The Loved and the Lost (39 page)

“Wake my dove,” the Signora cooed to her sleeping daughter. “Your best medicine is here.”

“Good. Good,” the out-of-phase older Hansum said. “We've avoided the fight in the shop, Pan is alive and Lincoln's arm isn't broken.”

“And you're here with her instead of being locked up at the palace,” the older Shamira added.

“If only I knew she was carrying our child at the time,” the older Hansum said, a reverent look in his eye. “I just wish there was a way for you to help her more, Medeea.”

“Me too. But my nano bits just won't work on people from the past. It's like the early programmers had this in mind. The most I can do is scan a person, boost their immune system and maybe put them in stasis.”

“Will you get in her now and do what you can?” Hansum asked.

“Sure,”
Medeea and Lincoln thought at the same time.

Lincoln reached in his pocket and took out Medeea's tiny tear bottle. Pulling off the glass stopper, he held it over Guilietta's head.

“Won't they see the portal?” Shamira asked.

“We don't have to worry about that anymore,” Lincoln smiled. With the bottle just over Guilietta's sweat-drenched hair, he tapped the air with his index finger and a tiny blue circle appeared. “The circle can only be seen from our side now,” and he poured a single drop of Medeea's elixir onto Guilietta's head.

“My nano bits will travel through her scalp and . . . ah, I'm there,”
Medeea said.
“Oh my. She is low. I'll do what I can,”
and she closed her eyes and grimaced.
“The baby's okay for now and I can boost Guil's immune system, but she has very low reserves and the infection is set to start growing exponentially.”

Hansum clenched his fist with frustration. “Okay, you three. Get over to Signora Baroni's. The carriage should be there soon. Make sure they get everything.” A split second later, Hansum was standing alone, out of phase with Sideways, watching the scene in front of him. Guilietta was still shivering and her breathing was labored. The younger Hansum was alternately kissing her hands and whispering encouragingly to her.

“Hang on, Guil. Hang on. We're going to get you well,” he said while the Signora and Nuca looked on.

Suddenly Guilietta's eyes popped open, her eyes focusing on young Hansum. Even her shivering stopped.

“Husband?” she whispered.

“Si, si, I'm here,” the younger Hansum said joyfully, his laughter mixed with tears. “Look, she's going to be all right.”

Nuca put her hand to Guilietta's forehead, and then the side of her neck.

“Fever broke,” she pronounced in her scratchy voice.

“See, your best medicine worked,” the mother said, crossing herself.

“Husband,” Guilietta repeated, a wan though loving look in her eyes.

“You're going to be okay, Guilietta. You're going to be okay,” the teen husband said embracing her.

But the older Hansum scowled. He knew what they were seeing was what Medeea explained. Guilietta's revival was because the A.I. delver had boosted Guilietta's immune system. When her reserves were gone, she would fail again, and fast. It was imperative they get the herbal antibiotics quickly.

“Good, good,” Nuca said in a cracking voice, the result of a fierce fever that had burned out her hearing long ago. “Gui getting better.”

“Oh my little chicken.” The Signora laughed and cried while embracing both her daughter and son-in-law.

“Must clean up Guil. Dry clothes. Dry bed,” Nuca said. “Omero. You go. We clean.”

“No, I want my husband to stay.”

“We clean first. Then I get food. He come back then,” and Nuca pulled the younger Hansum to his feet. “Go soon, come back sooner.”

“No, stay,” Guilietta pleaded, but Nuca had him half out the door already.

“I'll be downstair . . .” and he was gone.

The older Hansum chuckled as he remembered how practical the 14th-century Nuca was.

“Oh, you sent him away.” Guilietta complained as Nuca began un-dressing her.

“Come, Signora. Help dry Gui. Fever broke, thank Cristo, fever broke,” Nuca said, and the older Hansum stopped chuckling. It wasn't over yet. He left the room to give the women privacy and check downstairs.

The older Hansum found his younger self on the lower floor, standing next to Bembo. The Master and Father Lurenzano were staring at him from the table.

“Her fever just broke,” young Hansum said, a relieved smile on his face. “She's awake.”

“Thank Cristo,” was all that came from Agistino's mouth before he started crying with relief.

Bembo hugged Hansum and smiled.

“Bembo, you look tired.”

“I haven't slept in two days, Romero.” He scowled and motioned to the two drunk men at the table. “Watching over these two.”

Young Hansum frowned as he looked to see Father Lurenzano in his cups, patting an equally drunk Agistino on the back.

“My prayers worked!” Father Lurenzano announced, lifting his glass and kissing his fingers. “A toast to God,” and that's when the younger Hansum's training as a noble kicked in. He became very angry with the priest.

The older Lincoln and Shamira were already in front of Signora Baroni's house when the carriage carrying the younger Lincoln, Shamira and Pan pulled up. The younger Lincoln was jumping from the carriage before it stopped and he landed hard on the cobblestones.

“I couldn't do that now,” the senior Lincoln grumbled.

His younger self was already pounding on the door as his Shamira caught up to him. When there was no answer, he began shouting.

“Signora Baroni, it's Maruccio from Master della Cappa's. We need you. Please open up.” Still no answer.

“Signora, it's Carmella,” Shamira called. “Guilietta needs medicine.”

“Maybe she thinks we've got the plague,” Lincoln said. “Signora Baroni, please. We haven't got the sickness. Please.” He took hold of the handle on the door and started shaking it, but it was well barred. He tried the shuttered windows. The same thing.

There was nobody on the street except for a few corpses. Some homes were wide open, but most were closed tight.

“What should we do?” Shamira asked.

Lincoln ground his teeth. “Maybe she's out helping. It's not like her to abandon people. Let's wait ten minutes and then leave a note.”

“And knock on the neighbors' doors, to see if they know where she is.”

“You,” Lincoln called to the driver. “I don't want you running off. When we finish, there's a
florin
in it for you.”

The old Lincoln couldn't help but sniff a laugh at his younger self's brashness. Then he bit his lower lip, thinking what he should do next.

“Let's check inside the house,” and he, Medeea and the older Shamira walked right through the walls. It was dark inside, but someone was breathing in a corner.

“It's Elder Catherine,”
Medeea said, not needing light to discern shapes in the dark.

“Let's do it,” Lincoln said, and all three of them came into phase. Medeea glowed.

“What the . . .” Elder Catherine started. “Whatever and whoever you are, turn off your light. They'll see us.” Medeea dimmed. “Who the heck are you three? I don't recognize . . .” and then her eyes locked on Shamira. She peered at her recognizable green eyes. “You? You're supposed to be outside . . . When are you from?”

“About eighty years from now.”

“But that's not how it happens in . . .” Elder Catherine's eyes went wide.

“Signora Baroni . . . I mean, Elder Catherine,” Shamira began. “We've come back and changed the situation. Our younger selves are trying to save Guilietta. You know her. You like her. Please. She's very sick. Not with the plague, but . . .”

“Of course I know it's not the plague. It's a uterine infection. I know all about it.”

“Then why won't you help?”
Medeea asked. Nobody was surprised that the 31
^st
-century Catherine could see the A.I. delver.

“So you're the infamous Medeea,” Catherine said. “I never thought I'd meet you in person. I won't help because I'm not supposed to. And you three aren't either. Oh, this is bad.”

“What are you talking about?” Lincoln asked.

“And who are you?” she asked the old man.

A pounding on the front door started again, followed by the voice of the younger Lincoln.

“Signora Baroni, please, we can hear you in there. Please, answer the door. We promise we aren't sick.”

“I'm him,” the older Lincoln said, pointing a thumb.

Now the 31
^st
-century Elder looked downright panicked. “I've got to get out of here,” and she quickly got up, no longer worried about keeping hidden. She snapped her fingers and two oil lamps lit, and then she grabbed what looked like an old valise and started shoving things into it.

“Elder Catherine,” the older Lincoln pleaded, “tell us what's going on,” but she didn't answer. She just kept shoving things into a bag that shouldn't be able to hold all she kept putting in. Lincoln tapped his node. “Hansum, we've got a problem. Elder Catherine won't cooperate and she's acting like something's very wrong,” at which Catherine snorted scathingly.

“Oh, good Gia, he's here too.”

Old Hansum watched proudly as his younger self took charge of the situation in his family's home. Father Lurenzano was getting Master della Cappa drunk and the strongbox with all of the family money was sitting open on the table, like it had previously.

“Master, why is the strongbox out?” the younger Hansum asked.

Agistino looked at his son-in-law through bleary eyes, his body swaying on the bench. Father Lurenzano looked up, his avarice showing.

“Are you saying Master della Cappa's money is not safe in front of a man of God?” he asked defensively.

Hansum ignored the question and walked over to the table, closing the chest with a bang. He picked it up, took it to the hearth and put it back in its hiding place. As he replaced the stone and firewood box, Agistino made excuses to the priest.

“Much of the money is Romero's, Father,” Agistino explained.

“Still, he shouldn't accuse a priest . . .”

“Master, why are you drinking wine?” the young Hansum interrupted. “With the sickness about and all that is happening, the family needs you strong.”

“Father Lurenzano gave me permission. After he gave Guilietta last rites, he said taking some wine was a good thing.”

“Last rites?” Hansum looked at the priest with undisguised anger. “She's getting better.”

Agistino smiled drunkenly and crossed himself.

“And praise to God for that,” the priest answered, “but often people rally for a short time and relapse. In times like this, a bit of wine dulls the pain and lifts the spirit. It will also help ward off the sickness that is going around. I know these things,” he said smiling and taking another few gulps. He motioned for Agistino to do the same. Agistino lifted his cup.

“Master, no!” Hansum ordered. “You mustn't. Father Lurenzano, I want you to stop giving wine to Master della Cappa.”

“It will protect him from the pestilence!”

“No it won't. The sickness is caused by the flea bites of ship rats from the east, and from living in dirty cities and malnutrition.”

“Rats and fleas? A bit of dirt? The illness is caused by bad humors in the air and punishments from God. And Jews are poisoning wells!”

The out-of-phase old Hansum was amazed how much of the conversation was similar to before, even though the circumstances had changed.

“Oh for Cristo's sake,” Hansum scoffed.

“Don't take the Lord's name in vain!” Father Lurenzano demanded, shooting to his feet. “I am your Master's spiritual guide. And if you are his family, I am yours as well! You must heed me.”