The Golden City

his reaction. “A human would be quite uncomfortable dressing so.”

His lips pursed. “Probably at first. I suspect I would enjoy it after a while. No need for a valet, certainly.”

She plucked at the blanket with her free hand. “Yes, the many layers your people wear are rather . . . redundant.”

“You must hate our clothing.”

“At first I did, a bit,” she admitted. “But I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

It was an ordinary conversation, a break from all the other things they didn’t want to discuss. As if we’d simply met at a cafe, she thought, wishing with a sudden pang that her life could be that simple. Would she have the nerve to court this man if she had the chance?

The carriage drew into the alleyway behind the houses on the Street of Flowers, getting them quite close to the back door. Cardenas was outside on the steps, sneaking a cigarette, as he did when upset. The butler stubbed it out on the wall and came to meet the cab. When Duilio opened the door and stepped down, Cardenas embraced him and burst into tears. He drew back quickly, though, apparently recalling his station. “We feared the worst, sir, when Joao told us the rowboat hadn’t returned.”

Oriana stayed in the carriage, giving the butler a private moment with his master. Duilio kept his hands on the man’s shoulders, reassuring him. “I’m well enough, old friend. I need to get Miss Paredes inside,” he said. “We’re only here to change clothes and get right back out on the water.”

Cardenas nodded and stepped back. Duilio returned to the carriage and insisted on helping her out, lifting her down with an ease that surprised her. She might expect that of the big selkie, but perhaps Duilio was stronger than he looked. He set her on the ground, and she clutched the blanket close. Cardenas went up ahead of them, clearing the servants out of the kitchen so Oriana could dash through in her inappropriate garb.

Duilio led her up the back stair to the second floor, and fortunately no one intercepted them. “I’ll wait for you in the library,” he said when they stood outside her bedroom door.

She showed him her wrist. “Do you have another spare dagger?”

“I’ll find something,” he promised, opened the door for her, and then headed down to his own room.

Oriana went inside. She was short on clothing. If she were staying she would have to ask for an advance on her first quarter’s pay, but she knew better. She closed the bedroom door, dropped the blanket across the settee, and paused.

There, on the small table next to the settee, lay a notecard addressed to Oriana Arenias Paredes.

Her breath went short. It had come from someone who knew both of her mother’s surnames, Paredes and Arenias. Most people paid little attention to the surname a female received from her father. Oriana picked up the note, impressed by the fine quality of the paper and the author’s neat hand. Surely this was from Maria Melo, who’d implied an acquaintance with her mother. Her orders. The ones that would tell her how to get out of the city, where she would be sent, and to whom she would report. Perhaps they would say she had to leave now. How long had this been sitting here?

She ran her fingers over the lettering and then turned the envelope over to break the blue wax seal marked with the letter M. She slid one finger under the flap.

What if I’m supposed to leave immediately? This could order her to leave this morning, an hour ago or an hour hence.

I am not letting Isabel’s killer get away.

Oriana set the note back down on the silver salver on the table and went to the dressing room to find something to wear.

She’d hated these garments at first, so tight and uncomfortable. Now she saw them as a symbol of all the things she would miss from this place. She’d even miss the silk mitts that pinched her webbing. She would miss . . . many things. Once dressed, Oriana gazed at the tired face in the mirror, determined not to let her emotions get the better of her. She inhaled deeply, taking in the masculine smell of her borrowed room. Then she plastered a serene look on her face and went down to the library to meet Mr. Ferreira.

CHAPTER 32

Duilio brought his last knife for Miss Paredes to use. His favorite revolver had been in the pocket of his frock coat last night, now lost forever in the water of the Douro. He would miss that gun, but he had an Enfield revolver that would do well enough until he could get a replacement sent over from England.

The carriage was waiting for them behind the house and bore them out to the quay, where Gaspar and Pinheiro were still waiting. Gaspar had a wooden box about the size of a football in his hands. He opened it up to reveal a golden device sitting atop what looked like a pincushion. A collection of gears with a coil of metal inside, the device ticked and trembled like the works of a watch. “I’d like you to take this along with you,” he said.

Duilio surveyed the clockwork device doubtfully. If it was valuable, he didn’t want to take it out on the water, not on the paddleboat. “What is it?”

“It’s called a blood compass. A clever little device that Anjos and I have found useful,” Gaspar said. “They come in a pair. The other follows this one. In essence, it mistakes this one for the northern pole. Sadly, it only works one way.”

Oriana came to look into the box with him, her brows drawn together. “You can track us up the coast?”

“Precisely,” Gaspar said. “Wherever you end up, we can follow.”

How incredibly clever. Duilio wondered if the box might be one of the magical “toys” that the Lady’s father had tinkered with. Unfortunately, magical items usually came with a price tag. “Do we have to wind it?” Duilio asked cautiously.

Gaspar grinned. “It won’t bite you, Ferreira. I’ve already wound it, so to speak. Or, rather, Pinheiro did.”

Pinheiro held up a bandaged hand. “I had to bleed on it. On both of them.”

Duilio cast a quizzical look at the African inspector.

“Magic doesn’t work on me,” Gaspar said, “so it had to be him. Just try not to lose the thing.”

Duilio grimaced. “If it gets wet?”

“It will still work,” Gaspar said, “unless all the blood is washed off.”

Duilio glanced at Oriana, who just shrugged. He closed the box and tucked it under one arm, nodded once to Pinheiro and Gaspar, and then led Oriana down the ramp to the paddleboat. At least this increased the chance that if they did find Maraval, they wouldn’t have to face the man alone.

Half an hour later, they’d pulled out past the breakwater and traveled north up the coast. The wind was lacking and the water glassy, the reason he’d chosen the paddleboat rather than the sailboat. Oriana had taken off her shoes to keep them from the water, exposing her silvery feet again. From what he could see, the black dorsal stripe came to a point on the inside of her heel. Duilio could make out a rippled edging between the black and silver skin, a narrow border of brilliant blue. She looked up from where she sat by the wheel compartment and caught him staring at her bare feet. She immediately tucked them back under her skirt.

He didn’t know if he should be blushing or not. She had been with him the entire morning—unclothed—and had somehow managed never to turn her back to him, as if she were hiding her dorsal stripe. Was there some risque aspect to curiosity about a sereia’s dorsal stripe? Her behavior was beginning to make him think so.

And that made him burn with curiosity

“So, where will we find your brother?” she asked.

“I expect he’s gone back to Braga Bay,” Duilio answered. “Where his harem lives.”

“A harem? Truly?”

“It’s the way they live,” he said, feeling a flush creep up from his neck. “The way they’ve lived for centuries. Males are rare, so there are sometimes as many as fifty females in a harem.”

“Fifty?” she asked, sounding appalled. “With one male?”

“Well, to be honest, I don’t think Erdano has nearly that many in his harem. But he does have a number of human lovers as well. It’s natural for selkies to compete.”