Tallow (18 page)

The only time we'd ever had a disagreement was in the middle of winter, during Carnivale. While I knew about Carnivale, a few weeks when all social rules were thrown away and life was turned upside down, I'd never witnessed what could happen. There were nights of music, singing, shouting, bright laughter and the clink of bottles, glasses and the occasional fight – even in our calle. Pillar would slip out, returning in the small hours, staggering, unkempt but also content. For days afterwards, Quinn would cast him sly looks and make remarks that I couldn't make sense of but that would make Pillar blush. Of course, I'd heard things, about how nobile women and even the nuns in the convent would flaunt their bodies; how men with nothing, just like Pillar, could dare to approach those who outranked them on the social scale and exchange food, drink and more with them. I just couldn't imagine Pillar having the courage to do that. But people did strange things during Carnivale – and they were allowed. It was considered peculiar not to take advantage of this special time. People wore masks to hide their real identities and for the days and nights that Carnivale raged they would play all sorts of roles without any of the usual consequences.

But for me, for whom life was nothing but a role, a masquerade, Carnivale didn't quite hold the same enchantment that it did for Dante. On the very first night, he couldn't wait to drag me through the piazza at the end of the salizzada and into the shadows on the other side. We'd hidden behind a statue near the taverna, watching the Carnivale revellers dancing and feasting. They seemed immune to the cold. At intervals, heavily masked and costumed couples would sneak into the rami, only to emerge minutes later in disarray. With a curious look on his face, Dante had insisted we follow one. We crouched in the darkest corner, spying, as a masked man lifted a woman's dress. I had never seen another person partially naked before – not even Quinn or Pillar. It was a shock to see the ends of her stockings and bare thighs. They were so white and soft-looking. The man had pressed himself into her, grunting and groaning while the woman moaned. I couldn't take my eyes off them either. Waves of heat washed over me, contrasting to the numbing chill of the air.

Dante had behaved strangely afterwards. When the couple finished, they'd separated and left the ramo, one at either end. They didn't see us. Dante was very red in the face and quiet for a long time. Later that night, after we'd been wandering amongst the crowds for a while, he whispered something in my ear. Before I could ask him to repeat himself, he disappeared briefly with a tall girl in a low-cut blouse wearing a tiger mask. It was only because it was Carnivale that Dante had addressed the girl, let alone taken her aside.

I waited in the dark overhang of a sottoportegho, wondering if Dante would remember to come back for me.

He did, with a stupid, satisfied look on his face.

'You should try that too,' he'd said, ruffling my hair. Fury rose in me. Before I knew what I was doing, I slapped his hand away and turned on him.

'You smell like a pig!' I spat. 'Don't ever leave me like that again! If you want to go off with one of those ... those ... cavola, then leave me at home!'

Dante looked shocked. Then he'd burst out laughing. 'Ah, my little Tallow's jealous!' That was all the provocation I needed. I flew at him, swinging punches and trying to bite.

'Ah, a spitfire. A jealous little spitfire,' teased Dante, chuckling as he easily ducked the punches and avoided the bites. Finally, he captured both my wrists in one hand and with the other, wrapped me tightly so my back was pressed against his chest. Immediately, I stopped struggling. My breasts heaved under their vice-like bindings. 'Don't be jealous, tiny Tallow,' Dante whispered, his stubble tickling my ear, causing shivers to run up and down my spine, setting my nerves on fire. His body felt so warm, so firm. I began to melt into him, the tension and anger fleeing as I became aware of the taut muscles in his forearm. I could feel them against my bandages. Confusion warred in me and I was grateful for the concealing darkness. He dropped his head until his chin nestled against my neck. I closed my eyes. He gave a low chuckle. I held my breath. 'One day your prick will be big enough to please a woman, too!' he said. Then he thrust his hips into my back a few times.

I bit down hard on his arm and twisted out of his embrace. I couldn't look at him and I certainly didn't want him staring at me. But he was. I asked to go home, hating my voice that it trembled. Puzzled, but also smug, Dante complied without another word.

The following day I was so embarrassed by my behaviour, for losing control, that I wondered how I could face him again. But the next time I saw Dante, it was as if nothing had happened. It was then I decided that, by way of apology, I would give him some candles I'd made.

After that, it became a regular thing. Dante would take me exploring and in exchange, I would give him a taper or two – tapers that I'd carefully practised my talents upon. Dante had been delighted. The candles from Pillar's workshop were the talk of his quartiere. Not that his great-aunt would deign to spend good coin on them, not when the family could make their own rough versions from the leftover chandling tallow. But she was very pleased that Dante's new acquaintance was so generous, and would proudly tell anyone that inquired that their candles were provided by
that
candlemaker and it just so happened that her nephew was very good friends with his apprentice.

I knew that Dante enjoyed my company, candles or no candles. I loved being with him. But he was also endlessly curious about me and, while he rarely brought up what he'd witnessed when I saved Cane, I would occasionally catch his eyes lingering upon me and could feel the unasked questions burning within him. Like me, Dante had never had any siblings and he treated me like a younger brother, alternately teasing and defending me. Unused to people my own age, it took me a while to grow accustomed to Dante's ways and the position he created for me in his life. But it became comfortable for both of us – so much so that before long I found it hard to remember my life without him.

'What do you reckon, then?' asked Dante, distracting me from my thoughts.

I'd never been in a gondola before – only the larger sandoli and traghettos. I leaned forwards and stroked the old, dark wood. The craft was over thirty feet long and very slender. 'It's beautiful,' I whispered. 'But where did you get it?'

'It was in the chandlers' squero, you know, the boatyard Uncle Borlomio owns,' explained Dante. 'No-one was using it, so I thought we'd borrow it for a few hours.'

'Do you think anyone will mind?'

'Mind! Of course they'll mind. But only if they find out, and I don't intend for that to happen.' He pushed out into the centre of the canal.

'Where are we going?'

Dante gave a wicked grin. 'See the engraving on the ferro?' He pointed to the curved piece of shiny, notched steel moulded to the prow. Six prongs faced forwards, one looked astern. 'That tells us that this gondola belongs to the Opera Quartiere. I thought we'd take it for a visit. It looks kind of homesick to me.'

My mouth dropped open. 'The Opera Quartiere! Are you mad? We'll never make it there and back before dawn.' My heart began to thump. If Pillar found out what I was up to, I'd never be allowed out of his sight again. And what about Quinn? But I thrilled to the idea of the adventure. I'd never been to the main part of the Circolo Canal, let alone all the way to the Opera Quartiere before. I knew it was near Nobiles' Rise – the Doge's own island. I tried not to show my excitement and trepidation but Dante knew me too well.

'If you stop talking and let me concentrate while I push, we'll be back in plenty of time to tuck you into bed so nasty old Quinn doesn't find out what you've been up to. Now, keep your voice down. Sound carries on water. Wait until we're on the Circolo before you start complaining again!' Dante gave me a huge grin to take the sting out of his words. 'We don't want anyone to become curious as to how two apprentices got hold of a lovely old boat like this.'

Unable to do anything else, I crawled into the felze, ducking to avoid hitting my head. It was a small space, lined with plush, tassled cushions and draped with velvet fabric. I wriggled around, trying to get comfortable. Stretching my legs out, I put my hands behind my head and watched my quartiere drift by through the soft arch of the curtains, the ball of anxiety gnawing away at me gradually disappearing.

IT TOOK ABOUT HALF AN
hour to reach the Circolo Canal. When we did, I found it hard to contain my excitement. Never before had I seen so many boats, so much water, so many casas and palines. For miles along the canal, the red-and-white-striped poles rose out of the water, each with its own gondola firmly tied to it, the wake of our passing slapping them to life.

The further we went, always staying near the banks, the more gondolas appeared on the water – not only tied to their watery beds, but afloat and active in the moonlight.

Many of the gondoliers were dressed in velvet pantaloons with white silk shirts embraced by cropped dark jackets. Straw hats with little ribbon tails were perched upon their heads. Very few bothered with us, I suppose because of the state of our boat. Compared to the rest gliding along the waterways, our sad, old gondola no longer seemed so luxurious. Occasionally a gondolier would break into song, and it was all Dante and I could do to contain our laughter.

After a while, we steered into a quieter area – the Philosophers Quartiere. Rising above the other buildings on the island was the triple steeple of the university basilica. Pennants pronouncing coats of arms and the national flag of Serenissima, with its familiar winged beast, flapped lazily in the breeze. I gazed at the rows of vaulted windows, many of which had candles burning, and wondered what problems were being both solved and created by the great minds of the country this night.

'Hey!' Dante's voice interrupted my thoughts. 'I'll ask again. Do you want to take the oar?'

'Do I?' I squeaked, leaping to my feet and almost overturning the gondola.

'Steady there,' he laughed and slapped me affectionately on the back.

It took me about fifteen minutes and lots of splashing to become used to how a gondola was manoeuvred. Dante had made it look so easy, but, as he explained, he'd had years of practice playing around in the gondolas left for repair in his uncle's squero.

'That's it,' said Dante, standing behind me, wiping the splashes of water from his face. 'Push, don't pull – not yet. Bring it back carefully, that's it. It's like dancing with a beautiful woman. Lead her with a firm hand, but not too firm. Use your strength – the strength that's in here,' he touched his forehead and then his chest, 'to persuade her to follow you. Pretend you're irresistible. And for God's sake, concentrate and stop looking around.'

I focused for a moment on the image. To Dante, I would one day be the man who directed the dance. But what would it be like to be held as a woman, to be desired because
I
was irresistible?

'Focus!' snapped Dante, unaware of what had diverted my attention. Mind, it was hard not to be distracted by the walls of the marble casas coming into view. They climbed out of the water like blushing monoliths – they didn't look real, so pearly perfect were they with their carved facades and ornate windows.

'That's good,' said Dante finally. 'That's really good. I'm surprised. I didn't think you'd pick it up so quickly'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' I said gruffly. 'It's not
that
hard.'

'If that's the way you feel,' he said, 'then you can manage by yourself for a while.' Before I could say anything, he leapt off the platform and disappeared into the felze. Seconds later, his legs emerged. 'Sing me a song, gondolier!' he ordered.

I momentarily lost my rhythm. 'Er ...' I hesitated. No-one had ever asked me to sing before. It wasn't something I did. 'I don't know any,' I admitted.

Dante hit his head in his haste to look up at me. 'What? Are you serious? You don't know
any
songs.'

I shook my head.

'That's sad. No, that's worse than sad. That's pathetic!' He retired back into the felze to think. I didn't tell him that while I didn't know any songs, there was one piece of music – if it could be called that – that I'd heard intermittently throughout my life. I couldn't hum it, but I could recognise the sound whenever it came to me. It made my hair stand on end and my spine prickle.

'I know,' called Dante finally.
'I'll
sing you one!'

He crawled out of the felze and sat in the bottom of the boat facing me. Without warning, he broke into song. I got such a fright that I lost my footing, almost dropping the oar. It slid down the forcola. I made a hasty grab to prevent it falling in the canal, but as I lunged forward, my spectacles came off. I watched in horror as they bounced on top of the cabin, slid off the wood and landed neatly in Dante's lap. He looked at them and then, with great deliberation, picked them up.

I rested the oar in the forcola and stretched out my hand. 'Can I have my glasses, please?' I kept my face lowered, my eyes downcast.

Without a word, Dante rose to his feet and, turning the glasses over in his hand so the arms faced me, went to place them on my nose. Just as he was about to slide them on, he paused. He was looking to see what I hid beneath my lashes.

I tried to screw up my face, but it was too late.

He gasped. 'Your eyes. They're like ... like the moonlight on the water.' I could feel his breath on my cheek. I couldn't help it; I raised my chin and, meeting his eyes, looked deep into his heart.

For a moment, time stood still. It was just me and Dante on the Circolo Canal beneath the stars. I could hear my heart beating in my ears and Dante's beating in my soul. Our faces were so close, our noses almost touched. 'What are you, Tallow?' he murmured. But I couldn't tell if the words had come from his mouth or his mind.

He continued to stare at me and I at him. Slowly, inexorably, I was falling towards him.

A nearby cry and splash made us break contact. I quickly snatched the spectacles out of his hands and pushed them onto my face. Turning away, I picked up the oar. I had almost ruined everything! Revealed what I'd spent all my life hiding.

'No,' Dante said firmly a second later. He brushed past me and wrapped his fingers around the oar. 'Let me take it. You get back in the felze. We're coming into a busy area.'

I handed it over without a word and retreated into the cabin. My thoughts were hazy and I was uncomfortably warm.

From being relatively empty, the canal had filled again. As we rounded the bend that brought the Barnabotti and Ridotto Sestieri as well as Nobiles' Rise into view, there were craft banked up as far as we could see.

Dante quickly turned the oar, using the pressure of the current to slow us down.

'What's wrong?' I asked, half-lifting out of my seat, craning my neck to see what had caused the backlog of boats.

'It's an acqua alta,' said Dante, referring to the high tide that sometimes struck Serenissima, making it impossible to pass under the bridges and flooding the low-lying calles and fondamentas. 'No-one can get under the first bridge, the Ponte della Pensieri. We won't progress any further tonight, I'm afraid. The Opera Quartiere and Nobiles' Rise will have to do without the pleasure of our company this evening. We'd better turn around.' His voice was cold and matter-of-fact. It wasn't like Dante to accept defeat so easily.

I tried not to let my disappointment show. Instead, I stood up, holding on to the top of the felze, and drank in what I could of the sights. Further along the canal was a wide stone bridge. People lined the sides, casting flowers and promises into the boats just below them. The water had risen so high, it was almost possible for the people in the gondolas and those on the bridge to reach each other. To my right, I could just make out the well-kept gardens of a nobile's casa. I wondered briefly to whom it belonged. My understanding of Serenissima's aristocrats was not great, but I did know that the lesser nobiles, those whose bloodline had not held the throne for many generations, lived further from the Doge's palazzo than those whose families had held office in recent times. Nonetheless, the façades of the casas looked pretty opulent to me, as did the relief work that was carved around the water-gates and the ornate sculptures which, even in silhouette, were clearly works of great art.

Before long, we were free of the water traffic and heading back towards the Dorsoduro Sestiere. Dante was unusually quiet as he guided the gondola back and I knew that I was the cause of his sudden change in mood.

'That was a great idea taking the gondola, Dante,' I said, opting to flatter him and restore his good humour. 'Thank you for such ingenuity.'

Dante just grunted.

'Oh,' I said, dragging something else from my arsenal. 'I forgot.' I reached into my pocket. 'I brought you some more tapers. If you burn these around your grandfather's bed, you'll find his sleep won't be so troubled.' I held them out.

Dante avoided looking at me, but he took them all the same. 'Grazie,' was all he said as he stuffed them in his coat.

I sighed. Something had happened, but I wasn't sure what. I didn't know what to do. Directness seemed to be the best option. Dante was always blunt.

'Dante, have I done something wrong?' I asked in a small voice.

He looked at me then. 'What do you think?' he said finally, coldly.

'I ... I don't know.'

'Don't you? You're old enough to know what you're doing, with those eyes of yours, those peculiar ways. At first I just thought you were different. Like what you did to Cane. But back there, when you looked at me, I felt ...' He struggled to find the right words.

I waited. He didn't finish.

I knew I shouldn't ask, but I had to. 'What did you feel?'

Still Dante did not reply. All I heard was the lapping of the water against the wood and the repetitive murmur of tiny waves as they broke against the fondamenta.

Part of me knew what Dante was talking about, but I didn't know how to resolve it. If I told him the truth about me, any truth, I would be exposing not just myself, but my greatest friend, to terrible danger.

It was Dante that finally broke the uneasy silence. 'I don't think we should see each other any more.'

My heart contracted. I wanted to protest, to plead. I knew I could do neither of these things. I had to be calm. 'Dante –'

'Shush,' he ordered suddenly. I looked at him sadly. Had it come to this? I couldn't even talk to him?

'I think we're being followed,' he whispered, and, running his fingers through his hair while keeping his index finger straight in a familiar gesture we used, pointed discreetly towards the opposite bank. 'A black gondola. One oarsman. I wasn't sure before, but now I am. He's been tailing us since we left the first ponte at Nobiles' Rise.'

I peered into the darkness but couldn't see anything. Then I caught it: a silent black shape gliding across the water at a pace that matched ours. My blood froze. 'Can you lose him?'

'I don't know,' said Dante softly. Let me think for a moment.'

Dante silently rowed, neither increasing nor decreasing his rhythm. I sat back in the felze, peering out nervously. I could see the gondola quite clearly now. It was very dark, like the man who steered it. His head was turned towards us, but his voluminous cloak and tricorn hat made it impossible to see his face, let alone any distinguishing features. He appeared to drift above the water, a spirit or sprite – as if he were not of this world.

Much to my surprise, Dante started singing. His voice was quiet and lilting, the words muffled. How could he sing at a time like this? But this was no ordinary song: it was a set of instructions.

'We will sail until we reach the steps of Fondamenta Vergini, and then we will leave the gondola and run for our hearths and homes.'
Dante's voice was low, but I could make out every word.

I began to hum along. Dante fell quiet and I knew he waited for me to indicate I understood. So I also sang, repeating his last words.
'And run for our hearths and homes ...'

We reached the Dorsoduro Sestiere minutes later and diverted into one of the narrow canals that divided the Chandlers and Candlemakers Quartieri. Dante turned to me. 'Listen,' he whispered. 'We're nearly there. As soon as I get the gondola near the steps, jump off and run. I'll follow.'

Emerging from the felze, I nodded. I squatted in the bow and watched the steps loom closer.

Because of the acqua alta, the bow bumped into one of the upper steps and the keel grated against the lower ones, causing the gondola to rock. Thrown around, I still managed to jump over the side and mount the steps two at a time. At the top, I paused and waited. Dante was still on board. Pushing the oar with all his might, he dislodged the gondola and propelled it back onto the canal. I wondered what he was doing. Was he going to leave me there? I began to panic.

Then he leapt onto the stairs. His arms spun and his legs kicked. At first I didn't think he was going to make it, but he hit the bottom steps with a splash, and fell onto his hands and knees. He quickly bounded to his feet and joined me.

'In here!' he hissed and dragged me into the doorway of a nearby shop.

Breathing heavily we waited in the shadows. The current caught our gondola and took it further up the canal.

I tried to see if we'd been followed, but before I could stick my head out, Dante yanked me back. 'You trying to show him where we are?' he chided and then cautiously peered around the corner. 'Here he comes,' he whispered and indicated the entrance to the canal.

I looked more carefully this time. Gliding silently around the corner was a long, dark shape.

My eyes widened and I held my breath as the cloaked man lifted the oar out of the water and slowly passed the steps. At that moment, a shaft of moonlight escaped the clouds and lit up the canal. I repressed a gasp. The man had the face of a jackal. I could feel his eyes searching the fondamenta. My heart hammered and I squeezed myself back into the corner, not daring to look again.

After what seemed ages, he drifted past. Only then did I dare to peep. Ahead, I could see the outline of our gondola in the moonlight. I hoped it would be a while before he drew level and discovered our deception.

Dante let out his breath. 'That was close! He must have recognised the gondola, that it was ... er ... borrowed. Thought he'd follow us and catch the thieves. What bad luck that he knew the real owner and that he was hanging around the Opera Quartiere. Still, I'll be more cautious next time.'