Tallow

by Karen Brooks

  'Yes, Your Majesty,' said Waterford, sweeping his arm to the floor in a gesture of obeisance.

  'A word before you go.' She indicated the remaining Councillors. 'The rest of you are to search every document that even mentions the Estrattore. I don't care where you have to go or how long it takes you. Check the translations against the originals. I want to know if this boy is mentioned anywhere. Do you understand?'

  Before they could respond, she dismissed them with a wave of her hand – all except Waterford, whom she beckoned closer.

  'YES, YOUR HIGHNESS?' WATERFORD TRIED to keep the tremor out of his voice. He glanced nervously at Shazet. The Mortian's gaunt face was unreadable.

  'I think it's time for you to return to Serenissima.'

  'You do?' squeaked Waterford, forgetting the formal mode of address.

  In one smooth motion, Zaralina rose to her feet and glided down the steps towards the trembling lord.

  'Yes, I do. But this time, you won't arrive in secret, on a foreign ship. You'll arrive with all the pomp and ceremony accorded the Queen of Farrowfare's ambassador.'

  Lord Waterford's stared. 'Ambassador? Your Majesty. Th– that's an honour I don't deserve.' He'd been hoping that now the foreign prince was settling he could return to his own lands, see his wife and son. It had been almost a year.

  'No, you probably don't. But I'm going to bestow it on you anyway.' She gave him a smile that never reached her eyes.

  Waterford bowed, his mind working all the while, trying to fathom what the queen intended. What would his wife say?

  'I want you to stay in Serenissima for a while, Waterford. Enjoy some of their legendary hospitality. And, while you're there, I want you to be my eyes.' She reached out and stroked his eyelids. 'And ears.' Her fingers gently tweaked his lobes. Waterford shuddered. 'Familiarise yourself with local politics, endear yourself to the Doge and his nobiles. Find out how the line of accession is going: who is happy, who is unhappy.

  'Find out,' she said, trailing a finger across his chest, 'how our little hostage's parents are faring. What the rumours are. I want you to charm the Serenissians, tempt them – seduce them if you must. And all the while watch and listen. See if the nobiles suspect they have an Estrattore in their midst. Do you think you can do that?'

  'Y– yes, Your Highness.'

  'Good,' she said, her lips just touching his ear. 'You will leave in one month. That will give you time to find appropriate gifts, and even more appropriate bribes. We'll find in which direction the wind blows, one way or another.'

  'B– but, Your Majesty?'

  'Yes, Waterford?'

  Waterford hated the way she could make his mouth turn dry with just a slight raising of one eyebrow, a tip of her white chin. 'I ... I was wondering. I'm not sure that an envoy from the other side of the Limen, from Albion, will be welcome. Ever since we've been trading with the Phalagonians and and Kyprians, we've also been avoiding paying the tariffs due to Serenissima – they own the ports, after all. In fact, if you would recall, Your Majesty,' he gulped nervously, 'the last time our ships were in Minoa, they were boarded by Serenissian agents. We were told that, unless we paid the duties and taxes owed, if ever we returned to the Mariniquian Seas – let alone entered the lagoon – it would be interpreted as an act of war. Our ships would be fired upon.'

  'Ahh.' The queen smiled, revealing her small, creamy teeth. 'You're afraid you're being sent to your death – or to provoke a war!'

  Waterford lowered his head.

  'My dear Waterford, what if I assure you that by the time you reach Serenissima, you'll not only be welcomed, you'll be hailed a hero.' She didn't wait for him to respond, but returned to the dais.

  Waterford watched her long, slender back, her swaying hips. 'But –?'

  'No,' chastised the queen softly, lowering herself into the throne. 'Do not ask how or why. You must simply trust me.'

  'Yes. Yes, Your Majesty. I do.'

  'We will be paying our dues to the Republic and more.'

  He bowed. 'Very good.' He hesitated. It took all his control not to wring his hands. 'Your Majesty?'

  'Yes?'

  Waterford's face started to turn red. 'My family.'

  'What about them?'

  'May they come with me? It's been so long since I last saw them and my wife, as it happens, speaks fluent Serenissian. She's very diplomatic. As for my son, well, he –'

  'No, Waterford. You will be going alone. Your wife and son will remain on your estates but in my care. Do you understand?'

  Waterford's heart sank. He understood all too well. He mounted the dais and took the outstretched hand, kissing it lightly. As the queen retracted her fingers he was surprised to find that his lips stung.

  Zaralina lifted her dress and crossed her ankles, her eyes firmly on Waterford. Her slender calves were momentarily exposed. Lord Waterford gulped and looked away.

  Standing beside the queen, Shazet smirked.

  Zaralina smiled benevolently. 'You may go about your business.'

  Waterford hesitated.

  'Yes, my lord?' said the queen, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice.

  'Just one more thing. I was wondering, Your Majesty, about the boy?'

  'The boy?' The queen frowned. 'Oh yes, the Doge's grandson. What about him?'

  'Well, I was wondering, who will look after him while I'm gone?'

  The queen looked at Waterford. 'I thought it might be time for me to enter the boy's life. After all, he's been here such a long time now and he still hasn't had the pleasure of my company. What do you think?'

  Waterford tried not to let his dismay show. He didn't approve of what had been happening – how the boy was all but ignored, treated with no respect, disciplined regularly, denied companionship. In the eight months he'd been in the castle, Waterford had seen him change from a scared but warm-hearted boy into a cold, distant and calculating stranger.

  The queen, he knew, would seek to build on this.

  'Well?' she snapped.

  Waterford jumped. 'Yes. Yes, I believe it is time.'

  'That's settled, then. Your mind may rest easy. When you leave, I will take the boy under my wing. In fact, I'll make him my squire.'

  'Your squire?'

  'Why? Do you object?'

  'No, no,' said Waterford quickly. 'I think it's a good idea.'

  'Indeed it is, Waterford, indeed it is.'

  Zaralina waved her hand dismissively and Waterford knew his audience was over. As he left, Waterford tried to shake off the apprehension that clung to him.

  If he could have heard the plans being made in the throne-room behind him, he would have realised that what he felt was not simply agitation, but a portent of the future.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Tallow's interference

  'TALLOW, WAKE UP!'

  Tallow tried to open her eyes, but it was as if she were stuck in a deep well and the surface was too far away. Her eyelashes fluttered and an image swam into view. It was Pillar.

  'Tallow!' he said in relief. 'Get that dog out of sight. Now.'

  For a moment, Tallow couldn't work out what Pillar was talking about. Then it all came back to her. The trip in the gondola, nearly losing her glasses, being followed and then coming home to find someone or something had been in her room.

  'Cane?' she croaked. Her lap was empty. She sat up fast and looked around.

  'Calm down. He's over there,' whispered Pillar, indicating the floor. Sometime during the night, Cane had moved closer to the fire. 'Now get him up to your room or there'll be hell and more to pay.'

  Tallow didn't have to be told again. She jumped to her feet and, bundling Cane into her arms, dashed up the stairs. Just in time. As she closed her door, she heard Quinn's open.

  WORK PROCEEDED AT A STEADY pace that day and Tallow wasn't given any time to reflect on what had happened the night before. Stifling yawns, she placed the blocks of beeswax in the huge metal pot saved for that purpose alone and heaved it on to the fire. Sta
nding on a stool, she used a long wooden ladle to break up the blocks and speed the melting process.

  'That's a sweet smell, that is,' said Pillar, breathing deeply. 'Make sure you filter it well.'

  Tallow resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Any time she used beeswax, it was always the same. When was Pillar going to trust that by now she knew what she was doing?

  All the time she worked, straining the wax and laying out the new wicks, Tallow readied herself to extract. She tried to push aside her misgivings about the night before and her tiredness and instead focused on how happy she'd been on the canal, how awed she been by the sight of the nobiles' casas and how inspired she'd been by her vision of the city in the moonlight.

  Content that she'd cleared her mind of negative thoughts, she focused on the glass, wicks and finally, the beeswax. The tiny glass containers were brimming with the emotions of their proud creators. Exacting high standards from themselves and others, the glassmakers' esteem and pleasure had infused the glass.

  The wicks were slightly different, stripped from tall trees in an exotic land. She felt the strain and pressure of back-breaking work: the sweat, the ingratitude of those in charge and the resentment of the workers. So she delved deeper, searching for someone. A worker with a gentler mind, a kinder heart. As she touched the thirteenth wick, she found her subject. The hemp worker who had last touched these strands had aches and pain, but also joy in the sunlight on his back and the way the stiffness in his muscles slowly eased as the long day progressed. His devotion to his children and to his exotic goddess was compelling.

  Tallow drew what she needed and refined it, using what she'd extracted to alter the essence of the other wicks. Before she knew it, over a hundred glass containers had been filled. They looked luminous standing in the shafts of afternoon sunlight.

  Pillar abandoned the tapers he'd been rolling into shape and examined Tallow's work. 'You've done well, Tallow. These are good. They should fetch an excellent price.'

  Tallow gave him a tired grin. 'Thanks.'

  He shot her a look of concern. 'It's been a long day and you missed lunch. How about you go and grab some bread and cheese and sit up on the roof for a while, catch the last of the sunshine. Spend some time with Cane and get some colour back into your face. You look like you need a good night's rest. I think we've been working you too hard.'

  Tallow turned away before he could see the blush that tainted her cheeks.

  Putting her jug and other implements in a big tub, Tallow washed and dried her hands. She hesitated at the shop door, Cane in her arms, wondering if she should enter the house that way and run the gauntlet of Quinn and her enthusiastic customers.

  'If I were you,' said Pillar, rolling the wax, 'I'd go the way you leave – using the neighbour's trellis.'

  Tallow spun on her heels.

  'Don't look so surprised.' He laughed. 'I'm not a complete fool, you know. Katina told me to keep an eye on you. I know about your night escapades with Dante.'

  Tallow's mouth fell open.

  Pillar put down his rolling pin and smiled. Then he reached out and clamped a hand on her shoulder. It was safe to touch Tallow now she'd learnt not to extract from everything she came in contact with. 'As Katina said, you've got to live. And I don't know of any young lad who wouldn't be off exploring after dark. I did it, and my father before me.' A shadow briefly passed over his features.

  He glanced behind, as if afraid someone might hear. Then he dropped his voice to a mere whisper. 'I know we have to be careful, but Dante is a good boy and so ... so are you.' He gave her shoulder a squeeze. 'It's the least I can do, turn a blind eye to your exploits. You don't get to do much, Tallow. And, since you're acting as though you're a boy, you may as well get to take the role seriously, hey?'

  Tallow shook her head slowly, a smile curling her lips. She'd underestimated him – again.

  'Thanks, Pillar.' Part of her wanted to share with him what happened last night. But it was still too raw and she didn't want to alarm him by telling him about what had happened to her room. He'd never asked why she'd slept in the kitchen last night. He'd just assumed it was because she was cold. If only he knew, Tallow thought.

  'No need to thank me,' he said returning to his work. 'Just go and get some rest. I've got Master Querini coming to talk to me, so I need you to pick up my load as well tomorrow.'

  Pillar was nervous about having one of the most renowned candlemakers in Serenissima coming to visit. He wanted everything to be just right. It wasn't every day that the head of your scuola, your guild, deigned to enter your premises. He knew that there were no secrets the master could uncover. Their tallow was the same as everyone else's, as were their waxes, wicks, broaches and moulds. All he would find was a dedicated candlemaker who had finally perfected his art.

  Tallow slipped out the door while Pillar's mind was occupied. 'Thank you,' she whispered.

  It took Tallow all of five minutes to climb onto the roof with Cane, sneak down into the kitchen for a hunk of bread and some cheese and return to her favourite spot.

  The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky into a palette of rose and gold. Gulls and pigeons winged their way from one steeple to another, cawing, cooing and screeching. Far away, dogs barked and children squealed. Cats lay sprawled over ledges, sunning themselves. All together, it was a beautiful afternoon.

  Nibbling at the bread, she absent-mindedly fed bits of cheese to Cane, who sat ever patient at her feet. Out there beneath the temperate sun, tiredness began to overwhelm her. She shut her eyes and closed her mind off to the distractions of the city, focusing on the canal below and the gentle sounds of the water.

  She heard the steady slice of a gondolier's oar cutting through the water, and then the tinkle of the shop door. Voices burst into life on the street below.

  'I heard it was Lucia that seduced him,' said a familiar voice.

  At the mention of Lucia's name, Tallow's eyes flew open and her weariness fell away. She jumped to her feet, her heart beating steadily as she tried to control her excitement. Why, Lucia was Francesca's love-sick daughter, the one for whom she'd made the candles. Who was discussing her? She looked down on the fondamenta. Below her were three women – she recognised the speaker as Carlita Tipeita, another candlemaker who owned the shop four doors down.

  'No, that's not how it was at all,' said Helena, the fishmonger's wife. She'd been in the store the day Francesca first outlined her daughter's dilemma.

  'How do you know?' said Carlita.

  Helena encouraged them to stand closer. Tallow leant as far over the rooftop's edge as she dared to hear their conversation. 'I know for a fact,' declared Helena, 'that the moment he saw her, he fell head over heels in love with her!'

  Tallow smiled. So, the romance between Lucia and – what was his name? Sebastiano Ziani, that was it – was still the talk of the quartiere. Her chest swelled against its constraints.

  'That may be so,' said Carlita sharply. 'But I don't care what you say. He's still a cad – professing undying love for two women at the same time.'

  From her position high above, Tallow reeled. Undying love for two women? She leant over again, desperate to catch every word.

  'You can never trust a man,' said the third woman Tallow didn't recognise. 'It's what I tell my daughter all the time. They'll say they love you until you give them what they really want – your legs, wide open.' She used her arms to indicate how far.