“Because of their belief?”
“Yes,” Marcos said with a short laugh. “La Reyna cannot kill him. She’s tried. Her mother before her tried. Yet every day he grows stronger because the prisoners believe.”
“Then why does he need help to escape at all?”
“In time he’ll be strong enough to defeat the iron holding him, but that may be a hundred years from now, and Leandra will be dead. That’s why he wants to help us escape. She is his favorite, and he wants to save her.”
There was no saving her from the sickness that had already taken her gills. Joaquim said as much to Marcos.
“The Vilaró means to take her away to somewhere where she won’t be sick any longer. She might live forever there, he says.” Marcos crossed himself. “It’s wrong to want to escape heaven, but she’s a pagan anyway.”
* * *
TERRASSA
Marina felt far better when she woke. She’d actually gotten a decent night’s sleep. The mirror in the bathroom showed her that the blow to her jaw had produced only a yellowish bruising. It wasn’t noticeable if one wasn’t looking for it. She pinned up her hair and faced her reflection squarely. Even though yesterday had been a failure from one end to the other, she felt hopeful about today.
So I don’t have the ruthlessness to be a blackmailer. I don’t have the physical strength to fight off attackers without resorting to my call, meager though it is. I don’t have the pragmatism to do things I don’t agree with.
She pinched her cheeks to get back some of her color.
What I do have is persistence. I will keep asking for help until I have my husband back. As long as it takes.
Today she would send another telegraph and ask for Lady Ferreira’s help. Then she would go to the Portuguese consulate in Barcelona and ask for their help. And then she would go to the Americans again. And if she must, she would go to Lleida itself and start over there. She couldn’t afford to be arrested—that would leave Alejandro alone—but anything she could do short of that, she would.
Marina headed back down the quiet hall to the room where Alejandro was still sleeping. She lightly touched his shoulder. His eyes opened wide and he tensed.
Will he ever get over that? “It’s me,” she reminded him.
His shoulders sagged. His straight hair was disordered. “I’m awake.”
“I’m going to go down to the church,” she said. “I won’t be long. Would you prefer to stay here?”
He shoved the blanket away. “No. Don’t go without me.”
Was that because he had some allegiance to the Church? If she asked him, he would probably say yes, whether or not it was true. Or did he simply not want to be left alone? “Why don’t you go down to the water closet and then get dressed? I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”
Rubbing at his eyes, Alejandro tumbled out of his bed and headed barefoot down the hall.
In the kitchen Marina found her industrious hostess preparing bread for the day. She asked for instructions on how to get to the church, and Mrs. Sala offered her son as a guide.
When Alejandro appeared a moment later, clothes donned hastily enough that he’d not tucked in the tails of his shirt, Marina took a moment to straighten his hair and then they both followed the tall young man to the church. Along the way he described every building they passed, keeping up a constant stream of good-natured chatter, a stark contrast to Alejandro’s guarded silence.
The old church turned out to be three churches built close together, two ancient and plain in golden stone, and the third more modern, but still old. It was to that one that the boy led them. Since early Mass was to begin shortly, Marina quickly made her way over to the stand of votive candles that waited under a statue of the Virgin. She lit a candle and knelt to pray for the Virgin’s intercession in securing Joaquim’s freedom. She added Alejandro’s mother and sister to that prayer, and then rose, surprised to find Alejandro kneeling next to her. He rose with her and followed her silently from the church. The Sala boy ambled ahead of them.
There were others coming to early Mass, down the street while they walked up it, but Marina didn’t think they would overhear. “Did your mother take you to Mass at the prison?”
Alejandro shook his head. “The sirenas had Mass, but prisoners don’t go.”
Marina pursed her lips. It seemed harsh to exclude the prisoners, but it was a prison, after all. “Would she want to go if she could?”
Alejandro’s brow rumpled, and Marina wondered if his mother had ever discussed her religious leanings with him. Perhaps not, given how little time they’d spent together. He shrugged then, confirming that.
“What do you think of Mass?” she finally asked, hoping to get some idea of what was going on inside the boy’s head.
Instead of answering, Alejandro pointed ahead of them. Father Escarrá strolled in their direction. The priest waved when he saw them and stopped to greet them. “Mrs. Tavares,” he said, “I was coming to find you two.”
“To find us?” Marina took Alejandro’s hand. “Why?”
“The marquesa would like a word with you,” he said. “I’ve brought her to the house, and Mrs. Sala told me you’d gone down to the church.”
Marina groaned inwardly. She’d admitted to the priest that she’d been in the wrong. She supposed she could say it to the old lady’s face too. “Very well, Father.”
Along the way back up to the house, the priest asked whether she’d been satisfied with her accommodations the previous night, and she was happy to tell him of the wonderful meal the Sala family had shared with them. He glanced at Alejandro a few times to see if the boy agreed, but Alejandro kept his opinion to himself.
When they reached the house, they found the marquesa enthroned in the middle of the humble sitting room like a flustered black crow. She clutched an ebony cane in her hands this morning. Her dark eyes looked just as angry as they had yesterday, so Marina suspected this was going to be an unpleasant interview. Mrs. Sala stood to one side, her hands wrapped in her apron and her downturned features strained.
Marina opened her mouth to apologize, but the marquesa spoke before she could get a single word out. She thumped her cane on the wooden floor and snapped, “So, what has the boy done to get himself thrown in a prison?”
At least the woman is speaking Spanish this morning. Marina shot a glance at the priest, who gestured that she should answer. “We came to Catalonia seeking a mother and son who were imprisoned for political reasons. The mother was imprisoned again the day before we arrived, but Alejandro was still free. The Mossos spotted him, and Joaquim tried to prevent them from taking him. They grabbed Joaquim in Alejandro’s place.”
The woman made a harrumphing sound. “Why would they take my great-grandson in this boy’s place?”
“I don’t know,” Marina confessed.
“And how do you know where they’ve taken him?”
“We’re assuming they took him to the same prison as Alejandro’s mother, in Lleida.”
The woman mumbled something under her breath. “Lleida, you say? That’s the Unnaturals Prison. Why would this woman be there?”
She couldn’t see any way to answer that without giving away that Leandra, and thus Alejandro, wasn’t entirely human. “Mrs. Sala, is there any way Alejandro could eat breakfast? He’s probably starving.”
Her hostess looked relieved to have an excuse to escape the marquesa’s regard. She quickly swept Alejandro from the sitting room and drew the door closed behind them. Father Escarrá remained, politely waiting.
Marina took a second to gather her wits. This could end up with her being thrown in prison herself. “Joaquim and I came here as a favor to the ambassador of the Portugals to the islands of the sereia.”
The woman’s white eyebrows rose. “You want me to believe that my great-grandson has friends in high places, do you?”
“He does,” Marina said softly. “He regularly visits with Prince Raimundo of Northern Portugal. They are friends, as strange as that may sound to you. Six months ago the prince’s elder brother was assassinated by a representative of the Spanish throne. That woman left a trail implicating the government of the islands of the sereia, but they were able to identify her as a Canary instead, a sirena from the prison in Lleida.”
The marquesa glanced at the priest, who nodded slowly. Then she pressed on. “You’re saying a fishling killed the Portuguese prince? Wasn’t it some botched surgery?”
Marina licked her lips. She wasn’t going to argue over the insulting term. “She orchestrated the plot. Her parents were caught up in the first round of executions after the ban in the Golden City, and she wanted revenge.” She wasn’t going to explain the whole mess to the marquesa, just the political aspect of the conspiracy. “That is what ultimately sent us here. We were to determine who funded her actions.”
“But on what grounds did they throw my great-grandson into that prison?” the marquesa asked, thumping her cane for emphasis. “Is he a witch?”
“Of course he is,” Marina said, growing exasperated. “He finds things. That’s why he was sent to Barcelona in the first place. To find the woman.”
“Marquesa,” the priest said, setting a gentle hand on the old woman’s shoulder, “the less said, the better.”
“Haven’t you been listening, Father?” The marquesa pointed her finger at Marina. “That one has more to hide than either of us. We can always deny, but that one can’t.”
Marina noted that the woman said we. The priest had hinted there was something unusual about his family; he must also be a witch like the marquesa, his talent hidden. Given the way the marquesa kept looking to him for verification, Marina wondered if he might be a Truthsayer. “That is true,” she said softly. “I am not human.”
“And did my great-grandson know that before he married you?”
Marina felt calm settle over her like a blanket. Nothing she said from here out could make this worse. “Of course. Joaquim has known since he met me.”
The old woman made a harrumphing sound again.
“He believes in equality,” Marina said, “regardless of kind or station or religion. He always treated me as if I were the same as any other woman of his acquaintance, even when it was illegal for me to live in the Golden City.”
“Did you bewitch him?”
“No,” she said. “He courted me completely of his own choice.”
The marquesa’s nostrils flared, betraying anger. Or perhaps it was annoyance. Or distaste. She probably didn’t approve of Joaquim, an unacknowledged scion of her line, taking a nonhuman for his wife. If the old woman was going to denounce her, she would do it now.
The marquesa pressed down on her cane to rise. She beckoned over the priest with her chin and he offered his arm to steady her. “We’ll meet you at ten at the station, girl.”
Marina rose quickly. “At the station?”
“If we’re going to Lleida, I’m not going to rattle my old bones in a carriage all that way.” The marquesa began to stomp and clomp her way out of the sitting room. “Just make sure that boy looks presentable. I don’t travel with ragamuffins.”
Marina stood unmoving, unsure whether she’d just agreed to something, and if so, what.
CHAPTER 40
ILHAS DAS SEREIAS
The first messenger to arrive that morning bore good news: a written guarantee from the sereia government that the mission was welcome to return to Quitos. After some deliberation, it was decided that Captain Vas Neves and their chief of staff would oversee the move back to the embassy grounds there.
The second messenger arrived a couple of hours later, one of those American embassy guards in his dark jacket and white trousers. He spoke briefly with Captain Vas Neves and left the message in her hands.
“Madam Norton asks that if you decide to take any action,” Vas Neves said to Oriana, “she would appreciate being advised. The lieutenant told me they’re busy packing up to return to the embassy, or Madam Norton would have come herself.”
Oriana opened the sealed envelope, drew out a sheet of paper, and began reading. Duilio watched her, visibly forcing himself to be patient. Oriana read on, a sick feeling growing in her stomach—not morning sickness. When she finished reading, she looked at Duilio. “Joaquim has been taken prisoner, and Madam Norton’s nephew was gravely injured in the process.”
Duilio’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Taken by whom?”
Oriana sighed. “She says they don’t have much information at this point. Pigeons, remember?”
One of his eyebrows rose, and he made the sign for frustration. “What about Marina?”
“Marina has the boy,” Oriana said, one bit of good news. “She was told to wait at her hotel while the Americans tried to find him.”
Oriana didn’t know what Marina could do in this situation, but her sister had never been one to follow orders.
“We still have almost two weeks left of our retreat, don’t we?” Duilio ran fingers through his hair. “I’m going to take Costa and go talk to the captain of the Tesouro.”
Oriana wasn’t sure of the implications of leaving her post, but what was the worst the Foreign Office could do? They didn’t have anyone trained to replace her yet, and even if they did, the adoption papers had gone through. They could just return to this house and take up their own lives again.
And she no more wanted to leave Marina on her own than Duilio would wish to abandon his brother. Or brothers. So she nodded, and Duilio walked out of the courtyard to find Costa.
* * *
TERRASSA
The train to Lleida was scheduled to leave the station at half past ten. Marina waited patiently, their single bag at her feet. Alejandro stood at her side, wearing his cleanest shirt and trousers. Marina had left double the payment her hostess asked, along with a quick prayer that God would watch over the Sala household.
A few minutes before the train was set to leave, Father Escarrá appeared, accompanying the marquesa along the platform. He carried a bag much larger than Marina’s own that must belong to the old woman. The black-clad marquesa plunked her cane on the platform as she walked, swiping at other passengers’ feet to get them out of her way. Presently she stood at Marina’s side.
“You’re a tiny little thing. Did your mother have trouble birthing children?” the marquesa asked, gazing speculatively at Marina’s hips.
Marina felt her face flush. “No, Marquesa, not to my knowledge.”
“Hmmph.”
Perhaps the marquesa hoped she’d die in childbirth, leaving Joaquim free to marry someone more suitable, someone human. The conductors opened the doors to the first-class car then, and after a nod to Marina, Father Escarrá helped the old woman up the steps. Marina handed her bag to a porter and followed with Alejandro.
Soon they were all ensconced in a first-class compartment, Marina and Alejandro sitting facing the back of the train and the priest and the marquesa across from them. Marina was relieved to see that the old woman had brought a pillow to make herself comfortable. The priest draped a large shawl over the marquesa’s shoulders once she’d settled, and she seemed, as far as Marina could tell, to drop immediately off to sleep.
Marina managed not to make her sigh of relief audible. She didn’t know what to say to the marquesa and frankly she wasn’t entirely sure the woman wasn’t accompanying her to Lleida to turn her in.
She withdrew Alejandro’s book from her bag and opened it up to where they’d left off. Alejandro scooted closer to her and peered at the page when she began reading, so she let her finger trail along the words for him to see. She kept her voice low, not wanting to wake the marquesa.
The train moved out of Terrassa Station and slowly picked up speed as it headed north. Much of the countryside even beyond Terras
sa was terraced, vines marching in neat rows up the hillsides. Marina stole an occasional glance at the priest, who looked as though he might be trying to comprehend her Portuguese, but kept reading.
The stop at Manresa would be long enough for them to take on new passengers, so Marina availed herself of a chance to visit the water closet in the station. Father Escarrá had gotten out to walk about on the platform, stretch his legs, and breathe in the fine morning air. When Marina came out, she found him still there, waiting for her. Other passengers stood on the platform, most of the men smoking. From the platform they could see none of the town; they faced a stony ridge covered with trees instead, making it seem as if the station stood in an abandoned spot of countryside.
“It sounds like an interesting tale,” Father Escarrá said in Spanish, “although I cannot follow enough to know exactly what’s happening.”
Ah, the book. “There are also a number of strange words,” she added, “words that I’m certain make sense for someone who knows Africa. I’m afraid I do not.”
“I see,” the priest said. “I should tell you that the marquesa doesn’t travel much anymore. That she bestirred herself is an indicator that she thinks this important.”
“Did you intercede with her on my behalf?”
The priest smiled. “No, Mrs. Tavares. Your actions alone convinced her. I think if you’d threatened her as you’d planned, you would only have vexed her. When you didn’t, she was intrigued.”
Apparently her lack of strength had worked in her favor this time. “I am glad to know that.”
A gentleman with a cigar walked past them toward the doors of the second car, the scent of smoke drifting along with him and tickling Marina’s nose. “Affability is not one of the lady’s gifts,” Father Escarrá said, “but she is unfailingly generous when we need help providing for the poor of the town.”
Marina recalled the woman’s orders from her coach for Marina to go to the Church for aid. “I was fortunate you came along last night.”
The Shores of Spain Page 34