The Golden City

by Cheney, J. Kathleen

  “According to this,” Duilio told them, “the houses have walls of cork, thinly covered with wood, which is why they’re still floating despite filling with water.”

  “I told you those buoyancy charms were meaningless,” Cristiano said a bit smugly.

  “I recall.” Duilio finally located the page near the back and stuck on a finger to hold the place. “This is secret, so you can’t say anything about it to anyone.”

  The girl nodded dutifully, and Cristiano did likewise.

  Duilio opened it out to the diagram. “Is this symbol in the middle something mathematical? Some bizarre formula? It has a plus sign in it.”

  Cristiano and the girl exchanged a glance that appeared to condemn Duilio’s ignorance. “No, sir,” she said, “that’s not mathematical.”

  “It’s more my field,” Cristiano offered. “Electrochemistry. That’s a schematic for a pile.”

  “A pile?”

  “A voltaic pile,” Cristiano said, “although it might mean a different form. The symbols aren’t standardized across Europe.” At Duilio’s blank look, he continued. “It’s a form of battery, a way to convert chemical energy to electrical energy using two disparate metals, usually silver and zinc, with saltwater as an electrolyte—”

  Duilio held up his hand. “Wait. Chemical energy converts to electrical energy?”

  “Yes,” Cristiano said patiently. “The two elements in each cell . . .”

  “You’re just going to say more words I don’t understand. Let’s go back. This is a symbol for a battery. Two parts linked by seawater, right?”

  “That’s one form,” Cristiano said. “It depends on your needs. Dry-cell batteries—”

  Duilio held up his hand again. “What if it converted something like life force?”

  Miss Atkinson’s brows rose. She cast a glance at Cristiano that plainly said Duilio was losing his grip on sanity. At his nod, she went back to her desk. Cristiano waited until she was out of earshot. “Are you serious?”

  “Sadly enough, I am,” Duilio said quietly. “We think there’s one of these in each house. The middle ring is some form of necromancy. When the person touching the ring dies, their half of the diagram lights up. Two people die, it all lights up.”

  Cristiano gazed at him disbelievingly. “This is part of those houses? Sitting underwater? Most of them have been there for months, Duilio. Any electrical charge would have dissipated long ago.”

  “But this is magic, not electricity, so the rules wouldn’t be the same, would they?”

  “I have no idea,” Cristiano said dryly. “We don’t study magic at Coimbra.”

  Duilio closed his eyes, trying to figure out what was important here. “Each house had two people in it. Two elements in a cell, you said. So how many cells would they need to do something? If it were electricity, I mean.”

  “Just one,” Cristiano said. “But more cells stacked together increase their power.”

  “How many cells would you need if you were planning something big? If you already have twenty-six.”

  Cristiano’s lips pursed. “I guess for style’s sake I would use thirty-two.”

  Hadn’t Oriana's elderly friend said that the choice of two languages in the spell was a matter of style rather than content? “Why?”

  Cristiano shrugged. “Twenty-eight is your next perfect number, thirty-four is your next magic number, but I would lean toward thirty-two. It’s a power of two, which works well with current.”

  Duilio didn’t know what he meant by perfect number or magic number, but he did understand powers of two. “One last question. Say one of the cells was broken. Only halfway lit. What would happen then?”

  “That cell would be useless. I would just try to bypass it,” Cristiano said. “It depends on how the cells are wired together, but if each is discrete, as those houses are, one cell should be easy to cut out.”

  “And replaced by another?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “But that wouldn’t be tidy, would it?”

  “No,” Cristiano said. “I would just replace the broken cell . . . or recharge it.”

  Recharge. Which would mean finding Miss Paredes and sticking her back inside. Duilio closed the journal and stuffed it back into a pocket. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

  • • •

  Oriana had enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with Lady Ferreira and had just settled in the front sitting room to read to her when Mr. Ferreira strode in, the leather-bound journal in his hand. He gestured for Oriana to join him at the doorway. She excused herself to the lady, who nodded vaguely, and went to go speak to him.

  “It’s a battery,” he said. “The whole thing is a battery.”

  Oriana glanced back at Lady Ferreira to see if she’d overheard, but the lady’s attention had wandered. “What?”

  “This symbol in the middle is a schematic for a voltaic pile, which takes one sort of energy and converts it to another. But the energy isn’t converted until the connection between the two halves is made by . . .” He closed his eyes. “Damn! I forgot what he called it.”

  “Duilinho, watch your tongue,” his mother said softly from across the room.

  He actually flushed at his mother’s mild rebuke. “My apologies, Miss Paredes. Cristiano was speaking of seawater, although in this case I don’t think that would be it, since we’re dealing with magic and not silver and zinc.”

  Zinc? Hadn’t the Lady said something about silver and gold being used for magic? “I don’t understand.”

  He took a breath and visibly forced himself to slow down. “A battery doesn’t do anything until you connect all the parts and then connect it to . . . a light, for example. What if The City Under the Sea is the same? It’s not doing anything until everything is connected together and there’s something to turn on. The Lady called it a recipient, right?”

  “Yes,” Oriana verified.

  “So the table’s storing the power,” Mr. Ferreira said with a nod. “For now. I guess the plan is to use it all up at once.”

  That made sense in a twisted way. And it would neatly deal with the Lady’s concern about a lack of a recipient. The recipient just hadn’t shown up yet. “Would that be enough power to make the prince into a king?”

  “I don’t know . . .” A knock sounded on the front door, and they both turned to look. Cardenas came bustling down the hallway past them in response. The butler opened the door, and a voice outside said, “I need to speak to Mr. Ferreira immediately.”

  The butler drew himself up to his full height. “May I have your name?”

  “Captain Pinheiro, Special Police.”

  Mr. Ferreira tossed the journal onto the ground and gave Oriana a not so gentle push. When she stumbled back a few steps, he swung the door closed, leaving him in the hallway, where the officer would surely see him.

  What has he done? Heart pounding, Oriana pressed one ear against the door, hoping to hear what passed in the hallway. There wasn’t any yelling going on, nor could she hear the sound of a scuffle. She could make out low voices talking, Mr. Ferreira and this newcomer, the officer of the Special Police. She wasn’t going to be able to hear anything specific. She sighed and leaned back against the wall. She would have to hope he could manage the man on his own.

  • • •

  Duilio glared at the officer who stood in his hallway. Pinheiro was alone, a strange choice if he was planning to drag Miss Paredes away by force. The man was near his own height, although heavier. Near his age too, at best guess. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

  “Anjos said it was up to me whether or not I told you, but I figure the best way to get you to trust me,” he began, “is the truth. The seal pelt stolen from your house three years ago? My father doesn’t have it. He never did, but he won’t admit that to you. He knows you—rightfully, I have to point o
ut—blame him for its theft in the first place.”

  Duilio felt as if a fog had abruptly filled his brain. “Your father?”

  The captain shrugged again. “Yes. He told me about the theft only a couple of days ago. Inspector Anjos had questioned me about it because of my relationship to him. In a way this is my fault. When he found out about me he wanted to set things right, so to speak. He intended to have some paperwork stolen from your house, papers that might contain an acknowledgment by his father of his birth. But the man he hired took the pelt as well, intending to sell it to a collector. That collector apparently took the pelt and the paperwork and then killed the man for good measure, all before my father could get his hands on it.”

  Was this the evidence that made Anjos doubt Silva’s culpability? Duilio could see a resemblance in the lines of Pinheiro’s face—the square jaw and wide brow. His eyes were hazel, which he’d not inherited from the Ferreira family, but their shape was familiar.

  “You’re Paolo Silva’s son?” Duilio asked, just to be clear.

  “His bastard son, of course,” the captain said. “My mother entered a convent when she fell pregnant, and I was raised by the brothers. Silva didn’t even know of my existence. My mother decided to tell him on her deathbed.”

  The captain actually seemed sheepish about the whole thing. Duilio could hardly blame him. Pinheiro had grown to adulthood only to be saddled late in life with a father he undoubtedly didn’t need: Paolo Silva. Had Gaspar been feeling him out about this police officer last night when he’d asked about Duilio’s feeling about bastards? “So, you’re my cousin?”

  Pinheiro raised his hand. “I only told you so you would know I’m working with Anjos. That story wouldn’t have come out without his interference. I neither want nor need anything from the Ferreira family. I do quite well on a captain’s salary.”

  Duilio found this fascinating. Was Pinheiro a seer as well? “So, why did you say this is your fault?”

  Pinheiro shook his head sadly. “Silva felt guilty about not providing for me or my mother, just as his father never provided for him. You would think that being a seer and on the prince’s payroll, he would be wealthy, but he actually spends most of his funds paying off servants and police officers and whores to collect information for him. He has tried to be a father to me for the past few years, although he’s frankly not well suited to the task.”

  The exasperation in the officer’s tone was the thing that convinced Duilio. “Very well. Why are you here, then?”

  Pinheiro shifted the cap under one arm to the other, his humor fading. “Unfortunately, I need you to come with me to the Carvalho house. I’m supposed to bring a Miss Paredes as well. One of the Carvalho girls is missing.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Stepping into a carriage with the markings of the Special Police clearly gave Miss Paredes pause. “Trust me,” Duilio offered. “This is not a ruse.”

  Her dark eyes met his, and she nodded and stepped up into the carriage. He joined her there, sharing her bench. He reached down and grasped her hand in his as Pinheiro climbed inside and pulled the door shut. Pinheiro settled facing them. “Miss Paredes? Is that right?”

  “Yes, Captain,” she said softly.

  “I’ve not been informed on all aspects of this case yet,” he said, “but I was told that you’re to be protected at all costs, which is why the shades are down.” The carriage began to move uphill after a jolting start. “We don’t want to risk anyone seeing you.”

  She was trying hard not to betray any nervousness but watched Pinheiro carefully. Duilio shifted to place his revolver in his lap where she could see it. “I promise we will get there safely. I know.”

  Her eyes flicked down to the gun and back up. “What happened to the Carvalho girl?”

  Pinheiro answered her. “I understand that on the way back from Mass, she fell back from her sisters to talk to the footman escorting them. A carriage stopped and two men jumped out, grabbed her, and hauled in the footman as well.”

  “In broad daylight?”

  “Yes,” Pinheiro said. “Someone has suddenly gotten very reckless.”

  “I see,” Miss Paredes said cautiously.

  Duilio gave her hand a squeeze. “Anjos told me he’s cleared several officers in the Special Police of involvement. Pinheiro is one of them.”

  “Believe me, if I’d had a secret, I would have spilled it. The woman questioning me?” Pinheiro shuddered. “There’s something unnatural about her. My flesh began to crawl the moment she walked into the room.”

  “Miss Vladimirova?” Duilio guessed.

  “I did not ask her name,” Pinheiro said, “but she had a foreign accent.”

  The carriage rattled over the tram rails, indicating that they were crossing to the Carvalhos’ side of the Street of Flowers. That reassured Duilio. His gift had told him that they would get there safely, but it was nice to have it backed up by tangible experience. The carriage began to slow and came to a stop after a distance that seemed right to his mind.

  “Lift the shade a bit,” he asked Miss Paredes. She did so, and when he glanced up at the house revealed, he recognized the columns of the Carvalho home. “Yes, this is it.”

  He eased past her and opened the door. When he stepped down, everything looked perfectly normal, so he gestured for her to join him. She set her hand in his and jumped down without the step. Without waiting for Pinheiro, Duilio led her quickly up the steps. A footman waiting at the door allowed them inside once they gave their names.

  “Straight to the library,” Duilio said. Miss Paredes remembered the way, walking briskly ahead of him. The library door stood open, and they stepped inside the garish room, to be greeted by a crowd. The Lady sat on one of the couches, fully visible this time, wearing a smart-looking suit in green. Gaspar stood behind her, conferring quietly with Anjos. A pair of uniformed Special Police stood near the doors as if on sentry duty.

  Carvalho, a barrel-chested man with graying hair, paced along his bookshelves. Sitting in one of the chairs was Genoveva Carvalho, her face grim and nearly as pale as her gown. Her fingers were splayed on the arms of the chair. She glanced up when Duilio entered, pistol still in his hand, and her brows drew together.

  Duilio repressed a sigh. The young lady shouldn’t be here.

  She rose gracefully, wringing her delicate hands together. “Mr. Ferreira? What are you doing here?”

  Her father turned at the sound of her voice. “Ferreira? What are you doing here?”

  Anjos cleared his throat. “Mr. Ferreira and Inspector Tavares have been the lead investigators on a certain case for a few weeks now. Our investigations crossed paths recently.”

  Genoveva Carvalho sat down less gracefully, her expression nonplussed. She’d probably thought he was too idiotic to load a gun, much less use one.

  “You work for the police?” Carvalho asked, stomping in his direction.

  “Yes,” Duilio said, “although I’m only a consultant.”

  Carvalho raised one beefy hand to indicate Miss Paredes. “And who is this?”

  “My mother’s companion,” Duilio said. “Miss Paredes has knowledge of this case.”

  On hearing her name, Duilio could tell Carvalho stopped listening. The man pointed at Miss Paredes. “This is the woman they want to trade for my daughter?”

  Duilio felt fury fill him. Had he led Miss Paredes into a trap? He stepped in front of her and hefted the revolver in his hand, deciding whether he should train it on Carvalho or the two Special Police officers at his back. A glint of silver on the edge of his vision warned Duilio that Miss Paredes had drawn her knife. Carvalho backed away.

  “There will be no trade,” the Lady said calmly. “Do you hear me, Carvalho?”

  “She is my daughter!” Carvalho slammed his hands down on the back of the chair in which his older daughter sat. She went even paler than before. />
  The Lady didn’t flinch, though. “And we will do everything in our power to get her back. But making a trade is out of the question. You have no right to sacrifice one life for another. Or do you not believe in the equality that your Freemasons espouse?”

  Carvalho scowled, his anger deflated by the Lady’s pointed question.

  “It’s unlikely they would return your daughter anyway,” the Lady added. “They’re desperate enough to court exposure now by snatching victims off the street. That tells me they mean to rush through the last of their preparations and enact the spell as soon as possible. They’ll need two victims from your household, and Miss Paredes won’t do for that purpose.”

  “Victims?” Miss Carvalho repeated softly.

  Duilio flinched. She didn’t know. He was willing to bet that Carvalho didn’t yet know what had been happening in those houses either, what was planned for his daughter and the footman taken with her.

  “Mr. Ferreira,” Anjos said patiently. “Put the gun away. We’re not going to permit Miss Paredes to be harmed. I give you my word.”

  “I’m here too,” Joaquim’s voice said from behind them in the hallway. Pinheiro had entered with him, and seemed prepared to follow Joaquim’s lead.

  Duilio mentally checked the numbers and slid the gun back into a pocket where he could get at it easily. Miss Paredes restored the knife to the sheath at her wrist, which, given Carvalho’s reaction, showed remarkable faith on her part.

  “Joaquim and I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised her, catching Joaquim’s eye as he did so. Joaquim gave him a nod, agreeing to his part in the pact.

  “Everyone sit down,” Anjos said. “We need to discuss this like civilized people.”

  “Miss Paredes found something last night,” Duilio told him. “It might help.”

  She had apparently tucked the journal in the waistband of her skirt prior to drawing her knife. She tugged the journal loose and handed it to him wordlessly. He opened the journal to the diagram and handed it to the Lady, aware that Joaquim had taken his place at Miss Paredes’ side. “This was found in an apartment formerly rented by Espinoza. It’s the rest of that table. We think it might be what he saw that caused him to flee the city.”