Dusk had fallen, but in the dim wheelhouse, he spotted a chart on a low table—a map of The City Under the Sea.

It was evidence. Duilio rolled up the chart and tucked it under his arm. He quickly surveyed the wheelhouse but decided that anything of value would be in the cabins below, so he headed for the stair leading down to the captain’s cabin. It was dark, but on a shelf fixed to the wall near the door, he spotted a box of matches. He struck one and in the sudden flare of light could make out the entire room for an instant.

That was all it took, showing him exactly what he’d hoped he might find, the item that Maraval hadn’t left behind in his collection. He must have hidden it here to frustrate and annoy Silva, with no care whatsoever for the damage his actions had. Tears stung Duilio’s eyes.

On the wall above the captain’s bed, a seal’s pelt hung.

CHAPTER 33

Oriana stepped into the center of the paddleboat. A wave of seal musk warned her a second before Erdano came to stand next to her. His hand touched her shoulder in an overly friendly fashion and then slid down to the small of her back.

“I’ve never had one of your women before,” he said, “but I hear you’re not as cold as you appear.”

Of all the times! Oriana gave him a hard look. “I have very sharp teeth.”

He smiled down at her, apparently undeterred. “Perhaps later, then.”

She stepped out of his grasp. “I wouldn’t make any plans.”

Duilio slipped over the yacht’s rail and dropped to the paddleboat’s decking then, a bundle tucked under one arm. “Plans for what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Duilio turned a vexed expression on his brother. “Erdano, keep your hands off her.”

“She’s too pretty not to have a man,” Erdano said, hands wide. “I had to try.”

“No, you didn’t,” Duilio snapped.

“Don’t argue over me.” Not wanting to further discuss Erdano’s heavy-handed attempt at seduction, Oriana pointed to the bundle. “What is that?”

Duilio inclined his head as if to acknowledge her ability to take care of herself. He set a rolled chart atop the boat’s engine housing and shook out the dusty bundle he held—a pelt. Oriana reached out to touch the soft fur, glancing up at Duilio’s face.

His expression was hesitant—hopeful. “Erdano, is this what I think it is?”

Oriana stepped back, not wanting to intrude.

Erdano leaned down and sniffed the pelt almost reverently. “It’s Mother’s.” Then he slapped Duilio hard on the shoulder. “You found it!”

Duilio rocked forward from the force of the blow but didn’t protest. He embraced his brother, laughing. Erdano let out a whoop. Oriana feared he would alert anyone listening to their presence, but Duilio pulled away and grabbed Erdano’s shoulder to get his attention. He lifted one section of the pelt for Erdano to see it more clearly. “There are nail holes in it.”

“They’ll heal,” Erdano said, sobering. He stroked the recovered item and then tugged it from Duilio’s grip to embrace it like it was his mother herself. “They’ll be painful,” he said, “but in time they’ll heal.”

Any damage to the pelt must translate into damage to the wearer, Oriana realized with a pang. She hated the idea of gentle Lady Ferreira suffering such pain. It was bittersweet, but still a victory for Duilio. One good thing to come out of all this horror.

“My father’s stolen strongbox was also there,” Duilio told her. “Filled with ashes. Silva’s destined to disappointment, it seems.” He frowned and added, “I was expecting more than just the yacht.”

Erdano pointed toward the beach that would be on the other side of the yacht. “There’s a big building in a space inland. I saw it when I came here last night, all lit up. People moving around.”

That had to be the workshop where the houses were being built. After a quick conference, they rowed the boat to the shore where a large boulder gave it cover, although not much. They had to hope that would hide it from casual observers. Duilio pointed toward the pelt his brother grasped. “Can you take that out into the water and wait for our return? I don’t want Maraval recapturing it.”

Erdano didn’t argue. Still clothed, he slipped into the water and a second later was gone from Oriana’s view. She climbed from the boat and stood barefoot on the sand next to Duilio. “Getting rid of him?”

He cast a glance after his brother. “I don’t want to lose that pelt. But, yes, he’s not a quick thinker, even when he’s being shot at. It would be better if he’s not around to run into any of Maraval’s Open Hand.”

She should be pleased he considered her a quick thinker. “This could be a trap.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Duilio said with a short laugh. After donning his coat, he drew his revolver and checked to be sure it was loaded. “Maraval would expect us to come here. It’s just a matter of how well we anticipate him.”

Oriana grimly drew her knife. “Let’s find him, then.”

A wide pathway led inland from the center of the beach and the pier where the yacht waited. After a brief consultation, they decided that it would be safer to approach the workshop obliquely, so they would skirt the cliffs instead and climb up to where the scrub gave way to cultivation. The crescent moon had risen, granting them just enough light to guide their steps without making them visible to watchers. No one appeared on the sands in response to their presence. It looked like the gods were granting them luck.

After a moment they reached a fall of rocks that looked scalable. Low scrub grew there, not lending much cover, but only a stone’s throw inland stood high trellises for grapevines. The landowner must produce Vinho Verde by squeezing trellises into every spare inch of his land.

Duilio reached a hand back to help Oriana up a steeper stretch. “Will this hurt your feet?” he whispered.

“No, they’re very hard.” That was one advantage of growing up rarely wearing shoes: her feet could handle rough terrain. They hurried to the cover offered by the tall trellises. Oriana let loose a breath of relief when they got there. A few brown leaves lay scattered across the ground, but she could see that the grapes hadn’t been harvested yet. Did the grower know of the workshop built on his land? Was he staying away because of it?

Duilio pointed toward a light visible through rows of vines. “That’s got to be it there.”

She crept under the trellis and they skirted the rows of vines. As they got closer they could see the light came from a new-looking building. Wholly utilitarian, it had no embellishment, simply plain wooden walls with wide-opening doors, more like a warehouse than anything else. Holding his revolver ready, Duilio gave her a quick nod. He edged around the side of the building toward the large open door on the nearer side. Oriana stayed back out of the way until he peered around the corner and then straightened and waved her closer.

“I don’t see any movement,” he told her. “Come on.”

The workshop was indeed empty. Lamps blazed inside, casting a flickering glow over the wooden rooftops. Duilio stepped over the threshold into the big main room, where six completed replicas waited. With the house dropped into the river the previous night, that would make thirty-three houses constructed. Duilio had said something about thirty-two being a likely total, but she supposed one could have been built as a failsafe. He walked around them, glancing between them to see if anyone hid within. Nothing moved.

“It looks abandoned,” Oriana said, which didn’t explain why all the lamps were burning.

Duilio nodded, his eyes still roving the room. Oriana slid her knife back into its sheath. He walked on toward the far wall of the workshop’s main room, so Oriana followed. He leaned closer to examine the roof of one of the houses—the Cordes manor house, Oriana guessed—inspecting the metal framework extending from the roof that would be attached to the chain.