by Lory Kaufman
"Your new clothes are down in the shop. I didn't want to bring them up in the straw. Come, my son, the Podesta's carriage will be here soon."
It all came back to Hansum in a rush. Today was the day to visit the palace and complete the contract for the lookers. As well, Shamira and Pan had secretly worked on plans for cannon and black powder. Not too advanced, but something to keep the Podesta's favor. And it wasn't only Hansum and the Master going to the palace. A letter came from the Baron, making the appointment for the meeting. In it Baron da Pontremoli had written, "During an earlier visit to your shop I was impressed with young Maruccio's talent for organization and his knowledge of letters. I would like to show him how to organize Master della Cappa's books to run what will most certainly be a larger business concern."
"Zippy," Lincoln had said, his chest puffing out.
And Shamira was also invited to view the Podesta's private art collection. She squealed, literally squealed, when she heard this.
"We must get a new dress for you," Guilietta exclaimed.
"Oh, can I, Master, can I?" Shamira begged, wide-eyed.
"Now I have two daughters to spoil and two daughters who will ruin me," Agistino laughed.
Hansum laughed even harder when he read out the end of the letter. "We shall send a carriage to bring you to the palace after first mass."
"A royal carriage?" the Signora shouted.
"Oh Papa, that's wonderful. Isn't that wonderful, Romero?" Guilietta said, looking at her secret fiancé from across the table.
***
Master della Cappa not only made good on his promise of a new dress for Shamira, he had the Satores make new clothes for everyone. As the family was waiting outside for the royal carriage, everybody laughed when Agistino said, "We all look pretty zippy."
The Master looked over at Hansum in his new outfit. His chausses were beige and his braies, mustard. He was also wearing a green jacket and new cap. The cap was brown felt with leather piping along the edge and a secret pouch for Pan. Guilietta and Shamira were fussing over Hansum, preening and straightening his collar. The Master frowned, a bit jealous of his little girl fussing over another man. Then he felt a fat, feminine hand at his lapels, straightening them. It was his wife. She patted him on the face.
"Never before did we supply royalty," she said. "Soon we'll have a carriage of our own."
"From your mouth to God's ears," Agistino answered. Then he did something he had not done in years. He gave his wife a kiss.
The Signora looked up at her husband and then over at Guilietta and Hansum.
"I like the orphan boy now," she said.
As the royal carriage rolled up, many neighbors ran out of their houses to take part in the excitement. The driver got out to open the passenger compartment's door and helped Agistino into the cab. Lincoln climbed up, holding a larger looker with a tripod they were bringing as a gift for the Podesta. Then Hansum climbed aboard, the cardboard tube with the secret plans under his arm.
The Signora and Guilietta waved enthusiastically as the carriage began to move. All the neighbors cheered. Both the Master and Hansum leaned out the window and blew kisses to their girls. Then they all sat back and reveled in their new situation.
"Life is good," the Master said, crossing himself.
***
"I had the strangest dream last night," Hansum said quietly to the two others. As the carriage trundled over the cobblestones, he whispered, "Guilietta, Pan and I were back home with my parents and Charlene. Everything was wonderful and we were all getting along. Then my mother asked me about History Camp and if I got it yet."
Hansum looked at Shamira and then Lincoln. Lincoln smiled a crooked smile, like the answer was obvious.
"Well?" Shamira asked.
"Well, what?" Hansum asked.
"Do you?"
- The end -
We hope you enjoyed
The LENS and the LOOKER.
If you would like to know what's next for
Hansum, Shamira, Lincoln and Pan,
look for Book #2 of the
Verona Trilogy,
The
BRONZE
and the
BRIMSTONE
This story shows what happens
when our three teens from the 24th-century
introduce advanced weaponry into 14th-century Italy.
Oh, Hansum and Guilietta's love story really heats up too.
Here are some
Excerpts
Here are a few exciting scenes from the continuation of Hansum, Shamira and Lincoln's adventure in fourteenth-century Verona, Italy.
Hansum and Guilietta's romance blossoms, but true love does not always run smoothly. Master della Cappa refuses to consent to their marriage. When he does, Guilietta runs out of the house in anger and Hansum runs after her:
"Guilietta, Guilietta, stop!" Hansum shouted as he chased his distraught lover. Guilietta slowed to a quick walk. Catching up to her and keeping pace, Hansum asked, "Why did you run away, Guilietta? Running away solves nothing."
"I could not stand it there," she said, furious. Hansum had never seen Guilietta angry.
"But where are you going, my love?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'll throw myself off the Navi Bridge."
"Guilietta, don't talk like that."
Guilietta stopped quickly and faced Hansum. Her face showed anger that shouldn't be on one so fair.
"Everything will be all right," he said. "It will all work out."
"How will it work out? You marry the Podesta's daughter and then my father gives me to some old butcher or miller?"
"I don't know. But I tell you, nothing will come out of you jumping off a bridge."
"Fat lot you care! Being offered the Podesta's Beatrice."
"Guilietta, it wasn't my idea. And I do care, my love. If anything ever happened to you, I don't know what I would do. I'd jump off that bridge right behind you."
"You would?" she squeaked, her eyes welling up with more tears.
"Guilietta, I love you." The two embraced in the street, then kissed. People passed, glancing at the two. Several little children laughed and danced around them, making kissing sounds.
Finally, Hansum said, "Come. Let's go home and talk to your father."
"No," Guilietta said. "I know my father." She took Hansum's hand and began to walk back in the direction they came. But at the first side street, Guilietta turned left, pulling Hansum with her.
"Where are we going?" Hansum asked. Guilietta didn't answer as she strode forth purposefully. "Guilietta, where are we going?"
"To see Father Lurenzano."
"Why?"
"To get married."
***
Married? "And who is Beatrice?" you ask? The Podesta's daughter? Yes, Podesta Mastino della Scalla believes that Hansum is a savant, a genius who has the secrets to advanced cannon and black powder, tools that will make him ruler of Europe. Of course, he doesn't know that it's Pan who, with his universal knowledge of the future, is advising Hansum. As the story goes on, Hansum is taken to a secluded estate in the country, to start producing cannons. While there, the Podesta, unaware of Hansum and Guilietta's secret marriage, introduces him to his own daughter:
Beatrice smiled at Hansum. Hansum nodded but was much more reserved. Finally Beatrice broke the silence.
"My father speaks highly of you, Signor. He says you are a great savant. I have always thought of savants as old and wizened. You are quite pleasant to look at."
"I am continually complimented by your father's attentions. I fear he exaggerates."
"She's given you a compliment, you ninny." Pan whispered. "You must compliment her back."
"Withal, Lady Beatrice. I think this room is more graced by your looks than mine."
"My father gave me one of your famous lookers. I have used it to spy on birds outside my window and at people in the market. It's great fun."
"The fame goes to Master della Cappa. It comes from his shop."
/> "Modesty again. I am not used to such as this from the young men I know."
"Perhaps they have nothing to be modest about."
"Si, but most have nothing to boast about either. And yet they do. Perhaps they should choose to boast about their modesty as you do."
Hansum couldn't help but smile. She had skewered him well with that one. He was finding it hard not to appreciate Beatrice's wit and poise. Knowing what the Podesta had on his mind, he had hoped Beatrice would be plain and boring. But she wasn't.
"I'm sorry you think my modesty a boast," Hansum said, "but how can a person take credit for their talents? One is born with them, like a man who can run fast or who can lift great weights."
"So, if you are not responsible for all the wonderful ideas you bring my father, where do they come from?"
Sparring with words was something Hansum always enjoyed, and irony was his favorite device.
"A little voice in my ear, my Lady."
"Ah, you hear voices," Lady Beatrice said, taking a step forward. Her long, sweeping skirts made a swishing sound against the floor. She was now closer to Hansum. She looked at him from out the side of her eyes. "Does your muse have physical form, or is she only a voice?"
Hansum continued the verbal jousting.
"I must admit he's not a beauty at all. What would you say if I told you he is half goat and half man?"
"I'd say he's the piper, Pan."
"Master, stop jesting. It is a dangerous game you play. You must not say anything to encourage her. And stop flirting. You are a married man, after all!"
This comment brought Hansum back to Earth very quickly. The look on Beatrice's face showed she expected him to continue the word play, but Hansum felt his face go cold.
"Your muse is Pan, Signor?"
A much sobered Hansum said, "I jest, Lady Beatrice. Forgive me."
"Not at all," the lady said. "It's fun. To extrapolate upon your theory, your supposition presumes then, that compared to man, a bird must be a genius in that it can fly and we shall never be allowed to. We are forever chained to this earth until we fly with the angels. Or do you foresee in your savant mind a way and a day when man can join the doves and the hawks in the sky?"
"I fear, if man does learn to sit between wings and soar in the clouds," Hansum said in a much sobered voice, "it would be as the hawk and not the dove."
"Do you really think it possible? What does your little voice say?"
"Don't even conjecture on the future of flight," Pan warned. "Not in the least."
"Alas, Lady Beatrice, my little voice says nothing about flight."
Hansum had become conservative in his tone of voice, hoping that Beatrice would conclude that he was serious in what he said.
"So, you truly do give credit to God for your talents. Then I say, let us give the credit to God, who has put whatever talents you have in your humble frame. What do you say? Shall we give all credit to God?"
"I think you are making the joke now, Lady Beatrice."
"No, truly, this coming Sabbath. Come with me and father to the local church. We shall all give thanks to God for your talents. Otherwise, if you are not humble enough in front of the Almighty, he may take your genius away."
"My lady, you are very kind, but I must not lead you on or be insincere."
"A prayer is not a promise of anything, Signor, except to God."
"But this trip to prayer is step towards a vow. And a vow is a promise." Hansum felt very confused, and couldn't stop himself from rambling. "And a vow, whispered or shouted, said in secret or on a steeple top, is still a vow. I, I must not start a thing in hopes of a promise, which I intend not, and indeed, cannot fulfill. And I must fulfill the vows that I have thus far made to make myself worthy of that vow."
Beatrice looked perplexed. "Finally you say more than a short sentence and it is so complicated with vows that it might as well be full of ploughs and cows and sows, for all the sense it makes."
"Si, I'm sorry. Often the truth to one is a puzzle to others."
***
So, poor Hansum has the misfortune to not only be entangled with two interesting and beautiful women, he's also allied with one of most powerful and ruthless men in fourteenth century Europe. He's not the only one experiencing excitement, though. While he's off in the country, Shamira, Lincoln and Guilietta are having their own trials and tribulations back in Verona:
"Shoot her!"
Shamira turned and, to her continued horror, saw the guard, about a hundred paces from her, raise his bow.
Then, like a vision, two forms appeared behind the guard. It was Guilietta and Lincoln. They leaped on the soldiers back. The arrow let loose and screamed just an arm's length from Shamira's head. The man went down, with Lincoln smashing a rock onto the guard's helmet. The man threw Lincoln off and Shamira couldn't believe it when she saw Guilietta raise a knife blade high over her head. The man twisted and grabbed the knife, throwing Guilietta onto her back, and then started grabbing for the blade with both his hands. Shamira started running at full tilt toward the fray, watching as Guiletta bit into the guard's hand with all her might and Lincoln flung himself back into the guard, forcing him to roll to the stone floor. It was a twisted and writhing pile of bodies that Shamira came upon, when the guard's boot came out and kicked her in the stomach. Shamira felt herself flying sideways, toward an open parapet, and then felt her head hit hard against the stone wall. A wave of pain rang out in her brain and she staggered in a daze to the floor.
"Help me, Excellency," she heard the guard scream through her fog. She slowly turned her head to see Feltrino throwing a rope over the side of the wall and begin to climb down. Behind him, Herado Starini was staggering to his feet, trying to walk. Feltrino disappeared and Shamira had to close her eyes. She felt herself passing out, and then willed herself awake. She didn't know how long she had been unconscious. 'Seconds only,' she thought. 'Maybe a minute.'
"I'll kill you!" she heard a gruff voice scream. She opened her eyes and saw that the guard had regained his footing. He had Lincoln pushed between two parapets, the guard's hands on Lincoln's throat. Lincoln's feet were lifting off the ground and he was about to be thrown off the high wall to certain death. Shamira strained to raise herself up and saw Guilietta, dirty and bleeding, pushing herself onto all fours.
"Carmella," she heard and turned her head. Herado Starini was staggering toward her. "Carmella," he repeated, and then a look of renewed terror gripped his face. Shamira turned to look at what he saw. It was Guilietta, both hands on the handle of her knife, the blade held high. Lincoln's feet were well off the ground now and Guilietta did not hesitate. The blade came down full force and plunged into the guard's back. The startled guard let go of Lincoln and shot backwards. Guilietta retreated, pulling out the knife. The guard stood up to face his executioner, his mouth an open maw, questioning his now inescapable fate. Then he fell dead to the ground.
"Carmella," Shamira heard again, and she turned to see Herado now, almost to her. "Forgive me, Carmella," he said, leaning down to her.
"MY SISTER!" came Guilietta's scream, and Guilietta was flying over Shamira and crashing into Herado.
"No, Guilietta, no!" Shamira managed to say. She looked over, and there was Guilietta, sitting atop of Herado, the bloody knife at his throat. "He saved my life, Guilietta."
"It, it was a mistake," Herado whimpered. "I, I didn't understand. I was tricked. Please forgive me, please, please forgive me."
Guilietta, her dress bloodied and torn, stood and went to Shamira.
"Are you all right, sister?" she asked, the fierceness in her eyes still blazing.
***
That's right - Feltrino's back and Shamira becomes entangled with a man. Meanwhile, Lincoln ends up at the estate in the country with Hansum, helping perfect the advanced cannon and black powder. They are wildly successful. Mastino really could become ruler of Europe with their help. But powerful men have equally powerful enemies. Enemies who will stop at nothing to steal the
secrets of the cannon - and Hansum:
When Hansum saw the arrow plunge through Lincoln's helmet, then saw him fall to the ground, panic and terror consumed him.
"LINCOLN!" he cried, starting to run toward him. The lieutenant grabbed Hansum's arm.
"No Signor, flee to the house. We will keep them busy while you escape."
Hansum looked up and saw the twenty mounted horses dashing out from the forest. Half went toward the cannon and the others came at a dead run toward his group. The horses were covered with armor and the men's bascinet helmets had their visors down. Some soldiers had swords, the others, poleaxes. The noise of the hooves on the ground, the men shouting, and the armor and weapon clanging filled the air with a terrifying din.
"But my friend!" Hansum screamed.
"He's fallen, Signor. Save yourself!" the lieutenant shouted. He shoved Hansum in the direction of the house and pulled down his visor. "Form around me!" he called to the five men with him. "You, go with the Signor," he said to one. "Protect him with your life." Hansum began running as fast as he could toward the woods that separated him from the manor house. Beside him ran a tall, lanky infantryman with a look in his dark eyes that Hansum had never seen before. The long scar on his face, which spoke to the fact that he had been in these terrifying battles before, had turned deep red. Looking back as he ran, Hansum saw his protectors forming a line between him and the advancing horses. Three of the ten horses swung off to the right to go around them and were coming straight at him. The seven remaining horses barrelled towards the five standing soldiers.
"Shoulders together! On one knee! Brace!" the lieutenant shouted, pulling out his sword and stepping behind his line. "Shields!"
The men prepared themselves to take the charge. Their poleaxes were extended as far as possible in an effort to spear their opponents. "Take the horses!" the lieutenant shouted, and they lowered their weapons slightly. The cavalry fell upon them. By standing so close together, only two of the seven mounted attackers were in killing proximity of the infantry men. The horses ran into the pointed tips of the poleaxes and luck was with the Scalligers. Two spears found their way through the horses' armor. One horse reared up backwards. The other tumbled forward over the defenders. The helmet came off its heavily armored knight, causing him to become an easy target for the lieutenant's sword. Luckily, all five of the defenders survived the initial assault. They stood up, and two attacked the second downed cavalry man. As he stumbled to his feet, they began to pummel his helmeted head with the hammer side of their poleaxes. The pointed top of the helmet initially did its job and deflected most of the blows. But soon it caved, as did its inhabitant. Two of the defenders kept at killing him while the other three formed again in front of the lieutenant.
