The Shores of Spain (44 page)

“We’re assuming they took him to the same prison as Alejandro’s mother, in Lleida.”

The woman mumbled something under her breath. “Lleida, you say? That’s the Unnaturals Prison. Why would this woman be there?”

She couldn’t see any way to answer that without giving away that Leandra, and thus Alejandro, wasn’t entirely human. “Mrs. Sala, is there any way Alejandro could eat breakfast? He’s probably starving.”

Her hostess looked relieved to have an excuse to escape the marquesa’s regard. She quickly swept Alejandro from the sitting room and drew the door closed behind them. Father Escarrá remained, politely waiting.

Marina took a second to gather her wits. This could end up with her being thrown in prison herself. “Joaquim and I came here as a favor to the ambassador of the Portugals to the islands of the sereia.”

The woman’s white eyebrows rose. “You want me to believe that my great-grandson has friends in high places, do you?”

“He does,” Marina said softly. “He regularly visits with Prince
Raimundo of Northern Portugal. They are friends, as strange as that may sound to you. Six months ago the prince’s elder brother was assassinated by a representative of the Spanish throne. That woman left a trail implicating the government of the islands of the sereia, but they were able to identify her as a Canary instead, a sirena from the prison in Lleida.”

The marquesa glanced at the priest, who nodded slowly. Then she pressed on. “You’re saying a fishling killed the Portuguese prince? Wasn’t it some botched surgery?”

Marina licked her lips. She wasn’t going to argue over the insulting term. “She orchestrated the plot. Her parents were caught up in the first round of executions after the ban in the Golden City, and she wanted revenge.” She wasn’t going to explain the whole mess to the marquesa, just the political aspect of the conspiracy. “That is what ultimately sent us here. We were to determine who funded her actions.”

“But on what grounds did they throw my great-grandson into that prison?” the marquesa asked, thumping her cane for emphasis. “Is he a witch?”

“Of course he is,” Marina said, growing exasperated. “He finds things. That’s why he was sent to Barcelona in the first place. To find the woman.”

“Marquesa,” the priest said, setting a gentle hand on the old woman’s shoulder, “the less said, the better.”

“Haven’t you been listening, Father?” The marquesa pointed her finger at Marina. “That one has more to hide than either of us. We can always deny, but that one can’t.”

Marina noted that the woman said we. The priest had hinted there was something unusual about his family; he must also be a witch like the marquesa, his talent hidden. Given the way the marquesa kept looking to him for verification, Marina wondered if he might be a Truthsayer. “That is true,” she said softly. “I am not human.”

“And did my great-grandson know that before he married you?”

Marina felt calm settle over her like a blanket. Nothing she said
from here out could make this worse. “Of course. Joaquim has known since he met me.”

The old woman made a harrumphing sound again.

“He believes in equality,” Marina said, “regardless of kind or station or religion. He always treated me as if I were the same as any other woman of his acquaintance, even when it was illegal for me to live in the Golden City.”

“Did you bewitch him?”

“No,” she said. “He courted me completely of his own choice.”

The marquesa’s nostrils flared, betraying anger. Or perhaps it was annoyance. Or distaste. She probably didn’t approve of Joaquim, an unacknowledged scion of her line, taking a nonhuman for his wife. If the old woman was going to denounce her, she would do it now.

The marquesa pressed down on her cane to rise. She beckoned over the priest with her chin and he offered his arm to steady her. “We’ll meet you at ten at the station, girl.”

Marina rose quickly. “At the station?”

“If we’re going to Lleida, I’m not going to rattle my old bones in a carriage all that way.” The marquesa began to stomp and clomp her way out of the sitting room. “Just make sure that boy looks presentable. I don’t travel with ragamuffins.”

Marina stood unmoving, unsure whether she’d just agreed to something, and if so, what.

CHAPTER 40

                   I
LHAS
DAS
S
EREIAS                   

T
he first messenger to arrive that morning bore good news: a written guarantee from the sereia government that the mission was welcome to return to Quitos. After some deliberation, it was decided that Captain Vas Neves and their chief of staff would oversee the move back to the embassy grounds there.

The second messenger arrived a couple of hours later, one of those American embassy guards in his dark jacket and white trousers. He spoke briefly with Captain Vas Neves and left the message in her hands.

“Madam Norton asks that if you decide to take any action,” Vas Neves said to Oriana, “she would appreciate being advised. The lieutenant told me they’re busy packing up to return to the embassy, or Madam Norton would have come herself.”

Oriana opened the sealed envelope, drew out a sheet of paper, and began reading. Duilio watched her, visibly forcing himself to be patient. Oriana read on, a sick feeling growing in her stomach—not morning sickness. When she finished reading, she looked at Duilio. “Joaquim has been taken prisoner, and Madam Norton’s nephew was gravely injured in the process.”

Duilio’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Taken by whom?”

Oriana sighed. “She says they don’t have much information at this point. Pigeons, remember?”

One of his eyebrows rose, and he made the sign for frustration. “What about Marina?”

“Marina has the boy,” Oriana said, one bit of good news. “She was told to wait at her hotel while the Americans tried to find him.”

Oriana didn’t know what Marina
could
do in this situation, but her sister had never been one to follow orders.

“We still have almost two weeks left of our retreat, don’t we?” Duilio ran fingers through his hair. “I’m going to take Costa and go talk to the captain of the
Tesouro
.”

Oriana wasn’t sure of the implications of leaving her post, but what was the worst the Foreign Office could do? They didn’t have anyone trained to replace her yet, and even if they did, the adoption papers had gone through. They could just return to this house and take up their own lives again.

And she no more wanted to leave Marina on her own than Duilio would wish to abandon his brother. Or brothers. So she nodded, and Duilio walked out of the courtyard to find Costa.

*   *   *

T
ERRASSA

T
he train to Lleida was scheduled to leave the station at half past ten. Marina waited patiently, their single bag at her feet. Alejandro stood at her side, wearing his cleanest shirt and trousers. Marina had left double the payment her hostess asked, along with a quick prayer that God would watch over the Sala household.

A few minutes before the train was set to leave, Father Escarrá appeared, accompanying the marquesa along the platform. He carried a bag much larger than Marina’s own that must belong to the old woman. The black-clad marquesa plunked her cane on the platform as
she walked, swiping at other passengers’ feet to get them out of her way. Presently she stood at Marina’s side.

“You’re a tiny little thing. Did your mother have trouble birthing children?” the marquesa asked, gazing speculatively at Marina’s hips.

Marina felt her face flush. “No, Marquesa, not to my knowledge.”

“Hmmph.”

Perhaps the marquesa hoped she’d die in childbirth, leaving Joaquim free to marry someone more suitable, someone human. The conductors opened the doors to the first-class car then, and after a nod to Marina, Father Escarrá helped the old woman up the steps. Marina handed her bag to a porter and followed with Alejandro.

Soon they were all ensconced in a first-class compartment, Marina and Alejandro sitting facing the back of the train and the priest and the marquesa across from them. Marina was relieved to see that the old woman had brought a pillow to make herself comfortable. The priest draped a large shawl over the marquesa’s shoulders once she’d settled, and she seemed, as far as Marina could tell, to drop immediately off to sleep.

Marina managed not to make her sigh of relief audible. She didn’t know what to say to the marquesa and frankly she wasn’t entirely sure the woman wasn’t accompanying her to Lleida to turn her in.

She withdrew Alejandro’s book from her bag and opened it up to where they’d left off. Alejandro scooted closer to her and peered at the page when she began reading, so she let her finger trail along the words for him to see. She kept her voice low, not wanting to wake the marquesa.

The train moved out of Terrassa Station and slowly picked up speed as it headed north. Much of the countryside even beyond Terrassa was terraced, vines marching in neat rows up the hillsides. Marina stole an occasional glance at the priest, who looked as though he might be trying to comprehend her Portuguese, but kept reading.

The stop at Manresa would be long enough for them to take on
new passengers, so Marina availed herself of a chance to visit the water closet in the station. Father Escarrá had gotten out to walk about on the platform, stretch his legs, and breathe in the fine morning air. When Marina came out, she found him still there, waiting for her. Other passengers stood on the platform, most of the men smoking. From the platform they could see none of the town; they faced a stony ridge covered with trees instead, making it seem as if the station stood in an abandoned spot of countryside.

“It sounds like an interesting tale,” Father Escarrá said in Spanish, “although I cannot follow enough to know exactly what’s happening.”

Ah, the book.
“There are also a number of strange words,” she added, “words that I’m certain make sense for someone who knows Africa. I’m afraid I do not.”

“I see,” the priest said. “I should tell you that the marquesa doesn’t travel much anymore. That she bestirred herself is an indicator that she thinks this important.”

“Did you intercede with her on my behalf?”

The priest smiled. “No, Mrs. Tavares. Your actions alone convinced her. I think if you’d threatened her as you’d planned, you would only have vexed her. When you didn’t, she was intrigued.”

Apparently her lack of strength had worked in her favor this time. “I am glad to know that.”

A gentleman with a cigar walked past them toward the doors of the second car, the scent of smoke drifting along with him and tickling Marina’s nose. “Affability is
not
one of the lady’s gifts,” Father Escarrá said, “but she is unfailingly generous when we need help providing for the poor of the town.”

Marina recalled the woman’s orders from her coach for Marina to go to the Church for aid. “I was fortunate you came along last night.”

“I was coming to join her for dinner,” the priest admitted. “I often do.”

“Were you raised there?”

“On a farm nearby,” he said. “My family’s land marches with hers. I often visit to check on my nephew, the son of my older brother.”

“Oh. Is your family still here?”

“Only my sister-in-law and my nephew. My brother died a couple of years ago while imprisoned.” He crossed himself, and added, “He wrote a poem that was published in
La Veu de Catalunya
. The government took exception to the nationalistic tone of the poem and threw him in prison, which is how I know anything about Lleida at all. I used to visit him there.”

“Is that where he died?”

“Yes. There was an outbreak of plague in 1900.” He crossed himself again.

There had been one in the Golden City in 1899 as well, shortly before she’d arrived there. “I am so sorry.”

The conductors began calling for the passengers to board again, so Marina let the priest help her into the car. She walked down the narrow corridor until she reached their compartment and found the marquesa and Alejandro within, glaring at each other from opposite benches. Alejandro’s lower lip was thrust out and his arms were folded over his chest.

“Alejandro, if you stick that lip out any farther,” she said in Portuguese, “a bird will come and land on it.”

That tore his attention away from his glaring match with the marquesa. His expression hinted that he had no idea whether birds actually did that sort of thing. Marina was glad for once that Oriana had teased her exactly that way when she was a girl.

“So, why are you sulking?” she asked him.

“She called you a
fish girl
.”

Well, the priest had said that affability wasn’t one of the marquesa’s gifts. Marina sat down next to the boy. “Be polite anyway. This falls under the mantle of respecting one’s elders.”

He settled back against the seat, but the scowl didn’t fade.

“That boy needs to learn his manners,” the old woman snapped in Spanish.

Marina sighed and put one arm reassuringly around Alejandro’s shoulders. “He will, in time, madam. He was raised in difficult circumstances.”

“A child of the prison,” the marquesa said knowingly. “I can tell. There are rumors that terrible things happen in that prison in Lleida. That prisoners disappear.”

The priest shook his head. “My brother spoke of a place called the Morra, an
underground
prison built centuries ago within the basement of the town hall. The prisoners believed that if you were sent there, you would never return.”

The train began to move slowly, jerking out of the station with a loud, screeching whistle. A prison under the town hall?
How very odd
. Marina glanced down at Alejandro. “Is that true? Is there such a place?”

Alejandro nodded slowly, eyes lowered.

Marina crossed herself, praying that Joaquim never found himself there.

CHAPTER 41

                   L
LEIDA