That had to sting. “It happens to all of us at one point or another, Oriana. There are always people out there using other people to get their way.”
“She let Isabel die,” she said. “She made the choice. I don’t think I could ever do that.”
Ah, now he had an idea what was whirling around in her head. “Spies put their ideology ahead of everything else. One reason I’m not a spy. I don’t think I could do it either.”
She smiled then. “No, you would have tried to save Isabel.”
He’d never been good at keeping up a subterfuge when it violated his principles. “Speaking of saving others, we should probably head down to the quay.”
She picked up her brandy and tossed back the whole glass in one gulp. “I’m ready.”
They left the library. On the table in the hallway lay the two overcoats that he’d asked Marcellin to bring down. Duilio pulled one on, picked up the second, and held it so she could step into it. “Too big, I think, but it will keep you warm. It’ll be cold out on the water.”
“I’m going to be in the water,” she pointed out.
“The whole time? With whom will I talk?” he asked, allowing a plaintive edge to creep into his voice.
She rolled her eyes but let him help her into the coat. He hoped that look of exasperation meant he’d been forgiven any inappropriate ardor she might have perceived. “I can’t promise to make conversation, sir,” she said. “It’s not one of my skills.”
He couldn’t resist the temptation to tease her, even though he knew he should. “That only makes me curious to know what your skills are.”
• • •
At the quay where the lovely yacht waited, Mr. Ferreira inspected the bolt cutters that João had collected for him. They had a brief discussion and picked two out of the batch. The sun set while they prepared the rowboat to cast off. It actually served as the yacht’s lifeboat, so they had to lower it down by winch to the water before Mr. Ferreira pulled it around for Oriana to join him in it. With João’s help, she stepped from the floating marina’s planks into the rowboat and swiftly sat. There was a shuttered lantern at her feet, so she made certain to keep her skirts away from it.
“Where is your brother, do you think?” she asked delicately. She’d half expected to find a dozen selkies waiting for them. She was disappointed when they weren’t there.
“He’ll be here,” Mr. Ferreira said, using one oar to push away from the marina. “May be late, but he’ll show up.” He handled the oars easily, as if he’d done a lot of rowing in the past, and they were quickly away from the other boats clustered near the quay as darkness fell over the water.
The city proper was more than two miles inland, and The City Under the Sea had been constructed on the southern side of the river, between the large bend in the river’s path and the breakwater that shielded that area from the sea. Mr. Ferreira rowed patiently, taking them along the river’s northern bank and then heading across the lanes of river traffic at a southwesterly angle that would take them to where the houses floated. By the time they got close to the right spot, it was full dark.
Oriana disrobed quickly and slid into the water. She submerged long enough to identify the vibrations of another vessel—the commandeered patrol boat—moving slowly toward the breakwater. She fixed the direction in her mind and then returned to the rowboat. Mr. Ferreira helped her over the side and wrapped the overcoat back around her. With her directions, they soon located the patrol boat. A few minutes later the rowboat was tied behind it, sparing his arms.
“I haven’t rowed in a while,” Mr. Ferreira whispered ruefully, rubbing at his left arm.
“So, what do we do now?” she asked.
“We wait,” he said.
CHAPTER 30
In the darkness, the patrol boat floated along without lights, the rowboat drifting behind it on a towline. The moon hadn't risen yet. They were nearer the breakwaters now that sheltered the river from the open sea, well over a mile from the city itself. They could see the lights of the city still, but were closer to the dark Gaia shore with its high cliffs. Two lighthouses on the breakwaters marked the edge of the open sea.
The crew on the patrol boat had cut their engine, so the silence wrapped about them. They had been sitting there for a couple of hours now in the darkness but hadn’t yet seen a single Special Police patrol—or anything else. There were no gulls out here, no seabirds at all, as if they knew what was under the surface of the water. The absence of their cries was eerie. In the darkness it was as if the two boats had fallen off the edge of the earth.
Oriana kept one hand in the water, feeling the currents in her webbing. Her clothes lay in a neat pile near the prow of the rowboat. She hadn’t seen the need to don them again, since the borrowed overcoat kept her warm enough and hid the paleness of her skin.
The selkies Aga had gone to fetch never arrived, which meant that the freeing of the house was Oriana’s task alone. She could do it. She wouldn’t let herself think otherwise.
She could barely make out Mr. Ferreira’s face a few feet away. He’d kept the lantern shuttered to prevent anyone from seeing them, and true to his earlier words, he’d talked with her. Mostly trivial things, such as what books she liked, her favorite food, whether or not she cared for Mozart or Alfredo Keil. Had she read Eça de Queirós? Castelo Branco? Dickens?
He was trying to set her at ease, a kindness since she was so tense. “Is it my turn or yours?” she asked.
He laughed softly and whispered, “It was your turn, but you wasted it by asking that, so now it’s my turn again. What happened to your father, Oriana? You told me he was exiled.”
He’d taken to addressing her by name. It was a step further than simply using the familiar person, more intimate. She liked that. She took a deep breath and considered his question. Then she answered honestly, no matter how terrible it must sound. “He lives in Portugal now.”
She opened her mouth to explain, but paused.
She sensed movement in her webbing. It was large—a ship, its screws churning the water. With the pitch-blackness about them, she couldn’t see the approaching ship, but could feel its motion and hear the ripple of its wake. A shiver ran down her spine. She touched his hand to get his attention; he could see even less in the darkness than she. “It’s in that direction. No lights.”
He lifted one shade of the lantern, letting off a pair of brief flashes, the signal agreed upon with Gaspar. A single flash showed in response. They’d gotten the message.
The yacht continued on past them in the darkness as he cast off the towline. There were only a couple of faint lights on the yacht’s deck, but Oriana could make out the arm of a crane affixed to the deck. A large, boxy shape hung from the crane, a house all ready to drop into the river. A chain draped from the underside of the hanging house to the deck of the yacht. It would have a weight attached—she knew that from the journal—even if she couldn’t see it yet. When they got to the right spot, they would drop the chain, then lower the house into the water from the crane. The weight would drag it downward, and their diver—Silva’s selkie—would guide the weighted chain to the right spot and attach it to an anchor set on the silt-clouded riverbed before the first house had been put in place.
It was eerie to see the instrument of Isabel’s death.
They waited in silence a while as the ship found the right position, apparently being directed by the selkie, much as she’d led Mr. Ferreira to the patrol boat. Mr. Ferreira rowed quietly, moving them closer to the yacht.
Then Oriana heard the rattling of chains. The sound sent a cold wash of remembered fear into her stomach. She dropped the coat she wore and slid into the water, naked save for the knife strapped to her wrist. She reached over the edge of the rowboat to grab the bolt cutters from the bench.
“Be careful,” Duilio told her.
She submerged in time to feel the house h
it the water, its chain dragging it down. As she got closer, the water was full of death. Oriana breathed it in, felt it in her gills and tasted it in her mouth, the flesh of dozens of innocents rotting away in this slow eddy of the river. The taste of corruption in the water sent the terror and pain of that night surging back into her mind. Isabel was among those whose bodies were slowly decaying in this watery graveyard.
Isabel had died in this place, but she hadn’t. Oriana was going to make use of that.
She forced herself on, swimming awkwardly with the heavy tool in her hands. Her large eyes took in more light than a human’s, but in the moonless dark, distorted by the water’s movement, the house was little more than a blur.
Oriana reached the floating house and immediately swam downward to locate the chain. She brushed against columns, a triangular pediment—definitely the Carvalho house. She couldn’t hear voices within, so the captives might not even have woken yet. Perhaps they would be spared the worst of the terror.
She located the chain. It was taut, which told her the selkie must already be pulling it downward to affix the chain to the weight on the riverbed. Oriana wrapped one leg about the chain for leverage and worked the bolt cutters into position. She pulled on the long handles as hard as she could, but couldn’t get them to bite through the chain.
And then a body slammed into her from behind, breaking her grasp on the chain. She managed to keep her grip on the cutters and swung them slowly through the water at her attacker. It was the man from the boat that night, the one who’d chased her through the water and tossed her into a rowboat with Silva—the selkie.
Set free, the house began easing back upward, fighting the weight pulling it down. It wouldn’t last. Water was filling the house, and that weight would force it back down.
The selkie grabbed the bolt cutters and ripped them from her grasp. Then he swung them toward her head.
• • •
Duilio listened to the sounds over The City Under the Sea. He’d heard the slap of the house hitting the surface of the river. He dropped his own anchor over the side and held his breath. How long would it take before the house sank far enough to be safe from stray bullets? Should he dive in and help Oriana? Or would he be in her way?
The rowboat rocked suddenly when Erdano levered his bulk up onto the side of the boat. “Am I too late?”
Duilio let out a frustrated sigh. Erdano had probably been playing in the water all this time. “Miss Paredes needs to cut the chain on the floating house they just put in. She’s got a tool to do that. Can you go help her?”
Erdano nodded and slid back into the water, leaving Duilio in the dark again. He could only pray that between them, Oriana and Erdano could cut that chain.
The patrol boat was waiting for the yacht to move away from the vulnerable house. Duilio could make out one lantern on the deck of the yacht, alerting him to its position. Its first task done, it began to move, likely hunting the waters over the Amaral replica so it could retrieve it. Where would that be?
The crew on the patrol boat opened their lanterns suddenly, and Duilio saw the yacht had changed course, heading directly for them. With their engine cold they had no hope of getting out of the way, so the patrol boat blew its horn. Barely visible, the yacht changed course again, now trying to pass behind the patrol boat.
Oh, God! Duilio made a panicked grab for the anchor line, but before he could cast it off and move away, the yacht caught the rowboat broadside.
• • •
Oriana pushed out of the way of the selkie’s wild swing. In the water everything moved more slowly. The cutters passed within inches of her face and she kicked farther back, her heart pounding hard.
And then another body hurtled past her in the water, slamming into the selkie’s form. The cutters spun out of his hand, immediately sinking. Gasping in water, Oriana dove after them, pursuing them down toward the riverbed. She would lose them in the silt if they hit the bottom. She made a desperate grab and managed to catch one handle.
She headed back up toward the surface. She had no idea where the selkie or his attacker had gone. She took in a large breath, relieved to be above the clouds of silt near the bottom. She located the chain and followed it upward. Would she be in time?
She could see the house itself then, so she grabbed the chain and wrapped her leg about it again. She hauled the cutters around, positioned them, and clamped them down on the chain, but the blades didn’t cut through. Damnation! She wasn’t going to give up. She ground her teeth together and tried again.
Then a warm body enveloped hers, two large arms coming around hers and grasping the handles of the cutters. The taste in the water told her it was a selkie. His muscular arms strained, and the cutters sliced through the chain. The house was free! It began to float upward, turning now that it was loose, like a fish righting itself in the water, which must be terrifying for the victims inside.
Oriana shoved at the warm body holding her. The selkie released her, although one of his hands squeezed her left buttock before he swam away. She was too relieved to bite him. She let go of the cutters and swam after the rising house, trying to guide it upward. Gods grant that those inside were still alive. She broke the surface only a second after the house did and bobbed in the ripples there. Her throat opened and she tried to catch her breath.
Lights told her where the patrol boat was, and the yacht. Voices carried across the water, a spate of urgent cries. She didn’t see the rowboat. A gunshot sounded, but she couldn’t tell from which vessel. The house, now on one side, began moving in a stately fashion toward the patrol boat, and she realized the annoying selkie—it had to be Erdano—was propelling it in that direction.
She treaded water. Where had the rowboat gone? She felt cold from more than just the night air. She twisted about to look the other direction, thinking perhaps she’d mistaken where he’d been. He wouldn’t just leave her out here.
The floating house banged against the side of the patrol boat, and with shouting that carried over the water, the crew reached down with hooks and a long metal pry bar to break into it. The selkie moved away, his dark head coming in Oriana’s direction.
“Go after the yacht!” she yelled at him. “Follow it!”
He jerked about in the darkness and slipped under the water again.
She swam closer to the patrol boat. A bright flash of light momentarily blinded her. They must have found a photographer willing to bring his precious gear out on the water with them. She blinked to clear her eyes and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Where is the rowboat?”
In the chaos on the deck of the patrol boat, someone must have heard her. “Down,” a voice called back—Inspector Gaspar. He yelled something else. “. . . yacht hit it. Go after . . .”
Oriana’s heart slammed against her ribs. The yacht had hit the rowboat? Oh, gods, no!
None of the humans would be able to see in this water. They would never find him.
Another explosion of light came from the deck of the patrol boat. Oriana clamped her eyes closed, took a large breath, and submerged again. She swam down a dozen feet and then held her depth, her fingers spread wide to sense movement. Frantic tremors came from above where the patrol boat and the floating house banged against each other.
There was nothing on her own level save for the motion of the tide. No, there was something . . .
Below her she sensed a struggling movement, like that of a dolphin caught in a net. He was still alive! Oriana whirled in that direction and tracked the source of the movement.
She saw a flash of whiteness far below—his shirt. The current was pulling Duilio out to sea, while an anchor was dragging him lower each second. Could he hold his breath longer than a human?
She pushed herself downward until she reached him. His leg was caught in the anchor’s rope. Oriana wrapped her arms about him and pressed her lips to his, giving him the mouth
ful of air she held. It surely wouldn’t be enough. She had to get him loose.
She found the rope tangled about him, caught in the wool of his trousers. It must be crushing his leg, the weight of the anchor and undertow pitted against his will to survive. She patted his knee to reassure him and began to saw at the taut rope with her knife. After a moment only a thread was left, and then that thread snapped.
Unanchored, Duilio began to drift upward through the dark water. With a thankful prayer to whichever god was helping her, Oriana swam up after him, wrapped her arms about his body, and kicked hard.
When they broke the surface, he gave a ragged gasp. He choked and coughed while she supported him. “Be still,” she said, tears stinging her eyes now that he was safe. “Let the water hold you.”
There was panic in his eyes, visible this close. “Where are we?”
He couldn’t see the nearby shore, she realized, and had no innate sense of the direction. Following the lights of the city would mean swimming across the river, more than a mile against the current, a foolish choice when the unlit Gaia shore was closer. They’d drifted far from the patrol boat, certainly far beyond the crew’s ability to see two people stranded in the water. She could hear its engine chugging away. They must be heading back toward the city to get the victims to a doctor. At least she hoped that was the case. They had trusted her to save Duilio.
“I know where the land is,” she reassured him. “Here, let me get this coat off you.”
She could tell he was fighting to keep calm, his breathing still ragged. She worked the buttons of his coat, the wool swollen with water and stubborn. Once she finally had it undone she pushed it off his shoulders. Freed from its weight, he seemed better able to stay afloat. She tugged off his sodden tie, just to be certain he could breathe.
“I’m going to tow you to shore,” she said in his ear. “Don’t fight me.”
He coughed again but nodded, so she wrapped one arm about his chest and began hauling him toward land. He let her carry him most of the way, but after a time insisted on swimming on his own. It wasn’t far. Even so, it seemed to take forever.
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