The Seat of Magic

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  Anjos waited until he had the lady’s attention again. “Now, Lady Carvalho, we need to know everything you can tell us about this Jesuit. His name, what he looks like, where he’s living. We need to find him.”

  Lady Carvalho sniffled again. “Why?”

  “We need to speak with him regarding a death last week,” Anjos said, choosing the least sensational route. “We believe he might have information.”

  “I don’t know where to find him,” she said. “I promise. He’s come here three times, but I don’t know where he’s staying.”

  “Staying?” Anjos repeated. “He doesn’t live here in the city?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He’s only been coming around for a month. I don’t know why he wouldn’t have come before if he had been living here.”

  “And his name?”

  “Pedro Salazar,” the lady said softly. “I thought he was leaving the novitiate. He told me that, all those years ago. But then he left for Spain and didn’t come back.”

  Well, they had a name now. Duilio still doubted the Jesuits would give them any information, much less help the police find the man. Lady Carvalho went on to describe a tall, lean man, just over fifty, with dark eyes and straight brown hair.

  “He was brilliant, you know,” she volunteered. “He believed that if healers and doctors worked together, anything could be accomplished. That illnesses could be defeated, injured parts could be replaced with new ones, and even the dead could be returned to life. That was why he went to Spain. There was a doctor there who wanted to work with him.”

  “Spain isn’t very friendly toward witches,” Duilio observed. “Why risk going there?”

  “It was his dream,” she said. “He was willing to sacrifice anything to chase it. His freedom, his life. Even me.”

  And a well-bred Portuguese girl who discovered she was with child would have to find a husband quickly—or enter a convent, as Rafael Pinheiro’s mother had done. Duilio doubted kindly Lady Carvalho had ever had much choice in her life after that.

  “Does he still chase that dream?” Oriana asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lady Carvalho whispered. “When he came here, I didn’t let him stay long. He . . . his presence made my flesh crawl, as if there was something wrong about him—something evil. I can’t imagine what, but I just wanted to run away.”

  Oriana leaned forward. “Miss Genoveva mentioned he’d been following her. Has he?”

  “She told you?” Lady Carvalho asked, sounding amazed. “I don’t allow her to go out alone now, because I fear he might steal her away.”

  Inspector Anjos nodded. “A wise decision, Lady Carvalho. I suggest you keep your daughter home until we have him in custody. We do suspect him of wrongdoing.”

  “What has he done?” she asked hesitantly.

  Anjos seemed to consider for a moment. “Several young women have been murdered,” he finally said. “We think he may be involved.”

  Lady Carvalho went whiter than before. She made the sign of the cross, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed. Lady Ferreira laid a consoling hand on her back. “You could not have known, Luiza, all those years ago.”

  “Wait a minute,” Oriana said, looking over the back of the sofa at Duilio. “Miss Genoveva said he was following her. Last night when I saw Maria Melo, I pulled Miss Genoveva into the shadows. She seemed frightened, but at the time I assumed it was of me.”

  “The priest,” Duilio inserted. “It was him.” When Anjos gazed at him expectantly, Duilio clarified. “Pardon me. Last night from the balcony at the Simões house, Miss Paredes saw Mrs. Melo speaking to a priest. Miss Carvalho must have thought it was him.”

  Gaspar pushed away from the wall. “I think we need to ask Miss Genoveva, then.”

  Lady Carvalho rose, handkerchief clutched in her hands. “I’ll go up for her.”

  With that, the lady left the room, while Anjos rubbed fingers against his temples as if his head ached. “So now we have two people we can’t find,” he said, “one of whom is tied to the deaths of the prostitutes, and one of whom is a spy who might or might not be an assassin. But apparently they’re dealing together.”

  I’m missing something important, Duilio thought.

  “Could Mrs. Melo be choosing victims for him?” Oriana asked. “After all, that was her function within the Open Hand.”

  “His victims are random,” Anjos said softly. “Women one might find on the street alone late at night. They might believe a priest trustworthy and walk in his company, making it an excellent guise for a murderer.”

  “If he was on the street last night,” Oriana said, “might he not have been looking for another victim?”

  Yes, they would have to check the morgue later. Duilio hadn’t talked to Joaquim so far this morning, so he hadn’t heard anything. “And what does either of them have to do with the murdered nonhuman girls?” he asked.

  “To our knowledge, nothing.” Anjos rose when Lady Carvalho appeared on the threshold of the room, a red-eyed Miss Carvalho behind her. Oriana rose to let Genoveva have space on the couch, and Anjos stood until the women settled. He offered Oriana the chair in which he’d been sitting, but she shook her head and went to stand next to Duilio instead. “Now, Miss Carvalho,” Anjos said as he sat again, “I believe your mother told you what we were discussing.”

  Genoveva lifted her chin. “Yes, Inspector. I was on the balcony at the Simões ball, and saw that man in the street below. He’s been following me frequently for the last two weeks.”

  Anjos leaned closer. “We believe you’re in danger from him, Miss Carvalho.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “When a healer goes bad,” Anjos said, “they can kill with a touch. This man must not come anywhere near you or anyone in this household. Do you understand?”

  Anjos might be using a gentle tone, but he’d delivered the truth in the bluntest terms. Miss Carvalho nodded jerkily, her shoulders rigid and her spine straight. “I understand.”

  Duilio was glad the girl seemed to grasp the seriousness of the threat.

  “Now, I believe we’ve learned what we needed,” Anjos said. “Is there anything you can think of that might tell us where to find this man?”

  Miss Carvalho shook her head slowly. Anjos bid the two Carvalho women a good day and indicated that the group should vacate the family’s home.

  “What will happen if you capture him?” Miss Carvalho asked before they managed to get away. “Will . . . will I have to testify?”

  Given the resolute look on her face, Duilio had no doubt she would. But she clearly didn’t want to do so. Testifying would expose her even more publicly than the priest’s earlier threats.

  “We’re going to kill him, Miss Carvalho,” Gaspar said. “So it won’t be necessary.”

  Anjos directed a narrow-eyed glare at Gaspar.

  “Kill him?” Miss Carvalho cast a horrified glance toward her mother.

  “I’m sorry, but that is likely,” Anjos said more gently. “We cannot jail him. He would only kill the guards, so our choices are limited.”

  Duilio hadn’t thought that through. He didn’t like it. It offended his loyalty to the law, but pragmatism outweighed that. If the man could kill with a touch, there weren’t many options. He definitely wished he’d brought his revolver along with him now.

  They left the Carvalho house with an agreement to meet back that afternoon at the house Anjos and his team rented. Now armed with a name, Gaspar could take the Lady to meet with the brothers at the Jesuit house again and, given their suspicions, the brothers might help. None of them knew how the tie between Maria Melo and Pedro Salazar changed the case, but it was undeniable that it had.

  * * *

  “Where have you been?” Joaquim asked as they strode through the front door. He’d been pacing the front sitting room for half an ho
ur, straining his mind to think of a place all three of them might go together.

  Lady Ferreira embraced him and kissed his cheek. “We’re pleased to see you too, Filho.”

  Joaquim felt himself flushing. “I’m always happy to see you.”

  She patted his shoulder and pointed toward the sitting room. “I’ll go ask Mrs. Cardoza to put together a quick luncheon before Duilio gnaws off one of his flippers,” she said. “Why don’t the three of you talk? I know Duilinho has news for you.”

  Oriana went on into the sitting room, and Joaquim caught Duilio’s arm. “News?”

  “I can’t imagine what . . .” Duilio’s brows drew together. “Oh! Wedding next Saturday. The details elude me but I’ll presumably need someone to stand up with me, and I would like it to be you.”

  “His mother’s arranging everything,” Miss Paredes said quickly.

  “Congratulations,” Joaquim managed, “to both of you, but . . .” He rubbed his hands together, gazing at the rug as if he might find the words there.

  “Just say it,” Duilio said.

  Joaquim turned to Miss Paredes instead. “I don’t know what provoked it, but someone I know from the Special Police sent word that they had orders from the prince himself. They’re to pick up your father for violation of the ban.”

  Oriana sank down on the sofa, one hand pressed to her belly.

  Duilio scowled. “Does Anjos not know?”

  “My source said the order intentionally bypassed Anjos and his team. And Anjos can’t refuse the order either, not once he hears it.”

  “Has anyone warned my father?” Oriana cut in abruptly. “Did you . . . ?”

  “I went there first,” Joaquim reassured her. “I gave him the keys to my flat. I don’t think the Special Police know of any tie between him and me. My friend told me they’re trying to drag this out as much as possible, Miss Paredes, due to your father’s status in the business community.”

  Oriana turned to Duilio. “Can the infante not interfere?”

  “Unless he can prove the prince is unfit to rule,” Duilio said, “if he moves directly against the prince’s orders, it would be treason.”

  “Everyone says the prince is insane,” she protested.

  Joaquim couldn’t argue that. That was the reason the Special Police were willing to drag their feet at all. He understood her agitation, though.

  “Knowing and proving are two different things,” Duilio reminded her.

  Oriana pressed her fingers against her temples. “This is my fault. Mrs. Melo saw me. That’s why this is happening.”

  Joaquim shot a glance at Duilio, who explained quickly that they’d seen the elusive Mrs. Melo the night before outside the Simões ball, and that she’d seen Oriana. The woman had threatened Oriana’s father before. Apparently she hadn’t changed her tactics.

  “Your father’s too well connected for this to work,” Joaquim told Oriana. “I’m sure Lady Pereira de Santos has lawyers competent enough to stall this in court indefinitely. Don’t let this distract you. It tells me we’re getting close enough to worry her.”

  She gazed at him, arrested by the import of that. After a moment of silence, she said, “Nela told me I needed to figure out who would profit the most from my people going to war with the two Portugals. That’s what we need to know.”

  “And Melo’s the key to that,” Duilio said.

  Oriana threw up her hands. “Short of my standing in the street and calling for her, I don’t see how I can find her.”

  Duilio grimaced, his eyes sliding toward Joaquim. “I had an idea while we were in the carriage. There’s one person Anjos probably hasn’t questioned about her.”

  Immediately after the capture of Maraval, the hunt for his associates had included questioning all the servants who’d met with Mrs. Melo. None had any information on the woman beyond the false persona she’d created.

  “Who?” Joaquim asked.

  “Remember when Silva gave us information about the Open Hand? He got that information from Mrs. Melo. She came here afterward to ask Oriana whether he’d spilled everything she’d fed him. We couldn’t tell Anjos that, though, without revealing that the woman was a sereia spy.” Duilio took a deep breath and huffed it out. “I think we should go see my charming uncle, Silva . . . our charming uncle, I mean.”

  Joaquim groaned when he made the connection. “He’s my uncle, too, isn’t he?”

  Duilio clapped him on the shoulder. “Lucky you.”

  Oriana strode back to the couch and picked up her handbag. “Let’s go then.”

  Duilio’s stomach rumbled. “Can we stop in the kitchen on the way out?”

  CHAPTER 29

  Oriana sat next to Duilio on the carriage’s bench, trying to get her mind under control. She wanted to go look for her father. But he’d managed to evade trouble for ten years here. She had to have faith in him.

  Duilio wrapped his hand around hers. “He’ll be safe. I’m sure of that.”

  Ah, gods, I hope that’s his gift speaking and not wishful thinking.

  Joaquim sat across from them, watching the houses along the Street of Flowers as the carriage rattled along the cobbles. Over a quick lunch, Duilio had filled him in on the meeting at the Carvalho house. The fact that a priest might be involved with these murders seemed to disturb him. “If Pedro Salazar was interested in working with a doctor,” Joaquim finally said, “I wonder if he’s still doing so.”

  “How so?” Duilio asked.

  “Well, the cuts on Felipa Reyna’s throat were neat,” Joaquim said. “We thought they could have been done by a doctor. That would give us another tie between the two cases.”

  “Why employ a healer to remove things? Dr. Castigliani didn’t, did he?”

  Joaquim shook his head. “To keep the victims alive longer? To study them longer? I don’t know. We’re still missing pieces.”

  Oriana glanced out the window, feeling cold again. They passed the Church of Santo Ildefonso with its whitewashed facade and obelisk and headed toward Bonfim Parish. The carriage bumped over the tram’s tracks, and she grabbed a hand strap to stay upright. “Taking victims apart is the opposite of healing.”

  Duilio’s brows drew together, his lips twisting into a scowl.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

  “I’m not sure. It’s like the answer is just out of my reach,” he said. “Or the question.”

  Oriana caught Joaquim’s eye. He merely shrugged.

  The carriage slowed, and Duilio peered out as they came to a slow stop. “Silva’s probably going to be unpleasant.”

  Oriana wasn’t certain whether he was talking to Joaquim or to her, but his bastard uncle liked to tear into others’ fins just to see them react. She followed Duilio from the carriage and gazed up at a fine house on Pinto Bessa Street. Not as large as the houses on the Street of Flowers, it was still large by city standards. Three wrought-iron balconies crossed the granite facade. Masonry acanthus leaves decorated the eaves. Somehow she’d expected Silva’s home would be less attractive. Then again, the man had always dressed well.

  Asking the driver to stay close, Duilio walked up and rapped on the door. After only a moment, it swung open to reveal a very starchy butler who surveyed his three callers with a disdainful air. “We’re here to see Silva,” Duilio said shortly, handing over his card.

  The butler looked at the card and back at Duilio. “You may come inside while you wait.”

  They followed the butler into a sitting room. The furnishings weren’t new, but were in excellent condition, save for a discreet patch on of the upholstered chairs where a falling cigarette might have burned the brocade. It wasn’t what she’d expected of the prince’s former pet seer. “Will Silva actually help us?” she asked Duilio.

  “Rafael will be annoyed if he doesn’t,” Duilio said. “So I expect he will.”
/>
  “Ah.” Whatever she thought of Silva, he did seem inclined to keep on good terms with his son. She didn’t sit, hoping that would be a sign to the man that they didn’t intend to stay. Joaquim picked up a book left on a side table to peer at the spine.

  “I suppose you’ve come to gloat, pup?” Silva said from in the doorway, hands on his hips.

  Duilio regarded him suspiciously. “I’ve come to ask a question. Why would I gloat?”

  “How much did you pay the Gazette to publish that piece of drivel they ran this morning?” Without waiting for an answer, Silva turned and cast an appraising eye over her. Oriana did her best not to react to his rudeness. “And you’ve done well for yourself, fishling,” he said. “More like a cat than a fish, always landing on your feet. Now you’re his ‘assistant,’ I hear. I am impressed.”

  That didn’t need an answer. Oriana folded her hands and waited.

  Silva indicated Joaquim with a sweep of his hand. “And you’ve brought along the bastard, too.”

  Joaquim’s cheeks reddened at that reference. Oriana guessed that Silva had long suspected Joaquim’s parentage, especially since Joaquim and Duilio looked so much alike. It was an ironic topic with which to needle Joaquim, particularly since Silva was a bastard himself, and had fathered a bastard as well—Rafael Pinheiro.

  “How charming you’re all here,” Silva said snidely. “Ask what you want and get out.”

  “We need to talk to you about Maria Melo,” Oriana said. “Where can we find her?”

  Silva spread his hands. “I don’t know any Maria Melo.”

  Oriana wished they had Anjos with them. His Truthsaying abilities could sort the truth and fiction of Silva’s words. “She’s near my height, dark hair and eyes, older with heavy brows. She talked to you about the Open Hand. She told me she was your informant among them.”

  “I know about whom you’re speaking, girl.” Silva shook his head despairingly. “You don’t even know her real name, do you?”

  Duilio caught her eye. “What name do you know her by?”