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

by Lory Kaufman

  "Excuse me, Signor," Hansum called. "My master asked me to borrow a lit flagon to start our fire. We have just moved in."

  The man and the woman exchanged wary glances. "You come from the same house as that fool who ruined my horse dung," the man said.

  "Yes, I'm sorry about that. And you're right. He is a fool. My master beat him."

  "We saw."

  "But the rest of us are quite nice."

  "Your mistress looks a bit cracked. We can hear her screams from here."

  Hansum paused before he answered. "It would be wrong for me to say rude things about a lady, especially my Master's wife."

  The man in the window smiled. "Come to the door. I'll a give you a coal."

  He met the man and woman at the front door. "Buon giorno. My name is . . . Romero."

  "Buon giorno, Romero. I am Bruno Satore and this is my wife, Nuca. Nuca said nothing and smiled an almost toothless smile.

  "Buon giorno, Signora Satore. How are you today?"

  Signora Satore smiled again and nodded a crooked nod. Most of her mouth was just gums. "My wife does not speak," Bruno said.

  "Well, it's nice to meet you all the same," Hansum offered graciously.

  "Please come in, Romero," Bruno said. "We'll get you a coal."

  Hansum entered and saw that the main table in the Satores' home was covered with bolts of cloth, sharp blades, a wooden straight edge with markings and some partially completed garments. The Satores were tailors. Their home was very much like the della Cappas', but it was bright and well organized. They too had a straw-covered earth floor, but this straw was clean.

  "Your home has been empty for some months," Bruno said. "A slovenly family lived there. Bad neighbors."

  "It certainly still is messy," Hansum agreed. "I hope we will be better neighbors."

  Nuca laughed at this comment. Her face crunched up and her laugh seemed more like the honking of a goose. Bruno smiled at her.

  "My Nuca was such a beautiful girl." He cupped a hand lovingly on the side of her face. She snuggled into it. "Only a few months after we were married, many years ago, she got the fever. She survived, thanks to God, but her mind was not the same. The fever also burned her voice and almost all the power of her ears. And we could not have the blessings of children. But she's still my sweet girl." Bruno tweaked her cheek and followed it with a kiss. Nuca's lined, toothless face beamed.

  "No ite. No ite," she croaked, and then she laughed.

  "Si, she says that because she can't talk, we don't fight."

  They all laughed. Hansum was amazed that, between the two of them, the Satores possessed less than five teeth, and the ones they had were lined with black. He turned his shoulder around so Pan could get a good view of everything.

  Bruno lent Hansum a small ceramic cup to carry some embers in.

  "Thank you very much. I better get back," Hansum said. "I guess we'll be seeing each other often. Nice to meet you both."

  Chapter 25

  When he got back home, the air in the house was dustier than ever. Shamira was using a straw broom to sweep off the table. She coughed as a cloud of dust came up at her.

  Hansum tapped his temple. "This place is incredible," he said in Earth Common.

  "Yeah, unbelievable," Shamira answered, blinking and rubbing her nose from the dust. "And filthy."

  "Speak our language!" the Master shouted. "I want to know what you are saying at all times. No secrets in my house." Hansum tapped his temple again.

  The Master was by the fireplace, kneeling over the big iron pot, scraping the insides with an old knife.

  "Here is a coal, Master. I got it from the tailor across the street," Hansum said.

  "Good. Maruccio has already brought some wood. He's getting water now. You can start the fire as soon as I'm finished this," the Master said, not looking up.

  Hansum looked closely at what Agistino was doing. He was scraping the rust off of the surface of the iron vessel.

  "Ah, iron oxide," Hansum observed quietly. "You're saving this for lens polish. Blush."

  The Master stopped and looked Hansum in the eye. "The Holy Father spoke true," he said. "You do have some experience in lensmaking. Very good. By taking advantage of any resource about us, we can save the coins the Holy Father gave for things we can't provide with our own hands." The Master used a thin shim of wood as one would a dust pan and put the rust chips into a mortar bowl to be ground up for blush later.

  Lincoln came in with his first pail of water. It was a wooden pail, built with staves, like a barrel, two iron rings holding them together.

  "Coming through," Lincoln cried. "This thing's leakin' like there's no tomorrow!" He poured the water into the pot the Master had just finished scraping. It sloshed about and got the Master wet. "Sorry 'bout that," Lincoln said, out of breath. "I ran but still lost almost half the water."

  Master della Cappa looked like he wanted to be angry, but couldn't.

  "You are a funny boy," he chuckled. "You may be entertaining to have around. When you finish, let the pail soak in the rain barrel. The wood will swell and stop leaking by tomorrow."

  Lincoln's eyes widened. "Really? That's zippy." Because there was no counterpart in old Italian for the slang, it came out the same.

  "Is that a curse word?" the Master scowled, raising his hand.

  "No," Lincoln answered quickly.

  "Good. Romero, start the fire," the Master ordered.

  "Hey, I'm good at starting fires," Lincoln stated proudly.

  "Sure. Go to it," Hansum said. "I'll get the water. Do you mind, Master?"

  "As long as work gets done."

  "Great," Lincoln said.

  "Master, this curtain here is filthy. How about I use it to line the pail? It will get washed while I carry water and slow the dripping."

  "Just be sure to shake as much dust as you can off first," Agistino said. "And bring more wood."

  "The table and bench are swept," Shamira said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "But this floor is filthy."

  "We change the straw tomorrow," the Master said. "There is much to be done. But now that we have many hands, God willing, all will be well soon." He paused, seeming to mull over his plans out loud. "Yes, tomorrow we clean and provision the house. After that, we'll get to the business of making discs for the eyes. Yes."

  Back by the barn, Hansum shook out the dusty curtain. He dunked it in the rain barrel, then wrung out the moisture and much of the dirt. He repeated the process several times and was folding the fabric to fit into the pail when Guilietta and her mother appeared. Hansum's trading jobs with Lincoln had gotten him what he wanted.

  "I see you make a fine washer woman, Romero," Guilietta said.

  Hansum, being the confident and good looking boy he was, had never been rattled by a woman's teasing, no matter what her age. But Guilietta was having a different effect on him. She looked him in the eye, but there was a modesty and vulnerability about her.

  "Oh. I didn't see you."

  "This much is obvious," she said.

  The Signora stood by her daughter and looked back and forth between the two young people. Although addled, she was sharp on other levels. She tugged at her daughter's arm and began to walk.

  "I want my porco!" Guilietta allowed herself to be pulled away, but smiled back at Hansum.

  "The fire's only being lit," Hansum called. "It will be a while before things are ready."

  The mother glared at her daughter as they walked.

  "You both have looks within your eyes. Don't be a fool."

  "Mother, not so loud. He'll hear."

  "Who cares? He's an orphan."

  "Hush!"

  When Hansum returned to the house, the fire was going. Lincoln and the Master were finishing hanging the pot over the flames.

  "The flue needs cleaning," the Master said. "Tomorrow I'll have you go on the roof, Maruccio. We will sweep it out."

  "The roof? Clean the chimney?" Lincoln said, looking at his blackened ha
nds. Hansum smiled as he saw a filthy Lincoln thinking deeply about something. "That could be dangerous."

  The Master clapped the boy on the back and laughed.

  "Life is dangerous, Maruccio," he said. Lincoln smiled weakly. His teeth shone out from his blackened face. "Such nice, white teeth," the Master added.

  It took Hansum quite a few more trips to the rain barrel before the cauldron was full. His arms, although strong and muscled from sports and working out, were sore from real manual labor. He rubbed his tender biceps as he looked around the room. Shamira and Guilietta were rummaging through a trunk and bringing out wooden bowls and cups, a few cracked plates, some knifes, wooden spoons and a few ceramic jars. The Signora was sitting slumped on the bench, waiting impatiently. The Master had Lincoln skimming out the dirt from the water as it heated.

  "Is this all we have to drink?" Lincoln asked.

  "You eat and drink what is put on my table," the Master said with some severity.

  The Master picked up the wrapped pork from where he had placed it by the fire to warm. He put it on a cracked ceramic plate. "Where's the bread?" he asked.

  "I hid it in my room so the mice wouldn't get it," Guilietta said, her eyes glancing over at her mother. "I'll be right back."

  "Carmella, put water from the cauldron in the cups for everyone," the Master ordered.

  Shamira, not seeing a ladle, dipped each wooden cup in the boiling water, gingerly holding the edge of each and avoiding the floating scum that was left.

  Chapter 26

  The Master directed each person to their place at the table. He and his family on one side, the Signora in the middle; the teenagers on the other side, Shamira in the middle. When Guilietta returned and unwrapped the bread it was not like the nice, light-colored bread at History Camp. It was dark with a hard crust and spots of green mold. The Master took a blackened steel knife and cut into it. The bread fractured and bits sprayed everywhere. None of the della Cappas took notice, but each smiled broadly. After cutting the bread into uneven hunks and distributing a piece to each, the Master unwrapped the pork. Hansum couldn't believe what he was seeing, and looked at Lincoln and Shamira, who were both staring in horror. Dark veins and nerves ran throughout the white meat. It was sweaty from sitting next to the fire, and strings of yellow fat stretched, mucus-like, from the meat to the cloth as it was unwrapped. The della Cappas gave a joyful laugh.

  "God bless the Holy Father," Guilietta said, crossing herself.

  The Master crossed himself too. The Signora bobbed her head uncontrollably and drooled. Agistino took his iron knife and first cut the meat into thin slices and then cut them further into bite-sized pieces. He placed them into the bowls around the table. First into his wife and daughter's bowl, then his own. Then the bowl in front of Hansum, then the one in front of Shamira and Lincoln.

  "We seem to be short a bowl or two," Lincoln said sarcastically.

  "What? You think you are at the Podesta's palace?" the Master asked. "We share, like everybody from a poor, Christian home."

  "You have your own bowl," Lincoln observed.

  The Master's hand slammed down on the table.

  "I am the Master. Shut your mouth."

  "Romero's got his own bowl," Lincoln grumbled.

  Just then the door to the house opened. A gargoyle of a head popped in. "Master, I have returned." It was Ugilino.

  "The blessings just do not stop," Agistino muttered under his breath. "Your nose tell you when food is on the table?"

  The fact that nothing heavier than an insult was thrown his way apparently told Ugilino the Master was his old self again. A moment later, he was sitting beside Hansum at the end of the table. He grabbed the hard bread in front of Hansum and broke it in half.

  "Eh, porco! Magnifico! Grazie, Master."

  "Thank the Holy Father when he returns. It was his gift."

  "Oh, I saw him in the market," Ugilino said, biting off a chunk of the hard, dark bread. He continued to chew with his mouth wide open as he talked. "He gave me this satchel of herbs for the mistress." He tossed the bag toward Guilietta. "A tea to drink thrice a day," he said, looking at Guilietta with his big, decayed smile, bread now stuck between the broken teeth.

  "Mama, they are the same herbs the Holy Father provided for you in Florence," she said cheerily.

  "I don't like them," the Signora said. "They make me tired."

  "They make you sane!" the Master shouted. "You'll take them!" He punctuated his command by banging his hand on the table again.

  "I won't!" the mother whined.

  "Mama," Guilietta said, touching her arm, "they didn't make you tired. They made you calm and the household was peaceful. We laughed and talked and all was well."

  "For you, I'll take them. And to make the house be quiet," the mother said begrudgingly.

  "When is Arimus . . . I mean, the Holy Father coming back?" Hansum asked.

  "He's not," informed Ugilino, chewing on the bread. "He visits the brothers at San Zeno tonight and is off through the northern valleys in the morning. For a month, he said. Yes, he told me to tell the orphans that he would be gone for a month." Ugilino then grabbed the bowl that he and Hansum were obviously sharing. He took some of the slimy pork and, shoving it into his mouth, made ravenous eating noises.

  The three teenagers stared at each other. Arimus was leaving them on their own — in the fourteenth century — for a month!

  "But he said he was coming back," Lincoln said.

  "Plans change," the Master said, chewing some pork and bread together.

  "But..." Shamira started.

  "Don't worry," the Master said reassuringly, "a month goes by fast."

  "A month," Hansum repeated.

  "We're screwed!" Lincoln meant to say, but the translator made a very obscene word come out of Lincoln's mouth. The Master's big fist crashed on the table.

  "Don't you ever talk like that in my house or shop again!" he shouted. The children froze.

  "Master, excuse Maruccio," Hansum said. "He didn't mean it as it sounds. And I think we shall be fine till the Father returns."

  "All right then," Agistino said. He saw Ugilino hogging the food in his shared bowl. "Not so much! Romero has to eat too! And did you wash your filthy hands before you came to my table?"

  Ugilino put some of the meat he had in his hand back in the bowl. With his mouth still full of food, he said, "When Signora Baroni put the salve on my head, she made me wash my hands, my arms, my face, and my head at the fountain. You did a good one on me, Master, hey, hey."

  Agistino looked at Ugilino and pointed his knife at him.

  "You keep what is of this house in this house. The neighbors don't need to know our business. It's bad for business."

  "Yes, Master."

  "Romero, eat!" the Master ordered.

  Ugilino, crumbs falling from his lips, held the bowl up to Hansum and smiled. Hansum, confused at the etiquette, took the bowl, and just stared at its contents.

  "Are none of you hungry?" Guilietta asked the three newcomers. She had been nibbling at both the bread and the pork, trying to share with her mother, who was ravenously shoving all the pork she could into her mouth.

  "More porco!" she demanded of her husband.

  "Eat your bread first, wife."

  "I'll eat their pork if they don't," the Signora added.

  "Now Mama, they're just being shy," Guilietta said. "They're not used to such grand meals, I'm sure. You'd better eat," she advised.

  ***

  Lincoln's stomach growled again, so he knew he was getting hungry. Whatever magic might have been in that biscuit Arimus gave him was definitely wearing off. But when he looked down at the bowl he and Shamira were sharing, he thought, 'I dunno if I can eat this stuff.' He watched Shamira take a piece of the greasy pork in her fingers and bite off an edge. Then she nibbled on the hard, crunchy bread. She took a sip of the water with the bread still in her mouth, but made a face, like it scratched going down. Hansum was doing what Ugilino did
, putting some of the pork on a piece of bread and popping it in his mouth. Lincoln braved the pork, nibbling a bit off the edge of one piece. He found that, being unspiced, the pork tasted neither bad nor good. But he found it hard to swallow, so he took a sip of his water. When he took the wooden cup away from his mouth, he saw the yellow fat from his lips floating at the top of his water. This repulsed him so much he gagged and spit the water in his mouth back into the cup, some of it coming through his nose. Ugilino laughed.

  "Sorry," Lincoln said self-consciously, putting his cup down and snuffling. Then he put his hands in his lap, wiped them on his chausses and then his nose with his sleeve. He tried the bread. Since it was hard, he attacked it, his teeth breaking through the crust with a loud crunch. Crumbs flew and then Lincoln felt a bolt of pain sear through his upper palate.

  "Owwww!" he cried, grabbing his mouth. When he looked at what had fallen into his hand, he not only saw bits of bread, but also a piece of his front tooth and a small piece of stone. He turned to Shamira and bared his teeth.

  "Oh my God," she said with a look of horror on her face. "You've broken a tooth. He's broken a tooth," she repeated to the Master, shaking in her seat. "We've got to get him to a dentist."

  The Master laughed. "Hey, that's a piece of stone from the miller's wheel," he said jovially. "Maybe you should take it back to him?" The della Cappas and Ugilino laughed.

  Ugilino added, "Eh, now you start to look like me!" The della Cappas laughed again.

  "He needs to see a dentist," Shamira repeated. "I'm serious." Since the word dentist wouldn't be invented for four hundred years, the translation program substituted the word physician.

  "A doctor for a broken tooth? Ha!" the Master said, taking another bite of his bread and meat.

  "When the tooth goes black," Ugilino added, "I'll pull it out with a pair of pliers for you." He stretched back the side of his mouth to show a gaping hole where a bicuspid had been. "That's what the Master did for me," he mumbled through his distorted pie-hole.

  Lincoln looked into Ugilino's rotting mouth. He could see Hansum, who was sitting next to the ugly youth, cringe from its foul stench. Another streak of pain emitted from the tooth, shooting straight up through Lincoln's eye to the top of his head. He felt his face scrunch up with the pain and he pressed his hand hard over his mouth to suppress it. When he removed his hand, there was a bit of hot blood on his fingers. An unbidden sob emitted from Lincoln, followed by stinging tears.