Tallow

by Karen Brooks

  Francesca stared at her in genuine surprise. 'So you haven't heard?'

  'Heard what?' said Quinn.

  'What?' repeated Pillar and stepped closer. He was blocking my view, so I opened the door further.

  'About what's happened?'

  'Obviously not. What are you talking about?'

  Francesca leaned over the counter. 'Less than an hour ago, soldiers from the Arsenale arrived and told us that a curfew is about to be imposed.'

  'A curfew! What for?' I could hear panic rising in Quinn's voice.

  'They're saying that there's been an outbreak of disease on the other isles overnight. Just like that.' She snapped her fingers. The sound echoed in the shop. 'People are dying, dropping where they stand. No-one has seen anything like it ever before.'

  'Is it ...?' began Pillar.

  'No,' said Francesca quickly. 'No, it's not the plague. At least, that's what they're telling us at the moment. Apparently, the symptoms are very different. They're saying this is much worse – swift and deadly. We're under quarantine until further notice. There's to be no trading – no business – till it's clear. We have less than four hours to stock up, and then we'll be forced to stay indoors. Hadn't you noticed how quiet it is out there?' She pointed vaguely in the direction of the canal.

  'Yes, but I –' muttered Quinn, her eyes darting towards where she knew I stood. I knew what she was thinking. While her life had changed for the better of late, the habits of years meant that leaving the house was still somewhat foreign to her. She relied on the likes of Francesca to bring news to her doorstep – and that included bad news.

  'I was relieved to find you open,' continued Francesca. 'Many of the other businesses towards the salizzada have already closed. Obviously, the soldiers haven't reached here yet.'

  'No,' muttered Pillar, 'they haven't. We didn't know.' He strode to the door and opened it, peering up and down the fondamenta. 'There's barely anyone out there.'

  'There will be. Some are in the basilica offering prayers. Others, like your good selves, still don't know. I think I was one of the first to hear.'

  I wasn't surprised by that. Francesca had a knack of finding out everything before anyone else.

  'When the crier makes his announcement, you'll be bombarded with customers. I'd get ready if I were you – for them, and for your own needs. In less than four hours, you'll have to fend for yourselves by whatever means possible.' Francesca reached inside her basket for her purse. 'Now, how much will that be?'

  'Four hours!' said Quinn, ignoring Francesca and her handful of lire. 'Where did you hear this? I don't believe it!' Quinn raised anxious eyes to meet Pillar's.

  'Nor did I, at first. Frightened men talk. Even hungry soldiers, finding solace in a full stomach of fresh fruit and a mind made less troubled by sharing their problems,' remarked Francesca gravely. 'They bought our produce and while they ate, they spoke.' She shrugged. 'What can I say? I listened. And, after they left, I took advantage of what I knew.' She held up her basket. 'I told the others and I'm telling you as well.'

  'Did they say what they think caused it?' asked Pillar, shutting the front door firmly and joining his mother behind the counter. I saw him place a comforting arm around her shoulders. This time, Quinn didn't shake it off.

  Francesca leaned towards Pillar and Quinn, lowering her voice so I had to strain to hear her. 'They say the deaths started happening not long after that freakish cold weather. The outer isles experienced it a day or two before we did – hours of blistering cold – and then, like that!' She snapped her fingers. 'Back to normal.'

  'I remember it, all right,' muttered Quinn darkly.

  'Yes, and now it's like the middle of summer again.' Francesca shook her head. 'It's not natural, I tell you. They're saying that it comes from God – that He's punishing us. That the cold was His breath, blowing away all our sins.' She paused. 'The wicked would do well to make their peace.'

  I recalled the dreadful bitterness, the intensity of the chill, how it reached into my very soul ... and I remembered the nebulous figures I'd seen writhing in the fog, reaching, clutching. Could they be the emissaries of an angry God? No. I knew they weren't. They were not God's breath. They were something much, much worse.

  But who could I tell? Who would believe me?

  I craned my neck. I could see Francesca's ample bosom resting on the counter, her face inches from Quinn's. They were whispering. They both crossed themselves repeatedly. Pillar stood nearby, his eyes darting back and forth, the tic in his cheek pulsing. His fingers fumbled in his shirt for the little wooden icon he'd been wearing ever since Katina came into our lives.

  Finally Francesca drew away. 'Until this disease has passed and the bells in the basilica toll, I'm locking myself away. You'd do well to do the same.'

  'May God keep us all,' said Quinn, her voice catching.

  May God keep us all, I repeated to myself, even though I knew that this time neither the Church's God or the old gods would be the arbiter of our fate.

  Quinn finished calculating and with trembling hands held the abacus aloft.

  'Right,' said Francesca, placing the coins on the counter. She slid the candles into her basket and then heaved it on to her arm. She looked around the shop. 'Hopefully, God will spare us and we will laugh about this one day, you and I. May He watch over you both.'

  Not wasting any time, Quinn waited until Francesca was gone and then called for me. I entered the shop to find Quinn looking pale and drawn. Pillar stood behind the counter staring into space. Before I could ask any questions, Quinn handed me a purse.

  'I know you were listening,' she said. There was no rebuke in her voice. 'Go! Now! Purchase wood, cheese, flour and vino. Hurry! Because if you don't –' She left the rest unsaid as she dropped the purse in my outstretched palm.

  Without another word, I did as I was told.

  FRANCESCA'S PREDICTION CAME TRUE. ABOUT a half-hour later, the quartiere crier, accompanied by two burly soldiers wearing the crest of the Arsenale, strode down the fondamenta.

  I walked behind him, dragging two sacks full of supplies. His words were loud and clear.

  'By the order of His Most Serene Highness, Doge Dandolo, you are hereby ordered to return to your houses until further notice. Only dottores and padres have permission to be abroad. The curfew comes into effect at midday. Anyone caught outdoors without authority after this time will be put to the sword. God be with you. By order of ...' The crier's emotionless voice droned on as he marched through the quartiere.

  I heard wails of despair as the news spread and watched as women grabbed their children from the edges of the canal and thrust them firmly indoors. Windows slammed, shutters were pulled tight, and gondoliers turned their craft and rowed back to their own quartieri.

  The fondamenta cleared so quickly, it was as if night had fallen early. An unnatural quiet fell upon the area.

  But the calm was just an illusion. It didn't last.

  I dragged my goods into the shop and Pillar helped me take them up the stairs. Together we stored the purchases in the kitchen. I noticed that Pillar had brought a pile of tapers with him. They sat in a heap on the kitchen table. I glanced at him.

  'I don't want us to be left without light,' he said.

  For the first time I saw something behind Pillar's eyes that I could not fathom. It was more than fear, more than concern. It was only in the days to come that I began to understand what I saw. It was an awareness that he had no choice. He was powerless to change what was happening.

  I didn't ask what was wrong; I simply nodded and, leaving Pillar to finish his task, went back downstairs to help Quinn.

  Minutes later, the door to the shop burst open and all the candles we'd made over the last two weeks were sold in less than an hour. I'd never seen anything like it. The shop counter was four deep with desperate people shouting their orders. We could hardly keep up. People I had thought kind pushed their way to the front, demanding to be served, snatching products from others, and eve
n offering to pay more than they were worth.

  I understood their alarm. If they were to be locked away for a period of time, not knowing whether they had contracted this deadly disease, they wanted to be able to light their enforced darkness. Afraid and saddened at what I witnessed, I handed over candles and accepted coin as fast and as methodically as I could.

  When the last candle sold, Pillar ushered out the remaining few customers, closed the door and latched it. He then sank back against it in relief.

  The knocking started a few minutes later. Pillar yelled that there was no more stock left but they refused to go and began pounding on the door. It was only when the bells in the basilica tolled that the people finally went away.

  'What do the bells mean?' I asked.

  'The curfew has officially started,' said Pillar.

  'Either that,' said Quinn into her mug, her voice low and hollow, 'or someone is dead.'

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Morto Assiderato

  DEATH DESCENDED UPON THE CITY.

  After the warning was issued, there was a brief moment of silence before mayhem erupted. Terrified people rushed to stockpile supplies for the days or weeks ahead. Those who could afford to left the city, and their carts rumbled through the salizzada and along the calles. The canals were cluttered with sandolis, traghettos and gondolas, all laden with people and their chattels. They were headed for the supposed safety of the mainland settlement near the Limen, where many believed the clean air of the farmlands and mountains would ward off the mystery sickness. Nobiles, their families in tow, departed in their ships, leaving their casas in the care of their servants. Even the Doge sought shelter in the bucintoro, his huge ceremonial ship. It was rowed into the middle of the lagoon and anchored.

  With the Doge fleeing, the padres could no longer reassure those who remained. Panic took over. Doors and windows were shuttered; folk withdrew.

  It took less than three days for the sickly smell of death to begin to linger in the air. Smoke obscured the skyline as the houses of the dead were put to the torch, the controlled burning adding to the heat and claustrophobic feel of the city.

  An unearthly quiet lay like a thick blanket over the region, all but smothering the distant cries – cries that indicated someone else had succumbed to the illness. The authorities might not have officially declared it a plague, but everyone treated it that way. Rumours about its sudden arrival and possible origins spread quickly and dominated the conversations that still took place through walls and over rooftops. No-one could make sense of it – there were no signs, no warnings, just a rapid change in a person's breathing and the colour of their skin, followed by a ghastly death. It had even been given a name, the Morto Assiderato – 'frozen to death'.

  Tallow couldn't bear it, this morbid waiting game. For that's what it was. Like one of the Doge's lotteries, the sickness would either arrive at your door or bypass it. No-one could prevent it. They were all, regardless of beliefs or attitude, potential victims.

  Forbidden from using her talents, but unable to sit in the kitchen and watch Quinn downing mug after mug of vino or Pillar clutching his talisman while muttering prayers under his breath, Tallow fled to the rooftop. Day after day she sat in any patches of shade she could find, whispering to Cane, listening to the talk of their neighbours carrying over the walls, planning what she would do when this was all over and she could see Dante again.

  At least she could breathe on the roof, even if the air was tainted with the fetid breath of death and decay. It wasn't as cloying as listening to Quinn's dire predictions. Up there she had a sense of freedom and choice, as false as it was.

  Tallow huddled against the sides of the rooftop one morning, gazing over the city. She absent-mindedly stroked Cane, her fingers pulling the knots out of his fur. He lay at her feet and panted. Though the sun was not long over the horizon, it was already hot. Distant steeples shimmered in the growing haze. The plague thrived in heat – she'd heard Quinn say it. Would this disease, brought in as it was by the cold, do so as well? As if in answer to her thoughts, another cry sounded, a long, plaintive wail followed by angry outbursts loud enough for her to hear every utterance.

  'Carlo, no! God, no! Spare him, please!'

  The cry was soon joined by other voices.

  Tallow's heart contracted. She knew little Carlo, the butcher's boy. No more than five years old, he used to skip stones along the canal.

  It had taken less than a week for the sickness to reach her street. It spread by unnatural and malicious means and there was nothing she could do about it, no-one she could tell.

  Irrespective of the heat, she pulled Cane into her lap and held him close.

  When Pillar found her a few minutes later, she hadn't moved.

  'Tallow!' called Pillar from the trapdoor. He looked around the roof, as if afraid the disease might suddenly crawl over the ledge and claim him. 'Mamma and I think you should come inside now.'

  Tallow raised her head. 'Why? So it doesn't get me?'

  'Tallow,' he pleaded.

  She sighed and letting go of Cane, rose to her feet, brushing her trousers. Another wail sounded.

  'Carlo –' Tallow began, glancing over the ledge. Four houses away; only twenty people between them and death.

  'We heard,' said Pillar gravely. 'The dottore tells us that so far, seventeen people in the quartiere have died. Ten times that many have been struck down in this sestiere. Carlo is simply another.' He shook his head sadly.

  Tallow was shocked by how quickly the disease spread. Each day, the toll doubled. 'That many already,' she whispered, looking down onto the fondamenta. How many had the ghostly beings touched?

  'And more to come, I'm afraid. Come on. Let's get you inside.'

  Every night, the local dottore, wearing his hawk-like mask and accompanied by two young padres from the seminary, would knock at each house in the quartiere to ask how the residents were faring. He would offer herbs and potions that everyone knew were ineffective, but most took anyway. It was the dottore who knew who had succumbed and who hadn't. Those with illness in the house woke the next day to find their front door marked with a red cross.

  The sign of death.

  Until now, there had been no marks on the doors along their canal, but that was about to change. Soon, the sexton would stride past Carlo's home and utter his sunset command: Bring out your dead. Tallow couldn't accept that. She wouldn't.

  'Pillar –' Tallow began, pausing beside him at the trapdoor. 'Can't I do something?'

  'No, Tallow,' said Pillar firmly, recognising the determined jut of her chin. He pushed her through the door and followed her down the stairs. 'It's too late for that. You can't risk leaving the house. And anyway, you're not a dottore. How could you help?'

  Tallow shrugged. 'I don't know. I just feel I could do something – anything rather than sitting here listening to the ever-growing tally of the sick and dying. You've heard them – this sickness isn't natural. Maybe, with my ... talents ...' She waved her hands around in frustration. 'I can't stand it, not knowing if or when.' She flopped onto her bed. Visions of grey arms and mouths hovered in her mind's eye.

  Pillar hesitated. 'Tallow ...' She turned her head to look at him. 'There is something I think you should know.'

  Tallow pushed her glasses onto the bridge of her nose. 'Yes?'

  Pillar swallowed, summoning his courage. He'd kept the news to himself since last night and wasn't sure how to share it. But he wanted to tell Tallow before his mother did. 'It's about the Chandlers Quartiere.'

  She sat bolt upright. 'Yes?'

  'You were already in bed when the dottore came last night. He told us that he'd heard it has been hit very hard. Entire calles have been wiped out – everyone. Only a few people have survived. And they don't hold out much hope for them.'