Santiago yawned and inspected his timepiece. "It's too early for him to be at the tavern, so my guess would be his mistress's house." At Gabriel's confusion, Santiago shrugged apologetically. "I'm the queen's confessor."
Cris chuckled at the king's peccadilloes, but Pedro could not muster the same flippancy. This sort of marriage awaited him if he married the princess. A cold, cynical affair punctuated by infidelities and political intrigue. He could thank Ulrich for delivering him from such fate. He would do so after he shoved the slave trader's carcass into prison.
The door opened, and everyone stood. Instead of the king, Henrique poked his head inside. Viscount Penafiel, the wine connoisseur, celebrated scientist, and womanizer, strolled to meet them with the same elan he used to lead a cavalry charge.
Pedro shook hands with his comrade. "Where is the king?"
Henrique cleared his throat. "Well... His Majesty expressed his uttermost satisfaction that you are innocent, but he is otherwise detained."
"I thought he would want to avenge his brother's death. Does he not grieve Fernando's—"
"The king grieves for his brother." Henrique raised his voice defensively and then sighed. "It's only he needs a female shoulder to cry on. But he nominated me as his plenipotentiary to deal with these fresh developments, etcetera."
Gabriel raised his brows. "Let me guess. You were at hand when the messenger arrived at his club, and Dom Luis sent you in his place?"
Henrique blushed and dropped to a chair. "We were at Madam Grassine's house, and yes."
Pedro pointed at the remaining chairs circling the oval-shaped table. "We should get this over with." He seated himself, pushing away the assortment of maps, letters, and music sheets cluttering the surface.
The others followed his example.
Henrique smiled. "All the officers from Mozambique gathered. I must say, the last ten years were not gentle to you. You look like shit."
Cris bumped Henrique's shoulder and laughed. "I don't hear the ladies complaining."
"Is that what you call them nowadays? I thought you only bedded—"
"A little decorum is in order," Santiago said, and his priestly voice battled with his debauched appearance.
Henrique lifted his palms. "All right, all right. It will be like our old war councils. When Pedro starts issuing orders, Santiago will nap, and I will exchange messages with Cris setting up the night’s entertainment. Gabriel will pretend to be taking notes while drawing furiously, and the only one paying attention will be Fernando." Henrique's smile died, and his eyes sought Pedro's. "But Fernando is not here, is he?"
"Each of us returned from Africa a different man. We carved our paths to erase that place from our lives. But not Fernando." Pedro's voice faltered as grief clotted his throat. "Fernando was not changed by Mozambique. He toiled to change it instead. He is no longer with us, but we have the chance to finish his life's work."
Henrique nodded, his expression serious. The others quieted, assuming their places at the table.
Pedro settled into the leading role as if he had donned his military uniform. "We will telegraph the royal navy and our outposts in the colony. With Fernando's evidence, we can shut down Ulrich's operation. What have you discovered at the brothel, Santiago?"
Santiago rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. "Ulrich is the owner of the Siren. He brings the girls from exotic places and keeps them against their will."
The blackguard planned to keep exploiting people right under their noses. Pedro's stomach churned as a wave of apprehension burst through him, and he forced his breaths to calm down. Anne was safe at the beach house with Dante. "How long have you stayed inside? Did you discover anything else?"
The priest flushed. "I spent the night, but Ulrich did not appear."
Pedro nodded. "We must place a lookout and storm the Siren as soon as Ulrich arrives. Gabriel, can you draw the club?"
Gabriel sketched the premises. According to Santiago, at least twenty guards guarded the former residence of the Duke of Abrantes.
Pedro needed to consider the innocents inside the club. "How many women does he have?"
"I don't know the precise number, but there are several rooms upstairs, and I believe he also keeps them in the basement. I stumbled upon one of his men when I scouted the service stairs. The fellow carried an unconscious girl."
Pedro’s chest caved in. No, it could not be.
He gripped Santiago’s arm. “What did she look like?”
Santiago frowned. "I couldn't see much in the dark. But I saw her hair. A blonde so pure, it was nearly white."
The room spun. Pedro's heart lurched, pounding in a painful rhythm. He shot to his feet and took several steps backward. Ice coursed through his veins instead of blood, and time stopped.
