Tallow

by Karen Brooks

  But that wasn't even the worst. As I clumsily ran from the taverna, the officers, suspecting everything but the truth, jumped to their feet and tried to grab me. Pillar had warned me that strange behaviour bred violent reactions and during times of crisis, this increased manyfold.

  And this was one of those times. With the Doge's grandson missing, every suspicious word, every gesture, had to be investigated – even if it was only a gauche young boy fleeing awkward inquiries. In their minds, my flight response to the most innocent of queries proclaimed guilt.

  Before I knew it, the officers were after me, spilling out of the taverna and into the campo, demanding that I stop. When it was clear I wasn't going to do it, they began shouting orders at each other. This, I'm sure, was what saved me. Unused to receiving orders, only giving them, the officers became confused and argumentative. I ran as fast as I could, neither stopping nor slowing. I almost bowled over a couple promenading in the campo and I knocked the basket out of an old woman's hands. But by then, I was far from the taverna.

  When I thought it was safe, I backtracked slightly, entering a narrow ramo that I knew led to a bridge. Bent double, I climbed the steps and began to cross. I dared a look when I was only a short distance over. From there, I could see the corner of the campo where the taverna stood. There were some officers still loitering outside but, as I watched, they began heading off in all directions down the wide calle and into the rami. They couldn't be certain which way I'd exited. For anyone but a local, the maze of streets and alleys, never mind the numerous campi, all looked the same. I allowed myself a small, congratulatory smile. This quickly disappeared when I noticed the strange woman standing in the doorway to the taverna. Unlike the officers, she was neither perturbed nor confused. Instead, she was looking across the campo and down the canal, staring straight at me. I ducked, my heart leaping into my throat. When I braved another peek, there was no sign of her.

  I didn't delay this time. I raced straight back home. And it was on the fondamenta between our house and the canal that I ran into Pillar and told him about the soldiers and the woman.

  Trapped in my vat, I could do nothing but think. The soldiers worried me, but it was the woman who scared me the most. What did she want? What did she know? And why was she here, now, in our quartiere – and when I had only just discovered what I was? Ambivalence warred within me as I prayed that she would both find me and leave me well alone.

  And then I remembered the worst thing of all. Whatever the officers asked Signor Vincenzo about the fleeing boy, I knew he would dissemble. Each quartiere protected its own. And he knew that I had nothing to do with the Doge's grandson, regardless of what those officers might think. But what about the woman? After all, unlike the soldiers, she knew my name.

  Regardless of the questions that made my head spin, the answers would not be forthcoming. Not now. All I could do was wait.

  I DIDN'T HAVE TO WAIT long.

  Thudding and shouts soon filled my ears. I could hear the sound of boots on cobbles, fists on wood and the surly responses of our neighbours.

  I tried to block out the noises, concentrating on controlling my fear. I slowly extended my arms to the sides of the barrel. While the tallow had been bitterly cold when I first climbed in, it was warm now, and smooth. It was as if I was suspended in a thick soup. I floated there, filling my mind with reassurances that I would be safe. And, as the minutes passed, I began to relax. I just knew that somehow the greasy-grey tallow would protect me.

  Lost in my own world, I wasn't prepared when the workshop door burst open and in tramped a group of men. My stomach lurched. I sensed that two others entered through the interior shop door. I could feel them searching, imprudently touching, overturning, lifting and throwing. They didn't care what broke. They had a mission. I gritted my teeth at each crash and crunch. I wanted to shout at them to stop, to go away. I pressed my lips together tightly while a storm of bitter thoughts raged inside me.

  'You'll not find what you're looking for in there, Officer,' Pillar called from the shop. I could hear the despair beneath his false bravado as wood shattered against a wall.

  'This is a ridiculous waste of time,' muttered one of the soldiers. I recognised the drawl of the bald man.

  'Stop complaining, Ziani,' grunted a voice from the far corner. I knew he was near the fire. 'No-one bolts like that for no reason. He was up to something, no matter what the old man in the taverna claimed, and I want to know what.'

  I could hear them pulling troughs out from walls, upending barrels.

  'Did you hear that?' asked a voice.

  'What?'

  Silence fell in the room.

  'Have you noticed how cold it is in here?' said one of the men quietly. 'It's frostier than a night on the Dolomites.'

  'Now that you mention it.'

  'Not even the fire is throwing any heat,' noted the bald officer. 'There's something very odd about this workshop.'

  'Let's get out of here.'

  'Not yet. I want to see what's in here.'

  A pair of boots stopped before the vat. Blood roared in my ears. A wail rose in my throat. I heard a scrape as the lid was tampered with. A shaft of light pierced the darkness.

  A soldier peered into the vat. He was the one from the taverna with the sunset hair. He stared into my eyes and, reaching into the vat, scooped up a handful of tallow and let it drizzle over his fingers. 'Nothing here but grease.' He shook his hand and the excess flew into my face. 'It's warm.' The lid clattered back into place.

  'There's something unnatural about this place,' came the voice from the door.

  'You've allowed the talk in the taverna to infect your mind. We're wasting our time. Let's go,' said Ziani.

  The boots retreated. Not just the pair beside my vat, but all of them. In silence they filed out of the workshop.

  'You were right,' I heard one of the soldiers say. 'There was nothing there.' His voice was distant, detached.

  'Well, if that will be all,' said Pillar nervously, sounding like he was trying to muster some authority. I could tell he was eager for the men to be gone.

  I didn't hear them leave. I was trying to sort out what had just happened. Why hadn't the soldier seen me? I'd wished him away, all of them. Coldly and with such vehemence, I'd wished they'd all leave and that I would remain undiscovered and Pillar and Quinn safe. And it had worked. But why hadn't he seen me?

  I still was trying to figure out what had occurred when I heard Pillar call. At first I thought he was telling me it was safe to come out.

  I only realised too late it was a cry of warning.

  With none of the usual preliminaries, the lid flew off the vat and, with a strength I didn't know she possessed, Quinn hauled me out and onto the floor. I slid across the sawdust, coming to rest against the side of a trough.

  The last thing I remember was the toe of her boot swinging towards my face.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A visitor in the night

  THE STORM WAS RELENTLESS. BUILT up over a period of weeks, it unleashed its fury over the island country of Serenissima. Not one sestiere was spared. Rain thrashed the streets and tumbled into the canals. The water rose rapidly, flooding calles, markets and piazzettas. Some of the low-lying islands, those closer to Nobiles' Rise, had to be sandbagged. Butchers worked side by side with nobiles, soldiers with philosophers, children with courtesans, all intent on saving their homes and livelihoods. Lightning flung itself out of the sky and for days afterwards, people spoke in hushed tones of huge fires blazing on the mountains, fanned by the wind but not quenched by the rain. The Doge's fleet, anchored at the Arsenale, was tossed together and sustained so much damage it would be weeks before the ships were fit to sail again. Private craft, tied to their striped palines, were torn adrift as the water rose. Trees were uprooted, houses blown over and lives lost. But what disturbed the people most were the bells in the disused Basilica Estrattore that, once the wind started, tolled the entire night.

  Sorcery, some said.
The wrath of forgotten gods, warned others, sent to punish us for neglecting them over the last centuries. But these notions were muttered quietly, among friends and families, huddled together for protection by hearths, away from unfriendly ears that would construe heresy where there was only superstition.

  A DISCORDANT HOWLING SERENADED ME back into the waking world. The tempest raging outside echoed how I felt as I lay there, trying to recall the events of the last few hours and take stock. My room was utterly dark. I could not see the hand I waved in front of my eyes, so I set about exploring the wreckage of my body by touch. My fingers were stiff, cramped with pain as I slowly tracked the course of Quinn's fury. The distant rumble of thunder and the crash of falling masonry accompanied the discovery of each new bruise and fresh cut. Faint cries and screams attended the violent song of the rain. I could even hear the clanging of heavy bells. Lights began to dance before my eyes and I tried to imagine that I was lying beneath a starry canopy far from my room. But the pain was too great; it steered my imaginings away from the firmament and back to my wounds.

  Slowly, I propped myself on an elbow and tried to sit up. My head began to spin and the contents of my stomach rose into my throat. With almost no warning, I vomited all over the floor. I wanted to weep, but I couldn't – not yet. I tried to stand up, to move away from my shame, but I was shivering so hard, my legs refused to cooperate.

  A sharp wind whistled through the attic, driving into my flesh and making my torn, sodden clothes cling even more tightly to my broken and bloodied skin. I managed to get to my knees and began to claw the blackness, trying to locate my mattress or my chest, something that would guide me towards my tinderbox. But the familiar had suddenly become strange. The storm grew louder, seizing my senses, shouting at me to surrender. I had no intention of challenging anything or anyone. I needed help and light. I felt a sob build inside me, expanding my ribcage; I cried out as agony exploded. I clutched my side. Where was everyone? Why had Pillar left me alone up here in the cold, hurt and terrified?

  Unable to orientate myself, I sat back down. The attic floor was drenched. If it hadn't been for the familiar smell of damp and rats, I would have sworn I'd been caught and thrown in the Doge's dungeon.

  I tried to regulate my breathing, calm myself. As I did, I became aware that a window had been left wide open and the rain was pouring in. Agony or not, I couldn't allow this to continue. I braced for my body's response and struggled to my feet stumbling against the pane, clumsily pulling it shut. I almost lost consciousness as the room spun. I grabbed the sill for support. The force of the water as it lashed the thick glass was fierce. There was something unnatural about the elements tonight.

  A scrabbling noise to my right distracted me. It stopped for a moment and then continued. 'Hello.' My voice sounded strained, ruined. The rats were struggling to get into the barrels, out of the cold, away from potential harm. They too were afraid. My heart contracted. They didn't understand. I lowered myself onto my hands and knees. My temples were aflame and my ribs protested with every breath. Crawling towards where I thought my bed was, I could not comprehend the amount of water on the floor. Why, there must be at least an inch.

  Instead of my bed, I ploughed into one of the empty barrels. It didn't matter; I knew where I was now. I pulled myself upright and prised off the lid. Sure enough, sitting under some old sacks were my blankets. Pillar must have hidden them when the soldiers came. I pulled one of them over the lip and wrapped it around my shoulders. I reached deeper into the barrel and, propped on one of the internal ribs, found a rush light and my tinderbox. I grasped them tightly and, with shaking fingers, tried to extract the spill and flint. I was about to strike the flint when raised voices below stayed my trembling hand. Pillar and Quinn were arguing again and I had no doubt what it was about. Their voices were harsh above the rain.

  I finally managed to light the candle. I held the light aloft and examined the room by its dull nimbus. My bed had moved slightly, but the chest was still in place. There was water everywhere; bits of rubbish and the contents of my stomach floated in eddies. I felt it flip again.

  Just then, another voice cut over Pillar and Quinn's. I forgot my nausea.

  'You can deny it all you like, but I happen to know Tallow's here.'

  It was the woman from the taverna.

  Before I could move, footsteps echoed on the staircase and the door to the attic burst open. Dim light from the kitchen below filtered into the room.

  Startled, I dropped the rushlight into the water. Its flame extinguished with a slight hiss as I slid behind the barrel. 'You have no right to come here!' screeched Quinn from the bottom of the stairs. 'We don't want your kind in our house!'

  'No?' said the woman. I heard a splash as she stepped into the water. 'What kind is it that you do want?'

  There was a flash. The woman had drawn a dagger.

  It took her seconds to find me; I didn't stand a chance. Instead of being dragged out as I expected, the woman reached for me ever so gently and with cautious tugs, led me towards the doorway. Much to my discomfort, she studied my face. I learned later that a livid bruise stretched all the way from my temple to my chin. I knew my left eye had swollen shut and the split across my lips, only just healed, had opened again. My tongue worried it, tasting blood. My body began to tremble uncontrollably; my legs to buckle.

  The woman's hand on my arm allowed me to feel the emotions building inside her. They exploded in a hoarse rush.

  'By the gods! What have you done to her?'

  'Her? We keep telling you, there are no girls in this house. This ain't no her. It's a him. And he only got what he deserved,' mumbled Quinn, who had mounted the stairs and now leant against the doorframe, arms crossed defiantly.

  In one swift movement, the woman released me. I fell against the wall as she brought her knife to rest under Quinn's neck. The blade sank into the loose flesh there. Behind his mother, Pillar cried out, but the woman held up her hand, making him freeze in his stride. Quinn gave a small shriek that was quickly cut off as the blade sank deeper.

  'Spare me!' she whimpered. 'It wasn't me, I tell you. In the name of God, I swear, I didn't touch him. I wouldn't! Not dear little Tallow. It was him.' Her eyes darted towards Pillar who stood a few steps down, arms folded, his lips firmly pressed together. 'He did it.' With a sinking heart, I realised Pillar had no intention of defending himself.

  'So,' said the woman with a low chuckle. 'You really do think I'm stupid, don't you. You, whose boots match the pattern imprinted on the child's cheek. You, whose cheap jewellery –' she lifted Quinn's fingers, the stone in her ring catching the light, and let them drop '– is marred by dried blood, did not do this? You, who possess talons for nails and a temper to match?' She pressed herself against Quinn, forcing her back against the wall opposite me. 'You, who reek of spirits and ill-will towards the child, did not do this to her?'

  Quinn lowered her eyes. Blood trickled down her neck and dripped onto her dress.

  'I did it for his own good. To teach him a lesson.'

  'A lesson! Is that what you call it? What sort of lesson does this teach?' Her free arm gestured towards me, propped upright by my grip on the doorframe. 'No. You're nothing but a coward and a bully. You would even turn against your son rather than face the consequences of your actions.' The woman snarled, her face transforming. 'Listen to me very carefully, Quinnatta Pelleta –'

  'How do you know my name?' gasped Quinn.

  The woman laughed. 'I know everything about you and let me tell you, if you ever lay a finger on this child again, by the gods, by your God, I'll have your head. Do you understand?' Before Quinn could reply, the woman drew her blade along Quinn's neck. At first nothing happened, and then blood began to flow.

  'Mamma!' Pillar wailed in horror and ran to her. 'Leave her alone!' he cried, pushing her assailant with his shoulder. Stepping out of the way, the woman slowly wiped and then sheathed her weapon.

  Quinn put her hands to her neck and when she sa
w the blood that stained them, she swayed. Pillar caught her just in time.