Tallow (25 page)

I ran. I didn't stop until I'd climbed the trellis, reached my room, cowered beneath my blankets and buried my head in the comforting ordinariness of Cane's warm fur.

THE KNOCK WAS QUIET, BUT
it was enough to wake Cane. He gave a small growl. My eyes flew open.

'What is it, boy?' I whispered.

The knock came again.

I slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the floor. As I touched the door-handle I learned who was waiting on the other side. 'Come in, Pillar.'

He slid through the gap and shut the door behind him.

I fumbled for a rush light and lit the wick. A halo of light formed as I turned questioningly towards him.

'We need to talk.' He gestured to the rooftop.

I'd been expecting this. I nodded and led him outside.

It was a dark night. The moon and stars were hidden by water-laden clouds that slouched above us. The extraordinary cold from the afternoon was gone, replaced by the more familiar temperate evening. A balmy breeze drifted over the roof, bringing with it the brackish smell of the canal and the sour smell of render.

Placing the rush light down, I sat on the ledge, my legs dangling over the side. I looked anxiously at Pillar and waited for him to speak. In the dim light cast by the spluttering candle, I could see that his eyes were heavy and his forehead and cheeks shiny. I could smell the lingering odour of vino. I wondered how many mugs he'd downed before he had the courage to face me.

Pillar swayed back and forth, gazing over the city. A lone bat flew overhead; a cat mewled in the distance.

Finally, he spoke. 'Tallow. I ... I've come to a decision.'

I knew that wasn't quite true – it wasn't his decision alone. The raised voices that had prevented me from sleeping for hours were testimony to that. Pillar and Quinn had argued back and forth ever since dinner. Dinner that I'd been denied, as my belly loudly reminded me. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, muffling its complaints.

'We – that is, I, don't want you to use your ... talents any more.'

My heart was a leaden weight. 'What did you say?'

'You heard me. There's to be no more. Not until Katina returns.' Pillar began to speak quickly. 'Y– You've gotten too confident. And you're not experienced enough. Why, even Katina said that talent such as yours takes years to nurture, to hone and train. You've begun to take risks. We can't afford that – not me, you or Mamma. Katina warned me it might come to this. She was right. It's time for you to stop.'

'Completely?'

'Yes.' Pillar wouldn't look at me.

'But –' My thoughts were in a whirl. Why was Pillar ordering me to stop? Because of Gallame? It couldn't be. 'I've only made one mistake –'

'Have you?' he asked, and then he turned and faced me. He lowered his head until our eyes were level. 'Have you?' he repeated, 'or is this the only one we know about?'

His eyes dared me to look at him, contradict him. The vino on his breath was strong. My eyelids twitched behind my spectacles as I looked into his earnest face.

I was the first to break eye contact.

'I thought so,' said Pillar grimly. He sighed and moved away. He stood at the ledge in silence for a moment. 'I don't think you understand the danger you place yourself and everyone else in when you do ... whatever it is you do, Tallow.

'People are talking. They know that Gallame's change of heart was not normal. And those foolish people you gave the candles to are unable to keep their mouths shut. They're saying that Gallame rescinded the debt because of the candles and that they came from here – from you – the boy with the golden glasses.'

He gestured towards me and gave a half-laugh. 'The glasses that were meant to make your life – our lives – easier have also made you easier to describe. They've made you stand out.'

I self-consciously pushed them up onto the bridge of my nose.

'Fortunately,' Pillar continued. 'Most people are dismissing the claims as arrant nonsense. But all it needs is for someone to put two and two together and figure out that our sales have increased, that people are happier and more content when they burn our candles. Why, already there's even been a murmur of witchcraft from our rivals, and with the Gallame episode, that's too close for comfort.

'If someone even thinks of the Estrattore, we're doomed.' He hoisted himself away from me and crossed to the other side of the rooftop, overlooking the rami. He stared back over the city. 'So, for the time being, there'll be no more. Is that understood?'

Part of me wanted to dismiss Pillar's concerns, but an image of Barold Barbacan came to mind. Was that why he followed Dante and me that night and why he had sought me out earlier today? Had he somehow figured out what I was?

I bit my lower lip, mulling over Pillar's words.

'Well?' insisted Pillar, crossing the rooftop and standing before me, his arms folded, a fleshy barrier between his soul and my talents.

An image of Dante's grandfather jumped into my mind. I had to help him – help Dante. I had intended to do it tomorrow, when Pillar left the workshop. If I were to make any promise to Pillar – and mean it – then I would have to prepare the candles now, tonight.

'You really want me to stop?' I asked Pillar.

He sighed, his hands on his hips. 'No, of course I don't
want
you to stop, Tallow. Believe it or not, as scared as I am of what it is you do – and yes, I'll admit, I'm terrified – I want to keep making money so there's food on the table and clothes on our back. So one day you'll be financially secure and able to fend for yourself. But this isn't about what I want anymore, nor is it about what you want. It's about what we
have
to do. If you want to remain under this roof, you
have
to stop.'

He folded his arms again and stuck out his chin. I knew that stance; it was at times like this that he looked like his mother. He would brook no argument.

'I know this must seem as if I'm punishing you. But I'm not. I'm protecting you. Katina will return and, when she does, you can continue your training. Until that time, you must stop.'

'Do you really believe Katina will come back?' I asked quietly, glancing over my shoulder towards the mainland. While I couldn't see it, I knew the Limen was there – we all did. 'It's been months now. There's been no word, no sign.'

Pillar gazed towards the mountains. 'She's a Bond Rider and her pledge is to you. She has no choice but to return.'

We remained there without speaking, Pillar staring into the night, and me watching him. Our relationship had changed, but I wasn't sure how.

Pillar finally turned to me and took me by the shoulders. 'Now. Give me your promise.' He echoed Katina's words. 'As if you were a Bond Rider.'

I took a deep breath and looked straight into his eyes. 'I promise that once the sun rises over the Dolomites, I will not extract or distil until Katina returns or you tell me I can.'

Pillar raised his eyebrows. 'Not exactly what I had in mind, but it will do.'

He stifled a yawn. 'Come on then, let's get to bed. It's been a long day.'

I climbed up off the ledge, and he ushered me towards the door.

'Tomorrow, we start afresh,' he said, bending down to open the trapdoor. 'Our sales may suffer, but at least we'll know we have nothing to hide any more, huh?'

'Nothing to hide,' I agreed and followed him inside.

WAITING UNTIL PILLAR'S SNORES COULD
be heard through the attic floorboards, Tallow shucked off her nightwear and slipped back into her shirt and leggings. Opening her door as quietly as she could, she crept down the stairs, through the shop and into the work area. She breathed in the sweet scent of the beeswax and the distilled tallow. Searching for the tinderbox, she quickly found it and lit a few rush lights.

Lying on the bench were finished tapers ready for packaging. Behind her, dozens of broaches hung, the candles waiting to be snapped and rolled. Completed votive and pillar candles sat in rows on the floor. Pillar had been busy. He'd already used the entire batch of wax she'd last distilled.
He is serious. There is to be no more.
She felt a twinge of regret and then chided herself. She didn't have time for self-indulgent emotion. She had work to do.

Laying out two of the finished tallow tapers, she picked up a votive off the floor and sat it nearby. Wrapping her hands around the small candle, she drew in a deep breath and, shutting her eyes, summoned all her talent.

She carefully extracted the purity and health she feltlying within the beeswax – the energy and vigour of its creators. Then she multiplied it, sending it directly into the finished tapers. Wave after wave of sheer power flowed from Tallow into the candles. She didn't care that this final distillation would not be subtle. Every layer of tallow would burn with the amplified essence of what she'd extracted. She poured her heart and soul into what she did, unaware that a golden nimbus had begun to form around her.

Radiating in ripples that increased the further they went from the centre, the pulsing corona enveloped every corner of the workshop, every finished candle whether made from tallow or wax. And, knowing who it was meant for, Tallow also added some of herself and the love she bore for Dante into her distillation.

Revelling in the moment, Tallow pushed herself as hard as she could. This might be her final act as an Estrattore for a long, long time. When she at last completed her task, she was weary but content. The two tapers before her glowed with a soft inner light. Tallow wrapped them carefully in a piece of rice paper.

Then she crept back into the shop and grabbed her cloak and hat. Opening the door that led onto the fondamenta, she stepped onto the cobbles.

Without looking back, she tore off around the corner and down the ramo, certain that if she kept away from the main streets, she could make it to the Chandlers Quartiere and back before dawn.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, PILLAR WOKE
me earlier than usual and set me to restocking the shelves in the shop. Quinn made it clear she didn't want me in her space but, as the morning wore on and only one or two customers interrupted my duties, she seemed to take pleasure in ordering me about.

I did what she told me, barely registering what she was saying. I was so tired. I hadn't come home till very late and had only managed to grab a couple of hours' sleep. I just hoped that Dante found the candles I'd left outside on his steps. I knew that if anything would protect – and maybe even heal – his grandfather, it was them.

I could still taste the distillation. It hummed through my weary body, sustaining me.

'No! Not there,' Quinn cuffed me on the back of my head. Startled, I swung around. 'Don't you look at me like that!' she warned, waggling a bony finger beneath my nose. I could smell vino on her breath. 'Listen! I said put them on the shelf above. And neatly! It's no good piling them one on top of the other. Customers won't be able to find what they're looking for.'

She stomped back to the counter, pretending to flick a duster over its clean surface. 'That is, if anyone decides to come today. Where is everyone? This place is quieter than the Isola del Morte!'

I'd been wondering the same thing, but didn't make a comment. I just did what Quinn told me, even though less than an hour earlier she'd instructed me to pack the last lot of tapers in piles to make the shelves look fuller.

Pillar appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands. 'Everything all right in here?' he asked. I glanced at him over my shoulder. He'd been busy cleaning the vats. I knew he believed that it would clear away any final traces of my work.

But I knew better.

'Fine,' I said as chirpily as I could.

Quinn muttered darkly under her breath.

'Come on, Mamma. You hate stacking the shelves,' said Pillar. 'You should be grateful that Tallow's able to do it for you.'

Quinn snorted. 'We all know why that's the case, don't we? Because the boy simply can't do what he's told.'

Pillar was about to argue when the bell above the door rang and in strode our neighbour Francesca, her full skirts sweeping the floor and raising eddies in the sawdust. She had a large basket over her arm, filled to the brim with various bits and pieces. As she deposited it on the counter, I noticed the beads of sweat on her forehead and how flushed her cheeks were.

'Oh!' she moaned dramatically. 'It's much cooler in here. You'd swear it was God's boiler-room out there on the cobbles and it's only early yet – wait till midday! Unless that freakish weather we had yesterday returns – and we'll all be praying that doesn't happen, won't we?'

She plucked a handkerchief from her shirt and mopped her brow. No-one said anything. We were all used to her ways. At a nod from Pillar, I quickly finished what I was doing and sneaked past her into the workshop. I pulled the door to, but didn't shut it.

'That's a load you're carrying there, Francesca,' said Pillar. 'Looks like you're stocking up.'

'That's exactly what I'm doing and I'd advise you to do the same,' said the fruiterer and promptly began pulling tapers and pillar candles from the shelves. 'These all tallow?'

'Why, yes –' said Pillar, glancing at his mother, who simply shrugged and reached for the abacus.

'Have they got those fancy slow-burning wicks in them?' she asked, turning them over in her hands.

'Yes, but –'

'Good. I'll have two dozen.'

'Francesca,' said Quinn finally, putting down the abacus. 'What's got into you? Why are you taking so many? Not that I'm complaining or anything. Is there a war going on we don't know about?'

Francesca stared at her in genuine surprise. 'So you haven't heard?'

'Heard what?' said Quinn.

'What?' repeated Pillar and stepped closer. He was blocking my view, so I opened the door further.

'About what's happened?'

'Obviously not. What are you talking about?'

Francesca leaned over the counter. 'Less than an hour ago, soldiers from the Arsenale arrived and told us that a curfew is about to be imposed.'

'A curfew! What for?' I could hear panic rising in Quinn's voice.

'They're saying that there's been an outbreak of disease on the other isles overnight. Just like that.' She snapped her fingers. The sound echoed in the shop. 'People are dying, dropping where they stand. No-one has seen anything like it ever before.'

'Is it ...?' began Pillar.

'No,' said Francesca quickly. 'No, it's not the plague. At least, that's what they're telling us at the moment. Apparently, the symptoms are very different. They're saying this is much worse – swift and deadly. We're under quarantine until further notice. There's to be no trading – no business – till it's clear. We have less than four hours to stock up, and then we'll be forced to stay indoors. Hadn't you noticed how quiet it is out there?' She pointed vaguely in the direction of the canal.

'Yes, but I –' muttered Quinn, her eyes darting towards where she knew I stood. I knew what she was thinking. While her life had changed for the better of late, the habits of years meant that leaving the house was still somewhat foreign to her. She relied on the likes of Francesca to bring news to her doorstep – and that included bad news.

'I was relieved to find you open,' continued Francesca. 'Many of the other businesses towards the salizzada have already closed. Obviously, the soldiers haven't reached here yet.'

'No,' muttered Pillar, 'they haven't. We didn't know.' He strode to the door and opened it, peering up and down the fondamenta. 'There's barely anyone out there.'

'There will be. Some are in the basilica offering prayers. Others, like your good selves, still don't know. I think I was one of the first to hear.'

I wasn't surprised by that. Francesca had a knack of finding out everything before anyone else.

'When the crier makes his announcement, you'll be bombarded with customers. I'd get ready if I were you – for them, and for your own needs. In less than four hours, you'll have to fend for yourselves by whatever means possible.' Francesca reached inside her basket for her purse. 'Now, how much will that be?'

'Four hours!' said Quinn, ignoring Francesca and her handful of lire. 'Where did you hear this? I don't believe it!' Quinn raised anxious eyes to meet Pillar's.

'Nor did I, at first. Frightened men talk. Even hungry soldiers, finding solace in a full stomach of fresh fruit and a mind made less troubled by sharing their problems,' remarked Francesca gravely. 'They bought our produce and while they ate, they spoke.' She shrugged. 'What can I say? I listened. And, after they left, I took advantage of what I knew.' She held up her basket. 'I told the others and I'm telling you as well.'

'Did they say what they think caused it?' asked Pillar, shutting the front door firmly and joining his mother behind the counter. I saw him place a comforting arm around her shoulders. This time, Quinn didn't shake it off.

Francesca leaned towards Pillar and Quinn, lowering her voice so I had to strain to hear her. 'They say the deaths started happening not long after that freakish cold weather. The outer isles experienced it a day or two before we did – hours of blistering cold – and then, like that!' She snapped her fingers. 'Back to normal.'

'I remember it, all right,' muttered Quinn darkly.

'Yes, and now it's like the middle of summer again.' Francesca shook her head. 'It's not natural, I tell you. They're saying that it comes from God – that He's punishing us. That the cold was His breath, blowing away all our sins.' She paused. 'The wicked would do well to make their peace.'

I recalled the dreadful bitterness, the intensity of the chill, how it reached into my very soul ... and I remembered the nebulous figures I'd seen writhing in the fog, reaching, clutching. Could they be the emissaries of an angry God? No. I knew they weren't. They were not God's breath. They were something much, much worse.

But who could I tell? Who would believe me?

I craned my neck. I could see Francesca's ample bosom resting on the counter, her face inches from Quinn's. They were whispering. They both crossed themselves repeatedly. Pillar stood nearby, his eyes darting back and forth, the tic in his cheek pulsing. His fingers fumbled in his shirt for the little wooden icon he'd been wearing ever since Katina came into our lives.

Finally Francesca drew away. 'Until this disease has passed and the bells in the basilica toll, I'm locking myself away. You'd do well to do the same.'

'May God keep us all,' said Quinn, her voice catching.

May God keep us all,
I repeated to myself, even though I knew that this time neither the Church's God or the old gods would be the arbiter of our fate.

Quinn finished calculating and with trembling hands held the abacus aloft.

'Right,' said Francesca, placing the coins on the counter. She slid the candles into her basket and then heaved it on to her arm. She looked around the shop. 'Hopefully, God will spare us and we will laugh about this one day, you and I. May He watch over you both.'

Not wasting any time, Quinn waited until Francesca was gone and then called for me. I entered the shop to find Quinn looking pale and drawn. Pillar stood behind the counter staring into space. Before I could ask any questions, Quinn handed me a purse.

'I know you were listening,' she said. There was no rebuke in her voice. 'Go! Now! Purchase wood, cheese, flour and vino. Hurry! Because if you don't –' She left the rest unsaid as she dropped the purse in my outstretched palm.

Without another word, I did as I was told.

FRANCESCA'S PREDICTION CAME TRUE. ABOUT
a half-hour later, the quartiere crier, accompanied by two burly soldiers wearing the crest of the Arsenale, strode down the fondamenta.

I walked behind him, dragging two sacks full of supplies. His words were loud and clear.

'By the order of His Most Serene Highness, Doge Dandolo, you are hereby ordered to return to your houses until further notice. Only dottores and padres have permission to be abroad. The curfew comes into effect at midday. Anyone caught outdoors without authority after this time will be put to the sword. God be with you. By order of ...' The crier's emotionless voice droned on as he marched through the quartiere.

I heard wails of despair as the news spread and watched as women grabbed their children from the edges of the canal and thrust them firmly indoors. Windows slammed, shutters were pulled tight, and gondoliers turned their craft and rowed back to their own quartieri.

The fondamenta cleared so quickly, it was as if night had fallen early. An unnatural quiet fell upon the area.

But the calm was just an illusion. It didn't last.

I dragged my goods into the shop and Pillar helped me take them up the stairs. Together we stored the purchases in the kitchen. I noticed that Pillar had brought a pile of tapers with him. They sat in a heap on the kitchen table. I glanced at him.

'I don't want us to be left without light,' he said.

For the first time I saw something behind Pillar's eyes that I could not fathom. It was more than fear, more than concern. It was only in the days to come that I began to understand what I saw. It was an awareness that he had no choice. He was powerless to change what was happening.

I didn't ask what was wrong; I simply nodded and, leaving Pillar to finish his task, went back downstairs to help Quinn.

Minutes later, the door to the shop burst open and all the candles we'd made over the last two weeks were sold in less than an hour. I'd never seen anything like it. The shop counter was four deep with desperate people shouting their orders. We could hardly keep up. People I had thought kind pushed their way to the front, demanding to be served, snatching products from others, and even offering to pay more than they were worth.

I understood their alarm. If they were to be locked away for a period of time, not knowing whether they had contracted this deadly disease, they wanted to be able to light their enforced darkness. Afraid and saddened at what I witnessed, I handed over candles and accepted coin as fast and as methodically as I could.

When the last candle sold, Pillar ushered out the remaining few customers, closed the door and latched it. He then sank back against it in relief.

The knocking started a few minutes later. Pillar yelled that there was no more stock left but they refused to go and began pounding on the door. It was only when the bells in the basilica tolled that the people finally went away.

'What do the bells mean?' I asked.

'The curfew has officially started,' said Pillar.

'Either that,' said Quinn into her mug, her voice low and hollow, 'or someone is dead.'