Tallow

by Karen Brooks

  'We had our reasons. We could not have you or anyone else think it was any other way. Until now.'

  So, Santo had known. He was more calculating than I'd given him credit for. And more dangerous.

  Emotions roiled in Katina as she faced her Elders. Questions she'd long dismissed as unimportant rose to taunt her; they would not lie quiescent anymore.

  Bond Riders always prided themselves on establishing a different sort of society to the restrictive, class-riddled system in Serenissima. The Limen, they were told, offered a community with different rules and mores, standards created and enforced by the Elders. But they were more like the Serenissima they'd left behind than they knew. Manipulative and prepared to use whatever it took to keep their power.

  She felt sick. She didn't want to be part of this anymore.

  'From your evidence,' said Elder Nicolotti, 'it's clear that the child trusts you. Possibly, she still depends upon you. We've kept a distant watch upon her these last months and, apart from a couple of foolish attempts to deploy her talents, she's done no real harm. Your warnings have been heeded. It is just as well. If the child were less ... pliable, we would have trouble containing her.'

  'We would, Elder Nicolotti,' agreed Katina. 'She's extraordinarily capable. She doesn't yet understand the extent of what she can do.'

  'And nor should she – ever,' added Elder Moronisni, his voice harsh and discordant. 'Not if we have any say in the matter.'

  'We've made sure that we do,' reminded Elder Dandolo. 'If we'd left the child with her own kind, the Estrattore,' he almost spat the word, 'there's no telling what would have happened. As it is, our work is only half-done. And, while there are concerns about your life-force, we feel it is in the Bond Riders' best interests to return you to Serenissima. If we send someone else, we undo all the good that has been accomplished thus far. We do not have the time to start over again.' There were nods of agreement.

  'Someone else?' Katina was surprised they'd even contemplated it. 'I promised her I would return.'

  'And you will,' agreed Elder Longhena from the side of the table. 'You have just enough time to finish what we've started. To build up her strength and prepare her for what she must do for us.'

  'And when I think she's ready?'

  'Then you will bring her to the Pledge Stone of Casa di Dandolo,' said Elder Dandolo. 'The pledge stone of the current Doge and of my lineage.'

  'And there she will begin the rites for which she was born,' said Elder Nicolotti.

  Katina hesitated. She knew she must not show interest, but she couldn't help it. 'And when she's done?'

  A few of the Elders tittered. 'Then we take her to the next stone and the next one, until they have all been touched and she has released the souls of those trapped within.'

  'I meant after that.'

  Dandolo threw back his head and laughed. 'What do you mean, after? There is no after, Katina Maggiore. You of all people should know that. Not for this child. Once we're done with her, then the Estrattore or whoever else wants can have what remains. What should we care? Her kind deserted us, left us trapped in this place. We owe them nothing!' He slammed his fist on the table. Katina jumped. 'Remember that. Nothing.'

  'You'll return to Vista Mare in ten rest periods,' commanded Elder Nicoletti. 'That should give you time to prepare yourself. You will receive full instructions in eight rests.'

  'Be mindful, Katina Maggiore,' added Elder Dandolo. 'Much time has passed. The girl has grown accustomed to your absence. Before you let her know you've returned, you are to observe her.' The Elder regarded her sternly. 'Observe and report back to us. We will pick the right time for you to involve yourself in her life again. This is not the time to be impulsive. You will follow our orders.'

  'And remember,' added Elder Nicoletti. 'There are others watching.'

  'Who?'

  Elders Dandolo and Nicoletti exchanged a look then turned to the rest of the Council. One by one they nodded. 'Morte Whisperers,' answered Dandolo, finally. 'They're breaching the Limen in greater numbers than we have yet seen, stretching the rules of the ancient treaty to the limit.'

  Katina released her breath slowly.

  'The sentries?'

  'No, these ones are different. Stronger, less affected by the transition, which makes them more dangerous. As yet, they do not act. We don't know their intentions, but we want to. We have to. If they suspect there is a Bond Rider hovering nearby, they may act. Then anything we do will be redundant. You must be very, very careful.'

  'I will be. You can rely on that.'

  'We know, Katina Maggiore.' Elder Dandolo smiled. 'That is why we chose you for this task.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Outcomes and

  encounters

  IT HAD BEEN OVER THREE weeks since I last saw Dante and his absence was a conspicuous ache for which the only cure was not available. Each day I would rise early, go to the workshop and, in its sunlit privacy, extract and distil into the candles.

  Occasionally, I slipped out – usually to purchase vino or other supplies for Quinn. Every time I did, I found myself searching the faces in the campo for a familiar one. But I never found who I was looking for.

  As had long been my practice before going to sleep, I adjourned to the rooftop each night. Before Dante came into my life I spent the time in quiet contemplation, but now I paced. I hoped that at any moment his smiling face would appear above the trellis and invite me on some mad escapade. But just as he never arrived, neither did his invitations. Even the chandlers who used to deliver his secret messages would look at my hopeful face and shrug. Nothing.

  Whatever boundaries had been crossed that night on the Circolo, I was not forgiven. In my heart I knew I never would be, but I could not let go of my hope.

  Cane knew something was wrong. Whenever I was in my room or the rooftop, he wouldn't leave my side. When I was able to get him out of the house and onto the fondamenta, he would stick so closely to my heels that I kept tripping over him. Though I shared most of my secrets with him, whispering in his long, floppy ears late into night when the house was quiet, for some reason I couldn't articulate how not seeing Dante affected me. I was distressed, yes. Sad, yes. But I was also lonely in a way I'd never known before. I wondered if this was what happened to Bond Riders after they made their pledge – as if a part of their very being had been severed.

  Gradually, I slipped back into my routine. As each day passed, those few wonderful months with Dante began to fade into the landscape of my memory.

  It was the same for Katina. It used to be that whenever I extracted or distilled, I would hear her voice in my head. But even that was becoming increasingly difficult to recapture, and I found myself relying more and more on my own intuition.

  The shop continued to trade well, and Pillar's reputation was spreading. Visitors from as far afield as the Traders and Paper Quartieri began to patronise our business. There was talk of moving to bigger premises – Master Querini, who was desperate to have Pillar working for him, had even offered to underwrite a new workshop. But Pillar, much to everybody's surprise and chagrin, politely refused.

  I knew why. So did Quinn. It was because of me. Pillar didn't want to be placed in a situation where I wasn't easy to hide or protect. Bigger lodgings and business meant a prime location on the salizzada and more customers – it was too great a risk.

  Pillar wasn't greedy. He was happy with things the way they were. Happy with me.

  But Quinn wasn't.

  When she heard that Pillar had declined Master Querini, she became very drunk and would have beaten me, except that Pillar intervened. He'd never done that before. It was an indication of how much his confidence had grown, how much he'd changed. I think Quinn knew that, too. She could no longer tell him what to do.

  Two days after Pillar refused Master Querini, an interesting piece of gossip began circulating in the neighbourhood. I wouldn't have heard it except that Quinn brought it to the dinner table one evening. She had a strange lo
ok all afternoon and, instead of avoiding the workshop as she usually did, on the two occasions that the shop was devoid of customers, she swung the door wide open and leaned against the frame, watching me with her secret-filled eyes.

  It made me uncomfortable, but I didn't dare ask if anything was wrong – I knew there was. As it turned out, my anxiety wasn't misplaced.

  That evening, Quinn prepared a particularly nice stew of mutton with tubers and radish. There was a fine loaf of bread to accompany it and, of course, a flask of rich, red vino. I noticed that Quinn didn't eat much, but her mug was always topped up.

  I tried not to attract attention, eating quickly and quietly, determined to get out from under Quinn's gaze as soon as I could.

  But it wasn't to be.

  'Know what I heard today?' she said halfway through the meal. Her voice was slightly shrill, her words slurred.

  'What, Mamma?' asked Pillar. There were shadows under his eyes and his skin had a grey hue. The extra work took its toll on us all.

  'I heard an interesting tale about a young alchemist who owed a huge debt to a merchant named Gallame.'

  'Gallame?' Pillar frowned. 'Gallame ... I know that name.' Pillar slowly put his bread down and scratched his chin. 'Isn't he the one who brought back the shipment of grain from Jinoa during that terrible acqua alta a few years ago?'

  'That's the one,' said Quinn, casting a sidelong glance at me. 'Quite the hero he is.'

  Pillar nodded. 'Saved so many lives in the famine, he did. If I remember, he even donated the profits. I've heard other things about him as well. Something to do with an orphanage?'

  'That's right,' said Quinn, her eyes sliding towards me. 'He started three orphanages – one each in the Canne, Dorsoduro and Barnabotti Sestieri.'

  'What have you heard then, Mamma? Has Gallame gone and got himself mixed up with an alchemist? That will do him no good. Bunch of charlatans, the lot of them.' Pillar waggled a finger in my direction. 'You remember that, Tallow. No good will come of mixing with alchemists. Look what happened with your order of beeswax candles from that one you met. Never eventuated, did it? They're all talk.'

  I shrank with every word.

  Quinn leant back in her chair, her mug clenched tightly in her hand. She was savouring each word, relishing Pillar's innocent responses. I found my appetite had fled. I pushed my plate away and waited with dread for what Quinn would say.

  'Seems that Gallame found a young alchemist who'd developed a reputation for making explosives. Turns out, the precious fellow didn't want to dirty his hands with such devices anymore and turned his talents to other things – transforming lead into gold, for example. And our hero Gallame had such faith in his abilities, the fool backed him.'

  Scooping the last of the gravy with a heel of bread, Pillar's hand paused halfway to his mouth. 'So? Gallame's taken greater risks than that. Why, he has more than enough coin behind him to back twenty such enterprises.'

  Quinn shook her head. 'No. Not anymore. From what I was told, he's not only been bearing the cost of the orphanages, but after his nephew was struck with leprosy, he gave a great deal of money to the leper colony in the Castellana Sestiere. Set about improving conditions on the isle. He also paid for dottores to treat his nephew, and farmacistas to research a cure. That's why he was running out of ducats. That's why he backed an alchemist. He hoped that if this charlatan could do what he claimed, he would find the means to fund his works, continue the good they brought to so many.'

  Pillar shook his head. 'Well, if there's surety in one thing, it's that Gallame was going to lose his money. Everyone knows you can't turn lead into gold!'

  'As Gallame found out to his great cost.' Quinn looked directly at me as she spoke.

  'Surely Gallame would have had the loan secured? He'll get his money back,' insisted Pillar.

  'Oh, one would think so,' sneered Quinn. 'A merchant with Gallame's experience and all. But apparently he didn't secure the loan. He trusted this alchemist. He even gave him more than twelve months to repay the debt. Oh, the alchemist gave him small amounts here and there, but it wasn't enough to sustain Gallame or his business.'

  'What'd he do?' Pillar had finished his meal and Quinn had his full attention. I pulled my plate back before me and made a poor pretence of eating, making patterns in the stew with my bread.

  'Well, he tried to get his money back. He insisted that the alchemist sell his house. It's a fine old one, too – overlooks the Circolo.'

  'I don't understand what the problem is, then. A debt is a debt – it must be paid. And who could refuse Gallame? Not with all the good he does.'

  'Well, here's the interesting part. No-one refused Gallame,' said Quinn slowly. 'Apparently the alchemist and his wife were doing nothing but moaning and stalling the repayments. Debt collectors had been sent, threats had been made, nothing. So Gallame goes to see them one last time, to explain his side, appeal to their good nature – explain how the orphanages were on the verge of shutting down and his funds to the leper colony had all but dried up.' She paused.

  'And?' pressed Pillar.

  'He did what no-one expected.'

  I knew what was coming. I felt sick.

  'What was that?' asked Pillar.

  'Gallame extinguished the debt.'

  Pillar's jaw dropped. 'But why?'

  The familiar smirk twisted Quinn's mouth and I felt my heart sink. 'That's the question on everyone's lips. But, somehow, I think I know the answer.' She finished off what was in her mug and held it out to her son. Pillar quickly poured his mother another drink and topped up his own. I shook my head as he held the flask over my mug.

  'You see,' continued Quinn. 'This alchemist and his pretty young wife were seen in the Candlemakers Quartiere a few months back. He'd been doing his usual complaining to anyone who would listen. In fact, Helena swears her husband saw them enter our shop. Now, I don't recall serving anyone wearing the alchemists' insignia – and it's not something you forget in a hurry.'

  I recalled the small patch of embroidery on Antonio's collar. It hadn't registered at the time, but now the pestle, mortar and stars took on a whole new significance.

  Pillar caught the look Quinn was giving me. It was one he recognised and dreaded almost as much as I did: the apportioning of blame. He suddenly lost interest in the story. 'What's your point, Mamma?' His voice was hard. I flashed him a grateful look, but he was focused on Quinn.

  'My point is, if I didn't serve him and I know you wouldn't have, then that leaves only one person. Wait!' she demanded as Pillar began to protest. 'There's more to my story. Rumour has it that though they were chased away everywhere they went, somehow this couple managed to purchase some special candles, candles they claim changed their lives.' Quinn's voice became louder, shriller. 'Candles, they're telling anyone who'll listen, that they bought from a very special boy. A boy with golden glasses.'

  Quinn slammed down her mug and leaned back in her chair, arms folded. Her work was done.

  Pillar slowly turned to face me. 'Is this true?'

  I couldn't reply. I just bowed my head.

  'Oh, Tallow,' said Pillar after a moment. 'What have you done?'

  It was a refrain I knew so well.

  Tears welled. First, Lucia and Sebastiano, and now this. I thought I was doing the right thing, I silently argued with myself. But it did no good. Pillar sat there glumly, waiting for a response. I knew there wasn't one – not one he would understand or forgive.

  But what made it worse was that it wasn't just me who was affected. Merchant Gallame, by all accounts a good man, was also paying the price of my haste. So were his leper nephew and the orphans. So were Venetta and her bastard child.