The Loved and the Lost Page 5

  Lincoln blinked. Medeea’s nano bits were now in their new host and sharing what they found. The first visions from Ugilino’s mind came flashing into his. It was Lincoln’s turn to wince and then grimace . . . hard.

  “Iyee!” he said, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth.

  “I’ll turn it down,” Medeea said.

  “No,” Lincoln said emphatically. “Give me a minute.” He forced his eyes open, though he couldn’t get rid of the scowl. “My Gia, the poor guy,” he said. “The pain he’s feeling. Is it all his hangover?”

  “No, much of it is from the concussions he’s had over the years,” Medeea said. “He doesn’t even notice it anymore.”

  Ugilino tried to stand but stumbled. He fell to his knees again. Lincoln had to fight for his own balance too.

  “Ya can’t stay here,” the woman repeated.

  “Gotta go to funeral,” Ugilino managed to say, trying, but failing to stand. When a streak of pain screamed through his brain and he winced again, so did Lincoln.

  “The professor said it’s possible to separate a subject’s pain from their thoughts,” Lincoln managed to say. “I can see how it’s possible . . .” He paused, breathing hard. “I mean, I can see how to do it. I just don’t know if I can . . . now.”

  “You certainly are a natural,” Medeea said. “You’ll pick this up quickly. If you still don’t want me to turn off your connection to him, can I at least lessen his pain?”

  “You can do that?” Lincoln asked.

  “Yes I can. Time travel rules, and my programming, don’t allow me to cure him of his afflictions but, because you are involved, I can ease his discomfort.”

  “Okay,” Lincoln said. “Do it.”

  Medeea smiled and cocked her head. Instantly Lincoln felt clarity coming over the part of his consciousness that was Ugilino. It was like an ocean wave washing debris off a sandy beach.

  “Oh, that’s better,” Ugilino sighed. “That nail did drive out the other.” He thought his morning drink had cured his previous night’s indulgences. Now he could stand. “Can I have another? I’ve got my eye on some candlesticks an old Jew lady is keeping close to a window. She’s forgettin’ to lock the shutters at night.”

  “Well, okay. For the good priest’s sake. But still bring me the candlesticks.”

  “I’ll put a healthy thought in his head,” Medeea thought.

  “Professor Bix said thought transplantation of natives isn’t allowed,” Lincoln noted. Medeea shrugged, and then spun her finger in a circle a few times.

  “Wait, Signora,” Ugilino croaked. “Maybe acqua instead.” The tavern woman looked a bit shocked. “For the Father’s sake. He’d want me to. A big cup, per favore.” Ugilino drank down the large cup of water and Medeea spun her finger again. “Another, per favore.”

  “He should hydrate,” Medeea thought.

  As Ugilino left the tavern, Lincoln got a double dose of bright sun light, his own and Ugilino’s. Lincoln and Medeea strode quickly beside Ugilino, who was in a hurry to get to the funeral. Lincoln was finding it hard to mind-delve and walk quickly at the same time, and was thankful when Ugilino pulled into an alley to relieve himself. As the big oaf pulled down his braise and squatted, Lincoln peered at him, trying to follow his thoughts. Medeea was being quiet, although he could sense her in his mind. When Ugilino closed his eyes and frowned, Lincoln closed his too. That’s when he dove fully into a very troubled medieval psyche.

  Ugilino’s mind was collage of visions, sounds, thoughts and emotions. Images were jumping in and out of his awareness, one causing another to pop up and then be superseded by another. The stream of consciousness flickered by so quickly that Lincoln had trouble processing it all. He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, steeling his focus and determined to sort the hodge-podge of information flooding into him.

  He saw an image of a smiling Father Aaron, his eyes soft, and Ugilino’s inner voice saying, “The Father never frowned when he spoke to me.” Then Father Aaron was laughing and touching Ugilino’s cheek. “God loves you, Ugilino, and I love you too.”

  ‘Why didn’t I tell him I loved him too?’ Ugilino thought. ‘Why was I afraid? Now he’s dead!’ and the image of the maggot-filled ossuary flashed in his mind, the memory of the smell making both Ugilino and Lincoln want to retch.

  Ugilino’s mind went blank for a moment, and then Lincoln could feel Ugi trying to soothe himself by recalling a pleasant memory. Lincoln felt a small smile come to Ugilino’s lips and an incredible fantasy emerged. It was Ugilino and Guilietta in an intimate embrace, her stroking his scarred face. But it didn’t look quite like Ugilino. The nose was much less broken, there were fewer scars and even his teeth were white. This was how Ugilino saw himself. “I love you, Ugilino,” Guilietta was saying, leaning forward to kiss his lips. Their bed covers drifted upward in the fantasy, as if angels had beat their wings and caused a breeze to make them float up to heaven, revealing their two naked bodies. Lincoln could feel Ugilino’s face flush and his respiration increase.

  ‘I must not think of these things on Father’s Aaron’s death day,’ Ugilino thought, but he wanted, needed to think of something fine. Lincoln sensed a smile come to Ugi’s face and saw an even more improved Ugilino standing next to a very jovial Master della Cappa, both of them standing with other tradesmen. He saw the Master with his large arm around Ugilino’s shoulder, introducing him to the members of the Crystal Guild of Florence.

  “He’s a better lens maker than me,” the Master bragged.

  “Oh, you taught me everything I know, Master,” Ugilino said modestly.

  “I have a daughter to marry this fine young man,” a guild member told Agistino.

  “This one’s already taken,” the Master retorted with good humor. “Holy Cristo, this boy can polish lenses.”

  Suddenly Ugilino saw himself tumbling down the stairs at the house in Verona. This was a real memory. He had been carrying the lathe and tripped. As the image of him crashing to the floor flashed in both minds, Lincoln could feel the severe pain that had exploded in Ugi’s back. Then the Master was looking down at him with disgust and another wave of shame spewed up from Ugilino’s stomach, deluging his brain. The echoing sound of one of the orphans laughing at him added to the tumult. Now it was Lincoln who felt ashamed. The orphan who laughed hysterically was none other than himself.

  Lincoln opened his eyes to see what Ugilino was doing. He was just squatting there, eyes open, a sad, blank look on his face.

  Ugilino was now remembering the last time he saw Father Aaron. It was in the market and Signora Baroni had cleaned and salved the big cut the Master had given him. She told him to go wash the rest of himself at the fountain before going home and Ugilino, now scrubbed and still wet, was starting off home when he saw Father Aaron talking to the herbalist.

  ‘The Father has come to pay Signora Baroni for fixin’ my head,’ he thought. ‘The Father does not lie and cheat like everybody else. He does what he says he will do.’ Ugilino remembered walking up to the Father and herbalist, catching them by surprise. Father Aaron was talking to the Signora, and when he got close, he could hear they were talking in some odd language. He remembered only one strange word from the conversation. “. . . Australia . . .”

  Lincoln looked at Medeea. She raised her eyebrows, like she was asking Lincoln, “So, do you know what to do now?” Lincoln closed his eyes and went back into Ugi’s mind. Remembering what he was told to do in a case like this at one of the lectures, he dove deeper into Ugilino’s memory. Ugi might not be able to recall the conversation he had overheard, but it was there, buried. The neuron degradation might not make it possible for complete recovery, but it would be close.

  ‘Ah, here it is.’

  “So, Catherine. Have you been home to Australia lately?” Arimus had said in Earth Common.

  “Yes, I was home a month with my family,” Signora Baroni answered. “I just got back a few days ago.”

  Lincoln’s eyes popped ope
n again.

  “Signora Baroni is a History Camp elder?” he asked Medeea.

  Again, she shrugged. “We’ll talk of that later. Get back in there.”

  Lincoln put a hand to his head and leapt back into Ugi’s mind. Ugilino remembered the Father being surprised to see him as he turned. Then the priest smiled. Ugi, and thus Lincoln, watched Father Aaron looking at the different, freshly washed parts of Ugilino, touching his wet hair in a friendly fashion.

  “What language was that you and the Signora spoke?” Ugilino asked.

  “Oh, Herbalist Baroni and I are old friends,” Arimus replied evasively, but still smiling.

  “That’s what I . . . like . . . about you Father. You are friends with everybody. You have no enemies,” Ugilino had said, but now he cursed himself. ‘Why did I say ‘like’? I wanted to say ‘love’. Why, why, why?’

  That’s when Father Aaron had given him the satchel of herbs to take home for his mistress. He told Ugi to tell everybody he would be back in a month. Then he put his arm around Ugilino and walked with him a bit. Lincoln felt the warm feeling Ugilino got from knowing that someone was not afraid to touch his ugly body.

  “I’m going on a journey through the mountains, Ugilino,” the Father had said. “Pray for me as I shall pray for you. Remember, in this world where we don’t know when God will call us to him, believe in yourself and remember always, God loves you and . . . I love you.”

  Lincoln now knew Arimus was telling Ugilino this because he was going to fake his own death, and this would be the last time he could ever talk to the youth. Now that Lincoln could see into the mind of the boy, he felt sorry for him.

  Lincoln felt a break in his subject’s thoughts and opened his eyes again. Ugilino had finished his business and was standing up. A church bell began to peal in the distance. It rang eight times.

  ‘I still might be able to get to the funeral,’ Ugilino thought as he pulled up his braise and quickly tied the cord. He began to run, remembering Father Arimus asking him, “Pray for me,” and tears began to run from Ugilino’s eyes again. ‘I didn’t pray for the Father. If he had my prayers added to the others, maybe God would have kept him safe. It’s my stupid fault he’s dead!’

  Lincoln again found it hard to walk and mind-delve simultaneously.

  “You don’t have to walk when you’re out of phase,” Medeea advised him, and she pointed a finger in the air. Immediately, Lincoln’s feet rose a few inches off the ground and he began floating close to the weeping Ugilino. Ugilino ran and ran, all the while berating himself for being the murderer of the only person who had acted consistently kind to him. Lincoln even felt Ugilino’s toes being stubbed on loose cobblestones and the burning of his lungs from pushing himself to get to the funeral. Finally, Lincoln couldn’t take any more of the turmoil which was Ugilino’s life. He was just about to disengage the delve when his mind went silent. He blinked and looked at Medeea who, despite speeding along, smiled at him like they were alone on a picnic.

  “I disconnected you, sweetie,” the A.I. said. “You did incredibly well for your first time.” She reached up to Lincoln’s face. He felt her caress it, and put a hand to his own face. His cheeks were wet with tears.

  One hundred paces from Basilica San Zeno, Ugilino spied the funeral procession coming onto the concourse from the direction of the crypts. Ugi was indeed too late and Lincoln watched Ugilino collapse in the roadway and begin weeping. While not in his mind anymore, Lincoln could now empathize with this person he had previously considered as only a joke.

  Standing around the steps of San Zeno, Lincoln saw his younger self with the rest of the family, as well as priests and monks. The Master and Guilietta were standing by the bishop, but there was also someone else there, someone the older Lincoln had very sour feelings about.

  “Feltrino!”

  The younger Lincoln, Hansum and Shamira were standing a few paces away with Father Lurenzano. Feltrino was bowing to the bishop, then the Master — and now Guilietta.

  Chapter 7

  Hansum couldn’t help it. When he said Feltrino’s name, he actually growled, and this in the middle of saying how he had his anger under control. While one part of his mind seethed with rage, another was frantically exhorting itself to cool down. Getting the History Camp Time Travel Council’s permission to become a time traveler and help save Guilietta was at stake.

  So, Hansum bit his lip and said nothing more. He watched Feltrino standing haughtily on the steps as the funeral procession finished its walk from the catacombs.

  “I’m . . . I’m okay,” Hansum said to Arimus, but when he followed his mentor’s gaze and looked down at his own hands, he saw himself gripping and re-gripping them into fists.

  “Yes, I see your level of self-control

  is certainly something for you to extol.”

  Hansum didn’t respond to the sarcasm. Instead, he looked straight ahead, trying to see the good things about the scene in front of him. The Master was being seen chatting in public with the bishop of San Zeno. That was good for business. He and Guilietta had just touched hands for the first time. That was a nice memory. He felt under more control.

  Forcing a smile, Hansum watched Feltrino step forward and bow to the bishop and then the Master. As he knew he would, Feltrino turned his gaze on Guilietta, who lowered her eyes. The older Hansum watched his younger self step forward to intervene, only to be jerked back by Father Lurenzano. The older Hansum’s fists began clenching and unclenching again.

  “Relax, my boy, relax,” Arimus said.

  Hansum forced a counterfeit smile again. He saw Feltrino and the younger Hansum lock gazes, Feltrino reflexively putting a hand to his sword. Feltrino smirked, as if to say to an unworthy rival, “Watch this,” and he leaned forward and whispered something in Guilietta’s ear. Later, Guilietta doggedly refused to tell him what was said, maintaining girls had to bear the rude suggestions men made, and that it was to no good purpose to tell their male relatives. This could only cause yet more trouble. The older Hansum could now satisfy his curiosity. He stepped forward, his hands still clenched, to eavesdrop.

  “When death is all around, it is beauty such as yours that whets my appetite for life,” Feltrino whispered.

  ‘Nothing so bad there,’ Hansum thought. His fists relaxed.

  Feltrino added, “Maybe later I shall borrow the key to the crypt and you and I can revisit your Father Aaron.” Hansum had to lean in even closer, as the next bit was said even more quietly. “Have you ever made love in a crypt, or on a tomb? I should like to be the shroud covering your pretty body.”

  Hansum’s hands instantly curled into claws, flying to wrap themselves around Feltrino’s neck. “I’LL KILL YOU!” Hansum screamed. “I’LL KILL YOU!”

  Hansum felt Arimus’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Detachment has flown, supplanted by hot prejudice.

  An adjournment is in order.”

  Arimus snapped his fingers and they site transported away.

  In a flash, Hansum felt a quiet, cool breeze blowing through his still-grasping fingers. He looked around and Arimus was still by his side, clutching his shoulder. Hansum looked out and there, spread beneath him, was the medieval city of Verona. Arimus had transported them to the walkway of the city wall. Hansum recognized where they were, just west of the San Zeno city gate. From this vantage point he could see the Basilica of San Zeno in the distance with people, very tiny now, in front of it.

  “Yes, that’s our younger selves still there,” Arimus said.

  “I thought you needed some physical distance to

  enhance your objectivity.”

  Arimus let go of Hansum’s shoulder and reached down, gently touching one of Hansum’s wrists. Hansum looked down and found his hands were still like claws.

  “Allow a balm of calm to sooth your mind.

  It’s yours to give.”

  Hansum forced his hands to relax and watched as they started shaking.

  “Wow. I’m . . . I’m
surprised how I’m responding,” Hansum said. He frowned. “Maybe I won’t be able to control . . . no. No, I can. I can do this. I must.”

  “I believe you can too.”

  “Arimus, do I . . .”

  “Do you what?”

  “Do I save Guil? Or if you won’t tell me that, will I at least be able to control myself without blowing up at Feltrino or the Podesta or, or any of the others I know try to sabotage us?”

  Arimus laughed.

  “You’ve had enough lessons about time travel

  to know I cannot tell you this.

  Come, let us take in this beautiful day.

  For although faux-death has placed sadness in the many hearts below,

  the joyful sound of songbirds still trills to give us a show.

  We shall walk and talk?”

  Arimus began strolling down the raised walkway. Hansum bit his lip and caught up.

  “Okay, I understand you can’t tell me exactly what happens in my future. But wouldn’t you be curious if you met yourself? Wouldn’t you want to know things too?”

  “Oh, but I have met my older self often,

  and in the beginning I was the same.

  But then I’ve seen too much go awry,

  so I don’t ask a future self

  who, what, when or why.”

  Hansum’s brow knit in concentration. “So, I haven’t blown it yet? I won’t be disqualified from my apprenticeship because I’m having a hard time controlling my emotions?”

  “Not just yet,” Arimus said with a smile.

  “Understanding your feelings is part of the course.

  So don’t be afraid of feeling worse.”

  They were out of sight of San Zeno when Hansum looked around. The place seemed familiar.

  “Okay. So, where will you take me now?”

  Sometimes we move through time and space,

  And sometimes only place.

  This time I’ve saved you some stairs to climb,

  so we’ve only to move through time.”

  “Man, usually I understand what you’re saying, but . . .” Before Hansum could finish his sentence, the Sands of Time rushed up from the stone walkway, a cylindrical wall obliterating the scene in front of them. Just as fast, the vortex vanished, and high above him, the sun was replaced by the moon.