Charlie had to know.
"How were you planning to get home, Tony?" he asked in English.
The grey pallor of Tony Bartlett's skin washed white in the lantern light. "What—? Who—?"
"I was Big Joe's middleman."
Tony blinked. Licked his lips. "Mr... ." he seemed to search for the name Charlie had used when dealing with Carreras "... Mr. Ireland?" His voice wavered badly. "Listen—I know you've got to be furious, Mr. Ireland, I don't blame you." He tried, and failed, to manage a disarming grin. "But you got to know, you have to understand—I wasn't part of that deal, I had nothing to do with that decision—"
Charlie reined Silver closer and stared down at the fallen thug. "Tell me how you get back."
He shook his head. Frustrated rage transformed his dying face into a ghoul's mask. "Can't get back. Bitch stole the device. Got to find that—"
"Sibyl?"
Tony started badly. "You know her?"
Charlie's instantaneous, visceral reaction was, Thank God, thank you, dear, sweet Lord, she got away. His next thought shamed him to his bones: She didn't take me with her. He knew Sibyl would have had no way of finding him, but the overpowering loss of coming that close, and failing to make it home, made breathing difficult. He tightened his grip around his child and hated the man at his feet.
Tony glared up at him. "Mr. Ireland, you've got to find this bitch, I'm telling you! She's got the recall device."
"Get real, Tony. She's long gone."
Tony shook his head, his face a sculptor's study in pain and desperation. "No, she can't be gone yet. Hasn't been a storm."
"What?" Hope and fear blossomed simultaneously. "What are you talking about?"
"A storm. No thunderstorm out there. When she pushes that button, gonna be one Holy Mother of a thunderstorm. It's a side effect, like. Takes time to build up. Maybe quarter of an hour. You see the storm brewing, you got maybe ten minutes. No storm, then nobody's pushed the button."
Charlie frowned. If this slimeball weren't lying...
"Strip."
"Huh?"
"Down to the skin. Move it!"
"But—my shoulder—"
Charlie shifted his sword. "I could always drop this lantern off my sword tip and kill you first. Searching corpses doesn't bother me much, Tony. Thanks to your boss, I spent two years killing men in the arena. Lots of tough men, Tony. Now strip!"
Tony undressed. He was slow and he whimpered like a baby, but he undressed. Charlie made him dump everything from his clothing onto the ground. There was nothing larger or more sinister-looking than a pack of cigarettes. Charlie made him rip open the pack and shred each one.
He was telling the truth about the device, at any rate. Charlie didn't think he'd ever seen anyone more genuinely terrified.
"Huh. So you want my help finding the broad? What's it worth?"
"Anything—God, you name it—"
Charlie parted his lips in what might have been a grin. Naked, bleeding down his chest, Tony swallowed hard. Very softly, Charlie said, "Tell me about Jésus Carreras, Tony, and the family's new business... ."
Twenty minutes later, Charlie was at the end of the seawall, where a torrential stream cascaded into another small harbor. He'd run across several surly fishermen guarding their beached boats from thieves and had seen some hastily negotiated transactions between a rich patrician family and one particularly seedy-looking lout with a good-sized, masted fishing sloop. There was, however, no sign of Sibyl. Tony hadn't possessed a clue as to which direction she might have gone.
Charlie grimaced. He would hear Bartlett's curses in his dreams, but he wasn't in the business of rescuing cold-blooded killers caught in their own traps. He was a cop, sworn to uphold the law—but this was a.d. 79, and Charlie'd been a tough street hood long before he'd taken a badge. Tony "Bartlett" Bartelli would get his own ass out, or die in Sibyl's place. Charlie peered up at the sky, but saw no hint of a storm brewing. Where had she gone? Looking for him? Charlie spat an oath into the teeth of the wind and reined Silver around toward town again.
She was a scientist. He'd never been able to figure those birds. Was she planning on staying to watch the disaster unfold, just to satisfy some stupid scholarly itch? If he did find her, he was going to shake her so hard...
Charlie headed Silver up off the beach and began to search streets and alleys near the northwestern harbor. Where would she have gone to activate the device? Tony'd said there would be a lot of lightning discharged right around the portal. Sibyl probably wouldn't want to activate it in town, then. He turned Silver and set the horse at a brisk trot for the city's outskirts. He rode from the waterfront inland, calling Sibyl's name every few feet.
Nothing answered but the ominous roar of the volcano.
By the time he'd ridden around the entire city and returned to the beachfront on the opposite side of town, the night had progressed so far he didn't dare waste any more time. Lucania was asleep again, nestled inside a fold of his cloak. He could feel her breaths against his bare arm. Charlie stopped his horse. He glared impotently at the volcano, then squeezed shut his eyes. He was out of time. If he didn't escape now...
He swore and turned Silver back toward town. He had to search one last place. If Bericus had recaptured her before she'd had a chance to use the device... Bericus' villa was still in chaos. He watched from the shadows as Bericus himself strode about in the street, shouting at his slaves and exhorting his neighbors to help search for his missing slave.
Charlie breathed a faint sigh of relief.
Then reluctantly turned his mount back toward the waterfront. Sibyl hadn't been recaptured. Wherever she was hiding... Bitterness filled his throat. She'd probably searched and searched for him, while he searched for her, playing a stupid, fatal game of cat and mouse and missing one another by minutes. The weight of his daughter against his arm made Charlie want to cry.
Charlie wished Sibyl the best of luck getting home. He closed his mind to the crushing loss of hope. He couldn't afford the risk of waiting for the lightning storm to begin brewing in an attempt to return with her. Not only might he never pinpoint the actual location of the portal... he had a gut feeling they were all nearly out of time. If it had just been his own life to throw away, he might have stayed.
But with Lucania's life at stake, too...
He couldn't see any stars through the pall of ash drifting down from the volcano, but he knew the night was well advanced. It had taken a damnably long time to ride all the way around the city. Charlie was betting it was already past eleven. The eerie, hair-raising sheets and gouts of flame shooting through the blackness overhead frightened him more deeply every time he looked up.
Charlie tried to ignore the ache in his chest and throat when he thought of sunlight dancing on Biscayne Bay. Of skilled surgical reconstruction. Of someone else touching her hair, watching her green eyes light up with laughter...
Charlie kicked his horse into a fast canter. The lantern on his sword danced and swung, casting plunging shadows across the dark walls of houses and public buildings. Silver plunged through thinning crowds, hooves rattling on stone. Charlie ignored curses flung after him. He guided the horse back down to the beach and set out to find the fishermen he'd seen earlier. Please, God, he prayed, let them still be there. Let at least one of them be willing to leave now. Or if unwilling, then able to see reason at the point of a sword.