The Shores of Spain (33 page)

Joaquim pushed himself after them, aware he was breathing heavily.
Damn, I need to run more often.

The boy reached the tables and darted between them. The thin man shoved his way through, knocking over a couple of chairs and setting a group of tourists abuzz, cursing in what sounded like German. Joaquim avoided them, following as Alejandro slipped through the arches at the edge of the square. The boy fled down along the darker hallway, and then dropped to the ground. He rolled under the wreckage of an old fruit vendor’s stand, pushed open the door of the building
behind it, and disappeared inside. The thin man shoved the damaged cart out of his way and followed.

When Joaquim reached that door, he jogged inside only to find a cramped place that must have housed a restaurant. Alejandro was nowhere in sight, but the thin man was. He faced Joaquim, the expression on his narrow face murderous. “Who are you?” he asked in Spanish. “Why are you interfering with the queen’s business?”

Joaquim paused for a second, wondering if he’d heard that right. Spain had a king, not a queen, didn’t it? He stopped a dozen feet inside the room, breath puffing in and out. “What do you want with the boy?” he managed in his workmanlike Spanish.

“He’s the queen’s property,” the thin man spat out. “I’m taking him back.” His eyes narrowed as he surveyed Joaquim’s features. “You’re the Portuguese, aren’t you?”

Joaquim didn’t see any point in answering. He heard a sound at the door and cast a glance that way in time to spot Adler stepping over the threshold, wheezing horribly and clutching his side.
Amazing. The man is trying to help
.

Joaquim turned back to the thin man. “No child is property.”

“That child isn’t human,” he said with a laugh. “It’s a half-breed. A toy, no more.”

Joaquim huffed out an angry breath. If this man believed that of Alejandro because he was half sereia, he would feel the same about any child Joaquim might father himself. “That boy is . . .”

The sound of a scuffle at the doorway made him spin about. Adler struggled in the grasp of the heavyset man, eyes wide in panic. Then he cried out and slumped to the ground, clutching his side.

The heavyset man loomed over Adler, a bloodstained knife in his hands. “Well, what have we here?”

Oh, hell and damnation
. Joaquim weighed his chances. He had no idea where Alejandro had gone. The thin man would be easier to take, but the heavy man was at the only exit he could see. If he made it out to the square, he could call for help and get Adler out of here.
Joaquim ran for the door, but the heavyset man slammed it shut before he reached it. He swung his knife at Joaquim, and Joaquim tumbled back over Adler’s prone body. Then his pursuer was atop him, breath hot in his face.

“I know who you are,” the man said smugly, settling his weight more firmly across Joaquim’s chest. “No wonder you’re chasing the boy.”

With his arms pinned underneath him, he couldn’t even take a swing at the man.

“You’re Alejandro Ferrera,” the man said with a laugh. “Thought you’d be older. Not what they’d pay for your boy, but I suspect there’s a decent reward for you too.”

Joaquim nearly choked.
They think I’m my father
. “I’m not who you think I am.”

But the thin man had reached them. He produced a flask and handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to douse the cloth with the contents.

Joaquim struggled against his captor’s weight. “The American consulate general knows—”

The thin man knelt and pressed the cloth firmly over his mouth. The heavy man got off his chest, letting him breathe, but what he could breathe only made his head spin.

*   *   *

I need a watch.

Marina had no idea how long Joaquim and Adler had been gone. Or where they’d gone.

They should have discussed this possibility, how long she should wait for him if they were separated. Eventually she would just go back to the hotel. That was one place where he would know to find her. He’d told Alejandro to go there.
How long should I wait?

She eyed the small café across the street where people were stopping for coffee, but not for lunch yet. The first thing after Joaquim returned, she was going to purchase a watch. It didn’t have to be a nice watch.

She sat there on the bench under the plane trees, watching the pedestrians streaming by on their way from one business engagement to another. A few cast glances her way, perhaps thinking she was lost. Marina took a few deep breaths and concentrated on appearing as if she belonged there.

Then someone in the passing traffic caught her eye. Marina’s mouth went dry as she watched a tall woman pass in front of the café. The woman herself wasn’t distinctive, but her blue-and-white-striped shirtwaist was. Marina remembered sitting in the train station at Madrid and thinking she should have her new seamstress make up one like that. Had it been the same woman?

A clammy hand touched hers and she almost cried out before she caught herself. She glanced down to see Alejandro sliding onto the bench next to her, breathing hard. His damp fingers wrapped around her palm. “Alejandro? What happened?”

“I ran through the Romero Building, into the halls behind it.” He shook his head. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked upset, his eyebrows drawn tight with worry. “The Mosso stabbed the blond man and I ran out the back. I shouldn’t have left him.”

Her breath stilled and she swallowed, urgency suddenly filling her. Alejandro had left Joaquim somewhere, and Adler had been stabbed. “Show me where.”

He nodded, his small jaw firming. She wished she had a disguise for him, since she was taking him back to wherever his pursuers had gone. “Where’s your cap?”

“I dropped it.”

“We’ll get you another one later,” she said as she rose. “Just hold on to my hand and look like you belong with me.”

They ambled along the crowded street. Alejandro tugged on her hand when they reached a side street and whispered, “That way.”

The side street quickly spilled them out into a square, four buildings surrounding the court with a gallery of arches on each side. There was no other way out of the square that she could see.
The boy led her under a row of arches and peered across the wide plaza where people were gathered to eat and talk under the shade of large umbrellas. Marina realized he was checking for his pursuers before they went any farther. “Is it safe?”

After a second’s hesitation, he nodded. He drew her along the corridor, turned the corner, and led her along that side of the square. Most of the doors that led inside the building were closed up, but one stood ajar, a ruined cart or wagon standing beside it.

Alejandro led her past the broken cart and peered inside the door. “He’s still there.”

Marina looked past him, thinking he meant Joaquim. Instead she saw Adler slumped on the dusty floor, blood pooled about his side. She pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle a cry of horror.
That’s too much blood, isn’t it?
She crossed herself, knelt next to him, set her handbag to one side, and turned him over onto his back. He grunted when his side hit the floor, and his head rolled senselessly.

But he was still alive. “Alejandro, are there police out in the square? We have to get him to a hospital.”

He shook his head, his eyes sliding toward the open door. “You don’t want
them
.”

No, she didn’t, but she couldn’t leave Adler here to die, and she didn’t have time to take a cab all the way to the American embassy. “Um . . . try to find one of the restaurant owners instead.”

Alejandro frowned. “I’ll get one.”

He disappeared out the door before she could remind him to be cautious. He probably knew that better than she did. Marina laid one hand across Adler’s forehead. His forehead was clammy and cold, but his eyes fluttered open and he moaned. “We’re getting help,” she said. “You have to hold on.”

His lips moved, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Say it again,” she begged, leaning closer.

“They took him,” Adler whispered.

CHAPTER 30

                   I
LHAS
DAS
S
EREIAS                   

M
adam, let me say one last time that this is foolhardy.”

They were almost at the Quitos jetty. Oriana had watched the island approaching with trepidation in her stomach. She was gambling not only with her own life, but that of Duilio and Vas Neves as well.
And
that of her unborn child. Unfortunately, Duilio’s gift wasn’t offering an answer as to whether they’d walk out of the capital alive. Oriana turned to Captain Vas Neves, who stood on the ferry’s deck, her face grim. “I know. I’d say there’s a fifty percent chance this isn’t going to end well.”

Duilio shook his head. “That’s a fifty percent chance of it succeeding.”

“I can add,” she pointed out.

“Wouldn’t that be subtraction?”

She cast him a dry look. “I’m also moderately proficient with that.”

As the ferry nestled up to the pier and the sailors began setting the mooring lines, he smiled and signed acceptance without belief, vexing her. He always chose her most anxious moments to joke, resorting to nonsense when he wanted to ease her worry. Or perhaps he truly doubted her mathematical skills.

He wore a very formal
pareu
today, the black linen one that almost reached his feet. She’d chosen a brocaded
pareu
in loden green, worn along with a pale green vest—one of her favorites—hoping that the choice would bolster her nerves. She’d left off most of her jewelry, picking only one piece, a gold armband studded with aquamarines that had belonged to her mother. She hadn’t even worn her usual hair combs, and felt exposed without their hidden blades.

They waited as the other passengers debarked, following at the tail end of that queue. Fortunately, there were still carriages for hire waiting. As she moved to hail one, a closed carriage approached, bypassing the line. The driver gazed down at her. “Ambassador Paredes?”

She shielded her eyes with one hand to peer up at the driver. “Yes?”

“I’m to take you into the city.”

The door of the carriage opened and a woman stepped down.
She
wore the uniform of the navy, khaki
pareu
with a matching vest. An older woman and, judging by the rings on her webless index finger, an officer of high rank, the equal of Captain Vas Neves.

Oriana knew her aunt had spies on Amado. It was impressive, though, that news of their arrival on the ferry had preceded them. Maybe there was a telegraph cable laid on the ocean floor between the islands. It wouldn’t be that difficult.

The naval officer gestured for Oriana to climb up into the carriage, then waited politely as Duilio and Captain Vas Neves followed. Then she climbed up with them and sat next to the captain, facing backward. She eyed Vas Neves speculatively as the carriage began to roll. “I understood that human women were too frail to serve in their military.”

Vas Neves regarded her with one gray eyebrow raised. Not confrontational. It was more a look of respect from one soldier to another. “I am certainly not, nor are my guards.”

The naval officer gave her a grim smile. “Good to know.”

Oriana watched the streets pass outside the carriage’s windows. They were in a hurry, the horse moving along at a surprising clip. On the streets, life moved on at a normal pace, as if nothing was wrong. The outside world didn’t concern most people on this island.

“You have not asked, Ambassador,” the naval officer said, “why the navy is involved in what seems to be an affair of the ministry.”

Oriana looked to her. “The ministry’s judgment regarding the state of foreign affairs influences the navy’s actions, so it’s wise for the navy to assure themselves that the ministry is accurate.”

“Very good,” the officer said, as if to a schoolgirl. “Do the Portuguese have plans to invade our islands?”

“No,” Oriana said firmly. “We are in the process of molding two countries back into one. We have neither the time nor the inclination for war. What we need is trade.”

“So you must say,” the officer opined. “However, as we are about to lose our trade with Spain, the return of the Portuguese to our shores
is
fortunate.”

“Lose your trade with Spain?” Oriana said, hoping the officer would expand on that.

“Yes. Madam Davila currently sits in our prison and the remaining members of the Spanish mission are being questioned before being expelled.”

The arrest of an ambassador’s wife shocked her. It took a moment for Oriana to come up with an appropriate response. “On what charges are you holding her, may I ask?”

“Canaries are forbidden on these islands, Ambassador. Her mere presence is a violation of our treaty with Spain.”

Oriana glanced over at Duilio. His eyebrows rose, as if he shared her surprise. It was one thing for there to be a Canary spy among the embassy staff, but Madam Davila herself? “How did you know that she’s not human?”

The officer simply smiled.

Apparently Madam Norton had been correct about a Canary
among the Spanish mission’s personnel after all. The navy wouldn’t have taken Madam Davila into custody without proof she was a Canary, not unless they were willing to risk the wrath of Spain. But Madam Norton had also noted that the government here didn’t give a damn about reasonable actions against a foreign embassy. Then again, once they had Madam Davila in custody, it would have been a simple matter to determine whether she had the ventral stripes on her thighs that sereia lacked.

“It turns out the Spanish have brought in a handful of Canary agents over the last few decades. Instead of trying to disrupt the government,” the officer continued, “the Canaries have been concentrating on infiltrating the press. Can you guess their intent?”

Oriana sat very still, hands on her lap. “To spread the notion that Portugal is on the verge of invading?”

“Very good,” the officer said with a nasty smile. “An odd tactic, but surprisingly effective. We’ve arrested several of the spies, as Madam Davila has proven talkative.”