Oriana stared, mouth agape. She didn’t see how it happened, but one moment she was looking at a large seal; the next at a man unwrapping a pelt from about his body.
“I still can’t figure it out,” Duilio said in her ear. “It’s magic.”
She turned back to the seal man. He was definitely the selkie who’d fondled her rump after helping to cut loose the floating house the night before. He cast his pelt onto the sand, and two female seals moved to stand guard over it.
Erdano approached them then, eyeing her. No, he was leering at her. Several inches taller than Duilio, he was broader as well and heavily muscled. There wasn’t much resemblance to Duilio, save about the eyes. They both had their mother’s eyes, clear and warm, with thick, dark lashes. He was a strikingly handsome man, but even so, he wasn’t to her taste.
He grinned down at her. “You’re much prettier than I remember.”
Oriana could smell the seal musk on him too. If that was a component of selkie charm, it didn’t work on her. However, having seen Erdano nude, she’d begun to formulate a new theory about selkie charm, one she wouldn’t embarrass Duilio by discussing. Hoping to discourage the selkie at the outset, Oriana firmly told him, “I am not interested in being part of your harem.”
Erdano cast a sly smile at her, one surprisingly like his brother’s, and then turned to Duilio. “Are you still not . . . ?”
“No,” Duilio interrupted him sharply, flushing. “Thank you for helping Oriana with the house.”
Oriana tried to catch Duilio’s eyes, wanting to know what Erdano had been about to ask. Duilio seemed determined to avoid her gaze.
Erdano crossed his muscular arms over his bulky chest. “You didn’t tell me Kerridan was there.”
Kerridan? “Who?” she asked.
“The other male that was trying to kill you,” Erdano said, giving a name to the selkie who’d been working with the Open Hand. “Thought I’d scared him out of my territory before. Got him this time.”
Erdano leered down at her as if expecting her to be impressed by that. Duilio cleared his throat and asked, “Were you able to follow the ship?”
“It went far down the coast to the green stone cove,” Erdano answered.
“Which one is that?” Duilio asked, unfolding the chart.
His brother scowled dramatically at the chart. “On that? I can’t tell you.”
“The one with the hooked cliff, right?” Oriana asked Erdano. When he nodded, she pointed it out on the chart. It had to be the site of the workshop.
Duilio’s expression went pensive. “This map doesn’t show any buildings there.”
“Well, there is one now,” Erdano said. “I can show you where.”
Half an hour later, Erdano lounged in the boat’s prow, dressed in a loose tunic and trousers. After another conference with his brother, Duilio came back to the rear and settled on the wide bench next to Oriana. He took the tiller from her and thanked her for holding on to it while he spoke with Erdano. The motor rumbled as the paddles splashed quietly in the water.
The green stone cove was farther up the coast, and she’d only seen it from a ship before, but a layer of copper deposit made it distinctive. It would take some time for this paddleboat to reach it. The clouds that had been gathering all afternoon had come closer, blocking out much of the sun. They consumed the meat pies that Mrs. Cardoza had packed for them, and after a time Erdano fell asleep, snoring loudly, in the prow of the boat. The boat’s paddle splashed on as the afternoon waned toward evening, and they could only hope that Gaspar was following. Oriana pushed her skirts aside to double-check the box tucked under the bench on which she sat. It was still there and, fortunately, not wet.
“I know you’re expected to leave soon,” Duilio said, startling her. “But our house is open to you for as long as you need it. We should be able to keep your name out of the papers. You’d be safe.”
Such a tempting offer. She could hide in the Ferreira home, pretending to be a companion just as she had with Isabel. Perhaps no one would come asking questions about Isabel. But Maria Melo would know she hadn’t obeyed orders and would make her father pay—a threat that Oriana didn’t doubt. She stared down at her webbing.
She wanted out of the intelligence ministry, she admitted to herself, but she didn’t know if they would let her go. And until she could extricate herself, her presence in the Golden City would only be a danger to her father. She couldn’t afford to take Duilio up on his offer. “Thank you,” she said. “I will remember that you offered.”
“Do you want to leave?” Duilio asked softly then. “Are you being blackmailed?”
She clenched her hands together, wishing she dared to give him the true answer. “I must go home,” she said instead.
Erdano shifted suddenly, making the boat list, forcing Oriana to grab the side rail to steady herself. He yawned widely and pointed at the cliffs. “There. That’s where the ship went in.”
* * *
Duilio turned his eyes to the rocks. They were approaching the mouth of the cove, so he cut the motor. He and Erdano each took an oar and rowed, and the paddleboat slipped quietly into the cove in the twilight. And once inside, Duilio saw what he’d expected. At the end of a wide pier built in the center of the cove, the blue yacht was moored.
Erdano pointed. “There it is, the boat from last night. See the strange arm?”
They guided the small boat behind the larger one, so that someone on the shore wouldn’t be able to see it. Duilio slipped off his frock coat. He laid it across the quiescent motor’s housing, then climbed atop that and jumped to catch the ship’s railing. He pulled himself up enough to scan the yacht’s deck and glanced back. “I’m going to see if anyone’s aboard.”
Oriana had her mouth open to protest, but he’d already swung one leg over the rail and pulled himself up. He signaled for her to stay in the paddleboat and slipped over to the side of the cabin. When he didn’t hear any movement within, he climbed the ladder into the steering compartment of the ship.
Dusk had fallen, but in the dim wheelhouse, he spotted a chart on a low table—a map of The City Under the Sea.
It was evidence. Duilio rolled up the chart and tucked it under his arm. He quickly surveyed the wheelhouse but decided that anything of value would be in the cabins below, so he headed for the stair leading down to the captain’s cabin. It was dark, but on a shelf fixed to the wall near the door, he spotted a box of matches. He struck one and in the sudden flare of light could make out the entire room for an instant.
That was all it took, showing him exactly what he’d hoped he might find, the item that Maraval hadn’t left behind in his collection. He must have hidden it here to frustrate and annoy Silva, with no care whatsoever for the damage his actions had. Tears stung Duilio’s eyes.
On the wall above the captain’s bed, a seal’s pelt hung.
CHAPTER 33
Oriana stepped into the center of the paddleboat. A wave of seal musk warned her a second before Erdano came to stand next to her. His hand touched her shoulder in an overly friendly fashion and then slid down to the small of her back.
“I’ve never had one of your women before,” he said, “but I hear you’re not as cold as you appear.”
Of all the times! Oriana gave him a hard look. “I have very sharp teeth.”
He smiled down at her, apparently undeterred. “Perhaps later, then.”
She stepped out of his grasp. “I wouldn’t make any plans.”
Duilio slipped over the yacht’s rail and dropped to the paddleboat’s decking then, a bundle tucked under one arm. “Plans for what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Duilio turned a vexed expression on his brother. “Erdano, keep your hands off her.”
“She’s too pretty not to have a man,” Erdano said, hands wide. “I had to try.”
“No, you didn’t,” Duilio snapped.
“Don’t argue over me.” Not wanting to further discuss Erdano’s heavy-handed at
tempt at seduction, Oriana pointed to the bundle. “What is that?”
Duilio inclined his head as if to acknowledge her ability to take care of herself. He set a rolled chart atop the boat’s engine housing and shook out the dusty bundle he held—a pelt. Oriana reached out to touch the soft fur, glancing up at Duilio’s face.
His expression was hesitant—hopeful. “Erdano, is this what I think it is?”
Oriana stepped back, not wanting to intrude.
Erdano leaned down and sniffed the pelt almost reverently. “It’s Mother’s.” Then he slapped Duilio hard on the shoulder. “You found it!”
Duilio rocked forward from the force of the blow but didn’t protest. He embraced his brother, laughing. Erdano let out a whoop. Oriana feared he would alert anyone listening to their presence, but Duilio pulled away and grabbed Erdano’s shoulder to get his attention. He lifted one section of the pelt for Erdano to see it more clearly. “There are nail holes in it.”
“They’ll heal,” Erdano said, sobering. He stroked the recovered item and then tugged it from Duilio’s grip to embrace it like it was his mother herself. “They’ll be painful,” he said, “but in time they’ll heal.”
Any damage to the pelt must translate into damage to the wearer, Oriana realized with a pang. She hated the idea of gentle Lady Ferreira suffering such pain. It was bittersweet, but still a victory for Duilio. One good thing to come out of all this horror.
“My father’s stolen strongbox was also there,” Duilio told her. “Filled with ashes. Silva’s destined to disappointment, it seems.” He frowned and added, “I was expecting more than just the yacht.”
Erdano pointed toward the beach that would be on the other side of the yacht. “There’s a big building in a space inland. I saw it when I came here last night, all lit up. People moving around.”
That had to be the workshop where the houses were being built. After a quick conference, they rowed the boat to the shore where a large boulder gave it cover, although not much. They had to hope that would hide it from casual observers. Duilio pointed toward the pelt his brother grasped. “Can you take that out into the water and wait for our return? I don’t want Maraval recapturing it.”
Erdano didn’t argue. Still clothed, he slipped into the water and a second later was gone from Oriana’s view. She climbed from the boat and stood barefoot on the sand next to Duilio. “Getting rid of him?”
He cast a glance after his brother. “I don’t want to lose that pelt. But, yes, he’s not a quick thinker, even when he’s being shot at. It would be better if he’s not around to run into any of Maraval’s Open Hand.”
She should be pleased he considered her a quick thinker. “This could be a trap.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Duilio said with a short laugh. After donning his coat, he drew his revolver and checked to be sure it was loaded. “Maraval would expect us to come here. It’s just a matter of how well we anticipate him.”
Oriana grimly drew her knife. “Let’s find him, then.”
A wide pathway led inland from the center of the beach and the pier where the yacht waited. After a brief consultation, they decided that it would be safer to approach the workshop obliquely, so they would skirt the cliffs instead and climb up to where the scrub gave way to cultivation. The crescent moon had risen, granting them just enough light to guide their steps without making them visible to watchers. No one appeared on the sands in response to their presence. It looked like the gods were granting them luck.
After a moment they reached a fall of rocks that looked scalable. Low scrub grew there, not lending much cover, but only a stone’s throw inland stood high trellises for grapevines. The landowner must produce Vinho Verde by squeezing trellises into every spare inch of his land.
Duilio reached a hand back to help Oriana up a steeper stretch. “Will this hurt your feet?” he whispered.
“No, they’re very hard.” That was one advantage of growing up rarely wearing shoes: her feet could handle rough terrain. They hurried to the cover offered by the tall trellises. Oriana let loose a breath of relief when they got there. A few brown leaves lay scattered across the ground, but she could see that the grapes hadn’t been harvested yet. Did the grower know of the workshop built on his land? Was he staying away because of it?
Duilio pointed toward a light visible through rows of vines. “That’s got to be it there.”
She crept under the trellis and they skirted the rows of vines. As they got closer they could see the light came from a new-looking building. Wholly utilitarian, it had no embellishment, simply plain wooden walls with wide-opening doors, more like a warehouse than anything else. Holding his revolver ready, Duilio gave her a quick nod. He edged around the side of the building toward the large open door on the nearer side. Oriana stayed back out of the way until he peered around the corner and then straightened and waved her closer.
“I don’t see any movement,” he told her. “Come on.”
The workshop was indeed empty. Lamps blazed inside, casting a flickering glow over the wooden rooftops. Duilio stepped over the threshold into the big main room, where six completed replicas waited. With the house dropped into the river the previous night, that would make thirty-three houses constructed. Duilio had said something about thirty-two being a likely total, but she supposed one could have been built as a failsafe. He walked around them, glancing between them to see if anyone hid within. Nothing moved.
“It looks abandoned,” Oriana said, which didn’t explain why all the lamps were burning.
Duilio nodded, his eyes still roving the room. Oriana slid her knife back into its sheath. He walked on toward the far wall of the workshop’s main room, so Oriana followed. He leaned closer to examine the roof of one of the houses—the Cordes manor house, Oriana guessed—inspecting the metal framework extending from the roof that would be attached to the chain.
She walked on toward the far wall of the building. There it smelled of sawdust. A dozen tables and benches arranged into working areas held neat collections: saws, hammers, and nails, as well as dozens of tools for which she had no names. She stopped cold a few feet from the outside wall.
Several small casks were stacked at the base of the beam that stretched up to and across the ceiling, rags stuffed between the casks. Each of the major support beams had a similar adornment. Oriana’s stomach fluttered with anxiety. “Duilio,” she called over her shoulder. “You need to look at this.”
He jogged over to her side. “Oh. That can’t be good.”
A concise assessment.
* * *
Duilio picked at one of the yellowed labels. It was a cask of turpentine. A slender cord emerged from the top cask and led up the wall. Fuses wrapped the entire ceiling, he realized, connecting all the weight-bearing beams. “I’d definitely call this getting rid of evidence.”
Oriana pointed. “There are a couple of rooms at the back. We should check to make sure there aren’t any hostages back there.”
He could make out the two doors to which she gestured. One was an office, with windows that would allow the occupants to look out over the workroom floor, much like those at the Tavares boatyard. The other was windowless, perhaps a storeroom. Oriana went ahead of him, her bare feet making no sound on the clean-swept floors. When they reached the windowless door, she gestured for him to wait.
“Be still,” she whispered. She laid one hand against the door, her fingers spread wide, showing the webbing. “I don’t sense any movement inside.”
She’d told him before that her senses didn’t work as well through the air as in water. “Are you sure?” he whispered back.
She stepped to one side of the door. “I didn’t feel movement. That doesn’t mean they’re not very still.”
Duilio raised his revolver as she turned the latch. He shoved the door inward and quickly stepped over the threshold. No bullets greeted his entry into what appeared to be a tidy bedroom. Lining one wall were piles of foolscap, a practice he recognized. “This lo
oks like the apartment that burned.”
Oriana hadn’t entered the room with him, he realized then. Worry streaked through him and he stepped back into the main room, but she stood only a few feet away, peering into one of the office windows.
“I believe I’ve found Espinoza,” she said sadly.
Duilio joined her, holding up one hand to cut the glare from a flickering kerosene lamp overhead. A lean, white-haired man lay facedown on the floor amid a dark pool of blood. His feet were cuffed, joined by a couple of feet of chain. Poor fellow. Duilio sighed, wondering if Maraval had kept Espinoza prisoner here since January. Clearly the man hadn’t been a willing participant in his plans. “I’ll go see if he’s alive.”
“I don’t think he is,” Oriana said. “I don’t see him breathing.”
He still needed to check. It was the proper thing to do. Duilio made his way to the office door. He turned the latch, pushed open the door . . . and the room exploded about him.
CHAPTER 34
Oriana instinctively dove for the floor. She’d been far enough from the door that she wasn’t thrown by the blast itself. The window nearest her was unbroken but shattered a moment later with the building heat in that office, raining glass onto the floor. With a yelp, she scrambled away backward on her bare hands and feet like a crab.
She managed to get off the floor then, and scanned the room wildly. The office was completely afire, but the rest of the workshop was still intact. Where is he? “Duilio?”
A groan reached her ears, and she ran that way. He was alive, at least. She dropped to her knees next to him. The explosion had knocked him backward over one of the houses, sending him sprawling onto the far side, a drop of several feet. His white shirt was darkened with soot. He seemed dazed, but his wide eyes focused on her when she yanked on his good arm. “We have to go,” she yelled at him, her pulse racing. “Now!”
The Golden City Page 34
