Joaquim surveyed the hall as Marina helped him up the stairs. It was an impressive place of arches and arcades like the construction below, but made of far finer stone than the prison beneath. Seated on the far side in a large wooden chair was his great-grandmother. A bespectacled man argued with a handful of attendants nearby, and a priest waited at her side. Alejandro stood with the priest, his expression unreadable as he looked toward Leandra.
The man in civic livery had followed them up the stairs, his gun in his hand. He gestured forcefully for Joaquim and Leandra to stay where they were and went to report to the gentleman in spectacles, adding to the confusion.
“What is happening here?” Joaquim asked.
“They say the prison’s walls fell down,” Marina whispered as she drew his left arm over her shoulders to help carry his weight. “Like the walls of Jericho, they just fell down.”
“I saw it,” he admitted. Sounds drifted in from the entryway of the hall, growing louder by the moment. A ruckus was building outside, and Joaquim spotted the shadows of people running past the arcade beyond the outer door. If they knew the prison walls had fallen, the citizens had good reason to flee. The commotion outside built, a low voice now leading the flood.
Ignoring the guard’s order to remain where they were, Leandra walked toward that doorway, stumbling against one of the hall’s arches and pausing to catch her breath before continuing on. Since the guard didn’t seem to have noticed, Joaquim steered Marina toward the doorway as well. She held out her free hand toward Alejandro, who jogged to join them and took Marina’s hand as if she were his mother instead of Leandra.
They emerged from the hall into the sunlight of a small square, with more arcades of arches lining the street. People crowded under those arcades, watching as if they feared attack. Joaquim stopped when they drew abreast of where Leandra stood, heavily leaning against one of the arches.
“Oh gods, they don’t have her,” Leandra whispered.
In the center of the square stood a clump of people, mostly women dressed in the gray of the prison and young children. Joaquim was relieved to see Marcos among them, but didn’t see Alejandro’s sister there, or Miss Prieto.
Standing squarely before the group was the Vilaró, his hand wrapped around the back of Piedad’s neck, his fingers digging into the edges of her gills. From what Joaquim knew of sereia, that would be terribly painful. Piedad remained very still, her angry eyes wide. Her face, already bruising, looked nearly as bad as his must. Joaquim wasn’t sure whether he felt guilty about that or gratified by the symmetry.
They were waiting, Joaquim realized, to make their case to someone. They had walked from the broken prison to the town hall, so the distance must not be great. But surely this was the only place they could beg for mercy. To whom could they turn other than the town’s authorities?
“We will speak before the city’s ruler,” the Vilaró said, as if he’d repeated that request before.
The officious-looking man from inside the building came out into the square, his guards and two of his attendants in tow. He gestured for them to remain under the arcade and then placed himself in front of the Vilaró, his jaw working. “Sir,” he said. “I am the paer en cap. I must insist that you release that woman.”
“He’s the mayor,” Marina whispered to Joaquim.
The Vilaró turned toward the mayor. “Do you control the prison?”
The mayor raised his chin. “I do not. The wardens of the prison work for the Spanish government.”
Joaquim felt sorry for the mayor. The poor man was an elected official, faced now with a creature he had no hope to control, escaped prisoners, and a mutiny in a prison he didn’t run.
The mayor waved one hand toward the gray-suited women grouped protectively around the children. “Are these not the wardens of the prison themselves?”
“I am not Spanish,” one of the women cried aloud. “I am not one of them. I have been held hostage in that prison for four years, forced to serve them like a slave for fear they would hurt my daughter.”
Others in that group raised their voices, shouting similar charges. Joaquim saw that Marcos looked pale. Among all of them, he was Spanish.
Farther down the street, onlookers moved back under the arcades to clear the way for a contingent of prison guards hurrying toward them.
“Guards coming this way,” Joaquim said aloud, hoping the Vilaró would hear him.
The Vilaró waved his free hand, and at the edge of the square, the paving stones peeled off the ground like the skin of an orange, sending the nearby onlookers running in all directions. Screams filled the street as that layer of stone rose until it reached twice the height of a man, completely blocking off the square.
Joaquim held his breath for a second until it was clear that the stones were not going to fall. Dust flew in the breeze, a choking cloud of unsettled dirt and ground-down mule dung and bits of refuse. The Vilaró blew softly into that wind, and the dust instantly dropped to the ground.
The remaining onlookers—the ones who hadn’t fled in terror—fell silent at that demonstration of power. Even the mayor looked cowed. Had he known what was hidden in his town all these decades?
Leandra looked over at Alejandro. “Stay with them,” she said, gesturing toward Marina. Then she walked slowly to the Vilaró’s side.
“Why have you come here?” the mayor asked in a breathy voice. “What is it you want?”
“The queen of your prison is holding one more child hostage,” the Vilaró said. “I want that child in exchange for this woman I hold, and then these people will leave this place.”
“I must insist that you return my streets to order,” the mayor said.
The Vilaró shook his head. “When I have what I want, I will do so.”
The marquesa had finally reached Joaquim’s side. She stood next to him, leaning heavily on her cane. “Who are all these people?” she demanded in a cross tone, as if everything had been done to inconvenience her. “Why is the street broken?”
“I came to Barcelona to find this woman,” Joaquim told his great-grandmother, pointing with his chin toward Leandra. “But she’s not the only one of my wife’s people who was held captive here. All of these others are captives, just as she was, just as Alejandro was.”
Marina clutched the boy to her side.
The marquesa slammed the tip of her cane on the stone of the square. “Children being held captive? In a prison? I will not put up with such an offense.” She turned to the mayor. “Have your guards fetch this other girl immediately, man.”
Leandra looked at the marquesa for the first time, as if baffled by the woman’s intervention. The mayor seemed taken aback as well, but after a second of indecision, he sent his guards out the back of the arcade with orders to find the warden and the missing girl.
And for a moment, silence reigned in the square.
“When they bring the child,” the marquesa said loudly, “these people will need to be transported to the train station. We will need six cabs, I think. And I want the first-class carriage cleared for us. Send one of your men to do that as well,” she added, clearly speaking to the mayor now. “I won’t sit in second class with a horde of smelly children.”
Joaquim did his best not to look surprised at her presumption. But the mayor dispatched his remaining aides to fulfill the marquesa’s demand.
Then Joaquim heard the sound of a child screeching somewhere beyond the walled-off square, sooner than he’d expected. Reyna must have come in pursuit of the Vilaró herself. She could not have gotten here so quickly otherwise.
The Vilaró waved one hand, and a part of the new stone wall about the square opened like a door. Reyna entered the walled-off square, her regal bearing leaving no doubt that she thought her name apt. Next to her, Miss Prieto dragged a clearly uncooperative Liliana by one arm. A livid bruise on one side of her jaw marred the girl’s pretty face—Piedad’s work.
“No! You can’t make me go with her!” Liliana screeched.
The queen glowered down at the girl. “We’re keeping our part of the bargain.”
It was a mark of Reyna’s fear of the Vilaró, that she’d given in so completely.
“No!” Liliana screamed, the sound sending gooseflesh along Joaquim’s arm.
“You have to stay with your mother,” Miss Prieto said quietly, “or the Vilaró will kill them all.”
“That’s not fair,” the girl shouted. “It’s not my fault.”
Joaquim glanced down at Alejandro, and saw him eye the girl with distaste. Joaquim couldn’t blame the boy. After all Leandra had done to get the girl free of the prison, Liliana should be grateful. But he suspected that gratefulness wasn’t something the sirenas had instilled in her. He doubted Liliana had any idea she should be grateful.
Miss Prieto drew the girl toward Leandra, who stepped forward. The girl turned her face away, but then confronted her mother. “You let Piedad hit me,” she said bitterly. “Look at my face.”
“Piedad hit you,” Leandra said. “Not me.”
“And Piedad enjoyed it too, I’m sure,” the Vilaró said, glaring down at Liliana. “You’re an obnoxious child.”
“Vilaró, don’t bait her,” Leandra said, no real anger in her voice.
“You agreed to free Piedad,” Reyna insisted.
“I agreed not to kill her,” the Vilaró replied. “I can bury her ten feet under the ground, still alive, and leave her there. So tell the man in charge what I want. I’m sure Miss Prieto made my demands clear.”
Bristling, Reyna turned to the officious-looking man. “These people,” she said, pointing at the group of women and children, “are not to be returned to the prison.”
The Vilaró shoved Piedad away from him. She stumbled a few steps before she turned on him, teeth bared, but stone lifted from its bed and crumbled to wrap around her feet, trapping her there. She hissed in fury as she struggled to wrench her feet loose.
Dust swirled around her, rising from the ground and pulling off the old walls of the building. A slender column coalesced within the dust, rising like a cobra poised before Piedad’s face. “Cross me,” the Vilaró said, “and the dust will seek out your lungs. It will grind your teeth away, scratch your eyes to blindness, fill your gills until you cannot breathe and your organs until you are stone itself.”
Joaquim swallowed. He’d set the Vilaró free. He was responsible for what this creature did now. “Vilaró, your promise!”
The Vilaró’s pale eyes flicked toward him, but then he turned to Leandra. “My bargain was that all of you would be freed in return for Piedad’s life. If they try to take any of you back, all their lives will be forfeit.”
Leandra nodded her understanding.
Piedad struggled, but the stone encasing her lower legs didn’t give. At least she didn’t dare open her mouth again.
“My grandson will stay,” Reyna said, turning calmly to the mayor. Joaquim heard the hint of a call in her words. “They are trying to take away my own flesh and blood. My grandson and great-granddaughter are Spanish citizens.”
Marcos looked horrified, mouth agape.
“No!” one of the women cried out. Joaquim recognized the young woman who’d stood guard outside the chapel. She clutched a black-haired imp in her arms that must be Marcos’ daughter. “You threw him away. He belongs to me now.”
“My deal,” the Vilaró rumbled, “was for all of them. Including Marcos and Miss Prieto.”
Joaquim saw relief on Marcos’ face. Even if Reyna didn’t respect any claim Safira had on Marcos, the Vilaró’s threat should make her relent.
The mayor, caught between the warden and a creature with far more power, stepped closer to the Vilaró’s side, as if that would protect him from the warden’s call. “You will have what you asked for,” he assured the Vilaró. “I’ve sent for cabs, but they won’t be able to enter here until you return my streets to normal, sir.”
“We will all walk out of here,” the Vilaró said to Reyna. “These people will board a train and travel to Barcelona. If they do not leave here safely, I will destroy the prison and take each one of your sirenas down with it. If there’s any attempt to take them into custody before they escape Spain, there will be repercussions. They are under my protection now, and a town like this, made of dust and stone, is mine to destroy. Your prison can become your tomb. Do you understand that, Reyna?”
She stared at him and nodded once, regally.
The Vilaró waved one hand and the broad cobbles sank back to the ground like dough being rolled out. When the dust settled, Joaquim was relieved to see that the Vilaró had managed not to hurt anyone. Most of the prison guards had scattered, but a few remained in the center of the street. The shaken paer en cap raised his arms to warn them back.
The stones at the center of the square abruptly heaved, pitching Piedad to land at the queen’s feet. Piedad scrambled to her feet and lunged toward the Vilaró, but Reyna slapped her across the back of her head. Not hard, but enough to startle Piedad into stopping. The queen said something softly to her, only a couple of words. With one last disdainful look, Piedad turned and walked away. She gestured as she walked past, and the prison guards followed her.
“You’ve won for today,” Reyna said to the Vilaró, “but God will destroy you.”
The Vilaró regarded her disdainfully. “In one day’s time, I will return here. If there are any guards or sirenas left in the Morra below, I will feed them to the stone. I will restore the walls of your prison once these people are safely beyond the shores of Spain.”
“And our lives?” Reyna asked.
“And your lives, such as they are, will be spared,” the Vilaró answered.
The queen nodded her agreement, clearly grasping that she had no choice at all.