Maleovellis track Tallow, his lessons, what she created and how the candles were used. He also shared with Dante what Tallow had been ordered to do – and his fears about this. There was one thing he chose to remain silent about: suspicions around what had happened to her at Casa Moronisini and Tallow’s retribution.
Finally, after Dante had questioned him, and Baroque answered, they sat back in their chairs. More men poured into the taverna and the smell of food reminded Baroque that he hadn’t eaten. The vino sat heavy in his head and stomach. He looked at Dante, who was frowning into a corner, processing what he’d been told.
The chandler had changed. Confidence oozed from him. The boy had become a man. His black, flashing eyes and astute mind missed nothing. While they had come to this point from different sides and with opposing intentions, they now shared the same purpose: Tallow.
Baroque knew he’d finally found an ally.
‘You will help me, then?’ asked Baroque finally, unable to bear the silence.
Dante turned to him slowly. ‘Was there ever any question, Signor? Sì. Where Tallow is concerned, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I am yours.’ He looked around, aware suddenly of the extra bodies, the loud voices. He rose. ‘I will have food sent to my room. We need to make plans and quickly. And you need to get back to Nobiles’ Rise. It would not do for the Maleovellis to discover what you have done, where you have come. It might force their hand.’
Baroque shook his head. ‘No. They need her for now. But after the deed is done, then we must be ready to act.’
Dante headed for the stairs. ‘Come then, we’ve no time to waste. Not any more.’
Watching Dante take the stairs two at a time, his sword swinging by his side, Baroque dared to believe.
SIGNOR PUGLIESI, AN OLD REGULAR who had slowly moved to be nearer the fire, heard most of what Baroque and Dante discussed. When they left, he grabbed his stick and heaved himself to his feet. Leaving the required soldi on the tabletop, he hobbled to the door and out into the campo. Patrons moved out of his way; children were careful not to knock the frail, blind man over. The wind whipped his cloak around his legs, his thin hose inadequate for keeping out the chills that wracked his skinny frame. He would need new clothes if he were to survive this winter. Well, now he would have the means. A big fat purse for any information; that was the promise he’d been given. Now, he had a great deal.
With the knowledge of a lifetime, he made his way down the numerous rami that mazed the quartiere. Sight was unnecessary when smells and sounds and the feel of the crumbling walls, with their pocks and raised patterns of mildew could direct him as well as any map. He finally came to the apartment he’d been looking for. In an old, ramshackle building owned by a madam who kept her four prostitutes on a tight leash were rooms for rent. In the topmost one dwelled the drunken Bond Rider.
Admitted by the madam with a screech of disappointment, Signor Pugliesi climbed the three flights slowly, his breath coming in gasps by the end, and rapped on the door with his cane.
It took the Bond Rider some time to open it. The fumes of vino almost knocked Signor Pugliesi off his feet. Shuffling past the Bond Rider, who was scratching and belching, he waited till the door was shut and then in a quiet, steady voice repeated everything he’d heard.
If anyone was surprised when they didn’t see Signor Pugliesi for a few days, no one said. Not at first. But when his body was discovered floating against a set of water-stairs just outside the marketplace, no-one could understand how cautious old Pugliesi had been so careless as to slip and strike his head.
They toasted him that night in the Taverna di Segretezza and then barely mentioned him ever again.
WHEN I ARRIVED IN THE WORKSHOP Baroque was not there. His bed was empty, his coat absent from the hook. I didn’t wait for him. Instead, as a limpid sun rose over the city and a cold wind blasted through the courtyard, I began to make the candle that would kill the Doge.
Instead of simply extracting and distilling into an existing candle, I made this one from scratch. In the small grate that Baroque used