The Loved and the Lost (35 page)

“Pan, if you really think we're being watched by ourselves from the future, why do you think they won't reveal themselves or give us real medicine?” the younger Hansum asked.

“Maybe the fact that they're just watching their past means everything worked out,” the younger Shamira suggested.

“Yeah,” the young Lincoln agreed. “That's gotta be it. We got back, Guil's just fine and we're all living happily ever after. And we've, they've just come back to watch themselves — for fun like.”

“No, I don't think so,” Hansum the younger said, despondently. “The other me said they're here to rescue us.”

“Well, if they're here to rescue us and they're from the future,” Shamira offered, “then they must succeed and we'll be doing the same thing for another set of us in our future.”

“We can't depend on that,” Pan stated quite definitively. “Nobody knows whether time and events are fixed or pliable, and whether we can change things.”

“We know,” the older Hansum said forlornly. “And now we've got them second-guessing themselves. That could screw things up more.”

“This is what I think.” Pan was speaking a little louder and looking around, obviously aiming his comment at anyone who might be listening in covertly. “I think that, unless the people from the future contact us in the next few seconds, we must continue to carve out our own present and future, with no thought of them.” They all stood silently looking around the room.

“Come out, come out . . .” Lincoln repeated cautiously.

“Nope,” Pan finally said. “No sign of them. We act like we're on our own.”

“Pan, for all his silliness, really was wise,” the older Shamira observed. Then the younger Shamira spoke.

“Should we go wake up Signora Baroni now or wait till the morning?”

“Now is best,” Pan said, just like before. “One never knows with infections, but I am quite positive if we start Guilietta on a course of what I have suggested tonight, we'll stop it from becoming full blown.”

“Please, please . . .” the older Hansum prayed, knowing this measure was doomed to fail.

“Okay, Sham, let's go,” said the kettle-helmeted Lincoln with authority.

“My, aren't you becoming the serious fellow,” she said playfully.

“You should see me bossing guys around when we're firing the cannon.”

“I'm going to be with Guilietta,” a melancholy younger Hansum said, turning to the stairs.

“Good,” Pan responded. “But switch me over to Mistress Shamira first.”

After doing so, Shamira and Lincoln left, walking right through Kingsley at the door. As the younger Hansum ascended the stairs, he walked through his older counterpart.

“So, what do we do now?” the older Lincoln asked.

“I want to watch over Guil too,” his Hansum said, turning to go up the stairs, “just in case her illness happens differently for some reason. After they're asleep, I'll try taking her out of phase every half hour.”

“Medeea and I will do the same with the Signora and Master,” Lincoln said.

“I want to go to the barn,” Kingsley said with a smirk. “Those soldiers are a hoot. It should get even more interesting when Ugi comes back with the food and drink. Want to come with me, Sham? They'll give you a laugh and then we can bed down for a few hours . . . in the loft,” he said winking.

Hansum stopped and turned back to the others. “Something just occurred to me. Elder Parmatheon was the worst of the Council, but now that he's had a taste of what happens in the field, maybe he'll get the others to support us. He said he would.”

“He could have just said that to save his own skin,” Kingsley suggested.

“We should find out,” Hansum decided. “Sideways, can you pop back to our time and see what the situation is?”

“This is not a problem, Master Hansum.”

“But if he hasn't changed his mind, or is even angrier, won't they stop you from coming back?” Shamira asked.

Sideways laughed. “You forget I'm from the 31
^st
-century. Just because I haven't flexed my superior technological muscles, doesn't mean I don't have them. I'll be safe enough.”

Lincoln looked at Medeea. “C'mon, Med. Let's go curl up in a corner of the Signora's room.

“Sounds romantic,”
she thought to him.
“Too bad we can't go to the loft.”

“We can be in the loft. Or anywhere. In our minds,”
he thought back, winking. He reached out and they walked up the steps hand in hand.

“C'mon Sham. Wait'll you see this motley crew,” Kingsley laughed. “They're hilarious.”

Hansum watched as Lincoln climbed the stairs, his hand held out, obviously holding Medeea's hand. He turned and saw Shamira and Kingsley, also hand in hand, going toward the exit. Shamira turned back, smiled, and disappeared through the door.

“I should be off then,” Sideways said. “Aren't you going to Guilietta's room?”

“I'll give them a bit more time alone,” Hansum replied. “I won't intrude till they're asleep.”

“I'll be back as soon as I determine the situation and we'll take it from there,” Sideways said and, with that, Hansum was left wearing the tunic he had on at Haudenosaunee.

Hansum could hear Guilietta and his other self chatting and giggling in the bedroom, followed by long silences. While he couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, he remembered his similar sweet reunion when he lived this reality. He left the steps and sat at the table, so he'd hear even less. Leaning forward on his elbows, he thought of Shamira and Kingsley, what they had, and how even Lincoln's situation was making him happy. And then he thought how, if his plan worked, while the person he was now would cease to exist, perhaps the Hansum that emerged could experience a renewed and sustained love. He could only hope.

The shadows were deep and dark in the back alley. From the distance they were at, they could see the lieutenant walking out of the shop, checking on the man who was sitting, his back against the wall. His head was down and he didn't notice his superior approach.

“Hey, get off your ass and walk around when you're on watch,” Lieutenant Raguso barked. “I'll be sleeping in here with the others. When we spell the two at the door in a few hours, you can come inside then.”

“Lieutenant, aren't we going to wait for the food?” the soldier asked as he rose.

Raguso snorted. “We sent my brother to a tavern. If Chinza comes back at all it will be a miracle. And the gargoyle he went with . . . they're one and the same.”

“If you don't mind me saying, Lieutenant, two brothers and you're so different. You an officer and him an . . . an . . .”

“An ass? He's my father's bastard. But my father was an honorable man and looked out for him, much to my mother's anger,” he said crossing himself, “May she rest in Cristo. And now that my papa is
morto
too, that blood of my father's blood has become my cross to bear.”

“He did save your skin at Bresca.”

“Oh, he's no coward and not afraid to use his sword, for sure. But all the other times, I'd like to,” and he made the Italian salute. “Now don't fall asleep,” and he went inside the darkened shop and closed the door.

“They're very foolish,” one of the watchers said, invisible in their shadows.

“And they're going to be dead in a few minutes,” the other added.

There was a scuttling sound behind them as a third companion crept up.

“There's just the two guards at the door, Excellency,” Testa said. “One sat down and is sleeping. The other's almost asleep on his feet.”

“And three here with a sixth at a tavern and likely not to come back soon. Okay, let's do our business here and then go to the house. When the guards are dead,” Feltrino finished, “we'll kill the savant.”

As Shamira walked through the door, she turned to say goodbye to Hansum. He was sitting on the stairs, staring at them forlornly. Poor Hansum, she thought, giving him a sympathetic smile. He smiled back, and then she and Kingsley were gone.

The first thing she heard on the porch was rough snoring. One soldier was sitting against the wall, his mouth wide and a guttural sound coming from the blackened cavern. His colleague was standing, eyes shut tight.

“It would appear the only reason the one standing is awake is his friend's snoring,” Kingsley joked. The second soldier slid to the stoop and his head fell forward, as did his long pike.

“You're right,” Shamira laughed. “They are funny.”

“I told ya,” Kingsley said, and he gathered Shamira in his arms and kissed her hard. As they parted, Shamira looked closely at Kingsley. This was the man she would marry.

“Oh, I love the way you kiss,” she said.

“There's a poet in my time. He'll write, ‘Kiss like every meeting of our lips will be their last.' ”

“I thought you weren't supposed to tell me things about the future till we're . . . married.”

“I feel we already are,” and he took her in his arms and kissed her again.

“No, no. Not in there. The general is waiting for us,” they heard Ugilino's voice from down the road.

“Nah, it's fine. Come!” Chinza's equally gruff voice replied. Shamira and Kingsley saw two very unsteady silhouettes.

“What are they up to now?” Kingsley said mirthfully. “Come on. This should be priceless.” He took Shamira's hand and they ran laughing down the street.

“No, we'll sit in this alley,” Chinza was saying, “and have our fill first.” Ugilino was carrying a basket laden with loaves of bread, sausages and bottles of wine. The soldier had an open bottle in one hand, and was taking a long pull from it.

“No, this is Master Spagnolli's house,” Ugilino whispered loudly. “It's late and he has a big cleaver.”

“I have a big cleaver too,” the drunken Chinza replied.

“Your sword?” Ugilino asked.

“Nah,” and he looked down and winked. He and Ugi broke up laughing.

Shamira and Kingsley laughed so hard, they had to help each other stand.

“Shhh!” Ugi said, still snorting and spitting. “The butcher will tell my master.”

“A valuable lens maker like you, afraid of his master? Eh? Maybe I should tell ‘im how you gave that three
denarii
to the bar girl, eh?” and he spit on his grubby middle finger and poked into Ugilino's ear, which threw Ugi into more gales of snorts and honks. Chinza took the ceramic bottle and swigged more wine.

“Eh, shouldn't we get all this back to the general?” Ugi asked. “Won't he get mad and beat you?”

“All right, all right,” Chinza said, starting to meander back to the workshop. “But that ain't no general. He's only a lieutenant . . . my big brother. Aldo Raguso. He don't never beat me.”

“Wow. You knew your papa? I never knew my papa. I'm a bastard,” Ugi said, taking the bottle from his new companion and upending it.

“I'm a bastard too,” Gino said brightly. “Aldo and I got different mamas. Here, I'm going to have some
pane
,” and he broke off a big piece of the bread as they walked and shoved it in his mouth.

“But you said . . .”

“Papa made sure my mama always had money, but she couldn't work in his wife's house no more. But when I growed up and my mama died, he got me in the army. He gave me this sword on his deathbed,” he said patting his scabbard.

“Wow, you really is lucky,” Ugilino said with awe. By this time they had staggered their way to the della Cappa home. “Hey, your friends are sleepin',” Ugilino said about the guards on the stoop.

“No friends of mine.” Chinza spat. Then he looked happy. “More for us. They don't deserve it, sleepin' on duty.” They tried tiptoeing by the house, but kept stumbling and laughing, which was very entertaining for Shamira and Kingsley. The two drunks looked up the alley. The moon was shining down on the shop. They could see another man lying against the wall and no lamps were lit in the workshop. “They's asleep too. I tell ya, let's go to your stall and we'll have all this to ourselves,” Chinza said.

Ugilino gritted his teeth. “But then the general won't let me ride the horse tomorrow.”

“Oh, all right,” Chinza conceded. “Le's go wake my dear brother,” and they continued stumbling down the alley.

“Poor Ugi,” Shamira said. “You really do see another side of people when you watch them unawares. He's pathetic, but sweet somehow.”

“Shamira. It's Lincoln,”
came a voice in her head.

“Yes, what's up?”

“It's the Signora. She's awake and acting really weird. You better come here. Medeea says we need a flesh and blood woman.”

“I'll be right there. The Signora's acting out,” she said to Kingsley. “Lincoln wants me to . . .” Kingsley was already a dozen steps down the alley, following the two entertaining drunks. He turned.