He gave my question some consideration. ‘No. It has nothing to do with your sex. It’s because of what you are. The gifts of an Estrattore are … special. They’re not meant to be used in the way I believe the Maleovellis want to use them. The way they want to use you.’
‘You don’t think I have some say over the matter?’
He seemed surprised by my question. ‘No, I don’t. Do you?’
I spluttered at the honesty of his reponse. ‘No. Not really.’
‘Good. I didn’t think you were stupid.’
Before I could reply, he continued. ‘So, whether we like it or not, for a few hours a day, we’re stuck with each other. We’d better make the most of it, hey?’ He chuckled at the expression on my face. ‘Now, before I begin to tell you what I know, I want you to show me what you can do. Show me what you used to do with the candles.’ He slid one of the creamy tapers towards me. ‘Go on,’ he urged as I hesitated.
It wasn’t working with the candle that gave me pause. The familiarity of its form and texture excited me. It was what Baroque had said. He wasn’t being paid, he was being coerced; he was not a willing agent of the Maleovellis. For some reason, this made me see him in a different light. Perhaps I’d judged him too harshly.
I slowly picked up the candle and turned it over in my hand, feeling the smoothness of the wax. I held it to my nose. Beeswax. ‘These are good quality,’ I said.
‘Sì,’ agreed Baroque. ‘I was to buy the best.’
I twirled it in my fingers. ‘What would you like me to show you exactly?’
Baroque considered this for a moment. ‘What was it you used to do with the ones that were so successful in the Candlemakers Quartiere?’
‘Without going into too much detail, I used to infuse them with happiness.’
Baroque snorted. ‘Really? That was it?’
‘Sì, basically,’ I said sharply, my cheeks colouring. His derision bothered me. He hadn’t seen what they could do, the contentment they brought to people. ‘But remember, I would make them from scratch. I was able to hide the strength of the extraction. I’m not practised in changing candles that someone else has made. This will take time to get right.’ I held up the taper. ‘I will have to be very careful. I will make many mistakes.’
He weighed my words. ‘But you can do it?’
‘Sì, but it will be strong – maybe overpowering.’
‘What harm can happiness do?’
I recalled my early efforts – the happiness of the alchemist and his wife, of Francesca, the fruiterer’s daughter Lucia and her amore. I almost recoiled. ‘You may be surprised to learn, Baroque Scarpoli, it can do a great deal of harm. Excess of emotion is not good.’ Dante flashed into my mind. I pushed him away.
‘Ah.’ Baroque lowered his voice. ‘Then you have already learnt the most valuable lesson an Esttrattore can teach. What they used to both practise and preach. Excess in anything is to be avoided. Something I am yet to learn.’ He patted his belly with a wry smile.
I felt a rush of warmth. The Estrattore would teach such things?
Sensing my glow of pleasure, Baroque smiled, revealing his gold teeth. I found myself responding.
‘How do you know this?’ I asked quietly.
‘The resident expert has not told you?’ He jerked his head upstairs. I knew he referred to Jacopo.
I giggled. ‘No. Should he?’
‘I would have thought it was the most important thing about Estrattore you have to know.’ He saw the look on my face. ‘I was a spy, Tarlo. I had to know about Estrattore so that when I was asked, I could track and capture them.’
‘Did you? Find any, that is.’
His eyes took on a faraway look. ‘Once, I thought I had.’
And –’ I urged.
‘Funny. We were always told to look at the eyes. The eyes were what gave your lot away.’ His own gravitated to mine and then away again. ‘But this man I found, this man I caught, couldn’t even see.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was accused of being an Estrattore. I was sent, along with some soldiers, to bring him to the Doge. In our excitement, we didn’t listen to the pleas of his daughter. Not until it was too late.’
‘Too late?’
‘It was only after he was executed in the piazza that we realised he was blind. What we thought were the silver eyes