Tallow (24 page)

'TALLOW! STOP! IT'S ME.'

Someone had shouted my name. Someone who knew me; someone I trusted. I stopped kicking and gouging.

The harrowing aspirations had ceased. Warmth and fustiness had replaced the cold. It took me a moment to calm down enough for the words being muttered above me to sink in.

'And you can get your wretched teeth out of my thumb while you're at it,' groaned Dante, extracting his thumb from my mouth. 'You've got a sharp bite, my little dorato!'

I slowly sat up. My pulse gradually returned to normal. I straightened my clothes and rubbed my wrist where Dante had grabbed it. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, I saw I was in a shop. I stared at the shelves. Stacked at intervals on them were neatly wrapped bars of soap and some very ordinary handmade candles. Above me rose a counter. A vase of wilted flowers sat at one end and an abacus at the other. A door at the rear led to what I imagined was a workshop. To my left was a set of steep stairs.

What light there was came through a small but very dirty front window.

Outside the grey shapes gathered.

I cowered against the counter. The blood rushed from my face.

'What's wrong?' demanded Dante, crouching by my side. 'What's out there, Tallow? And what on Vista Mare were you doing?'

'Me? What do you mean? I was waiting for you. What on Vista Mare are you doing in here? You said you'd meet me at the canal.' I glared at him accusingly. I was feeling more than a little embarrassed by my behaviour. I was also aware that he did not seem at all perturbed by what was happening outside; he was oblivious to any danger. I cast a few worried glances over his shoulder.

'I
was
on my way to the canal,' explained Dante, jumping to his feet. 'I was just taking a short cut through the shop. This is my place, you know.' He opened his arms and indicated the room we were in, those above and the workshop behind. 'Well, it's really my grandfather's.' He gave a half-smile. 'I saw you coming, so I waited. But when you broke into a run and started shouting and waving your arms around like a mad person, I didn't know what was going on. I had to stop you. You could have hurt yourself.'

'Hurt myself?' I repeated. I glanced into the calle again. 'Can't you see what's out there?'

Dante followed the direction of my finger. 'Sure I can. Cobblestones, doors, windows. That there is chandler Carlucci's shop. That's Bonegetti's.' He pointed at the shop opposite and then the one next to it. He turned and grinned at me stupidly.

'Y– You can't see them?'

'Who?'

'You
really
can't see them ... the mist. The grey stuff?'
The long mournful faces with their gaping mouths, their elongated, coaxing fingers?

'Mist?' He pressed his face against the window. 'No. But it's very cold, I'll grant you that, and overcast. Came over all of a sudden, didn't it? There's been a bit of that lately – people are talking.' He looked at me quizzically. 'Stop mucking around, Tallow. There's nothing out there – hey.' He rushed to my side. 'You're serious, aren't you? Something's really frightened you.'

I didn't know what to say. His very closeness made the words dry up in my mouth.

It was clear Dante couldn't see the beings, so I decided not to elaborate. There was no point worrying him. Instead, I grinned. 'Gotcha!'

A smile gradually spread across his face. He punched me in the arm. 'You did. You almost had me convinced there was something outside.' He cast one last glance out the window and shook his head in admiration. He then reached out a hand. 'Come on. Let's get out of here and go to the canal.'

I grabbed hold of him, but instead of using his hand to pull me to my feet, I drew him back down towards me. 'Can't we stay? I'm freezing and it's nice and warm in here. That is, unless you're expecting customers?'

'Don't tease!' said Dante and with a sigh threw himself down beside me.

'Tease? If there's one thing I learnt very quickly, it's that you never tease a chandler – or a candlemaker, for that matter – about business.'

He grinned. 'You're right about that. I only wish we had business to be teased about.'

'What do you mean?'

Dante stretched out his long legs. I noticed that his pants had new patches on them. 'Look around you,' he said. 'Not much is moving from the shelves at the moment.'

'Business been slow, has it?' I sympathised. I'd lived through years of diminished sales, where every customer carried your hopes in her tightly sealed purse.

'Slow?' he scoffed. 'More like non-existent. We haven't had a single customer in two days. And before that, we were lucky if more than a few came in an entire day.'

'But I thought the shop did all right?'

'It
did.'

'What's caused this?'

Dante adjusted his position so he faced me. He shook his head. Beyond him, I could see the pale grey shapes swirling. I deliberately ignored the movement outside, forcing myself to look at him. I was horrified to see great tears rolling down his cheeks.

'Dante, what is it? What's wrong?'

Dante tried to speak. I could see his lips forming the words, but they were trembling so hard he couldn't release them.

'It's your grandfather, isn't it?' I laid a hand on his arm. I couldn't help it. I opened myself to his pain.

I saw an old, withered man lying in a long, narrow bed. His eyes were shut and his breathing hoarse. Saliva dried in the corners of his mouth and I saw a woman reach over to wipe it away with a damp cloth. I felt the love Dante bore for this man, their years of tender interaction – the discipline, the strength, the trust between them. I was jealous of such a bond. But just as the jealousy flared, it disappeared to be replaced by overwhelming sadness. For I knew, as I touched Dante and felt his grandfather's essence within him, that this old man would not live another week. He was gravely ill.

'I'm so sorry, Dante,' I said. And, before I talked myself out of it, I wrapped my arms around him.

He fell against my body and buried his head in my neck. Shudders tore through his frame. I held him tight, marvelling at how he felt, the firmness of his back, the softness of the hair that curled against his nape. His hot, ragged breath against my skin, the feel of him, the musky smell. My stomach somersaulted and my body grew alternately hot and cold. I wanted to pull him closer, push him away. I did neither.

Minutes passed. The frost settled firmly into the calle, tiny tendrils of vapour slowly turning the glass nubilous. I was aware of the creatures outside moving away and the shadows in my mind lessened. Gradually, Dante's sobs quietened. Slowly, he drew his head away and wiped his arm across his nose. His eyes were half-closed, his face flushed.

'Word about Grandfather got around. You know how it is. People are scared; they're refusing to come to the shop in case they catch his illness. You'd think it was the plague the way they're carrying on.' He sniffed loudly. 'If you're worried, we can go somewhere else, but it's just a very bad cough. The dottore says he has an infection in his lungs. But he is so weak, and now this unnaturally cold weather ...' He waved a hand towards the outside. 'He'll have nothing left to fight with.'

'I'm so sorry, Dante. I know how much your grandfather means to you. But if he's anything like you, he'll fight this off faster than you or I could chase a cat into the basilica!'

Dante choked back a laugh. He stared at me with a strange look in his eyes. One I couldn't quite place. I was stroking his arm, relishing the feel of him. His shoulders slumped and the tension left his body, as if he'd changed his mind about something. One of his arms was still loosely draped across my back, his fingers softly kneaded my flesh.

His eyes travelled down my face. Through my lenses, my eyes lingered where his journeyed. I held my breath.

Ever so slowly, he began to lower his head to mine, and then he hesitated.

My mouth fell open and the edge of my tongue pressed against my teeth. Waves of longing swept over me.

Dante shifted, lessening the miniscule gap between us. His fingers on my back became more insistent. Behind my glasses, my eyelids fluttered. His hand crept from my shoulder to my neck and he slowly twined his fingers through my hair. My breathing became faster as heat pulsed through my thighs. He pulled me closer, turning his head just as I turned mine.

'Dante!'

Immediately, we broke apart – flushed, awkward. Dante slid away from me and jumped to his feet. I did the same.

'Yes, Zia Gaia?' he answered.

A slender woman with greying hair appeared at the top of the stairs. 'Your grandfather is calling for you. Oh –' Her eyes lit up. 'I didn't realise we had a customer.'

'This isn't a customer,' said Dante. His great-aunt's face fell. He crossed the room and moved behind the counter. 'This is Tallow, the candlemaker's apprentice. I've told you about him.' He shifted the beads on the abacus around.

'Tallow?' She came down the steps. 'Ah, yes. I remember now. You're the kind boy who gave us those beautiful candles. They helped my brother sleep. I just wish –' She seemed to remember herself. 'Sorry. I want to thank you.'

I gave a small bow.

Dante's aunt smiled again. This time, it reached her eyes. 'And you have lovely manners as well. Dante, you would do well to learn from this boy.'

Dante spluttered in protest. Some of the discomfort between us slipped away. 'If I learnt from half the people you tell me to, my head would be stuffed so full of irrelevant nonsense, I'd know nothing!'

His aunt sighed and raised her hands to the ceiling. 'God help me. He always has an excuse!' She flicked the towel she'd been carrying at him. 'Go to your grandfather. See if you can get him to eat some broth.' She saw Dante's eyes stray towards me. 'I'm sure Tallow will understand.'

'Oh yes,' said Dante, imitating his aunt's voice perfectly. 'He has lovely manners!' And with a small nod in my direction, he raced up the stairs. Just before he disappeared, he turned around. 'I'll see you soon, all right?'

'All right,' I said. I let out the breath I'd been holding.

'Well, Tallow,' said Dante's aunt. 'It's been nice meeting you, but I'm afraid I have to –' she indicated the stairs.

'Oh, yes. Please. I'm sorry. I'll be on my way.'

Dante's aunt stepped forward and clasped my chin. 'He missed you, you know. He didn't say. But I know him too well.' She gazed at me a few seconds longer. 'What a lovely-looking boy you are. How old are you?'

'F– fourteen. No, fifteen ... I think,' I stammered.

'You're not like other boys, are you?'

My heart pounded.

'What odd glasses,' she murmured.

I jerked my chin out of her grasp and her hand fell. We stared at each other for a moment. Then, she seemed to shake herself. 'Don't be a stranger, will you, Tallow? All being well, come back again soon.'

'I will,' I said and, before she could stop me, pulled open the shop door and escaped into the calle.

I half-ran, half-walked back through the campo, my mind racing.
That was close, in more ways than one.

I was glad to have Dante back in my life, but sad to see him so distraught. I began to think how I could help him. An idea began to form. What if I were to make candles that could help his grandfather? His aunt said that the candles I'd already given them had helped him sleep, why couldn't I make some that could cure his ailment? I was no dottore; I didn't know what was wrong with him or how to fix a lung infection, but I could infuse candles with energy and life. If I used beeswax candles and distilled and magnified the essence of the bees and flowers, it would be easy. Pillar need never know. And if it made Dante's grandfather well again ...

I wandered back to the Candlemakers Quartiere lost in thought. I knew I wasn't supposed to do this kind of thing. But this was different, I assured myself. Surely nothing could go wrong if I just made one person better.

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.