The Loved and the Lost

by Lory Kaufman

  She blinked hard and her face was almost normal again. “No. No, I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s important to feel the emotions, but that’s later. Now it’s time to work,” Lincoln said.

  “Can you see Plan B, Sham?” Medeea asked.

  Shamira brought the exact details of the next part of the plan to her mind.

  “Got it,” Shamira said. “I’m ready.”

  “Costumes,” Hansum called and, simultaneously, Sideways and Zat formed new clothing for the three humans, Zat hiving off a piece of himself and jumping to Shamira. The older Hansum was now wearing the vestments of a cardinal. With an under robe of cream-colored silk, the upper robe was the signature red for a prince of the church, full and flowing down to the ground, with the faces of angels embroidered onto the rich fabric. The faces had kind eyes and their mouths were opened, as if singing. The faces hid the fact that Sideways was looking out through those eyes, watching everything. To top it off, there was a matching red cap on Hansum’s greying head. Lincoln and Shamira were wearing the dark robes of monks, the hoods hiding their faces. “Let’s go!” and the Sands of Times rose.

  Their timing had to be exact.

  Once again, Agistino della Cappa and Father Lurenzano were annoyed at Ugilino when he dragged them out into the night, saying he saw the devil in the shop. But their drunken anger turned to shock when they spied through a crack in the shutter and saw a satyr standing on the worktable, the teens heads bent before him. Shamira was taking dictation and Lincoln and Hansum were reinforcing Pan’s cracked shell. But to the superstitious 14th-century citizens, it appeared they were bowing to a satanic creature. The priest and the lens maker pulled away from wall.

  “They revere him,” Father Lurenzano said. “They pray to him.” His eyes went wide with conviction as he pronounced, “They are servants of Lucifer!”

  “Such evil in my own house!” Agistino gasped.

  They were able to throw the shop door open and confront the situation before Pan could disappear, so the hologram had to make a decision on how to deal with the matter. He elected to transform his image into the handsome martyr, Saint Aurelius, patron saint of orphans, saying he was helping save Guilietta because the della Cappas had been so kind to the orphans in their care. But neither Father Lurenzano nor Ugilino were buying it. Not even though Ugilino had met Pan in what he thought was a dream.

  “Didn’t meeting me before make you a better person?” Pan as Saint Aurelius asked Ugilino?

  “I’d rather be a murdering, filth-covered soldier in God’s army, than a noble in the Devil’s,” Ugilino shouted as he hefted an ax and started for Pan. But before it could whoosh though Pan’s image and break one of the new lathes, as previously happened, there was a man’s voice at the door.

  “What is this?” the voice asked. Everyone turned. They saw an older man in crimson clerical gowns. Behind him stood two monks in dark robes, their hoods hiding their faces. Immediately Father Lurenzano fell to one knee and bowed his head.

  “Your Eminence,” he crooned.

  “What is going on?” Hansum as a cardinal asked. “I was told by a neighbor there was a priest here. One who could show me to the basilica. In the confusion of the pestilence, I’ve lost my way to an important meeting with the bishop.”

  “I am at your service, Eminence,” Lurenzano fawned.

  The whole room looked between the faux cardinal and the shimmering image of Aurelius, hovering by the ceiling.

  “Ah, my friend, Saint Aurelius,” the costumed Elder Hansum said, stepping forward and going to one knee. “Holy angel, it is good to see you again.”

  Shocked silence. The Signora, who had trundled in after her husband, was near fainting and standing only with the help of Agistino. Ugilino still held the ax over his head, Father Lurenzano looked puzzled, but the most confused had to be Pan and the teens. What could be happening? The image of Aurelius, Pan, wrinkled his nose, trying to figure it out. The cardinal was smiling at him, nodding slowly, like he was telling him to play along. This was the critical moment. The cardinal momentarily looked to his vestments. Pan as the saint, followed the gaze to the gold brocaded angels woven on the fabric and — one of the angels winked at him, oh so slightly. The Saint of Orphans smiled.

  Ugilino saw the wink too, and blinked in surprise, but when he looked again, he saw just stitching.

  “Cardinal Frey of Carinthia!” Saint Aurelius chimed, as if greeting an old friend. He alighted to the ground, walking silently past Ugilino, who was still tensed with the ax. Pan smiled at him and turned back to the kneeling cardinal, beckoning him rise.

  “You know this man?” the younger Hansum asked the image of Aurelius.

  “I know the cardinal’s . . . handsome features well,” Pan as Aurelius said, “although I don’t know why he’s here.”

  “Put down the ax, my son,” Cardinal Frey said to Ugilino. “There’s no wood here to chop.” Ugi looked him hard in the eye.

  “Don’t be insolent to His Eminence! Do as you’re told!” Lurenzano snapped, pushing Ugilino hard on the shoulder. Ugilino fell forward and bumped into one of the monks, coming nose to nose with the clergyman and getting a glimpse into the shadow of the cowl. The face was familiar. The monk pushed him back and repositioned the cowl over her eye.

  “This monk looks like Carmella . . .”

  “I told you to shut up!” Lurenzano said, now shouting. He cuffed Ugilino on the ear.

  “But . . .” a harder cuff on the ear caused Ugi to shrink back in pain. He let the ax head fall to the ground, keeping hold of the handle.

  “Eminence, you know this being?” Father Lurenzano asked, and the older Hansum began his rehearsed speech.

  “Of course, Father . . .?”

  “Lurenzano, of San Francesco al Corso”

  “Just so. Father Lurenzano. I must now swear you to secrecy, for only cardinals and the Holy Father himself know of communing with Heaven’s saints. For others to know of their true existence would cause a crisis of faith, and without faith, want evaporates. With certain knowledge of Heaven, people would end their miserable lives without hesitation, and then who would do God’s work on Earth?”

  Father Lurenzano stood there, transfixed, his eyes moving back and forth as he parsed the convoluted reasoning.

  “But why then was the holy saint communing with these . . . orphans.”

  “On occasion, a holy spirit chooses to intercede with common folk. But why? The ways of the Lord are mysterious and not for us to question. And is it not your duty to . . . obey me?”

  Pan sent the younger Hansum, Lincoln and Shamira a sub-sonic message.

  “These people are from the future. Play up to the Master and Signora. Comfort them.” The three teens went over to the kneeling Agistino and his wife.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you of the saint’s help, Master,” Hansum said.

  “Mistress, please don’t be frightened,” Shamira said to the Signora.

  “Yeah. Everything’s going to be just zippy,” Lincoln added, and he even smiled at Ugilino and Father Lurenzano. “Just zippy.”

  Lurenzano puffed out his chest, now one with special information about Heaven. “What must I do, Eminence?” the priest asked the cardinal.

  Hansum as Cardinal Frey smiled. The plan was working. “Why, whatever the angel tells you, good priest,” and he looked to Pan as the saint.“

  Help the orphans,” Pan pronounced. “They need herbs from Signora Baroni’s. Go with them. Protect them. And rush to the palace and get a physician.” Pan put one of his hands to his temple, like he was being psychic. “The last one is making ready to flee the city.”

  “I am most happy to serve,” Father Lurenzano said, bowing obsequiously.

  Ugilino was squinting at the Cardinal’s gown again, staring at the brocaded eye he had seen wink. The eye was now just embroidered thread, but he felt the smile below was broadening a bit. Then he was sure of it.

  “Father,” Ugilino whispered urgently in his
priest’s ear. “The cardinal’s clothes. It’s smiling. It’s a demon.”

  “Quiet, fool. Don’t speak in front . . .”

  “I’m telling you, Father,” Ugi insisted, shaking the clergyman’s sleeve. “It looked at me before and now it’s smiling. It’s alive?”

  “Shut up and don’t say another . . .”

  But Ugilino would not be deterred this time. “Father, I think they’re all demons. That monk looks like Carmella.”

  “Do you not hear me?” Lurenzano shouted, pulling his arm away. “What did I tell you? Now begone! Get out of here!” and Father Lurenzano shoved Ugilino hard toward the door. Shamira as the monk moved to get out of his way but, as Ugilino stumbled, he reached up and grabbed the gown’s hood, pulling it off her face. Though older, her long red hair made it obvious that something was amiss.

  Everyone, including the three teens, gasped.

  “It’s Carmella,” the Signora cried.

  “How?” asked the younger Shamira.

  “Cardinal, what is the meaning of . . .” Father Lurenzano began, but Ugilino didn’t wait for an answer. All his months of frustration at the orphans, his whole lifetime of frustrations, burst from his chest.

  “LIARS!” he screamed, hefting the ax up with two hands.

  “Think nothing of this,” the older Hansum as cardinal was beginning to say, when Ugilino tensed his arms and screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “DEVILS!” and he charged Shamira in the monk’s robes. The ax came down right at her head and Zat momentarily took her out of phase. She disappeared and came back into view a few feet away. The ax embedded itself into the gravel shop floor.

  “Satan’s spawn!” Lurenzano cried.

  “Cristo save us!” Agistino rejoined, “You’re all the Devil’s minions!” and he pushed the teens who were trying to comfort him away. Shamira took hold of the Signora’s arm.

  “Signora, we’re not evil,” Shamira pleaded, but what was happening was all too much for the medieval woman. She shrieked in Shamira’s face, holding up her hands as if shielding herself from a blow.

  “Master, please,” the younger Hansum begged. “It’s not how it looks. We’re just trying to save Guilietta.” But the big man twisted away from Hansum and grabbed his wife in a protective embrace.

  Hansum as a cardinal turned to Father Lurenzano, “I can expl . . .” but the priest ran at him, his filthy hands and cracked nails curled into claws. He bounced off a force field that Sideways erected. Sparks flew and Lurenzano was thrown halfway across the room.

  “Not my priest, you devil,” Ugilino screamed, and he attacked the mock cardinal with the ax, but it too bounced off the force field.

  “KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!” Lurenzano shouted from the floor.

  Ugilino lifted his ax again and swung at the older Lincoln but, before the ax fell, Ugilino’s eyes went wide when he saw Zat’s cloak grow extra hands, coming to grab the ax handle.

  “Ahieee,” Ugilino screamed and ran to the other side of the shop.

  “It’s not as it seems,” Pan as Aurelius cried, the bug-eyed Ugilino running right through him, swinging the ax. The sharp blade whooshed through the hologram and crashed down onto a lathe, smashing the spindle assembly.

  “My lathes, my living!” Agistino cried, and Ugilino fell on the lathe, breaking it further.

  “Pan, what should we do?” the younger Hansum shouted.

  “The ax, get the ax!”

  “Brother, stop,” the younger Lincoln cried, running to Ugilino, “Let us explain . . .” but as Ugilino saw the boy he had lived with coming at him, he turned from his position on his knees and swung the ax backwards with all of his might, the butt of the blade catching Lincoln full force in the face. It exploded into a ball of red and Ugilino shot to his feet, the now-bloodied ax back in both hands.

  “Lincoln!” both Hansums and Shamiras screamed. The older Lincoln threw off his cowl and stared in shock at his now prone younger self. He was lying on the floor without a face, his body twitching.

  “Lincoln!” Medeea screamed, projecting herself toward the body. “The nano bits!” she shouted to the older Lincoln, who immediately ran to his body, fumbling in his pocket for the vessel of tears.

  “Agistono!” the Signora cried, her pathetic face white with fear. “Save me!” and her husband dragged her bodily out the door as the melee continued.

  “I’LL KILL YOU, UGILINO!” the younger Hansum screamed. Lunging, he ducked under the next ax blow and plowed his shoulder into Ugilino’s gut, throwing him backwards and causing the ax to fly from his hand. As Ugilino crashed into the wall, the ax spun through the air and landed on the work table holding Pan’s half-reinforced lamp. The table tipped and its contents crashed to the ground.

  Pan’s image broke into a million tiny cubes as his lamp bounced across the gravel, the image of Saint Aurelius turning back to a satyr.

  “My lamp!” Pan shouted.

  “It’s his talisman!” Father Lurenzano shouted. “The beast lives in the talisman.”

  “I am undone, my children,” Pan’s disintegrating image cried.

  The world began to move in slow motion for the older Shamira. She looked all around at the scene in front of her; at the old Lincoln pouring a few drops of nano bits onto the unrecognizable younger Lincoln.

  “Medeea, can you help him?” the older Lincoln asked.

  “We’ve got to save Guilietta!” the older Hansum shouted at the younger Hansum, who was still sitting on Ugi and beating him.

  Shamira looked to Father Lurenzano, who was picking up the ax, his eyes fixed on Pan’s lamp in the gravel. Then she looked at the younger version of herself. Their eyes locked.

  “Save yourselves,” Pan shouted, but the younger Shamira didn’t heed him. She pulled her gaze away from her older self and ran toward Pan’s lamp. But instead of racing Ugilino, as she had in the first reality, now she was racing the priest. Shamira lunged for the lamp. The older Shamira watched her younger self’s hand reach out, expecting what happened before to be repeated, the ax would rip her sleeve and scrape her arm. Father Lurenzano’s face turned into a snarl as he lifted the ax. It rose in an arch, still in slow motion, and began its descent. To the older Shamira, it was as if her younger self was half suspended in the air, her hand outstretched, her eyes locked on their target. The ax continued its descent and then the world snapped back into fast motion.

  “NOT THE GIRL!” Pan screamed. The older Shamira’s eyes sprung open in stark terror, and that’s when the sharp blade sliced into the younger Shamira’s spine, blood spraying up in a fan. Her body fell with a thump.

  “NO!” the older Shamira shrieked.

  Everybody turned as Lurenzano wrenched the ax out of the body and locked his eyes on the brass lamp. He didn’t raise it high, but used the blood-drenched bludgeon to come straight down and pummel the tiny charm.

  “PAN!” the younger Hansum shouted from atop Ugilino. He twisted around to disengage himself from his fight just as the ax met the lamp. An explosion of light and smoke rose around Pan. His beautiful and grotesque face contorted. He winked away without a word.

  The older Shamira’s head snapped back to the sound of the younger Hansum screaming while trying to twist away from Ugilino. But the strong oaf caught Hansum by the arms and stopped him for the briefest of moments. It was long enough.

  “STOP!” Shamira heard herself screaming, finally trying to run to the young Hansum’s aid. Something held her back. An energy field from Sideways. She looked on in horror as Father Lurenzano came toward Hansum with the ax already swinging, but the rising Sands of Time blocked her view.

  “DEATH TO DEVILS,” she heard Lurenzano cry.

  “GUILIET . . .”

  Chapter 5

  Old Hansum sat bent over, his face in his hands, exhausted. This had been one of the few situations in time travel when there wasn’t all the time in the universe to fix things. Their younger selves had been killed and they had to get back to repair the situation im
mediately. The new reality was racing through the folds of time and would soon catch up to the 24th and 25th centuries. Despite wearing their temporal protectors, this situation was unprecedented. They didn’t know what would happen in the future if they were killed in the past.

  So, despite their emotional exhaustion, they went back the few minutes and interceded with themselves before they entered the workshop as clergymen. Not a word was needed to be spoken this time. Not a single word. When their earlier selves saw their duplicates show up, dressed the same but covered in blood, they just shook their heads gravely, looked at each other and winked away.

  Now back atop the wall, the older Lincoln smiled weakly at his oldest friend, Hansum. They were sitting together, backs leaning against the brick parapets.

  “I guess we can now say with certainty there are not many things more off-putting than seeing yourself brutally killed in an alternate reality.” He was trying to make light, but Hansum didn’t smile. Neither did Shamira or the A.I.s.

  Medeea, who was sitting next to Shamira on the other side of the walkway, looked over at her girlfriend. Shamira was staring straight ahead at nothing, her face like granite.

  “Shamira, are you going to be okay? Do you want us to take you back?”

  Shamira looked at her, eyebrows knit together.

  “No. Let’s get on with it.” Shamira said, and she put a hand to her temple, calling up the details of the next linear point in the intervention. “This plan seems to be running out of timeline.”

  “I know,” the older Hansum answered, his tired eyes drooping. He took a breath and stood, somewhat unsteadily. “Okay. I’ll recap what’s next. It’s after the original fight at the shop this time. Pan is dead. Our younger selves have been barred from the house and we’ve gone to the palace to get soldiers and a carriage. But there are none to be had and the Podesta’s going to show up in the morning. That’s when we change things.”

  “Hansum, what happens if we don’t find a nexus point there?” Shamira asked.