The Shores of Spain (19 page)

“How did you get word to Barcelona so quickly?” Oriana asked.

The ambassador smiled coyly. “We have our ways.”

That meant the woman wasn’t going to tell them. But it also hinted that information could pass between the islands and Barcelona with reasonable speed. While there were cables that allowed telegraphs to cross the Atlantic, there weren’t any laid to the Ilhas das Sereias. Joaquim suspected they used a less scientific method of communication instead. The Americans had always been more daring in their use of magical devices than most European countries.

“Your representatives?” Joaquim asked. “Will I be able to meet with them there?”

“Yes, Inspector. The consulate general will have a man keep an eye on Leandra. Their direction in Barcelona, right on the harbor.” She withdrew a card from her reticule and handed it over to Oriana. “If you find her, I am willing to offer aid, should she need it. Any
American embassy or consulate can protect her. If nothing else, I want to know what happened . . . whether she was betrayed, or she betrayed us. Either way, we were on friendly terms. I don’t like people hurting my friends.”

“We will keep that in mind,” Oriana said.

The ambassador hefted her dainty umbrella as if preparing to leave, but then set its point on the ground again. “As you know, my people recently fought a war with the Spanish, a war that was disastrous for them. Our intelligence personnel in the country found it very strange, because the actions of certain government officials seemed to be, shall we say, not in the best interest of the country. The women of these islands don’t interact with human men as frequently as the sirenas in Spain.”

Joaquim wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

Oriana shifted on her chair. “We refer to them as Canaries.”

“They do not refer to themselves as such,” the ambassador said. “I’m sure that in your training, Madam Paredes, you were taught to use your
call
more subtly. To influence gently, to get your own way.”

Oriana licked her lips. “I was.”

The ambassador turned to regard Joaquim. “Imagine, then, an entire population of sirenas using their
calls
subtly, to twist and turn human men about their fingers, to act in whatever way they demand.
That
is what our agents in Spain believe they observed. On too many occasions, men of power pushed the country into damaging circumstances. Often those men had a wife or mistress of questionable lineage, one who can be traced back to the area around Lleida.”

Lleida was where the Unnaturals Prison was located, Joaquim recalled, where supposedly the Canaries ruled. “Your government thinks the Canaries pushed the country into the war?”

“There
is
evidence that a sirena—a Canary, as you say—planted an explosive device on the hull of one of our ships in Cuba, the action that sparked the war. However, I suspect their influence was
felt in more subtle ways, touting the country’s honor, the strength of their navy. In the end, that proved an illusion that cost Spain dearly.”

Joaquim rolled that possibility around in his mind, managing not to glance at Marina as he did so. The idea that a group of women could be manipulating the government of an entire country seemed far-fetched. Then again, they only needed to influence the
right
people, and they had magic to help accomplish that. So long as they were discreet, they might succeed. If that was the case, then Spain had made a terrible mistake in bringing the Canaries onto Spanish soil. “Has the Spanish government looked into it?”

“Our people believe the situation expanded greatly during the reign of Queen Isabella. The sirenas purportedly share many of the former queen’s reactionary leanings, and she allowed many of them to
leave
the prison to help foster her intrigues, not taking into account that they might have plans of their own.”

“But Queen Isabella abdicated long ago, did she not?” Duilio asked.

“Yes, after she was exiled to France, in 1870. She continues to meddle in affairs of the Spanish state, though, from a distance. The Spanish government was made aware of our concerns about the sirenas a few years ago. My understanding is that agents of the Spanish government are investigating the problem.”

“So the Canaries are behind the theft of the journal,” Oriana said, “and the Spanish are their pawns in this, rather than the other way around?”

The ambassador smiled sweetly. “My point, Madam Paredes, is that while the government of Spain as a whole may not be interested in that journal, any individual man in the government
must
be suspected of being in the sirenas’ thrall. Their army, their navy, their police: any of them may be working for the sirenas. So be very cautious whom you trust.”

Although she’d begun that speech looking at Oriana, she finished
it with her eyes squarely on Joaquim. Then she rose, lifting her dainty parasol. “I’ll keep pressing over on Quitos, and advise my people in Barcelona of anything I find out. Good luck, Inspector, Mrs. Tavares.”

She exchanged a ritual leave-taking with Grandmother Monteiro and headed to the door of the sitting room, but stopped at the threshold. She glanced over her shoulder. “Is that charming yacht anchored in the bay yours?”

She looked at
him
when she asked, so Joaquim answered, “It belongs to my family.”

“By now I’m certain the Spanish mission knows what your ship looks like.” Her head cocked to one side. “As I’m not entirely certain there’s not a sirena among
them
, I’d take the train.”

And with that ominous pronouncement, she swept out of the courtyard.

CHAPTER 17

O
riana watched the ambassador leave, escorted by a servant. Her grandmother sat again, a signal for them all to do so, so Oriana complied, her mind still reeling.

They had discussed whether the Canaries themselves might be behind the plot that killed the prince of Northern Portugal—and Oriana’s mother—but hadn’t believed the idea viable since the Canaries were all held in the Unnaturals Prison in Lleida. The Americans, however, didn’t believe they
were
. That the Canaries might be acting
outside
the prison and the navy—twisting the minds of powerful men to suit their purposes—was worrisome. Especially since she didn’t know what their purposes were.

The question of Leandra Rocha’s execution was equally troublesome.
What did Leandra Rocha do to deserve execution? Or had there been an execution at all?

Perhaps the alleged execution was instead a cover for the Spanish extracting a Canary spy from the islands. Someone within the ministry
was
working with them—of that they were certain—so it would have been a simple matter to arrange. They could disseminate the story of an execution to hide Leandra’s disappearance.

And if that was the case, how did that relate to her own attempted execution?

The ship that had come after her had fled to a Spanish port after the leviathan damaged it. Had they believed her a Canary agent?
Would they have taken
her
to Spain? Or slit her throat and dumped her overboard when they discovered that she wasn’t a Canary?

“I like her,” Grandmother Monteiro pronounced, apparently speaking of Ambassador Norton. “She has promise.”

Oriana smiled at that faint praise. “She’s given us a name for our thief and the information that the Spanish embassy was involved, although possibly against their national interests. It seems definite that this Leandra Rocha is a Canary, working on their behalf rather than Spain’s . . . or the ministry’s.”

“It
would
explain why she didn’t take the journal back to Quitos,” Joaquim offered. “The Canaries must want it for leverage in future interactions.” He rubbed one hand over his face.

He’d probably not had a full night’s sleep, Oriana realized. And they’d already had this discussion a dozen times over the last few days, trying to force together pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. Oriana knew from past investigations that the pieces would all make sense when looked at from the other end, but for now their questions simply led to more questions.

“Who is the boy, do you think?” Duilio asked abruptly, peering over her shoulder at the photograph on the table. “Her son?”

“He could be,” Oriana said. “He would have been born after she left here. Given that he’s webless, he had a human father. That would be more likely in Spain than here.”

Duilio picked up the photograph and handed it to Joaquim. “He’s important. Find
him
. You have a sense of him. He’ll lead you to her.”

Oriana recognized how he’d used that word—
important
. His gift often warned him of people who would be pivotal in his life. Apparently the boy was one of them.

Her grandmother held out a hand and Oriana went to help her rise. “Now, I know the four of you have plans to make. And I, I’m afraid, must find a diplomatic way to accuse my friend Lady Guerra of lying.”

That should prove a delicate matter, not only because of their
friendship, but because if Oriana recalled correctly, Lady Guerra’s mate had come from the powerful Palmeira family on Quitos. The Inês Palmeira who’d been questioning others about Leandra could very well be their neighbor’s daughter.

*   *   *

I
n light of the ambassador’s revelations, Duilio dragged Joaquim to the main sitting room inside, hoping to have a private discussion. He wanted to be sure that Joaquim grasped the danger he faced in Spain. The male guards had suffered through three difficult months, giving Duilio ample experience as he watched them fend off the constant barrage of sereia magic on Quitos.

“I’ve got a box of wax earplugs I can give you,” he began as Joaquim settled in a chair across from him. “They’re more effective than cotton or wool. If you’re going up against the Canaries, you may have to wear them all the time. I’d work out some hand signals with Marina as well.”

Joaquim’s brow furrowed. “When we crossed the blockade at the edge of sereia waters, it didn’t bother me. João went crazy and his wife ended up tying him to the railing, but I didn’t react. I could
feel
the magic, Duilio, but it just slipped past me.”

Duilio pressed his lips together. He had a very good idea of what had happened.

“I’ve felt a
call
before, Duilio,” Joaquim added after a second. “I reacted then.”

He huffed out a breath. “Remember how the ambassador talked about a sereia using their
call
more subtly? There’s a way for a sereia to guard a human male against other sereia. They call it wrapping a hand around his heart.”

Joaquim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You think Marina did that to me?”

“I cannot think of any other reason you wouldn’t react to the blockade.” Joaquim didn’t like magic, Duilio knew. He had an egalitarian turn of mind, and disliked anything that bestowed an unfair
advantage, whether it was money, nobility, or magic. That Marina had evidently used her magic on him had to bother him. “On the plus side,” Duilio said, “you don’t have to wear earplugs the whole time you’re in Spain. You should be grateful to her. She was protecting you.”

Joaquim frowned. “She didn’t ask.”

Duilio crossed his arms over his chest. “When you planned to leave the Golden City, did you give her the option of coming with you?”

“Of course not. I don’t know how dangerous this will be. I don’t want her hurt.”

“You didn’t ask, though, did you? You were trying to protect her, and gave her no choice. How is that different?”

Flushing, Joaquim turned his head to gaze at a tapestry on the sitting room wall.

“You’re married to her,” Duilio said. “Trust that she has your best interests at heart.”

“I do,” Joaquim said with an aggrieved sigh.

“But you’re still annoyed.”

“Has Oriana ever done that to you?”

“No,” Duilio admitted, “but I’m half selkie, so I’m partially immune to the
call
of other sereia. You don’t have that advantage.”

Joaquim just shook his head.

Duilio rose and went to a desk near the door and dug out a handful of hand-pressed stationery and his fountain pen. “Very well. You should sail to Lisboa rather than home,” he began. “That will save you a day. The
Sud Expresso
travels from Lisboa to Madrid overnight, but not every day. I can’t remember which days. You’d best book into a hotel in case you have to stay overnight in Lisboa. I recommend the Hotel Avenida Palace. It’s new and clean and stands next to the train station in Lisboa’s downtown.”

Dragged out of his sulk by the need for information, Joaquim sat up. “I don’t have funds with me for a fancy hotel.”

“You’re listed on my account at the Bank of Portugal. Since this trip is to help Oriana and me, we should pay for it. I suggest making
a large withdrawal while you’re in Lisboa, although that would mean staying until Monday night.” It was unlikely they would reach Lisboa until Saturday, or Sunday at the latest.

“Why am I on your account?” Joaquim asked.

Duilio patted his shoulder. “You’re my legal heir. Also, I’d hoped you would move into the house on the Street of Flowers. You’ll need access to those funds to keep the servants paid and the house repaired. It’s shocking how much a place like that costs to maintain.”

Joaquim blinked at him. “Your legal heir?”

Joaquim had been for years now; Duilio had simply never informed him. But he knew Joaquim would take care of his mother should anything happen to him. “If Oriana and I live here most of the time, that house will stand empty when Mother remarries, which is a waste.”

Joaquim rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I’ll consider it.”

Duilio knew better than to press Joaquim further, so they moved on to the fascinating topic of train schedules.

CHAPTER 18

                   F
RIDAY
,
24
A
PRIL
1903
; I
LHAS
DAS
S
EREIAS