learn and understand, but not to act. Not yet. To move too soon would be to put Tallow and the entire prophecy in danger. He didn’t quite understand why, but he knew, in his heart and head, that he had to obey. To do otherwise was to risk Tallow and he would not, could not do that.
As if aware of his thoughts, Tallow turned slightly. He caught his breath and was reminded of the first time he saw her, of the moment he recognised who she was, all those months ago.
Despairing after Katina was taken back into the Limen, he lost himself in a fugue of drink and self-pity. Disobeying explicit orders, he’d taken advantage of Carnivale, and after purchasing one of the large masks that covered his entire face, a bauta, and a cloak, he’d gone to the Chandlers Quartiere.
Roaming up the calle at the back of his grandfather’s workshop, he’d seen familiar faces as well as the usual masked revellers, drinking, dancing, running in and out of each other’s premises with abandon. But he’d seen no sign of his own family. Flickering lights in the upper storeys revealed they were home, but no-one was celebrating. What did they have to be joyous about?
Sitting in the local taverna, he heard snatches of conversation, rumours. The Macelleria family hadn’t been the same since Renzo’s death. Business was failing: time in the Doge’s dungeons had changed his uncles. Observing the activity around him, he felt remote, distant. This was his neighbourhood; here were people he’d grown up with, rituals he knew and loved and yet … Part of him wanted to snatch off his mask and declare himself, announce his return and damn the consequences. But another told him not to be a fool. What would it achieve anyway? He was dead and gone. He no longer belonged here and, as the night progressed, he was no longer sure he wanted to. What could he do anyway? He’d simply be arrested, bring more trouble and grief upon his family. He was a Bond Rider now and had a pledge to fulfil. Tallow’s face appeared briefly among his crowded thoughts.
Thrusting the drink he’d ordered away from him, he rose and, fumbling in his purse, laid soldi on the bar. Then it occurred to him. There was something he could do to help.
Leaving the taverna, he almost ran down the calle. Dodging the people dancing in the campo, he turned into the main street, the salizzada of his quartiere, where the entrance to Zia Gaia’s shop lay. The salizzada was thick with folk making their way to the canal. He loitered, peering in shop windows, pretending to be drunker than he was. One group tried to take him with them, but he shook them off brusquely. They laughed and let him be.
Finally, the salizzada emptied. He paused outside Zia Gaia’s shop window. Reaching for the top of the door with one hand and placing the other on the handle, he slowly entered, his fingers catching the string that pulled the little bell before it could ring. Shutting the door behind him with care, he paused a moment while he grew accustomed to the dark. His breathing filled his ears. He saw the shelves were stacked with little paper-wrapped bars of soap. The old abacus sat atop the bench. A small bunch of flowers sagged in a vase. It pained him to see everything so familiar and yet so different.
Shaking himself, he did what he came for. Behind the counter, he found the box where Zia Gaia kept the day’s takings. It was, as he suspected, empty. Pulling out his purse, he quietly took out every last soldi. He would simply replace them, as Debora had taught him, with another purse from an unsuspecting merchant in the mercato. He tipped them into the tin, wincing at the noise they made. He pushed the lid back and returned the box to its former position. The coins jangled as the box hit the wood. He waited, listening.
There was a creak on the floor above.
He inwardly cursed.
‘Buona sera?’ called a voice he knew and loved. Zia Gaia.
He shot to the door, dragging it open. The bell tinkled sweetly. He turned just as a shadow appeared on the stairs. The candle she was holding revealed the top half of her aged face as she bent to see who intruded. He caught his breath and then ran, the door slamming behind him. As it did, he felt sure he