The Golden City

by Cheney, J. Kathleen

  She took the journal. “The apartment Mata set afire with you inside it?”

  “Yes,” Duilio said. “I’m told the design in the center is a symbol for a battery.”

  “A battery? Oh, I see.” The Lady took the journal and smoothed her fingers over the water-rippled page. One finger traced the inner circle, the one with the runes, her green eyes flicking back and forth. “I shouldn’t be surprised someone has managed to convert this particular science to magical use, but I am anyway. I would never have thought of this.”

  “But what does it do?” Duilio asked.

  “The runes in this middle circle aren’t a spell,” she said. “They’re more like an outline for a spell, each symbol linking a portion of spell work into a whole. There’s more than what we’re seeing here, not only more runes, but probably also a component of the spell that must be spoken with the recipient in place to receive the power of the deaths. Given the symbols I do see and the words surrounding the outside edge, this is meant to do a work of Great Magic. It will indeed make Prince Fabricio king over Portugal, with all the northern aristocracy supporting him.”

  “The prince?” Gaspar asked. “Does this mean he is a participant?”

  The Lady considered for a moment. “Actually, I think not. He would have to speak the words, getting everything correct. This isn’t work for an amateur.”

  Duilio shook his head. While the prince was whispered to be mad, he would hope that something this macabre was beyond the man’s imaginings. “So this is someone else making a grab for power?”

  “Someone’s doing it in his stead,” the Lady said. “And it’s a safe bet that the creator of this designed the spell to make himself second in command or an éminence grise. Not just that. From the limited bits I see here, I believe it would turn back the clock on the empire, bringing all the former colonies back under Portuguese control—Brazil, East and West Africa, Cabo Verde, Goa, Nagasaki—all of them.”

  Inspector Gaspar gazed down at the journal over her shoulder, displeasure on his features. Duilio could understand that; Cabo Verde had been independent for decades.

  “Does that include the islands of the sereia?” Miss Paredes asked.

  “I believe so,” the Lady said with a nod in her direction. “Vasco da Gama claimed them, Miss Paredes, even if that claim’s never been enforced.” She touched one of the strange runes with one finger. “This symbol indicates territories, meaning anywhere Portugal has made a claim in the past. There’s no date. We might even take back part of Castile.”

  “How is that possible?” Joaquim asked from across the room. “We can’t just tell Brazil we’re taking it back. Not after almost a century of independence.”

  No, Duilio couldn’t imagine that any of the former colonies would enjoy a sudden return to Portuguese domination.

  “This is a Great Magic,” the Lady said patiently. “It’s . . . an impossibility. A legend.”

  “You mean . . . this won’t even work?” Duilio asked, aghast. “After all they’ve done?”

  The Lady sighed and closed the journal. “I honestly don’t know, Mr. Ferreira. It’s difficult to explain. If they can make this work, then no one will know the difference. We will all wake up the next morning and never recall that there were ever two Portugals, not recall that the colonies were ever given autonomy. All evidence of it will be gone. Paperwork, buildings, artwork. Some of us will no longer exist. And no one will know any different, no one in all the world.”

  • • •

  Once she’d worked her way through the concept, Oriana found it offensive.

  No one could prove that a Great Magic had ever succeeded. It could be proven that some had failed, but if one worked, all evidence of it would have been consumed in the enacting of the spell itself. While Anjos claimed the Church condemned the idea of Great Magics because they flew in the face of God’s Will, Oriana had a simpler objection: it was unfair. No one had the right to change things, not for the entire world.

  While they were all arguing over the specifics of this particular magic, Carvalho had a cold luncheon brought in—a quick, informal meal. Mr. Ferreira had introduced Oriana to his cousin Inspector Tavares, who’d bowed nicely over her hand, and then had taken Tavares and Pinheiro to one side to have a quick private discussion. Oriana had caught Carvalho glaring at her a couple of times, which told her she shouldn’t trust him. But he was glaring at Gaspar as well, apparently put off by the inspector’s darker skin, so she wasn’t alone in disfavor.

  She sat now on the couch with the Lady, her black skirt and jacket no doubt looking threadbare next to the Lady’s splendid wool walking suit in an apple green, its skirt hem wrapped with fine Valenciennes lace. Miss Carvalho occupied one of the side chairs, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, still wearing a morning dress of pale pink muslin embroidered with tiny rosebuds. Dirt marked the hem; it must be the same dress she’d worn to Mass that morning. Anjos sat in the final chair, his tired eyes on the table in the middle. Inspector Gaspar stood behind the Lady, remaining silent as Inspector Tavares summed up for Carvalho and the three Special Police officers what he’d uncovered in his investigation and the subsequent ending of that inquiry. Carvalho seemed horrified by the disappearances of the servants, but he hadn’t heard the worst yet.

  Mr. Ferreira set one hand on Oriana’s shoulder. “Do you want me to tell them?”

  My part, she realized. He was offering to tell them of their capture and Isabel’s death, to spare her the anguish of telling the story yet again. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know everything, and this day had already made her weary. “Go ahead,” she whispered.

  He did so. On hearing of Isabel’s death, Miss Carvalho crossed herself and began to cry silently, but Oriana felt numb.

  There were three officers of the Special Police in this room, all listening to Mr. Ferreira’s version of her story. She could see their eyes turn toward her when Mr. Ferreira explained why she’d been chosen to sabotage the artwork, because she was a sereia. For years they’d been hunting down nonhumans like her. None of them jumped to arrest her, though. It seemed unreal.

  They moved on past her part in this, discussing what had been done since. Anjos had been put in charge of clearing undesirable elements out of the Special Police—a separate investigation altogether. He was meant to find officers who abused their power or acted for reasons beyond the group’s mandate, most specifically members of a shadowy group called the Open Hand. “Our arrival on the scene, however,” Anjos said, “was concurrent with the failed house going into the river. Word of our investigation traveled through the ranks, and several officers disappeared before they could be questioned, which only made us wonder what they were involved in. Captain Rios—who has now vanished as well—learned that Mr. Ferreira was following a new lead. Several attacks on Ferreira followed, meant, I think, to slow the investigation rather than end it. They needed time to complete the artwork and enact the spell. Once we learned what Mr. Ferreira and Inspector Tavares had been investigating, we realized there were ties between our investigations, so we attempted to capture one of the conspirators—Officer Donato Mata, who’s acted as an assassin before—using Mr. Ferreira as bait.”

  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. She arranged 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 you know 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 how they 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 me to 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 was the 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.