by Lory Kaufman
“Wait,” Lincoln shouted. “Our 25th-century medicines don’t work on people from the past. How about your 31st-century medicines?”
She wrinkled her face one last time. “We don’t need medicines,” she derided, and pointed at the wall of shelves, full of herbs and various jars. “Help yourselves,” and she was gone.
The older Hansum, Lincoln and Shamira looked at each other, desperation showing on their faces.
“What do we do now?” Lincoln said.
“Are you two still outside?” Hansum asked him.
Lincoln went and poked his head through the wall.
“Yeah, but we’re just getting back into the carriage.”
Hansum thought for a moment. “You guys disappear. Sideways, make me look like an older family member of Signora Baroni’s,” and in a blink Hansum appeared to be wearing homespun pants, a robe and sleeping cap.” The others went out of phase and Hansum unbarred the door. “Wait!” he called as the carriage started to move. The younger Lincoln and Shamira poked their heads from the carriage window. “You are looking for Signora Baroni? She is away from Verona for some days now.”
“We need her medicines,” young Shamira called.
“It’s an emergency,” Lincoln added.
“If you know what you need, please come.” Elder Hansum knew Pan would tell them what to take. They jumped from the carriage and ran to the house, Hansum limping ahead and then hiding in the back room. “Do not look upon me. I am sick and the humors may come out from my eyes and into you.” He didn’t want Pan scanning him. “Take what you want. They’ll do me no good now.”
“It’s all here,” Hansum heard Pan saying. “Everything we need.” Within a minute they were gone from the house and speeding back toward the della Cappa home.
“Let’s go back with them in the carriage,” Hansum said, “in case something goes wrong on the way home,” and they site transported away.
“Psst!” Ugilino peered into the night, looking to see where the sound came from. “Psst!” He turned and saw a black-silhouetted arm beckoning from down the road. Ugilino hopped off the stoop and trotted down the street, kicking a dog that snarled at him as it chewed on Signora Spagnolli’s leg. She had been one of the first to succumb. A head popped out from the alley by the butcher’s shop. It was Father Lurenzano.
“Quickly, before you’re seen,” Lurenzano hissed as he pulled Ugilino into the shadows.
“Romero’s a big man now, eh Father? Even generals bow to him,” Ugi said.
“He’s too bold for an orphan. Telling me, a priest, what to do. And just when della Cappa was going to give such generous alms to the church. We must find a way to rescue the situation. Perhaps tomorrow . . .”
“Romero’s going to move the whole family to his big estate in the country tomorrow, Father. I heard he has over five hundred peasants and craftsman working for him.”
“Five hundred? Then he really is rich. But tomorrow . . . that means della Cappa and his strong box will be gone.”
“I wonder if I’ll be able to be boss over some of those stupid peasants? Finally.”
“What? You think he’ll take you with him?”
“We’re family,” Ugilino said.
“Ha,” Lurenzano replied. “They’ll put you off with promises and delaying words, ‘ we’ll sees’ and then abandon you. No, Ugilino. The church and I are your only friends. You and I, we must not stand these insults.”
Just then they heard the sound of a horse nickering and the clomping of hooves coming their way. They looked out the alley, being careful to stay in the shadow. A moment later, Lieutenant Raguso trotted by on his large horse with young Hansum sitting behind him.
“Romero’s going to the palace to make a physician come back with him,” Ugilino explained, “and Carmella and Maruccio took a hired carriage to get Signora Baroni. A carriage.”
“The poor die and the rich always live. They have the means. Who’s left in the house?”
“Nuca went home to make food. Only the Master’s there. The Signora and Guilietta are sleepin’ upstairs.” Ugilino watched the priest thinking for some time, and then watched him reach into his robe’s deep pockets, searching for something. He brought out a piece of paper, folded down into a small packet.
“What’s that, Father?”
“A sleeping powder I brought for your Master. I give it to all my parishioners in time of sorrow, when they need a good night’s sleep. I want you to go back and put it into your Master’s drink.”
“So he’ll sleep? That’s kind of you. When I tell him you sent it, maybe he’ll like you again and . . .”
“No, you mustn’t tell him. Just mix it in with his drink.”
“His vino?”
“Whatever he’s drinking!” Lurenzano spat with frustration. “Fool!”
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Master. Let me in.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No, Master. It’s just me.”
Ugilino heard the door’s heavy wooden bar being lifted. The door opened a crack and Agistino’s face stared at him.
“You’re sure you’re alone?”
“Si, Master.”
Agistino opened the door just enough for Ugilino to squeeze past. No sooner was he in when Agistino re-barred the door.
“You’re pissing a lot lately,” Agistino said.
“What, Master?”
“I said you’re pissing a lot lately. You said you were going out to piss. What, you’ve got piss for brains now?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. It was all that good wine, Master. Grazzi.”
“Poison. Poison is what it is to me.” Agistino crossed himself. Then he looked at Ugilino and pointed a finger at him. “Beware the grape, Ugi. We are lucky to have Romero of our house, you and I,” and then he went back to the table and sat on the bench. He picked up his goblet and took a sip, sitting and mulling over something.
“Master, I thought you vowed . . .”
“Verjuice,” and he picked up the bottle, offering him some. Ugi sat down and held out a cup, smiling. As the Master poured, Ugilino asked him a question.
“Master, do you think I can be a boss to some of the peasants?”
“What are you talking about?”
“On Romero’s new estate. I heard Romero has over five hundred. Some of them have got to be really stupid. Do you think I . . .”
“People are falling dead all over Christendom and you’re worried about being boss over people stupider than yourself . . .”
“Nuca, my chamberpot, per favore,” came the Signora’s voice from upstairs.
“But, Master, do you think that Romero will take me . . .”
“Nuca . . .” the Signora’s voice pleaded again.
“I must help my wife,” Agistino said standing. “I’m coming to help you, my dear,” he called.
“Oh, Agistino, grazzi,” came the Signora’s happy voice.
“Master, will Romero take me to the . . .”
Agistino stopped abruptly. “Romero is master of the estate. He’ll take you if he takes you. I have no say. We’ll see,” and he turned away.
“But . . .”
“We’ll see!” and he disappeared up the stairs.
Ugilino stared at the empty stairs for some moments. His Master had said the exact words Father Lurenzano predicted, ‘We’ll see.’
‘The Father was right. They’ll abandon me,’ he thought.
Ugilino took out the packet of powder Father Lurenzano had given him.
“She’s asleep again. Both of them are,” Agistino said as he sat down on the bench. Ugilino looked up at him with sullen and angry eyes. “What?” Agistino asked. Ugilino just stared. “What, you don’t want to speak, don’t speak. My ears thank you,” and he picked up his mug of verjuice and took a large swig. He put it down and made a face. “It’s bitter, like life. But it keeps you seeing the world as it is, not like wine. What, you don’t like yours?” Agistino said, looking over into Ugili
no’s still-full mug. “Too bad,” and he downed the rest of his drink.” Ugi just stared at him.
“He’s asleep, Father,” Ugilino said with a voice that showed both fear and excitement.
“Where?”
“At the table.”
“Alone?”
“Si. But Maruccio and Carmela should be back . . .”
“We must hurry.”
The priest stood over the hulking form lying across the table. Agistino was snoring heavily, his head on his arm, his labored breath causing the flame of the oil lamp close to him to flutter. It was the brass lamp with the angel holding the lightning bolts, given to the Master by Hansum. Lurenzano moved the lamp and then pushed on Agistino’s shoulder. The snoring continued. A sardonic smile crossed the clergyman’s face and he looked over at Ugilino. Ugilino looked confused and Lurenzano’s smile turned serious again.
“Watch the door,” he ordered and went right to the fireplace, shoving the wood box away. Struggling, he pried the stone out and removed the strong box. “Ugilino. Come. Carry this.”
As Ugilino picked up the gold and silver filled box he asked, “Are you sure it’s okay . . .”
“Shut up,” Lurenzano said, moving to the door. “It’s for the church and they’ll be gone without a care for you or I tomorrow.” He carefully opened the door and looked up and down the street. “Now go. Straight to the church.” Ugilino scuttled to the door, pausing only to look back at his unconscious master. “Move! Run!” the priest shouted and Ugilino was away. Lurenzano looked back. Agistino’s care-worn face looked more so in the harsh lamplight. Father Lurenzano grimaced, walked over to the table and, without hesitation, knocked the lamp onto the straw floor. He watched as oil spilled and the dry straw caught fire. Nodding, he hurried back to the door, stepped into the night and, without another glance, closed the door behind him.
“And then I have Lincoln use the pestle and mortar to grind down the washed and dried bread mold to a fine powder, and then mix it with the rest of the recipe,” young Shamira said. “We use the results to create a suspension with fifty parts boiled and cooled water. Guilietta and the Signora then receive a measure of it four times a day.”
The young Lincoln and Shamira were sitting together on one of bench seats inside the carriage. Pan was standing between them, listening to the young Shamira recite the recipe for the antibiotic. The seat opposite was crowded with the older, invisible Hansum, Shamira and Lincoln, with Medeea on her husband’s lap. The holographic image of Pan nodded and stroked his whiskers.
“Good. Very good,” the satyr praised.
The young Lincoln blew out a big breath and leaned back in his seat. “Man oh man, I feel like I can finally relax a bit. We’ve got the stuff to save Guil.”
“Thank Cristo,” young Shamira said, and she crossed herself. The younger Lincoln looked at her wide eyed
“Maybe I’ll do some Hail Marys,” he added, and when Shamira realized what she did, they both laughed.
“I kind of agree with the little jerk,” the older Lincoln added. “If this works, I’ll thank Cristo too.”
“Well, Elder Catherine did say we were near a nexus point,” the Elder Hansum said, sounding hopeful, and he made a show of crossing himself.
“Hey, you almost poked me in the eye,” Sideways complained jovially.
Now everyone on both sides of the carriage was laughing.
“I have a question,” the older Shamira asked. “What happens if and when we can take someone out of phase? That person will freak out.”
“At that point we won’t care,” Hansum replied, still smiling. “Then we take everyone out of phase and get them to the wall for the end game.” They were finally feeling some hope.
The wagon, which had been going at a good clip, suddenly braked hard to a stop.
“Signor, quickly!” the driver shouted.
The younger Lincoln and older Hansum stuck their heads out of the window.
“What’s wrong . . .” the younger Lincoln began, and then stopped. It was obvious to all in the carriage. His face was reflecting the hard flickering light of what could only be a large fire. Without another word he was out of the wagon and running.
“SIDEWAYS! NOW!” the older Hansum screamed.
Sideways and Zat transported everyone in front of the raging inferno of the della Cappa home. The heat was so intense that their younger selves couldn’t get within fifty paces of the blaze. Lincoln ran up to Bembo, who was standing by Nuca and Bruno’s home. Nuca was sobbing in her husband’s arms.
“Bembo, is the Master and Romero . . . everyone?” The flames dancing off Bembo’s expressionless eyes told it all. Lincoln went to bolt forward, but Bembo’s strong hands grabbed him.
“Morto. Tutti morti,” was all he said. They were all dead.
Shrieks came out of the younger Lincoln and Shamira’s mouths, shrieks that rose above the roar and crack of the fire.
“GET IN THERE!” the older Hansum shouted at Sideways. He felt the older Lincoln’s hand on his arm.
“YOU CHECK DOWNSTAIRS, BROTHER. I’LL CHECK UP,” Lincoln told him.
Hansum frowned at the implication, nodded, and both winked away.
The blinding light in the heart of the fire turned objects into unreal, over-exposed lumps with silvery-white flames dancing off their undulating surfaces. While the fire could not hurt someone out of phase, it made it hard to see. Hansum had to get very close to the blackened lump lying across the table, a dark thing from which flames and charred flakes shot, rocketing upwards in the rising currents. It was apparent what the lump had been and no longer was. Hansum turned just in time to see the stairs disintegrate and fall, causing more circular currents to rise heavenward. He began to order Sideways to go upstairs when Lincoln appeared before him.
“No!” was all Lincoln said, catching his friend looking to the floor above. “Sideways. Outside,” and they were gone.
As the senior Hansum and Lincoln appeared back in the street, the older Shamira was on her knees, watching her younger self screaming with terror and grief. The others were frozen in mute horror.
Hansum twisted his neck back to the house. By now his life had been conditioned by a career that included hundreds of sorties into the past. He was witness to countless deaths and had hundreds of close friends through the ages, all of whom were dead in his time. But this was different. He never got used to Guilietta dying, again and again.
His mind began to race. There was something else he had to consider. What had Lincoln and Zat seen upstairs? The prone figure lying on the bed, his Guilietta. Was the Signora with her? And . . . was the younger Hansum there? Was he, Hansum, dead in this reality? Could this be the type of irretrievably time-changing anomaly that caused Elder Catherine to flee?
He no sooner considered this when the shouts of men and the clomping of horses forced him to look up the road for his answer. Lieutenant Raguso was galloping on his horse in front of an open carriage with several men in it, his younger self included. His alternate self was already standing, screaming at the wagon driver and universe in general. When the wagon screeched to a halt, the younger Hansum was already in the air, leaping from the carriage and running toward the flames. Others went to drag him back, but the white-hot fire did its work and Hansum ended up shrieking and pulling his hair, running back and forth, left and right, in a useless effort that achieved nothing.
Then, Ugilino ran onto the scene. His fists were clenched and his mouth agape. He stood next to the weeping teens and neighbors, falling to his knees and dropping what was in his hands. A pathetic cache of silver coins spilled onto the cobblestones, some rolling in circles until, like the helpless onlookers, they exhausted their stored energy.
The old Hansum clenched his jaw, resolve and anger sharing their place on his wrinkled face.
“Sideways. Zat. Take us back to this beginning,” and the Sands of Time rose.
Chapter 4
The plan, if anything went wrong, was try to fix the situation
and get back to the predetermined meeting place, up on the walkway of Verona’s city wall.
Once again, like decades earlier, the fix had been frustratingly simple. They went back to when Ugilino was going to peer through the crack in the shutters and stood before the slightly earlier version of old Lincoln, just as he was to give the word about Ugilino to Sideways.
“It’s not going to work. Abort,” old Lincoln said to his counterpart.
The other old Lincoln looked at him incredulously, but said nothing. He knew the plan too.
“Everything is as it was,” an exhausted Hansum whispered. He was leaning between two parapets, perhaps the same ones he and Guilietta had their first kiss between. “Time for Plan B.” But, while he could make his mouth say the words, standing up straight was out of the realm of possibility right now.
It was dark on the wall and a low-lying fog almost obscured the moon. No amount of training could make the time travelers accept what they had just experienced with anything approximating philosophical detachment. Neither age nor experience offered an antidote for the kind of thing they had witnessed. But they knew one thing. The only chance they had for success was to push forward – now.
“Okay, let’s go over what’s next,” the Elder Hansum finally said, forcing himself to stand straight. “Stopping the Master and Father Lurenzano from seeing Pan didn’t work, so now we play on their belief in angels and demons, to legitimize Pan’s presence. We’ll intercede when our younger selves are being confronted in the shop.” Hansum looked over to Shamira. She was standing stolidly, her eyes still glistening with emotion from the last situation. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need some time to collect yourself?”
