Duilio needed a favor, and he suspected he was going to have to pay for it. As they were leaving the house, he asked Miss Paredes to wait for him in the hallway. Carvalho had already stormed out, dragging Silva along with him. Anjos had taken his crew of approved Special Police off in search of a patrol boat to commandeer, which left Duilio more or less alone, save for Miss Paredes and Captain Pinheiro, who was to escort them safely back to the house.

After a moment’s consideration of the room, Duilio settled on the curtains . . . or, rather, the tiebacks. They were thick braids, burgundy shot with gold, each end capped with a tassel almost a foot long. He carefully picked one in a corner of the room and liberated the braid from its hook, allowing the drapery to fall loose. There was no way to stuff it in a pocket, so he coiled it up and tucked it inside his coat against his body. Perhaps the staff would be too busy to notice.

“What are you doing?” a soft voice asked from the doorway.

Duilio sighed inwardly. It was Genoveva Carvalho. He pulled the coil from under his coat and walked to where she stood. He could see Miss Paredes and Captain Pinheiro watching from farther down the hallway. “I need to make a trade, Miss Carvalho, and don’t have time to stop by my own home to find something suitable. Your father can send me the draper’s bill.”

She nodded and stood to one side of the doorway to let him pass. He moved to join the others, but she laid one hand on his arm. “Thank you for going after them,” she said. “This is my fault. I let Constancia fall back to talk to Tiago. I shouldn’t have, but they’re friends, and he’s too kind to take advantage of her naïveté. Please . . . bring her back.”

Duilio patted her hand. “We will do our best, Miss Carvalho. I promise.”

Her hand slid off his arm, and he hurried to join the other two. Miss Paredes gave him a strange look, but said nothing about the encounter. A few minutes later they were all in the captain’s carriage again, heading in the direction of the Bicalho quay.

Duilio figured Pinheiro had never met a sereia before, but the man seemed unfazed by the revelation of Miss Paredes’ identity. “So, what will happen to Silva?” he asked Pinheiro cautiously.

Pinheiro sighed. “He’ll probably get several fine meals out of this, have a nice nap, and gather a lot of gossip to spread about. I’m sure he’ll come out of this smelling like springtime.”

Duilio almost laughed at Pinheiro’s vexed tone.

“Do you know Silva well?” Miss Paredes asked the policeman.

“I didn’t tell her,” Duilio inserted quickly.

“Ah,” Pinheiro said. “I have the distinction of being his son, although he wasn’t aware of that until about three years ago, when my mother died.” He crossed himself at the mention of his mother’s death.

“I’m so sorry,” Miss Paredes said politely.

“That makes Captain Pinheiro my cousin,” Duilio told her. “And it puts a different complexion on the theft at our house three years ago.” He explained about Silva’s attempt to create an inheritance for his son and its tragic, even if unintended, consequence. Miss Paredes shot a glance at the captain’s face, possibly noting the resemblance to Silva. “So, some collector has my mother’s pelt.”

“Yet she still blames Silva,” she said.

“It is, ultimately, his fault,” Pinheiro said. “I won’t make any excuses for him. I think larceny just comes more naturally to him than honest effort.”

“So, how do we find this collector?” she asked.

Duilio was pleased that she’d automatically said we.

“My father,” Pinheiro said, “has had an ongoing feud for decades, he claims, with the Marquis of Maraval, who has been slowly eroding his influence with the prince. Silva claims that Maraval has a huge collection of magical items secreted away in a basement, but that the item you want isn’t there. He’s checked; I’m afraid my father has a side career of breaking into others’ homes. I expect Maraval knew he would come looking for it and hid it elsewhere, along with the stolen strongbox.”

“And Silva knew my family would never deal with him while we suspected he had my mother’s pelt,” Duilio told her. “None of us would believe him if he claimed innocence, because he did arrange the theft in the first place.”

“He didn’t want to admit he’d lost that round to Maraval,” Pinheiro said. “He hadn’t told anyone until I became involved in this investigation. He told me only then to convince me that Maraval is behind these evil acts.”

“I see,” Miss Paredes said. “And Silva’s not behind any of it?”

“To be honest, miss,” Pinheiro said, “he’s not clear of all of this. He suspected that murder was happening for a long time but wanted to tie it to Maraval first. He didn’t report the crimes he suspected. Then again, to whom could he have reported them?”

Duilio had to agree. Silva couldn’t report it to the Special Police because he wouldn’t know which of those officers were part of the Open Hand, and the investigation by the Security Police was shut down. The carriage rattled to a stop. They’d reached the quay where his family’s boats were moored.

“We’ll just be a few minutes,” he warned Pinheiro, and then opened the door and invited Miss Paredes to join him.

His family kept three boats here in a small marina that had been used by his father and his grandfather before. One of the three was a shallow-drafted paddleboat, one of Cristiano’s experimental designs. It was good for river traffic and for travel near the coastline when the water was glassy, but in rough water the thing was prone to capsizing. There was also a twenty-six-foot sailboat, but the family’s pride was the yacht, a long, graceful ship that Duilio had learned to sail as a young man. Commissioned by his grandfather, the Deolinda was nearly sixty years old, yet still tugged and bobbed at its moorings.

Miss Paredes seemed suitably impressed at the sight of the yacht. Duilio honestly preferred the smaller boats; they felt closer to the water. So the yacht had spent most of the last year moored here, only going out when Cristiano or Joaquim had the time to sail.

Fortunately, Aga was on the yacht with João, who rose when he saw them approaching. “I hope you don’t mind my bringing her out here, sir,” João said quickly, “but she was interested in the boats.”

Not a surprise. His own mother found boatbuilding a subject of endless fascination. “I’m certain she would make an excellent boatman. Perhaps you could take out the sailboat tomorrow and show her how it handles under full sail.”

João’s eyes lit. “Yes, sir. She would love that.”

“Good. I need you to gather any bolt cutters we have, and if you could have the dory ready by sunset, that would be helpful. Also, I need to ask Miss Aga a favor.”

The young man nodded and held out his hand toward where she sat coiling a line on the deck. The girl was barefoot, wearing a pair of trousers, a man’s shirt and vest, and a woolen cap. They weren’t hugely oversized, so they must be João’s spare garb rather than Erdano’s. Aga took one look at Duilio and turned up her nose. Evidently she hadn’t forgotten being passed over.

Duilio held up the tieback he’d liberated from the Carvalho library. “Aga, I need to ask a favor. Please?”

Her eyes flicked toward the heavy braid, and she returned to her coiling as if he hadn’t spoken. Duilio handed the tieback to Miss Paredes. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her.”

She leaned closer to him. “Why won’t she talk to you?”

“She’s effectively queen of João’s harem now, so she won’t take gifts from me.”

“I see,” she said, a smile tugging at her full lips. “And what do you need asked?”

“I need her to go and fetch Erdano for us. We need his help tonight, and any of his harem that’s willing. They can meet us here at sunset.”