The Golden City

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  “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.”

  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 thi
nk, 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.”