The Golden City

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  “No wonder my fingers always hurt,” Lady Ferreira said under her breath.

  Tears stung Oriana’s eyes, and she wiped them away with the side of her hand. Now Lady Ferreira’s life could resume. It must be an incredible relief to be able to move on. Oriana didn’t know when, if ever, her own life would be hers to direct again. She sorely wanted that.

  “It’ll be better soon, Mother,” Duilio said, touching her hair lightly. “Rest now.”

  The lady breathed in the scent of her pelt as if it were the sweetest perfume. She seemed too enraptured to speak at all.

  “I’ll stay with her for a while,” Duilio told Oriana as he dragged over a chair and set it next to the head of the bed. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  She nodded, feeling dull and drained. She left him there and headed to her own bed, only bothering to remove her waterlogged garments before crawling under the warm coverlet. And then it was morning, a dim light piercing the curtains and bidding her to wake. Oriana crawled from her borrowed bed and dressed in her black serge skirt and blue vest. She braided her hair and was relieved when Teresa showed up with her morning coffee tray.

  A short time later she left her room, unsure whether anyone would be awake this morning. Before she reached the stairs, Cardenas came up. “Good morning, Miss Paredes,” he said cheerily.

  “Is anyone else up?” she asked.

  “Mr. Duilio has an early caller,” he said, “but the lady apparently plans to sleep late.”

  It was early for a caller, but Oriana supposed it might be his cousin, Inspector Tavares. Or Gaspar or Pinheiro. “Very well.”

  Cardenas reached into a jacket pocket and produced an envelope. “I have a letter for you, Miss Paredes. It was left last night, but . . .”

  Oriana cringed inwardly. She knew what that letter must be. She took the envelope Cardenas handed her and thanked him, and he walked on toward the end of the hallway. This card had a different seal from the other, Oriana noted as she made her way more slowly down the stairs. In fact, it looked like Heriberto’s seal and wax. Oriana stopped halfway down the stairs and popped open the envelope.

  There will be a ship waiting for you, south-southwest of the mouth of the river. Be there by noon on Monday, or I will do as I promised. MM

  Oriana sighed and closed her eyes, fighting back the sting of tears. Today. She had known this was coming. She had known it would be soon.

  She turned to head back up the stairs when she saw Duilio emerging from the front sitting room with his guest. It was Genoveva Carvalho, her companion trailing behind her, clutching a parasol in her hands. Miss Carvalho lifted tear-filled eyes toward Duilio, then leaned up and kissed his cheek, one of her gloved hands lingering on his coat lapel. Oriana couldn’t make out what the young woman said, but the admiration in her eyes was plain to see. Duilio was likely blushing. Then Miss Carvalho turned and led her companion out the front door.

  Miss Carvalho was from a wealthy family, an aristocratic one with ties here. And there was an understanding already, was there not? Even if Oriana had the time left, even if she wanted to court Duilio Ferreira, he had other choices for a mate—much better choices than a sereia with no money and no prospects.

  Swallowing, Oriana darted back up the stairs, not wanting him to turn and catch her watching. But Felis stopped her at the landing and asked if everything was well. Oriana managed to blurt out something about packing because she had to leave. She edged past the elderly woman to reach the privacy of her bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door and rested her back against it.

  She was nearly out of time. If she was going to swim the distance from the city out to the mouth of the river and from there to wherever the ship waited for her, she needed to go soon. And she hadn’t swum a long distance since coming to the city. What would have been easy when she was two years younger seemed daunting now. She was already so tired. She covered her face with shaking hands and began to cry in earnest. The note slipped to the table, atop the other, unopened note, forgotten.

  * * *

  Duilio ached all over. His back hurt now too from when he’d slammed into one of the miniature houses, slid over its top, and then dropped to the floor. His hair was singed on the ends. Fortunately, he hadn’t lost his eyebrows, which would have made him look ridiculous.

  He sat back, moaning when his sore back touched the chair. He’d had to endure an uncomfortable interview with Genoveva Carvalho, who seemed to believe he’d saved her sister single-handedly. He told the girl that Miss Paredes had done the difficult part, but she must have mistaken that for modesty on his part.

  She’d called at his house far earlier in the morning than was proper, apparently on her way to Mass. Duilio sighed. Apparently she had transferred her affections from Alessio to him, which might have been desirable a year ago. Now it only seemed an annoyance. He was going to have to start avoiding her.

  He picked up the newspaper Cardenas had left on the table. The Porto Gazette had run an article on the front page, complete with a photograph of young Tiago Coelho, the footman, taken while he was still bound to the table in the house, blood staining his swollen features. In the photographer’s flash Duilio could make out a few of the now-familiar symbols on that table. Markings ran along the pedestal of the table and across the visible walls of the house as well. The Lady had been correct about that—there was far more to the spell than just the table itself. And despite the scripture binding the edge of the table, it was clear that this was the sort of magical invocation that the Church found unacceptable.

  The people of the city wouldn’t permit this to go on, no matter how their prince felt about the work of art. The City Council had recognized that fact. The City Under the Sea wouldn’t be growing. According to the paper, the police were making plans to dismantle it. They would bring up the houses and their contents onto the Gaia beach near the breakwater, far from the city, where fewer eyes would witness the grisly sight of bodies that had been in the water too long. Setting aside their usual antagonism, the Jesuits and the Freemasons were set to take possession of the houses to study the spell written on the tables and the walls, determine its intentions, and decide whether it would work at all.

  He should be elated. They’d won. No more bodies would be buried in the river, and his mother had her pelt back. He’d even found his missing slippers hidden under his pillow last night, no doubt thanks to Miss Paredes.

  Instead he felt a vague worry, as if his gift couldn’t yet define the threat that waited for him. Their actions tonight had unleashed something to wreak havoc on the city. He asked his gift for some guidance but got nothing. He didn’t know what questions to ask. He’d just lifted his glass of brandy to his lips when Felis strode into the library, a militant expression on her face

  Duilio wondered what he’d done to offend his mother’s maid. He rose, fully expecting to get his ears boxed.

  Felis set her hands on her hips. “Duilinho, Miss Paredes tells me she has to leave. For God’s sake, boy, stop her.”

  He had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, but somehow, given the way things were going, he wasn’t particularly surprised. He was shocked that Felis had used such strong language. “She needs to return home, Miss Felis. I’ve known for some time she would have to leave. I can’t force her to stay.”

  The elderly maid thrust one hand into her apron pocket and drew out a tattered playing card. She held it up in front of Duilio’s face—the king of hearts. “Don’t you know what this means, boy?”

  She had never told him the meaning of that card, the one she’d drawn for him the day he’d asked her to help him find Oriana, but he didn’t need her explanation. The import of the card was all too clear in his mind now. He nodded, his throat tightening. “I know what it means.”

  Felis threw the card on the table. “Then why would you let her go?”

  She turned and walked out of the library, leaving the card behind.

  Duilio slumped into his chair again.

  A bo
ok might tell him a dozen different interpretations of that card’s meaning. Whatever Felis had seen in it didn’t matter. Like all fortunes, the only thing that mattered was what he saw in it now, what it meant to him: that Oriana Paredes was the great love of his life.

  And he was about to watch her walk away.

  Should Oriana simply ignore her orders to return home, she would be in violation of her people’s law. Much like a military man who fled his post. For some that would be acceptable. For her, he didn’t think it would be, and he was not going to attack her resolve. That would only belittle her.

  He had to hope that she would return to the Golden City. He didn’t care if she was assigned to spy on his people. He didn’t care if there was a scandal tied to her name, if she was exposed as a sereia. He just had to hope she would come back.

  He picked up the card and slid it into his jacket pocket. Then he did take a drink of his brandy, letting it burn down his throat. It didn’t chase away the malaise of victory and despair that clouded his thoughts.

  “Mr. Ferreira?” Oriana stood at the door, her expression somber. “How do you feel?”

  He’d gone back to being Mr. Ferreira, as if a polite distance would make this easier. Duilio swirled the glass before glancing at her. “I’ll be fine. Just bruised.”

  “I suspect that Miss Carvalho has changed her mind about you,” she said then. When he gave her a curious look, she added, “I think you’re no longer her second choice.”

  Ah, she must have seen that exchange in the hallway. “It doesn’t signify,” he said. “She would be my second choice.”

  He waited for her to say something, anything, but she just stood there with her eyes on the floor. “Did you receive orders to go?”

  “Yes.” She still didn’t meet his eyes. “I need to leave immediately if I’m to make my rendezvous.”

  Immediately? He’d hoped she would be able to rest for a day or two. He’d hoped they would have time to talk, that he would have time to work out all the confused yearnings in his head. He set the glass on the table. She had her hands folded together tightly, knuckles white.

  “Must you go?” he asked, even though he knew what she would say. She had never told him whether she was being blackmailed, but he suspected so.

  “Yes.”

  “Any time you need a safe haven, our house will be open to you. I meant that.”

  She closed her eyes, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him.

  Duilio stepped closer and set his hands on her arms. “Oriana . . .”

  “I’m expected to be at my rendezvous by noon,” she said in a tight voice. “I need to leave now.”

  She no more wants to go than I want her to leave.

  He should be pleased by that knowledge, but instead it hurt, an ache in his chest that must be his heart breaking. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to batter against her resolve. He finally settled on, “I’ll walk you down to the quay.”

  Epilogue

  Spray lashed up over the prow of the rowboat, the waves at the mouth of the river rougher than Oriana had expected. The sun’s first light streamed across the water, a red dawn. She cast a glance back to where Duilio sat at the oars, his face grim. His linen shirtsleeves fluttered in the wind; as chilly as the autumn morning was, he’d given her his frock coat anyway to keep her warm until she dove.

  The boat breached a low wave and landed hard as they passed the stone breakwater that protected the river’s mouth from the open sea. “The storm is coming,” he called to her.

  “I’ll be under,” she called back. “I’ll be safe.” She looked eastward, past Duilio at the city rising on its hills in the sunrise. The whitewashed walls of myriad houses gleamed in the morning light. But the time had come to leave it behind.

  It wasn’t the city she would miss.

  Duilio shipped the oars, and the boat began to drift outward on the tide. “This thing doesn’t fare well on the open sea, not if it’s rough.”

  Meaning that this was as far as he could take her. Oriana rose cautiously. She looked out at the red-stained waters to the west, smelling the salt and the coming storm, still hesitating. She turned back to Duilio, trying to decide what to tell him.

  She didn’t know what would happen to her once she got home. She couldn’t even be sure that her leaving would keep her father safe. The only thing that seemed clear to her was that she wanted to return to the Golden City, to come back for him.

  Duilio had risen to stand next to her. The boat heaved as another wave came, and he steadied her with a hand under her elbow. He regarded her as if he suffered the same lack of words she did. He ran fingers through his dark hair and then said, “Please come back.”

  Oriana reached up and set one bared hand against his cheek, feeling the feathery warmth of his breath on the webbing between her fingers. Duilio turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm, his eyes drifting closed. She pulled away, afraid she would lose her resolve.

  “I will try,” she said, her voice breaking. It was the most she could promise. And then, because no more words came to her, she drew off his frock coat and passed it into his hands, shivering as the cold air clutched at her bare skin.

  “Go,” he said softly.

  Oriana dove, going deep beneath the waves. She didn’t look back.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  J. Kathleen Cheney is a former mathematics teacher who has taught classes ranging from seventh grade to calculus, with a brief stint as a gifted and talented specialist. Her short fiction has been published in such venues as Fantasy Magazine and Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and her novella Iron Shoes was a Nebula Finalist in 2010.

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