Tallow (16 page)

'I'm afraid I can't tell you – trade secret.' I tapped the side of my nose while internally steeling myself for a dismissive comment. It never came.

Instead, Dante rose and stretched. 'Didn't think you would. But there was no harm trying. What are you doing in this quartiere? Where are you going?'

'Going –?' In the commotion over Cane, I'd forgotten all about Pillar. 'I ... I'm looking for someone. M– my master, Master Pillar. W– we came here –'

'To buy some tallow, Tallow,' finished Dante. 'Yeah, we see you lot from the Candlemakers Quartiere all the time. Though I've never seen
you
before. I'd remember you, with those spectacles of yours. Why do you wear them, or can't you tell me that either?'

I inwardly cursed the redness that travelled up my neck. 'I'm allergic to the sunlight. Hurts my eyes.'

'Oh,' said Dante. 'You
are
an odd one, aren't you?' He held out his hand. I stared at it. 'Come on, then!' he said and, grabbing my wrist, heaved me to my feet. It was the first time I'd been touched voluntarily by anyone other than Quinn, Pillar or Katina. His skin was rough and firm. It felt nice. 'Let's see if we can find your master.'

'You'll help me?'

'Course I will!' he said and took off down the ramo. 'Anyone who's a friend of Cane's is a friend of mine!' he called over his shoulder.

I looked at Cane. The dog raised his beautiful liquid eyes and wagged his tail. 'Did you hear that, Cane?' I whispered. 'I've got a friend!' Cane bumped my hand with his head. 'All right then, two!' I said laughing. 'Come on then, boy! Let's go find Pillar!'

Running along the ramo, with Cane lolloping beside me, I didn't remember ever feeling so light, so ... happy. I'd gone from losing Katina, the first real friend I'd had, to gaining two others. And one of them a dog!

It was only many years later, when it was too late, that I would learn how rash my actions in the ramo had been, how much we'd all – me, Dante, Cane and the people of Serenissima – pay the price for my foolhardiness.

WATCHING TALLOW RACE ALONG THE
ramo below, the woman on the balcony turned to the old man who had come at her quiet summons. 'Did you see that? Did you see what that boy did?'

The man looked at his daughter and was again struck by her dark beauty: the lagoon-green eyes, the sable hair, the honey skin. Had things been different, she would have married well. As it was, he thought, moving to the banister and peering down, perhaps their fortunes were about to change and she might yet ... 'I did,' said the old man. He twirled his cane. 'I did, indeed.'

'He healed that dog when it was as good as dead. Those wretched biricchinos nearly killed that animal. Brutes.'

'I'm touched you should care so much for a canine, my dear. If you want one, you need only ask.'

'Care?' scoffed the woman, her plump pink lips pouting in distaste. 'What do I care about a dirty dog? I'm far more interested in what the boy
did
to the dog. Do you think he's –'

'No. I don't
think
anything. I want to know. Certainly, what we observed suggests the boy has some unusual abilities. But it could also be a youngster's trick, staged for our benefit.'

'You think they knew we were watching?'

The man shrugged. 'Who knows? I'm not prepared to jump to conclusions. Not when so much is at stake.'

The woman turned back to overlook the ramo. 'What should we do then?'

'I think it's time we had a word with Baroque.'

'You mean –?'

'Yes. It's been a while since he's had something to do. Spying on the lad will sharpen his skills.'

'But will he agree to work for us again? I mean, it's not as though we can pay him much.'

The old man laughed. 'Baroque Scarpoli is no longer in any position to quibble about who he works for, let alone what he earns. Let me worry about Baroque, my dear. I can be very persuasive, you know.'

'I know.' The woman smiled. 'Tell him he has to find out where the boy lives. All Baroque has to do is ask for the whereabouts of the child with the golden glasses.'

The old man shook his head. 'Don't be so certain about that. These peasants stick together, you know.'

'Perhaps,' sniffed the woman. 'But, for the right price, there will be someone out there willing to speak. There always is.'

'And when they do, we'll see if our suspicions are right.'

'You can say it, Papa,' she sighed, gazing at Tallow's retreating back. 'We'll know if the boy is an Estrattore or not. Can you imagine? An Estrattore in our midst. Literally, at our very doorstep.'

Tallow, Dante and the dog disappeared around the corner.

'Whatever he is, he could be our means to the future that has been denied us,' said the man. He took the young woman's hand, bent and kissed it. 'For if this boy is what we hope he is, then our fortune will not escape us a second time. If he is an Estrattore, our destiny is assured.' The man tapped the railing with his cane.

The woman frowned. 'What if he won't help us?'

'If he can't be convinced, then we'll just have to use force, won't we?'

The woman looked at her father, then threw back her head and laughed. 'Why, you wily old soul! I wasn't sure you still had it in you.'

'Don't ever doubt the mind or heart of a Maleovelli, my dear.'

In a practised movement, they linked arms and lazily strolled back into the top floor, the piano nobile, of their rented apartment.

Il s'en alla comme une chandelle
He was snuffed out like a candle

Anon.
Kingdom of Aquitaine

KATINA WAS DROWNING IN DARKNESS.
She tried to open her eyes and chase the gloom away, but her lids were too heavy, so she surrendered to its pall and consciousness fled ...

Awareness returned as a demanding touch forced her lips apart. Trying to speak, her voice was unused and raw, only echoing in her mind. Rough fingers pinched her nostrils, forcing her to inhale through her mouth and swallow. The liquid scalded; she retched. Hands probed and rubbed; the coarse voices enveloped her in sound, jangling her nerves. Who was torturing her with potions, salves and endless nagging? Lost in a fugue where memories, dreams, reality and pain converged, only the comfort of a familiar and beloved scent persuaded Katina to finally cease her struggle. Only then did the voices alter, their cadence transforming to angelic whispers while the insistent fingers became silken feathers that caressed and soothed her hot flesh. Katina relaxed and gratefully returned to oblivion.

Katina drifted in and out of the past and present. Images of Tallow, Pillar, Quinn and the ever-changing waters of the lagoon overlapped with vignettes of her young self, long before she became a Bond Rider, finally melding with the forms of those tending to her. Brown and grey, firm and indistinct, a melange of now and then: the images merged into one and beckoned her back into history.

Behind this, its flame steady and hot, burned a lone candle.

THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD FILIPPO JOINED HIS TWIN
by the window. 'What are you thinking about, Katina?'

'Family,' she murmured. 'It's funny how something you rarely see but which keeps you alive can tie even the most distant of relatives together.' She held her arm up and twisted it to expose the pale blue veins that striped the white inner flesh.

'What are you talking about?'

She pointed to the place where the fine skin pulsed softly. 'Blood.'

'Ah. What about our name? That ties us to our family as well, you know.'

'What about it? There are hundreds of Maggiore in Serenissima. We're a very minor branch of a great family.'

'Yes. But no matter what we do, our name connects us.'

'Not so,' said Katina, tossing her head. 'We could always change our name. We wouldn't be the first. No, only our blood really connects us. It also ties us to
that.'
She spat the word towards the recently renovated church, San Giorgio Maggiore, on the opposite bank. 'It carries our name, but I don't feel connected to it. I don't want to be either. For the first time, I wish I wasn't a Maggiore.' She stepped back from the window, her eyes fixed on the elegant white building. 'Tell me, Filippo, what makes it a church now and not a temple, anyhow? What did our grand cousins donate the money for if not to make it appear different? It looks like it always did to me – if a bit more splendid.'

Filippo snorted. 'Our cousins paid for their safety. To prove to the Doge and this foreign Patriarch that they're believers, that the Estrattore do not matter. They can replace the old columns with fancier ones, bury the murals under layers of paint, but it's meaningless. The difference is just on the outside – on the inside, it hasn't changed. Not to us. I don't know what you're worried about. Why you're so ... so ...' He studied his sister, taking in her folded arms and frown. 'Angry.'

'Don't you?' Katina shook her head. 'Then you're as bad as the rest of them! I'm angry because you're wrong, Filippo. Everyone is wrong. They just sit back and let it happen, arguing, like you, that the changes are only superficial. They're not. They're much, much more than that. It's not just this
church,
but everywhere. It's on the inside too. One small change starts another, then another. Little by little, bit by bit, until no-one remembers what someone once looked like, who they once were, or what they believed. Our family
has
changed – just like that church.' She nodded towards it and then pointed in the direction of her heart. 'So, eventually, we'll change. We'll be just like the rest of the Maggiore – betrayers of the old ways, harbingers of the new faith. We'll be made to,' she whispered. 'It's already started and no-one can stop it from happening.'

'No!' Filippo closed the distance between them and put his arms around her. 'No matter what threats the stupid old Doge makes, or that fat Patriarch, we musn't change.'

A smattering of applause from the doorway of the piano nobile made Katina and Filippo jump apart.

'You're right, my gallant one.' Bathed in shadow, an old woman shuffled forwards into the sunlight. She held out her arms. 'But you must
appear
to change.'

'Constantina!' cried Katina and ran to her.

Constantina's touch made the confusion and sense of injustice that had been churning inside her fade. Calm infused her body. 'You're safe.'

'Not from being squeezed to death by you,' laughed the woman and released Katina. She turned to Filippo, who walked into her embrace.

'Tell us what's happening,' insisted Katina, dragging a chair over and patting the cushions. 'We're sick of being cooped up in here. Mamma and Papa refuse to tell us what's going on.' She stamped her foot, the little heel on her shoe cracking against the tiles. 'They disappear for hours so Papa can meet with Signor So-and-So, or argue with Prince Whatever-His-Name-Is while Mamma speaks with the women.'

'Katina's right.' Filippo escorted Constantina to the chair, helping her get comfortable. 'I know that Mamma and Papa think they're protecting us, but we're not stupid, we hear things. The servants gossip, they don't care if we're listening. We know things are getting worse. There's barely anyone about anymore. The canal is like a backwater.'

Constantina's silver gaze went from brother to sister. Her eyes shone in the light that drenched the top floor. Their earnest faces, desperate for news, were mirrored back to them. They could see their shock at how pale and worn she appeared.

Touched by their love and wanting to protect them, Constantina also knew the time for truth had arrived.

She rested her head against the high, ornate back of the chair. 'Vi amo,' she began,
I love you,
before tearing her eyes from the gilded ceiling to take in the twins. Even with heeled shoes on, Katina was shorter than Filippo. He'd grown in the last few months and his shoulders were filling out. His voice had deepened and there was a telltale swelling under the bib of Katina's dress, but Constantina didn't need these physical indicators to prove that her charges were maturing.

She was sad that their childhood would end so abruptly, so savagely. 'I do not have to tell either of you how hard the last few years have been – for all of us.' Her last word carried a slight note of accusation. They were not Estrattore, despite the familial relationship – only supporters of her kind. Users, if the truth be told, of their services. 'Each day, more and more of my people are leaving Serenissima, our country, our home. But where to go? Jinoa has denied us, Vyzantia and Phalagonia have closed their borders; even neighbouring Hellas will not admit my kind. After centuries of peace, we are homeless again.'

'What about Kyprus?' asked Filippo. 'They've always supported the Estrattore. Why, I remember Papa saying that their ambassador offered to relocate a huge number of ... ah, you, onto the island last time he was here. Their king was quite, what did Papa say ...?'

'Infatuated,' Katina finished.

'Yes, that's right, infatuated with what you can do.'

Constantina stifled a laugh. 'You're so old and yet so young. My ragazzi, you will learn that infatuation can swiftly tire and turn to loathing. Add fear to that and we no longer have any relationship but hostility.' Her fingers stroked the gilded arms. 'Anyway, Kyprus will not do anything to aggravate Doge Alvisio, who's looking for any excuse to invade. They're afraid of what he'll do. They're also afraid of the City-State of the Great Patriarch – what will happen to them if they ignore a decree that even the Doge of Serenissima obeys. But really, they're scared of us. Most are, you know.' She reached up and chucked Filippo under the chin.

'What's to fear?' Filippo laughed and threw his arms into the air. 'They're cowards!'

'Filippo, mi amo, cowards are those we need to fear most. The brave face that which they're afraid of – cowards choose other means to vanquish their enemies, ways we do not always see coming. Not until it's too late.' Her eyes clouded. 'We underestimated the reach of the Patriarch, his influence on the Doge. They might be cowards, but we've been fools.'

'What's happened?' Katina urged.

Constantina leaned over so her face was close to Katina's. She beckoned Filippo forwards. 'More Estrattore have been killed, haven't they?' he asked as he knelt before the old woman. His tone demanded honesty.

'Yes. They have. Every day for the last few months, someone has died in the name of the new faith. They can call it whatever they want – heresy, treason – but we know what it is. It's murder. Even as we speak, soldiers from the Arsenale are preparing for more executions. They've erected a giant scaffold outside the Basilica on Nobiles' Rise. The padres, with their black frocks, white collars and golden crosses, order the men as if they're commanding an army. The crowds gather like hungry birds, ready to pick over the so-called guilt of those they once called friends and even saviours. Now, we're little more than common criminals, refused the right of a dignified and swift death. Instead, we're being hung from our feet until we lose consciousness or until someone more afraid than the Doge or Patriarch draws their sword or throws a well-aimed rock.' Her lips began to tremble. 'I can feel their pain, our pain, in every stone, every piece of wood and marble, the cobblestones I walk upon sear my soul – every wave that ripples across the lagoon is a cry for mercy. It's more than I can bear.' Her head fell into her hands and her shoulders shook.

Katina and Filippo sat at her feet, numb. She who had lived so many lifetimes, seen and felt so much – they'd never seen her cry before.

Behind them, the sunlight slowly dimmed and was replaced by beams of hoary moonlight that penetrated some shadows while deepening those that grew beside the chairs, tables and hid behind the painting-covered walls.

'Where are Mamma and Papa?' asked Katina finally, aware that not only had evening arrived but she was also very thirsty. 'They should be back by now.'

Filippo rose to his feet and crossed to the windows. 'They said they would back for supper. Perhaps they are already –' His body stiffened. 'Fire!' he cried. 'By the gods! Come quick. There's fire.'

Katina leapt up and helped Constantina out of the chair. They stood side-by-side, faces pressed against the glass. On the other side of the canal towards the Philosophers Quartiere, an area favoured by the Estrattore, flames reached for the sky. Swirling motes of molten ash danced against the night, casting a golden glow over the spires of the university and the casas that snuggled against its walls.

'So, it's come to this.' Constantina's voice made the shadows tremble. 'They pretend to give us a choice: exile, or renounce our faith and stay. And now they kill those who remain.' Her eyes were like the fire that blazed outside. 'They would burn us in our own homes.'

'I don't believe it,' exclaimed Filippo. 'Look, down there. The water is rising.' He pointed at the lagoon. 'It's already above the water-stairs. There will be an acqua alta tonight.'

Constantina grew very still. 'The gods have spoken then. Fuoco and acqua. Fire and water.' Her hand rushed to her chest and fluttered there. 'I did not think that in my lifetime I would see this. The prophecy ...'

'What prophecy? What are you talking about?' demanded Filippo.

Constantina didn't seem to hear him. Instead, with hollow eyes she stared, darting from the conflagration above to the lagoon and back again. 'And so it was written,' she murmured.

'Where are Mamma and Papa?' insisted Katina. A chill had crept into her soul and would not leave. She tugged at Constantina's skirt. Never before had the old woman's differences been so apparent as she stood there, conversing with an invisible presence that made Katina's hair stand on end. 'Constantina, please, stop that. What do you mean? What are you saying? Where are they?'

Aware of her charges at last, Constantina moved away from the window. Katina followed. Filippo remained, his fists clenched by his side.

'You don't understand. How can you? The prophecy spoke of this. Fire and water, it says.'

'So?' Filippo faced her, hands on hips.

'What prophecy?' asked Katina at the same time.

'That when they meet it will be the end of the Estrattore.'

Katina and Filippo exchanged a long look.

'It can't be! The Doge said ...' Katina stopped the moment Constantina's finger touched her lips.

'Ssh, ragazza. It is. The Doge has said many things, made many promises and now they are but smoke in the wind, drowned in the waters that rise as we speak. Come,' she said, gathering her skirts. 'It's time for us to leave.'

'Us?'

'What about Mamma and Papa?' asked Filippo.