Tallow (22 page)

Stifling a cough, Katina tried not to breathe too deeply. The air was dry in the cave; it hurt her lungs. She was suffering from the one sickness all Bond Riders feared most – the disease of time. Time that, in the short period she was back in Vista Mare, had accelerated her body's ageing process to try to match her lifespan. Over three hundred years in a few months. After standing and being forced to explain herself for five hours, she felt every second.

She'd been questioned and made to retell the story of what occurred while she was in Serenissima, over and over again: how she finally made contact; how she convinced Pillar and Quinn to accept what Tallow was and allow her to be trained; how she trained her; what sort of powers Tallow demonstrated; how they used the candles and what effects they'd had. She was bone-weary. They hadn't even offered her a place to sit, but kept her standing before them like a prisoner being interrogated. She tried to stop her mind drifting, but thoughts of Debora and Alessandro's comforting arms kept rising. She pushed them aside. She needed to prove to the Council that, despite her frail appearance, she was ready to return.

Raising her chin, she met the Elders' gazes. The head of the Council, Elder Dandolo, was watching her carefully. To the left of the long table, two of the others were heavily in discussion. On Dandolo's right, Elder Nicolotti was busy making notes while the remainder shifted their attention from Katina to their leader, waiting to see what would unfold.

Elder Nicolotti made a few more scratchings on a piece of apricot-coloured parchment. He passed Dandolo his notes and the rest of the Elders conferred in low whispers. Long minutes passed before Elder Dandolo finally cleared his throat. 'It seems that the decision to give the child to the candlemaker to raise was not entirely without merit.'

There were murmurs of agreement.

'When you and your brother – what was his name?' Dandolo waved his fingers about as if trying to pluck it from the air.

'Filippo,' answered Katina through clenched teeth.

'Ah, yes. When you stumbled upon that remote settlement of Estrattore and found not only a race we thought had ceased to exist hundreds of Vista Mare years earlier, but also the child of the legends, you took her.'

'The first child born to the Estrattore, and the first born in the Limen,' added Elder Nicolotti, leaning over to point to a paragraph in his notes. 'Just as the prophecy states.'

'Exactly. Now, we know the story of your escape from the Estrattore: the pursuit, how you all separated and, at that point decided to take the child into Vista Mare.'

'It was for her own safety,' said Katina.

'Did you even consider ours?'

Katina's hands balled into fists at her side, but she refrained from commenting. They'd been over this territory many times over the years. Silence was her only option.

'It has always fascinated me that you listened to Bond Rider Santo Pelleta over and above the orders of your Elders. It tells me a great deal about your loyalty, Katina Maggiore.'

'My loyalty is to my own, Elder Dandolo.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'As it turns out, leaving the child in Vista Mare, specifically Serenissima, also enabled her to mature and her powers to become manifest. It has given her a period to become familiar with her capabilities, and test her limitations. In the end, it's all been for the best.' Dandolo paused to see if his peers were listening. There were murmurs and nods.

Katina felt the dragon of rage in her stomach start to uncurl.

'Just as our decision to send you to her, despite this momentary setback, has worked in our favour. You were able to put her apprenticeship to the candlemaker to good use. Santo's suggestion, as rash as it seemed to you at the time, was wise. Perhaps we were hasty to punish him.' Dandolo's comment drew derisive laughter.

Katina fought to keep her face neutral. They'd had no choice. None of them. They were all acting on the Elders' orders. To disobey was death. Not only for Riders, but their partners and, ultimately, their Bonds as well. When they'd been sent, as so many Riders over the years had been, to look for any pockets of Estrattore in the Limen who had survived the purge, at that stage the child had been just a rumour, a story. The Estrattore were another matter. When the Doge had ordered exile or death, many had fled into the Limen. Only, no-one knew where they'd gone. It was as if they'd become as insubstantial as the mist that veiled everything.

For as many years as Katina could recall, groups of Bond Riders had been sent to search for a sign of their presence. Six Riders had gone on this particular venture. They'd spent months searching until, just as they were about to return again in defeat, they'd been drawn to a tiny village. Hidden deep within a hill dwelt a small but powerful group of Estrattore, living in a catacomb of mossy rock formations. Cautious, Katina's band had spied on them for a few days before entering the maze.

Not far beneath the hill, close to where water trickled out of the rocks, they'd found a little nook upon which a tiny bundle rested. Surrounded by candles and the sweet smell of musk oil, it had looked like a shrine, the baby a wax effigy, until a tiny hand had moved as if beckoning them closer. Something within Katina and Filippo had responded, they knew they had to take her – that this was the child of the legends. Three of the Riders had felt that the risk was not worth it – that they should return with haste and report what they'd discovered, come back with a larger force. Santo, who had been so difficult the entire journey, had disagreed. He'd insisted with a peculiar, barely concealed intensity that the baby had to be taken. Scooping the child into his arms, Filippo had run and they'd followed.

What made the whole enterprise surreal was that no-one was guarding her. There was no-one in the vicinity. The dulcet tones of the Estrattore at prayer had filled the tunnels with mystical music – they'd entered their lair during devotions. That's why it had been so easy. Too easy.

They were miles away before they knew they were being followed; not by the Estrattore, but the Morte Whisperers. Terror made them irrational, foolish even. It was then Santo made his wild suggestion. At first they'd refused, but as they were pursued and one, then two more, had fallen, it offered their only hope.
Would it have made any difference had he known the life the baby would endure? Could he have suggested any differently, anyhow?
Filippo had taken the baby and Santo and Katina became decoys. Little did she know as she watched her twin brother gallop through the fog, the baby strapped to his chest, that it would be the last time she saw him.

Santo should have taken the baby – he had many crossings left. It should never have been Filippo. But as usual, Santo had argued and wasted time until Filippo, sick of his procrastinating, took the child. Katina would never forgive Santo for the cowardice that had cost her brother his life.

'Santo was correct in his belief that his former wife and son would keep the baby and protect her,' continued Dandolo. 'Despite the years that had passed, he understood his wife's avarice and his son's neediness all too well.'

Katina gasped. 'I thought it was a spontaneous idea. But you're implying it was planned.'

'Yes, my dear, what seemed an accident, a decision made under pressure, was actually performed with our blessing. It wasn't our preferred choice, but it was a sensible second. We kept insignificant families as potential foster homes should the need arise. Only a few select Bond Riders knew.'

'But, you punished him for making the suggestion ...' She shuddered at the memory of the terrible lashing, the deprivations Santo had suffered.

'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.'

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 look 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.

Katina had warned me not to dabble in human affairs. But I hadn't listened. I'd thought that I, a candlemaker's apprentice whose experience of the world and its people was confined to a few canals and calles, knew better.

Before I could prevent it, bile rose in my throat. I turned my face away from the table and vomited onto the floor.

Quinn cackled. 'See, he even makes himself sick! How much more proof do you need, Pillar? The boy can't do what he's told! He can't help himself! It's in their nature, I tell you. That's another reason they were exiled, that they were wiped off the face of Serenissima. The Doge knew what he was doing, so did the Patriarch! They knew that his kind –' she pointed at me '– couldn't obey their own gods, let alone ours. How could they ever obey some simple laws? He needs controlling, I tell you. He needs a firm hand and, if you're not prepared to give it to him, I am.'

She said more, but I couldn't hear her above the noise of my own misery.

When I'd finished retching, I rose to my feet, intending to clean up my shame. But Pillar grabbed my wrist.

'Leave it,' he said.

'But –'

'Go to bed, Tallow.' His voice was hollow.
'Now.'

I didn't argue.

As I mounted the stairs, I heard Quinn strike up another conversation. 'Did you hear about the Vyzantian who's moved into the area?' Pillar didn't answer, but she continued anyway. 'He wants to set up a shop – candles, can you believe his nerve ...' I closed my door. I'd heard enough gossip for one night.

Not even Cane's gentle presence could comfort me.

THE NEXT DAY, QUINN GREETED
me with the news that I was banned from the workshop. 'Seems my patient, saintly son can't stand to have you in his sight,' she said dolefully. 'Knew he'd come around eventually. Understand that there's no place in this world for you – or your "talent" – anymore. Talent!' She snorted.
'Curse
is more like it.' She wiped her hands on her apron and studied me, her smirk firmly in place. 'While you may have turned our fortunes around –' my eyes widened in disbelief at the offhanded praise, but my small pleasure was short-lived, '– you've also curtailed them. But not for long. We don't need you anymore. Master Querini's offer, which is the talk of the quartiere, has ensured that our reputation is so solid, nothing and no-one can damage it – no-one except you.' She turned to leave the kitchen. 'So, you'd better start to think about your future, boy, because the way things are going, you won't have one in this house for much longer.'