Текст книги "The Golden City"
Автор книги: Kathleen Cheney
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Miss Carvalho gasped softly. Oriana glanced up at Mr. Ferreira, who merely shrugged.
“Unfortunately, that didn’t work as planned.” Anjos said. “They must have seen Mata’s death as a sign that we’re closing in on them. Today’s abduction suggests they’re now willing to risk exposure to complete this. After all, if they make it work, no one will recall the abductions or deaths.”
“And we’re sure now that the Open Hand is behind this?” Mr. Ferreira asked.
“Yes,” Anjos said. “Of the officers we’ve questioned so far, almost all were aware of the group’s existence and that it was a very small select body of officers, but none knew its purpose. All the information we’ve collected so far points to eight or so officers, along with a handful of outsiders who are providing the funding and strategic support.”
“But we don’t know who those outsiders are?” Inspector Tavares asked.
A hush fell over the room. Oriana joined the others in looking toward the library door, where Paolo Silva, resplendent in a frock coat of black superfine wool and an ecru waistcoat embroidered with gold thread, stood with one hand poised on the door frame.
“It might be beneficial at this point,” he announced, “to put me under guard. I’m almost certain you’ll find evidence pointing to me as the cause of this mess.”
Genoveva Carvalho pushed herself out of her chair, cheeks flaming scarlet. “Get out of this house, you . . . you . . . devil,” she demanded, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. “If you’re responsible for this I’ll shoot you myself.”
Anjos rose as well. “Let’s hear him out, Miss Carvalho,” he said. “I believe Silva’s had a finger on this longer than any of the rest of us. I want to hear his side.”
Miss Carvalho sat again, her lips in a thin line.
“So gracious of you,” Silva said acerbically. He strode into the room, as much at ease as an actor on the stage. He turned his gaze on the Lady. “You’ve got the Special Police turning themselves inside out, girl. Where did you find that undead creature you’ve been using to terrify them into talking?”
Undead?Oriana kept her mouth shut. Could he mean this Miss Vladimirova?
“In a library,” the Lady answered coolly. “Where else?”
“I had little use for your father,” Silva said. “Always tinkering around with his magical toys and collecting books. A dilettante, but at least he wasn’t murderous. Your godfather, Maraval, is another matter. My prince would never approve of what Maraval has constructed, what he’s doing. I want to assure all of you that no matter Maraval’s intention, His Highness is not involved.”
That statement set off murmurs about the room that died out when Silva raised a hand for silence. “This morning,” he said dramatically, “I managed to find someone in the Open Hand who was willing to talk. Shearranged for Miss Paredes to be abducted in hopes that her survival would trigger the failure of Maraval’s witchcraft.”
Ah, he’d talked to Maria Melo. Oriana didn’t bother to look in his direction. Did he know that Mrs. Melo was a sereia spy? Would it make any difference?
“And what did she tell you?” Anjos asked.
“That they planned to grab one of Carvalho’s daughters, since the young ladies walk to Mass every morning, and see if Carvalho would fall for the promise of a trade. But you already know that,” he added, “else you’d not be gathered here. Still, they don’t know that youknow what they’re doing. They know you have part of the spell—a very small part—but not enough to tell you the truth about what they’re trying to accomplish.”
“Enlighten us.” Anjos drew out a handkerchief and coughed.
“They want to override reality,” Silva said, sweeping one arm out grandly. “And change history—”
“We already know about the spell,” Pinheiro interrupted. “Do you have something new to tell us?”
That was the first time the captain had spoken. Oriana wondered at the irritation in his tone. Mr. Ferreira laid a hand on her shoulder, warning her not to speak.
“That was hardly necessary, Captain Pinheiro,” Silva rebuked him gently. “My source says they intend to start putting one house in the water per night. They’re prepared to break into houses and steal victims from them if need be. They’ll place the copy of the Carvalho house in the water tonight, and take the Amaral one back out of the water so it can be, shall we say, repaired.”
Although he didn’t say howthey were planning to repair that house, Silva’s eyes slid toward Oriana. She did her best not to react.
“So, how do I get my daughter back?” Carvalho demanded, arms crossed over his wide chest.
“We’ll have to time it carefully,” Anjos said, “but we might be able to rescue your daughter when they drop the house into the water.”
“Why not just surround the boat and arrest them all?” Carvalho asked impatiently.
Anjos sighed wearily and rubbed one temple. “Because while they have your daughter on their ship—or, frankly, within rifle range—she’s a hostage. If we try to arrest them, they will threaten to kill her outright. An impasse.”
Silva nodded sagely. “You’ll have to let the ship—it’s a medium-sized yacht with a crane affixed to the deck, by the way, painted dark blue—slip away first, I’m afraid.”
“You’ve seen it?” Inspector Tavares asked.
“I had a source on the inside,” Silva said with a wicked smile. “The selkie they hired to attach the chains to weights on the riverbed. Astounding how easy it is to buy a selkie’s loyalty. A few fish and a girl to bed and they’re most cooperative. Unfortunately he seems to have changed loyalty again, so I’ve had to find other sources.”
Oriana expected Mr. Ferreira was clenching his fists. Pinheiro rolled his eyes.
Anjos ignored the commentary, though, likely irritating Silva terribly. “Inspector Tavares, what grade of chain did you say they used?” Inspector Tavares supplied a number that meant nothing to Oriana. Anjos clearly understood it, though. “Good,” he said. “That’s not too large. We wait for them to drop the house in the water. As soon as the ship has pulled away far enough, we cut the chain. The main obstacle is getting a diver with bolt cutters into position without him being seen.”
“I can row close in a dory,” Mr. Ferreira volunteered.
“And I will cut the chain,” Oriana added, and was gratified when Mr. Ferreira refrained from protesting her involvement. She wasn’t going to let the threat of capture stop her from doing this.
“And how do you manage that without being seen?” Captain Pinheiro asked.
“Discreetly,” Mr. Ferreira said. “If they come before the moon rises, they won’t be able to see much. It’s far enough from the city that we won’t have any ambient light to contend with, and out of the way of river traffic. We just sit on the water, no lanterns, and wait for them to come to us. I might be able to find a selkie or two willing to give chase afterward.”
“Why bother?” Carvalho asked.
“If we stop them tonight,” Mr. Ferreira said patiently, “they’ll know it’s over. They’ll start preparing to flee. We have to find the workshop where they’re assembling the houses before they get a chance to destroy all the evidence.”
“Maraval won’t be there, even if the yacht is his,” Silva inserted. “He lets Captain Rios do most of his dirty work.”
Oriana wondered whether they were actually going to take Silva at his word—that Maraval was to blame and the prince knew nothing of what was being done in his name. Or were they going to put Silva under guard, as he’d suggested when he’d walked into the room? She wished she could see Mr. Ferreira’s face to judge his reaction. Then Anjos tilted his head to peer up at Silva.
Of course!Anjos was a Truthsayer. He could weigh Silva’s veracity.
Apparently Anjos believed him. “Leave Maraval to us,” Anjos said. “It’s well known that you have a long-running adversarial relationship with the man. Carvalho, do you have a room secure enough to keep Silva locked up?”
Carvalho made some growling noises that Oriana took for assent.
“Promise that you won’t even try to escape,” Pinheiro said, arms crossed over his chest.
“My dear boy,” Silva said smoothly, “how can you think . . . ?”
“Promise,” Pinheiro insisted.
“I give my solemn word,” Silva said with a half bow in the captain’s direction.
As the afternoon crept on, the police officers began to break down the new undertaking into tasks, finding boats, finding appropriate tools. Oriana listened, trying to remember where each person would be. Evidently the Lady couldn’t join them, as being on water made her ill, but Gaspar would be in the patrol boat. They might be able to keep other patrol boats at bay. Carvalho insisted on being on the water as well, which Oriana didn’t think would be helpful. Carvalho bellowed at them all until they agreed.
“I’ll keep the rowboat behind the patrol boat until the yacht closes in,” Mr. Ferreira said, “then row close enough to dive in.”
Oriana lifted her eyes to meet his. Was he going to try to cut her out of the action? “For meto dive in.”
“You don’t need to do that, Miss Paredes,” Inspector Tavares inserted quickly.
“I do,” she insisted. It would be full circle for her, back into the death-laden waters near The City Under the Sea.
“I was counting on your company,” Mr. Ferreira told her.
Thank the gods she didn’t have to argue about this. She wasthe best choice for working under the water, but there was more to it than that. She hadn’t been able to save Isabel. She was going to do whatever was needed now to save the Carvalho girl. It was her chance for redemption.
CHAPTER 29
Duilio needed a favor, and he suspected he was going to have to pay for it. As they were leaving the house, he asked Miss Paredes to wait for him in the hallway. Carvalho had already stormed out, dragging Silva along with him. Anjos had taken his crew of approved Special Police off in search of a patrol boat to commandeer, which left Duilio more or less alone, save for Miss Paredes and Captain Pinheiro, who was to escort them safely back to the house.
After a moment’s consideration of the room, Duilio settled on the curtains . . . or, rather, the tiebacks. They were thick braids, burgundy shot with gold, each end capped with a tassel almost a foot long. He carefully picked one in a corner of the room and liberated the braid from its hook, allowing the drapery to fall loose. There was no way to stuff it in a pocket, so he coiled it up and tucked it inside his coat against his body. Perhaps the staff would be too busy to notice.
“What are you doing?” a soft voice asked from the doorway.
Duilio sighed inwardly. It was Genoveva Carvalho. He pulled the coil from under his coat and walked to where she stood. He could see Miss Paredes and Captain Pinheiro watching from farther down the hallway. “I need to make a trade, Miss Carvalho, and don’t have time to stop by my own home to find something suitable. Your father can send me the draper’s bill.”
She nodded and stood to one side of the doorway to let him pass. He moved to join the others, but she laid one hand on his arm. “Thank you for going after them,” she said. “This is my fault. I let Constancia fall back to talk to Tiago. I shouldn’t have, but they’re friends, and he’s too kind to take advantage of her naïveté. Please . . . bring her back.”
Duilio patted her hand. “We will do our best, Miss Carvalho. I promise.”
Her hand slid off his arm, and he hurried to join the other two. Miss Paredes gave him a strange look, but said nothing about the encounter. A few minutes later they were all in the captain’s carriage again, heading in the direction of the Bicalho quay.
Duilio figured Pinheiro had never met a sereia before, but the man seemed unfazed by the revelation of Miss Paredes’ identity. “So, what will happen to Silva?” he asked Pinheiro cautiously.
Pinheiro sighed. “He’ll probably get several fine meals out of this, have a nice nap, and gather a lot of gossip to spread about. I’m sure he’ll come out of this smelling like springtime.”
Duilio almost laughed at Pinheiro’s vexed tone.
“Do you know Silva well?” Miss Paredes asked the policeman.
“I didn’t tell her,” Duilio inserted quickly.
“Ah,” Pinheiro said. “I have the distinction of being his son, although he wasn’t aware of that until about three years ago, when my mother died.” He crossed himself at the mention of his mother’s death.
“I’m so sorry,” Miss Paredes said politely.
“That makes Captain Pinheiro my cousin,” Duilio told her. “And it puts a different complexion on the theft at our house three years ago.” He explained about Silva’s attempt to create an inheritance for his son and its tragic, even if unintended, consequence. Miss Paredes shot a glance at the captain’s face, possibly noting the resemblance to Silva. “So, some collector has my mother’s pelt.”
“Yet she still blames Silva,” she said.
“It is, ultimately, his fault,” Pinheiro said. “I won’t make any excuses for him. I think larceny just comes more naturally to him than honest effort.”
“So, how do we find this collector?” she asked.
Duilio was pleased that she’d automatically said we.
“My father,” Pinheiro said, “has had an ongoing feud for decades, he claims, with the Marquis of Maraval, who has been slowly eroding his influence with the prince. Silva claims that Maraval has a huge collection of magical items secreted away in a basement, but that the item you want isn’t there. He’s checked; I’m afraid my father has a side career of breaking into others’ homes. I expect Maraval knew he would come looking for it and hid it elsewhere, along with the stolen strongbox.”
“And Silva knew my family would never deal with him while we suspected he had my mother’s pelt,” Duilio told her. “None of us would believe him if he claimed innocence, because he didarrange the theft in the first place.”
“He didn’t want to admit he’d lost that round to Maraval,” Pinheiro said. “He hadn’t told anyone until I became involved in this investigation. He told me only then to convince me that Maraval is behind these evil acts.”
“I see,” Miss Paredes said. “And Silva’s not behind any of it?”
“To be honest, miss,” Pinheiro said, “he’s not clear of all of this. He suspected that murder was happening for a long time but wanted to tie it to Maraval first. He didn’t report the crimes he suspected. Then again, to whom could he have reported them?”
Duilio had to agree. Silva couldn’t report it to the Special Police because he wouldn’t know which of those officers were part of the Open Hand, and the investigation by the Security Police was shut down. The carriage rattled to a stop. They’d reached the quay where his family’s boats were moored.
“We’ll just be a few minutes,” he warned Pinheiro, and then opened the door and invited Miss Paredes to join him.
His family kept three boats here in a small marina that had been used by his father and his grandfather before. One of the three was a shallow-drafted paddleboat, one of Cristiano’s experimental designs. It was good for river traffic and for travel near the coastline when the water was glassy, but in rough water the thing was prone to capsizing. There was also a twenty-six-foot sailboat, but the family’s pride was the yacht, a long, graceful ship that Duilio had learned to sail as a young man. Commissioned by his grandfather, the Deolindawas nearly sixty years old, yet still tugged and bobbed at its moorings.
Miss Paredes seemed suitably impressed at the sight of the yacht. Duilio honestly preferred the smaller boats; they felt closer to the water. So the yacht had spent most of the last year moored here, only going out when Cristiano or Joaquim had the time to sail.
Fortunately, Aga was on the yacht with João, who rose when he saw them approaching. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing her out here, sir,” João said quickly, “but she was interested in the boats.”
Not a surprise. His own mother found boatbuilding a subject of endless fascination. “I’m certain she would make an excellent boatman. Perhaps you could take out the sailboat tomorrow and show her how it handles under full sail.”
João’s eyes lit. “Yes, sir. She would love that.”
“Good. I need you to gather any bolt cutters we have, and if you could have the dory ready by sunset, that would be helpful. Also, I need to ask Miss Aga a favor.”
The young man nodded and held out his hand toward where she sat coiling a line on the deck. The girl was barefoot, wearing a pair of trousers, a man’s shirt and vest, and a woolen cap. They weren’t hugely oversized, so they must be João’s spare garb rather than Erdano’s. Aga took one look at Duilio and turned up her nose. Evidently she hadn’t forgotten being passed over.
Duilio held up the tieback he’d liberated from the Carvalho library. “Aga, I need to ask a favor. Please?”
Her eyes flicked toward the heavy braid, and she returned to her coiling as if he hadn’t spoken. Duilio handed the tieback to Miss Paredes. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her.”
She leaned closer to him. “Why won’t she talk to you?”
“She’s effectively queen of João’s harem now, so she won’t take gifts from me.”
“I see,” she said, a smile tugging at her full lips. “And what do you need asked?”
“I need her to go and fetch Erdano for us. We need his help tonight, and any of his harem that’s willing. They can meet us here at sunset.”
Miss Paredes crouched next to Aga. She asked the question, offering the braid in exchange. “It would make a nice belt,” she added.
Duilio noted that she’d taken Aga’s measure quickly enough.
Aga snatched the length of braid from her hand. “Now?”
“As soon as you can,” Miss Paredes said. “Please.”
Aga immediately began to unbutton her borrowed shirt, provoking João to rush over and launch into a lecture on where and when it was proper to disrobe, which made Aga turn her pretty pout on him. Feeling they’d created enough chaos for one day, Duilio led Miss Paredes off the yacht and up the ramp to where the carriage waited.
“She’s very pretty,” Miss Paredes noted as he helped her up the last step.
“Not very clever, though,” Duilio added. “I’m afraid Erdano’s father wasn’t known for his deep thinking.”
“My people tend to think of selkies as . . .” Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Duilio raised one brow as he opened the carriage door. “As?”
“Well, rather savage,” she admitted. “They choose to live on the sea rather than in homes, as we do.”
He helped her up. “Anything different is barbaric, Miss Paredes. You should see the Scots.” He stepped up after her, to be greeted by Pinheiro’s quizzical look. “Of course, the Scots invented the steam engine, which shows that generalizations are made only to be defied.”
“Did they?” she asked. “Amazing. Wearing skirts all the while?”
“Kilts, Miss Paredes,” Duilio corrected. “Kilts.”
Pinheiro rolled his eyes. Duilio had a distinct feeling that as much as he disliked Paolo Silva, he was going to find Pinheiro an excellent addition to the Ferreira family. “So, Pinheiro, do you sail?”
* * *
Oriana changed to the most worn of her clothing, the shabby black skirt and black shirtwaist that had made up her housemaid costume. It was the same garb she’d worn that night, bringing a sense of completion to the choice. She checked the knife’s sheath to make certain it was securely strapped on, buttoned the sleeve, and tugged on her mitts. Everyone who would be on that patrol boat tonight already knew she was a sereia, but she didn’t intend to rub it in their faces.
A knock at her door heralded Teresa’s entrance. The maid waited until Oriana had emerged from the dressing room. “There’s a woman in the sitting room who wishes to speak with you,” she said. “A Mrs. Melo.”
Oriana felt like the world shook. She gripped the edge of the door. “Is she alone?”
“Yes, miss,” Teresa said.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll go down directly,” she said. “Could you advise Mr. Ferreira as well?”
Teresa headed off to find one of the footmen to talk to Mr. Ferreira, who must still be changing clothes. Oriana stripped off her mitts in case she had to get at her knife quickly and headed downstairs to the front parlor. When she pushed the sitting room door wide open, she found the woman from the church sitting comfortably on the couch.
Oriana stopped at the threshold. Should she go in? Would that put her in a more vulnerable position than standing in the doorway? But surely remaining outside would tell this woman she was afraid. She leveled her shoulders and stepped inside. “Mrs. Melo, I believe it is?”
The woman had been watching her, dark eyes hard as stone. She was an attractive woman, but not striking enough to draw attention. Her brows were thick, which lent her a look of intensity that Oriana had noted before. “You’ve done well so far, Oriana.” The woman surveyed the contents of the sitting room with an appraising eye. “I have to say, I’m impressed that you managed to land in a wealthy household following the incident with the Amaral family.”
The incident with the Amaral family? Is that how she saw Isabel’s death? An incident?Oriana forced her fists to unclench. “What do you want?”
“I want to know if Silva spilled everything I told him,” the woman said as she rose. “Did he tell you that we’ll be putting out the new house tonight?”
Oriana suspected her reaction—or lack of one—gave away the answer to that. “Yes.”
“And will Anjos and his collection of freaks move to rescue the girl?”
Collection of freaks?What an odd thing to say. “I’m sure they’ll try.”
“You’ll have to leave here,” the woman said, her eyes fixing on Oriana’s. “You know that, don’t you? Once the press gets wind of Isabel Amaral’s death, they’ll want you hauled in and questioned. You’ll be exposed for certain, and the Special Police—well, most of them—haven’t given up their persecution of our kind. I don’t want to see someone who’s done so much for the cause hanged.”
Done so much for the cause. “You let them kill Isabel. You were there and didn’t stop it.”
“Oriana,” the woman said softly, almost gently. “If you hadn’t been there, the Open Hand might have succeeded with this insane idea. Yes, your employer died, but sacrifices have to be made.”
Oriana couldn’t look at her any longer. “She was my friend.”
“Making you carry her handbag and read to her? I think not. One of the first rules of this occupation, Oriana, is never get too close to anyone. Never become attached to anyone. You haven’t been in this game very long, so I understand your making that mistake. But there are some things you have to give up for your cause. People like us don’t have friends or family. We can’t afford them.”
Oriana wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t dare put that much trust in this woman. She felt ill, a minute away from casting up her lunch on the fine rug.
“I’ll make arrangements,” the woman continued, “for your extraction. I’ll leave word for you here as soon as those arrangements are made. I expect them to be followed explicitly. Do you understand?”
She didn’t have an answer. She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t want to leave.
“And if you don’t go,” the woman continued in a reasonable tone, “I’ll make certain that the press turns up enough evidence to prove that your father . . . well, let’s say that it will make his life most uncomfortable.”
Oriana looked up. “Leave my father out of this.”
“Remember, Oriana, family is a liability in this occupation. You came to us with a built-in failsafe. I’ve always known that. Now . . . Heriberto, he’s soft. All he wants is to gather enough gold to run away to Brazil, the impetus behind all his petty crime. I promise you, I am not soft. I will do whatever’s needed.”
No, Oriana had no doubt of that. Maria Melo must have witnessed, even participated in, the deaths of dozens of innocents in the last year. She’d handpicked the people who’d died. She’d chosen Isabel. If Oriana had been discovered by the Open Hand, this woman would have stood silently by and watched them kill her too . . . or done it herself. “I understand.”
The woman inclined her head. “I’ll send word.” She walked around the sofa and paused while Oriana stepped aside to let her out of the sitting room. “You do have your mother’s look about you,” she said. “Unfortunately she didn’t understand the rules of the game either.”
And with that parting shot, she walked past a stunned Oriana and down the hallway. Cardenas opened the door, and Maria Melo strode down the steps as if she were queen of the world.
* * *
Duilio only caught the last few seconds of that conversation. He’d been half-dressed and still eating his dinner when Gustavo came in to tell him of Miss Paredes’ unexpected visitor. He’d thrown on a jacket, bolted down the mouthful he was chewing, and run down the stairs to see that Miss Paredes was safe.
He’d been about to enter on the pretext that his mother wished to speak to Miss Paredes when he’d realized the visitor was emerging. He ducked into the library instead. Miss Paredes didn’t need him to interfere, but he wished he knew what had happened. When he came out of the library, she seemed shaken by whatever her visitor had to say.
“Miss Paredes?”
She jerked to attention, her jaw clenched tightly. “Sir?”
Duilio wondered what it would take to get her to call him by his name. “Why don’t you join me in the library? You look like you could use a brandy.”
“I could, actually.” She followed him meekly down the hall. He grabbed the decanter out of the liquor cabinet, and she settled in the chair while he poured. “Can you tell . . .” she began. “Do you know if someone will die tonight? If I can’t save them?”
Duilio closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to call his gift into order. He posed a question to his mind, but his gift only had a tentative answer for him, as if there were too many variables that could change. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Ah,” she said, sobering.
“It’s not just your responsibility, Oriana,” he said. “There will be several of us out there, all working on it.” She didn’t object to his using her name. Perhaps she hadn’t even noticed.
“She fed Silva all that information. She wanted to be sure he’d repeat it to us.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “If she’s the saboteur, then she wants them to be brought down. She just doesn’t want to be brought down with them, or have anyone know that she brought them down.”
Miss Paredes nodded shakily. “She said that once the press gets hold of Isabel Amaral’s death, I’ll be exposed as a sereia.”
He’d expected that, but had already planned to pay off anyone necessary to keep her name out of the press. “That can be worked around. I can assure you that your name, and possibly Isabel’s, won’t appear in the papers.”
She shook her head wearily. “She’s making arrangements for my extraction. If I don’t go, there will be repercussions.”
Duilio felt all the threads he’d pulled together slipping loose out of his hands. Why had his gift not warned him? He’d known she had a life beyond this household, but he hadn’t seen her walking away so soon. “When?”
“I’m not certain,” she said softly. “She’ll send word.”
Duilio reached across and touched her chin, trying to get her to meet his eyes, but she seemed determined to avoid his gaze. Leaning that close to her, he felt a sudden, wild desire to press his lips to her jaw. He need only lean forward a few more inches. He wanted to smell her skin, tangle his hands in that tightly braided hair. He firmly reminded himself that he was a gentleman in whom she’d placed a great deal of trust. She wasn’t one of the demimonde to be pawed, or one of Erdano’s girls looking for a night’s entertainment. Oriana Paredes was as much a lady as his own mother. So he sat back, putting some distance between himself and temptation. Heaven knew they had other things to do tonight than entertain his currently hotheaded desires.
“What sort of repercussions?” he asked. “Can I help?”
“No.” She gazed down at her hands. “I’ve been used as a tool, nothing more.”
That had to sting. “It happens to all of us at one point or another, Oriana. There are always people out there using other people to get their way.”
“She let Isabel die,” she said. “She made the choice. I don’t think I could ever do that.”
Ah, now he had an idea what was whirling around in her head. “Spies put their ideology ahead of everything else. One reason I’m not a spy. I don’t think I could do it either.”
She smiled then. “No, you would have tried to save Isabel.”
He’d never been good at keeping up a subterfuge when it violated his principles. “Speaking of saving others, we should probably head down to the quay.”
She picked up her brandy and tossed back the whole glass in one gulp. “I’m ready.”
They left the library. On the table in the hallway lay the two overcoats that he’d asked Marcellin to bring down. Duilio pulled one on, picked up the second, and held it so she could step into it. “Too big, I think, but it will keep you warm. It’ll be cold out on the water.”
“I’m going to be inthe water,” she pointed out.
“The whole time? With whom will I talk?” he asked, allowing a plaintive edge to creep into his voice.
She rolled her eyes but let him help her into the coat. He hoped that look of exasperation meant he’d been forgiven any inappropriate ardor she might have perceived. “I can’t promise to make conversation, sir,” she said. “It’s not one of my skills.”
He couldn’t resist the temptation to tease her, even though he knew he should. “That only makes me curious to know what your skills are.”
* * *
At the quay where the lovely yacht waited, Mr. Ferreira inspected the bolt cutters that João had collected for him. They had a brief discussion and picked two out of the batch. The sun set while they prepared the rowboat to cast off. It actually served as the yacht’s lifeboat, so they had to lower it down by winch to the water before Mr. Ferreira pulled it around for Oriana to join him in it. With João’s help, she stepped from the floating marina’s planks into the rowboat and swiftly sat. There was a shuttered lantern at her feet, so she made certain to keep her skirts away from it.
“Where is your brother, do you think?” she asked delicately. She’d half expected to find a dozen selkies waiting for them. She was disappointed when they weren’t there.
