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sigh and rolled up his sleeves to scrub his hands and arms.
    And, as it often did of late, his mind drifted towards his young apprentice. Pillar knew it was pointless worrying. For the moment, he couldn't change anything. It was only a week since Tallow had emerged from the attic. It had taken four days for the bruises to fade to a pale yellow, the cut on his cheek and the split lip to mend enough to pass for rough play.
    Pillar was grateful that no-one seemed to notice that Tallow never joined the gangs of youths who would occasionally spill onto the fondamenta, engrossed in their games – pretending to be soldiers, rolling hoops and chasing each other through the rami. Or, if they did, they never said so openly. Instead, they would mutter, laugh and empathise with Pillar about Tallow's diminutive size, his slender arms and legs, and the acute shyness that meant he always had a downturned face and buried chin. They would reassure him with tales of their own progeny's late development. Pillar always felt uneasy during these moments, and not just because Tallow never mixed with any of the quartiere's children. That was dangerous in ways that made comments about his size, scrapes and bruises insignificant. Worse still was the guilt that always attended these conversations, settling like a mantle upon his square shoulders.
    Thank God Tallow healed quickly; he always had. So Pillar's remorse could fade into the background until the next time.
    As usual, Quinn appeared to have forgotten or put aside her anger towards the boy; even so, she was adamant that Tallow was not to go near the workshop, let alone any wax. So, while she tended to their meagre business in the shop, she found chores for him to do – things that wouldn't be affected by what she referred to as Tallow's curse. She had him fetching water or changing the sawdust that coated the shop floor – anything that involved tools or an intermediary and prevented Tallow from coming into direct contact with an object. For it wasn't just the candles Tallow made that carried within them something of the boy, but over the last few weeks, almost all the other things he touched as well.
    When Quinn couldn't think of anything else for him to do she let Tallow run some basic errands, such as fetching food and drink for the evening meal. Making sure he would never handle the produce, she gave him a large hemp bag and insisted that he make the shopkeepers place the items in there. Under strict instructions to talk to no-one and to keep his face hidden, Tallow would only be gone a half-hour or so at a time.
    Pillar didn't like it. But he justified his inaction by telling himself that it was not good business to leave the shop unattended as they had done in the past. And there was no doubt Tallow looked better for having been outdoors. His eyes were brighter and his skin not quite so sallow. It saddened Pillar to see how thin he was. But what did he expect? A growing body needed more than bread, cheese and the occasional pigeon or bowl of watery soup to survive.
    One part of Pillar knew it was doing the lad good to get out on his own; after all, it was unnatural for a boy that age to be deprived of company – any company. But another part of him was apprehensive. An overriding sense of unease clung to him that he couldn't shake. Scooping handfuls of water on to his face, he castigated himself for thinking that way instead of being grateful that Tallow was proving his use in other ways. Reaching for the towel, he dried himself, watching his mother busying herself at the table. Why, she was actually humming.
    'Where's Tallow now?' asked Pillar, hanging the towel on a hook and picking up the basin of water.
    His mother watched him cross the room. 'Running another errand for me.'
    Pillar opened the window and, with the ease of years of practice, heaved the dirty water into the canal. 'But Mamma, we agreed. Once a day at the most. It's quiet in the afternoons, but now –' He put down the