Tallow (32 page)

COUNCILLOR LORD RODBURY WAITED UNTIL
he was announced before walking into the queen's chamber. He noted the lady's maid, who squatted on the carpet mending another torn curtain, before coming to a halt beside the queen's desk and bowing deeply.

'Your Majesty,' he said, in his deepest voice.

Zaralina looked up from the report she was reading. 'Ah, my Lord Rodbury. What is it?'

Rodbury straightened slowly, taking the opportunity to search the chamber for the queen's unholy confidant, Shazet. The Mortian was nowhere to be seen but the chamber was very cold. And, Rodbury remembered, just because you couldn't see a Mortian didn't mean it wasn't there, as too many of his peers had learnt to their misfortune.

What did draw his attention was the small child bouncing on the huge canopied bed in the corner. It was the captive prince, Claudio Dandolo. Rodbury swallowed his surprise. He hadn't thought the queen would tolerate such behaviour. The rumours were true, then; she
was
indulging the boy.

Aware the queen was studying him impatiently, he snapped to attention and cleared his throat. 'I thought you would want to know, Your Majesty, that Lord Waterford has successfully crossed the Mariniquian Seas and reached the lagoon of Serenissima.' He handed her a small, tightly rolled scroll.

'Already? That's less than four months.' She put down the report she was reading and unfurled the scroll. Her eyes scanned the page. 'He has made excellent time.'

'Indeed, Your Majesty. As you can see, he reports that the winds were extraordinarily favourable.'

The queen waved her hand. 'Yes, yes. But more importantly, has he been well received by the Serenissians?'

'It is too early to tell, ma'am. He's been forced to weigh anchor. It seems that Serenissima is recovering from what seems to be a type of plague – the second in less than a hundred years. Early reports say that almost a quarter of the population perished.'

Rodbury shuddered. He'd read accounts of the disease: unholy in its speed, indiscriminate in its choice of victims. The deaths had been swift, gruesome and like nothing ever seen before. He sent a swift prayer that it never came to Albion – not in his or his children's lifetime.

'Really? A
type
of plague, you say?' The queen rested her chin on her hands and gazed out the window. A thick slab of snow smothered the landscape. 'How unfortunate. Must be something to do with the fetid marshes upon which they chose to build the city in the first place. Perhaps Waterford's timing is more fortuitous than we realised.'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Rodbury. The child's bouncing in the background was beginning to irritate him. 'You will also read that Waterford hopes that the cargo he carries will be very much desired, if not essential, to the Serenissians.' Rodbury hesitated. 'Your Majesty showed remarkable foresight in sending grain, barley, corn, wheat and wine among the other precious gifts.' He bowed again.

'Yes, I did, didn't I?' Zaralina laughed. 'The Council couldn't understand why I would send what the Serenissians appeared to have in abundance – at least, they did while their peasants were still alive to reap their harvests and other nations were prepared to trade with them. But who on the other side of the Limen would have the courage to trade with a disease-ridden city – particularly when it had been struck by a new type of plague that had no precedent.

'The gods were on my side, Rodbury. One must always be prepared to take risks – to prepare for the unexpected. I had a feeling about this, and I was right. I saw what others did not – a seemingly affluent city desperate for the most basic of items. Jewels do not assuage hunger. Even the Serenissians know that. Of course they will be grateful to have a friend. And, when the time is right, they will welcome Waterford, and thus Farrowfare, with open arms.' The queen's eyes narrowed and her face took on a faraway look. 'Thank you, Lord Rodbury. Keep me informed of any updates, won't you?'

'Y– yes, ma'am,' said Rodbury. He shot a glance at the little dark-haired prince who had stopped bouncing and was staring at him, slack-jawed. He quickly looked away. There was something about the boy, something in his countenance ... Rodbury bowed again to cover his unease.

The queen watched him out of the corner of her eyes, a small smile playing on her mouth.

'Alyson?' The queen gestured to her lady's maid.

'Ma'am?' Alyson leapt to her feet and, dropping the damask curtain she was mending, curtsied.

'Show the lord out and then leave me and Claudio alone for a while, will you.'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Alyson.

Once the door was shut, Zaralina began to laugh. 'He has the temerity to compliment my foresight; did you hear that, Shazet? As if the entire enterprise were an accident.'

From out of the shadows, a grey shape swirled and became manifest.

Claudio fell back onto the mattress and crawled into the pillows strewn against the bedhead, clutching them to his chest.

'Yes, ma'am, I did.' In mockery of Rodbury, Shazet's bow scraped the ground.

'Stop it. It's hard enough feigning interest in reports when I already know the content without having to bear your affectations as well.'

Shazet pretended to be hurt. 'Affectations? Hardly. I value my queen, I respect my queen.'

'So you say; a little too often,' said Zaralina, between tight lips. Then she relaxed. 'Your minions did their job well. Over a quarter of their population, gone.' She smiled. 'Not only will it be easier to find the Estrattore with fewer people, but tragedy loosens tongues. He might have been able to hide before, when everyone was content with their lives and focused inwards on themselves. But let him try and hide now.

'In the climate of fear we've created, it will be impossible. Everyone will notice everything and rumours and accusations will fly. And Waterford will be there to catch them and follow them, right to their source.' She stared out the window, images and portents dancing before her eyes. 'Let your creatures know, I am very pleased with them.
Very
pleased. It seems the first stage of our plan has worked.'

'Second stage,' corrected Shazet, glancing at the child curled on the bed.

'Ah, you're referring to my little poppet.' With upturned lips, Zaralina ended her reverie. 'My precious little pet.' She slapped her lap. 'Come here, Claudio. Let Aunt Zaralina, your Zia, hold you for a while.' She watched as the boy hesitantly climbed off the bed, one eye on Shazet. Once his feet touched the floor, he darted across the rugs and threw himself into her arms. She laughed as he clung to her neck and buried his face in her long flame-coloured hair. 'Ah, there, my love. Don't be frightened of Shazet. I've told you a hundred times. He won't hurt you.'
Not until I tell him to.
She stroked the boy's forehead, cooing and placing little kisses upon his brow. When she pulled her face away, a series of tiny ice-white marks remained wherever her lips had touched.

Shazet frowned. 'You keep the boy too docile.'

The queen flicked her hand. 'Nonsense.' She untangled Claudio's hands from her neck and held his chin in her fingers, close to her face. 'Claudio's my squire, and I look after him. Don't I, Claudio?'

Claudio nodded, mesmerised by Zaralina's frost-blue eyes. He tried to snuggle into her again, but she kept him at arm's length. 'Who loves you, Claudio?' she whispered.

'You do,' lisped the child in his thick Serenissian accent.

'Do I love you more than Shazet?'

The boy nodded.

'More than Lord Waterford?'

The boy nodded and began to smile.

'More than your mamma and papa?'

His face darkened. He hesitated. She tightened her hold, her nails pressing into the tender flesh of his jaw. He winced. 'Si– I mean, y– y– yes.'

'How much do I love you?'

'More than the whole of Vista Mare.'

'That's right. And who will always be there for you, loving you and protecting you, no matter what?'

'You will.'

She leaned forward and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his pursed lips. 'That's right!' she whispered and let go, allowing him to fall against her breasts. From beyond the child's little shoulders, she raised her eyes to Shazet. 'And who will always protect me, no matter what?' she whispered.

This time, Claudio pulled away, his hands on her shoulders, his knees on her lap. 'I will,' he said. 'I will. Always. Forever and ever, Amen.'

'Amen.' The queen laughed delightedly. 'Good Claudio, beautiful Claudio.' Zaralina began to stroke his head again and, with her eyes fixed on Shazet, sang a sweet melody. When she'd finished, the child was sound asleep. She rose to her feet and carried him over to the bed.

'You make the child sleep too much.'

'Rubbish,' said the queen, returning to her desk. 'Growing children need sleep. Anyway, he annoys me too much when he's awake, with his churlish behaviour and sulks, never mind that dreadful accent. And this way, I can control his dreams.'

'And of what does he dream?' asked Shazet.

'Of me,' smiled the queen.

Shazet raised his eyebrows.

Zaralina moved to the window. Her barren, windswept world unfolded before her.

'Yes, of me. I am standing by his side on the waterfront at the Doge's palace. The sun is shining; the air is warm and clean. We are welcoming our guests as they arrive by gondola.'

She turned around and, facing Shazet, leant back on the sill. 'And the heads of our enemies watch us with empty eyes from the top of the staves upon which they are impaled.'

Shazet nodded, the semblance of a smile upon his face. He glided closer to her, his body undulating before hers. 'And what of us, Your Majesty, your Mortian allies. Where are we?'

The queen looked deep into his soulless eyes. She licked her lips. 'You're everywhere, my Shazet.' She extended a slender finger and watched his face alter as she penetrated his malleable exterior. He shuddered in ecstasy.

'Everywhere,' she murmured.

'CAN YOU HEAR THAT, FATHER?'
Giaconda leaned out of the felze in the gondola, surprised to see at least fifty people running along the fondamenta.

'I can indeed,' said Ezzelino, peering out from behind her. 'Appears we don't need Baroque, after all. We've found our boy.'

'Yes, but why are they chasing him? What has he done?' It seemed that everyone they'd met in the quartiere was running after the boy.

Giaconda and Ezzelino withdrew and stared at each other at length. 'What should we do?' said Giaconda.

'We follow them,' said Ezzelino simply and tapped his cane on the roof. 'Follow the rabble, Salzi,' he ordered.

The Maleovellis' boatman shuffled along the deck. 'It's a chase, sir. They're after that ragamuffin boy.'

'We aren't blind, Salzi!' exclaimed Giaconda. 'We can see what it is. Do what you're told. Follow them!' Giaconda slid out of the felze and sat at the other end of the gondola. She shielded her eyes. They were all heading in the same direction – towards the Ponticello di Mille Pietre, the Bridge of a Thousand Stones.

She saw the boy run up the rampart and start to cross. His cap had fallen off and his hair was in his eyes. Halfway across, he suddenly stopped. At first she couldn't see why, but then she saw the enormous horse and his dark rider. 'Father,' she said urgently, beckoning Ezzelino. 'I think you'll want to see this.'

Ezzelino joined her. 'What's a Bond Rider doing here?' he asked in astonishment.
'And
with his horse? What do they want with the boy – what do they know?'

There was no reply.

Father and daughter sat, unable to look away as the drama unfolded. Even Salzi stopped rowing, allowing the current to carry them forward. The bridge loomed closer and closer, the sides growing in height, casting shadows on the water, obscuring their view.

They passed beneath the bridge's massive girth just as a commotion started above. They were almost clear when a body plunged over the side. They watched in horror as it fell headfirst into the canal.

Giaconda leapt to her feet. 'Quick! It's the boy. Get him!' she cried above the hollow boom of shod hooves on stone, more screams and cries and the sound of dozens of people fleeing.

Salzi leapt to the oar, manoeuvring it in the forcola so they glided to where the boy had vanished. At first, they couldn't see anything in the dark and murky water.

'The current has taken him,' cursed Ezzelino.

'No, look!' said Giaconda triumphantly, pointing towards one of the stone pillars that supported the bridge. A small body floated face down in the water.

The boatman brought them up alongside the sodden figure. The current had just begun to dislodge him from the weeds at the bridge's base. As he drifted past the gondola, Salzi and Ezzelino dragged him over the side.

They dropped him in the bottom of the boat. The boy lay there, unmoving, lifeless. His hair was plastered to his face, his eyes closed.

'Is he alive?' asked Salzi.

'I don't care what he is – get him out of sight before we're exposed,' ordered Ezzelino. 'Put him in the felze, quickly! They'll be looking for him.'

Salzi pulled the unconscious youth across the bottom of the boat and shoved him in the cabin. He pulled the curtains across.

'Now, get back on that oar and get us out into the middle of the canal,' demanded Giaconda behind him, straightening her hair and skirt. 'No-one must realise we have him. No-one. Do you understand? We saw nothing, we heard nothing.'

'Si, Signorina,' said Salzi. He'd been with the Maleovelli family long enough to know not to ask questions.

As the gondola remerged from under the bridge, the sunlight struck the black wood. Ezzelino and Giaconda sat primly in the prow, their eyes fixed ahead. Anyone seeing them would assume that nothing had disturbed the nobiles' passage.

The gondola glided away, turning into one of the thinly populated side canals. It slowly made its way towards the Circolo.

'Do you think he's alive?' muttered Giaconda under her breath, repeating Salzi's earlier question.

'I hope so. Go and see,' demanded Ezzelino.

Crawling along the bottom of the gondola, Giaconda pulled aside the curtain and stuck her head into the felze. The boy lay there, his eyes tightly shut, his face pale. His chest rose and fell in ragged movements.

'He's alive,' called Giaconda over her shoulder.

On hearing a strange voice, the youth's eyes fluttered open. Giaconda gave a little cry and instinctively recoiled.
Eyes like mirrors. Just like the legends say.

'Who are you?' said the boy hoarsely and began coughing. Overcoming her initial repugnance, Giaconda gracefully moved beside him and stretched an arm behind his shoulders to help him sit up. The boy coughed some more before vomiting water to one side.

'I'm sorry,' he said, wiping his hand over his mouth. 'Sorry.'

Giaconda's mind was racing. They were right. An Estrattore! All they had to do was play their cards right ... 'It's all right,' she said soothingly, praying the boy couldn't hear the tremor of excitement in her voice. 'Don't worry. It's nothing, only sea water. I think you've swallowed a great deal. That was quite a fall you had there.'

The boy frowned and his amazing eyes glimmered as he recalled recent events. 'I didn't fall. I jumped.' His voice began to break. 'D– Dante is dead. Cane's gone. He tried to take me, so I jumped. I shouldn't have left them ... I shouldn't have left
him
–
'

He began to struggle, trying to sit up on his own, but he was still weak from the run, the near-drowning and the emotion he'd expended. Giaconda held him tight. 'Shush. You're with friends now.' She brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Exhausted, the boy fell back on the cushions. 'Thank you,' he said, looking at Giaconda. Then he closed his eyes.

Giaconda slowly removed her arm and stared at him. She'd been able to see herself so clearly within that mercurial gaze. It was unsettling. She was afraid that if she looked for too long, she would not like what she saw.

The strange boy might feign sleep, but he was not yet ready to lose himself in the world of dreams. Neither was she ready to let him. She wanted some answers, now, while he was still vulnerable. 'That's my pleasure,' she said, glancing over her shoulder at her father.

The boy moved slightly and his eyes flew open again.

'I think I've hurt my arm,' he whispered and made a strange noise that was half laugh, half despair.

Giaconda made noises of sympathy and gently stroked his arm. It was hot beneath the wet sleeve.

Beyond the entrance to the felze, Ezzelino watched them, the smoke from his pipe rising into the pinkening sky. Giaconda glanced back at him. He signalled for her to keep talking.

'I am being very rude,' said Giaconda. 'My name is Giaconda Maleovelli, and the man you can see out there is my father, Ezzelino. We're from the Eighth Casa of Nobiles' Rise. Casa Maleovelli.'

The boy leaned heavily to one side, clearly favouring his injured arm, and pushed himself up so his face was almost level with Giaconda's. 'My name is Tallow,' he said.

Giaconda nodded solemnly, working hard to keep the triumph she felt rising within her from her features. 'Where are you from?' she asked, searching for a candle. They were coming to a narrower part of the canal where the sun didn't reach.

The boy named Tallow laughed at the question. It turned into a hoarse cough. 'Nowhere.'

Giaconda paused and nodded. 'Is that so? What is it you do then, Tallow from nowhere?'

'I was once a candlemaker, lately a chandler, and now I am nothing – a nothing from nowhere.'

'And who do you call family?'

Tallow's lips began to tremble. 'No-one,' he said in a voice that was barely audible. Giaconda couldn't tear her eyes away from the emotions that played across the boy's unusual face. She could see the pain, the exhaustion, and the confusion as clearly as if they'd been verbally expressed. The boy gave one great, long exhalation and then sat unmoving.

Giaconda waited.

'I call no-one family anymore,' said Tallow finally.

Giaconda controlled her urge to smile. 'Why do you say that?' she asked, keeping her voice steady. 'What has happened to you, Tallow, to make someone so young so cynical? Tell me. I promise you, I am good at keeping secrets.'

Tallow hesitated. Giaconda could sense the boy weighing his options. To speak or remain silent? Giaconda forgot to breathe. So much hung in the balance.

Without any preliminaries, Tallow began to talk. He spoke about his master, Pillar the candlemaker, and his mother Quinn and her terrible death; about the Bond Rider, Katina, who had abandoned him months earlier; he told Giaconda about Pillar's decision to throw him out. He even told her about how he'd sought out Dante, and how good it had been with his family. And then he told Giaconda what happened on the bridge: how the horse had ridden down Dante and Cane and deliberately killed them.

Giaconda repressed the feelings of triumph that rose within her. All this loss and tragedy had made the boy both weak and vulnerable – in other words, exactly how Giaconda needed him. As her father always said, fragile people are pliable people. How pliable was about to be tested; but Tallow's despair was palpable and with his natural defences all but gone, Giaconda could not have been happier.

The entire time Tallow spoke, not once did he mention his talent. When Giaconda asked why he was being chased, he'd quickly told her that his candles were sought; that for some reason, people thought they cured the sickness. So, the boy wasn't completely broken. Not yet.

His eyelids fluttered and he stifled a yawn. He was so white, the dark shadows that cradled his eyes defined them sharply. His head wobbled on his neck and his limbs quivered. It was apparent he needed sleep – to heal and to forget.

Forget about the dog, about the dead boy.

It was obvious he blamed himself.

'That's not true.' Giaconda beamed at Tallow. The boy started. 'You are
not
nothing. Even I can see that,' Giaconda glanced at her father who, having drawn closer to the felze, nodded. She caught his eye and gave a slight inclination of her head. It was time to risk everything. She hoped her reading of the boy had been correct. 'I can see it in your
eyes.'

The boy swiftly raised his hands to his face. His fingers rested just under his lower lashes, pointing towards the one thing he could not hide: eyes that had no whites, just a huge black pupil drowning in a sea of silver. He looked at Giaconda wildly, around the little felze, and beyond her to the canal outside. Then his shoulders slumped. Giaconda went to offer comfort when the boy drew himself upright and shook his head defiantly. She paused, uncertain. He looked straight at Giaconda and gave her a deadly grin.

'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?'