The selkies Aga had gone to fetch never arrived, which meant that the freeing of the house was Oriana’s task alone. She could do it. She wouldn’t let herself think otherwise.

She could barely make out Mr. Ferreira’s face a few feet away. He’d kept the lantern shuttered to prevent anyone from seeing them, and true to his earlier words, he’d talked with her. Mostly trivial things, such as what books she liked, her favorite food, whether or not she cared for Mozart or Alfredo Keil. Had she read Eça de Queirós? Castelo Branco? Dickens?

He was trying to set her at ease, a kindness since she was so tense. “Is it my turn or yours?” she asked.

He laughed softly and whispered, “It was your turn, but you wasted it by asking that, so now it’s my turn again. What happened to your father, Oriana? You told me he was exiled.”

He’d taken to addressing her by name. It was a step further than simply using the familiar person, more intimate. She liked that. She took a deep breath and considered his question. Then she answered honestly, no matter how terrible it must sound. “He lives in Portugal now.”

She opened her mouth to explain, but paused.

She sensed movement in her webbing. It was large—a ship, its screws churning the water. With the pitch-blackness about them, she couldn’t see the approaching ship, but could feel its motion and hear the ripple of its wake. A shiver ran down her spine. She touched his hand to get his attention; he could see even less in the darkness than she. “It’s in that direction. No lights.”

He lifted one shade of the lantern, letting off a pair of brief flashes, the signal agreed upon with Gaspar. A single flash showed in response. They’d gotten the message.

The yacht continued on past them in the darkness as he cast off the towline. There were only a couple of faint lights on the yacht’s deck, but Oriana could make out the arm of a crane affixed to the deck. A large, boxy shape hung from the crane, a house all ready to drop into the river. A chain draped from the underside of the hanging house to the deck of the yacht. It would have a weight attached—she knew that from the journal—even if she couldn’t see it yet. When they got to the right spot, they would drop the chain, then lower the house into the water from the crane. The weight would drag it downward, and their diver—Silva’s selkie—would guide the weighted chain to the right spot and attach it to an anchor set on the silt-clouded riverbed before the first house had been put in place.

It was eerie to see the instrument of Isabel’s death.

They waited in silence a while as the ship found the right position, apparently being directed by the selkie, much as she’d led Mr. Ferreira to the patrol boat. Mr. Ferreira rowed quietly, moving them closer to the yacht.

Then Oriana heard the rattling of chains. The sound sent a cold wash of remembered fear into her stomach. She dropped the coat she wore and slid into the water, naked save for the knife strapped to her wrist. She reached over the edge of the rowboat to grab the bolt cutters from the bench.

“Be careful,” Duilio told her.

She submerged in time to feel the house hit the water, its chain dragging it down. As she got closer, the water was full of death. Oriana breathed it in, felt it in her gills and tasted it in her mouth, the flesh of dozens of innocents rotting away in this slow eddy of the river. The taste of corruption in the water sent the terror and pain of that night surging back into her mind. Isabel was among those whose bodies were slowly decaying in this watery graveyard.

Isabel had died in this place, but she hadn’t. Oriana was going to make use of that.

She forced herself on, swimming awkwardly with the heavy tool in her hands. Her large eyes took in more light than a human’s, but in the moonless dark, distorted by the water’s movement, the house was little more than a blur.

Oriana reached the floating house and immediately swam downward to locate the chain. She brushed against columns, a triangular pediment—definitely the Carvalho house. She couldn’t hear voices within, so the captives might not even have woken yet. Perhaps they would be spared the worst of the terror.

She located the chain. It was taut, which told her the selkie must already be pulling it downward to affix the chain to the weight on the riverbed. Oriana wrapped one leg about the chain for leverage and worked the bolt cutters into position. She pulled on the long handles as hard as she could, but couldn’t get them to bite through the chain.

And then a body slammed into her from behind, breaking her grasp on the chain. She managed to keep her grip on the cutters and swung them slowly through the water at her attacker. It was the man from the boat that night, the one who’d chased her through the water and tossed her into a rowboat with Silva—the selkie.

Set free, the house began easing back upward, fighting the weight pulling it down. It wouldn’t last. Water was filling the house, and that weight would force it back down.

The selkie grabbed the bolt cutters and ripped them from her grasp. Then he swung them toward her head.

Duilio listened to the sounds over The City Under the Sea. He’d heard the slap of the house hitting the surface of the river. He dropped his own anchor over the side and held his breath. How long would it take before the house sank far enough to be safe from stray bullets? Should he dive in and help Oriana? Or would he be in her way?

The rowboat rocked suddenly when Erdano levered his bulk up onto the side of the boat. “Am I too late?”

Duilio let out a frustrated sigh. Erdano had probably been playing in the water all this time. “Miss Paredes needs to cut the chain on the floating house they just put in. She’s got a tool to do that. Can you go help her?”

Erdano nodded and slid back into the water, leaving Duilio in the dark again. He could only pray that between them, Oriana and Erdano could cut that chain.

The patrol boat was waiting for the yacht to move away from the vulnerable house. Duilio could make out one lantern on the deck of the yacht, alerting him to its position. Its first task done, it began to move, likely hunting the waters over the Amaral replica so it could retrieve it. Where would that be?

The crew on the patrol boat opened their lanterns suddenly, and Duilio saw the yacht had changed course, heading directly for them. With their engine cold they had no hope of getting out of the way, so the patrol boat blew its horn. Barely visible, the yacht changed course again, now trying to pass behind the patrol boat.

Oh, God! Duilio made a panicked grab for the anchor line, but before he could cast it off and move away, the yacht caught the rowboat broadside.

Oriana pushed out of the way of the selkie’s wild swing. In the water everything moved more slowly. The cutters passed within inches of her face and she kicked farther back, her heart pounding hard.

And then another body hurtled past her in the water, slamming into the selkie’s form. The cutters spun out of his hand, immediately sinking. Gasping in water, Oriana dove after them, pursuing them down toward the riverbed. She would lose them in the silt if they hit the bottom. She made a desperate grab and managed to catch one handle.

She headed back up toward the surface. She had no idea where the selkie or his attacker had gone. She took in a large breath, relieved to be above the clouds of silt near the bottom. She located the chain and followed it upward. Would she be in time?

She could see the house itself then, so she grabbed the chain and wrapped her leg about it again. She hauled the cutters around, positioned them, and clamped them down on the chain, but the blades didn’t cut through. Damnation! She wasn’t going to give up. She ground her teeth together and tried again.