Tallow

by Karen Brooks

  'From the looks he's giving us, I don't think it's just water he thirsts for!'

  'Even his pretty spectacles are steaming.'

  There were more laughs.

  'How old are you, boy?' One of the older women pressed forward and put a small, full tin cup in my hand.

  'Grazie,' I murmured, gulping down the water gratefully.

  The woman waited patiently for me to finish. I wiped the back of my sleeve across my mouth and handed her back the cup. 'There's a look about you that suggests you're older than you seem. But perhaps it's those golden glasses you wear?'

  'A young man of mystery,' trilled the red-head.

  'Where are you from?' asked Guilia. 'And why the spectacles? What's wrong with your eyes?'

  No-one in our sestiere had ever questioned my glasses. They'd accepted Pillar's explanation that they had been a present to me from his cousin. But these women didn't know Pillar or Katina. I could rely on no-one to protect me but myself. The woman started to close around me, touching and stroking me.

  I tried to avoid their ministrations. 'They're to protect my eyes from the ... the ... sun. I'm allergic to the sun,' I said hastily and with more courage than I felt, began to back away, laughing with the women, fending off their roaming hands.

  'Don't be shy, boy! Show us your eyes.'

  'I can already tell they're lovely! Look at his little red ears, just like shells.'

  'He's as pretty as a girl!'

  That was it. I couldn't take it any more, I ran – again. They took my fear as that of an adolescent boy confronted with attractive, confident women, and gales of laughter followed me. Darting into a calle off the campo, I slowed to a walking pace. I didn't want to attract any more attention. At least this calle wasn't very busy – just a few people wandering in and out of shops. I breathed a sigh of relief, tucked my head down and walked.

  I had only gone a short distance when I heard shouts and whoops of glee accompanied by some short yelps and whines. They sounded like they were coming from a nearby ramo. For a moment, I considered returning the way I had come, but the thought of confronting the women again changed my mind. Poking my head around the corner of the dark alleyway, I saw a group of boys standing in a circle. In the centre stood another boy, taller than the others. He'd taken off his cap and shoved it into the back pocket of his breeches. He was rolling up his sleeves. He turned this way and that, gesturing with his hands, provoking the boys to come forward. I knew I should keep moving, but I was curious about what was happening. I'd never seen so many boys my own age together at one time.

  The boys were jeering and taunting, but the taller boy stood his ground. Beneath the dirt that liberally smeared his face, I could see an honest and open mien. Nonetheless, his wide black eyes offered a challenge and something else. I sensed disappointment and sadness. My heart responded. I understood those emotions all too well.

  His shoulders were very broad and his arms were sinewy and strong-looking. Certainly he was more than a match for the younger boys surrounding him. Nevertheless, one of them stepped out of the circle and took a foolhardy swing. The tall boy promptly struck out with his fist and the smaller one flew backwards, his head hitting the cobbles with a crunch. He began to whimper.

  That was enough. The other boys scattered in all directions. The boy who'd been hit struggled to his feet and limped after them, blood trickling from his mouth.

  The tall boy ignored their cries; he didn't even bother turning around. Instead, he bent over and tended to something lying on the ground. With a shock, I realised that it was a dog. It was spread out on the cobbles, its tongue rolling out of its mouth, its chocolate-coloured coat all matted.

  Unable to help myself, I ran forward and knelt by its side.

  'Go away!' said the boy fiercely, drawing back his fist.

  I leant back, alarmed, putting up my hands in defence. 'No! I want to help! What's happened? Is this your dog?' I spoke quickly, pouring sympathy and respect into my tone. It worked. The boy let his arm fall.

  'Sorry, I thought you were one of them,' he said, gesturing over his shoulder. He touched the dog and it whined pitifully. 'Look what they did to the poor creature.'

  His fingers indicated some open wounds on the dog's body, and a great gash on the top of its head. They were raw and deep. 'They're not the worst,' he said. His voice was husky. I couldn't tell whether it was from suppressed emotion or naturally that way. 'I caught them throwing rocks and kicking him. They thought it was hilarious. Bastardos!' He pressed the dog's ribs gently. The dog whimpered, its legs moving feebly.

  'Is he yours?'

  'No,' said the boy. 'He's just a stray. We feed him sometimes when he comes into the workshop. He's never hurt anyone.' He swiped the back of his hand swiftly across his eyes and cast me a look, daring me to say something. I pretended not to see his tears.

  'What can we do?' I asked quietly.

  'Do? Nothing. He'll die. They've hurt him too badly.' He cast his eyes over the ramo and then rose to his feet.

  'Where are you going?' I cried. 'You're not just going to leave him here, are you?'

  The boy snorted. 'Course not! I'm going to get a bit of wood or something.'

  'What will that do?' I reached towards the dog and laid my hand against its fur. It was blisteringly hot. I watched the boy pace up and down the alley, peering into corners and behind piles of rubbish.

  'The kindest thing possible,' called the boy. 'Make sure he doesn't feel any more pain!' He mimicked striking the dog over the head.

  'No!' I whispered and watched in horror as the boy continued his search. I looked back at the dog. Great liquid eyes raised themselves to mine. Lifting his head, he tried to lick my hand. I couldn't let this dog be killed. I wouldn't.

  Though Katina had told me never to practise my talents on humans, she never said anything about dogs. Without giving it a second thought, I laid both my hands against the dog's coat and slowly pressed. The dog shuddered but didn't make a sound. It was as if it knew.

  I needed something to distil into the dog; I needed something strong and healthy, something to help heal its injuries and take away the pain. Keeping my hands upon it, I searched for anything that might contain what I need.

  The boy exclaimed in frustration as he threw aside a piece of rotting fabric. My eyes narrowed. This was a good boy, a strong boy – what if ...?

  'Hey!' I cried. I had to act quickly, before I changed my mind. 'Come here. I think the dog's going to be all right!'

  'What are you talking about? That's impossible.' He released what he was holding and jogged back, dropping to his knees beside me. He peered at me with a strange expression on his face. It was evident he didn't believe me. It didn't matter; he was right where I needed him – within reach.

  'Look,' I said excitedly, beginning to focus on what I needed to do. 'Put your hand here. Right here, where mine is.' I took his hand and led it to the point on the body where the dog's heart pumped weakly. 'Can you feel it?'

  'Feel what?' said the boy.

  Then I put my hand over his.

  He didn't have a chance to pull away. As soon as my hand touched his I began to extract. Carefully and quickly, I took what I needed. I felt his energy, his enthusiasm, his care for others. I felt his heart thudding. I felt the blood flowing through his veins. And, unexpectedly, I felt this boy's great capacity for love. It was what almost made me draw away.

  'What are –' he began. Then his eyes glazed. I watched his face carefully. I knew from the night I extracted from Pillar how cautious I had to be. Being an Estrattore, I'd learnt, was as much a balancing act as anything else. I took from the boy only what I sensed was needed and I gave straight to the dog.

  The dog's heart strengthened, his ribs healed. I saw his wounds close. Somewhere, within his altered state, the boy saw it too. His eyes widened and a small smile played on his lips. While he didn't understand what I was doing, he wasn't going to stop me either.

  In less than a minute, the dog was trying to
get to its feet. I took my hand away from the boy's. He left it where it was for a fraction longer and then slowly took it away. We both stared at the dog.

  The dog managed to stand. A bit uncertain at first, it wobbled and then had a big shake. It stood in front of us, tail wagging, tongue lolling and stepping towards me, licked my face.

  'My first kiss!' I laughed and then threw my arms around the dog's neck. I buried my head in its long fur. The matting had disappeared along with the wounds. Even the fleas had gone. The dog barked enthusiastically.

  'Shush, Cane!' said the boy, looking up at the few fine balconies that overlooked the ramo. I followed the direction of his gaze. I hadn't noticed them before. My heart lurched. But they were empty.

  The boy leant forward and hugged the dog, too. The dog barked again and we both laughed.

  'Is Cane his name?' I asked shyly.

  'Don't know. It's what me and my grandpa call him. Zia Gaia just calls him greedy.'

  'I like Cane better.' I tucked my hand into Cane's fur. The dog sat by my side, staring at me with such a look of adoration that it made me uncomfortable.

  'What's your name?' asked the boy.

  'Tallow,' I answered.

  'You're not from around here, are you, dorato?' he said.

  'Dorato?' I repeated a bit defensively.

  He nodded towards my glasses. 'Yeah, golden boy. Dorato.' He dared me to contradict him.

  I rolled my eyes and he laughed. 'No. I'm from the Candlemakers Quartiere.' The boy nodded. 'What's your name?'

  'Dante. I'm ... I'm well, sort of a chandler.'

  'I guessed.'

  'Do I smell that bad?'

  I paused, and then thought better of lying. 'Yes.'

  We both laughed, then fell into a comfortable silence. Dante's eyes were upon me. I concentrated on straightening an imaginary tangle out of Cane's coat.

  'What did you do, Tallow dorato?' asked Dante softly. 'How did you heal Cane like that?'

  I hesitated. Katina's words came back to me. No-one must know about you, Tallow. No-one. Whoever you share your secret with forfeits their life. Pillar, Quinn and I, we do it from choice and with knowledge. Those you choose to share your identity with won't have that luxury.

  'I'm afraid I can't tell you – trade secret.' I tapped the side of my nose while internally steeling myself for a dismissive comment. It never came.

  Instead, Dante rose and stretched. 'Didn't think you would. But there was no harm trying. What are you doing in this quartiere? Where are you going?'

  'Going –?' In the commotion over Cane, I'd forgotten all about Pillar. 'I ... I'm looking for someone. M– my master, Master Pillar. W– we came here –'

  'To buy some tallow, Tallow,' finished Dante. 'Yeah, we see you lot from the Candlemakers Quartiere all the time. Though I've never seen you before. I'd remember you, with those spectacles of yours. Why do you wear them, or can't you tell me that either?'

  I inwardly cursed the redness that travelled up my neck. 'I'm allergic to the sunlight. Hurts my eyes.'

  'Oh,' said Dante. 'You are an odd one, aren't you?' He held out his hand. I stared at it. 'Come on, then!' he said and, grabbing my wrist, heaved me to my feet. It was the first time I'd been touched voluntarily by anyone other than Quinn, Pillar or Katina. His skin was rough and firm. It felt nice. 'Let's see if we can find your master.'

  'You'll help me?'

  'Course I will!' he said and took off down the ramo. 'Anyone who's a friend of Cane's is a friend of mine!' he called over his shoulder.

  I looked at Cane. The dog raised his beautiful liquid eyes and wagged his tail. 'Did you hear that, Cane?' I whispered. 'I've got a friend!' Cane bumped my hand with his head. 'All right then, two!' I said laughing. 'Come on then, boy! Let's go find Pillar!'

  Running along the ramo, with Cane lolloping beside me, I didn't remember ever feeling so light, so ... happy. I'd gone from losing Katina, the first real friend I'd had, to gaining two others. And one of them a dog!

  It was only many years later, when it was too late, that I would learn how rash my actions in the ramo had been, how much we'd all – me, Dante, Cane and the people of Serenissima – pay the price for my foolhardiness.

  WATCHING TALLOW RACE ALONG THE ramo below, the woman on the balcony turned to the old man who had come at her quiet summons. 'Did you see that? Did you see what that boy did?'

  The man looked at his daughter and was again struck by her dark beauty: the lagoon-green eyes, the sable hair, the honey skin. Had things been different, she would have married well. As it was, he thought, moving to the banister and peering down, perhaps their fortunes were about to change and she might yet ... 'I did,' said the old man. He twirled his cane. 'I did, indeed.'

  'He healed that dog when it was as good as dead. Those wretched biricchinos nearly killed that animal. Brutes.'

  'I'm touched you should care so much for a canine, my dear. If you want one, you need only ask.'

  'Care?' scoffed the woman, her plump pink lips pouting in distaste. 'What do I care about a dirty dog? I'm far more interested in what the boy did to the dog. Do you think he's –'

  'No. I don't think anything. I want to know. Certainly, what we observed suggests the boy has some unusual abilities. But it could also be a youngster's trick, staged for our benefit.'

  'You think they knew we were watching?'

  The man shrugged. 'Who knows? I'm not prepared to jump to conclusions. Not when so much is at stake.'

  The woman turned back to overlook the ramo. 'What should we do then?'

  'I think it's time we had a word with Baroque.'

  'You mean –?'

  'Yes. It's been a while since he's had something to do. Spying on the lad will sharpen his skills.'

  'But will he agree to work for us again? I mean, it's not as though we can pay him much.'

  The old man laughed. 'Baroque Scarpoli is no longer in any position to quibble about who he works for, let alone what he earns. Let me worry about Baroque, my dear. I can be very persuasive, you know.'

  'I know.' The woman smiled. 'Tell him he has to find out where the boy lives. All Baroque has to do is ask for the whereabouts of the child with the golden glasses.'

  The old man shook his head. 'Don't be so certain about that. These peasants stick together, you know.'

  'Perhaps,' sniffed the woman. 'But, for the right price, there will be someone out there willing to speak. There always is.'

  'And when they do, we'll see if our suspicions are right.'

  'You can say it, Papa,' she sighed, gazing at Tallow's retreating back. 'We'll know if the boy is an Estrattore or not. Can you imagine? An Estrattore in our midst. Literally, at our very doorstep.'

  Tallow, Dante and the dog disappeared around the corner.

  'Whatever he is, he could be our means to the future that has been denied us,' said the man. He took the young woman's hand, bent and kissed it. 'For if this boy is what we hope he is, then our fortune will not escape us a second time. If he is an Estrattore, our destiny is assured.' The man tapped the railing with his cane.

  The woman frowned. 'What if he won't help us?'

  'If he can't be convinced, then we'll just have to use force, won't we?'

  The woman looked at her father, then threw back her head and laughed. 'Why, you wily old soul! I wasn't sure you still had it in you.'