Votive (6 page)

He tossed back the vino quickly, pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel. There were many worse things to be than a teacher – an insegnante.

Placing the glass on the crowded table beside him, he knocked over a large book. It clattered to the floor. No-one picked it up. There were so many already scattered at intervals under tables, beside chairs, one more made no difference. Baroque watched as the pages fluttered, falling open on one covered with foreign script – from Kroatia, by the form of the letters. No doubt, another of Signor Maleovelli’s expensive tomes on the Estrattore. The man was obsessed.

He swallowed and raised his head. He was not beaten, or coerced, not really; but he would allow them to believe that he was … for now.

‘I have often fancied myself a teacher,’ he said.

‘We have a deal then, Baroque. A colleganza?’

Baroque bowed deeply. ‘Sì, Signor Maleovelli, Signorina. We do.’

‘Excellent. I will ask Jacopo to draw up the paperwork and you can sign it tonight. Understand,’ continued Signor Ezzelino, ‘like all our … arrangements … this is confidential.’

‘I would not have assumed it to be any other way.’

‘You will live here, in our casa.’ Ezzelino laughed at the expression on Baroque’s face. ‘For this particular task, you will remain under our roof. We will provide you with food, lodging and all the materials you require. You may fetch the remainder of your belongings over the next couple of days, after you undertake another task for me.’

Baroque’s heart sank. Staying in the casa, now that would curtail his freedom. And what about his promise to Katina? Now he’d have to meet with her. Remaining in one place made him a sitting target. He would have to work around his fresh obligations to the Maleovellis, fit in time to find out about Tallow. Get the Bond Rider off his back as quickly as possible. ‘Grazie,’ was all he said, dipping his head slowly while dizzying thoughts crashed against each other in his mind.

‘Believe me, Baroque –’ Signor Ezzelino gestured for him to stand and precede him out the door ‘– in the not too distant future, the thanks will be all ours.’ He paused in the hallway, waiting for Baroque to join him.

‘Now, come and meet your pupil.’

H
AFEZA MADE ONE LAST ADJUSTMENT
to Tallow’s gown and then stepped away. Satisfaction shaped her lips. She did a little pirouette with her finger. Obediently, Tallow spun around.

It was all Tallow could do not to say something sardonic. Whereas a leisurely bath had been a luxury she’d never enjoyed before and, until the water grew cold, didn’t want to end, being dressed as a woman for the first time in her life had offered her an entirely different set of experiences. She wasn’t sure she liked them very much.

Enduring Hafeza’s prodding and poking for the last forty minutes, Tallow had been careful to keep her arms out of the way and do as she was instructed. Dried and made to stand still on the rug, she’d been given another shift to put on. This one was gossamer-light and even softer than the nightgown and was edged in delicate lace. It was made of the finest material; it had a very low neck, no sleeves, and fell to just below her waist.

Then, Hafeza had shaken out a pair of pantaloons in the same fabric. Gathered at the waist and ankles, they were quite large, and Tallow had laughed at the absurdity of them. That was, until a piece of stiff material with leather
laces woven through holes made along the edges had been wrapped around her waist and pulled into submission against her body. Suddenly, her breasts were pushed together and spilled over the top of the corset, the neckline of the camicia displaying them perfectly. She had a waist that curved in a sinuous wave before flaring into trim hips.

‘This is so uncomfortable, Hafeza!’ she gasped. ‘Do you have to pull it so tight? Why do I have to wear this?’ When Hafeza ignored her constant grumbling, she became cross.

‘If this is what a woman endures, I’d rather be a man!’

Hafeza stopped and shook a finger at Tallow, but her eyes were kind. ‘Well, I would,’ said Tallow. ‘I never had to worry about all this. I just threw on my leggings, shirt and sometimes a vest. I certainly didn’t wear undergarments. What a nuisance they’re going to be!’

Hafeza rolled her eyes and continued with her task, helping Tallow step into a rather sumptuous dress before lacing it at the back and adjusting the sleeves.

Only a few sounds escaped Tallow as her unruly black hair was parted, combed and teased into a style. Pins were dragged across her scalp, causing her to screw up her face and once to cry out. Hafeza surprised her by dropping a kiss upon her head. She bit her lip as, finally, earrings were clipped onto her tiny lobes and a strand of pearls clasped at her throat. Their silky coolness was refreshing. Only then did Hafeza allow her to see what she looked like.

Tallow gazed at her reflection in the large mirror that Hafeza carried in from behind a screen in the far corner and propped against a wall. Tallow had never seen herself in a mirror before, let alone in a dress. It was as if a stranger stood before her.

She gazed at the picture she presented, her large silver eyes opening in wonder. She took in the beautiful deep blue gown that, just like Giaconda’s, was cinched in below
her breasts. The neckline was scooped, exposing both the creamy edges of her camica and the cleavage she’d once wondered if she’d ever have, let alone display. The whiteness of her skin contrasted beautifully with the midnight colour of the frock. Embroidered around the neckline and upon the voluminous sleeves were cascades of silver swirls, which served to highlight her eyes. Her hair had been swept softly back from her face and into a tiny bun, piled onto her head in an ordered yet gentle way and adorned with pretty jewels that sparkled as she twisted first one way and then the other. Her hair framed her forehead, accenting her eyes.

Her eyes. She had never seen them before, seen what others saw when they looked at her. Now she knew why they recoiled and then stared, unable to tear themselves away. She took a step towards the mirror and closely studied the face of this familiar stranger.

Within the depths of her mercurial gaze she saw another Tallow and then another and another, all reflected back to her. All standing in a gorgeous sapphire gown, all with soft, clean skin, full pink lips and winged brows set in an angular face. But it was the huge silver orbs with slightly darker centres that perturbed her most. She was able to see that she was unusual-looking, mysterious even – except for her eyes. They were terrible to behold. They exposed her difference as surely as if she were the colour of Hafeza. And yet …

She leant closer. She saw her other self tip forward and fingers touch her face, exploring its planes and smoothness until they rested in the outer corner of her eyes. She pulled the ends, stretching the skin. They were alarming. Behind her, she caught Hafeza’s face in the looking glass and watched as she became aware of Tallow’s fleeting look. Fascination was replaced by a smile of such warmth, Tallow
could only respond. The black woman gave a series of eager nods, waiting for a sign of approval.

Tallow stood back and turned from side to side. The dress swished. Yes, she looked nice, she really did. The gown was magnificent, even though there were stitches undone and some of the embroidery was frayed. She was unrecognisable as the boy from the Candlemakers Quartiere – Pillar’s little apprentice. But she was still, and always would be, an Estrattore.

Hafeza didn’t understand. Not really. Her skin might be the colour of cafe, but there were others like her in Serenissima and in Vista Mare. Tallow had no-one on this side of the Limen. She’d never fit in, no matter how they dressed her, regardless of what costume they made her don or part they expected her to play. Her eyes would always betray her. She was no better off than she was before. But Hafeza did not need to know this.

Her arm dropped and she turned her back on her other self.

‘Grazie mille,’ she said more curtly than she intended. ‘What now?’

Disappointment made Hafeza’s face collapse. Instantly, Tallow felt terrible.

‘No, no, Hafeza. It’s not you, what you’ve done to me is … amazing. I never thought I could look like this. Like a … woman. Did you know I have spent all my life as a boy?’ She tweaked a lobe, remembering the day the blood of the pledge stones forever altered her ears, and then smoothed the front of the gown, unconsciously thrusting her breasts forward.

Hafeza folded her arms and arched a brow.

‘Oh, of course you do. I’ve done nothing but talk about that the whole time, haven’t I?’

Hafeza grinned.

‘I don’t know what to say. I … I look and feel so different. Grazie, Hafeza. Grazie mille. I should have thanked you immediately. I didn’t expect –’ she indicated the ensemble ‘– I had no idea …’ Hafeza’s grin widened. ‘It’s lovely. I’ve never worn underwear or a dress before. Or jewellery.’

Hafeza made a strange noise.

Tallow realised she was stifling a laugh. She arched a brow. ‘Was it that obvious?’

Hafeza folded her arms, rested her head against one shoulder and stared.

Tallow laughed too. ‘I guess it was also evident I wasn’t used to bathing.’

Hafeza pinched her nostrils and pulled a disagreeable face. Tallow began to giggle. ‘Well, even I know I don’t smell bad anymore. Now that I could get used to. The dressing like this, however …’ She clasped her waist with both hands, feeling the bones that lined the corset and gave her the hourglass shape digging into her sides. ‘This I’m not so sure about.’ She spun back to the mirror, the dress following her movements. ‘I guess it might not be so bad …’

Hafeza tapped her on the shoulder and indicated for her to sit on a small stool that she pulled out from under the table. Tallow obeyed, inhaling sharply as her flesh pinched. She had to sit completely straight – the corset would allow for no slumping.

In her hands Hafeza held a pair of shoes. She bent down and pushed the dress away from Tallow’s feet and slipped them on. They were a little big. Made of a similar fabric to her dress, they covered her entire foot. A small wooden heel would give her a bit of height but make walking a chore. She wondered how Giaconda managed her zoccoli, the towering shoes with the great wooden heels that some noblewomen and courtesans wore and which made them
appear so tall. Giaconda evidently favoured the additional height the shoes bestowed.

Hafeza stretched out her hand and helped Tallow to her feet. Unaccustomed to even the slight heel, she tottered for a moment before regaining her balance. Holding her fingers lightly, Hafeza promenaded her around the room, allowing her time to get used to them. The wood clacked noisily against the floor.

After two circuits, Hafeza escorted her to the door. She put one hand on the doorknob and then turned to Tallow, eyebrows raised.

Tallow took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. ‘I’m ready.’ She nodded to Hafeza.
As ready as I ever will be.

Hafeza turned the handle and pushed. With a flurry of her arms and a sweeping bow, she ushered Tallow out of the room and into a long, narrow corridor.

As they moved along the hallway that divided the first storey of the Maleovellis’ casa, Tallow took note of the surroundings. Mould had climbed the paintwork with ruinous fingers, while some of the cornices had all but crumbled. A few tapestries dangled from carved wooden rods, their ends tasselled and ragged. Some of them looked very old, the images fading into pastel blurs. Many of them were of unicorns or knights from lands far away slaying huge coiled serpents that breathed fire. There were a number of gilt-edged mirrors, blighted with cracks or dark spots, from which Tallow caught a distorted glimpse of herself, taller, more colourful and undoubtedly female. She felt like she was one of the women from the tapestries come to life, woven into a story for which she didn’t know the ending.

Her heart thudded in her chest and she worked hard to still the shaking in her hands, clenching them against her sides. At least her arm was no longer a problem. The unmistakeable aroma of beeswax tinged with an antediluvian
odour filled her nostrils. Whether this rose from the canals or was a part of the ancient casa itself she could not tell. But it made her think of secrets and corruption all at once.

Dripping candles flickered above them and, despite the barrenness of the corridor, Tallow marvelled at the luxury of burning so many at one time and during the day. They passed by closed doors and a huge staircase that both ascended and descended into dark spaces.

They approached what Tallow knew was the portego – the major room of any nobile’s casa. Quinn would often snidely refer to their kitchen as their portego or the first floor as the piano nobile as a way of reminding Tallow of their place in the Serenissian hierarchy. They might have been citizens of the canal-city, but they were poor and lowly craftspeople only – mere popolani.

Hafeza slowed her pace and, as they reached the doorway, held up her hand. Tallow obediently paused.

Stepping to one side, Hafeza knocked sharply on the frame.

‘Ah, Hafeza, our guest is ready?’ Giaconda’s voice was accompanied by the rustling of her gown. All too soon, the doorway was filled with her presence. As she saw Tallow, her eyes widened and colour flooded her cheeks. ‘My, my, you have done very well, Hafeza. You have certainly exceeded my expectations.’ She looked Tallow up and down. ‘Your arm? You have removed the bandage?’ She raised a querying brow.

A small voice inside Tallow warned her not to say what she had done; what she could do. ‘It wasn’t that bad after all,’ she answered.

‘Ah.’ Giaconda’s eyes lingered on Tallow for a few seconds longer. ‘Is that so?’ She turned to the slave. ‘Now, off to the mercato with you. I have left a list of our requirements with Salzi. Be sharp.’

Hafeza bowed and silently slipped away through the maze of corridors and into another part of the casa. For a moment, Tallow wished she could go with her.

‘Well, Tallow, I don’t need to tell you how lovely you look. Papa will be pleased.’

Tallow wasn’t sure if she was meant to reply. ‘Grazie,’ she said. Giaconda laughed.

‘What are you waiting for, Gia? Bring the ragazza in,’ called another voice. Tallow recognised the familiar timbre of Ezzelino Maleovelli – the man with the eyes of a hunter. She repressed a shudder.

‘Coming, Papa!’ Giaconda held out her arm. ‘Please, allow me to escort you.’ Tallow rested her hand lightly on Giaconda’s glove. All at once, a melange of images collected in her mind. She saw satin sheets, creamy lace pillows, milky flesh, and long, raven hair spread over lush breasts. Men’s faces, their lips leering, their teeth full of food, their chins covered in grey stubble wobbling, ornate masks hanging askew, hairy hands and gnarled fingers groping, probing. Handsome, bare-chested men with thick hair appeared side-by-side with decrepit old men with sunken, loose paunches and bow legs. Soldi, golden ducats and silver lire poured through delicate fingers over dewy skin and dripped onto beds. She tried to draw away, but Giaconda prevented her by placing her other hand over Tallow’s and squeezing it tightly.

‘Stop that right now.’ Giaconda’s voice was low but deadly. Immediately, Tallow stopped extracting.

‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean …’

It had happened automatically – again. Her cheeks were aflame; she felt warm and uncomfortable. She wanted to wriggle out of Giaconda’s grasp but, strangely, she also wanted to pull the woman close to her and not let her go.

‘You are never to do that to me again, do you understand?’ Tallow could not mistake her words. ‘You are never to practise your arts upon me or Papa, Hafeza, or anyone under this roof, is that clear?’ She neither looked at Tallow nor sounded angry. Tallow simply nodded. ‘Good.’ She straightened herself and removed the restraining hand from over Tallow’s.

‘The moment we pass this threshold –’ she nodded towards the doorframe that separated the wood of the corridors from the elegant terrazzo flooring of the portego. ‘– you will no longer be Tallow Pelleta, the candlemaker’s apprentice, is that clear? It’s to be as if Tallow never existed.’

Tallow swallowed. ‘Sì. But … if I am no longer Tallow, who will I be?’

Giaconda turned to her then and, using one satin-bound finger, tilted Tallow’s chin so she could look her straight in the eye. ‘Someone completely different.’