by Karen Brooks
Like the velvet sky above me, the day of my departure now seemed to stretch into infinity. There'd been no word from Katina – not a message, not a sign that she was all right. She'd been gone for months, and in that time my training hadn't progressed much. I was still extracting and distilling into the candles, much the same as I had done when Katina was there. My skill and speed had improved – and Pillar and Quinn's reputation as makers of fine candles was growing. People from all over Serenissima were buying our products.
For the first time in his life, Pillar was being feted and admired. It made my heart lift when I saw the respect he could now command, the way people would speak about his products when they entered the shop, putting thought into their words, caring about their descriptions. When Pillar was asked for the secret to his candles, he refused to say, shaking his head and chuckling. 'If I told you, you could all make them. Then my candles wouldn't be special any more, would they?' No-one suspected that the small, nondescript lad with the golden glasses in the workshop was the reason the candles were in such demand.
While I relished Pillar's new status, I was finding my hours in the workshop tedious. Every day was the same – melting, distilling, moulding, dipping and hiding from prying eyes. I didn't care that Pillar took credit for my work, but now that there were no more challenges, no more promises of extending what I could do, I found that extracting happiness and other positive emotions into candles became quite boring. I couldn't stop thinking about Lucia, Lizzetta and Antonio. That had been thrilling. I desperately wanted another chance to work with humans, but I didn't dare. It wasn't just Katina's absence; it was something within me as well, a small warning voice that prevented me from helping, even when I knew I could. The risk was just too great.
But what if this was all I was? Could ever be? What if Katina never came back? Would I have the courage to master all of the possibilities of my talents on my own? Gazing out over the quartiere, considering what lay beyond the familiar canals and rami, I doubted it.
A faint noise brought me back to the present. I roused myself slowly, slightly unnerved by where my thoughts had taken me. Dante would be waiting. I threw my leg over the ledge but, just as I did, something brushed against me. I stifled the cry that spilled out of my mouth.
'Cane!' I almost fell backwards in relief. 'What are you doing up here?'
Cane stared at me accusingly, his tail half-mast.
I glanced over his head and saw that I'd forgotten to fasten the latch on the trapdoor. I grabbed Cane by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him towards the opening. 'Come on, boy. You can't come with me – we've been through this before. I won't be gone long! You have to stay here and look after things.'
Cane whined and stiffened, making it impossible for me to move without hurting him. Letting go of his fur, I looked at him in exasperation and shook my head. He tried to lick my nose, but I remained just out of reach.
'All right,' I relented. 'You can stay here on the roof and wait for me. But no barking! I don't care what you see, all right?' Cane wagged his tail. 'One bark, and it will be Quinn you'll have to deal with.'
Pushing him away, I clambered back over the ledge and down the trellis that clung to the neighbour's walls. Pulling my hat down over my head, I made sure my glasses were firmly in place, then ran towards the campo.
'You're late!' hissed Dante from the shadows of the basilica.
I stopped in front of him, bending over with my hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath.
'Sorry. I had a bit of trouble getting away.' I straightened and exhaled.
Dante looked me up and down. 'Why have you got those stupid glasses on again? I keep telling you, there's no sunlight at night!'
'Because I want to, all right?' I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. He returned my defiant look. We stared at each other for a few seconds and then burst into laughter.
'Come on, dorato,' said Dante, grabbing my arm. 'I've got a surprise for you!'
We wove our way through the alleys, Dante leading. He took us to a canal on the far side of the Candlemakers Quartiere – the one that ran through the middle of the Dorsoduro Sestiere. Rocking gently from side to side at the bottom of a set of water-stairs floated an old gondola.
My eyes widened as Dante leapt into the boat. He ran nimbly over the roof of the felze, the little curtained cabin where passengers sat, and began to untie the rope from the red-and-white striped paline. He quickly coiled the rope and dropped it in the bottom of the gondola and lifted the oar in the forcola. 'Well?' he said. I hadn't moved. 'If you're you waiting for an invitation, this is the only one you're going to get.'
I hesitated. In all the adventures Dante had taken me on, never before had we been on a gondola. Sure, we'd explored every calle and ramo in the Candlemakers and Chandlers Quartieri. And Dante, at my insistence, had done his utmost to keep us out of trouble and, mostly, out of sight. While I knew he didn't understand my reluctance to be seen, he respected it. He knew it had something to do with what I'd done to Cane and, while he was curious, he didn't press for an explanation. For that reason, and others I hadn't yet admitted to myself, I not only liked him, but I was slowly beginning to trust him as well.
'Where did you get it from?' I tried to look like boarding a gondola was something I'd always done, but fell into an untidy heap at the bottom. Dante laughed loudly. As I hauled myself onto the seat, I briefly wondered how a chandler's apprentice had managed to procure a gondola. Dante had told me that his mother and father had died many years ago and that he was cared for by his grandfather and great-aunt. His grandfather was a soap chandler, as Dante's father had been when he was alive. But once his father died, the business passed to one of Dante's uncles and Dante's tuition was forgotten. Dante's uncle was too busy building the business and training his four sons to have much time for his nephew. Not that Dante minded. He hated chandling and didn't intend to remain in that line of work forever. Exactly what it was he wanted to do, he wasn't sure.
'I'll know when I know,' was all he would say, his chin jutting out. I was inclined to remind him that he had better know soon – after all, he was sixteen, and most sixteen-year-old boys, especially those who weren't nobiles, were either well into their apprenticeships or drafted into the army or navy. But then I realised how a statement like that could lead to some uncomfortable questions about my own future. So, I resisted taunting him. In many ways, Dante and I were the same. We were both at the whim of forces beyond our control. We would, as Dante said, know what we would become when it happened.
Still, if it wasn't for Dante, I'd be curled up tight in my bed night after night, wondering what life beyond the back canals of Serenissima was really like. Because of Dante, I'd enjoyed experiences I could call my own. Sipping stolen vino on the roof of the basilica; throwing rotten apples at visitors crossing the campo during the Feast of Redentore and hiding in a cellar as the soldiers searched for the culprits. One evening, we'd even sprawled atop a shop awning near Ponte Incurabli, the Bridge of Incurables, sharing dreams and munching cheese and bread while below us the world passed by.
The only time we'd ever had a disagreement was in the middle of winter, during Carnivale. While I knew about Carnivale, a few weeks when all social rules were thrown away and life was turned upside down, I'd never witnessed what could happen. There were nights of music, singing, shouting, bright laughter and the clink of bottles, glasses and the occasional fight – even in our calle. Pillar would slip out, returning in the small hours, staggering, unkempt but also content. For days afterwards, Quinn would cast him sly looks and make remarks that I couldn't make sense of but that would make Pillar blush. Of course, I'd heard things, about how nobile women and even the nuns in the convent would flaunt their bodies; how men with nothing, just like Pillar, could dare to approach those who outranked them on the social scale and exchange food, drink and more with them. I just couldn't imagine Pillar having the courage to do that. But people did strange things during Carnivale – and they were
allowed. It was considered peculiar not to take advantage of this special time. People wore masks to hide their real identities and for the days and nights that Carnivale raged they would play all sorts of roles without any of the usual consequences.
But for me, for whom life was nothing but a role, a masquerade, Carnivale didn't quite hold the same enchantment that it did for Dante. On the very first night, he couldn't wait to drag me through the piazza at the end of the salizzada and into the shadows on the other side. We'd hidden behind a statue near the taverna, watching the Carnivale revellers dancing and feasting. They seemed immune to the cold. At intervals, heavily masked and costumed couples would sneak into the rami, only to emerge minutes later in disarray. With a curious look on his face, Dante had insisted we follow one. We crouched in the darkest corner, spying, as a masked man lifted a woman's dress. I had never seen another person partially naked before – not even Quinn or Pillar. It was a shock to see the ends of her stockings and bare thighs. They were so white and soft-looking. The man had pressed himself into her, grunting and groaning while the woman moaned. I couldn't take my eyes off them either. Waves of heat washed over me, contrasting to the numbing chill of the air.
Dante had behaved strangely afterwards. When the couple finished, they'd separated and left the ramo, one at either end. They didn't see us. Dante was very red in the face and quiet for a long time. Later that night, after we'd been wandering amongst the crowds for a while, he whispered something in my ear. Before I could ask him to repeat himself, he disappeared briefly with a tall girl in a low-cut blouse wearing a tiger mask. It was only because it was Carnivale that Dante had addressed the girl, let alone taken her aside.
I waited in the dark overhang of a sottoportegho, wondering if Dante would remember to come back for me.
He did, with a stupid, satisfied look on his face.
'You should try that too,' he'd said, ruffling my hair. Fury rose in me. Before I knew what I was doing, I slapped his hand away and turned on him.
'You smell like a pig!' I spat. 'Don't ever leave me like that again! If you want to go off with one of those ... those ... cavola, then leave me at home!'
Dante looked shocked. Then he'd burst out laughing. 'Ah, my little Tallow's jealous!' That was all the provocation I needed. I flew at him, swinging punches and trying to bite.
'Ah, a spitfire. A jealous little spitfire,' teased Dante, chuckling as he easily ducked the punches and avoided the bites. Finally, he captured both my wrists in one hand and with the other, wrapped me tightly so my back was pressed against his chest. Immediately, I stopped struggling. My breasts heaved under their vice-like bindings. 'Don't be jealous, tiny Tallow,' Dante whispered, his stubble tickling my ear, causing shivers to run up and down my spine, setting my nerves on fire. His body felt so warm, so firm. I began to melt into him, the tension and anger fleeing as I became aware of the taut muscles in his forearm. I could feel them against my bandages. Confusion warred in me and I was grateful for the concealing darkness. He dropped his head until his chin nestled against my neck. I closed my eyes. He gave a low chuckle. I held my breath. 'One day your prick will be big enough to please a woman, too!' he said. Then he thrust his hips into my back a few times.
I bit down hard on his arm and twisted out of his embrace. I couldn't look at him and I certainly didn't want him staring at me. But he was. I asked to go home, hating my voice that it trembled. Puzzled, but also smug, Dante complied without another word.
The following day I was so embarrassed by my behaviour, for losing control, that I wondered how I could face him again. But the next time I saw Dante, it was as if nothing had happened. It was then I decided that, by way of apology, I would give him some candles I'd made.
After that, it became a regular thing. Dante would take me exploring and in exchange, I would give him a taper or two – tapers that I'd carefully practised my talents upon. Dante had been delighted. The candles from Pillar's workshop were the talk of his quartiere. Not that his great-aunt would deign to spend good coin on them, not when the family could make their own rough versions from the leftover chandling tallow. But she was very pleased that Dante's new acquaintance was so generous, and would proudly tell anyone that inquired that their candles were provided by that candlemaker and it just so happened that her nephew was very good friends with his apprentice.
I knew that Dante enjoyed my company, candles or no candles. I loved being with him. But he was also endlessly curious about me and, while he rarely brought up what he'd witnessed when I saved Cane, I would occasionally catch his eyes lingering upon me and could feel the unasked questions burning within him. Like me, Dante had never had any siblings and he treated me like a younger brother, alternately teasing and defending me. Unused to people my own age, it took me a while to grow accustomed to Dante's ways and the position he created for me in his life. But it became comfortable for both of us – so much so that before long I found it hard to remember my life without him.
'What do you reckon, then?' asked Dante, distracting me from my thoughts.
I'd never been in a gondola before – only the larger sandoli and traghettos. I leaned forwards and stroked the old, dark wood. The craft was over thirty feet long and very slender. 'It's beautiful,' I whispered. 'But where did you get it?'
'It was in the chandlers' squero, you know, the boatyard Uncle Borlomio owns,' explained Dante. 'No-one was using it, so I thought we'd borrow it for a few hours.'
'Do you think anyone will mind?'
'Mind! Of course they'll mind. But only if they find out, and I don't intend for that to happen.' He pushed out into the centre of the canal.
'Where are we going?'
Dante gave a wicked grin. 'See the engraving on the ferro?' He pointed to the curved piece of shiny, notched steel moulded to the prow. Six prongs faced forwards, one looked astern. 'That tells us that this gondola belongs to the Opera Quartiere. I thought we'd take it for a visit. It looks kind of homesick to me.'
My mouth dropped open. 'The Opera Quartiere! Are you mad? We'll never make it there and back before dawn.' My heart began to thump. If Pillar found out what I was up to, I'd never be allowed out of his sight again. And what about Quinn? But I thrilled to the idea of the adventure. I'd never been to the main part of the Circolo Canal, let alone all the way to the Opera Quartiere before. I knew it was near Nobiles' Rise – the Doge's own island. I tried not to show my excitement and trepidation but Dante knew me too well.
'If you stop talking and let me concentrate while I push, we'll be back in plenty of time to tuck you into bed so nasty old Quinn doesn't find out what you've been up to. Now, keep your voice down. Sound carries on water. Wait until we're on the Circolo before you start complaining again!' Dante gave me a huge grin to take the sting out of his words. 'We don't want anyone to become curious as to how two apprentices got hold of a lovely old boat like this.'
Unable to do anything else, I crawled into the felze, ducking to avoid hitting my head. It was a small space, lined with plush, tassled cushions and draped with velvet fabric. I wriggled around, trying to get comfortable. Stretching my legs out, I put my hands behind my head and watched my quartiere drift by through the soft arch of the curtains, the ball of anxiety gnawing away at me gradually disappearing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Events on the Circolo
Canal
IT TOOK ABOUT HALF AN hour to reach the Circolo Canal. When we did, I found it hard to contain my excitement. Never before had I seen so many boats, so much water, so many casas and palines. For miles along the canal, the red-and-white-striped poles rose out of the water, each with its own gondola firmly tied to it, the wake of our passing slapping them to life.
The further we went, always staying near the banks, the more gondolas appeared on the water – not only tied to their watery beds, but afloat and active in the moonlight.
Many of the gondoliers were dressed in velvet pantaloons with white silk shirts embraced by cropped dark jackets. Straw hats with l
ittle ribbon tails were perched upon their heads. Very few bothered with us, I suppose because of the state of our boat. Compared to the rest gliding along the waterways, our sad, old gondola no longer seemed so luxurious. Occasionally a gondolier would break into song, and it was all Dante and I could do to contain our laughter.
After a while, we steered into a quieter area – the Philosophers Quartiere. Rising above the other buildings on the island was the triple steeple of the university basilica. Pennants pronouncing coats of arms and the national flag of Serenissima, with its familiar winged beast, flapped lazily in the breeze. I gazed at the rows of vaulted windows, many of which had candles burning, and wondered what problems were being both solved and created by the great minds of the country this night.
