The Loved and the Lost (6 page)

“Wha?” he groaned, struggling to lift his head and open his eyes.

“You drank too much. Time to go. Now! Rapidamente!”

“Gimme another drink,” he croaked, holding his head with one hand while trying to lift himself with the other.

“I said leave, you asino,” she said loudly. “You've got no more credit. You drank all I gave you for the goods you brung . . .” and then she spoke softly, in case someone would hear. “I just came from pawning it. Didn't get as much as . . .”

Just then Ugilino's bloodshot eyes went wide, darting about. “It's day?”

“Way past sunup. You're usually back home by now. Your master . . .”

That really got Ugilino moving, or at least trying to. “The Master, the Father . . .” He struggled to his knees and grimaced in excruciating pain. His body folded into a kneeling fetal position. “Ohi! I need a drink. Per favore, Signora, per favore.” He began rocking back and forth, his head buried in his arms.

“If it will get you outta here.” The tavern keeper went to a table and peered into a jumble of ceramic and wooden mugs, and then poured the grim and varied remnants of each into one large cup. She went to pick it up when Ugilino suddenly started to weep in an uncharacteristically high, pathetic voice.

“Oh, the Father, the Father, the Father. The Holy Father,” he lamented, continuing to rock.

Incensed, the woman forgot the cup and stepped back toward Ugilino, scolding him.

“I wouldn't be worryin' about forgiveness from God right now, my boy. Worry that your master forgives you.”

“No, not God,” Ugilino whined in a high, tremulous cry. “Father Aaron. He's dead! He's dead!”

“Oh, mercy, I heard about that in the market today,” the woman said, crossing herself. “Robbed, killed and eaten by wolves. He's being buried today.”

“Dear Gia,” Lincoln said. “That's what day it is. I always wondered why Ugilino didn't make it to the funeral. He was here, drunk.”

“He never wanted nothin' from me,” Ugi wailed. “He said he loved me,” and he rocked and moaned and rocked, his snot-smeared face buried in the dirt.

“Lincoln, I don't know if mind-delving Ugi in this state is a good idea for a beginner,”
Medeea said.
“It could be dangerous.”

Lincoln watched Ugilino weep, his body wracked with heaving sobs.

“No, I want to,” Lincoln answered. “Like you said, I'll either be able to do it or won't. No use wasting time not knowing.”

“There's the impulsiveness that got you into so much trouble,”
Medeea said. Then she laughed.
“But if it's bad, I guess I can break your link with him.”

“But not right away,” Lincoln insisted. “I survived a battle where men were blown to bits with cannons and hacked to death. Even if it's hard, give me a chance to deal with it. How can we get into him?”

“Quickly. Put some of me in that wine glass.”

“I saw his poor body in the cathedral last night,” Ugilino moaned from his prone position. “What was left, it was all maggoty.” Now tears squirted from his eyes and it seemed his words had to squeeze past his blubbering lips. “They fit his leavings in a little stone box and they're buryin' it at San Zeno . . . an I'm missin' it,” he wailed, and covered his head with his hands.

“Oh, my poor little duck,” the woman said with uncommon sympathy. “Here, I'll get your drink.” Ugilino grabbed her leg and held tight.

“He said he loved me,” he cried pitifully.

“Hurry,”
Medeea urged.

The knowledge Lincoln needed instantly flooded from his implant to his consciousness. He tapped his node four times, thought what he wanted and his index finger started to glow pink. He bent over the cup, looked to make sure the woman or Ugi wasn't looking, and drew a circle over the mug. It glowed for a second, subsided, and a portal into the 14
^th
-century was established.

“Let go of my leg and I'll get your drink,” the woman scolded.

“Quickly. Pour me in,”
Medeea urged.

Lincoln fumbled for the vessel of tears, pulled off the stopper and quickly tipped the small bottle as he put it through the portal. Half a dozen drops, more than needed, splashed into the cup. He pulled his hand back just as the woman turned to see what made the sound. He snapped his fingers and the portal vanished.

There were still ripples in the cup when the tavern keeper peered in. She frowned and looked up to see if a bird or bat had defecated from the ceiling, a not-uncommon occurrence.

“Dear Gia, this wine is foul”
Medeea winced.
“Five different types, saliva and mucus. Blachhhh!”

The tavern keeper brought Ugi the cup.

“Here ya go, mio amore. Drink to the good friar. He's among the priests I've not heard a single bad word about.”

Ugilino could barely force himself to sit up. When he seemed to find his balance he took the mug and stared at the woman with soulful eyes. “He . . .” Ugilino's hand quivered uncontrollably. Liquid flew from the vessel.

“There goes some of me,”
Medeea said.

The woman grabbed the cup and steadied it. “Drink up, mio amore. A nail to drive out a nail,” she quoted local wisdom.

Ugilino brought the cup to his lips and slurped it down, some of it slopping onto his cheeks.

“Is that you too?” Lincoln asked with concern.

“The liquid on the cheeks is okay. My nano bits are just a few atoms big. I can make my way through his skin.”

“How about the stuff on the floor?”

“Just like a person is made up of trillions of cells, I'm made up of trillions of nano bits. I can stand to lose a few million. I automatically reproduce replacements.”

Lincoln blinked. Medeea's nano bits were now in their new host and sharing what they found. The first visions from Ugilino's mind came flashing into his. It was Lincoln's turn to wince and then grimace . . . hard.

“Iyee!” he said, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth.

“I'll turn it down,”
Medeea said.

“No,” Lincoln said emphatically. “Give me a minute.” He forced his eyes open, though he couldn't get rid of the scowl. “My Gia, the poor guy,” he said. “The pain he's feeling. Is it all his hangover?”

“No, much of it is from the concussions he's had over the years,”
Medeea said.
“He doesn't even notice it anymore.”

Ugilino tried to stand but stumbled. He fell to his knees again. Lincoln had to fight for his own balance too.

“Ya can't stay here,” the woman repeated.

“Gotta go to funeral,” Ugilino managed to say, trying, but failing to stand. When a streak of pain screamed through his brain and he winced again, so did Lincoln.

“The professor said it's possible to separate a subject's pain from their thoughts,” Lincoln managed to say. “I can see how it's possible . . .” He paused, breathing hard. “I mean, I can see how to do it. I just don't know if I can . . . now.”

“You certainly are a natural,”
Medeea said.
“You'll pick this up quickly. If you still don't want me to turn off your connection to him, can I at least lessen
his
pain?”

“You can do that?” Lincoln asked.

“Yes I can. Time travel rules, and my programming, don't allow me to cure him of his afflictions but, because you are involved, I can ease his discomfort.”

“Okay,” Lincoln said. “Do it.”

Medeea smiled and cocked her head. Instantly Lincoln felt clarity coming over the part of his consciousness that was Ugilino. It was like an ocean wave washing debris off a sandy beach.

“Oh, that's better,” Ugilino sighed. “That nail did drive out the other.” He thought his morning drink had cured his previous night's indulgences. Now he could stand. “Can I have another? I've got my eye on some candlesticks an old Jew lady is keeping close to a window. She's forgettin' to lock the shutters at night.”

“Well, okay. For the good priest's sake. But still bring me the candlesticks.”

“I'll put a healthy thought in his head,”
Medeea thought.

“Professor Bix said thought transplantation of natives isn't allowed,” Lincoln noted. Medeea shrugged, and then spun her finger in a circle a few times.

“Wait, Signora,” Ugilino croaked. “Maybe acqua instead.” The tavern woman looked a bit shocked. “For the Father's sake. He'd want me to. A big cup, per favore.” Ugilino drank down the large cup of water and Medeea spun her finger again. “Another, per favore.”

“He should hydrate,”
Medeea thought.

As Ugilino left the tavern, Lincoln got a double dose of bright sun light, his own and Ugilino's. Lincoln and Medeea strode quickly beside Ugilino, who was in a hurry to get to the funeral. Lincoln was finding it hard to mind-delve and walk quickly at the same time, and was thankful when Ugilino pulled into an alley to relieve himself. As the big oaf pulled down his braise and squatted, Lincoln peered at him, trying to follow his thoughts. Medeea was being quiet, although he could sense her in his mind. When Ugilino closed his eyes and frowned, Lincoln closed his too. That's when he dove fully into a very troubled medieval psyche.

Ugilino's mind was collage of visions, sounds, thoughts and emotions. Images were jumping in and out of his awareness, one causing another to pop up and then be superseded by another. The stream of consciousness flickered by so quickly that Lincoln had trouble processing it all. He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, steeling his focus and determined to sort the hodge-podge of information flooding into him.

He saw an image of a smiling Father Aaron, his eyes soft, and Ugilino's inner voice saying, “The Father never frowned when he spoke to me.” Then Father Aaron was laughing and touching Ugilino's cheek. “God loves you, Ugilino, and I love you too.”

‘Why didn't I tell him I loved him too?' Ugilino thought. ‘Why was I afraid? Now he's dead!' and the image of the maggot-filled ossuary flashed in his mind, the memory of the smell making both Ugilino and Lincoln want to retch.

Ugilino's mind went blank for a moment, and then Lincoln could feel Ugi trying to soothe himself by recalling a pleasant memory. Lincoln felt a small smile come to Ugilino's lips and an incredible fantasy emerged. It was Ugilino and Guilietta in an intimate embrace, her stroking his scarred face. But it didn't look quite like Ugilino. The nose was much less broken, there were fewer scars and even his teeth were white. This was how Ugilino saw himself. “I love you, Ugilino,” Guilietta was saying, leaning forward to kiss his lips. Their bed covers drifted upward in the fantasy, as if angels had beat their wings and caused a breeze to make them float up to heaven, revealing their two naked bodies. Lincoln could feel Ugilino's face flush and his respiration increase.

‘I must not think of these things on Father's Aaron's death day,' Ugilino thought, but he wanted, needed to think of something fine. Lincoln sensed a smile come to Ugi's face and saw an even more improved Ugilino standing next to a very jovial Master della Cappa, both of them standing with other tradesmen. He saw the Master with his large arm around Ugilino's shoulder, introducing him to the members of the Crystal Guild of Florence.

“He's a better lens maker than me,” the Master bragged.

“Oh, you taught me everything I know, Master,” Ugilino said modestly.

“I have a daughter to marry this fine young man,” a guild member told Agistino.

“This one's already taken,” the Master retorted with good humor. “Holy Cristo, this boy can polish lenses.”

Suddenly Ugilino saw himself tumbling down the stairs at the house in Verona. This was a real memory. He had been carrying the lathe and tripped. As the image of him crashing to the floor flashed in both minds, Lincoln could feel the severe pain that had exploded in Ugi's back. Then the Master was looking down at him with disgust and another wave of shame spewed up from Ugilino's stomach, deluging his brain. The echoing sound of one of the orphans laughing at him added to the tumult. Now it was Lincoln who felt ashamed. The orphan who laughed hysterically was none other than himself.

Lincoln opened his eyes to see what Ugilino was doing. He was just squatting there, eyes open, a sad, blank look on his face.

Ugilino was now remembering the last time he saw Father Aaron. It was in the market and Signora Baroni had cleaned and salved the big cut the Master had given him. She told him to go wash the rest of himself at the fountain before going home and Ugilino, now scrubbed and still wet, was starting off home when he saw Father Aaron talking to the herbalist.

‘The Father has come to pay Signora Baroni for fixin' my head,' he thought. ‘The Father does not lie and cheat like everybody else. He does what he says he will do.' Ugilino remembered walking up to the Father and herbalist, catching them by surprise. Father Aaron was talking to the Signora, and when he got close, he could hear they were talking in some odd language. He remembered only one strange word from the conversation. “. . . Australia . . .”

Lincoln looked at Medeea. She raised her eyebrows, like she was asking Lincoln, “So, do you know what to do now?” Lincoln closed his eyes and went back into Ugi's mind. Remembering what he was told to do in a case like this at one of the lectures, he dove deeper into Ugilino's memory. Ugi might not be able to recall the conversation he had overheard, but it was there, buried. The neuron degradation might not make it possible for complete recovery, but it would be close.

‘Ah, here it is.'

“So, Catherine. Have you been home to Australia lately?” Arimus had said in Earth Common.

“Yes, I was home a month with my family,” Signora Baroni answered. “I just got back a few days ago.”

Lincoln's eyes popped open again.