Adler laughed harshly. “It wasn’t until I was lying in that bed that I realized she hadn’t said that. She never actually said she lost the child. She merely wanted me to go away, not to interfere. But I see it now. My child has to be alive still. That’s why Leandra let them take her back to the prison.”
That would give Leandra a reason to return to the prison. It made her actions more plausible. And it also offered an explanation as to why Madam Norton had been so helpful. She wanted to know the fate of the child. It was a family matter. Just as he was willing to interceded for Alejandro—a boy he’d just met—Norton wished to help her nephew’s child. Joaquim had no idea what he would feel in Adler’s place.
They’d assumed that Leandra was an agent of the Canaries. Given her actions, bearing the journal to Catalonia, it had seemed the logical conclusion. A very different interpretation of her actions rested in Joaquim’s mind now. Leandra Rocha was the victim in all this, and the theft of the journal—an article valuable enough to the Ministry of Intelligence to make it a bargaining chip—could be a desperate attempt to gain freedom not only for Alejandro but also another child, Adler’s child.
Leandra had been left chained on an island to die, but ended up on a ship instead. Joaquim had a very clear idea of what that ship would look like, a steam corvette with dark sails and a mermaid figurehead. It would have lain in wait until the sailors were certain that Leandra was too weak to fight them, and then the ship would have come to the island and taken her away.
What had happened to Leandra in the ten years between her supposed execution and her reappearance in the Spanish embassy? He’d been angry about the way she’d allowed Alejandro to be raised, but what if she’d had no choice in the matter? Alejandro had been born in that prison; Leandra might never even have held him in her arms.
“Mr. Adler, if you’ll stay here,” he said, rising from the chair.
“I’m too exhausted to go anywhere, I promise,” Adler said, waving one hand vaguely.
Joaquim went into the bedroom and pulled the door closed. Marina sat on the bed, Alejandro next to her as she read from the middle of the book. Her eyes lifted and her voice fell silent.
“I need to ask Alejandro a couple of questions.”
She marked the place in the book with her finger. “What is it?”
Joaquim came closer. “Alejandro, do you have a brother at the prison?”
The boy’s dark eyes seemed worried, but he shook his head.
“A sister?” he tried.
Alejandro shrugged in response.
“Did your mother tell you not to tell me you have a sister?”
The boy’s eyes darted about as he decided how to answer that, which was answer enough. He was an unusually reticent child, and Joaquim suspected that came naturally. But Alejandro was also holding back. How much did he know that he hadn’t told them because he’d been told not to do so? “It’s fine, Alejandro, you don’t need to answer.”
The tension on the boy’s features eased.
How far could he push Alejandro without breaking the boy’s trust? He didn’t want the boy to hate him, but he needed answers.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Alejandro, is your mother the only one?”
Alejandro’s eyes shifted to one side, hunting the answer on the coverlet. Then he shook his head.
“The only what?” Marina asked softly.
“You recall that when Duilio and I rescued your sister from the Ilhas de Morte, a ship tried to overtake us? I think the same thing happened to Leandra, only there was no one there to save her. Those men turned her over either to the Spanish government or to the Canaries. To someone who’s been controlling her ever since because she has children who can be threatened to ensure her compliance.”
Marina had paled. “You think there were others besides Oriana and Leandra?”
That he should be tied to two incidents ten years apart seemed unlikely. It was far more plausible that he knew of two incidents out of many. “I would lay odds that there were.”
Marina’s eyes glistened with tears. She got up off the bed and walked quickly to the bathroom. Joaquim looked to Alejandro. “At the prison, if you did something wrong, would they hurt your mother?”
After a moment, the boy nodded. Joaquim suspected the bargain went the other way as well, with punishment for his mother’s actions being taking out on the boy. That was why she’d left him behind in Barcelona. As long as Alejandro was safe, even in the dubious care of a beggar king, Leandra had freedom to act.
Marina emerged from the bathroom, her eyes reddened but composed now. “If Leandra Rocha needs the journal to buy the freedom of her child, we should let her have it.”
When weighing the safety of a child against solving a murder ten years past, Joaquim was inclined to agree. Leandra’s daughter had to take priority, even if it meant they never discovered who’d ordered the murder of Marina’s mother. And if there were others like Leandra, then any information she had could help free them. “I’ll go talk to Adler.”
He opened the door to the sitting room but stopped on the threshold, cursing himself for a trusting fool.
Marina’s handbag stood open, and Adler was gone.
So much for the man’s promise.
* * *
ILHAS DAS SEREIAS
Duilio puffed out his cheeks as Captain Vas Neves lectured Oriana again regarding her safety. It was a waste of breath. Oriana had made up her mind.
They’d spent the entire morning in the dining room, hashing out the information that Ambassador Norton had passed to them the day before, along with every other piece of intelligence they’d gathered. The captain, along with Benites and Costa, represented the guard contingent in this, although Costa had remained silent throughout the meeting. They were concerned with the mission itself, whereas Duilio and Oriana considered this a chance to make political headway with the government of the islands.
For her part, Inês sided with Oriana—perhaps the reason that Costa chose not to speak out. Although Inês had no information about the missing journal, she had retrieved her own personal journal from her mother’s house. It proved a fascinating source of information about the Spanish embassy and Madam Davila.
According to her notes, Madam Davila was fanatically devout and had even spoken of bringing Christianity to Quitos. Oriana snorted when Inês revealed that last tidbit, since the teachings of Christianity were not the best match for a female-dominated society, even the Virgin-centered version practiced on Amado. Madam Davila also required the domestic workers in the embassy to wear what she considered appropriately modest garb, a plain shirtwaist and skirt that matched the ones in the photograph of Leandra Rocha taken on the docks.
Another interesting tidbit was that the Spanish embassy never did business with the ships that came from Catalonia, as if Catalan captains could not be trusted to be loyal to Spain. Nationalism was a potent force in Catalonia. That made Leandra Rocha’s choice of the Catalan ship as transport back to Spain a telling one. Since that captain would not have been in contact with the embassy, a day or two might have passed before Madam Davila discovered that Leandra had left the island.
Inês continued to pore through her journal as they talked, one pointed nail skimming along the pages, her brow furrowed. Then she looked up. “I found it!”
“Found what?” Oriana asked, latching on to the distraction from the captain’s lecture.
“The woman’s name,” she said. “Evangelista. She told me her name was Lorena Evangelista.”
Duilio felt his own brow furrowing. “This is the woman you thought worked for the ministry. The one who was investigating the executions, right?”
Inês cast a brief startled expression his way, surprised he’d spoken out of turn. Then she took a deep breath and answered him anyway. “Yes. I wrote her name down because it was unusual.”
; Names like Evangelista or Anjos or Santos were unusual here. They were distinctively Christian, although it didn’t follow that the bearer of the name would be as well. “Did you know anyone in the ministry with that name?” he asked Oriana.
She shook her head. “No, but since I intend to ask about her, it helps to have her name.”
Vas Neves shook her head slowly, but apparently had given up arguing.
CHAPTER 29
BARCELONA
Joaquim tracked his sense of Adler along the Rambla, still seething. He was annoyed mostly with himself, since he’d been the one who’d trusted Adler alone. The man clearly thought nothing of breaking a promise. Joaquim had no doubt he could get the journal back from him without a fight. He could knock Adler over with a pillow right now. Marina followed, though, clutching Alejandro’s hand, and Joaquim wasn’t sure she wouldn’t resort to violence against the American.
They hadn’t gone far down the street when he felt he was close. Sure enough, Adler sat on a bench, one hand pressed to his ribs. Joaquim walked up behind him and set one hand on the man’s shoulder. “Give me the book.”
Adler didn’t argue. He must know he was too weak to do this alone. He withdrew the journal from inside his coat and handed it over. Joaquim flipped it open and glanced at the familiar writing, just to be certain. Marina caught up to him, her jaw clenched. Joaquim passed her the book and she quickly stashed it inside her handbag.
Then he saw that Alejandro was watching something behind them on the boulevard. Joaquim followed his gaze. Three of the red-and-blue-uniformed police stood under the striped awning of a store that sold cigars and cigarettes, peering down at a sheaf of papers. One glanced up and pointed directly at Alejandro. Joaquim stepped in front of the boy, hoping to block their view, but two of the Mossos, one thin and one stout, immediately began jogging toward him.
Joaquim shoved Alejandro backward. “Get back to the hotel.”
Alejandro didn’t argue. Hand atop his cap, he took off running, although heading farther down the street, away from the hotel. One of the Mossos glared at Joaquim, but the thin man took off after Alejandro, and after a split second of indecision, the other chased the boy as well.
“Stay here,” Joaquim told Marina quickly. He ran after them. He was not going to let them get a hand on Alejandro.
The stout man stopped and threw a poorly aimed blow at Joaquim’s head. Joaquim stepped under that wild swing and punched the man in the stomach as hard as he could.
In the corner of his vision, he saw Alejandro dash down a side street. The thin man slipped on a puddle as he rounded the corner but managed to stay on his feet. Abandoning the gasping heavyset man, Joaquim chased them and rounded the corner only a dozen yards behind Alejandro’s pursuer. He jumped over the puddle and discovered that the side street he’d gone down opened out into another plaza where tables waited for lunchtime diners. Alejandro sprinted directly across the square, losing some of his lead. The man almost had him when Alejandro doubled back around the fountain and dashed toward one side of the square where a handful of tourists were lingering over their coffee.
Joaquim pushed himself after them, aware he was breathing heavily. Damn, I need to run more often.
The boy reached the tables and darted between them. The thin man shoved his way through, knocking over a couple of chairs and setting a group of tourists abuzz, cursing in what sounded like German. Joaquim avoided them, following as Alejandro slipped through the arches at the edge of the square. The boy fled down along the darker hallway, and then dropped to the ground. He rolled under the wreckage of an old fruit vendor’s stand, pushed open the door of the building behind it, and disappeared inside. The thin man shoved the damaged cart out of his way and followed.
When Joaquim reached that door, he jogged inside only to find a cramped place that must have housed a restaurant. Alejandro was nowhere in sight, but the thin man was. He faced Joaquim, the expression on his narrow face murderous. “Who are you?” he asked in Spanish. “Why are you interfering with the queen’s business?”
Joaquim paused for a second, wondering if he’d heard that right. Spain had a king, not a queen, didn’t it? He stopped a dozen feet inside the room, breath puffing in and out. “What do you want with the boy?” he managed in his workmanlike Spanish.
“He’s the queen’s property,” the thin man spat out. “I’m taking him back.” His eyes narrowed as he surveyed Joaquim’s features. “You’re the Portuguese, aren’t you?”
Joaquim didn’t see any point in answering. He heard a sound at the door and cast a glance that way in time to spot Adler stepping over the threshold, wheezing horribly and clutching his side. Amazing. The man is trying to help.
Joaquim turned back to the thin man. “No child is property.”
“That child isn’t human,” he said with a laugh. “It’s a half-breed. A toy, no more.”
Joaquim huffed out an angry breath. If this man believed that of Alejandro because he was half sereia, he would feel the same about any child Joaquim might father himself. “That boy is . . .”
The sound of a scuffle at the doorway made him spin about. Adler struggled in the grasp of the heavyset man, eyes wide in panic. Then he cried out and slumped to the ground, clutching his side.
The heavyset man loomed over Adler, a bloodstained knife in his hands. “Well, what have we here?”
Oh, hell and damnation. Joaquim weighed his chances. He had no idea where Alejandro had gone. The thin man would be easier to take, but the heavy man was at the only exit he could see. If he made it out to the square, he could call for help and get Adler out of here. Joaquim ran for the door, but the heavyset man slammed it shut before he reached it. He swung his knife at Joaquim, and Joaquim tumbled back over Adler’s prone body. Then his pursuer was atop him, breath hot in his face.
“I know who you are,” the man said smugly, settling his weight more firmly across Joaquim’s chest. “No wonder you’re chasing the boy.”
With his arms pinned underneath him, he couldn’t even take a swing at the man.
“You’re Alejandro Ferrera,” the man said with a laugh. “Thought you’d be older. Not what they’d pay for your boy, but I suspect there’s a decent reward for you too.”
Joaquim nearly choked. They think I’m my father. “I’m not who you think I am.”
But the thin man had reached them. He produced a flask and handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to douse the cloth with the contents.
Joaquim struggled against his captor’s weight. “The American consulate general knows—”
The thin man knelt and pressed the cloth firmly over his mouth. The heavy man got off his chest, letting him breathe, but what he could breathe only made his head spin.
* * *
I need a watch.
Marina had no idea how long Joaquim and Adler had been gone. Or where they’d gone.
They should have discussed this possibility, how long she should wait for him if they were separated. Eventually she would just go back to the hotel. That was one place where he would know to find her. He’d told Alejandro to go there. How long should I wait?
She eyed the small café across the street where people were stopping for coffee, but not for lunch yet. The first thing after Joaquim returned, she was going to purchase a watch. It didn’t have to be a nice watch.
She sat there on the bench under the plane trees, watching the pedestrians streaming by on their way from one business engagement to another. A few cast glances her way, perhaps thinking she was lost. Marina took a few deep breaths and concentrated on appearing as if she belonged there.
Then someone in the passing traffic caught her eye. Marina’s mouth went dry as she watched a tall woman pass in front of the café. The woman herself wasn’t distinctive, but her blue-and-white-striped shirtwaist was. Marina remembered sitting in the train station at Madrid and thinking she should h
ave her new seamstress make up one like that. Had it been the same woman?
A clammy hand touched hers and she almost cried out before she caught herself. She glanced down to see Alejandro sliding onto the bench next to her, breathing hard. His damp fingers wrapped around her palm. “Alejandro? What happened?”
“I ran through the Romero Building, into the halls behind it.” He shook his head. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked upset, his eyebrows drawn tight with worry. “The Mosso stabbed the blond man and I ran out the back. I shouldn’t have left him.”
Her breath stilled and she swallowed, urgency suddenly filling her. Alejandro had left Joaquim somewhere, and Adler had been stabbed. “Show me where.”
He nodded, his small jaw firming. She wished she had a disguise for him, since she was taking him back to wherever his pursuers had gone. “Where’s your cap?”
“I dropped it.”
“We’ll get you another one later,” she said as she rose. “Just hold on to my hand and look like you belong with me.”
They ambled along the crowded street. Alejandro tugged on her hand when they reached a side street and whispered, “That way.”
The side street quickly spilled them out into a square, four buildings surrounding the court with a gallery of arches on each side. There was no other way out of the square that she could see. The boy led her under a row of arches and peered across the wide plaza where people were gathered to eat and talk under the shade of large umbrellas. Marina realized he was checking for his pursuers before they went any farther. “Is it safe?”
After a second’s hesitation, he nodded. He drew her along the corridor, turned the corner, and led her along that side of the square. Most of the doors that led inside the building were closed up, but one stood ajar, a ruined cart or wagon standing beside it.
Alejandro led her past the broken cart and peered inside the door. “He’s still there.”
Marina looked past him, thinking he meant Joaquim. Instead she saw Adler slumped on the dusty floor, blood pooled about his side. She pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle a cry of horror. That’s too much blood, isn’t it? She crossed herself, knelt next to him, set her handbag to one side, and turned him over onto his back. He grunted when his side hit the floor, and his head rolled senselessly.
The Shores of Spain Page 25