by Karen Brooks
'You're right. What have I got to lose anymore? He who has nothing cannot risk anything. Anyone who looks at me can see what I am. They say the eyes are the mirror to the soul – well, they're not for me. They're the key to my identity. They're the key to whether I live or die. And wherever I look, whoever I look at – even those I thought I could trust – they say I die.'
Giaconda went to interrupt, but Tallow held up his hand. 'I'm an Estrattore. There, I've said it. You'd probably worked it out already. Now, you can claim your reward.' He challenged Giaconda simply by looking at her, his little chin jutting. 'I can see from this gondola,' he added, 'that you're not of my class. You're a nobile. You have connections with the Doge. I'm sure once you show him what you've found – an Estrattore for him to execute and display – you'll be richly rewarded. I've heard that with the exception of one, maybe some more – I'm not sure – none have been seen for over three hundred years. Regardless, there's still a high price on the heads of Estrattore.'
'So there is,' agreed Giaconda.
Some of the boy's courage appeared to desert him.
'But we're not interested in those sorts of rewards. Are we, Papa?' Giaconda moved out of the way so her father could enter. He pushed aside the curtain, his shoulders blocking the light. The candle spluttered briefly. Together they faced Tallow. The rich scent they wore was not enough to mask the odour of bile, sweat and dirty canal water that filled the space. Giaconda wanted to gag, but she controlled herself. This was too important.
'No, we're not,' said Ezzelino, his hawkish eyes taking in Tallow's appearance.
'What sort of rewards are you interested in?' Tallow looked from one to the other. Giaconda and Ezzelino exchanged a long look.
'The kind that come from embracing the powers of the Estrattore,' said Ezzelino.
'What do you mean? What sorts of rewards can they bring when harbouring an Estrattore means death?'
'Only if you're caught,' smiled Ezzelino, his craggy face creasing into folds. 'And with you working by our side, we don't ever intend to be. Do we, Giaconda?'
'By your side? Ah. I see. You want to form a colleganza.'
'Of sorts,' said Ezzelino.
'I think this should be discussed properly later, when the boy has had a chance to recover. Don't you?' Giaconda slid beside Tallow, shaking her head at her father and pushing Tallow back down into the seat. 'You're clearly very tired and, from what you've revealed, it's evident you've had some dreadful experiences. No-one should have had to endure what you have – all the losses, all that death.'
Ezzelino took his cue and silently withdrew, closing the curtain. Only the solitary flame of the candle bore witness to their conversation.
'Why did the Bond Rider kill them?' asked Tallow quietly.
'I don't know, my friend,' said Giaconda. 'Who knows what a Bond Rider is thinking? But maybe, if we combine our resources, we can find out what happened and why.'
The boy didn't speak. He stared at the candle, tears filling his enormous eyes. His hand rose to brush them away. It was trembling.
'You don't need to make a decision now. I think we should take you back to our casa,' said Giaconda soothingly. 'You look very poorly. This has been a terrible shock. We'll get you cleaned and give you something to eat. You're very thin.' She wrapped her fingers around Tallow's wrist. 'If you come with us, we'll feed you. And then, after you've rested, we'll talk.' She smiled. 'I think, young Tallow, since you're a nothing from nowhere with nobody to go to, you might like what we have to say. What do you think?'
Tallow regarded Giaconda for a long time. Giaconda pretended not to notice his curious stare or the rapid workings of his mind, a mind that was clearly weighing the benefits and disadvantages of what was being offered. This sad, lonely boy – no, being, corrected Giaconda – had no real choices anymore. He felt responsible for the deaths of his master's mother, his pet and his friend. He could no longer face those he once trusted; he felt that by bringing death into their lives, he'd betrayed them. He also felt betrayed but whom exactly had done this, Giaconda hoped to discover. Most of all, he'd revealed what he was to the crowds and, in doing so, had exposed his master who was as good as dead, too. Giaconda enjoyed the flutter of triumph. The scenario could not be more perfect, not even if they'd orchestrated it themselves.
A shudder tore through the boy's thin frame. He stifled it quickly. 'I think I would like to go to your casa.'
'Very well then,' said Giaconda, barely keeping the victory out of her voice. 'If that is your desire, that's what we'll do.' She reached under the seat and pulled out a golden flask. 'For now, I think you should drink some of this. We still have a fair way to travel before we reach home.' She pulled out the stopper. 'This will help you relax, take away your pain.'
'Nothing can take away the pain I am feeling,'
'No, that's true. But it will help make it easier to bear. Here,' insisted Giaconda.
Tallow shrugged and, taking a generous swig, gagged and then inhaled deeply and swallowed again before handing the flask back. 'Thank you,' he said, falling back against the cushions. The quiet splash of the oar in the water and the hiss of melting wax and candle flame became a lullaby that made Tallow's eyes grow heavy and finally, close. Giaconda watched as his breathing became deep and even.
She waited a few minutes more, then picked up the candle and held it above Tallow. The boy had high cheekbones and a full, pink mouth. His skin was good. Dirty, but nothing a long soak and scrub couldn't fix. His hair was dark – rich black, thick and long. Giaconda screwed up her nose. He really needed a bath. But with decent clothes, a haircut, training and education, he should present well.
According to legend, Estrattore were very fast learners. Well, they would see. If this Tallow was to convince anyone he was a Maleovelli, he would have to learn very quickly indeed.
Her eyes travelled down Tallow's body. He was small for his age – which she guessed to be about twelve, maybe thirteen – and very fine-boned. She watched as his eyes moved beneath his lids. Of what, she wondered, do Estrattore dream?
Putting down the candle, she searched for a blanket to cover him when something grabbed her attention. 'Father,' she hissed. 'Come here.'
Ezzelino pushed back the curtain. 'What is it?'
Giaconda started to laugh quietly. 'I've found out something about our candlemaker that not even Baroque could uncover.'
'What do you mean?'
'Look,' said Giaconda and pointed at Tallow's chest.
The damp shirt clung to Tallow, outlining every bone, every sinew and even the tatty bandages that were now only partly wound around her breasts.
Ezzelino's mouth fell open. He quickly closed it and began to chuckle. 'So, our boy is not a boy after all.'
'No, it seems not.' Giaconda laughed.
With one last glimpse at the sleeping girl, they left her in the felze and retreated to the seat in the prow. Instead of facing Salzi, they turned so they could meet their destination.
'Who would have guessed?' said Giaconda.
'This will make it so much easier,' said Ezzelino. 'Who will ever suspect that the candlemaker's apprentice, the little boy, is the Maleovellis' new guest? Ah.' He clapped his hands together. 'For once, God is on our side.'
'God might be,' agreed Giaconda. 'But whose side are the Bond Riders on?'
'I think that remains to be seen. I must say, I didn't expect them to throw their hand in the game.'
'No-one did. Their role in the legend is over now; they're incidental.'
Ezzelino watched the brackish wake strike the walls of the passing casas, his mind ablaze with ideas. 'We'll discuss this later, my dear. But I'm thinking that perhaps Baroque may not have outlived his usefulness after all.'
'If he's alive.'
'Of course. He's no good to anyone dead.'
Salzi pushed the gondola into the Circolo and rowed towards the Ridotto Sestiere. Giaconda breathed the fresh air and watched Serenissima slide past. Evening was descending and the sk
y had transformed into a lilac veil punctuated by strings of stars.
Never before had her city seemed so beautiful.
'So,' said Ezzelino breaking the silence, blowing rings of smoke skyward. 'How do you feel about our Estrattore now we know she's a girl?'
Giaconda smiled and Ezzelino found himself transfixed by her beauty.
'It's always easier to teach a girl than it is a boy, Father. You said that yourself.' She reached over and took his hand.
'Ah, yes. But you are unlike other girls, my dear.' He squeezed her hand and dropped it back in her lap. 'It's also less likely that suspicion will fall on a girl.'
'Yes, especially one as refined and beautiful as Tallow is going to be.'
'We can't keep calling her that.' Ezzelino pulled a face. 'It's so common.'
'As the child herself has been reared to believe she is.'
'But the time we've finished with her, there'll be nothing common about her.'
'No.' Giaconda smiled. In the distance she could see the bronze dome of the Doge's palazzo. She drank in the way the light speared the metal, sending shafts of reflected colour into the low-hanging clouds. Pennants flapped at the tips of the spires, waving their glory to the casas and canals below, while the marble colonnades blushed prettily as the sinking sun gave a last burst of radiance. 'Nothing common at all.'
The gondola glided into a side canal and the palazzo disappeared from view. 'After all,' observed Giaconda, turning her back on the opulence. 'There's nothing at all common about an Estrattore who is also an assassin.'
Glossary
THESE TERMS ARE EITHER ITALIAN or Venetian, or sometimes fantasy variations of the two. I have, on occasion, taken liberties with meanings and spellings.
acqua alta: an unusually high tide
arrivederci: goodbye
basilica: church
Bond Rider: a person who surrenders a part of his or her soul to a pledge stone in order that he or she may fulfil a specific task – a Bond
broach: wooden rod from which wicks are suspended, then dipped repeatedly in either tallow or wax to make candles of varying thicknesses and lengths
bucintoro: the Doge's ceremonial ship
buon giorno: good morning
biricchinos: street boys
calle: alley
campo: local marketplace or square, plural is campi
candles: used for both heat and light. The cheapest are formed from animal fat (mostly beef) and render, often a mixture of different types, while more expensive candles are made from beeswax and even different types of oil. The most popular types are: long, slender tapers; small, squat votives placed in glass containers, often used for religious purposes; pillar candles, thicker and taller than votives. Rush lights, lumps of tallow rolled around a basic wick, are popular with the poorer classes because a one-metre homemade rush light burns for about an hour. Wicks can be made from any flammable fabric that maintains a consistent burn and temperature, e.g. hemp or cotton. Additives can also be applied to the wax to sweeten the candle's scent
casa: grand house owned by a member of the aristocracy
cavola: literally 'cabbage', but also slang for 'bitch'
colleganza: a short-term business partnership
Doge: elected ruler of Serenissima
dorato: golden
dottore: doctor
Estrattore: someone who has the ability to extract specific emotions and feelings from a person, animal or object and alter and transfer this emotion/feeling, positive or negative. This process is known as distilling
farmacista: someone who dispenses medication
felze: small passenger compartment on a gondola
fermata: jetty where gondolas, traghettos and other craft stop to take on passengers
fondamenta: cobbled path that runs beside the canal
forcola: the oarlock on a gondola
fuoco: fire
grazie: thank you
grazie mille: thank you very much
Limen, the: a peculiar space that divides countries and, according to legends, worlds. Within the Limen, time stands still. Only Bond Riders and their horses, or those who have a partial soul or no soul at all, can dwell in these parts.
mi amo: my love
Morto Assiderato: a plague, literally means 'frozen to death'
Mortians: wraith-like beings whose specific origins are unknown but who currently have an allegiance with the Queen of Farrowfare, Zaralina. They are able to breach the Limen and can move mostly undetected. It is also believed that they have formed a treaty with a Bond Rider faction to enable them to navigate the Limen more readily. Also known as Morte Whisperers
nobile: noble; aristocrat
ombretta: small glass of wine
omicidi: murders
palazzo: palace
paline: red-and-white striped poles in the canals to which personal watercraft are tied
piano nobile: main floor of a palazzo or casa
piazzetta: small square for markets or concerts, often linked to other parts of the quartiere by bridges and calles. Casas, businesses and local basilicas usually line piazzettas
pledge stones: name given to the strange monoliths that absorb the souls of Bond Riders. Each is named after a major Serenissian nobile's House.
ponte: bridge
Ponticello di Mille Pietre: Bridge of a Thousand Stones
quartiere: a district; plural is quartieri. In Serenissima, quartieri are named after the major profession or trade of the area
ragazza: adolescent girl
ragazzo: adolescent boy
rami: very small, often dead-end, alleyways
Redentore: the Redeemer
sandolo: water taxi; large gondola hired for short trips through Serenissima
salizzada: main street, means 'paved'
scuola: school or trade group. In Serenissima, scuola are non-religious establishments based in areas where master craftsmen live. The group decides on tithes, training and the general rules by which craftsmen and women should live.
senta: literally, 'listen'; a common way to start a conversation
La Serenissima: Republic formed by a group of islands nestled in the lagoon area of the Mariniquian Seas and surrounding mainland areas, between the Jinoan and Vyzantian pensinulas
Serenissimina: a conquered island off the coast of Hibernya. Forms part of an important trade route between Moroko, Hibernya and Serenissima. Literally 'little Serenissima'
sestieri: the six major areas of Serenissima, which are then broken up into quartieri named for the dominant craft in each area; singular is sestiere
sottoporteghi: passageways through the city; tunnels formed when buildings meet over open spaces
