Cristiano’s lips pursed. “I guess for style’s sake I would use thirty-two.”

Hadn’t Oriana's elderly friend said that the choice of two languages in the spell was a matter of style rather than content? “Why?”

Cristiano shrugged. “Twenty-eight is your next perfect number, thirty-four is your next magic number, but I would lean toward thirty-two. It’s a power of two, which works well with current.”

Duilio didn’t know what he meant by perfect number or magic number, but he did understand powers of two. “One last question. Say one of the cells was broken. Only halfway lit. What would happen then?”

“That cell would be useless. I would just try to bypass it,” Cristiano said. “It depends on how the cells are wired together, but if each is discrete, as those houses are, one cell should be easy to cut out.”

“And replaced by another?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“But that wouldn’t be tidy, would it?”

“No,” Cristiano said. “I would just replace the broken cell . . . or recharge it.”

Recharge. Which would mean finding Miss Paredes and sticking her back inside. Duilio closed the journal and stuffed it back into a pocket. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

Oriana had enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with Lady Ferreira and had just settled in the front sitting room to read to her when Mr. Ferreira strode in, the leather-bound journal in his hand. He gestured for Oriana to join him at the doorway. She excused herself to the lady, who nodded vaguely, and went to go speak to him.

“It’s a battery,” he said. “The whole thing is a battery.”

Oriana glanced back at Lady Ferreira to see if she’d overheard, but the lady’s attention had wandered. “What?”

“This symbol in the middle is a schematic for a voltaic pile, which takes one sort of energy and converts it to another. But the energy isn’t converted until the connection between the two halves is made by . . .” He closed his eyes. “Damn! I forgot what he called it.”

“Duilinho, watch your tongue,” his mother said softly from across the room.

He actually flushed at his mother’s mild rebuke. “My apologies, Miss Paredes. Cristiano was speaking of seawater, although in this case I don’t think that would be it, since we’re dealing with magic and not silver and zinc.”

Zinc? Hadn’t the Lady said something about silver and gold being used for magic? “I don’t understand.”

He took a breath and visibly forced himself to slow down. “A battery doesn’t do anything until you connect all the parts and then connect it to . . . a light, for example. What if The City Under the Sea is the same? It’s not doing anything until everything is connected together and there’s something to turn on. The Lady called it a recipient, right?”

“Yes,” Oriana verified.

“So the table’s storing the power,” Mr. Ferreira said with a nod. “For now. I guess the plan is to use it all up at once.”

That made sense in a twisted way. And it would neatly deal with the Lady’s concern about a lack of a recipient. The recipient just hadn’t shown up yet. “Would that be enough power to make the prince into a king?”

“I don’t know . . .” A knock sounded on the front door, and they both turned to look. Cardenas came bustling down the hallway past them in response. The butler opened the door, and a voice outside said, “I need to speak to Mr. Ferreira immediately.”

The butler drew himself up to his full height. “May I have your name?”

“Captain Pinheiro, Special Police.”

Mr. Ferreira tossed the journal onto the ground and gave Oriana a not so gentle push. When she stumbled back a few steps, he swung the door closed, leaving him in the hallway, where the officer would surely see him.

What has he done? Heart pounding, Oriana pressed one ear against the door, hoping to hear what passed in the hallway. There wasn’t any yelling going on, nor could she hear the sound of a scuffle. She could make out low voices talking, Mr. Ferreira and this newcomer, the officer of the Special Police. She wasn’t going to be able to hear anything specific. She sighed and leaned back against the wall. She would have to hope he could manage the man on his own.

Duilio glared at the officer who stood in his hallway. Pinheiro was alone, a strange choice if he was planning to drag Miss Paredes away by force. The man was near his own height, although heavier. Near his age too, at best guess. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

“Anjos said it was up to me whether or not I told you, but I figure the best way to get you to trust me,” he began, “is the truth. The seal pelt stolen from your house three years ago? My father doesn’t have it. He never did, but he won’t admit that to you. He knows you—rightfully, I have to point out—blame him for its theft in the first place.”

Duilio felt as if a fog had abruptly filled his brain. “Your father?”

The captain shrugged again. “Yes. He told me about the theft only a couple of days ago. Inspector Anjos had questioned me about it because of my relationship to him. In a way this is my fault. When he found out about me he wanted to set things right, so to speak. He intended to have some paperwork stolen from your house, papers that might contain an acknowledgment by his father of his birth. But the man he hired took the pelt as well, intending to sell it to a collector. That collector apparently took the pelt and the paperwork and then killed the man for good measure, all before my father could get his hands on it.”

Was this the evidence that made Anjos doubt Silva’s culpability? Duilio could see a resemblance in the lines of Pinheiro’s face—the square jaw and wide brow. His eyes were hazel, which he’d not inherited from the Ferreira family, but their shape was familiar.

“You’re Paolo Silva’s son?” Duilio asked, just to be clear.

“His bastard son, of course,” the captain said. “My mother entered a convent when she fell pregnant, and I was raised by the brothers. Silva didn’t even know of my existence. My mother decided to tell him on her deathbed.”

The captain actually seemed sheepish about the whole thing. Duilio could hardly blame him. Pinheiro had grown to adulthood only to be saddled late in life with a father he undoubtedly didn’t need: Paolo Silva. Had Gaspar been feeling him out about this police officer last night when he’d asked about Duilio’s feeling about bastards? “So, you’re my cousin?”

Pinheiro raised his hand. “I only told you so you would know I’m working with Anjos. That story wouldn’t have come out without his interference. I neither want nor need anything from the Ferreira family. I do quite well on a captain’s salary.”

Duilio found this fascinating. Was Pinheiro a seer as well? “So, why did you say this is your fault?”

Pinheiro shook his head sadly. “Silva felt guilty about not providing for me or my mother, just as his father never provided for him. You would think that being a seer and on the prince’s payroll, he would be wealthy, but he actually spends most of his funds paying off servants and police officers and whores to collect information for him. He has tried to be a father to me for the past few years, although he’s frankly not well suited to the task.”

The exasperation in the officer’s tone was the thing that convinced Duilio. “Very well. Why are you here, then?”

Pinheiro shifted the cap under one arm to the other, his humor fading. “Unfortunately, I need you to come with me to the Carvalho house. I’m supposed to bring a Miss Paredes as well. One of the Carvalho girls is missing.”

Stepping into a carriage with the markings of the Special Police clearly gave Miss Paredes pause. “Trust me,” Duilio offered. “This is not a ruse.”