquim swallowed. Did Marina expect him to paint his eyes like that? “Yes, he reacted badly at the blockade, so Aga ordered him to stay below while the pilot was aboard.”

Duilio’s eyebrows drew together, but he didn’t ask the obvious question, the one that had been bothering Joaquim since they’d crossed the blockade. “Good decision,” Duilio said instead. “I won’t worry about the yacht being at anchor there, then. Let’s go up to the house.”

Joaquim grabbed his portmanteau out of the dory and, reaching one hand to grasp Marina’s, followed Duilio up the beach toward a sprawling house that faced the ocean. “Is that your grandmother’s house?”

Marina nodded. “Yes, I lived here when I was a girl, until I was twelve.”

With white plastered walls and red tiles on the rooftop, it looked little different than a house in one of the fishing villages on the Portuguese coast. Heavy wooden shutters stood open at the moment, allowing sea air into the house. The house was as huge as it had looked from the bay, and the distance between each of the houses on this beach spoke of land ownership as well. Marina must be from a wealthier family than he’d realized.

Duilio walked up the steps to a wooden deck. An old woman dressed in a black skirt and jacket with gold embroidery running down the plackets waited at the large center doorway. She held her arms wide. Marina’s hand slid out of Joaquim’s and she ran to throw her arms around her grandmother.

“You’re going to need to prostrate yourself to her in a moment,” Duilio whispered in Joaquim’s ear.