Tallow (17 page)

'They will meet us,' said Constantina. 'It's all right, my children. We've been preparing for this for some years now, for the time when we would have to go. So we leave, not at the invitation of a greedy doge, but of our own volition.'

'Where?' asked Katina. 'No-one wants us.'

'No, not
us,'
corrected Filippo. 'No-one wants you, Constantina di Maggiore!' He grabbed Katina's arm and wrenched her back to his side.

'Filippo!' His sister struggled in his grasp.

'Hush, Katina,' Constantina stood there, her white hair a halo around her soft, pink face, her silver eyes dark and alien. 'He's right. No-one wants
me.
Not now. I am Estrattore. But, young man, allow me to remind you, I am Estrattore to
your
family: the one branch of the Maggiore that did not convert, that did not give monies to the new church, that refused to turn their backs on the old ways even to the point of keeping an old Estrattore under their very roof. And what about your sister?' She nodded towards Katina. Filippo pulled his twin closer. 'Her eyes, with their little argent flecks, betray your bloodline as rudely as those who surrender my kind to the Doge's soldiers.'

Filippo would not meet his sister's wide-eyed gaze.

Constantina nodded. 'I thought as much. It's time to prove whether the changes you spoke of earlier are indeed superficial.' Constantina took a step towards Filippo, who pushed Katina behind him. Constantina looked directly into his eyes. 'Or is Katina right? Do they run deeper? Can you deny what you believe? Can you deny your sister?'

Unable to turn away, he stared into the glimmering depths of Constantina's eyes and saw his fleeting ambivalence reflected for what it was: a terrible betrayal. He despised his momentary weakness and from that drew strength.

Shouts and screams broke the night. Filippo and Katina jumped. Wood splintered, glass shattered with strident regularity. A series of boisterous cries, followed by splashes, rose above the din. The odour of burning wood began to creep into the room – wood and something else.

Katina's nose crinkled in distaste ... what was that smell?

Constantina continued to stare at Filippo. She did not touch him. Finally, he lowered his eyes. 'We stand by the old ways. By the Estrattore. By you.' His shoulders slumped.

Constantina exhaled quietly but her heart filled. 'Then you choose not to change.' She pushed an errant bit of tawny hair behind Filippo's ears. 'My brave one. Come, we have no time to lose. Grab your cloaks and gloves, and make sure you keep your hoods firmly over your heads.'

'Where are we going?' asked Katina.

Constantina shook her head. 'You'll know when we're there. Not all the nobiles believe what the Doge is doing is right. Please,' she held up her hand to stop the objections. 'We must go now! Our lives depend upon it.' She clapped her hands together and Katina and Filippo sprang into action, running through the piano nobile, down the stairs to their bedrooms on the second floor.

A frenzied knocking on the water-gate at the lowest level of the casa brought them all together at the top of the stairs. The hollow thuds were like a toll of gloom. They hesitated. There was no other sound, no hushed complaints or clack of feet on tiles. The servants had long fled.

'Hold onto my robe,' ordered Constantina as another bout of knocking commenced. She snapped some wax from a nearby sconce and, using the tinderbox she drew from her pocket, lit the candle. Together, they descended the stairs, the nimbus around the flame creating the illusion of a yawning chasm of black into which they could fall. Katina held Constantina tightly as they descended to the business floor of the casa.

On the lowest level, the gaping doorways became empty eye sockets that glared with no mercy. The barrels of oil stacked against the damp walls leaned threateningly towards them. The knocking intensified, the candle flickered. They could hear a muffled voice through the old wood of the gates.

'Stay here,' said Constantina softly, passing the candle to Katina.

Katina resisted the urge to cry out as fear swamped her. Water lapped at her toes as she waited beside her brother at the side of the ramp. It cut away at a steep angle beneath the water-gate and into the canal on the other side. It was the place where family gondolas were housed. Katina and Filippo had often played in the murky waters that crept beneath the gate, pretending to be gondoliers or pirates and even, in imitation of the people who sometimes came to their casa, exotic traders.

Lifting her robe, Constantina climbed onto the cobbled ledge that bordered the sibilant water and sidled along until she reached the entrance. Touching the wood gently, she closed her eyes, trying to ascertain who was on the other side. She drew back in shock.

'It's Angelica!'

Katina and Filippo started forward in joy but stopped as Constantina warned, 'She's hurt!'

The Estrattore drew back the bolts and the gates burst open as a gondola glided swiftly in, grinding to a halt at the top of the slope. At the back stood Katina's mother, her long, flaxen hair unbound, her dress torn. Her eyes were wild, her movements frantic. Katina's father was nowhere to be seen.

Moving swiftly, Constantina ran to Angelica's aid and, with Filippo's help, hauled the gondola up the ramp until only the lower half rested in the water. Constantina leapt on board, clambering towards Angelica.

'Constantina.' Only now aware of where she was, Angelica dropped the oar with a sob. 'It's Durante.' She indicated the felze. Constantina dropped to her knees beside the tiny cabin and tore the curtain aside.

Subdued, but with racing hearts, Katina and Filippo crept forward, their eyes locked on the felze. The candle's ambient light wrapped around them like a halo. They came closer. Holding the candle aloft, Katina saw what spilled from the little cabin.

Blood was everywhere. Flowering from her father's chest and head, it ran in rivulets all over his brocade jacket, staining the fabric of the cerulean seat brown. Throwing the candle aside, Katina, followed by Filippo, climbed into the gondola. Closer now, Katina saw the blood that patterned her mother's gown and hands and streaked her face.

'Constantina?' beseeched Angelica, as the Estrattore drew her hands away from Durante's still body. Constantina raised her head and met Angelica's anxious gaze. She shook her head. Katina watched as her mother stared at the old woman for a moment before she crumpled into the bottom of the boat. Great guttural cries filled the lower floor of Casa di Maggiore, rising to crowd every room, each crevice and cranny with despair.

Echoing her mother, Katina began to wail. Finally, Angelica ceased her weeping and clutched her children in the one embrace. Katina thought her mother felt soft and broken; that she smelled bitter and frightened. She'd never known her to be scared before.

'Who did this?' asked Filippo through his tears.

Before their mother could answer, there was a pounding at the front door. Angelica gasped and tightened her hold on the children. She looked at the Estrattore. 'It's them. They know you're here. They want you. They want us too.' Dread made her last two words barely audible.

Constantina drew in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She nodded stiffly. 'It's me they want most of all. A trophy. I will go to them.' She picked up her skirts. Katina and Filippo protested. They could not lose anyone else. The hammering on the door grew fiercer, as did the words that accompanied each thud.

'No!' ordered Angelica and, releasing her children, she grasped Constantina by the wrist. 'No. Do you really think they will stop when they have you?' she hissed. 'They will take you, then me, then the children. I cannot allow this. I will not. Look at me, Constantina.' The Estrattore turned her face aside. 'Look at me!' Angelica's voice was steady. 'Look into my heart and tell me that what I am thinking, what I am feeling, is not so.'

Against her will, Constantina turned and their eyes locked. She was the first to break contact. 'I am right, then,' declared Angelica. But her voice was full of defeat. 'I will brook no argument. I'll make sure they cannot follow you. You will ensure the safety of the children.' It was not a question.

Angelica released Constantina and turned to her children. They could read her intention.

Constantina tried to silence their quiet sobs.

'Listen to me!' insisted Angelica. She reached first for Filippo's hand, then Katina's, and placed them firmly in the Estrattore's. Katina thought she was going to burst, she was so full of pain, of fear. She wanted to hit her mother, defy her and make her stop this. Stop the madness, stop her father from just lying there, end the fire, the water and the angry men. Make everything as it used to be.

Instead, she did as she was told and listened as her mother spoke.

'You must go with Constantina. No, don't argue! These people, the ones who killed your father, who execute the Estrattore, they will not stop. Do you understand? This is the way it is now. You are not safe anywhere here. The Doge doesn't want reminders of the past, of what we as a people once were and believed in. We cannot stay in Serenissima – not now.' She glanced at the felze and her courage almost deserted her. 'No-one will protect us; not after the last few days. Not after tonight. And who can blame them? Their lives would be forsaken. But you, my beautiful children, my bambini, you have a choice. Like me, you can choose your future. I choose you. You are my future. You are my country's future too. You must go with Constantina and do what she tells you –'

'Mamma! No!'

'Yes. She will take you to the only safe place there is now.'

Constantina turned to Angelica in shock. 'You don't mean ...?'

Angelica nodded. 'It's the only way.'

'But you don't understand. Angelica, the fire and water, it signifies something more –'

'I don't care about that. You must do this for them. For me. For Durante. You must take the children into the Limen.'

'Please, I beg of you. Don't ask me to do that. I cannot. I must not.'

'Yes, you must. Bond them. Bond them to the Estrattore. It's the only way. Do whatever you have to do to ensure their survival. Now, no more talking. Help me move your father, children. He'll remain by my side. We are your past; it is up to you to make your future.'

There was a sharp crack and the door began to splinter.

'Quickly, there's no time.'

Together, they pulled Durante out of the felze and hoisted him over the side. Angelica pushed them back onto the seats of the gondola, her hands deftly manoeuvring, grasping, touching and stroking all at once. Barely able to see or think, Katina sank into the seat, her mind filled with words and the ideas they formed. Her shoes were sticky. Above her, Constantina stood with the oar in her hands. Filippo crouched atop the felze, his cheeks streaked with tears. How had it come to this?

The boat lurched and Katina fell forward. By the time she regained her seat, her mother was drifting away from them.

'Mamma!' she screamed. Her mother stepped over Durante's body and into the water, giving the gondola a final push out the gate and into the moonlight.

'Here,' cried Constantina and threw something towards Angelica. Katina saw it was her father's sword. Angelica waved it above her head. The steel flashed once before she lowered her arm.

With a nod of farewell, Constantina deftly navigated into the current. Katina watched as her mother, blood on her cheeks and forehead, her face a frozen smile of faith and courage, wheeled to face her attackers. They burst through the door brandishing swords, clubs and torches. For just a second, her mother disappeared from sight. But then she stood, her back straight, her legs either side of Durante's body, and faced the mob. In her left hand was Katina's candle. The flame had survived and it flickered brightly.

Wondering what her mother could possibly do against so many, Katina's last memory of Angelica was a tall, elegant and beautiful figure, lifting the sword and sliding it deep into each barrel in turn. Thick yellow oil poured sluggishly onto the floor. The men paused in surprise. She raised the candle high and dashed it defiantly on the floor. 'For my children!' she cried. 'For Serenissima and the Estrattore!'

The men charged, enraged. Before their weapons could find their mark, a huge ball of flame erupted, engulfing them in brilliant orange. In the midst of it all, a shining beacon of sacrifice, stood Angelica.

In the midnight air, the gondola silently rounded a corner and Katina saw no more.

THE MOON WAS HIGH IN
the sky as I crept onto the roof. Closing the attic door behind me, I tiptoed to the ledge and paused to admire the sight. No matter how many times I snuck out of the house for my midnight forays with Dante, the view always gave me cause to linger and absorb its beauty.

Now that spring was segueing into summer, the mists had all but disappeared and the snows were rapidly melting from the peaks of the Dolomites. There was a calm, almost lazy feeling settling over the city. From my vantage point, I could see the sinuous curves of the canals. Within their silver depths, another city lay shimmering under the sable sky. I raised my head to gaze on a field of pinnacles and turrets, below which the violet silhouettes of casas and palazzi lay dormant, waiting for their turn to come to life at sunrise. The night was so clear that my own sestiere, the ancient Dorsoduro, became a different place altogether. The glow of moonlight gave a healthy patina to the ruinous buildings, as well as the moss and mildew that clung to the skirts of the houses and between the cobbles on the fondamenta. It was as if a whole new world existed right beside my own. I liked this one – and exploring it with Dante was something I was learning to relish.

I stifled a yawn as I recalled how excited I'd been to receive a message from Dante this morning, hastily whispered by a chandler delivering supplies. While I was desperately tired, the chance to see Dante again was too good to ignore.

Ever since I'd first encountered him almost six months ago, Dante had taken whatever opportunity his work allowed to send me surreptitious messages via one trades-person or another, in order that we might meet. It always had to be after work, when the bustle of family evenings had subsided and everyone had retired to quiet contemplation or sleep. Foremost, our meetings had to be in secret. It wasn't only to defer the wrath of Quinn, it was also because I didn't want to upset Pillar. Ever since I'd bolted away from him that day in the Chandlers Quartiere, Pillar was cautious about letting me out of his sight. And for that I had only myself to blame.

All I had to do was shut my eyes, and the stricken look on his face when he'd finally found me would appear.

Instead of berating me as I fully expected and deserved, Pillar had dropped to his knees and embraced me so hard I'd thought my ribs would collapse. Even the presence of Dante hadn't deterred him from expressing his relief.

Then he'd stood up, ruffled my hair gently, and sighed. I'd reached for his hand and squeezed it by way of apology. Pillar never asked for explanations. He'd accepted the unspoken communication, and waited for me to introduce my new friends.

Pillar had been more concerned about Dante's presence than the dog's – his stance and fixed smile betrayed his tension. I quickly recounted how we'd met, shooting Dante warning glances to keep silent about what I'd done to Cane. Pillar seemed to accept what I said. He'd even given Dante a copper coin by way of thanks for his help.

When we'd parted, Dante had promised to keep in touch. I didn't believe him – why would anyone remember me? But I didn't have time to dwell on his words, because as Pillar and I walked to the nearby fermata, we were followed. Cane refused to leave my side. He ignored my efforts to make him go away, interpreting it as play and even leaping aboard the traghetto, nudging aside passengers to reach me. I shook my head in disbelief as he deposited himself firmly at my feet.

Pillar reached down to pat the dog. As he bent over, I noticed Katina's scabbard and satchel. Guilt washed over me. Katina would have wanted me to look after her things; instead, I'd carelessly abandoned them when I fled.

'I think you've got yourself a hound,' said Pillar, his hand lost in the dog's coat.

It took me a moment to understand what he meant. 'Is that all right?' I asked eagerly, stroking Cane's ears. 'I mean, will Quinn let me keep him?'

'I don't think she'll have much choice.'

As Cane slumped contentedly against my legs, I thought Pillar was right. But that didn't prevent me from forecasting gloom.

When we arrived home, Quinn, as I expected, refused to let Cane in. What surprised me most was Pillar.

'Come on, Mamma, it will be all right,' he pleaded. 'Tallow will keep him out of your way, you won't even know he's around.'

'Who? The child or the dog?' replied Quinn tartly. 'No. I'll not have that ... that filthy beast in here,' she'd said. 'I don't care what you do with it, but it's not stepping inside my shop or my kitchen!' She'd grabbed the broom and shooed Cane onto the fondamenta, then stormed up the stairs. I ran out after the dog. Pillar was seconds behind me. 'What are you going to do?' he asked, shutting the shop door.

I thought for a moment before scooping Cane into my arms. 'I'll take him to my room.'

Pillar began to protest. 'We're not disobeying her, Pillar, really,' I said. 'Quinn said she didn't care what I did with him as long as he didn't step inside her shop or kitchen and I won't let him do that – ever. I'll carry him if I need to. His paws won't touch the floor.'

Pillar laughed. It was the first time I'd seen him do that in ages. 'You can try and convince yourself all you like, Tallow, but you're disobeying her and you're making me a part of it as well.' He looked from me to the dog. As if understanding that his future was at stake, Cane whimpered and tilted his head to one side. His tail slapped against my hip.

'Please ...' I begged. 'You won't tell, will you?'

Pillar was quiet for a moment, then he shrugged. 'You know I don't approve of going behind Mamma's back, but maybe ... just this once. You don't ask for much, do you, Tallow? I suppose a dog, providing you keep him quietly up there in your room, might be all right. Even Mamma can't object too much to that.' I wasn't sure whether it was a question or a statement of futile optimism designed to persuade himself. 'Make sure you let him up on the rooftop for fresh air and to do his business. When Quinn goes out, you can let him have a bit of a run along the fondamenta.'

I held Cane tightly and buried my face in his neck. 'Thank you, Pillar. I promise –'

'Before you get too carried away,' interrupted Pillar with a raised finger, 'I'll warn you now that if she catches you, there'll be hell to pay.'

'I know.' Our mutual understanding filled the brief silence. 'But thanks anyway.' The next time I raised my head out of Cane's fur, Pillar was gone. I knew he didn't want to witness me defying Quinn.

I confess, at first I was surprised that Pillar would even think of relenting, but then I realised it was partly done out of fear: fear that if he didn't, I might run away again.

The very idea made me smile. No, I wouldn't run away. But one day, when Katina returned and my training was complete, I
would
leave.

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.