The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City
The Seer’s Choice
An EQP Book / 2015
UUID# 3092BF52-682B-4BE7-8B0D-738D2EFA71BA ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Copyright ©2015 by J. Kathleen Cheney
Cover Art by Rachel A. Marks No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
For information contact the author at:
http://www.jkathleencheney.com
Formatting by:
E-QUALITY PRESS
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PRODUCED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilog
Excerpt from The Golden City
About J. Kathleen Cheney
The Seer’s Choice
Chapter 1
* * *
Monday, 13 April 1903, The Golden City
CAPTAIN RAFAEL PINHEIRO regarded the young woman sitting across from him, her hands clenched in her lap and her straight brows drawn together. She wore the uniform of the Special Police, although a version adapted for one of the body’s three female members: blue skirt, white shirtwaist, and dark blue jacket with brass buttons. Her cap rested on her lap.
“I came to ask for your help, Captain,” she said in her soft, cultured voice. “I’ve been having trouble with one of the officers.”
Suddenly her request to meet with him made sense. Miss Jardim was young and lovely, and his officers still weren’t accustomed to having women working in their midst. The other two women in this unit were married, and that gave them some immunity from the problem that Rafael suspected plagued her. “Medeiros?”
Her eyes lowered for a moment, and then lifted. “I’ve been quite frank in my refusal of his advances, sir, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. He pretends that I’m merely being . . . coy.”
Medeiros was one of his younger officers, a good man if a little vain about his handsome face. And although Medeiros worked for the police now, he had hopes of inheriting his bachelor uncle’s fortune one day and therefore thought himself an excellent prospect for any woman hunting a husband. Since Miss Jardim came from a higher level of society than most of the members in the unit, Medeiros saw himself as the only choice of husband for her.
Rafael had already been considering a conversation with the officer. He’d noted that Medeiros touched Miss Jardim every time he had the chance. Mostly innocent-looking actions like brushing against her in the hallway or holding her elbow when he opened a door for her, but Miss Jardim cringed when he did so. Perhaps she wasn’t accustomed to the familiarity; after all, she’d had a sheltered upbringing.
Ironically, Medeiros was a Truthsayer. The men who made up their division of the Special Police were all either witches or had special knowledge of witches. Medeiros should be able to recognize that Miss Jardim meant her refusal. Unfortunately, his gift was not a powerful one, and it needed skill to interpret that gift, making it easy for Medeiros to mentally discard his gift’s verdict if it didn’t serve his desires. “I’ll talk with him,” Rafael promised.
Miss Jardim swallowed, betraying nervousness. “Will he know I made a complaint?”
Medeiros wasn’t a stupid man. He would surely guess where the complaint had originated, and Rafael couldn’t lie to the man about it. Unless I can frame the discussion some other way. “I will be as discreet as I can, Miss Jardim, but I cannot promise he won’t make certain conclusions.”
The young woman set her blue cap atop her hair, looking very professional. “That’s all I can ask, Captain. You’ve been more than fair.”
With that statement, she rose and left his office. Rafael stared after her for a moment, then closed his eyes. The faint scent of vanilla lingered in her wake.
This was the first time he’d spoken to her in months other than a simple greeting exchanged while passing in the hallways or courtyard of the police station. That didn’t mean he hadn’t kept an eye on her. A little over six months ago she’d walked out of her family’s home to escape an ultimatum leveled by her father. Or rather, the man society believed to be her father. He’d offered her a choice between marriage to an old crony of his or the convent. She’d chosen a third path, and since that time had managed to survive mostly on her own.
Rafael admired her determination. It had taken courage to make the choice she had. And it had taken courage for her to ask him to talk to one of his men. He sat back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and pondered a way to handle this that wouldn’t cause trouble for her.
Half an hour later, he thought he had an answer. It was a lovely evening, the sun shining despite the hints of clouds moving in from the direction of the sea. Rafael went out, hunting for establishments near Boavista Avenue where police officers were known to stop for a drink on their way home. He was visiting his second café when he spotted Medeiros grabbing a vinho verde at the counter. He edged through the crowd and gestured for the waiter to serve him a glass as well. Medeiros had the brains not to sidle away. It saved Rafael from chasing him. Once he’d left his payment on the bar, he gestured for Medeiros to accompany him outside so they could speak in semi-privacy.
“Did Miss Jardim say something about me?” Medeiros asked right away.
So Medeiros knows she has grounds for complaint. “Miss Jardim? She did come to my office today, but she came to talk to me.”
“What does that mean?”
Rafael took a sip of his wine. “I’m trying to phrase this delicately, and without betraying any confidence. If someone needed several days off at once, say following a wedding, they would have to come to me to advise me in advance.”
All of that was strictly true.
Medeiros blinked quickly. “A wedding? Is she getting married?”
“I’m speaking hypothetically, Medeiros.” That should fool the man’s Truthsayer’s gift. Hypothetical statements were always hard for them to parse. “However, I’ve noted that you seem interested in her. You should know your interest won’t be reciprocated. I hoped to save you finding out in a more awkward manner. Remember, Miss Jardim is a healer and can harm others if provoked.”
They knew that all too well. Six months before, Miss Jardim’s father had killed several officers of the Special Police with no more than a touch, and she’d inherited her father’s gift. It didn’t hurt to remind Medeiros of that.
Medeiros set his glass down on a nearby table and scowled. “And who is this man she’s marrying. Is it Forsythe?” he asked, naming the only Englishman in their unit.
Rafael shook his head. “Officer Medeiros, I don’t have leave to discuss her affairs with you. Although if someone has money bet on Forsythe, they would likely lose it.”
Medeiros nodded slowly. There was almost always side-betting on this sort of thing. If there was, Rafael suspected Medeiros would be the current leader in the betting. “You’re a seer, sir. Why haven’t you bet on it?”
Rafael smiled. He never bet on anything, even if he knew who would win. That would be using his gift for personal gain, and went against principles ground into him by the Brothers of Mercy as a child. “I’m not a betting man, Medeiros. I just wanted to warn you before Miss Jardim becomes vexed and does something nasty to you. Remembe
r, her touch can be dangerous.”
He drank down the last of his wine and left Medeiros there, sulking. The man would get over his imaginary loss quickly enough. Rafael had no doubt of that.
Thursday, 23 April 1903
Genoveva usually attended early Mass and then stopped for coffee at a café on the way to the police station on Boavista Avenue. This morning was no different save for one thing; she could swear that an older gentleman followed her from the church to the café.
Standing at the counter, she drank her coffee, one eye toward the street. It was a misty morning, and she worried he might be hidden in the fog. He passed by the café though. A chill tickled along her spine, not a product of the damp morning air, so she left her coins on the counter and hurried on toward the police station.
She lost sight of him in the mist, but as she opened the outer gate of the station’s courtyard, she saw him standing on the opposite side of the wide avenue, on the sidewalk in front of the military hospital. She dashed into the building’s courtyard to avoid his angry gaze.
She didn’t know that man. She’d never seen him before; she was sure of that. Then again, the look of hatred on his grizzled features was unmistakable. It seemed . . . personal.
She stood under the quince tree in the station’s white-walled courtyard and tried to figure out what she could have done to offend this unknown man. Could it be something she’d done at the hospital since beginning her training there? Or something she’d done during her life before, when she’d been one of the social elite of the Golden City—Miss Carvalho rather than Miss Jardim? Could he be some servant she’d unintentionally slighted? She couldn’t think of anything that would earn such hatred.
Genoveva closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose, trying to calm the agitated energies running through her body. A healer is worth nothing if she isn’t under control. That was one of the very first lessons she’d learned here.
“Miss Jardim?” Captain Pinheiro stood at the entryway to the courtyard, one hand on the wrought-iron gate. He must have just arrived. “Are you unwell?”
Genoveva shook her head. She hadn’t spoken with the captain since the week before when she’d asked him to speak to Medeiros. She didn’t know what the captain had said, but Medeiros had instantly dropped his familiarities and begun to treat her with polite distance. “I am fine, Captain. Please don’t concern yourself.”
He did look concerned. For a moment he eyed her, clearly considering pressing the issue.
He was a man of average appearance, of average height, and a bit on the stocky side. His dark hair and dark eyes were unremarkable, yet he managed to give off an air of attractiveness. Despite her youth, Genoveva had enough experience with men to recognize that much of his appeal came from sheer confidence. He neither needed nor sought her approval. She rather liked him for that. He was honest.
But she wasn’t going to ask the captain to solve her problems for her. Unlike Officer Medeiros, the strange man who’d followed her didn’t fall under the captain’s purview. And if she did mention it, the captain would probably walk out there and confront the older man, when it was likely no more than her imagination. So she held her tongue.
“Well, then,” the captain said, “have a good day, Miss Jardim.”
Given her shaky start this morning, it couldn’t get anything but better. “Captain, I wanted to thank you,” she said before he walked away. “Whatever you said to Officer Medeiros worked.”
“It was no more than my job, Miss Jardim. No thanks are needed.” He tucked his cap under his arm and headed off upstairs, leaving her alone with the quince tree and her rattled nerves.
Rafael wasn’t entirely happy about leaving the Golden City that night. He needed to visit Lisboa, a favor for his cousin Joaquim. He merely needed to transport some luggage to Lisboa for Joaquim and his new wife, and book a hotel room for them. After a great deal of wrangling with his gift, he was sure they would arrive there on Saturday. He could take the night train to Lisboa tonight, then return on the night train on the morrow. He would be home by Saturday morning.
Or he could hire a courier to do it for him. It was a tempting solution, but they knew him at the hotel. It would be simpler to run the errand himself. Nothing particularly pressing awaited him at the station, and Inspector Anjos could handle any disputes that arose among the men.
He was worried about Miss Jardim.
She’d been upset this morning when he’d run across her in the courtyard. She hadn’t told him what was bothering her, but he was sure it wasn’t Medeiros. It had been a week and a half since he’d spoken with the younger officer, and Medeiros had treated Miss Jardim with apparent respect since that day. At least around the station. But Rafael’s gift didn’t seem to think that Medeiros was being a problem elsewhere, so he doubted that was the reason for the young woman’s distress.
Unfortunately, there were simply too many possibilities for him to track down what was bothering her. A seer could lose themselves in chasing possibilities when they had no direction, so he wasn’t going to fall into that trap. His gift seemed to think she would be fine while he was gone, so he bought the train tickets, hauled his own bag and three others aboard, and settled into his narrow bunk for the trip to Lisboa.
Saturday, 25 April 1903
Genoveva woke late at night to the sound of someone banging on the door of her rented room. It had to be one of the other girls in need of help. She jumped up from her bed and tugged on her dressing gown. They all knew she was a healer and came to her for their little complaints. She opened the door, and quickly stepped back.
It was that man.
She froze, terror stealing her breath
He pointed one long finger at her and began yelling, words that didn’t make sense. A string of nonsense.
A spark of self-preservation spurred her frozen body, and she slammed the door shut. She pressed her back against it. A cold sweat prickled on her skin, her breath coming short.
She spotted the chair next to her bed. Taking a chance, she ran and dragged it over to prop under the door handle. That might keep the man out if he tried to come in. She could still hear him in the hallway, his nonsense growing more strident. Then she heard the sound of a whistle on the street below, and dared to hope that the landlady was trying to summon the police.
And then, just as quickly as his strange diatribe had started, the man’s voice fell silent.
Genoveva watched the door latch, hoping and praying that it wouldn’t move.
Chapter 2
* * *
Sunday, 2 April 1903
DURING MASS, GENOVEVA prayed for guidance. In the past six months, she’d worked hard to stand on her own. She didn’t have her family’s money to rely on, she didn’t have a dozen servants to take care of problem visitors for her, and the policeman who’d come to her boarding house the night before assumed she’d invited the unknown man up to her room. He decided she’d provoked a lover’s spat and left without even listening to her complaint.
She left Mass that morning without an answer in her head. She ate at the restaurant near her boarding house, the one time each week that she allowed herself to splurge. It was pleasant to be waited on, even if she had no one to share her meal. But halfway through the meal she spotted a movement out in the street that triggered a sudden fear that the man had returned. She didn’t see him, but the usually-excellent fish soup soured in her stomach.
She paid her bill and left the restaurant. She wouldn’t return to her boarding house. He would just follow her there, and she knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be stopped by the sign forbidding men to go upstairs. So she walked. And walked. Her feet started to hurt, but she still didn’t know where to go.
Her wandering had turned her toward the police station. She would be safe there . . . except that this was Sunday. She never worked on Sunday and didn’t know who would be there. She stopped on the corner of Boavista and
Santa Isabel Street, watching the carriages go by with all their finely dressed occupants.
Several of the men in her unit played football on Sunday afternoons.
She couldn’t remember who’d mentioned that to her, but she recalled someone saying they were playing this week on a field near the Agramonte cemetery. So she turned onto Boavista and started walking. At least now she knew where she was going
When she reached the field, she spotted a friendly face. Perhaps three dozen spectators were crowded there on the wooden stands—mostly male—but to one side sat Mrs. Gaspar, the wife of one of the inspectors attached to their unit. The woman had ivory skin and pale blue eyes. With her black hair, it made for a very striking face. And while she was much older than Genoveva, she’d always been very kind. Skirt lifted with one hand, Genoveva climbed cautiously up the stands and sat with her.
Mrs. Gaspar had a straw hat pinned to her inky hair, and her lacy white dress hinted at impatience for summer. “I don’t believe you’ve come to one of the matches before, have you, dear?” she asked.
“I’ve never seen a football match,” Genoveva admitted. She gazed out on the field where a dozen or so men dressed in white shorts and white—or blue—shirts, chased a ball toward one end of the field. Inspector Gaspar, easy to spot because he was the only man on that field with African ancestors, wore a white shirt. That told her the police team wore white. Then she spotted Captain Pinheiro among them and realized she’d just received the answer to that morning’s prayer.
Captain Pinheiro would listen to her, no matter how much this sounded like overactive imagination on her part. She had actually gone to his office Friday morning after being followed from Mass again, only to learn that he’d left the city for personal reasons. She was glad he’d returned.
She kept an eye on him as he ran across the field, the ball passing between him and Gaspar through some arcane use of their feet. She’d thought of the captain as stocky, but with his legs mostly bared by those shorts she could see that instead of stocky, he was . . . muscular. He had an athletic grace that surprised her, too; he was light on his feet. He would probably make an excellent dance partner.