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

by Lory Kaufman

  "Okay, Superman," Pan whispered to Lincoln, "make sure you keep your back straight and use your legs when you lift. If you hurt your back in this century, you could be injured for life." And once, when Pan found Lincoln standing on a rickety box, trying to help lift a beam into place, he scolded him again. "You don't want to break a bone in this century. An infection could kill if your inoculation implant expires."

  On the fourth and fifth days, the boys helped the carpenters the Master had hired replace the large barn door with a single entrance door and two shuttered windows on either side of it for light. It reminded the boys of the first workshop. A few stalls at the back were kept for when the Master could afford to buy some livestock.

  On the sixth day, it was just finishing work. Pan stayed with Shamira to advise her on a good, nutritious meal. At dinner, he saw a very tired Lincoln drag himself into the house and lay his head on the table. He even chewed his bread with his eyes closed. Shamira and Hansum weren't much better. Ugilino laughed at them and looked very chipper.

  "How can you be so happy when you work all day and are out all night?" Hansum asked.

  "Good food!" Ugilino said smiling. "Grazie, Master."

  "So boys," the Master continued, "we finish early today. Everyone has worked hard. Our new shop is finished, but empty. After we eat, all that's left is to put our equipment into the shop. Then tomorrow . . ." A groan elicited forth from the tired teenagers. The Master laughed. "Tomorrow is a day of rest! It is God's day! It is the Sabbath."

  "Yeah!" they all cheered.

  "Hooray for God!" Lincoln said weakly, his head still on the table.

  "HEY!" the Master shouted.

  But Lincoln could not raise his head, he was too tired. Without even opening his eyes he said, "Sorry, Master," and fell asleep.

  Chapter 40

  When Lincoln woke up sometime later, all was quiet. Everyone was gone from the table except for Shamira, who was sitting quietly, drawing. Also absent from the room were the spectacle-making supplies and equipment. Lincoln thought that the Master must have been in a good mood indeed to exempt him from the move and cleanup.

  As Lincoln focused, he saw that Shamira kept looking up from her drawing to a small hologram suspended in the air in front of her. And standing on the table next to the drawing was Pan, reduced to about the size of a man's thumb.

  "Where is everyone?" Lincoln asked quietly.

  Shamira looked at him. "Oh, hi! The guys are at the shop. Guilietta and her mother are having a nap."

  "What are you and the little guy doin'?"

  "Drawing the design for a better lathe."

  "Oh yeah," he yawned. "The one we talked about."

  Pan turned to Lincoln and smiled. "Ah, like the daimon Hypnos returning from Erebos, my youngest master returns to the realm of the living."

  Lincoln blinked and smiled weakly. He noticed his unfinished bowl of food had not been removed. He raised his head and leaned on his elbows, reached into the bowl and began to nibble.

  "What type of lathe?" he asked.

  "Observe, Master Lincoln," Pan said. He commanded the hologram to follow him across the table to Lincoln. Then, as he flicked his now-tiny wrist, his arm turned into a long, thin pointer. "You will no doubt notice how this design bears some resemblance to Master della Cappa's lathe, vis-à-vis the heavy flywheel. But we have introduced a foot pedal instead of the simple hand crank to make it move. This leaves both hands free for the shaping tools. Also, notice that instead of a birch pole, we have introduced a wooden extension rod, which is attached to both the pedal and the flywheel. At the end of the rod is U-shaped crank handle. As the pedal is depressed, the flywheel now spins in a continuous one-way motion." He moved the pointer in a circle and the three-dimensional image became animated. "This one-way motion of the flywheel produces efficiencies I am sure you can appreciate, given your experience thus far."

  "Yeah, I can see that," Lincoln said. "But what I don't understand, little guy, is all this is kinda obvious. Why can't the Master figure out things like this for himself?"

  "Ho ho, why not indeed, youthful lord. Obvious it is to you and me and anyone else who has lived in modernity. But remember, in the past changes happened slowly. Appreciate that every commonplace item which filled your life back home in the future was once a revolutionary idea. To wit, the example at hand: This seemingly simple foot pedal and flywheel, in combination with the articulated crank, was an invention not devised till around 1500. And it took Leonardo de Vinci, one of the greatest human thinkers ever, to conceive it. That's over one hundred and fifty years from the present time period. Seven generations of humans, in fact."

  Shamira looked up from her drawing. She had just finished a detail and passed it over to Lincoln.

  "This little design feature apparently doesn't get invented for five hundred years. It's a removable dop," she said. "This way one craftsman can work on multiple lenses, one after the other, without having, what did you call it, Pan? Machine down-time?"

  "Yes, Mistress, exactly. An excellent drawing too, if I may say so. We shall make half a dozen removable dops for the machine. It will be known in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries as the assembly line process. All this should make the shop over two hundred percent more efficient."

  "Now that I understand," Lincoln said.

  "I shall have Hansum show Master della Cappa these drawings in a few days," Pan added.

  "Hey, that's not fair?" Lincoln protested. "Why can't I, or Shamira?"

  "This is a patriarchal society, Young Master. The older male should take the lead. You will be his trusty sidekick, and Shamira, his scribe. And me, the unseen, controlling hand, like Zeus, from high upon Mount Olympus."

  "Well, I dunno . . ."

  A creaking was heard from upstairs.

  "Get me my pot, girl. My pot!" the Signora's voice whined. Pan pointed his wand at the hovering hologram and it disappeared. He nodded and the wand turned back into his hand.

  "Mistress Shamira, put the drawings back in your portfolio. Master Lincoln, find Hansum and tell him that when we finish the plans in a few days, he must be ready to show them to the Master. Quickly! Be gone! We shall all confer tomorrow at our first opportunity." And with that, Pan disappeared in a whirling gust of holographic smoke, back into Shamira's veil.

  As Lincoln exited the house, he looked up at the sun's position to see what time of day it was. He yawned, still feeling tired to his bones. As he put one wobbly foot in front of the other, making his way around puddles and animal droppings, two thoughts consumed him. One was the comfort of his straw and wool blanket, the other, the lathe design he had just seen. He was thinking about the procedures he would be responsible for, keeping the interchangeable dops loaded and turning them over.

  Walking into the shop, Lincoln saw all the equipment, some new tables, the old lathe, the shaping tools, pots, all the supplies arranged neatly on hooks or shelves. Hansum was sitting on the lathe, as if he were operating it.

  "Hey, you're awake. Finally," Hansum said.

  "Yeah," Lincoln answered wearily. "Where's the Master and Ugly?"

  "They went to some church to talk to a priest. I'm supposed to keep an eye on things. Make sure nobody breaks in before we get a proper lock. What you doin'?"

  "Oh, I'm friggin' tired. I'm going up to sleep." He started up the ladder.

  "How are Shamira and Pan doing?" Hansum enquired.

  "Oh yeah. They're almost finished the design for the new lathe. We're going to show the Master in a few days. I was supposed to tell you."

  "Was Guilietta there?"

  "No. Your girlfriend was asleep with her mom."

  "She's not my . . ."

  "Yeah, yeah," Lincoln said, disappearing up into the loft.

  Lincoln took the thick wool blanket down from where he had it airing, wrapped it around himself, and nestled into the straw pile. 'Thank God - I mean, thank goodness the Master said it's a day of rest tomorrow. I think I'll sleep all day."

  Cha
pter 41

  Brong, brong, brong. Dang, dang, dong.

  Church bells from all over Verona rang out loudly in the back of Lincoln's sleeping mind. A diverse cacophony of chimes was integrated into another dream he was having. He was flying, soaring like a bird, high over Verona. But the dream ended abruptly with the Master's voice shouting.

  "Everybody up. Time for church."

  The bells were no longer part of his dream. They were real. Lincoln opened his eyes and saw the Master's head sticking up through the loft's opening in the floor. He was wearing a new pair of spectacles with a shiny red ribbon holding the frame on his head. His face also looked scrubbed. Lincoln blinked his eyes to try and clear up both his vision and his thinking. Was this the old master or the new one? Then Agistino smiled and a row of rotten teeth informed him of their owner.

  "You boys, come to the house. Eat and then we go. If you're not there quick, no food."

  Finally Lincoln got his bearings and realized he had not only slept all yesterday afternoon, but right through the night. Hansum was sleeping next to him. "I thought this was a day of rest," Lincoln said weakly.

  The Master's eyes sharpened.

  "We go to the church to give thanks. And rest. Now move your ass!" And he was gone.

  Instead of being disobedient about getting out of bed, as in the past, the boys forced themselves up, no matter that they were sore and tired. They found Ugilino downstairs, squatting over the chamber pot in the corner of the shop.

  "Do you ever sleep?" Hansum yawned.

  "Yeah. Where do you go?" Lincoln asked.

  "I go here and there. And sleep here, there." Ugilino said pulling up his pants without wiping.

  "Don't forget to wash your hands before you sit next to me at the table," Lincoln said to Ugilino as they left the shop together. They washed their hands and faces in the frosty water of the barn's rain barrel.

  "Hey," Ugilino said devilishly. When the others looked, he pretended to wipe his hand on his rear end, then shouted, "Now I wipe my hands on both of you!" The other two screamed in mock horror and started running, Ugilino taking chase. As he touched one of them, it turned into a boisterous game of tag. When they reached the front door of the house, they stopped the horseplay, took off their hats and entered the house quietly, all smiling.

  The smell in the house was wonderful. Under Pan's tutelage, Shamira and Guilietta had made rabbit pastry pie. Everyone, including the Signora, was in a good mood. Ugilino's eyes showed he was genuinely overcome with emotion.

  "Master, Master, we are truly eating like princes," he said in a voice filled with awe and wonder.

  After their special meal, Lincoln found himself part of a happy procession that was making its way to Church. The sun was just rising.

  The Signora had been left at the house where Master della Cappa said she'd be happier and the Archangel Michael could perform a personal mass for her.

  "Anyway," he said, "this first visit to church is as much for business as it is for our souls."

  Lincoln saw how the townspeople stared at them. It seemed that Agistino was getting the effect he'd planned. They weren't dressed too badly, compared to many others. Guilietta was certainly pretty to look at, and it was obvious that Agistino, by his trailing entourage and bearing, was a craft-master of some success. And there were his spectacles. Most people in Verona had never seen them before. Lincoln was amused by how many onlookers went gape-mouthed or just pointed at them. The Master nodded to most and bowed to a few of the better-dressed citizens. Agistino had told Lincoln, while they were working on the shop, that the discs for the eyes had become popular, not only for their utility, but also as a status symbol. People walked around town wearing them even when they didn't need them. Master della Cappa's strategy was to play this phenomenon to the hilt.

  "What Church are we going to?" Hansum asked Ugilino.

  "San Zeno," Ugilino answered. "And I think you will all see a surprise there."

  "What surprise?"

  "Oh, if I tell you, it won't be a surprise." And with that, Ugilino made a little pantomime of sewing up his lips and did his best to look mysterious.

  Lincoln and Shamira were also receiving a guided tour of the city. With Pan's little brass lamp sewn into the hem of Shamira's veil, the imp could see where they were. He gave the two a running commentary.

  "According to historical records, this is a main road called Corso del Palio. Southward it leads to one of the city's seven gates. You can see it in the distance if you look to the left. It is that larger tower with a wooden roof. If you turn your attention up the road to the right, or north, the road leads to the oldest part of Verona. You can see, not far off, the spires and flags of Castlevecchio. The older section of Verona is ringed, not only by the wall you are seeing, but also by the winding Adige River. In the early part of the fourteenth century, about thirty thousand souls lived here. That's a very large city for this period. Then again, in our twenty-fourth century, it would be among the largest cities on the planet."

  They crossed Corso del Palio and continued on a narrower, unpaved sidestreet. There was a mix of row homes right on the street, and also several free-standing houses in farm fields, similar to the first History Camp. They then came to the old, inner city wall and turned left. After a while, a tower came into view. Lincoln stretched his neck up at the structure.

  "Hey, I saw that tower in a dream I had last night," he said to Shamira.

  "I believe that is the bell tower of San Zeno." Pan continued. "It is seventy-two meters high and is on the spot of an old monastery. In fact, an interesting fact about the church proper is that it is actually a church built upon a church that was built, yet again, upon an original smaller church. And the original church, now well below ground, is the crypt of Saint Zeno, the church's patron saint and the first Bishop of Verona." A short time later, both the church and bell tower of San Zeno loomed over them.

  "I remember seeing this church and tower," Shamira said, "But it was old and worn. But this is amazing. Everything is so brightly painted."

  "Yeah," Hansum agreed, in Earth Common. "It's really different."

  "Wow," Lincoln added. "San Zeno is zippy!"

  They were also awed by the diverse population of the churchgoers. The gangly workers, the tiny widows in black, the sharp-eyed, dull, hopeful, hungry, and again the children. So many children, some quietly in tow, but there were always a few breaking away from the herd and running wild in the square. Then, as they got up close to the church, they noticed the church carvings.

  "One of the things San Zeno is known for, Young Master and Mistress," Pan said, "are the carvings on the front of the church. The panels on either side of the great doors are over ten meters high. Eighteen panels depict scenes from the bible. And above the door, note the great rose window."

  "It looks like a wheel," Lincoln observed.

  "Very good, Young Master. The window is called the Wheel of Fortune, with twelve spokes and window panes. And see the human figures on it. Some standing, some falling, one hanging on for dear life."

  "Oh yeah. Hey, look, Sham." Lincoln giggled at the humorous carvings.

  But Shamira didn't answer. Her artistic eyes seemed to be looking everywhere, letting the visual flood wash over her.

  As they neared the church, they melted into the throng, a river of worshippers flowing into the cavernous building.

  "Hey, there's dragons," Lincoln laughed as they approached the open doors, "and monsters. Everywhere." Gargoyles, elves, imps and dragons hovered above the crowd from on top of columns and out from keystones. More dragons were carved in the entrance stairs' banisters. As they walked up the stairs, the crowd passed between two huge carved lions, their growls frozen in red sandstone. And over it all, centered in the casing of the door, welcoming all the pilgrims to worship, was the brightly painted, eighth-century statue of Saint Zeno. And below him, the famous bronze doors of San Zeno.

  "Look how these huge wooden doors are decorated with forty-eight primi
tive square bronze plate bas reliefs. They depict events and tales from the life Saint Zeno."

  The house of della Cappa now crossed the threshold of the church. As impressed as Lincoln and the others were by the craftsmanship of San Zeno's outside, it was instantly trumped by the opulent grandeur, the overpowering gilded and tiled sumptuousness of the building's interior. The sheer internal volume and multitude of details dwarfed the group, showing how the designers were successful in their intention to say to the visitor, 'You are tiny, God and the Church are great.'

  "Wow!" Lincoln said.

  "What happened to zippy?" Shamira asked, equally overwhelmed at the artistic and engineering diversity.

  "Zippy just don't cut it," he answered, still gawking at everything.

  "The ceiling is said to imitate the construction of a ship's keel, but upside down," Pan continued. "The complex and intersecting arches of the ceiling are covered with intricate mosaic ceramics, and every small area that isn't mosaic is covered by richly painted religious frescos. The length of the nave's roof is supported on either side by a double phalanx of massive columns carved from polished peach and tan marble. The columns support arches which, in turn, hold up the vaulted ceiling and roof. These towering walls are constructed with alternating courses of brick, limestone and more marble."

  Lincoln noticed that two thirds the way down the church's length, it was separated into upper and lower floors. "Where do those steps go?" he asked quietly.

  "The stairs going down is where the original, smaller church is. The steps up are where the richer citizens and nobles sit during services. The heavy banister along the top floor is called the ambo." The ambo ran between the two heavy ascending marble stairs at each side of the church.

  "The rich people sit up there while we stand down here?" Lincoln asked. The Master looked over at the boy, scowling and putting a finger to his lips. Lincoln smiled at him.

  "Yes, that is the way it is," Pan confirmed."Below this section is the original church, now the crypt of Saint Zeno. Marble steps, the whole width of the nave, take a visitor under one of five arches that support the ambo and floor. The under part is only about twenty feet high and its ceiling is supported by many Corinthian columns. The crypt has many parts, but the main one is the resting place of the Saint Zeno relics, protected behind an ornate wrought-iron gate."