Tallow (30 page)

There were some gasps and many nods.

Tallow backed away, looking from one to the other. 'No, no, I'm not. Really. You're wrong.' She focused on Renzo, compelling him to look her in the eyes. 'I'm not. I'm half-Jinoan. I'm not an Estrattore ...'

Renzo's eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

Tallow began to draw on her talent. She raised her arm, reaching for him. All she had to do was touch him ...

'Don't be frightened, Tallow,' said Gaia softly.

Tallow's arm dropped.

Gaia came forward, a smile on her face. 'We are no threat to you, not after what you did for us.' Her smile fled when she saw her father transfixed, unable to look away from Tallow. 'Don't do this, Tallow. I promise. We aren't going to hurt you or turn you over to the authorities.'

'How do I know that?' said Tallow finally, breaking eye contact with Renzo. The old man shook his head. Dazed, he rose to his feet.

A sense of inevitability pricked Tallow's purpose. Her fiery resolve to maintain her masquerade shattered into a thousand painful shards. It was over. There was no point pretending any more. She looked around. The uncles couldn't meet her eyes, and the aunts tried to smile but their mouths trembled too much. Zia Dulmia made the sign to ward away evil over and over. The children simply stared. Tallow was trapped, helpless but she would not, could not surrender. Not yet. Sadness bubbled in her chest. 'How do I know that you won't tell the soldiers or the padres and claim the reward?'

'Because we're your friends, remember.' From behind her, Dante stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, his long fingers resting lightly on her shirt. The warmth of his touch, the truth of his words penetrated her clothes and sank into her flesh, resonating through her body as she opened her mind to what lay in Dante's core and found something so real and terrifying –

'Don't touch me!' she cried, spinning around and breaking free of his grasp. 'Oh, please, don't touch me! You don't understand.'

'Tallow –' protested Dante, and went to reassure her again. Gaia opened her arms wide, her face flooded with sympathy. Renzo shakily held out his hand. The uncles stepped towards her, followed tentatively by the aunts. They were all talking, promising, coaxing.

Pressure began to build in Tallow's head. She thought she was going to fly apart.

A sibilant chorus began chanting in her mind. Images of burning bodies, their limbs cruelly hacked off, danced before her. Wicked laughter followed by vicious taunts rose out of the whispers. Katina's words followed by Pillar's warnings overlapped with Quinn's threats, became louder and louder.

And underneath it all, like a forceful current, the murmuring continued.

Don't listen, Tallow. They'll turn on you; they always do. Their promises are poison upon which you sup at your own peril ...

It was more than Tallow could take.

Before anyone could stop her, she bolted to the door, wrenched it open and fled into the calle.

Outside, a group of people had congregated. As the door opened, they froze and fell silent. When Tallow burst out of the workshop, they paused in surprise before beginning to whisper to each other.

Tallow stopped in mid-stride, bewildered. Who were all these people? What were they doing here? Why were they staring at her like that?

'That's him! That's the candlemaker's apprentice!' declared a lone voice. The cry was taken up. 'It's the angel of mercy. Stop him!'

From inside the workshop, Cane began to bark, straining at his ties. Tallow didn't wait to hear more. Pushing people aside, she fled.

Momentarily confused and a little frightened, they allowed Tallow to pass. They hadn't expected the person they were discussing to materialise. They watched her for a few more seconds and then, as if waking from a dream, broke into a run after her, shouting, ordering him to stop.

'Oh, God!' moaned Dulmia, running to the door. 'I didn't mean for –'

'None of us did, none of us,' said Renzo sombrely, comforting his daughter.

'We should have spoken out earlier – after the rumours started. We should have known it would be like this,' said Gaia, shaking her head. 'All the talk, the whispers, the accusations.'

'All the questions,' agreed Dulmia.

They watched helplessly as Tallow rounded the corner, the crowd closing on his heels.

Dante grabbed Gaia's arm. 'I have to go after him. Make sure he's all right.'

'Of course you do,' agreed Gaia. 'Bring him back to us. He can't help what he is.'

Dante stared at his great-aunt and nodded. 'How will I know where he's gone?'

'Take the dog,' said Renzo, untying Cane from the stool. 'He'll know.'

'Right!' said Dante and, winding the rope around his wrist, led Cane onto the cobbles. Cane pulled and tried to run. 'Find Tallow, boy,' he said. 'Take me to him!' Cane let out a volley of barks and, with a flick of his tail, bounded up the calle.

Dante gave his family a quick wave before being dragged out of sight.

VINCENZO DI TORELLO REGARDED GIACONDA
suspiciously.

'You say you
know
Signor Barbacan?'

The nobile woman swallowed her annoyance. Was the taverna owner being cautious or deliberately obtuse?

'He was working for my father,' she said, careful not to place her gloved hands anywhere near the sticky counter. 'He was being paid to seek business opportunities in this sestiere on behalf of a client. He is overdue with his reports. Considering that the outbreak was particularly severe in your area, and the danger has now passed, my father thought he would call in person. He seeks to firstly inquire as to Signor Barbacan's health, and, secondly, find out why the reports are no longer reaching him.'

Vincenzo glanced over the woman's shoulder at the old man who had entered with her. He sat smoking a fragrant pipe at one of the tables, one leg outstretched, his cane resting against a chair. While he appeared not to listen, Vincenzo knew he hung on every word. The tobacco he blew around the room smelled like quality, and the woman's haughty manner certainly bespoke a class that did not frequent this taverna. But their clothes contradicted their airs. Made from the finest material, they were faded and patched and, while he couldn't be certain, he thought they were out of fashion.

Vincenzo couldn't work the woman out. She looked like a nobile, but she certainly didn't act like one. No nobile woman would ever enter an establishment like his, father or no father, or address the proprietor in such a forward manner. If they were so concerned about Barbacan, why didn't they send a servant? Affable enough, Barbacan was very private and seemed to prefer his solitude. But if this woman
was
a courtesan, as he suspected, why would she want to see Barbacan's room? No matter the reason, Vincenzo didn't like it. One thing
his
clients could count on was his discretion. He wouldn't let anyone, regardless of who they purported to be, enter a guest's room.

'Excuse me, Signor.' Tired of the stalemate, Ezzelino decided to intervene. Rising to his feet, he tapped his way over to the counter. He placed a closed fist upon the sticky surface. 'I admire your loyalty to your customers – your reluctance to allow access to Signor Barbacan's room. But perhaps this might persuade you to change your mind.'

Ezzelino opened his fist and two ducats clattered onto the bar.

Vincenzo's jaw dropped. Giaconda shot her father a look of surprise. He fixed his gaze upon the taverna keeper. 'Give us the key,' he said affably, leaning forward conspiratorially. 'No-one need ever know. We'll be ten minutes, not a second more. All we want to do is look.'

Vincenzo cleared his throat, his eyes locked on the coins. He hadn't seen that amount in a while, not since the sickness struck. He quickly scanned the room. There was only the young waiter, Guido, brought in to replace his nephew, Enrico, after he died. The old man was right. No-one need ever know. Anyway, wasn't he a businessman at heart?

He placed one hand over the gold and with his other, handed a key to Ezzelino. 'This is the master key. Your man still has the other. The lock's a bit stiff. Pull the door towards you as you turn.'

Ezzelino smiled and passed the key to his daughter.

'He's on the first floor. I'll give you your ten minutes,' reminded Vincenzo, pointing to the stairs. 'Ten minutes – not a moment more.'

'ALL OF BAROQUE'S BELONGINGS SEEM
to be here,' said Ezzelino, picking up a dirty shirt between thumb and forefinger and throwing it over a chair. 'It's as if he's half-packed.'

'Or unpacked,' said Giaconda.

The room was small, tiny even. Dark beams criss-crossed the low ceiling, giving the space an oppressive air. There was a bed, a wooden washstand, a writing bureau placed beneath a narrow window that offered little in the way of light, and a shabby-looking rug on the floor.

'That's good,' added Giaconda, picking up a bag and placing it on the bureau. Opening the lock, she began rifling through the contents. 'At least that means he hasn't gone very far. The owner said he's only been missing two nights. I don't care how long he's been gone; what I want to know is
does he have the boy?'

'Yes. And if he does, why hasn't he brought him to us?'

'What if he's double-crossed us?' asked Giaconda, pausing in her search.

'Unlikely,' said Ezzelino. 'Not with what we know about him.' Giaconda smiled. Her father could be so ruthless when he had to. She hoped that when the time was right, she would be the same. She was about to withdraw her hand from the bag when she felt something.

'Wait a minute, what's this?' She probed deeper. 'There's

a false bottom in this bag.' She glanced excitedly at her father. 'What's Baroque got to hide?'

'Plenty. The Doge didn't dismiss him and then put a price on his head for nothing.'

Giaconda tried to lever the bottom out of the bag, but it wouldn't budge. 'This is better made than it looks,' she said through gritted teeth.

Her father stood beside her. 'Standard issue for all spies and diplomats. He was meant to return it when he ...
left
the Doge's service.'

'I suppose he believed he was owed something.' 'Don't we all?' Ezzelino watched her struggling a moment longer, then bent down and pulled something from a tiny sheath strapped to his ankle. He handed her a small silver dirk.

She was surprised.
How many other concealed weapons

does my father carry?

As she ran the blade along the silk lining, something snapped. A trigger was released and the base sprang open. 'At last!' said Giaconda and peered in at the contents. Ezzelino brought the candle closer and looked at what Baroque had wanted to conceal: four mouldy green books. Giaconda plucked one from its case and opened it, turning the pages carefully. 'They appear to be journals of some kind.' She began to read aloud.

The Vyzantian ambassador succumbed quickly. Whoever dosed him had mismanaged the amount. After just two sips of vino, he collapsed onto his plate, convulsing and frothing at the mouth. Within seconds, his eyes had all but departed their sockets, his breathing had stopped and it was evident to all but his hysterical wife that he was dead.

Called to administer what aid I could, I knew not to touch his mouth. The tell-tale purple colour and rapid swelling of his tongue announced poison more loudly than the unexpected absence of the Phalagonian minister.

As I helped the distressed servants remove his body, I knew I would have to work quickly to uncover the culprit and prevent another war. The Doge was clear on that. Serenissima could not afford a war, not for another four years at least ...

Giaconda flicked through the rest of the pages. 'He's documented everything. Absolutely everything. Look. A trip to Kyprus, and here it covers time he spent in Jinoa. In the wrong hands, I imagine these could be quite incriminating.'

'How fortunate, then, that they've fallen into ours.' Ezzelino picked up a journal that looked newer than the rest. 'What about this one?'

Giaconda took it from him and opened it. She was about to read when her father stopped her. 'No. Go to his last entries. What does he write?'

The journal was almost full. Giaconda quickly scanned the pages. Her eyes widened and her face broke into a smile. 'Listen ...'

I have my instructions. I am to kidnap the boy and take him to my employers, the Maleovellis. It's the type of work I've done for decades. I wonder then at my reticence. What is it about this boy that makes me hesitate, even when my life is at stake? My plans are in place, all I have to do is act. I know he was forced from his home in the Candlemakers Quartiere and now dwells beneath the roof of his friend, the chandler Dante Macelleria ...

Giaconda lifted her head. 'That's something we didn't know. I wonder what happened?'

'Continue,' said Ezzelino, tapping his cane on the floor. 'Our time is almost up.'

Giaconda flipped the next few pages. 'He goes on and on about his ambivalence. He seems to be quite smitten with the boy.'

Ezzelino smirked. 'Then he's typical of his kind.'

'Wait!' There was an edge of excitement to Giaconda's voice. She read in silence for a moment. 'He says here that he went to find the boy. He was leaving the taverna, intending to hide in the Chandlers Quartiere until the boy was left unattended so he could kidnap him and bring him to us.'

'You believe that's where he is now? In the Chandlers Quartiere?'

'Where else?' asked Giaconda. 'But why didn't he take his belongings?'

Ezzelino frowned. 'That, my dear, is a very good question.'

'Do you think he's met with foul play?'

Ezzelino didn't answer immediately. 'I don't know. I just know I don't like a mystery. Not when it's costing me money.'

'Should we go to this quartiere then? See what we can find out?'

Before Ezzelino could reply, a shadow filled the doorway. 'Time's up.' It was Signor Vincenzo. Giaconda turned her back on him and carefully closed the journal. She returned it to the case, lowering the false bottom and pushing it until it clicked.

'Ah, Signor di Torello,' said Ezzelino, limping to the door, using his cane to push furniture out of his way. 'We were just leaving.'

'Really?' said Vincenzo. There was something about this pair that left him with a bad taste in his mouth. He wanted them gone, coin or no coin. 'I'd be obliged if you'd give me back my key and go. You've seen what you came for.'

'Yes, yes we have,' said Ezzelino. 'My dear.' He gestured to Giaconda. 'Bring that shirt and the case. Show the good man that it contains nothing but Signor Barbacan's clothing and a few odds and ends.'

Giaconda plucked the shirt off the chair and thrust it into the bag, holding it open beneath Vincenzo's nose for a second. Then she snapped it shut.

'We'll be taking this with us,' said Ezzelino.

'This is quite unorthodox –' began Vincenzo. 'I'm afraid I can't allow –'

'Ah, Signor,' said Ezzelino quickly. 'Think. If we empty the room of the previous tenant's belongings, you can rent it out again, can you not? Signor Barbacan has but one case and that was already packed. Obviously, he was intending to leave – presumably to report back to us, his employers. But, if you wish, we can leave the case, and then you can rent out the room to a piece of luggage. When the bill is due, you can demand it pay you, yes?'

Vincenzo looked flustered. Ezzelino pressed yet another ducat into his hand. 'That is for rent owed by my employee. Paid in full. If I leave here without the case,
any
fees incurred are no longer my responsibility. Am I clear?'

'Yes, yes,' said Vincenzo hurriedly. He couldn't afford to leave the room empty. 'Take the case. Take it and go, please.' He took the key and showed the pair out of the room. He watched as they went down the stairs: the old man with the hooded eyes and the attentive, beautiful woman.

Vincenzo had always prided himself on his taste in women. He couldn't understand why this one's obvious charms did nothing for him. She left him cold, uncomfortable even, like one of those women in paintings with mouths that promise while their eyes follow you everywhere.

He waited until they were out of sight and then entered the room. He looked briefly about before closing the window and snuffing the candle.

'Where are you, Signor Barbacan?' he asked the darkness. 'Where are you?'

'YOU TOOK A RISK THERE,
Father,' said Giaconda as they stepped back into the campo. 'What if he'd said no?'

'He wasn't going to. Once he took my coin, he was ours.' Ezzelino peered up at the sky.

'What do we do now?'

'We will return to the gondola. According to Baroque, the Chandlers Quartiere can be accessed from the water. I believe we should go and explore the area and see what we will.'

'Very well,' said Giaconda, shifting the suitcase to her other hand. Time was running out. They had to find the boy before someone else did ...

If they didn't, all their plans, their years of research, bribing, scheming – and above all, hoping – would amount to nothing.