The Shores of Spain

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  Marina’s father suddenly insisted on having a dozen new outfits made up for her, both for her work and for social calls, and while Marina knew seamstresses who might alter something ready-made, she hadn’t before patronized any who worked the custom trade. It was a daunting prospect, and she welcomed Ana’s offer to help with that quest. Ana had an excellent seamstress, one who made her tall frame seem less imposing. Certainly no one would ever call Ana’s attire less than elegant. Marina only hoped the seamstress could make her own petite stature seem more substantial.

  One of the Pereira de Santos footmen coughed discreetly at the doorway, and Ana gestured for him to allow in her guest. Marina was shocked to see that it was Joaquim. He’d never come to this house before. Not to see her, at least.

  Marina rose as Joaquim entered the sitting room, and he smiled in her direction.

  He wore a brown-checked suit today, not one of his newer ones. He looked out of place in this room filled with its expensive dark velvets and green silk draperies, but he refused to be intimidated by the aristocracy and their fine trappings. He inclined his head toward Lady Ana first. “Miss Pereira de Santos, how lovely to see you.”

  Marina hid her smile behind her gloved hand. She’d never heard him call anyone lady other than Lady Ferreira.

  “Inspector,” Ana said, meeting his eyes.

  Marina knew Ana well enough not to mistake her coolness as dismissive. Ana was exceedingly reserved, earning her the reputation of a wallflower in society. Part of that stemmed from her height, which convinced many young men never to approach her. She stood a finger taller than Joaquim, and he was above average. But Ana possessed a finely honed awareness of the character of others, and high standards for those to whom she chose to give her time. So while her stylish morning dress with its severe lines only served to highlight the tattiness of Joaquim’s suit, Ana would treat him as if he were the prince himself.

  “I’ll ask the butler if the mail has arrived,” Ana announced, and then walked past Joaquim without a further word.

  Joaquim crossed to Marina’s side and she craned her neck to gaze up into his face. He was tall, and she definitely was not. He stared down at his hands as if they held the answers, and rather predictably, his brown eyes flicked toward her hands. Marina held them still, hoping he hadn’t noticed she’d been rubbing them together. She often did that when her mind wandered. There was an enduring ache where she’d had the webbing between her fingers removed.

  Something has to be wrong. Why else would he have followed her here, to a place he’d never visited before? Why on a Monday morning when he should be at the police station and she would normally have been at work? How did he even know where to find me? “What are you doing here?”

  “Duilio wrote to me,” he said, eyes still lowered. “He needs my help, an investigation. I don’t know how long this will take, but I could be gone some time.”

  Some time? Marina gripped her hands together. “Do you have to go?”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  Marina wiped a tear from the corner of her eye before it fell. She was not going to cry. He hadn’t made her any promises. But she dreaded not seeing him for so long. “Is that all?”

  He shook his head then. “I need to tell you something . . .”

  Marina glanced up, startled by his hesitant tone. His eyes were shut, his lips pressed together, as if whatever he held in pained him.

  “There’s something you need to know about me. Something I haven’t told you.” He took a deep breath, and said, “I’m a bastard.”

  Marina sat down in the nearest chair, a large armchair in maroon velvet. What does that mean?

  “I’m actually the son of Alexandre Ferreira, not Joaquim Tavares,” he clarified.

  That made Duilio Ferreira his brother rather than his cousin. She could see that in Joaquim’s face. He and Duilio had the same long straight nose, the same square jaw and wide brows. She’d thought the resemblance between them remarkable for cousins. This is why Lady Ferreira wants him to move into the Ferreira house. He’s Alexandre Ferreira’s son and has as much right to share in the family’s fortune as Duilio.

  “Does Oriana’s husband know that?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Joaquim admitted, standing next to her chair.

  And that meant her older sister knew, yet hadn’t mentioned it. Why not?

  “I don’t care.” Marina pushed herself out of the chair so he didn’t have to lean over so much. “I don’t care who your parents were, Joaquim.”

  He threw a glance up at the ceiling. His lips remained pressed together, though, one of those expressions that reminded her so strongly of Oriana’s husband. Like he’s still holding something in.

  How hard had it been for him to say that to her? To admit aloud that he wasn’t who people believed him to be? It meant nothing to her—Joaquim was still the same man in her eyes—but clearly it meant a great deal to him. It bothered him, and she wished she knew the reasons for that. But that wasn’t what he needed right now. Instead of questioning him further, Marina took his hands in hers. “I will be waiting here when you come back. However long that takes.”

  He tugged one hand free and cupped her cheek. This close, she could catch the smell of his perspiration and his cologne—a fascinating and very masculine mixture. She laid her hands on his chest. When she gathered her nerve to meet his eyes, he was smiling down at her regretfully. He leaned closer and, fearing he might change his mind, Marina rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

  His mouth was warm against hers. The hand that had been cupping her cheek slid into her hair as his lips explored hers, softly at first, and then with more urgency. Marina pressed closer, her arms twining about Joaquim’s neck.

  She had waited so long for him to kiss her that she felt her heart would burst.

  One of his hands settled on the small of her back, holding her fast against him. She had never been this close to a man before, not in this way. It was thrilling. He was all heat and strength. He was something she’d never known before, but she wanted more.

  But then he pushed her away from him—not hard, just enough to make her stumble back a step or two. Marina stared at him, shocked, but his eyes moved toward the open doorway behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Ana walking back into the room, her attention on a handful of letters she held.

  Marina turned quickly to face her, hoping her dress wasn’t disarranged or her hair mussed. Her breath was coming too fast. I hope she doesn’t notice.

  Ana placidly looked up from her letters. Her eyes flicked from Marina to Joaquim and back, and her dark brows rose. Then she walked over to her desk and sat down without a single word. She fiddled with papers, opening drawers and hunting a new pen nib, evidently.

  Reprieved from an embarrassing discussion, Marina turned back to Joaquim. His breathing sounded stifled, tight, as if he was fighting to control it. At least I have some effect on him. “How are you going to get there?”

  “I’m taking the yacht.”

  Yes, the Ferreira family had boats. Her people’s islands weren’t on maps, and the sereia navy used their magic to divert ships around the islands. It was difficult to get into port there without the government’s permission. “How will you find the islands?”

  “I’m a witch,” he said with an apologetic shrug.

  Marina felt her mouth fall open.

  “Finding people is what I do,” he added. “That’s my gift, and Duilio’s easy for me to find because I know him so well. I’ll set my course by my sense of him.”

  She would have expected him to be a seer. That was what ran in the Ferreira family, wasn’t it? But she must be wrong.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked cautiously.

  “No. Given that I’m not human, I . . .” She wasn’t certain where she’d meant that statement to go. Instead she said, “Honestly, Joaquim,
I wouldn’t care if you were one of the otter folk and had been hiding a tail all along.”

  He smiled at the ridiculous image, but all too quickly his expression slid back to seriousness.

  Marina rubbed her hands together. How many more secrets does he have? Is it easy for him to find me? Was that how he’d known where to find her today? She didn’t dare press too hard, or he would stop talking altogether. “Are you . . . are you going alone?”

  “I’ll take João,” he said. “The yacht’s too big for me to handle alone easily. And I’m out of practice.”

  Marina caught her lower lip between her teeth. João was the Ferreira family’s boatman, and had a beautiful young selkie wife who would surely accompany them. “When do you mean to leave?”

  “In the morning. It should be a few days’ sailing with good winds.”

  She’d only traveled between the islands and Northern Portugal once, and that had been an indirect journey aboard a steamer. She had no idea how sailing was different. “Oh.”

  Joaquim cast a glance over at Ana sitting at her desk, the overseer of their propriety. Then he stepped forward and took Marina’s hands in his own. “When I return, we’ll talk then?”

  She nodded, not certain she could trust her voice. Joaquim wouldn’t have come to this decision lightly. He never made any decision lightly.

  He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them, his brown eyes on hers all the while. That one lock of hair swept across his forehead again. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Marina felt her cheeks burning, as if he’d said something far more salacious. She let his hands slip away from hers. There was something on his face, though, a faint line between his dark eyebrows or perhaps the set of his lips. Something was wrong.

  “Be safe, then,” he said instead. He walked away, no doubt trying to preserve her reputation in front of Ana or some other upright nonsense like that. Marina heard his voice in the hallway, speaking to the butler as the man let him out the front door. And then she heard the door close. Her heart felt empty.

  “Well,” Ana said, almost in her ear.

  Marina jumped and spun about to face the other young woman. “He’s leaving.”

  One of Ana’s slender eyebrows rose, her more usual wordless communication.

  “He has to go to the islands. Something about helping . . .” No, she wouldn’t reveal Joaquim’s secrets to Ana. “Mr. Ferreira asked him to come, and he doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone.”

  Ana drew her toward the Brazilian leather couch. Marina sat on the couch’s edge, rubbing her left hand with her right. All she could do now was pray for Joaquim’s safe return, yet surely . . .

  Ana handed her a square envelope. “This was left for you.”

  For me? Here? Marina took the envelope gingerly. When she popped loose the wax seal, the envelope opened to reveal a single playing card, the ten of clubs. The sender had scrawled a single sentence on the envelope’s flap. You must give this to Mr. Joaquim. Marina felt her brow furrowing. “I don’t understand.”

  Ana leaned closer. “Do you know someone who reads cards?”

  Marina shook her head. Her people didn’t think much of seers of any type.

  “If I recall correctly,” Ana said, “that’s a lucky card. It mitigates the ills of all the other cards in the reading.”

  Marina wished that were true. She would move the moon and stars to take away whatever was worrying Joaquim if only she could. “But how can I give this to him if he’s gone?”

  CHAPTER 8

  TUESDAY, 21 APRIL 1903; THE GOLDEN CITY

  The morning seemed an auspicious one to begin a journey, no matter the ominous predictions Felis had made. The sun shone warmly with no hint of fog. The Douro River sparkled, the dipper birds popped merrily in and out of the water, and even the cries of the gulls overhead seemed cheerful. Joaquim tried to wrap that positive air around himself. He’d hardly slept the previous night, balancing his desire to stay with his need to go. But after hours of wakefulness, he’d packed a bag and headed for the quay where the ship waited.

  Deolinda was the Ferreira family’s yacht. Commissioned by Duilio’s grandfather, it had languished for the last few years, moored with the Ferreira family’s smaller boats, the ones they regularly used. Alexandre Ferreira had sailed often, but his eldest son, Alessio, hadn’t shared his love for the sea. And while Duilio did, he’d always been too busy to take the yacht out. The only time this ship had been away from its moorings recently was when Duilio had taken Oriana to France shortly after their wedding.

  But careful maintenance by the family’s boatman, João, kept the yacht fit to sail. The lines were all sound and the hull clean. The yacht slipped from its mooring, its small engine chugging away, and shortly thereafter they moved through the mouth of the Douro River and onto the open sea.

  Rigging the sails took longer than Joaquim expected. João needed to explain everything to his wife, so Joaquim held his tongue. Aga was a selkie and had only been living among humans for half a year. Things that would be obvious to a child made no sense to her. It was clear, though, that she and João doted on each other. Aga listened to her husband’s every word, eyes wide.

  She was a beautiful young woman, with a pointed chin and a heart-shaped face that bore a resemblance to Lady Ferreira’s. Selkies often had that look about them. Her light brown hair fell over her shoulder in a simple braid and she wore garments that must be João’s, altered down for her slender frame. She didn’t seem particularly clever, but she followed João’s instructions perfectly, never setting one bare foot amiss on the deck.

  “No, like this,” João said patiently as he showed Aga how to attach the jib sheet using a soft shackle. He unwrapped the line from the clew and let her try again, smiling when she had it right. “Perfect. This way it will be easier to loosen it when we need to.”

  Joaquim turned away, leaving João to explain the rigging. He lacked the young man’s patience. And he had other work to do.

  He’d always thought his ability to find others was simple intuition until the previous fall, when he’d been forced to acknowledge it as witchery by Inspector Gaspar of the Special Police. The man had a special gift of his own, one that allowed him to look at others and see what hidden talents they possessed. Gaspar claimed that he rarely forced a witch to acknowledge his or her gift; he’d made an exception in Joaquim’s case, since his talent was needed at the time. Despite finding the man likable, Joaquim felt uncomfortable around him even now, months later. He couldn’t be sure Gaspar had told him everything, and didn’t want to be taken by surprise again.

  Now that he knew he had a gift, it was his responsibility to use it wisely.

  Joaquim closed his eyes and said a quick prayer, begging for guidance. He knew the general direction he had to go to find Duilio—west of Portuguese shores, of course. But when he concentrated, he saw in his mind a faint light, as if his brother held up a lantern in the far distance to guide him.

  After fixing that distant point of light in his mind, Joaquim checked the chart against his compass and drew a line straight out from their current position. The islands of the sereia must lie on that line somewhere. That course would take them north of Madeira, but he didn’t think they would have to go as far as the Azores. It would mean a night on the open ocean, possibly two. He hadn’t done that in years, but with João and his wife along, they could split the time on the deck.

  The wind caught the sails then, drawing them away from the coast.

  “Are we heading the right way?” João called back toward him.

  “Yes.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t any landmark to guide them at all. They were relying completely on his gift to set their course. Rank idiocy. But João trusted him, so they kept the ship on the same compass heading throughout the day.

  As the hours passed, Joaquim watched the waves under the bright sun with growing unease. It w
asn’t his meager seer’s gift warning him of anything. It was simple discomfort in being so far out at sea. He and Duilio had sailed to Madeira one summer as boys, and it had been as difficult then. He just didn’t like leaving home.

  Especially now, when he had so much to lose. He would have to hope and pray that Felis had been wrong.

  * * *

  ILHAS DAS SEREIAS

  The doorbells leading into the courtyard rang softly, and Duilio saw Captain Vas Neves at the entry archway, waiting to be acknowledged. He waved her in. “Captain, I’m glad you’ve returned.”

  She’d been gone since Saturday morning, bearing his letter to the American embassy in the capital. That visit to the main island had also given her time to advise their chief of staff regarding the changed situation and revise orders to her guards there.

  She nodded. “I came directly to you, sir, since I have a report on the Americans.”

  “What did they have to say?”

  “The ambassador set her people to investigating immediately,” the captain said, “rather than waiting for orders from her superiors.” Madam Norton, a clever woman in her midforties, had been American ambassador to these islands for over a decade. She had her own cadre of spies and locals willing to sell her information, an enviable position at the moment. Not only did the Portuguese mission face distrust from locals who feared a Portuguese invasion that would never happen, but they simply hadn’t had time to set up a network as the Americans had.

  “That’s good to know,” Duilio said, “but the two Spanish ships left port on schedule this morning, as did one of the English ones.”

  Vas Neves nodded gravely. “Yes. The ambassador informed me she had people looking into that possibility, sir. Of the woman leaving the islands.”

  He was glad Madam Norton had that much foresight. He could question the ship captains himself—on the docks, the humans didn’t mind a male dredging for information. Unfortunately, he couldn’t question the captains who’d already left. “Also good to know,” he said anyway.