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

by Lory Kaufman

  "Whatever you think, Master," Hansum said apprehensively.

  "Just be careful, Master," Shamira reminded. "The glue will take most of the night to dry."

  Agistino looked at Shamira and the workbench, noticing all the carefully cut bits of bonded paper, the glue pot and the glue brush in her hand.

  "Yes," Hansum added. "The lenses must stay perfectly aligned to one another, at a precise distance apart."

  "I helped too," Lincoln added.

  "Yes," was all Agistino could think to say as he turned to leave. "Good boy." Agistino was obviously at a loss when assessing this curious group of children.

  "Carmella, are you coming to bed?" Guilietta asked.

  "I'll be right there. I want to clean up."

  When the Master left, Pan popped back out. "So, now the telescope has been introduced several hundred years earlier than before," Pan said, a look of trepidation on his face.

  "I wonder what's going to come of this," Shamira said.

  "None of us has disappeared yet," Hansum said. "I guess all our same ancestors were born."

  "What color is Pan's butt now?" Lincoln asked, peering around the A.I.

  Book Three

  Stranded

  Chapter 49

  Even though Hansum was tired, he found it hard to fall asleep. He tossed and turned, so more straw than usual got into his blanket. This caused more itching, which made it even more difficult to sleep. He tried to think of pleasant things, like being home again, being nicer to his parents, Charlene and his teachers. He even admitted, 'I guess I've been cured of being a hard case.' And then another thought swirled in his mind. 'What about Guilietta?' He had no answer for this. He had to agree with Lincoln and hope that the History Camp elders from the thirty-first century would allow them to visit.

  "Wake up, brother Romero, wake up," Hansum heard a croaking voice say as his shoulder was shaken violently. He hadn't even realized he had finally fallen asleep.

  "What? What's going on?" Hansum said, forcing his eyes open. It was still dark. He could just see Ugilino's face hovering above his, the grotesque visage even more contorted than usual. "What's wrong?" Hansum asked. Ugilino's mouth opened, but no words came out. His eyes welled and tears gushed out.

  "Come!" Ugilino said pitifully before getting up and disappearing down the ladder, his sobs echoing in the dark.

  "What's happening?" Lincoln said sleepily from the straw.

  "I dunno," Hansum answered. "Ugi is crying like crazy and says we have to come."

  As they got to the house, they heard the wails of more people. Inside, the flickering of oil lamps threw ominous shadows about the place. The first thing Hansum saw was the Master in his night shirt and cap, sitting on the bench, his arms hanging by his sides, his chest heaving with sobs. Guilietta was by him, her face buried in the fabric of his sleeve. There was a monk standing by the table, quiet and serious. 'What could have happened,' Hansum thought. 'Has the Signora died?' Then he saw her, sitting on the other side of the table, her head slumped down and arms spread, not moving.

  "The Signora?" Hansum asked. "Is she . . ."

  The Signora's head popped up and she screamed toward the ceiling, "PETER, BLESSED SAINT. FOLD THE HOLY FATHER INTO YOUR ARMS!"

  Hansum turned toward a confused Shamira. She was standing pale and ghost-like by the fireplace.

  "What's going on?" Hansum asked. Shamira didn't answer, but stood there, shuddering.

  "The Holy Father..." Agistino began, but he couldn't continue. His head fell onto his heaving chest. Ugilino sat down on the other side of Agistino and put his hand on the Master's shoulder. Amazingly, Master della Cappa didn't push it away. Finally, Agistino lifted his head. "It is a day of death!" the Master finally whispered, his voice sounding more pitiful than anyone could ever expect from him.

  "My son," the monk said, turning to Hansum and Lincoln. "Terrible news has befallen us."

  "What, brother?" Hansum asked.

  "Grave news," the monk said, but he stopped when Agistino put up his hand.

  "I shall tell," the Master said, his hand shaking so violently that Ugilino had to grab and hold onto it. "My cherished friend," the Master finally was able to get out, "and my beloved brother, my father confessor, our benefactor, the holy Father Aaron — has been killed."

  Hansum and Lincoln looked at each other, shocked. They looked at Shamira again, who was still shivering by the fire.

  "That's impossible," Hansum said. "It can't be true."

  "Would that was the case, my son," the monk interjected. "On his way back to Verona, just up in the northern valley, he was set upon by thieves. His remains were found by a young travelling nobleman. The Father's body was half eaten by wolves."

  "Those cursed mountains and those cursed wolves!" Ugilino cried. "He was the only one that wanted nothing from me!" The Master patted Ugilino on the shoulder, tears now gushing from both their eyes. Guilietta even reached out and put her hand on Ugilino's.

  The three teenagers from the future looked on, wordless.

  "But that doesn't make any sense," Lincoln said.

  "His remains were just brought to San Zeno," the monk explained. "The Bishop himself is conducting services. I was sent to deliver the news. I am sorry. He was a friend to so many. You may come in the morning to the church."

  Pan whispered something into Hansum's ear.

  "We have to go now!" Hansum said.

  "It serves no purpose, my son," the monk said. "The morning is soon enough . . ."

  "We have to go now!" Pan whispered desperately.

  Hansum looked at Lincoln and Shamira and tapped his language implant. "Pan says go now!"

  ***

  Hansum found the cavernous church very different at night. The wonderful paintings, gargoyles, dragons and saintly statues looked ghostly as the flames from large oil lamps and torches sent portentous, dancing shadows over everything. Prayers for the fallen "Father Aaron" were being chanted by a phalanx of priests and monks. They stood around a small stone ossuary, the smoke from burning candles and incense wafting all around it. The Bishop himself walked up to Agistino, who fell to his knees and kissed the clergyman's ring.

  "You're sure?" the Master asked, his whisper echoing in the great hall.

  "There's not much left, my son, but we are sure," the Bishop said, motioning to the ossuary.

  Pan whispered in Hansum's ear again. "We've got to see it," Hansum repeated.

  "See what, my son?" the Bishop asked.

  Pan whispered again. "The remains."

  "My son, it is not a sight for young eyes, or old ones for that matter."

  "We must," Hansum said very quietly.

  Agistino, Lincoln and Hansum stepped toward the ossuary. Agistino motioned for the women to stay back. The Bishop nodded to the monks and two took hold of the small sarcophagus's lid.

  "Prepare thyselves," one of them said.

  When they lifted the lid, a rank smell rose that nearly made Hansum vomit. He clamped a hand over his nose and mouth, but forced himself not to turn away. Almost nothing could be seen for the thousands of wriggling maggots. A bit of skull was visible, as well as a tangle of recognizable salt and pepper hair. The three gasped and stepped back. The monks let the lid drop back into place. Another monk stepped forward.

  "Master della Cappa," he murmured with quiet compassion, "there was this note and small amulet with the body."

  Agistino took them, looked at the note blindly and handed it to Hansum.

  "Give this necklace to the orphans living with the della Cappas in Verona," Hansum read. Then he looked up with hollow, scared eyes. Agistino held up the necklace. It was a piece of rawhide strip, tied into a long loop. On it was a small brass charm, in the familiar shape of an oil lamp. Agistino handed it to Lincoln.

  As Guilietta stepped toward her father, Hansum and she exchanging pained glances. Tears fell from Guilietta's eyes and Agistino wrapped his arms around her. They sobbed in each other's arms. Ugilino lay himself down on the floo
r by the ossuary, spread his arms out and began to pray through a constant stream of tears. The three teens from the future huddled together and looked at the familiarly-shaped brass charm. All were lost for words.

  "I am sorry for your sorrow, Signorina," the clear voice of a young man said. He had approached Agistino and Guilietta from the shadows and was now standing before them, his eyes locked on Guilietta. The Bishop stepped forward.

  "Master della Cappa," he said gently, "this is Prince Feltrino Gonzaga of Mantua. He is the one who found the remains of our beloved Father Aaron."

  Agistino released Guilietta and faced the young man. He was indeed wearing noble clothes, but they were faded and somewhat dirty. He wore a long saber at his side.

  "Thank you, Excellency, for bringing our family back to us," Agistino said, bowing low and putting a hand to his chest. Prince Feltrino looked at him briefly, but brought his gaze back to Guilietta.

  "Si, when I saw the note with the city of Verona on it, I had no choice but to bundle up what was left of the good father and come here." Feltrino looked over at the Bishop. "An obligation to the church," he smiled. Then, looking back at Guilietta, he added, "And I'm very glad I did."

  Hansum saw Guilietta blush. He stepped forward, but felt the strong hand of a monk holding him back in his obvious place.

  ***

  Feltrino Gonzaga looked at the assemblage and thought that, once again, he was being forced to deal with people who were well beneath him. 'All these peasant priests and monks, these crass craftsmen and horribly dressed apprentices,' he thought. 'Dreadful. And all these tears over some dead priest. It's so tiresome. But this one, this girl, this is a beautiful girl. Maybe she will make it worth the trouble of dragging that smelly carcass in a sack behind my horse.'

  If he hadn't been out of money, he would never have done it. Coming to Verona, home of his Gonzaga family's sworn enemies, the della Scallas, could be very dangerous for him. He could be taken prisoner, or worse. But his plans had worked out so far. The Bishop had fed him and said he could sleep in one of the monks' cells for a few days while his horse's leg healed. Now all he needed was a way to get his hands on some money and he would be off. But this girl, wouldn't that be a lovely diversion?

  Before he found the body, he had been on the verge of going home to his father and family. That would mean admitting defeat, like the Prodigal Son. He still heard his father's words before he kicked him out of their palace, "I'm sick of your gambling debts and whoring. With your sword and horse skills, I thought you'd be an asset to me. But you've been a constant disappointment. You just don't get it, do you?" Hot blood had flooded into Feltrino's face. He turned and ran out the door of their palace, his father shouting, "Don't come back till you get it!"

  Feltrino had stormed from the palace not having a clue where he was headed. He got on his horse then, with only the winnings from last night's crooked dice game in his pouch, he headed out into the world.

  The Bishop spoke again. "Master della Cappa is the craftsman who brought the wonderful discs for the eyes to Verona. He's going to be a rich man soon, I think."

  Feltrino finally took his gaze off of Guilietta and looked at this Master della Cappa. He smiled.

  "The discs for the eyes? Yes, I understand they are the talk of your city. Perhaps I shall visit your shop soon and purchase a pair, to take to my dear father as a present. I, of course, have no need of such things, being young and strong." And with this statement he looked back at Guilietta.

  "My house will be at your service, Excellency," Agistino said, bowing.

  ***

  It was still the dead of night when the house of della Cappa made its way home. Shamira, Lincoln and Hansum took hold of each others' arms and held on tight. Nobody, not even Pan, spoke a word. At home everyone sat around the table, mute, except for the Master's prayers, his head down on his clutched hands. Ugilino sat on the floor in the corner, knees hugged into himself, scowling. Lincoln had the leather necklace on and sat fingering the brass amulet.

  "We must all speak," Pan finally whispered. "In the loft. Immediately." Hansum asked if they could be excused. Agistino looked up from his prayers and simply nodded.

  The instant they were all in the loft, Pan popped into existence.

  "What the hell is going on here?" Hansum cried at him. "If Arimus is dead, why aren't the History Camp people coming to get us? Why are they leaving us here?"

  "Young Master, I am as confused about that as you," Pan said. "I have no answer."

  "But why did the History Camp people let Arimus get killed?" Shamira asked anxiously. "It doesn't make any sense. They must keep track of their people."

  "Youch!" Lincoln cried. He grabbed the leather necklace and frantically pulled it over his head. "It's hot!" Holographic steam poured out of the small lamp. Lincoln dropped the necklace into the hay, and the instant it landed, a blinding flash lit the loft. When the children could see again, there, lying on the hay, was an image of a man almost naked. He was face-down with his head in his arms.

  "It's a hologram," Pan said.

  "Who is it?" Shamira asked.

  "Greetings, friend," Pan said. "Who might you be?"

  "They've come for us," Lincoln announced. "We're being rescued."

  The image slowly raised its head. "Oh my God," Shamira gasped.

  "Arimus," Hansum announced.

  There was dried blood all over the image's face. His hair was disheveled.

  "Children," the image said, "this is an emergency message."

  "Where are you, Arimus?" Lincoln shouted. "What's going on?" But there was no answer. Lincoln saw the smile vanish from Pan's face.

  "Don't bother asking questions, Young Master," the imp said. "It's only a recorded message. It's not interactive."

  "If you are seeing this message," the image started, "I am dead." The image of Arimus winced in pain. "I have not much time. Listen closely. I have traveled back and forth through time to check on you often. Then I did something foolish. I was bathing in a mountain stream and didn't have my protective A.I. cloak on. My guard was down. I was attacked. Robbed. Left for dead — like this." The image coughed and spat out blood. "It is imperative you all understand the truth of your situation." Arimus looked embarrassed. "I . . . I am sorry. The truth is, I am from the future and I was a History Camp councilor, but I was disbarred. I made too many mistakes that changed the timeline. But I missed time travel so much, I stole the technology and continued doing what History Camps from my time really do. That is, take children back in time. But . . ." The image coughed up more blood. Another knot of pain shot over its face. It took two deep breaths and continued. "I saw that you all . . . finally began to appreciate the privileged time you come from. I was coming to return you home when this happened. Returning is now impossible. I've lost my cloak. My technology. The thieves missed this recording device. And the worst problem is . . . nobody, nobody knows what I've done. Nobody knows where I am. Where you are."

  The teens gasped simultaneously.

  The image lay its head on the ground, panting heavily. It rallied and raised itself onto one elbow. "My young friends," it said, smiling weakly, "make the best of your new lives. Do what you must to be successful. Use the universal knowledge of your genie. I know you have one. Take every advantage. And find happiness where you can." He then winced with what must have been intolerable pain. "And remember," the image whispered, finally collecting itself, "happiness is a decision." The image smiled as best it could, then closed its eyes. A wolf's howl was heard, then a second. The image opened its eyes and looked to the side, seeing something terrifying. Then the vision turned into a puff of holographic smoke and disappeared.

  Stunned silence.

  "Holy Lyceius and Latona," Pan said.

  "Nobody knows where we are," Shamira said.

  "We really are stuck here," Hansum whispered.

  Lincoln let out a long whistle from between his broken tooth. "My mom and dad. I'll never see them again and . . . they're not
even born yet." His eyes welled up and he began to shiver. Shamira came and put her arms around him.

  They stood, saying nothing for a long time. They heard the door to the workshop creak open.

  "Children," the Master's voice shouted up, "come down. We must talk."

  Pan put himself back into the lamp and they all climbed down to the shop. The Signora and Guilietta were also there. The Signora was carrying a basket. She lifted the cloth covering it. It was full of food. And then she did something extraordinary. She made sense.

  "You must eat, dear apprentices," she said. "Sorrow is best drowned in food, which is the stuff of life."

  "God sends us these tests," offered the Master.

  "And we must find happiness in sorrow," Guilietta said. "For sorrow brings those who are left behind closer together."

  Lincoln began to whimper, his lower lip quivering. Tears streamed from his eyes.

  "I miss my mama," he sobbed.

  "Oh, my little chicken," the Signora soothed. She came over and hugged Lincoln. Lincoln sank into her fat bosom and completely broke down. The Signora cried with Lincoln and Shamira with Guilietta. The Master took a step toward Hansum, looking at him seriously. The old man's eyes were deep wells. Hansum wasn't crying though. He was angry.

  Chapter 50

  Hansum looked the Master up and down, studying the big man with new eyes. His clothes, with their stains, grime and body odor, his permanently stained and calloused hands, unclipped finger nails, rough face, scruffy beard and long hair became more real to the boy. Even the spaces in Agistino's mouth, where teeth had rotted and been wrenched out, cried out their humanity. It's as if they symbolized the entirety of this unyielding century's all-pervasive pain. A century that Hansum was now inextricably part of.

  The Master's rough face looked at Hansum, trying to smile reassuringly. He opened his arms a little, then put his palms together.

  "With God's mercy, Romero, we shall survive."

  Hansum found no comfort in those words. They were just so much pap that did nothing to soothe the cruel image of what he had seen in the ossuary and all it meant. He scrunched up his mouth, getting more 'hard-case' angry than he had ever been. Agistino appeared to misinterpret this for sadness. He opened up his arms to embrace the boy he knew as Romero.

  "This is all completely crazy!" Hansum shouted. Then he turned around and stomped out into the night.