our house three years ago.” He explained about Silva’s attempt to create an inheritance for his son and its tragic, even if unintended, consequence. Miss Paredes shot a glance at the captain’s face, possibly noting the resemblance to Silva. “So, some collector has my mother’s pelt.”
“Yet she still blames Silva,” she said.
“It is, ultimately, his fault,” Pinheiro said. “I won’t make any excuses for him. I think larceny just comes more naturally to him than honest effort.”
“So, how do we find this collector?” she asked.
Duilio was pleased that she’d automatically said
“My father,” Pinheiro said, “has had an ongoing feud for decades, he claims, with the Marquis of Maraval, who has been slowly eroding his influence with the prince. Silva claims that Maraval has a huge collection of magical items secreted away in a basement, but that the item you want isn’t there. He’s checked; I’m afraid my father has a side career of breaking into others’ homes. I expect Maraval knew he would come looking for it and hid it elsewhere, along with the stolen strongbox.”
“And Silva knew my family would never deal with him while we suspected he had my mother’s pelt,” Duilio told her. “None of us would believe him if he claimed innocence, because he
“He didn’t want to admit he’d lost that round to Maraval,” Pinheiro said. “He hadn’t told anyone until I became involved in this investigation. He told me only then to convince me that Maraval is behind these evil acts.”
“I see,” Miss Paredes said. “And Silva’s not behind any of it?”
“To be honest, miss,” Pinheiro said, “he’s not clear of all of this. He suspected that murder was happening for a long time but wanted to tie it to Maraval first. He didn’t report the crimes he suspected. Then again, to whom could he have reported them?”
Duilio had to agree. Silva couldn’t report it to the Special Police because he wouldn’t know which of those officers were part of the Open Hand, and the investigation by the Security Police was shut down. The carriage rattled to a stop. They’d reached the quay where his family’s boats were moored.
“We’ll just be a few minutes,” he warned Pinheiro, and then opened the door and invited Miss Paredes to join him.
His family kept three boats here in a small marina that had been used by his father and his grandfather before. One of the three was a shallow-drafted paddleboat, one of Cristiano’s experimental designs. It was good for river traffic and for travel near the coastline when the water was glassy, but in rough water the thing was prone to capsizing. There was also a twenty-six-foot sailboat, but the family’s pride was the yacht, a long, graceful ship that Duilio had learned to sail as a young man. Commissioned by his grandfather, the
Miss Paredes seemed suitably impressed at the sight of the yacht. Duilio honestly preferred the smaller boats; they felt closer to the water. So the yacht had spent most of the last year moored here, only going out when Cristiano or Joaquim had the time to sail.
Fortunately, Aga was on the yacht with Joao, who rose when he saw them approaching. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing her out here, sir,” Joao said quickly, “but she was interested in the boats.”
Not a surprise. His own mother found boatbuilding a subject of endless fascination. “I’m certain she would make an excellent boatman. Perhaps you could take out the sailboat tomorrow and show her how it handles under full sail.”
Joao’s eyes lit. “Yes, sir. She would love that.”
“Good. I need you to gather any bolt cutters we have, and if you could have the dory ready by sunset, that would be helpful. Also, I need to ask Miss Aga a favor.”
The young man nodded and held out his hand toward where she sat coiling a line on the deck. The girl was barefoot, wearing a pair of trousers, a man’s shirt and vest, and a woolen cap. They weren’t hugely oversized, so they must be Joao’s spare garb rather than Erdano’s. Aga took one look at Duilio and turned up her nose. Evidently she hadn’t forgotten being passed over.
Duilio held up the tieback he’d liberated from the Carvalho library. “Aga, I need to ask a favor. Please?”
Her eyes flicked toward the heavy braid, and she returned to her coiling as if he hadn’t spoken. Duilio handed the tieback to Miss Paredes. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her.”
She leaned closer to him. “Why won’t she talk to you?”
“She’s effectively queen of Joao’s harem now, so she won’t take gifts from me.”
“I see,” she said, a smile tugging at her full lips. “And what do you need asked?”
“I need her to go and fetch Erdano for us. We need his help tonight, and any of his harem that’s willing. They can meet us here at sunset.”
Miss Paredes crouched next to Aga. She asked the question, offering the braid in exchange. “It would make a nice belt,” she added.
Duilio noted that she’d taken Aga’s measure quickly enough.
Aga snatched the length of braid from her hand. “Now?”
“As soon as you can,” Miss Paredes said. “Please.”
Aga immediately began to unbutton her borrowed shirt, provoking Joao to rush over and launch into a lecture on where and when it was proper to disrobe, which made Aga turn her pretty pout on him. Feeling they’d created enough chaos for one day, Duilio led Miss Paredes off the yacht and up the ramp to where the carriage waited.
“She’s very pretty,” Miss Paredes noted as he helped her up the last step.
“Not very clever, though,” Duilio added. “I’m afraid Erdano’s father wasn’t known for his deep thinking.”
“My people tend to think of selkies as . . .” Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Duilio raised one brow as he opened the carriage door. “As?”
“Well, rather savage,” she admitted. “They choose to live on the sea rather than in homes, as we do.”
He helped her up. “Anything different is barbaric, Miss Paredes. You should see the Scots.” He stepped up after her, to be greeted by Pinheiro’s quizzical look. “Of course, the Scots invented the steam engine, which shows that generalizations are made only to be defied.”
“Did they?” she asked. “Amazing. Wearing skirts all the while?”
“Kilts, Miss Paredes,” Duilio corrected. “Kilts.”
Pinheiro rolled his eyes. Duilio had a distinct feeling that as much as he disliked Paolo Silva, he was going to find Pinheiro an excellent addition to the Ferreira family. “So, Pinheiro, do you sail?”
Oriana changed to the most worn of her clothing, the shabby black skirt and black shirtwaist that had made up her housemaid costume. It was the same garb she’d worn that night, bringing a sense of completion to the choice. She checked the knife’s sheath to make certain it was securely strapped on, buttoned the sleeve, and tugged on her mitts. Everyone who would be on that patrol boat tonight already knew she was a sereia, but she didn’t intend to rub it in their faces.
A knock at her door heralded Teresa’s entrance. The maid waited until Oriana had emerged from the dressing room. “There’s a woman in the sitting room who wishes to speak with you,” she said. “A Mrs. Melo.”
Oriana felt like the world shook. She gripped the edge of the door. “Is she alone?”
“Yes, miss,” Teresa said.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll go down directly,” she said. “Could you advise Mr. Ferreira as well?”
Teresa headed off to find one of the footmen to talk to Mr. Ferreira, who must still be changing clothes. Oriana stripped off her mitts in case she had to get at her knife quickly and headed downstairs to the front parlor. When she pushed the sitting room door wide open, she found the woman from the church sitting comfortably on the couch.
Oriana stopped at the threshold. Should she go in? Would that put her in a more vulnerable position than standing in the doorway? But surely remaining outside would tell this woman she was afraid. She leveled her shoulders and stepped inside. “Mrs. Melo, I believe it is?”
The woman had been watching her, dark eyes hard as stone. She was an attractive woman, but not striking enough to draw attention. Her brows were thick, which lent her a look of intensity that Oriana had noted before. “You’ve done well so far, Oriana.” The woman surveyed the contents of the sitting room with an appraising eye. “I
