by Jessica Dall
And as always, the silence that answered sounded deafening.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Behind the chapel, after Matins.”
Father Moreno hadn’t given Cecília more direction than that, but there she was, standing outside in the middle of the night, waiting. She fidgeted with her dress, trying to keep the jumpiness from hitting her legs as every creak or gust of wind made her half expect Senhor Carvalho’s guards to come storming out to arrest her. Even the fact that John was hidden in the shadows no more than a few arms’ lengths away and no doubt would tell her if anyone were to come up behind her didn’t help dispel the nervous energy coursing through every inch of her. Every second felt like an eon as she waited for Francisco to appear. She glanced up at the half-moon in the sky, wishing it would tell her the time as she gave in to tapping her foot.
Finally, the back door pushed open, and a shape moved into the darkness. Cecília’s heart stopped for a moment before she realized it was too short to be Francisco.
“Father Moreno?” she whispered.
The tension visible in the man’s shoulders relaxed an inch. “Good, you’re here.”
She tried to see into the shadows behind him. “Is Francisco?”
Father Moreno leaned back inside, and a moment later, a man in a monk’s habit stepped through the door. Though his face was hidden with the cowl pulled far over his head, the new man somehow moved how Cecília remembered Francisco did.
She started to step forward before she realized she would box John off if she got too close to the building, and she rocked back again. He wouldn’t have been able to do anything while Father Moreno was still there, since the half-baked plan they had developed depended on John being able to catch Francisco alone and by surprise, stopping any real fight, but she couldn’t block the way. She tried to keep her voice level. “Cisco? Father Durante?”
The man pushed the cowl back enough for Cecília to see her brother’s face, thickly bearded, tanned, and hardened, but undoubtedly Francisco. Cecília couldn’t help herself—she threw her arms around his neck to hug him.
Francisco didn’t return the gesture, instead letting her embrace him for a moment before he caught her waist and forced her a few steps back. “Do you have the letter?”
Cecília pulled out the folded piece of stationary she had brought but held it back when Francisco reached to take it. The second he unfolded it, he would no doubt be gone. “Could we speak?”
“This isn’t the time, Cecília.” Francisco frowned. “Give it here.”
“I will after you talk to me.” Cecília took another step back, angling so Francisco would entirely have his back to John if he faced her head-on.
“Cecília, this isn’t a game,” Francisco said firmly.
“I didn’t think it was.” She glanced at Father Moreno. “Could I have a moment with my brother, Father?”
Francisco began to admonish her again, but Father Moreno lowered his head an inch and stepped back inside. Cecília could only pray he’d moved far enough away not to hear any scuffle. She should have assumed Francisco wouldn’t have arrived alone—one more for the long list of things she should have thought through when she’d passed the plan along to John earlier. If only she’d had the time.
“Please listen.” Cecília didn’t wait for him to finish his little lecture. “You’ve been gone. Senhor Carvalho has control of everything. The government, the Inquisition... if you try to move against him, you won’t survive.”
“I am doing God’s work, Cecília.”
She could nearly hear John’s eyes rolling in the darkness. “Father Malagrida isn’t the man you knew, Cisco. He’s gone mad. Yes, there’s no reason for the first minister to spare the man a thought other than pure vengeance, but that is on Senhor Carvalho’s soul. There’s nothing anyone else can do to help Father Malagrida.”
“I know Aloisio has been working to corrupt your mind for years, but don’t question the will of God, Cecília Madalena. Give me the letter.” He snatched the paper from her hand before Cecília could pull back again.
“Cisco.” She stepped closer.
“What is this?” Francisco’s eyes moved over the blank paper, his forehead creasing. “What do you think—”
John cut off the rest of the sharp question, locking his arms tightly around Francisco’s neck. Cecília’s stomach clenched as Francisco thrashed for a few seconds then finally went limp. John pulled Francisco back into the shadows then pulled out a rope.
“What did you do?” Cecília took a few hesitant steps forward.
“Choked him out.” John fished a knotted rag from another pocket then handed it to Cecília. “Get that in his mouth. He’ll come back around in a few seconds. I doubt he’ll be pleased when he realizes what’s happened.”
Cecília released a tense breath through her teeth but bent to tie the gag around Francisco’s head, the knot fitting unsettlingly well in his mouth.
Making short work of Francisco’s hands and feet, John hefted Francisco over his shoulder with a grunt then nodded for Cecília to follow him around the edge of the Real Barraca. As John had said, Francisco began to stir before they made it halfway to the door closest to the diplomatic corps’ hallway. Cecília saw his head move languidly, as though he were too dizzy to fully make sense of things, before something clicked. He jerked, making John sway to maintain balance, and mumbled words into the gag.
John gave another annoyed grunt as he shifted his grip. “Listen, Padre, there are a lot of people in this palace who want to do much worse to you than your sister here, so I’d keep quiet if I were you. We’re just going somewhere you can have a nice chat.”
Whether Francisco fully understood what was happening or not, he seemed to grasp the wisdom of not waking Heavens knew who in the palace and calmed enough for them to reach John’s room.
“Door.” John nodded Cecília forward.
She pulled it open, the soft scrape of the wood on the ground sounding like a gunshot to her panicked mind, but they somehow made it inside without incident. There were no Carvalho guards, no priests looking for Francisco, and no confused diplomats wondering what in the Good Lord’s name was happening in their hallway.
Unceremoniously, John deposited Francisco onto a chair he’d obviously had the foresight to move away from its desk. John shook his head as he rubbed his shoulder. “Either working here’s making me soft, or your brother’s heavier than he looks.”
Not certain what to say, Cecília ended up murmuring, “Padre is Spanish again.”
“I’m aware,” he said, leaving her to assume that dealing with Francisco again was bringing out John’s irritable side.
She could only hope he managed to control it long enough for them to get something done. She attempted to offer her brother a small smile but then caught the glare he was giving them, and she felt nearly frozen solid where she stood, just inside the door.
Apparently recovered, John bent to attach Francisco solidly to the chair with yet more rope he had gotten from Lord knew where before he met Francisco’s eyes. “Now, if I remove that gag, can I trust you’ll be calm and have a nice, gentlemanly conversation with your sister?”
Francisco’s eyes narrowed.
Cecília shifted awkwardly between her feet. “Take it off. Making a racket in this part of the palace would be worse for him than us.”
John glanced at her. “As you wish.”
Francisco spat the knotted fabric out the second it went loose enough. “You will burn in Hell! Attacking a man of God. You—”
“All due respect, if you lot are right, I’d be burning long before this.”
Francisco studied John’s face in the low light before recognition seemed to hit him. “You’re that Englishman. From the camp.”
John lowered his head—in assent or greeting, Cecília didn’t know. “I apologize it isn’t a more congenial reunion.”
Francisco’s jaw clenched, his eyes swinging to Cecília. “Is that what living with Aloisio has
done to you? Turned you into some Englishman’s whore?”
“I believe I said gentlemanly.” John’s shoulders tensed.
“Is it untrue?” Francisco returned.
“Mr. Bates.” Cecília sent him a warning look. What small chance she had at convincing Francisco to listen to her wasn’t going to be helped if he and John got into an argument. “Could I have a moment with my brother, please?”
John’s mouth pinched at the dismissal, but he didn’t argue. “Of course. I’ll be right outside.”
Cecília waited for him to leave the room before she forced herself to move closer to Francisco. “Cisco.”
“If you do not release me at once, you will burn in Hell along with that Protestant.” He somehow made the word Protestant sound like the worst insult of all.
Cecília swallowed, but it wasn’t the first time he had said something like that, and it was rather late to waver in her choices. She’d had to accept Hell as a possibility long before then, after all. “If I release you, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“There are things far worse than death, Cecília. I would think you would have realized that by now, as much time as you have supposedly spent in prayer. But no, this is Bibiana all over again. You with Aloisio and that Englishman, worried more about our petty lives than God’s will.”
“We’re all we have left, Cisco. You, me, and Bibiana. I’m supposed to just leave you to die?”
“If it is God’s will, I am more than willing to die. I’m certain Bibiana would feel the same. You were never called to the Church, so perhaps you don’t understand, but you were raised well enough to know what is right and wrong.”
I’m doing my best to figure that out. She pressed her lips tightly together. “Can’t you go back to Brazil? Your missionary work must have been—”
“I was called here, Cecília. Now let me go.”
“I can’t,” she said. “Not until you agree to go back to Brazil.”
“You question God’s judgment.”
“I question your judgment,” Cecília snapped.
“I am a priest.”
“And not the pope. You aren’t infallible.”
Francisco stared at her, shook his head, then closed his eyes, mumbling under his breath. It took a moment for Cecília to realize he was praying.
Grinding her teeth, Cecília sent her own glance skyward, but she had to imagine there would be no help coming there, though divine intervention was likely the only way she was going to change Francisco’s mind anytime soon. But she had managed to stop him from doing anything that night. What to do from there, however, was another should that she had missed. Piecing everything together like this isn’t going to end well.
With Francisco otherwise occupied, she slipped out the door.
John straightened from where he was leaning against the wall. “That isn’t a pleased expression.”
Cecília shook her head. “How long do you think we can keep him in there?”
“He’s not going to work those knots free, the way he was pulling on them, but there are a lot of men on this hallway. Someone likely will notice something amiss sooner rather than later. More than a day would be remarkable. And even that, risky, especially if the other priests are looking for him.”
She blew out a tense breath, having to agree with the assessment. Every minute he was in the Real Barraca was one in which they all risked their lives. “We need to get him out of the palace. Save São João interceding, I’m not going to convince him to go overnight.”
“Does your uncle have a house in town?”
She shook her head. “Nothing’s been rebuilt there yet. And he wouldn’t help, anyway.”
“His own nephew?”
“I asked him for help before I even knew Francisco wanted to meet. He said to tell Senhor Carvalho. Going to him is as good as going to the first minister.”
John pursed his lips slightly as he thought. “The docks?”
Cecília frowned. “What about them?”
“I told you, those ropes will hold him long enough to go wherever we need. If you put him on a ship back to Brazil, you don’t need to convince him. It takes, what, five or six weeks from here to Brazil? You’d have three months before he could even make it back once again, and that’s if there’s a ship he can immediately take once they dock. It would likely be longer. Surely, things will be more settled by then?”
She considered. It was hardly a perfect solution, but it was more time—and likely the best they could manage by themselves. “You think we could find a ship that would take a bound man aboard?”
“You haven’t spent much time down at the docks, have you, love?” The corners of John’s mouth tipped up, though the good humor didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Find the right hand to put enough coin in down there, and I’m sure you could find someone willing to do more than just transport your brother.”
Leaving Francisco to a man like that didn’t make Cecília feel wonderful, but even a bought man would be better than the first minister. “Do you have any money?”
John grimaced. “Some, but not much.”
Cecília didn’t, either. Living at court, she had never needed coinage. The crown, or perhaps the first minister, supplied most of what she needed, and she simply asked Tio Aloisio for anything else. She did, however, know where in his desk her uncle kept his purse. The commandment thou shalt not steal echoed through her mind, but if she already had a priest bound and gagged, it was likely a little late to go only halfway. Trying to ignore just how much penance she would have to do to begin to redeem her soul after everything that was happening, she gave a nod, much more solidly than she felt. “I can get some.” She glanced at the room. “Do you think you can stay here with Francisco alone and not have it turn ugly?”
“He was the one insulting you.”
Not entirely unfairly, all things considered. She didn’t bother getting into that discussion. “The last thing we need is to have someone find him because you two start arguing.”
“Worse comes to worst, I could always gag him again.”
The slight shrug said John was attempting to joke, but the thought only made the knot in Cecília’s stomach pull tighter. She did her best not to think too hard about it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
John nodded, his expression going serious once again. “Be careful. I’ll handle things here.”
With as much of a smile as she could manage, Cecília turned down the hall. As jumpy as she still felt, she only managed to keep herself from running with the thought of how much noise that would make. She couldn’t imagine Father Moreno would be bold enough to come down her hallway, with it being so close to the first minister’s office, but with the night half gone, their best chance of getting Francisco out of the palace unseen was quickly dwindling. She didn’t need to wake anyone else.
She barely breathed as she passed Senhor Carvalho’s room, her luck held out, and she made it to her door. With the curtain drawn over the single window by her uncle’s desk, the antechamber was pitch black as she entered. Shuffling her feet to make sure she didn’t knock into anything unexpected and wake everyone, Cecília made her way toward that side of the room. She pulled the curtain just enough to let in a sliver of moonlight and set to riffling through the drawers to find Tio Aloisio’s purse. In one of the lower drawers, her fingers brushed the velvet bag. She pulled it out with a jingle and emptied the contents to see what was there. It wasn’t a fortune—she imagined her uncle kept the rest of his currency somewhere more secure—but it was more than enough for passage to Brazil. She had to hope it was enough for passage and whatever bribe they would need to keep Francisco safe until he was well off the coast once again.
She had just begun to gather the coins as quietly as she could when the sound of a door opening made her freeze.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Tio Aloisio stood at the threshold of his bedroom, still wearing his nightcap, the candle in his hand leaving him in a small circle
of light.
Cecília’s mind raced, trying to think of an answer, but nothing came to her.
“Cecília.” He moved forward.
“I...” Her mind still spinning, she couldn’t think of anything better than the truth at this point. “I was meeting Francisco.”
Tio Aloisio stopped where he was, staring at her as though he couldn’t understand the words coming out of her mouth. “You know where he is?”
She nodded.
“And you’ve told Senhor Carvalho?”
“If I do, Cisco is dead.”
“We already had this discuss—”
“You ordering me about isn’t a discussion,” she snapped. “And you can stay entirely out of it, if you wish. We have things handled.”
“You and your brother?”
Cecília hesitated, realizing it likely wasn’t the best idea to mention John with her uncle already up in arms. “If you go back to bed and let me get on with things, he’ll be on his way back to Brazil by morning. No one else needs to know.”
Tio Aloisio frowned skeptically. “You’ve convinced him to leave?”
“I...” She swallowed, trying to make herself sound more certain than she felt. “I have things handled.”
“You’re playing with fire, Cecília.”
“And you don’t think that’s better than letting him burn at the stake?”
“Do you believe he would do the same for you?” Tio Aloisio continued the rest of the way forward. “Has he done anything in the past five years to make you believe he wouldn’t leave us both to hang if it suited him? You want to ruin us both to save someone who couldn’t care less about us?”
“He’s my brother.”
“Francisco is your brother. That man is Father Durante. He has made that very clear.”
“And if you let me go right now, neither one will have to die.” She held his eyes, trying to project more confidence than she felt. “I can do this.”
A flash of uncertainty, just enough to give Cecília hope, passed over Tio Aloisio’s expression. A heavy knock broke in before he could respond. Cecília’s hand tightened around the purse, but she otherwise found herself once again frozen in place. From Tio Aloisio’s suddenly tense stance, he felt the same. A second, louder knock spurred him into action. Pulling his bed robe tighter around him with one hand, he moved to the door and pulled it open.