The Lens and the Looker (Book #1 of The Verona Trilogy)

  "I think we should take what Elder Arimus says with a grain of salt," Hansum cautioned. "We might appear to be alone, but I know about History Camp protocol."

  "You seem the most cynical of the lot,

  and the cynic is ofttimes sensible.

  But, then again, sensible is often what the world around you says.

  Keep an open mind."

  "This place is freaky," Shamira said. "I wish I had something to sketch it with."

  "How may I deny a true artist?"

  Arimus reached into his monk's hassock and withdrew an old leather portfolio. Shamira stared at the cloak in wonderment. He handed her the cracked leather case and made a motion for her to inspect the contents. She brought out a dozen sheets of blank paper.

  "This is really wonderful, handmade paper," Shamira said.

  "Scarce resources for your talent to display.

  Do not waste this paper of rag base.

  For with your talent you can turn it to lace."

  "Padre Aaron, Padre Aaron," a man's voice shouted. Everyone's head turned to look to the top of the lane between the alley and the road. A large man was standing there, heavily bearded and wearing dark clothes and boots.

  "Siete voi? Siete proprio voi, lo mio vecchio amico?" he shouted excitedly. Having trained the other year as a Renaissance soldier, Hansum had learned a fair bit of Italian. He was good at languages. He thought the man was saying something like, "Father Aaron, Father Aaron, is that you? Is that you, my old friend?" But he wasn't quite sure as the accenting and phrasing were very strange.

  Arimus dropped his rhyming voice and fell into the medieval Italian. He waved his hands and danced a little jig, as if he were seeing a long-lost friend.

  "Agistino," he shouted in a heavy Cambrian accent. "Agistino, fratello mio. Sono io, vostro fratello, Padre Aaron." Hansum was struggling to translate it in his head when he heard Pan's voice in his ear.

  "He's saying, Agistino, my brother. It is I, your brother, Father Aaron."

  "Magna laude a Dio, entrambi sopravvivemmo a li nostri viaggi!" the big man shouted back.

  "Praise be to God, we have both survived our journeys!" Pan whispered in translation.

  The man, who Arimus called Agistino, lumbered toward them as a bear would, on his hind legs, arms open wide. He laughed as he ran, but after they came together in a hearty embrace, he fell to his knees and began kissing Arimus's hands.

  "Calma, fratello. Calma," Arimus said. "Godiamo di cotesto ritrovarsi con la grazia del Signore."

  "Calm, brother," Pan explained. "Calm. Let us revel in this reunion with grace,"

  Agistino got up, collected himself and asked, "Quando arrivaste nella civitate?"

  "When did you arrive in the city?" Pan continued translating.

  "Appena oggi, allo scoccar del mezzodì," Arimus explained.

  "Just today. At mid day," Pan whispered.

  "And you found us already? How?" Pan translated.

  "By God's grace and a few questions."

  Chapter 20

  Another voice shouted from up the lane. It was a younger man, a little shorter than Hansum, but quite stout. "Padrone, Padrone!"

  "Master, Master," the young man called in a harsh, raspy voice. "La signora vostra moglie sta gridando perché ella non trova il vaso da notte fra le masserizie e le casse del trasloco."

  "Your wife is screaming for her chamber pot. It can't be found in the moving crates."

  "Dio nell'alto dei cieli, dammi la pazienza! Ora mi tocca perfin di diventare bambinaia di questa donna grassa e sciatta," Agistino said. "God in Heaven, give me strength. Now I am a nursemaid to a sow." Then Agistino turned and looked at the three teenagers, glancing at them fleetingly, like they were goats or chickens. "Sono codesti gli orfani che tu dai a me?"

  Pan said, "Oh, oh, Young Master. He's saying, Are these the orphans you are giving to me?" Hansum looked at both adults with trepidation.

  "Si," Arimus answered offhandedly.

  "Allora che si vengan tutti meco,"and Pan translated, "Then come all with me."

  "Datemi un poco di tempo, di grazia," Arimus said. "Give me some little time," and after Arimus spoke some more, Pan added, "I am reviewing their duties, both for you and the Holy Church."

  The young man up the lane shouted again, "Padrone, ecco il vaso da notte della vostra signora moglie."

  "Master, your wife's chamber pot."

  Agistino's happy countenance turned quickly to rage. He shouted again in old Italian, to which Pan translated, "Can't you see I'm talking with the Holy Friar?" He made a rude gesture aimed toward the young oaf.

  "Pace, Agistino," Arimus said, putting a hand on Agistino's shoulder and speaking gently.

  "Peace, Agistino. An irritable bowel is a demanding God. Go find its altar of prayer for your wife."

  Agistino's scowl turned to a smile, and he chuckled something in Italian which came to, "That is why I love you, Father. You make me laugh with your wisdom. Come to the house when you are ready." Agistino then turned and ambled off.

  "Does everyone here speak like that?" Shamira asked.

  "Of course. It's their language."

  "I know some Italian," Hansum said. "But I could hardly understand what you guys were saying. What Italian is it?"

  "Italian, as it was spoken in 1347. But Italy didn't exist as you know it then."

  "You're going to leave us where we don't understand what is going on?" Shamira asked.

  "That would be mean and cruel.

  No, dear ones, I'll give you a tool.

  I take from my blouse three nibbles of food,

  each eat one, and be instantly shrewd.

  Consume it do, and then you'll spout,

  early Italian without a doubt.

  Your ears will know all ideas said,

  you'll understand what your eyes have read."

  Arimus took a handkerchief from his all-providing robe. Unwrapping it revealed three small biscuits. He held them out to Shamira first.

  "Taste. Don't waste. I made them myself."

  She took one, sniffed it, then bit off a small piece. "Pretty good," she said.

  He offered one to Lincoln, who popped it in his mouth and chewed the thing whole.

  "Thanks. I'm starving."

  He held the last one out to Hansum.

  "These will help us learn?"

  "Oh more than that. They are the learning."

  "There's no technology that can give us instant knowledge of a language!" Hansum retorted.

  "Let's not quibble. Give it a nibble.

  And if it doesn't work, withal,

  I'll eat this cassock before you all!"

  Hansum shrugged and ate his.

  "It's not bad," he said.

  "I'm happy that you are enjoying.

  Now eat it all, and eat it quickly,

  Your new master awaits, and he's really quite prickly.

  Come you three, we'll walk while we talk, and I'll explain.

  Agistino della Cappa is your new master's name.

  From Florence he came, his head hung in shame.

  A good man, essentially, with one weakness, the grape.

  From the nectar of Bacchus, he could not escape.

  Apprenticed when eight, to a maker of crystal.

  His master's the man who invented the spectacle.

  Agistino was at sixteen a journeyman made,

  His master's daughter he married, for his talents were sage.

  When his father-in-law died, the family's head he became.

  In Florence he flourished and garnered true fame.

  But his wife is not well, in her head she is ill.

  Though in our times her malady could be fixed with one pill."

  Shamira stopped walking and looked at Arimus suspiciously.

  "If she's ill, why don't you use modern medicine to cure her?" she asked.

  "The past we cannot influence, with modern medical creations.

  It's a time-traveler's code, of strict legislation." r />
  Lincoln put his hand on his stomach, then burped.

  "Wow. I don't know what was in that, but I don't feel queasy anymore."

  "Like I said,

  It's food and something else from a day far away,

  and the one time I'll feed you during your stay.

  Your fates do now rest with your wills and your hands,

  To succeed you will learn, dears, on how to make plans.

  Back to my the story of Agistino, my friend

  I care for him dearly, my love's without end.

  But his life is his own and his century too

  There's a limit, you'll learn, what a friend can but do.

  To hide from the badgering of his wife's mental distress,

  He took to the bottle and drank wine to excess.

  His riches soon faded, as did his creditors' trust

  All of his life now's a horrible bust.

  An ubriaco he's been. A drunkard. A sot.

  And finally, he stands, a miserable bankrupt.

  To Verona he's fled, vowing his life to improve

  I gave him the money to make that brave move."

  "I thought you couldn't interfere in the past?" Hansum said sarcastically.

  "In matters technological or of medicine, yes,

  But people gave money in the past and were blessed."

  As he said this he made the sign of the cross.

  "So, Agistino and his wife, took Guilietta, their daughter.

  And with no servants or maids, to Verona they brought her.

  With Ugilino, their apprentice, who has little of talent,

  To his master's debasement, he fits in most valiant.

  And there they all live, behind that grey door,

  Of their world I'll not tell you a scintilla more."

  His story ended as they arrived at the main road where Agistino's rented house met the alley. Arimus swept his arm toward the door, then motioned up the road one way and then the other. The road south led to a distant red brick wall and one of the towering entrance gates into Verona. Looking north, there was a second city wall, from several centuries earlier, when the city was smaller. Above it you could see the tops of more brick towers, church steeples and ancient houses. The street was busy with people, many on donkeys, horses and carts.

  "All right then," he said, "now I've revealed to you all that I may.

  Here is the humble home where you'll live, work and pray."

  "Whoa!" Lincoln grabbed at his temple.

  "What's wrong?" Shamira asked, taking his arm.

  "I felt something grow in my temple, under the skin. It feels like the sub-dermal. Yeah. Yeah," he said feeling around. "It is a sub-dermal," he said excitedly. "Does this mean I can talk to my home again?"

  Shamira and Hansum put their hands to their right temples.

  "I feel one too," Shamira said.

  "Hey," Hansum said. "What's going on?"

  "I told you, the food that you ate not only filled,

  It gave you a tool, so say you've been pilled.

  Now you can sing like a Cambrian canary,

  You're brains are all full of an Italian dictionary.

  And that nub on your noggin, is the switch to that talkin'."

  Chapter 21

  At that moment, the young man who had been calling to Master della Cappa emerged from the house carrying a steaming chamber pot. Close up, he was a terrible sight. One eye had a perpetual squint, the other was lazy and focused inward. His swarthy skin was pockmarked and full of blackheads. His lips were cracked and it was clear his nose had been broken more than once. His single eyebrow did not lie in any one direction, but had numerous scars dissecting it. What you could see of his matted hair was hidden by a ripped gray liripipe that was wrapped on top of his head like a beret. His voice was a rasping choir of devils.

  "Spostatevi, arriva il vaso da note pieno di escrementi!" he shouted. Pan quickly translated it for Hansum, as, "Get out of the way, here comes the chamber pot!" Even though he gave a warning, it seemed like he bumped into Hansum on purpose. The brown, acrid excrement sloshed over the side of the container and barely missed him. The lout ran to the middle of the road and tossed the contents onto a big pile of horse dung. A neighbor across the road shouted from a second-story window.

  "I'm still having trouble understanding what they're saying," Hansum said.

  "Yeah, I don't understand a word!" Lincoln agreed.

  "Me neither," Shamira added.

  "Tap your temples," Arimus ordered. "Come, you know how."

  As they tapped their temples, they instantly heard the neighbor shouting, "Hey, you stupid idiot! Why'd you throw that human crap and piss on those horse turds? They were beautiful horse turds. I was going to put it on my garden. Now I can't because you put that human crap on them."

  Arimus then told the teens to tap again to turn it off. Hansum and the others then heard the pot-emptying oaf say, "On, non datemi altri guai, femmina grassa e disgustosa. Getterò la merda della mia amante indove io vorrò." And when Arimus pointed at them to tap once more, they heard, "Oh, don't give me any trouble, you ugly, fat woman. I'll throw my mistress's merda where I want."

  "Hey, who you calling a woman? I'm a man!" the fellow in the window said.

  "A man? A man? I thought you were a woman with a smooth face like that."

  "Are you blind as well as stupid? Can't you see the beard on my face?"

  "That's a beard? My grandmother has more whiskers on her upper lip than you do on your whole stupid face."

  The neighbor made a sign of disgust and left the window.

  "Don't worry," the oaf laughed as he shouted, "there's more horses and merda in this world. Ha ha." Then he turned back to Arimus, smiling. His big yellow teeth, every one of them crooked or cracked, showed themselves proudly. "Father Aaron," he croaked, "thank Cristo you're here. The Master's been in an awful mood since he hasn't had wine the past month."

  Arimus motioned to the boorish boy about something behind him and he stepped aside, just missing the contents of another chamber pot being tossed out the window by the man. It splattered on the street beside him. The ugly youth turned toward the thrower and bit his thumb in a gesture of insult.

  "You even throw merda like a girl," he cried. "You missed."

  The neighbor smiled and pointed to the lout's shoulder. He looked and saw a small piece of excrement stuck to his clothing. He flicked it off nonchalantly. The neighbor shook his head in disgust and turned away again. After a few moments, seeming satisfied that the neighbor wasn't returning with a reloaded pot, the oaf wiped his hand on his tunic, smelled his finger tips and turned back to the man he knew as Father Aaron.

  Meanwhile, Hansum and the other teens had been tapping their temples, changing the dialogue in their heads back and forth from Earth Common to Italian. The oaf saw them tapping and made a face.

  "I think these orphans you brought are stupido, Father. Even more than me." He tapped his own forehead and twisted his tongue. "I'm gonna be your boss!"

  "Stop tapping your heads," Arimus said to the three from the future. "You look like cuckoo birds." Then he turned back to the oaf and put his hand on the lad's cleaner shoulder. "How goes it for you, Ugilino?" Ugilino smiled and grimaced at the same time. "And you say your master has been dispirited?"

  "Well, let's see, Father. When you last seen him, he'd gone bankrupt. Then the money lenders and bailiffs took his house, all his animals and his equipment, except for what I could steal back or hide. He no longer has a cook, a maid, a journeyman or even an apprentice of experience. His wife talks to devils and angels. His daughter's useless in the house. We had to sneak from Florence in the dead of night and travel to Verona like gypsies. We were robbed four times and I had to swallow the coins you gave us to hide them. I tell you, Father, if he did not have me, the devil would have him now."

  "Ugilino, my son, we must give thanks to God for even these small blessings," Arimus said.

  "Hey," the Master screamed as he b
ounded through the door. "You tell stories of your benefactor?" Agistino had a piece of firewood in his hand and swung it right at Ugilino's head. Ugilino ducked, but the lumber clipped the top of his crown. It knocked Ugilino's cap off and he collapsed onto the street. The Master continued to roar at him. "You stupido! You idiot!"

  Blood spurted from a cut on Ugilino's scalp and the Master was wild-eyed and breathing like a beast. He beat Ugilino several more times on the back. Hansum and the other teens' eyes went wide with shock. Hansum had seen fake violence at History Camps, but this was real. He and the other two blanched at the sight of the blood.

  "Peace, my son. Peace," Arimus said sternly, catching the big man's arm and holding it fast. "He is only answering what I asked. And you know I am familiar with your circumstances. I am your father confessor, your spiritual guide."

  "I will confess my own weaknesses! I need not an imbecile to do it for me in front of the neighbors!"

  Ugilino, on all fours, scrambled for his hat. He wisely crawled a few extra paces to be out of the Master's reach before getting back to his feet. The bloodied youth grinned through his pain and said, "Hey, that was a close one, Master. But is that any way to treat your future son?"

  "Your blood mix with mine?" the Master boomed. "Never! I'll spill every drop of both on this avenue first!"

  "Peace, peace, my son!" Arimus said again, continuing to hold Agistino back. "Ugilino, go to the town well and wash your wound. Wash it thoroughly, mind you. Then go to Urbe Market Grande. Seek out Signora Caterina Baroni, the herb merchant. Have her put some unguent on it. Tell her I sent you and will pay her when I come to the market later. Give your Master some hours to become his old, cheerful self, eh?" Ugilino held his cap in front of him, hesitating nervously. Small rivulets of blood ran down his thick brow and into his eyes. "Go, my son. Go." He turned and scurried off.

  "I hate my life!" Master della Cappa said, still shaking with rage. "How have I come to this? Why is God punishing me?"

  "Hush, my friend. Perhaps God, in his wisdom, is punishing you. Or perhaps not. Maybe it was just too much of the grape. What is important is to be faithful to Jesus and live each day as a staunch Christian. This is the only way out. The only way. Come, let us take my visit into your chambers. See, I have brought you three helpers for your salvation, just as I promised. I keep my promises. Now, you keep your promise to God and he will bless you. I'm sure of it."

  "Maybe you're right," Agistino said. "Come, Holy Father. Let us retire to my new dung heap of a home and I'll give you the richest of my poor hospitality. Bring the orphans."

  "Why do they keep calling us orphans?" Lincoln asked.