Tallow

by Karen Brooks

  Tallow ran her hands over her body. The fresh and plentiful food hadn't done her any harm either. Her scrawny arms and legs had more definition and fullness, her waist had curves and as for her breasts – they'd grown. She gently squeezed them, wincing at their tenderness. What a nuisance they were, she thought. Unable to flaunt them, only hide them beneath yards of itchy, tight fabric, what use were they? When she'd complained to Katina, the Bond Rider had laughed and assured her that one day, perhaps, she would not feel that way about them. An image of Katina from that afternoon, with her glossy hair and wide mouth, filled Tallow's head. Sadness rose within her.

  For all the weight Tallow was gaining, it seemed it was falling away from Katina. Pillar was very worried and even Katina's bravado around her condition was so evidently forced. Yet she'd still been so insistent that they begin learning something new tomorrow.

  Katina's abrupt loss of energy, the whispered conversations with Pillar that mostly ceased when Tallow was nearby, and the Bond Rider's resolve that Tallow learn new things all pointed to one conclusion: Katina knew her time was running out.

  Tallow's heart was heavy. Life had been so different since Katina had been with them, and she didn't want to imagine what it would be like if she wasn't. Katina was more than just her teacher; she was a link to a past and a future that Tallow had never thought possible. If Katina left or, worse, never returned, what would she do?

  Was she ready to seek out her destiny by herself? Tallow shivered, but whether it was from the icy wind that swept across the rooftop or fear of her future, she couldn't tell.

  Slipping off the ledge, she stood and faced the mountains. Beyond their ragged line, somewhere in the darkness, was the Limen. Surrounding Serenissima on the land side, the numinous border that divided their world and that kept the country safe from mainland invasion rose into the heavens. While Tallow knew it was there, she'd never really thought about it much. She knew that at its closest point near Serenissima, the Limen was less than a day's ride, while at its furthest, somewhere past the Dolomites, it was weeks away. She also knew it was a strange place, one that no mortal person, except those who had sundered their souls, could venture into and live. But now it held a new significance for her. Not only was it a barrier that separated countries and kept enemies at bay; it also marked the boundary between her past and present – between her current life and her future.

  The milky peaks of the ranges caught the moonlight, sending a sparkling reminder of their presence, of the deep winter to come. Tallow searched for a sign of the Limen, for something that indicated it was really there. Almost as if it called, Tallow turned her head and listened. Past the line of the closest mountains, she thought she saw a faint silver shimmer rising in the sky, soaring into the nothingness above.

  A chill sped through her body and she wrapped the blanket more tightly around her, trying to set the image in her mind; to establish it as a shrine to which she would one day make a pilgrimage. For she had no doubt, regardless of the danger it posed, that she would have to find a way to enter into – and remain – in the Limen.

  The other Estrattore had. They lived there now and she had, too, once upon a time.

  Just as she existed only because of the Limen, she knew that unless she was able to uncover its secrets, that enigmatic space could one day extinguish her life as easily as one doused a candle.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The alchemist's story

  BY THE TIME KATINA JOINED us in the workshop the following day, dishevelled and sleep-weary, it was mid-morning and Pillar and I had already completed two dozen broaches.

  I was pouring some moulds when she opened the door. Glancing behind her, I could see ladies milling in the shop and hear Quinn's sharp voice calling out prices – a good sign. But Katina's appearance wasn't. A night's rest appeared to have done little to improve her health. Her face was ashen; her eyes had sunk deep into her skull. Even her usually full lips seemed to have receded from her teeth. I opened my mouth to comment, but a look from Pillar and a slight shake of his head stopped me.

  Instead, I kept a close eye on Katina's every move. Each time she crossed the workshop, she grabbed the side of the vats and relied on Pillar's arm when she lowered herself on to a stool. As she quietly instructed me in the extraction and distillation of negative emotions, her hand braced against the wall in support. My heart contracted as I saw just how drained of energy she'd become. Even her voice had lost its usual robust confidence and her body seemed independent of its limbs. Instead of listening to what she was telling me, I was alert to any telltale signs of flagging energy. Every time I went to say something, proffer a helping hand, my instincts told me not to. Until Katina acknowledged what was wrong with her, there was nothing I could do.

  As the day wore on, Katina seemed to improve, even laughing heartily at a story Pillar told about a particularly repugnant chandler when we paused for lunch. Pillar and Katina retreated to the relative tranquillity of the calle to eat their bread and cheese and linger in the sunshine. I made excuses to remain in the workshop. But as I broke my bread and sipped my vino, something happened to take my mind off Katina. I heard Francesca Zonelli in the shop. She had her daughter, Lucia, in tow.

  On the pretence of preparing another broach, I worked as close to the shop as I dared, praying that Quinn wouldn't notice the door left ajar. Fortunately, 'sotto' was not a word in Francesca's vocabulary, so I heard everything she said.

  'A success?' she exclaimed in response to Quinn's query. 'How can you doubt it, Quinn! It was as if the blinkers the boy had been wearing all these months fell away from his eyes. One look at my Lucia and I don't think he saw another thing all night.'

  I heard a small giggle from Lucia.

  'The entire family sat at the table, but we might as well have been pieces of furniture. He didn't pay attention to a word anyone else said, did he, Lucia?' Lucia didn't get a chance to answer. 'At any other time, I would have thought his manners disgraceful, but, under the circumstances, we indulged his new passion with delight – after all, it was my daughter!'

  Lucia stifled a laugh. Quinn said something, but I couldn't quite catch it.

  'Not just the ordinary kind. Undying love, Quinn! He declared undying love for my bambina. Can you imagine that? Look at her face! Have you ever seen such happiness?

  Why, it's palpable. It's as though his love for Lucia has infected the entire house.'

  I drifted away, a smile of satisfaction on my face. For the rest of the afternoon, I basked in a contented glow. I had, of my own volition, managed to use my talents to help someone. Lucia and her reluctant paramour now shared a love. I couldn't help it; I felt a sense of pride and worth. I know it imbued everything I touched that afternoon, but Katina either didn't notice or didn't care. And I didn't shut out my emotions; I gleefully included them in every candle I poured and dipped.

  The day passed very quickly. Before I knew it, shadows had fallen and it was time to close the shop and retire for the night. Quinn had already gone upstairs with her precious tin of coins and was preparing dinner. Tantalising smells began to waft down the stairs, making me realise how hungry I was. I began restocking the shelves. Katina remained in the workshop sitting on a stool, talking softly to Pillar who was lifting the excess tallow out of the troughs and placing it back in the vat. I was all but finished and about to lock up and go upstairs when the door to the shop opened. Stepping inside out of the cold was a young couple. I was about to explain that the shop was closed when I saw their faces.

  The woman looked grief-stricken, the young man, desperate. Instead of shooing them away, I waited patiently for them to speak. But they simply stood there, clearly uncomfortable not only with their surroundings but with whatever had led them into the shop in the first place.

  I could stand it no longer.

  'How may I help you?' I asked, stepping forward, wiping my hands on my apron.

  The woman let out a sob. The man placed a loving hand on her arm.

 
; 'Shush, Lizzetta. It's all right.' He turned to face me and gave a little half bow. 'I am sorry to disturb you at so late an hour, kind sir, but we were wondering if you would have any tallow ... um ... er ... remnants for sale.'

  I was surprised. Only the very poor asked for remnants and it was clear from their dress and manners that these people were certainly not destitute.

  'Remnants?' I exclaimed before I could help myself. 'Can't I interest you in something else, something more ... appropriate?'

  'We are not in a position to purchase anything else,' the man said, suddenly finding his boots very interesting.

  It was then the woman, now composed, took over the conversation. She removed his hand from her arm and I could see from the circlet of gold on her finger that she was his wife. 'Please, if you could spare anything, we would be extremely grateful.'

  'Do not confuse our humble request for begging,' said the man firmly. 'We can pay you –' he reached inside his coat and pulled out a skinny purse. He upended it in his palm. 'I have two coppers. Please,' he repeated as I stared at his hands. 'This is all we have.'

  The woman's shoulders heaved and I noticed a tear trickle down her cheek.

  The man was about to speak again when I raised my finger and placed it against my lips, shaking my head in warning at the same time. His eyes widened and he nodded. He patted his wife's arm. She raised her head and saw me standing there, signalling for them to be quiet. She looked at her husband in astonishment. I knew my behaviour was strange, but I wanted to help these people and, if I could, find out what had reduced them to their current condition. Tiptoeing over to the workshop door, I softly closed it. Then I ran to the stairs. The door at the top was also closed.

  I swiftly returned to the couple and gestured for them to step closer. 'I can give you remnants; that's not a problem,' I whispered. 'But you can keep your coppers.' I closed the man's fingers over his coins. I went behind the counter where I knew a box of broken candles was kept. There was even a valuable bayberry one in there, knocked off a shelf on a crowded morning. Quinn had forced the customer to pay for the damage. I upended the box into an old cloth and tied it up. I placed the now empty box back under the counter. When Quinn went to add to it tomorrow, I would simply tell her that I had melted the contents.

  I handed the quite bulky cloth to the man. 'There. That should light your home for a while.'

  The woman took my hand and raised it to her cheek. 'Grazie, kind sir, grazie mille. What can we do to repay you, since you won't take our coin?'

  I thought for a moment. I was still affected by my earlier feelings of accomplishment and benevolence regarding Lucia, filled with a sense of goodwill and power. This made me say something rash, bold even. 'Perhaps you can tell me why you are so sad.' The words surprised even me. But since I'd taken the first step, I plunged recklessly ahead. 'I've always been told that a burden shared is easier to carry.' I'd never been told that, not directly. I'd overheard Padre Foscari telling Francesca's husband that on the fondamenta two days ago. Regardless from whom the sentiments originated, they seemed to work.

  The couple hesitated. But I pressed my point.

  'You never know, perhaps I can help?' I raised my eyebrows and forced a smile on to my face. This couple had piqued my curiosity as well as my new-found desire to test my skills further.

  'Thank you, but you've already done so much,' said the man finally. 'We don't want to burden you with our tale.' They turned to go.

  I did something then that was as risky as it was foolish. I touched his arm and compelled him to look at me. I allowed my glasses to slip down my nose so only a fraction of my eyes were revealed. It was reasonably dark in the shop. The couple of tapers I'd lit were guttering and the moon cast only a dim light. I stared first at the man and then at his wife, willing them to tell me.

  One after the other, their eyes widened and, from my fleeting physical contact with the man and my swift effort at extraction, I became aware of confusion and great sorrow followed by terrible guilt. While I was responsible for the first emotion, the others were so strong that I pulled away lest I inadvertently began to draw his sorrow from him; in case I began to reveal myself.

  'Please,' I beseeched them, using my most persuasive tone.

  It was the lady who capitulated. 'Why not?' she said. 'He's been so generous.'

  The man thought for a moment, his eyes still fixed on my face. He bounced the knotted cloth in his hand a few times. Finally, he shrugged his capitulation. 'You're right. What harm can it do? '

  My heart raced. If Katina happened to wander in and saw them, she would know immediately what I'd done. I would be in deep trouble. I quickly ushered them out on to the fondamenta. It was cold outside. Not only was Katina a concern, but I didn't want to risk Pillar, or worse, Quinn, catching them with the bag of remnants. 'Wait a moment,' I said and ran back into the shop.

  'Pillar, Katina?' I called, opening the workshop door. They both looked up at me – Katina wearily from the stool, Pillar from behind the trough next to her.

  'What is it, Tallow?' said Pillar.

  'I'm stepping out for a moment. I'm just going to show some people how to get to the campo.'

  Pillar frowned. He still didn't like me venturing out by myself. 'Can't you just give them directions?'

  'They're not from this sestiere.' I shocked myself. How easily the lies tripped off the end of my tongue. 'I won't be long,' I added.

  Katina laid a hand on Pillar's arm and gave a quick nod. 'All right then,' sighed Pillar. 'But be quick.'

  I shut the door and, donning my coat and hat, went outside.

  Together with the young couple, I stood on the cobbles. 'Where do you live?' I asked, intending to walk with them towards their house.

  'The Alchemists Quartiere,' replied the man.

  The Alchemists Quartiere! Why, that was a fair distance – a good thirty minutes' walk at least. My lie wasn't so outrageous after all. 'What are you doing here?' I exclaimed, surprised that they should come so far for mere candles. The Alchemists Quartiere was only small, but it was located on the verge of the Barnabotti Sestiere and both areas had candlemakers.

  'To buy some of your candles,' said the woman simply.

  'My candles?' Alarm was building inside me. Her next words extinguished my fear.

  'Well, not yours, per se.' She gave an apologetic smile. 'But those made in your workshop. We have heard how the candles burn longer, how they are so much brighter than any others, how inexpensive they are. We thought that since we can no longer afford to be so irresponsible with our coin, and we were in the vicinity –' The woman's voice faltered.

  'Hush, bella,' said the man. 'I will tell him.'

  We began to walk along the darkening streets. As the frosty winter night descended, the implications of people from the Alchemists Quartiere travelling to our sestiere to buy our candles teased the edges of my thoughts. I knew their own candlemakers would not be happy to learn that we'd impinged on their territory, even if it wasn't deliberate. Pushing aside my misgivings, I listened to what the young man, whose name I learnt was Antonio Gramizia, had to say.

  Passing by shuttered shops and houses, folk travelling home ard the occasional stray cat, I soon lost myself in Antonio's story. It turned out that he was an alchemist who, as the latest in a long line, learned the art from his father, showing amazing promise. He was able to work wonders with metals and powders, learning to coat and refine jewellery by dipping it in various acids and alkalines, producing vivid colours and altering shapes.

  But what developed his reputation was discovering a highly combustible powder that, when placed in a metal casing and fired from a cannon, produced devastating results by killing soldiers, sinking ships and destroying fortifications. During a recent skirmish between Serenissima and Phalagonia – and later, between the victorious returning fleet and some unfortunate pirates – his powder had all but saved the entire armada. After that, the orders and money began to pour in. Antonio and his wife, Lizzetta, becam
e wealthy. They were also feted. I didn't understand all that he told me, but he was modest in his recounting and I had no doubt that his abilities were far greater than he was indicating. This was confirmed when he came to the crux of his story.