J. Cheney - The Golden City

They needed him. If they were going to find everyone involved in this plot, they needed the head of the serpent. So Oriana swam back toward the beach, coming out of the water at the side of the pier.

But Duilio was no longer alone. A petite woman dressed and veiled in black stood near the water’s edge, easily visible on the pale sands.

Duilio grabbed Oriana’s arm and drew her back away from that dark form. “What happened?” he asked, pointing with his chin toward the sodden pelt clutched under her arm.

Oriana could sense the tension in him. “Erdano gave me this. Maraval’s still out there.”

The woman turned her black-veiled head in Oriana’s direction and in accented Portuguese said, “Bring him back.”

Her voice was flat, without emotion. Oriana felt a chill not due to the cold air, until Duilio set a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “She’s on our side. She’s with Gaspar.”

Had Gaspar managed to find them with his compass? She spotted him then, walking along the path toward the beach.

Reassured, Oriana took a deep breath, turned to face the sea, and called again. Duilio turned his head, plugging one ear with his free hand; he held his revolver in the other. Apparently her call had some effect on him, but Duilio managed to resist her, keeping his gun trained on the waves lapping at the edge of the beach. Gaspar seemed completely unmoved. After only a few minutes Maraval stumbled onto the sands, his fine clothes ruined. Oriana closed her mouth, letting him go.

Duilio kept his gun trained on the man. But upon seeing the woman waiting for him on the shore, Maraval struggled to his feet. Grimacing, he swung one arm toward her. She merely touched him with one slim hand. Maraval whimpered. She said a word in a foreign language, and he collapsed to the sands. His ragged breathing showed he was still alive, but the black-veiled woman knelt down, apparently unconcerned by any threat Maraval might pose. “I can take your life away,” she told him, “bit by bit, drag you down into the waters and hold you there till you drown in my arms. But first you and I have much to talk about.”

Oriana felt ill. Hadn’t she just thought of doing the same thing?

Gaspar strode directly over to the woman’s side and proceeded to put cuffs on the prone Maraval. As if they’d been waiting, Joaquim and Pinheiro appeared at the end of the path, both tugging wads of cotton or wool from their ears.

“Don’t try anything on me, old man,” Gaspar said as he dragged Maraval to his feet. “It won’t work.”

Oriana suspected Maraval was too worn or too terrified to try anything on anyone. He was clearly frightened of the slender woman in black, who walked away toward the burning building without a backward glance.

Gaspar dragged Maraval to his feet. “Pinheiro, take your team and search the area for any others. We’ll send the regulars out to investigate further when there’s light. I’ll take this fellow and Miss Vladimirova back to the city. Mr. Ferreira?”

“Yes?” Duilio said.

“There’s a storm coming in. That flat-bottomed thing you came out here in won’t like that. You should probably tie it off and come back for it in a day or two.”

Duilio looked seaward at the dark sky. No stars were visible through that thick cloud cover. “I think you’re right.”

Two more police officers appeared at the end of the pathway as a carriage drew up to the edge of the beach, its dark sides gilded by the fire’s light. A second carriage drew up behind it. “Tavares, why don’t you head to the city with them? Get some rest,” Gaspar suggested as two of the officers wrestled the marquis into the carriage. “Anjos will want you back on the beach tomorrow.”

Inspector Tavares looked relieved to be joining them instead of heading back in that coach with Maraval and the strange Miss Vladimirova. He volunteered to help Duilio secure the paddleboat while Pinheiro and his crew boarded the moored yacht to look for evidence. Duilio took off his soot-stained coat and settled it around her shoulders, saying, “You must be freezing.”

“Thank you,” Oriana managed without her teeth chattering. She was cold now that she was out of the water. The pelt she clutched against her chest was still wet. Her clothes were sodden, and if they hadn’t been headed back into the city she’d remove them, but she didn’t want to cause further consternation.

So Oriana stood on the sand, her skirts dripping onto her bare feet. She just wanted to leave this place. She didn’t want to be around to watch the bodies of the three police officers she’d lured to their deaths wash in on the tide. It was a cowardly thought, not wanting to face up to what she’d done. But she would do it again if it meant keeping Duilio safe. What sort of person did that make her?

Returning from tying off the paddleboat, Duilio took one of her hands in his. “Let’s get back to the city.”

She had the strongest feeling he knew exactly what was bothering her. She nodded wordlessly.

After walking up to the burning workshop, they transferred the wooden box with its blood compass to the carriage. A handful more of Gaspar and Anjos’ officers had arrived to help with the search. Apparently Tavares knew them already and verified their identities. Then they were finally in the carriage, heading back to the city.

How late was it? Ten? Midnight?

Oriana wearily settled next to Duilio while his cousin took the seat facing backward. He took the pelt from her and arranged it on the empty spot on the bench, allowing some of the water to drain off. She listened while they talked of Anjos’ effort to convince the City Council to allow the floating houses to be pulled up from the river’s grasp. Apparently the inspector had been persuasive, and the effort was scheduled to begin as soon as the storm passed. The police suspected few of the bodies would be identifiable, so they were counting on Joaquim, with his knowledge of the case, to give names to the victims and help contact the families involved. She didn’t envy him that job.

They went on to talk about newspapers and which were sending writers and photographers out to cover it, whether the prince himself would comment on the whole affair, and whether Maraval would be charged or if he would quietly disappear. Just as long as he doesn’t go free, Oriana thought.

And that was the last thought she remembered until Duilio shook her shoulder to wake her.

MONDAY, 6 OCTOBER 1902

Oriana had been sleeping, her head on his shoulder, for most of the trip. When they reached the house Duilio hated to wake her, but she probably didn’t want to sit there in damp clothing any longer than necessary.

Joaquim had been a font of information, mostly about what they’d learned in going through Maraval’s private papers. The papers cleared up any doubt of his having Alessio killed, as he’d kept thorough records of all Alessio’s movements for a few months prior to that date. Maraval had feared that Alessio might—at the infante’s request—seduce the prince out from under Maraval’s thumb. Ironically, it was Alessio’s death that had led the infante to bring in Anjos and his people, ultimately causing Maraval’s downfall.

Over the past few days, Joaquim had also learned a great deal about Anjos and his people. Having spent more time with them, he had several interesting observations. Duilio was most interested in Miss Vladimirova, though, whom Joaquim told him was a Russian water nymph called a rusalka. Camões might have referred to Oriana’s people as sea nymphs, but Duilio suspected the similarity ended there. According to Joaquim, Silva had apparently been correct in calling Miss Vladimirova undead . And while Duilio had read several lurid stories about vampires, he wasn’t sure he believed that something could be both dead and alive.