Tallow

by Karen Brooks

  I was concentrating so hard on my idea that it was a while before I noticed the chill. Once again, the streets were all but deserted. Even the canal that led to the piazzetta was empty of craft. When I reached the square, I had to juggle my way through the vendors who were leaving as the temperature plummeted. They grumbled loudly about the lack of custom and the strange weather.

  I'd just reached the other side when the faint hissing sounds started again. The hair on my scalp rose and began marching across my head. I found myself searching the skies, waiting for the wraiths to return. But I was looking in the wrong place.

  Turning into the salizzada, I saw my neighbours heading home with their shirts and shawls wrapped tightly around them, their faces full of concern.

  They couldn't see that the ghostly beings I'd encountered in the Chandlers Quartiere were enveloping their heads and upper bodies. This time, I could discern features. Gaping maws filled with rows of misty, pointed teeth leered at me. Preternaturally long fingers twined themselves around necks and chests, squeezing, probing. While I couldn't see exactly what was happening, I knew these beings were doing something terrible to the people. My Estrattore senses told me that their merest caress was utterly deadly.

  To my horror, I saw the Ricardo twins folded in ephemeral arms. Signor Salinguerre di Torello, brother of Vincenzo from the local taverna, waved to someone from his shop door, oblivious to the grey monster reaching into his chest. Mario the candlemaker, his three daughters; Enzo the cobbler and his apprentice – all were fondled and probed. It was only when the ghostly limbs withdrew that I knew they'd left something of their spectral presence behind.

  I wanted to cry out a warning, to tell these people to get inside. But although it was clear from their faces they knew something was wrong, they were unaware of the cause. They all remained heedless of that which gripped them and changed them in some inconceivable way.

  And all the while a soft, seething laughter resounded. I knew the sound. It was the song that had haunted me my entire life. I knew I should do something: warn them, shout at them to get inside. But terror had me in its thrall and I was rendered mute. Instead, I chose to escape.

  I ran. I didn't stop until I'd climbed the trellis, reached my room, cowered beneath my blankets and buried my head in the comforting ordinariness of Cane's warm fur.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Tallow's promise

  THE KNOCK WAS QUIET, BUT it was enough to wake Cane. He gave a small growl. My eyes flew open.

  'What is it, boy?' I whispered.

  The knock came again.

  I slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the floor. As I touched the door-handle I learned who was waiting on the other side. 'Come in, Pillar.'

  He slid through the gap and shut the door behind him.

  I fumbled for a rush light and lit the wick. A halo of light formed as I turned questioningly towards him.

  'We need to talk.' He gestured to the rooftop.

  I'd been expecting this. I nodded and led him outside.

  It was a dark night. The moon and stars were hidden by water-laden clouds that slouched above us. The extraordinary cold from the afternoon was gone, replaced by the more familiar temperate evening. A balmy breeze drifted over the roof, bringing with it the brackish smell of the canal and the sour smell of render.

  Placing the rush light down, I sat on the ledge, my legs dangling over the side. I looked anxiously at Pillar and waited for him to speak. In the dim light cast by the spluttering candle, I could see that his eyes were heavy and his forehead and cheeks shiny. I could smell the lingering odour of vino. I wondered how many mugs he'd downed before he had the courage to face me.

  Pillar swayed back and forth, gazing over the city. A lone bat flew overhead; a cat mewled in the distance.

  Finally, he spoke. 'Tallow. I ... I've come to a decision.'

  I knew that wasn't quite true – it wasn't his decision alone. The raised voices that had prevented me from sleeping for hours were testimony to that. Pillar and Quinn had argued back and forth ever since dinner. Dinner that I'd been denied, as my belly loudly reminded me. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, muffling its complaints.

  'We – that is, I, don't want you to use your ... talents any more.'

  My heart was a leaden weight. 'What did you say?'

  'You heard me. There's to be no more. Not until Katina returns.' Pillar began to speak quickly. 'Y– You've gotten too confident. And you're not experienced enough. Why, even Katina said that talent such as yours takes years to nurture, to hone and train. You've begun to take risks. We can't afford that – not me, you or Mamma. Katina warned me it might come to this. She was right. It's time for you to stop.'

  'Completely?'

  'Yes.' Pillar wouldn't look at me.

  'But –' My thoughts were in a whirl. Why was Pillar ordering me to stop? Because of Gallame? It couldn't be. 'I've only made one mistake –'

  'Have you?' he asked, and then he turned and faced me. He lowered his head until our eyes were level. 'Have you?' he repeated, 'or is this the only one we know about?'

  His eyes dared me to look at him, contradict him. The vino on his breath was strong. My eyelids twitched behind my spectacles as I looked into his earnest face.

  I was the first to break eye contact.

  'I thought so,' said Pillar grimly. He sighed and moved away. He stood at the ledge in silence for a moment. 'I don't think you understand the danger you place yourself and everyone else in when you do ... whatever it is you do, Tallow.

  'People are talking. They know that Gallame's change of heart was not normal. And those foolish people you gave the candles to are unable to keep their mouths shut. They're saying that Gallame rescinded the debt because of the candles and that they came from here – from you – the boy with the golden glasses.'

  He gestured towards me and gave a half-laugh. 'The glasses that were meant to make your life – our lives – easier have also made you easier to describe. They've made you stand out.'

  I self-consciously pushed them up onto the bridge of my nose.

  'Fortunately,' Pillar continued. 'Most people are dismissing the claims as arrant nonsense. But all it needs is for someone to put two and two together and figure out that our sales have increased, that people are happier and more content when they burn our candles. Why, already there's even been a murmur of witchcraft from our rivals, and with the Gallame episode, that's too close for comfort.

  'If someone even thinks of the Estrattore, we're doomed.' He hoisted himself away from me and crossed to the other side of the rooftop, overlooking the rami. He stared back over the city. 'So, for the time being, there'll be no more. Is that understood?'

  Part of me wanted to dismiss Pillar's concerns, but an image of Barold Barbacan came to mind. Was that why he followed Dante and me that night and why he had sought me out earlier today? Had he somehow figured out what I was?

  I bit my lower lip, mulling over Pillar's words.

  'Well?' insisted Pillar, crossing the rooftop and standing before me, his arms folded, a fleshy barrier between his soul and my talents.

  An image of Dante's grandfather jumped into my mind. I had to help him – help Dante. I had intended to do it tomorrow, when Pillar left the workshop. If I were to make any promise to Pillar – and mean it – then I would have to prepare the candles now, tonight.

  'You really want me to stop?' I asked Pillar.

  He sighed, his hands on his hips. 'No, of course I don't want you to stop, Tallow. Believe it or not, as scared as I am of what it is you do – and yes, I'll admit, I'm terrified – I want to keep making money so there's food on the table and clothes on our back. So one day you'll be financially secure and able to fend for yourself. But this isn't about what I want anymore, nor is it about what you want. It's about what we have to do. If you want to remain under this roof, you have to stop.'

  He folded his arms again and stuck out his chin. I knew that stance; it was at times like this that he looked li
ke his mother. He would brook no argument.

  'I know this must seem as if I'm punishing you. But I'm not. I'm protecting you. Katina will return and, when she does, you can continue your training. Until that time, you must stop.'

  'Do you really believe Katina will come back?' I asked quietly, glancing over my shoulder towards the mainland. While I couldn't see it, I knew the Limen was there – we all did. 'It's been months now. There's been no word, no sign.'

  Pillar gazed towards the mountains. 'She's a Bond Rider and her pledge is to you. She has no choice but to return.'

  We remained there without speaking, Pillar staring into the night, and me watching him. Our relationship had changed, but I wasn't sure how.

  Pillar finally turned to me and took me by the shoulders. 'Now. Give me your promise.' He echoed Katina's words. 'As if you were a Bond Rider.'

  I took a deep breath and looked straight into his eyes. 'I promise that once the sun rises over the Dolomites, I will not extract or distil until Katina returns or you tell me I can.'

  Pillar raised his eyebrows. 'Not exactly what I had in mind, but it will do.'

  He stifled a yawn. 'Come on then, let's get to bed. It's been a long day.'

  I climbed up off the ledge, and he ushered me towards the door.

  'Tomorrow, we start afresh,' he said, bending down to open the trapdoor. 'Our sales may suffer, but at least we'll know we have nothing to hide any more, huh?'

  'Nothing to hide,' I agreed and followed him inside.

  WAITING UNTIL PILLAR'S SNORES COULD be heard through the attic floorboards, Tallow shucked off her nightwear and slipped back into her shirt and leggings. Opening her door as quietly as she could, she crept down the stairs, through the shop and into the work area. She breathed in the sweet scent of the beeswax and the distilled tallow. Searching for the tinderbox, she quickly found it and lit a few rush lights.

  Lying on the bench were finished tapers ready for packaging. Behind her, dozens of broaches hung, the candles waiting to be snapped and rolled. Completed votive and pillar candles sat in rows on the floor. Pillar had been busy. He'd already used the entire batch of wax she'd last distilled. He is serious. There is to be no more. She felt a twinge of regret and then chided herself. She didn't have time for self-indulgent emotion. She had work to do.

  Laying out two of the finished tallow tapers, she picked up a votive off the floor and sat it nearby. Wrapping her hands around the small candle, she drew in a deep breath and, shutting her eyes, summoned all her talent.

  She carefully extracted the purity and health she feltlying within the beeswax – the energy and vigour of its creators. Then she multiplied it, sending it directly into the finished tapers. Wave after wave of sheer power flowed from Tallow into the candles. She didn't care that this final distillation would not be subtle. Every layer of tallow would burn with the amplified essence of what she'd extracted. She poured her heart and soul into what she did, unaware that a golden nimbus had begun to form around her.

  Radiating in ripples that increased the further they went from the centre, the pulsing corona enveloped every corner of the workshop, every finished candle whether made from tallow or wax. And, knowing who it was meant for, Tallow also added some of herself and the love she bore for Dante into her distillation.

  Revelling in the moment, Tallow pushed herself as hard as she could. This might be her final act as an Estrattore for a long, long time. When she at last completed her task, she was weary but content. The two tapers before her glowed with a soft inner light. Tallow wrapped them carefully in a piece of rice paper.

  Then she crept back into the shop and grabbed her cloak and hat. Opening the door that led onto the fondamenta, she stepped onto the cobbles.

  Without looking back, she tore off around the corner and down the ramo, certain that if she kept away from the main streets, she could make it to the Chandlers Quartiere and back before dawn.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Francesca delivers

  some news

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, PILLAR WOKE me earlier than usual and set me to restocking the shelves in the shop. Quinn made it clear she didn't want me in her space but, as the morning wore on and only one or two customers interrupted my duties, she seemed to take pleasure in ordering me about.

  I did what she told me, barely registering what she was saying. I was so tired. I hadn't come home till very late and had only managed to grab a couple of hours' sleep. I just hoped that Dante found the candles I'd left outside on his steps. I knew that if anything would protect – and maybe even heal – his grandfather, it was them.

  I could still taste the distillation. It hummed through my weary body, sustaining me.

  'No! Not there,' Quinn cuffed me on the back of my head. Startled, I swung around. 'Don't you look at me like that!' she warned, waggling a bony finger beneath my nose. I could smell vino on her breath. 'Listen! I said put them on the shelf above. And neatly! It's no good piling them one on top of the other. Customers won't be able to find what they're looking for.'

  She stomped back to the counter, pretending to flick a duster over its clean surface. 'That is, if anyone decides to come today. Where is everyone? This place is quieter than the Isola del Morte!'

  I'd been wondering the same thing, but didn't make a comment. I just did what Quinn told me, even though less than an hour earlier she'd instructed me to pack the last lot of tapers in piles to make the shelves look fuller.

  Pillar appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands. 'Everything all right in here?' he asked. I glanced at him over my shoulder. He'd been busy cleaning the vats. I knew he believed that it would clear away any final traces of my work.

  But I knew better.

  'Fine,' I said as chirpily as I could.

  Quinn muttered darkly under her breath.

  'Come on, Mamma. You hate stacking the shelves,' said Pillar. 'You should be grateful that Tallow's able to do it for you.'

  Quinn snorted. 'We all know why that's the case, don't we? Because the boy simply can't do what he's told.'

  Pillar was about to argue when the bell above the door rang and in strode our neighbour Francesca, her full skirts sweeping the floor and raising eddies in the sawdust. She had a large basket over her arm, filled to the brim with various bits and pieces. As she deposited it on the counter, I noticed the beads of sweat on her forehead and how flushed her cheeks were.

  'Oh!' she moaned dramatically. 'It's much cooler in here. You'd swear it was God's boiler-room out there on the cobbles and it's only early yet – wait till midday! Unless that freakish weather we had yesterday returns – and we'll all be praying that doesn't happen, won't we?'

  She plucked a handkerchief from her shirt and mopped her brow. No-one said anything. We were all used to her ways. At a nod from Pillar, I quickly finished what I was doing and sneaked past her into the workshop. I pulled the door to, but didn't shut it.

  'That's a load you're carrying there, Francesca,' said Pillar. 'Looks like you're stocking up.'

  'That's exactly what I'm doing and I'd advise you to do the same,' said the fruiterer and promptly began pulling tapers and pillar candles from the shelves. 'These all tallow?'

  'Why, yes –' said Pillar, glancing at his mother, who simply shrugged and reached for the abacus.

  'Have they got those fancy slow-burning wicks in them?' she asked, turning them over in her hands.

  'Yes, but –'

  'Good. I'll have two dozen.'

  'Francesca,' said Quinn finally, putting down the abacus. 'What's got into you? Why are you taking so many? Not that I'm complaining or anything. Is there a war going on we don't know about?'