by Lory Kaufman
“Won’t they see the portal?” Shamira asked.
“We don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Lincoln smiled. With the bottle just over Guilietta’s sweat-drenched hair, he tapped the air with his index finger and a tiny blue circle appeared. “The circle can only be seen from our side now,” and he poured a single drop of Medeea’s elixir onto Guilietta’s head.
“My nano bits will travel through her scalp and . . . ah, I’m there,” Medeea said. “Oh my. She is low. I’ll do what I can,” and she closed her eyes and grimaced. “The baby’s okay for now and I can boost Guil’s immune system, but she has very low reserves and the infection is set to start growing exponentially.”
Hansum clenched his fist with frustration. “Okay, you three. Get over to Signora Baroni’s. The carriage should be there soon. Make sure they get everything.” A split second later, Hansum was standing alone, out of phase with Sideways, watching the scene in front of him. Guilietta was still shivering and her breathing was labored. The younger Hansum was alternately kissing her hands and whispering encouragingly to her.
“Hang on, Guil. Hang on. We’re going to get you well,” he said while the Signora and Nuca looked on.
Suddenly Guilietta’s eyes popped open, her eyes focusing on young Hansum. Even her shivering stopped.
“Husband?” she whispered.
“Si, si, I’m here,” the younger Hansum said joyfully, his laughter mixed with tears. “Look, she’s going to be all right.”
Nuca put her hand to Guilietta’s forehead, and then the side of her neck.
“Fever broke,” she pronounced in her scratchy voice.
“See, your best medicine worked,” the mother said, crossing herself.
“Husband,” Guilietta repeated, a wan though loving look in her eyes.
“You’re going to be okay, Guilietta. You’re going to be okay,” the teen husband said embracing her.
But the older Hansum scowled. He knew what they were seeing was what Medeea explained. Guilietta’s revival was because the A.I. delver had boosted Guilietta’s immune system. When her reserves were gone, she would fail again, and fast. It was imperative they get the herbal antibiotics quickly.
“Good, good,” Nuca said in a cracking voice, the result of a fierce fever that had burned out her hearing long ago. “Gui getting better.”
“Oh my little chicken.” The Signora laughed and cried while embracing both her daughter and son-in-law.
“Must clean up Guil. Dry clothes. Dry bed,” Nuca said. “Omero. You go. We clean.”
“No, I want my husband to stay.”
“We clean first. Then I get food. He come back then,” and Nuca pulled the younger Hansum to his feet. “Go soon, come back sooner.”
“No, stay,” Guilietta pleaded, but Nuca had him half out the door already.
“I’ll be downstair . . .” and he was gone.
The older Hansum chuckled as he remembered how practical the 14th-century Nuca was.
“Oh, you sent him away.” Guilietta complained as Nuca began un-dressing her.
“Come, Signora. Help dry Gui. Fever broke, thank Cristo, fever broke,” Nuca said, and the older Hansum stopped chuckling. It wasn’t over yet. He left the room to give the women privacy and check downstairs.
The older Hansum found his younger self on the lower floor, standing next to Bembo. The Master and Father Lurenzano were staring at him from the table.
“Her fever just broke,” young Hansum said, a relieved smile on his face. “She’s awake.”
“Thank Cristo,” was all that came from Agistino’s mouth before he started crying with relief.
Bembo hugged Hansum and smiled.
“Bembo, you look tired.”
“I haven’t slept in two days, Romero.” He scowled and motioned to the two drunk men at the table. “Watching over these two.”
Young Hansum frowned as he looked to see Father Lurenzano in his cups, patting an equally drunk Agistino on the back.
“My prayers worked!” Father Lurenzano announced, lifting his glass and kissing his fingers. “A toast to God,” and that’s when the younger Hansum’s training as a noble kicked in. He became very angry with the priest.
Chapter 4
The older Lincoln and Shamira were already in front of Signora Baroni’s house when the carriage carrying the younger Lincoln, Shamira and Pan pulled up. The younger Lincoln was jumping from the carriage before it stopped and he landed hard on the cobblestones.
“I couldn’t do that now,” the senior Lincoln grumbled.
His younger self was already pounding on the door as his Shamira caught up to him. When there was no answer, he began shouting.
“Signora Baroni, it’s Maruccio from Master della Cappa’s. We need you. Please open up.” Still no answer.
“Signora, it’s Carmella,” Shamira called. “Guilietta needs medicine.”
“Maybe she thinks we’ve got the plague,” Lincoln said. “Signora Baroni, please. We haven’t got the sickness. Please.” He took hold of the handle on the door and started shaking it, but it was well barred. He tried the shuttered windows. The same thing.
There was nobody on the street except for a few corpses. Some homes were wide open, but most were closed tight.
“What should we do?” Shamira asked.
Lincoln ground his teeth. “Maybe she’s out helping. It’s not like her to abandon people. Let’s wait ten minutes and then leave a note.”
“And knock on the neighbors’ doors, to see if they know where she is.”
“You,” Lincoln called to the driver. “I don’t want you running off. When we finish, there’s a florin in it for you.”
The old Lincoln couldn’t help but sniff a laugh at his younger self’s brashness. Then he bit his lower lip, thinking what he should do next.
“Let’s check inside the house,” and he, Medeea and the older Shamira walked right through the walls. It was dark inside, but someone was breathing in a corner.
“It’s Elder Catherine,” Medeea said, not needing light to discern shapes in the dark.
“Let’s do it,” Lincoln said, and all three of them came into phase. Medeea glowed.
“What the . . .” Elder Catherine started. “Whatever and whoever you are, turn off your light. They’ll see us.” Medeea dimmed. “Who the heck are you three? I don’t recognize . . .” and then her eyes locked on Shamira. She peered at her recognizable green eyes. “You? You’re supposed to be outside . . . When are you from?”
“About eighty years from now.”
“But that’s not how it happens in . . .” Elder Catherine’s eyes went wide.
“Signora Baroni . . . I mean, Elder Catherine,” Shamira began. “We’ve come back and changed the situation. Our younger selves are trying to save Guilietta. You know her. You like her. Please. She’s very sick. Not with the plague, but . . .”
“Of course I know it’s not the plague. It’s a uterine infection. I know all about it.”
“Then why won’t you help?” Medeea asked. Nobody was surprised that the 31st-century Catherine could see the A.I. delver.
“So you’re the infamous Medeea,” Catherine said. “I never thought I’d meet you in person. I won’t help because I’m not supposed to. And you three aren’t either. Oh, this is bad.”
“What are you talking about?” Lincoln asked.
“And who are you?” she asked the old man.
A pounding on the front door started again, followed by the voice of the younger Lincoln.
“Signora Baroni, please, we can hear you in there. Please, answer the door. We promise we aren’t sick.”
“I’m him,” the older Lincoln said, pointing a thumb.
Now the 31st-century Elder looked downright panicked. “I’ve got to get out of here,” and she quickly got up, no longer worried about keeping hidden. She snapped her fingers and two oil lamps lit, and then she grabbed what looked like an old valise and started shoving things into it.
“Elder C
atherine,” the older Lincoln pleaded, “tell us what’s going on,” but she didn’t answer. She just kept shoving things into a bag that shouldn’t be able to hold all she kept putting in. Lincoln tapped his node. “Hansum, we’ve got a problem. Elder Catherine won’t cooperate and she’s acting like something’s very wrong,” at which Catherine snorted scathingly.
“Oh, good Gia, he’s here too.”
Old Hansum watched proudly as his younger self took charge of the situation in his family’s home. Father Lurenzano was getting Master della Cappa drunk and the strongbox with all of the family money was sitting open on the table, like it had previously.
“Master, why is the strongbox out?” the younger Hansum asked.
Agistino looked at his son-in-law through bleary eyes, his body swaying on the bench. Father Lurenzano looked up, his avarice showing.
“Are you saying Master della Cappa’s money is not safe in front of a man of God?” he asked defensively.
Hansum ignored the question and walked over to the table, closing the chest with a bang. He picked it up, took it to the hearth and put it back in its hiding place. As he replaced the stone and firewood box, Agistino made excuses to the priest.
“Much of the money is Romero’s, Father,” Agistino explained.
“Still, he shouldn’t accuse a priest . . .”
“Master, why are you drinking wine?” the young Hansum interrupted. “With the sickness about and all that is happening, the family needs you strong.”
“Father Lurenzano gave me permission. After he gave Guilietta last rites, he said taking some wine was a good thing.”
“Last rites?” Hansum looked at the priest with undisguised anger. “She’s getting better.”
Agistino smiled drunkenly and crossed himself.
“And praise to God for that,” the priest answered, “but often people rally for a short time and relapse. In times like this, a bit of wine dulls the pain and lifts the spirit. It will also help ward off the sickness that is going around. I know these things,” he said smiling and taking another few gulps. He motioned for Agistino to do the same. Agistino lifted his cup.
“Master, no!” Hansum ordered. “You mustn’t. Father Lurenzano, I want you to stop giving wine to Master della Cappa.”
“It will protect him from the pestilence!”
“No it won’t. The sickness is caused by the flea bites of ship rats from the east, and from living in dirty cities and malnutrition.”
“Rats and fleas? A bit of dirt? The illness is caused by bad humors in the air and punishments from God. And Jews are poisoning wells!”
The out-of-phase old Hansum was amazed how much of the conversation was similar to before, even though the circumstances had changed.
“Oh for Cristo’s sake,” Hansum scoffed.
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” Father Lurenzano demanded, shooting to his feet. “I am your Master’s spiritual guide. And if you are his family, I am yours as well! You must heed me.”
The younger Hansum had spent enough time around Podesta della Scalla to know how to push back. He stepped into Father Lurenzano’s space and brought his face very close to the priest’s.
“One thing you are not is my spiritual guide. And when the Master is not himself, I am the head of this house.”
Lurenzano pounded his fist on the table and was about to yell back when the door opened. Ugilino walked in, followed by a tall military officer in full battle uniform.
“Romero, this general is looking for you,” Ugilino announced.
“Lieutenant Raguso,” Hansum said with surprise. “What’s wrong?”
The officer stepped forward and bowed to young Hansum. The older Hansum couldn’t help but remember the different ways he had known this man, as a feisty officer who had disagreed with the younger savant, only to then turn into an admirer, and as the older brother who looked out for his younger, bastard sibling. This was also the man who had his throat slit by Feltrino’s men. Now here he was again, alive.
“Master Monticelli. Praise God I find you well.”
“Master Monticelli?” the priest said.
“I am well, thank you, Lieutenant. Why are you here?”
“I was ordered to bring my men to bolster the northern gate. The guard there told me of the sickness in your house. My admiration for you caused me to come and see if I could render assistance.”
“Grazzi, grazzi,” Hansum said. “This is Master della Cappa, my old Master. His daughter was ill, but not with the sickness. I’m pleased to say she is recovering.”
“Master della Cappa,” Raguso said, bowing. He then patted the leather case at his side, which contained his looker. “I use this most often.”
This respect seemed to affect Agistino’s demeanor. He sat straighter, nodding his head to the officer and then pushing his cup of wine away.
“And this is Father Lurenzano,” Hansum said to Raguso. “He was just leaving.”
“I protest. You cannot tell me what . . .”
Lieutenant Raguso took a step forward, placing his hand gently on the hilt of his sword and looking at Lurenzano with cool eyes.
“Della Cappa, are you going to stand for this?” the priest asked Agistino sternly. “This boy telling me what to do?”
“Father, I fear I have fallen back into bad habits,” Agistino answered. “While I recover, for my family’s sake, I must listen to my son-in-law.”
This did not mollify Father Lurenzano. He straightened his robes and stood erect, his nose in the air.
“You’ll see that no good comes to those who mock the church and its priests,” and he strode to the door. As he passed Ugilino, Lurenzano motioned with his eyes a gesture that meant, ‘I will be outside hiding. Come and find me.’ When he got to the door, he looked back and gave Hansum a harsh look. But as he did, his eyes couldn’t help but travel to the wood box by the fireplace and what lay hidden behind it. He closed the door hard behind him.
“Good,” the older Hansum said to Sideways. “My younger self got rid of that wild card. I think things are safer now.”
“I agree,” Sideways said. “And when both Shamiras and Lincolns return with the herbs, that should take Guilietta out of danger.”
Suddenly, a voice spoke in the senior Hansum’s mind. “Hansum, we’ve got a problem. Elder Catherine won’t cooperate and she’s acting like something’s wrong.”
“I’ll be right there,” the older Hansum said. “Sideways, I think everything is stable here. Take me to Lincoln,” and they were gone.
The younger Hansum turned to his father-in-law.
“Master, my apologies for ordering the Father away, but I do not think he had your best interests at heart, especially after you showed him our treasure.”
“I was weak, my son. With the sickness out there and the Father giving Guilietta last rites, he said he needed means to have the church save Guilietta’s soul and protect our house from illness.”
“I don’t think anything can assure that, Master. Tomorrow, when Guilietta is stable, we’ll move the whole family to Master Calabreezi’s estate. My new estate. We will quarantine it for a month, to be safe.”
Just then Nuca came down the stairs. “How is my daughter?” Agistino asked, rushing to her.
“S’eeping. K’eaned up and s’eeping,” the deaf woman squeaked. “Signora too. Me go make food.”
Agistino grabbed Nuca’s gnarled old hands and kissed them.
“Grazzi, Signora, grazzi.”
“Gui like daughter. We all fam’ly.”
Agistino was extremely emotional as he walked his neighbor to the door. As she left, he turned to Hansum. “Will Signora Baroni return with Carmella and Maruccio? Do you think her medicine will help further? Should we not get a physician?”
“If Signora Baroni is not available, I can go to the palace and bring a physician in the morning, Master.”
“Oh no, signor,” Lieutenant Raguso said. “I stopped there briefly on my way from the gate. All the p
hysicians are preparing to flee the city. If you want, I will take you there now and,” he patted his sword hilt again, “make sure one comes back with us.”
Ugilino, who had been quietly watching the entire goings on, finally spoke. “I gotta piss,” he said, and left.
The younger Hansum turned to his father-in-law.
“Master, I think your thoughts and the lieutenant’s are good. Let us hope Maruccio and Carmella return with Signora Baroni and the herbs. But let us also fetch a physician for good measure. But to do that I must leave you here to guard our fragile women. Are you . . . sober enough?”
At first Agistino’s eyes looked somewhat hurt, and then he blinked. “You are right to ask. Yes. Verjuice will once again be my only drink till I die. I vow this to you and God,” and he crossed himself.
“Lieutenant, we must away,” Hansum said, and they turned to the door. “Master, with the sickness out there, bar the door and let in only those you trust,” Hansum said. “Only those you trust.”
“Good Gia, now you?” Elder Catherine said as the older Hansum popped into her room. She shook her head and continued stuffing things into the bottomless valise.
“Elder Catherine, Guilietta needs your help,” Hansum begged. “We’ve finally been able to get back here, but our modern medicines are programmed not to work on people from the past. We need your herbs.”
“Where is that last . . .” Catherine questioned as she looked around frantically. “Ah, there,” and she rushed over to her bed and reached under the mattress, pulling out a cracked, leather pouch. She removed a clear cube of crystal the size of a gambling die. It glowed bright yellow as she tossed it in the valise. “Done,” she said.
“Will you help us?” Hansum asked, sounding desperate.
She looked at him, exasperation showing in her face. “You’re from the 25th-century now, aren’t you?” And then she laughed cynically. “You still know so little about time travel. A major deviation has happened! A mutation!” she said, like he was too stupid to see the obvious. Then her contempt turned to panic. “In my time we never thought you’d get this far in a trillion tries. We thought Arimus was crazy for taking on such an impossible project. A waste of time. But here you are. And if you’re here . . . then a major deviation did happen. You must be close to a nexus point.” Elder Catherine paused, staring wide-eyed at Hansum’s old face. “And if you’re close to a nexus point, the last place I want to be is anywhere around you. I’ve got family and grandchildren. I could get stuck here forever. I’m out of here.” And with that she went to push an unseen node at the base of her neck.
