The Loved and the Lost (41 page)

Just then they heard the sound of a horse nickering and the clomping of hooves coming their way. They looked out the alley, being careful to stay in the shadow. A moment later, Lieutenant Raguso trotted by on his large horse with young Hansum sitting behind him.

“Romero's going to the palace to make a physician come back with him,” Ugilino explained, “and Carmella and Maruccio took a hired carriage to get Signora Baroni. A carriage.”

“The poor die and the rich always live. They have the means. Who's left in the house?”

“Nuca went home to make food. Only the Master's there. The Signora and Guilietta are sleepin' upstairs.” Ugilino watched the priest thinking for some time, and then watched him reach into his robe's deep pockets, searching for something. He brought out a piece of paper, folded down into a small packet.

“What's that, Father?”

“A sleeping powder I brought for your Master. I give it to all my parishioners in time of sorrow, when they need a good night's sleep. I want you to go back and put it into your Master's drink.”

“So he'll sleep? That's kind of you. When I tell him you sent it, maybe he'll like you again and . . .”

“No, you mustn't tell him. Just mix it in with his drink.”

“His
vino
?”

“Whatever he's drinking!” Lurenzano spat with frustration. “Fool!”

“Who's there?”

“It's me, Master. Let me in.”

“Is anyone with you?”

“No, Master. It's just me.”

Ugilino heard the door's heavy wooden bar being lifted. The door opened a crack and Agistino's face stared at him.

“You're sure you're alone?”

“Si, Master.”

Agistino opened the door just enough for Ugilino to squeeze past. No sooner was he in when Agistino re-barred the door.

“You're pissing a lot lately,” Agistino said.

“What, Master?”

“I said you're pissing a lot lately. You said you were going out to piss. What, you've got piss for brains now?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. It was all that good wine, Master. Grazzi.”

“Poison. Poison is what it is to me.” Agistino crossed himself. Then he looked at Ugilino and pointed a finger at him. “Beware the grape, Ugi. We are lucky to have Romero of our house, you and I,” and then he went back to the table and sat on the bench. He picked up his goblet and took a sip, sitting and mulling over something.

“Master, I thought you vowed . . .”

“Verjuice,” and he picked up the bottle, offering him some. Ugi sat down and held out a cup, smiling. As the Master poured, Ugilino asked him a question.

“Master, do you think I can be a boss to some of the peasants?”

“What are you talking about?”

“On Romero's new estate. I heard Romero has over five hundred. Some of them have got to be really stupid. Do you think I . . .”

“People are falling dead all over Christendom and you're worried about being boss over people stupider than yourself . . .”

“Nuca, my chamberpot, per favore,” came the Signora's voice from upstairs.

“But, Master, do you think that Romero will take me . . .”

“Nuca . . .” the Signora's voice pleaded again.

“I must help my wife,” Agistino said standing. “I'm coming to help you, my dear,” he called.

“Oh, Agistino, grazzi,” came the Signora's happy voice.

“Master, will Romero take me to the . . .”

Agistino stopped abruptly. “Romero is master of the estate. He'll take you if he takes you. I have no say. We'll see,” and he turned away.

“But . . .”

“We'll see!” and he disappeared up the stairs.

Ugilino stared at the empty stairs for some moments. His Master had said the exact words Father Lurenzano predicted,
‘We'll see.'

‘The Father was right. They'll abandon me,' he thought.

Ugilino took out the packet of powder Father Lurenzano had given him.

“She's asleep again. Both of them are,” Agistino said as he sat down on the bench. Ugilino looked up at him with sullen and angry eyes. “What?” Agistino asked. Ugilino just stared. “What, you don't want to speak, don't speak. My ears thank you,” and he picked up his mug of verjuice and took a large swig. He put it down and made a face. “It's bitter, like life. But it keeps you seeing the world as it is, not like wine. What, you don't like yours?” Agistino said, looking over into Ugilino's still-f mug. “Too bad,” and he downed the rest of his drink.” Ugi just stared at him.

“He's asleep, Father,” Ugilino said with a voice that showed both fear and excitement.

“Where?”

“At the table.”

“Alone?”

“Si. But Maruccio and Carmela should be back . . .”

“We must hurry.”

The priest stood over the hulking form lying across the table. Agistino was snoring heavily, his head on his arm, his labored breath causing the flame of the oil lamp close to him to flutter. It was the brass lamp with the angel holding the lightning bolts, given to the Master by Hansum. Lurenzano moved the lamp and then pushed on Agistino's shoulder. The snoring continued. A sardonic smile crossed the clergyman's face and he looked over at Ugilino. Ugilino looked confused and Lurenzano's smile turned serious again.

“Watch the door,” he ordered and went right to the fireplace, shoving the wood box away. Struggling, he pried the stone out and removed the strong box. “Ugilino. Come. Carry this.”

As Ugilino picked up the gold and silver filled box he asked, “Are you sure it's okay . . .”

“Shut up,” Lurenzano said, moving to the door. “It's for the church and they'll be gone without a care for you or I tomorrow.” He carefully opened the door and looked up and down the street. “Now go. Straight to the church.” Ugilino scuttled to the door, pausing only to look back at his unconscious master. “Move! Run!” the priest shouted and Ugilino was away. Lurenzano looked back. Agistino's care-worn face looked more so in the harsh lamplight. Father Lurenzano grimaced, walked over to the table and, without hesitation, knocked the lamp onto the straw floor. He watched as oil spilled and the dry straw caught fire. Nodding, he hurried back to the door, stepped into the night and, without another glance, closed the door behind him.

“And then I have Lincoln use the pestle and mortar to grind down the washed and dried bread mold to a fine powder, and then mix it with the rest of the recipe,” young Shamira said. “We use the results to create a suspension with fifty parts boiled and cooled water. Guilietta and the Signora then receive a measure of it four times a day.”

The young Lincoln and Shamira were sitting together on one of bench seats inside the carriage. Pan was standing between them, listening to the young Shamira recite the recipe for the antibiotic. The seat opposite was crowded with the older, invisible Hansum, Shamira and Lincoln, with Medeea on her husband's lap. The holographic image of Pan nodded and stroked his whiskers.

“Good. Very good,” the satyr praised.

The young Lincoln blew out a big breath and leaned back in his seat. “Man oh man, I feel like I can finally relax a bit. We've got the stuff to save Guil.”

“Thank Cristo,” young Shamira said, and she crossed herself. The younger Lincoln looked at her wide eyed

“Maybe I'll do some Hail Marys,” he added, and when Shamira realized what she did, they both laughed.

“I kind of agree with the little jerk,” the older Lincoln added. “If this works, I'll thank Cristo too.”

“Well, Elder Catherine did say we were near a nexus point,” the Elder Hansum said, sounding hopeful, and he made a show of crossing himself.

“Hey, you almost poked me in the eye,” Sideways complained jovially.

Now everyone on both sides of the carriage was laughing.

“I have a question,” the older Shamira asked. “What happens if and when we can take someone out of phase? That person will freak out.”

“At that point we won't care,” Hansum replied, still smiling. “Then we take everyone out of phase and get them to the wall for the end game.” They were finally feeling some hope.

The wagon, which had been going at a good clip, suddenly braked hard to a stop.

“Signor, quickly!” the driver shouted.

The younger Lincoln and older Hansum stuck their heads out of the window.

“What's wrong . . .” the younger Lincoln began, and then stopped. It was obvious to all in the carriage. His face was reflecting the hard flickering light of what could only be a large fire. Without another word he was out of the wagon and running.

“SIDEWAYS! NOW!” the older Hansum screamed.

Sideways and Zat transported everyone in front of the raging inferno of the della Cappa home. The heat was so intense that their younger selves couldn't get within fifty paces of the blaze. Lincoln ran up to Bembo, who was standing by Nuca and Bruno's home. Nuca was sobbing in her husband's arms.

“Bembo, is the Master and Romero . . . everyone?” The flames dancing off Bembo's expressionless eyes told it all. Lincoln went to bolt forward, but Bembo's strong hands grabbed him.