Tallow by Karen Brooks Read Free Book Online Page B

there was a war, I wondered how Pillar and Quinn would hide me now I was of an age to fight.
    But before I could focus on this thought, another conversation caught my attention. A woman's voice, clear but quiet, was asking questions of Signor Vincenzo.
    Tall and lean, she wore what appeared to be a tight-fitting skirt and a fitted, functional shirt. It was hard to place her trade or her sestiere. I thought she might be an artist, or perhaps a mercenary. I had never seen anyone like her before. She leant casually against the bar, the tension in her body belying her apparent poise.
    I tried not to be obvious in my scrutiny, risking tilting my hat so I could study her better. As if aware of my interest, she turned in my direction and her voice became audible to me as she spoke to the taverna proprietor. I quickly buried my chin in my chest but listened intently. Her questions made me want to draw closer. It took all my willpower to remain still.
    'I have spent so many years searching; I am at my wit's end. Do you know of anyone, anyone at all who may know of whom I am speaking? For whom I am looking?'
    Signor Vincenzo frowned. 'No, I don't think so ...' His voice petered out. Like most of the people in the quartiere, he was reluctant to talk about his neighbours with strangers, and this woman was clearly a stranger.
    I couldn't help it. I slowly turned towards her. Almost immediately, I noticed something unexpected. It wasn't just her appearance; it was something intangible, outlandish even. I'd never come across it before. She was like an unfinished painting, or a candle without a wick. I don't know if anyone else was aware of it, but it was obvious to me. I found it hard to look away.
    'I am here to reunite this child with its past,' she said.
    Hope began to blossom in my chest. Could it be?
    A finger trailed under her eyes, wiping away tears I did not see but heard in her voice. 'Can you help me? Anything you can tell me, anything at all, will be of value.' She leaned towards Signor Vincenzo. 'You do not know what I risk coming here.' Her eyes darted over her shoulder to the men lounging in the chairs.
    I held my breath.
    Signor Vincenzo started to bluster. He pulled a cloth out of his pocket and began to scrub the counter in small, busy circles. 'Ah, Signora, I am sorry to hear this. Today must be the day for lost children. First the Doge's little grandson and now this child you speak of. Perhaps where one is lost,' he indicated the soldiers, 'another can be found? Is it a boy you look for, or a girl? You have not made that clear.'
    'No, I haven't. It's a girl,' said the woman slowly.
    My heart contracted into a tight ball. I forgot to breathe.
    'And how old did you say she is?'
    'I didn't. But she would be fourteen, almost fifteen, by now.' She bowed her head and made a show of reminiscing. 'Such a long time to be apart from your family, don't you think?'
    'Indeed,' said Vincenzo, pausing in his cleaning. 'A girl, you say? I'm sorry. I don't know any young women that age. Not now my own family has grown up.' He glanced around the taverna and, spying the person he was after, raised his voice. 'Enrico, do you know of any young girls around here?'
    Enrico manoeuvred his way through the tables and deposited the soldiers' empty glasses on the bar. He was standing between me and the woman. My face grew hotter by the second. I quietly exhaled and tried to melt into the bar. The murmuring of the soldiers formed an uneasy descant to my thoughts.
    'No, Zio. I don't mix with ragazze. I prefer women myself.' I could see his shoulders straighten as he thumped his chest.
    Signor Vincenzo clicked his tongue in disgust. He rolled his eyes and spread his arms. 'I'm sorry I cannot be of more help, Signora, but it's hard when all I have working for me are relatives who are also oversexed buffoons.' He flicked a cloth at his nephew, who jumped out of reach with a chortle of glee.
    The woman shrugged affably and turned to study the occupants of