The Golden City

“No, I stopped by and chatted with Gustavo Mendes this morning.” Joaquim peered at him narrowly. “Have you had breakfast? You’re normally only this cranky if you haven’t eaten.”

Duilio sighed. Cranky wasn’t the image he wished to portray. “No, I left before Mother and Miss Paredes woke, and I didn’t want Mrs. Cardoza to prepare breakfast twice.”

Joaquim shook his head, pushed a notebook over to Duilio, and rose. “Read. I’ll ask one of the officers to go get you some food.”

He suited actions to words, shutting the door behind him as he went off to procure food. Duilio picked up the notebook and found the marked page. Joaquim’s notes were tidy, with a conclusion at the end of each interview of the Amaral servants. He’d spent the most time with the first footman, Carlos, and the lady’s maid, Adela, shared by Lady Isabel and her mother. Then Joaquim’s notes took a sidestep, moving to interviews with a few of the workers at a tavern frequented by servants up and down the Street of Flowers, The White Rose. Both Carlos and Adela, when asked if anyone had been inquiring about the activities of the Amaral staff, mentioned a woman who’d approached them at the tavern, offering positions in a more lucrative household. When Joaquim returned to his office a few minutes later, Duilio snatched one of the egg-custard pastries his cousin offered and asked, “What led you to ask these two—Carlos and Adela, I mean—about this woman at the tavern?”

Joaquim left the remaining pair of pastries on the desk near the notebook and went back to his side. “Both of them volunteered that information. They wanted to talk. The maid was genuinely distressed over her mistress’ absence. She believed Miss Paredes’ story about the bandits grabbing Miss Amaral, and said the bandits must have taken the missing jewelry—that Miss Paredes was above such things. She tried to think of anything that might have been related to the girl’s disappearance, which took me to that point. Now, the footman is not grief-stricken over Miss Amaral’s absence, but he seems to feel guilty over something regarding Miss Paredes and wanted to help clear her name. He might be responsible for the missing jewelry himself.”

Duilio scowled down at the notes. According to the tavern keeper, the woman who had spoken with both Adela and Carlos—named Maria Melo, a name so commonplace that it meant nothing—had been visiting the tavern for almost a year, befriending servants from various households along the Street of Flowers. When pressed, the tavern keeper said he suspected she was hiring them away to Espinho or some other nearby town, as many of them stopped frequenting his tavern afterward. Duilio had a different interpretation of that coincidence. “She’s been selecting the victims, hasn’t she? So, Carlos and Adela might have been the two members of the Amaral household originally targeted,” he told Joaquim. “But our killers changed their minds at the last moment and picked Lady Isabel instead.”

Joaquim sat back and propped his feet up on his desk. “I don’t think so. Both servants said Mrs. Melo first approached them about a month ago, and specifically asked about Miss Paredes. The maid had an impression that they were cousins, although this Mrs. Melo was much older than your Miss Paredes. Just checking up on a younger kinswoman, so to speak.”

Duilio finished off the second pastry. This much sugar was going to sit heavily in his stomach later, even if that revelation didn’t make his gut twist on its own. Miss Paredes felt guilty enough while only suspecting she’d been the target of the abduction. This confirmed that suspicion, and increased the likelihood that she was still being hunted.

“Gustavo told me you’d already asked him to keep an eye on Miss Paredes,” Joaquim continued, “so you must believe she’s not out of danger.”

Duilio sighed and launched into as concise a retelling of the previous evening’s revelations as he could manage, as well as outlining what he’d found at the apartment that had belonged to the artist Espinoza, and his first meeting with Inspector Gaspar afterward. “Miss Paredes might have some time this morning to start reading the journal,” he added, “since Mother was very tired last night, from what Felis tells me.”

“You gave it to her to read?”

“She has time to do so,” Duilio pointed out.

“And I don’t?” Joaquim shook his head and pointed to the pastry still on his desk. “Eat that last one before I give in to temptation. You must trust your Miss Paredes a great deal.”

Duilio picked up the last tart. How could he respond to that? His instincts told him to trust her. And he wanted to trust her. Neither was actual proof that she was trustworthy.

“Are you bedding her?” Joaquim asked when he didn’t respond immediately.

“Excuse me?” Duilio found it hard to believe that Joaquim had asked such a thing. He expected that sort of question from Erdano. Erdano didn’t often think of females in terms other than bedding them. But Joaquim? “She’s Mother’s companion, for heaven’s sake, Joaquim.”

Joaquim shrugged. “Just asking. Gustavo thinks you’re sweet on her, to use his phrase.”

This would be a good moment to say something snide about Gustavo’s deductive abilities, but Duilio didn’t want to defame him unfairly. “She needs protection,” Duilio said. “That doesn’t extend to her bed.”

Is she even sleeping in that bed? He hadn’t heard any more scandalized whispers from his valet, so, if not, Miss Paredes must be dutifully rumpling her covers.

Joaquim nodded slowly. “I see.”

Now he’d protested too much over the matter. Duilio sighed and took a bite of the last pastry.

“I prepared a list of the missing items,” Joaquim added, “and I sent it over to your man of business so he can negotiate with Lady Amaral about compensation. . . .” A brisk knock at the office door prompted Joaquim to go open it.

“Are you going to let us in?” a now-familiar voice asked.

Duilio craned his neck about to see Inspector Gaspar standing in the doorway, Captain Santiago behind him. He stuffed the remainder of the pastry into his mouth and swallowed it with unseemly haste as he rose, brushing some pastry flakes off his frock coat as he did so. “Captain Santiago,” Joaquim said, stepping back to allow the newcomers in. “What can I do for you?”

The two newcomers came inside, making it crowded once Gaspar shut the door.

“You’re being reassigned, Inspector Tavares,” the captain said. “I’ve received an official request for use of your services by the Special Police, signed by Commissioner Burgos himself. “That includes you too, Mr. Ferreira. I do understand this is temporary, though,” he added with a glance at the silent Gaspar, who nodded once. “Good, then. Carry on.”

And with that said, Captain Santiago let himself out of the office and shut the door.

Gaspar regarded Joaquim with that piercing gaze of his, then turned back to Duilio. “Well, gentlemen, where do we begin?”

* * *

Oriana woke far later than she’d expected. She quickly dressed and made her way down to the kitchens, only to discover that the staff had been given orders to allow her to sleep as late as she wished. Lady Ferreira was still abed, she was told, and Felis thought the lady wouldn’t rise for hours yet.

After asking Cardenas to inform her when the lady needed her, Oriana made her way back up to her bedroom and stared at the rumpled covers of her bed. She’d actually slept in the bed the previous night, since her skin seemed recovered enough that she no longer needed to sleep in the tub. The temptation to crawl back under those sheets and stay there a while longer was strong, but she turned her back on the silk-draped bed and went into the dressing room instead.

The journal Mr. Ferreira had given her had dried overnight. Many of the pages were stuck together and a great deal of the ink had smeared, but most of it was legible. She located a letter opener in a desk drawer and settled on the leather settee near her bedroom door. She flipped through several pages, using the letter opener to pry apart pages that were stuck together. In the interest of thoroughness, she decided to start at the beginning.

After describing his original idea for the artwork—apparently provoked by a conversation he’d had, although he didn’t specify with whom—Espinoza recorded his research. He listed his reasons for choosing that very spot in the river to locate his masterpiece: an easy depth and calmer tides, since it was on the Gaia side of the river, protected by the breakwater and out of the regular path of commercial shipping. He talked about taking measurements for the lengths of chain, calculating the approximate weight and buoyancy of the planned wooden houses, and then drawing the sketches of the houses he intended to replicate. Oriana hadn’t given much thought to the technical aspects of building such a creation before, but she was beginning to understand the vastness of