The Seat of Magic (8 page)

The infante shot a glance back in the direction they'd come, and then rapped again. “Open the door, Braz.”

A second later the door jerked open. The middle-aged man within seemed frazzled. His coppery hair was a wild mass of curls that looked as if they hadn't seen a comb in some time. A few inches shorter than Duilio, he had dark eyes that looked overlarge in his angular face and paler skin than most residents of the Golden City. Translucent webbing showed between the fingers of the hand that held open the door. “Come in.”

The infante obediently stepped inside, Duilio following his example. Like many rooms in the palace, the ceiling of this one was breathtakingly beautiful. Delicately painted plaster leaves and vines wound up and around the beams, joining into an elaborate rosette at the keystone. But the room was sparsely furnished, only a single pair of stiff-backed chairs set by a small lacquered tea table adorned with an inkwell and a pen. A narrow bed waited in the corner halfway hidden behind an oriental screen. While that barrenness highlighted the ornate craftsmanship of the arches overhead, Duilio doubted that was the reason behind it.

“Has Dr. Serpa asked to examine you again?” the infante asked.

The ambassador threw up his hands and made a series of obscure gestures. “The arrogant fool thinks I should be honored by his desire to poke and provoke me. Who is this?”

“Duilio Ferreira,” the infante answered. “A friend of mine, and trustworthy.”

The ambassador turned his dark eyes on Duilio. “Would you be willing to carry a message out of the palace for me?”

That could get him hanged, but Duilio didn't flinch. “Yes, sir, for I've come to ask
your
help.”

“What is your price?” the ambassador asked without hesitation. The collar on his open-necked shirt didn't hide his gill slits completely. Their edges seemed red and inflamed, as if he'd not been in water recently.

“I'm trying to find a missing woman,” Duilio said. “One of your people, Oriana Paredes.”

Alvaro's eyes narrowed. “What is she to you?”

“My mother's companion.” That sounded insufficient, so Duilio added, “When she left the city she told me she would try to return, but I've heard nothing. Can you tell me where she is?”

Alvaro looked to the infante. “Are you certain of him?”

The infante nodded. “I'll vouch for him, Braz. He has reason not to bend to my brother's whims. Familial concerns.”

The ambassador's brows drew together. He stepped closer to Duilio and sniffed. “Ah,” he said, realization lightening his expression.

Duilio felt a flush creeping across his cheekbones. He had a selkie's smell, a hint of musk about him. Oriana had once told him she'd mistaken it at first for ambergris cologne.

Alvaro spun about and disappeared behind the screen. He returned after only a few seconds, a large book in his hands—an atlas. He set it on the fragile tea table and started flipping through the pages. “I was sent a message late this morning in the post,” he said, not looking up from his quest. “I haven't had any chance to get word to anyone, so your coming is a god gift.”

Duilio stepped closer. “You know where she is?”

The ambassador glanced up at him, one hand splayed on the open page. “The message was cryptic, but I'm certain it referred to her. She's been left on one of the Ilhas de Morte. Perhaps three days now. I can't even say she's still alive.”

Oh, God.
Duilio swallowed. “The islands of death? Where are they?”

The ambassador picked up the pen, dipped it in the ink, and using the coastlines as a guide, drew a pair of lines that crossed. Near that intersection he drew in a constellation of seven points, each marked by an x. “This string of islands. The note said she'd been chained there. I don't know when, exactly. It only takes a few days before one of us dehydrates.”

“Chained?” Duilio repeated, his breath short.

“Traditional execution,” the ambassador said, shaking his head. “It's a warning, I think. Not for anything she's done. A reminder to me not to talk.”

Duilio didn't care about the
why
. “How many guards are there on these islands?”

“None, although it's said a leviathan haunts those waters.”

Duilio shut his eyes, fighting for calm. He knew now the meaning of that sense of foreboding he'd had. The urge to run down the hallways and all the way down the Street of Flowers to the river itself screamed through his nerves, but the pale voice of reason in his head reminded him he needed to plan. He wasn't going to worry about the chance of a sea serpent showing up; the creatures preferred shipwrecks. They rarely bothered ships above the water. “So I simply go there and bring her back?”

“Yes,” the ambassador said in a guarded voice. “Do you have a boat? Are you willing to help me?”

He wasn't doing this for the ambassador. “Yes. Is there anything else I need to know?”

The ambassador set his webbed hand on Duilio's sleeve. “They
waited to inform me until they thought it too late for me to interfere. They didn't say which island she's on, but visiting them all will take a day or so, so pick carefully.”

Duilio closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but he was too upset now to get anything coherent out of his gift. Was she still alive? His gift sent a twinge that confirmed it, but his sense of foreboding didn't fade. “I can't waste any time. I have to go now. Your message, sir?”

The ambassador let go of Duilio's arm, ripped the page out of the atlas and handed it to him. “You are my message. Gods speed you.”

Hastily folding the torn map, Duilio cast a helpless look at the infante, who'd remained silent throughout. “What is the quickest way out of here?”

“Follow me.” The infante headed for the door, and then startled Duilio by running down the hallway, down the flight of stairs, through a side hall and down that to another set of stairs.

None of the guards moved to stop them along the way, not even when they reached what must have been the “secret” tunnel that led up from the entryway arch. Near the end of the tunnel, the infante came to a halt, and grabbed Duilio's arm. “Walk straight out. They won't question your coming out of the tunnel if you act as if everything is normal.”

Duilio almost walked on but remembered his manners. “Thank you, Raimundo.”

The infante touched his shoulder. “Who is this woman?”

Duilio took a slow breath, concentrating on not appearing winded. “A good question.”

The infante nodded and disappeared into the shadows of the tunnel. Duilio turned and walked out into the afternoon light. It was all he could do not to run from the palace.

D
uilio stopped at the house, hoping only to be a moment. Most everything he needed could be found in the sailboat, save blankets. It was times like this that he wished the older parts of the city had telephone service. He would like to have had Joaquim along but didn't have time to go looking for him. He'd sent his most reliable footman, Gustavo, to Coimbra a week ago, and the other, Luís, didn't sail. Perhaps he could take his young boatman, João, with him. He went to the library to leave a note for his mother—who was reportedly visiting a dressmaker—while Cardenas found blankets and his valet dug up a warm coat.

I'm going after Oriana,
he wrote. He pressed his lips together, trying to decide what else he could say to his mother that wouldn't upset her overmuch.

“What are you doing?” Joaquim stood at the library doorway, overcoat folded over his arm.

“What are you doing here?” Duilio asked in turn. “You're supposed to be at the station.”

“I came by to see if you needed me. . . .” Joaquim waved one hand vaguely.

“Actually, I do.” Duilio spread the torn map on the polished table and pointed to the series of marks Ambassador Alvaro had made. “Have you been out to these islands before?”

Joaquim looked over his shoulder. “I don't think so. Why?”

“I need to get out there. Oriana's trapped on one of them, but I don't know which, so I'm going to have to start with the closest.” Duilio noted the distance and bearing on the edge of the torn map with a pencil.

Joaquim remained silent a moment, then leaned past Duilio. He touched the second island in the string. “This one,” he said. “We should go to this one.”

Duilio glanced over when Cardenas arrived at the library door, blankets bundled in his arms. “I've sent Luís down to warn João you're coming, Mr. Duilio.”

Duilio took the blankets and pointed with his chin toward the table. “Grab the map.”

Joaquim didn't move. He surveyed Duilio's court garb. “Haste is the enemy of perfection. Go change into something suitable for sailing,” he ordered calmly. “Mr. Cardenas, can you ask Mrs. Cardoza to throw together food and water for us. We'll probably not be back until early morning at best.”

“We don't have time,” Duilio snapped.

“Yes, we do.” Joaquim set a firm hand on his arm. “João will be getting the sailboat ready to cast off. I promise we'd only be waiting on that end if we hurried now. Go.”

Joaquim's only being sensible,
Duilio reminded himself. Letting go a pent breath, he dumped the blankets atop the map and obeyed.

*   *   *

T
he winds
were
in their favor. Joaquim tried to engage him in conversation, but Duilio was too tightly wound to answer in more than monosyllables. He kept scanning the water, ignoring the birds crying out above them, the sparse clouds drifting about. Normally he would have enjoyed being out on the water, but now all he wanted was to find Oriana, and that made him poor company.

Once the sun set, Joaquim watched the stars and kept them on
course, making notes on a small pad of paper by the light of his lantern. Navigation was one of Joaquim's native skills, almost a gift. He never got lost. “We're close,” he said, pointing. “Stay on this course.”

Holding the tiller steady, Duilio gazed that way, searching for a landmark he could follow. The moon hadn't risen yet. Since the islands weren't large enough to appear on the map, they were hunting something small in a vast ocean, likely no more than rocky outcroppings. When something pale fluttered high above the level of the water, Duilio pointed. “What's that?”

Joaquim peered at the light-colored object. “Albatross.”

Duilio hoped the creature didn't move. He guided the boat closer and when they'd nearly reached the shore, he dropped the mainsail. Together he and Joaquim jumped into the water and tugged the boat high enough to keep it from slipping away into the water. The sailboat leaned to one side as the keel dug into the sand.

Duilio grabbed up his kit and lantern and headed onto the beach. The island looked small—smaller than the palace grounds. In the ring of light from the lantern, Duilio could make out a slope and, at the top of it, a pale form. He ran.

The albatross flew away with a heavy beating of his wings. A wooden post had been erected at the highest point of the small island, chains affixed to it, and curled about its base he saw Oriana's unmoving form. She'd managed to half bury herself under sand and small rocks, scant protection against the sun.

Afraid of what he would find, Duilio went to his knees beside her. Her pained breathing tore at his heart, but she was
alive.
He let go a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Her gills were distended and red, and in the lantern's light her pale skin seemed burned and crusted with salt. No, that was sand. White blotches stood out against the reddened flesh of the side that had been facing upward. He glanced up at Joaquim and dug the blankets from his kit. “Go soak these.”

Joaquim grabbed them and jogged back to the boat. Duilio
withdrew a canteen from the kit and, after a moment's consideration, dribbled water onto Oriana's distended gills. She shuddered, but the sound of her breathing eased. He picked free the stones wedged about her body, and then carefully turned her onto her back so he could rinse the gills on the other side of her neck. Her eyes opened but appeared to be filmed over, staring blindly upward in the darkness. A heavy metal cuff on one wrist was fixed by a chain to the post, but her other hand reached out toward him. She made a sound that might be his name.

“It's me, Oriana,” he told her touching her cheek. “It's Duilio.”

Can she even see me?
Surely she'd heard him. She seemed to relax at the sound of his voice. He irrigated the gills on the other side of her neck, and then held the canteen to her lips. She managed only a sip before beginning to cough. Duilio dribbled some water into her eyes, and by then Joaquim had returned with the soaked blankets.

Oriana whimpered as the wet wool touched her burned skin—a sound of relief rather than pain. Duilio tucked them about her carefully, talking softly to her all the while.

Then he dug in the kit again and retrieved the bolt cutters.

*   *   *

W
hile Duilio settled Oriana in the sailboat's tiny cabin, Joaquim shoved the boat away from the shore. The waning moon had risen, giving him light to work. He jumped aboard and paused, listening to the rising wind. It had shifted in their favor again. It pushed to the southeast now, so they'd be running with the wind. The sound of a sail snapping made him cast a glance at the mainsail . . . only to recall that Duilio had dropped it when they approached the little island.

A frisson of alarm ran down his spine. Where had that sound come from? “We need to get out of here,” he called to Duilio. “Help with the sails.”

Duilio didn't look like he wanted to leave Oriana's side, but he must have heard the urgency in Joaquim's voice. He started to haul
on the main halyard while Joaquim settled at the tiller. The small boat bobbed as the mainsail rose, flapping in the wind, and they began pulling away from the island.

“Can you hear it?” Joaquim asked. “There's another boat out there. No lights.”

Duilio stopped amid securing the halyard, his head tilting. “On the other side of the island.”

Clutching the tiller, Joaquim peered into the distant darkness while Duilio finished securing the halyard and raised the jib. He couldn't make out anything in the moon's feeble glow yet, but that boat had to be running without lights. That made it dangerous.

“We've got the wind,” Duilio said. “Run with it. They'll have to come around the island if they want to follow us.”

Joaquim let the mainsheet out and the boat leapt forward toward home. “What is a boat doing out here, anyway? We're out of the trade lanes.”

“What are
we
doing out here?” Duilio headed for the bow of the boat.

Joaquim shook his head and didn't answer. For several minutes, he concentrated on keeping the boat headed toward the Golden City, hoping they could get there without drawing any curious patrols. They wouldn't be able to explain away a sereia on their boat.

“I still hear it!” Duilio called back to him after a few minutes.

Duilio's ears were better than his. Joaquim held his breath. There, in the distance, he heard sails again.
More
sails this time. That couldn't be a small sailboat. It had to be a yacht or something even larger.

And it was faster than they were. The island was already gone from his sight, but this ship had come around the island and was gaining on them.
In pursuit.

Had Duilio been wrong? Did the sereia have a navy that guarded these infernal executions after all? Or were there pirates in these waters?

Joaquim weighed the chances of their dropping the sails and closing their lanterns to escape notice, but figured that the vessel already had its eyes on them. With white sails they would be easy to spot in the moonlight. He could try changing course, but in any other direction, they would lose speed.

Then something bumped the side of the boat, sending the stern of the boat heaving upward.

Joaquim grabbed at the rail with his free hand, heart pounding. “What the hell was that?”

Duilio slid back toward the cabin to check on Oriana. “I don't know!”

The thump came again, closer to the bow this time, sending water splashing about when the boat's hull slammed back down to the water's surface. There was no chance that was accidental.
A whale?

“They're coming!” Duilio yelled at him.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, Joaquim finally saw the other ship clearly. Light glinted on bits of metal and panes of glass. It was a shadow-wrapped vessel with sails of blue or black—a steam corvette, judging by the size and set of the sails. And it was closing fast.

A voice boomed out of the darkness, the words garbled in the wind.

But Joaquim had no doubts about the ship's intention. It was going to ram them, and this sailboat wouldn't survive. Duilio lifted Oriana out of the cabin and carried her to the rail, preparing to push her overboard. Joaquim couldn't blame him. Once in the water, she had a chance of living through this.

A gunshot whizzed through the night, followed by another. Duilio fell back toward the hatch atop Oriana, covering her body again.

The voice boomed out of the darkness, clearer this time, calling for them to surrender. The ship would be on them soon. He could make out the figurehead now, the gilt shape of a woman with a fish's
tail—a creature of myth nothing like the woman they were trying to save.

Jaw clenched, Joaquim kept his course. What could they do? They couldn't outrun a ship this size. They couldn't fight. And clearly someone on the deck of the other ship had his sights on Oriana, which meant Duilio couldn't get her overboard.

And then the terrifying sound of splintering wood filled Joaquim's ears. The other ship, almost atop them, began to list alarmingly to port. Joaquim shoved the tiller to the left, sending the sailboat slipping off in the opposite direction. The sails fell slack and the boom swung toward him.

The corvette began to right itself amid panicked cries on the deck, and then keeled to starboard when the wood-splintering sound came again. With so much forward momentum, it sped past them, far too close for Joaquim's comfort. Their horn sounded, and sailors ran along the deck, moving to strike the sails, dark forms that Joaquim could barely make out amid all the spray.

Joaquim dragged the tiller back, and the sailboat's boom swung to full reach. Whatever trouble the corvette was having, they had to take advantage of it. The sailboat sprang forward unhindered. More gunshots rang out.

“Look!” Duilio yelled from the hatch, pointing.

The moon's light struck the sinuous coils of a leviathan as it wrapped its pale length about the bowsprit of the corvette. The muzzles of rifles flashed. The creature didn't seem to notice the guns firing in its direction. Its muscular body twisted like the coils of a python, and there was a boom as the bowsprit snapped, followed by the crack and whistle of breaking ropes amid the cries of frightened sailors. The leviathan fell back into the water with its wooden prize.

Joaquim felt the boat bob on the wake of that motion. Their sailboat continued its run on the wind while the crippled corvette slowed, listing to one side. Joaquim watched it until the darkness enfolded it, waiting for his breathing to calm. He said a silent prayer
for the safety of the sailors on that ship and, for good measure, another for the health of the leviathan who'd stopped it.

*   *   *

U
nwilling to let Oriana go, Duilio asked Joaquim to sail the boat home to the Golden City. Joaquim unerringly led them back to the mouth of the river. They passed the lighthouses on the breakwaters before dawn and sailed the last few miles to the city. Joaquim pulled the boat directly up the stone ramps that led to the Ribeira quay. “Go on,” he said. “I'll moor the boat and stow the sails.”

Duilio didn't fight him. There would still be revelers out at the quay, even in the early hours. He climbed up onto the ramp and Joaquim carefully lifted Oriana into his arms so he could get her up to the quay. Then Joaquim cast off again to take the boat back to its normal mooring.

A breathless Duilio carried Oriana's blanket-wrapped form up to the quay and even found an oxcart—one that was waiting to unload cargo—willing to carry them back home. Without question, the driver took them into the mews area behind the houses on the Street of Flowers. When Duilio carried Oriana up the servant's entrance steps, his mother came running from the front of the house. Still dressed, she must have waited hours for their return. She rushed to Duilio's side. “Is she all right?”