Tallow (28 page)

He swept his arm towards me. 'Look at you. Look at those eyes. I've hidden you for so long, disguised you, stopped you from mixing with anyone. But did it matter? I warned you about the danger – Katina told you, too. But did it stop you? Has it stopped you?'

The unfairness of his words stung. Apart from Dante, I hadn't really spoken to anyone properly except for social niceties, and then only enough to avoid suspicion. And as for Dante, it was Pillar who had given me permission to see him – well he knew what I was doing. I longed to defend myself. But I could tell from Pillar's tone that there was no point. Not today.

'The problem is you don't listen, Tallow. Not to me, not to Mamma. You didn't even listen to Katina. Even if I thought I could continue to hide you, protect you from what you are, I don't think I could – I don't think you'd let me.'

He gave a long, profound sigh. 'You're dangerous, Tallow – not only to me, but to yourself.' He raised his head and, without the shield of my glasses, locked his wretched gaze upon me. 'And I can't take it anymore. Not now.' He turned aside and finished off what was in his mug.

I can't describe what hearing his words did to me. To say I was crushed, numb, full of fury, sadness and disbelief would only touch on the emotions coursing through me. This gentle, lonely man – a man who had been father and teacher to me, who had anchored my entire life – was now abandoning me.

Tears welled in my eyes and a great lump sat in my throat. I tried to swallow a few times and willed myself not to cry. I would not break.

As Pillar said,
not now.

Pillar looked in my general direction. His eyes were red and kept losing focus. I wasn't sure if he saw me or not. He swayed on his feet. I returned his gaze, seeing him properly for the first time in weeks. What I saw shocked me. I saw how weak his chin was, how thin his lips. His cheeks had suddenly hollowed, his brows thickened, the grey hair in scattered clumps giving him a fractured, surprised appearance. The loss of his mother was an open wound that divided his soul and crushed his spirit.

It was then something profoundly shocking occurred to me.

It had never really been Pillar who'd protected me; it had always been Quinn. In some strange way, despite the beatings, she'd made sure I'd been hidden, trained and given a sense of family. Like an Estrattore, she extracted the best and worst from Pillar and used it to suit her own purposes. In challenging her son, his every decision, his every action and reaction, she'd drawn out the little strength that lay within him. Her contempt defined him; her abuse propped him up and, through her, my presence as well. He refused to be scared of me when she was around. Instead, I became an ally, a companion by default.

Quinn had known that.

Now that she was gone, he no longer had the courage to keep me. I was simply a constant reminder of what he'd lost. Now there was no enemy to bond us, I'd become a burden too great to bear.

No, I corrected myself. Not a burden. I was the
enemy
and, as he said, a dangerous one.

I absorbed his words slowly. I knew my face mirrored my emotions but doubted that Pillar would recognise or understand how I felt. Not in his current state.

'All right, Pillar,' I said. 'If that's what you really want. When would you like me to go?'

'Now,' he said sharply.

I nodded, doing everything I could to hold myself together.

'Very well. Can I ask, how will you explain my absence?'

Pillar scratched his face. 'There won't be a need for much explaining. If anyone asks, you've simply gone back to my cousin in Jinoa. Your apprenticeship is over.'

I took a deep breath. 'All right. I can see you've thought this through. But what about the gossip? How are you going to respond to what they're saying about the candles?'

'Oh, you heard that, did you?' I didn't answer. 'Well, if you're not here, that should blow over in a couple of days. People have more important things to think about than some so-called miracle candles.'

I hoped he was right, for his sake.

We stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence. He stared mournfully into his empty mug – his mother's mug. He'd finished what he had to say. It was my turn. I placed my hands behind my back and pressed my palms against the rooftop walls. I began to draw from the stone. I extracted its strength, its firmness, and allowed it to infuse me.

'Pillar.' I squared my shoulders, fought back the tears. 'Before I go, there's something I have to ask you. Why didn't you let me burn a candle by Quinn's bed? I could have saved her, you know.'

Pillar looked directly at me. 'I know. But she didn't want you to. She said – she begged me – not to let you near her. So, I –' His bottom lip trembled.

'Did what your mother said.'

'Wouldn't be the first time.'

He was right. It occurred to me, what if this had been another of Quinn's tests – another one of her attempts to goad Pillar into defying her and force him to stand up for himself, make his own decisions. If it was, he had failed, and Quinn had paid the price of that failure.

'Don't look at me like that!' said Pillar suddenly, backing away, pointing a shaking finger at me. 'Don't you dare judge
my
behaviour. It was you who brought that ... that disgusting sickness, here, Tallow. It was you who killed Mamma. Not me.' He began to sob. 'Not me. Don't you judge me. Don't you accuse
me.'

I wanted to put my arms around him – take away his pain and explain what I believed was the real reason behind the sickness. But I knew he didn't want that – my explanations, my touch or my talent – not at this moment, not ever.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Pillar
had
made a choice. It wasn't my place to question it. Instead, though I longed to rail against his injustice and plead with him to change his mind, I would respect his choice. I spun on my heel and went to the door, calling for Cane. I grabbed the handle and glanced back.

Pillar stood in the sunlight, his head bowed, his back bent.

I couldn't hate him. I couldn't even pity him. 'Pillar?'

He raised his head.

'I don't care what you say. We always have a choice.'

He didn't reply.

'Quinn was right, you know,' I added. 'You're
exactly
like your father.'

Pillar froze and for just a second I thought he hadn't heard. But then I saw the tic in his check pulsing. He knew what I meant. I'd hurt him deeply, just as he was hurting me.

He turned his back to me.

I left.

I gathered my belongings, picked up Katina's scabbard and satchel and, without another glance, left the only home I'd ever known.

I don't know when I started crying. All I know is that my tears didn't stop the pain.

DANTE WAS BUSY RESTOCKING HIS
great-aunt's shop. Now that the quartiere had been declared disease-free, it was time to think about getting on with their lives and restoring lost business. While no-one wanted to profit from the tragedy of what had happened, it was unrealistic not to be prepared. With people from the ghetto moving in and survivors staking their claim, it wouldn't be long before things returned to normal. Dante knew that both Zia Gaia and his grandfather, Renzo, had a great deal of work ahead of them, and, as much as he despised anything to do with chandling – soap or otherwise – the least he could do was stack shelves while they made arrangements for family members who had survived.

One of Dante's uncles and two of his cousins had died in the last days of the outbreak, which meant that there were grieving parents and a widow to care for and console. Gaia and Renzo were doing all they could to help secure their nieces, nephews and children some sort of future. Already, the widow and her four children had moved next door – the boys were already apprenticed to chandling. Renzo's son and daughter-in-law would join the business as well.

Dante couldn't help but be relieved that his grandfather and Zio Colzo would have four more cousins to train. It meant his chances of finding something else to do with his life were improving. But for now, he would help in whatever way he could, even if it meant rendering the fat that had been sitting in the vats for weeks or selling soap.

Evening gradually draped itself over the calle, the shop's interior dimming to a dull grey. Dante climbed down from the small ladder and fetched a candle. He could hear his grandfather and Zia Gaia talking with his uncle in the workshop behind. Placing the thick stump of wax on the counter, he lit it, watching as the flame sputtered and caught. The candle led him to think of Tallow, and he wondered how his strange young friend was faring. Hopefully, when he had some spare time and people were again comfortable moving around other quartieri, he could find out for himself.

He stood in the middle of the shop, hands on hips, and gazed up at the remaining empty shelves. 'You won't stack yourselves, will you?' He sighed and bent to pick up some more bars of soap. A movement outside caught his attention. Something was there. A thin stream of moonlight pierced the calle, forming shadows on the opposite walls. He studied them warily, convinced they were nothing but phantoms of his tired mind, when one of them broke away and came towards him. It crouched under the window-sill. His heart hammered against his ribs and his palms became damp.

Damn,
he thought.
Don't those wretched thieves realise – the people in here survived!
Looters had been a problem in the calle. At the height of the trouble, they'd broken into houses and shops, stealing whatever they could.
Well, they aren't going to take anything from this shop.
He quickly searched for something heavy. He'd teach them a lesson they wouldn't forget. The piece of wood used to prop open the workshop door caught his eye. He hefted it in his hand and, picking up the candle he'd just lit, tiptoed his way to the front door.

Dante counted to three and then, with all his might, swung the door open. A body rolled over the threshold and slammed into his ankles, almost bringing him to his knees. He yelped and dropped the candle. The light went out and, in the dark, he lashed out with his boot, kicking hard. There was a series of grunts. He lifted the wood above his head as something large flew through the door and leapt on him.

He fell to the floor, flailing, his makeshift weapon skittering out of reach. 'Get out! You have no right to be here!' he cried, the sound muffled in rags, hair and limbs.

'Cane, get down! Off!' ordered a familiar voice.

'Tallow?' Dante thought he must be mistaken.

The struggle ceased immediately. Splayed on the shop floor in a jumble of arms and legs, Tallow and Dante stared at each other, their eyes becoming accustomed to the dark. Cane, freeing himself from beneath them, started barking.

'Cane! Shut up!' ordered Tallow. Cane bounded through the open door and down the calle, still barking.

'You kept him!' exclaimed Dante.

Tallow nodded. 'Of course I did. I didn't have a choice, really.'

Dante laughed. 'You never told me.'

'You never asked,' said Tallow.

Dante sat up slowly, taking in Tallow's filthy clothes and the dirt smeared across his face and neck. He noticed the scars that used to chequer his cheeks and lips had disappeared. And those silver eyes. They were luminous in the half-light. He found himself drawn to them. But he looked away lest Tallow remember he didn't have his glasses on and become uneasy. It was too soon for awkwardness. He wanted to know what his friend was doing here, curled up like a gypsy on the doorstep.

He cleared his throat. 'To what do we owe the pleasure?' Then a thought struck him. 'Why didn't you knock?'

'I did,' protested Tallow. 'For ages, but no-one heard. Eventually, I fell asleep. That is, until you so kindly woke me.'

'Woke you? How long have you been out there?' Before she could answer, he screwed up his nose. 'You could have at least had a wash before you came.' He hoisted himself to his feet, found the flint and relit the candle. Holding it above her, he shook his head, 'Look at you. You're a sorry sight. You smell worse than the canal in summ–' He saw the look on Tallow's face and stopped. 'Tallow? What is it? I didn't mean –'

'OH, DANTE,' SAID TALLOW. 'I'VE
made a real mess of things ... everything,' she said and bowed her head, unable to speak any more. Her shoulders started to shake. Dante stood there, uncertain what to do or say.

'Well,' said another voice. 'I always think even real messes don't look nearly so bad when they're at least partly cleaned up, wouldn't you agree?'

'Zia Gaia,' moaned Dante. He hadn't heard her come in.

'Don't you Zia Gaia me, young man; I heard the commotion. Close that door and get out of my way. Our friend here needs help. A nice warm bath and some clean clothes will do for starters – and by the feel of those ribs ...' she said, one arm around Tallow's waist as she helped her stand, the other lifting the candle she carried, '... a good feed, too.' She took stock of the young person she held. 'Come on, no buts,' she said as Tallow tried to pull away.

Tallow didn't want to argue. But the idea of a warm bath set her heart racing – and not just because she'd never had one before. Not when a wash behind the ears with a cool, wet cloth would do. It was the bandages around her chest she was worried about. How would she be able to hide those, let alone the rest of her from prying eyes if she had a bath? She tried to formulate a plan, an excuse. Until she came up with something, however, she would be meek and grateful.

'Thanks, ah ... er ...'

'Oh, you can call me Zia Gaia. Everyone else does.' She smiled at Tallow. 'My, would you look at those eyes of yours. I swear the light's playing tricks in here, because they look like a pair of mirrors!'

Tallow almost broke out of Gaia's grasp. Of course! Her eyes. Damn! She glanced at Dante who was grinning at her stupidly. Did he even know what her eyes signified? She'd forgotten how they revealed her Estrattore blood. Especially now that she'd become used to controlling her urge to extract from anything she touched. But she'd also grown so accustomed to her spectacles. She'd have to get used to keeping her head down again, not looking at people so much.

Almost reflexively, she pushed her hair across her eyes. As she did, her thoughts went to Katina. If Katina were here, she wouldn't have to worry. In fact, she wouldn't even be here – with Dante. Katina would never have allowed Pillar to throw her out. But where was Katina? For the first time in months, Tallow found herself thinking about the Bond Rider and wondering why she hadn't returned. And if she did, would Katina be able to find her?
She found you the first time, didn't she?

Pushing aside her misery as Gaia dragged her out of the shop, she tossed around a few excuses in her head – something, anything to get her out of the promised bath, which would reveal her secret. But it was no good. She could tell from the grip Gaia maintained that this was a woman who, once she had made up her mind about something, could not be persuaded otherwise.

Led into a small washroom out the back, Tallow was left against a wall while Gaia bustled around, boiling water and fetching towels, chattering the entire time. In time with his Aunt's conversation, Dante repeatedly opened and shut his fingers behind her back, causing Tallow to stifle a giggle.

'Hmm? What's that?' asked Gaia glancing over her shoulder.

Tallow looked away, while Dante ceased his mimicry immediately and simply shrugged. Gaia arched a brow at them before returning to her preparations.

There was no shortage of soap and Tallow was given a bar all to herself. When everything was ready, Gaia waited by the steaming wooden tub, a small jug in her hands and a wash rag hanging from her fingers. Dante sat cross-legged in a corner. The water looked hot, and Tallow's eyes strayed uneasily from the tub, to Gaia, to Dante and then back again.

'Well, come on,' said Gaia playfully. 'Dirty bodies don't wash themselves, you know. Take those ... clothes ... off.' She pulled a face. 'I'll see if I can salvage them later.'

'Oh.' Tallow's eyes widened. It had never occurred to her that her clothes were so distasteful, but Gaia's expression told her they were more than that. She pulled her shirt away from her torso and for the first time noticed the blend of old stains and new streaking the front. Her cuffs were very dark, as were the tattered ends. She compared her worn, grey shirt to Dante's crisp cream one. Dante was right, she must look a sight. She sighed and waited for Dante and Gaia to leave. She'd have the bath then and try and do something about her clothes as well.

'For goodness sake!' exclaimed Gaia, putting the jug on the floor and clutching Tallow's shirt front. Her fingers began to tug at the laces. 'We haven't got all night!'

Tallow recoiled. They were going to stay and watch her? 'No. Please!' She gently knocked away Gaia's hands and pulled her shirt across her chest. 'I'm not used to, you know, washing in front of others.'

Dante burst out laughing. 'Tell the truth, Tallow. You're not used to washing!'

'Dante! Don't be so rude,' snapped Gaia. She looked helplessly from Tallow to Dante. She clearly hadn't expected this sudden display of modesty. Not when she was accustomed to a family who practically bathed together. 'Go and grab one of your old shirts and a pair of breeches, Dante. One of the sets you don't fit into any more.' She indicated that he should leave.

Dante rose to his feet reluctantly. 'But –'

'No
buts. Do as you're told,' she said firmly.

Gaia faced Tallow. 'Come on then, you don't need to be self-conscious around me, young man. I've helped raise enough nephews that nothing you have could surprise me.'

She opened the door and shooed Dante out.

Dante went into the shop. His heart was lighter than it had been in days and he knew it was because Tallow was here. He was about to climb the stairs and fetch the clothes when he heard a scraping at the door. He turned around and saw Cane's long nose pressed against the glass.

'Sorry, boy! We forgot about you, didn't we?' He quickly unlatched the door and let the dog in.

Cane jumped on him gratefully. Thrown off balance, Dante fell onto the floor. Thinking it was a game, Cane launched himself on Dante, licking and yapping. Laughing, Dante pulled him onto the slate and began wrestling. Just as he did, a loud shriek came from the washroom, followed by hearty laughter.

It was Gaia.

Dante leapt to his feet and ran down the corridor, Cane on his heels. He tried to open the washroom door, but something was preventing him. He pounded with his fist. 'What's going on? Are you all right?'

Through the door came the murmur of voices. 'Zia Gaia? Tallow? What's going on?'

He heard a giggle, followed by whispers.

'Come on! What's so funny?'

'Go away, Dante. Everything is fine – just fine,' laughed Gaia. 'We'll be out in a while. Turns out young Tallow here did surprise me after all.'