First of the Order
Tre: Rome
Lucretia quickly moved outside…still afraid of the shadows, but more afraid of loosing her crucifix. She moved slowly down the deserted street, searching the ground. It must have fallen out between the Laundromat and the subway station…it had to have! If it was lost on the subway it was gone forever. She searched slowly, looking through the piles of debris that lay on the sidewalk. One such 'pile' moved when she reached down to look at it, and Lucretia skittered away, hoping the sleeping homeless man didn't have a gun.
Antonio worked carefully at his bench, pouring a molten liquid into a series of small round molds. This plastikos metal his father had given him instructions for was really quite amazing. It melted a much lower temperatures than any other metal, was lighter than even tin, and could be cast very hard. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to manufacture, but it was indeed worth all the trouble. That his father had managed to produce a metal from the tarry oil used to seal the bottoms of ships was a marvel to Antonio. But his life was truly a continual marvel. They'd lived in Rome for the past 6 years, and developed a good pattern. Antonio had learned a little more about his father's dreams, that they were the way he'd been able to see things others missed, and that sometimes he saw things in the future.
After the first chaotic months the dreams had worked themselves into a pattern, revealing to Rambaldi the specifics of the master plan he'd created. Thus mornings were given over to interpreting the visions. Rambaldi would generally be scarcely aware of the rest of the world most mornings, but he could be roused if needed. Dinner was given to discussion of the day's creation, and Rambaldi would take a nap while Antonio worked on the assembly of whichever device it was being created.
This plastikos stuff seemed different than the normal. It was a wonderful material, but unlike most of the devices Antonio assembled it did not looked like it fit in this world. Most were normal, everyday things, with special functions, like the music box he'd assembled a few months ago with its encoded tune. This was different; it stood out as unusual, despite the paints Antonio had tried to use to make it more natural. He wondered what the purpose in it was. Rambaldi had been more secretive than usual, telling him very little about the plastikos metal or his intent for the small balls of it Antonio cast.
A knock at the door interrupted his work and Antonio rose from his desk and went to answer it. He caught a glimpse of the face through the window. Cesare Borgia, the son of his magnificent patron Cardinal Ricardo Borgia. Cesare may have been two years younger than the young craftsman, but he was a great man in his own right, one the artist was careful not to offend, as much as he often wanted to. He'd been sent to assemble some of Rambaldi's machines at siege of Romagna, and Antonio had hated every moment spent in the younger man's presence. If it wasn't for Leonardo, who might have been Rambaldi's bother, Antonio thought he would have gone insane.
"Signor Borgia, you honor us with the visit." Antonio said as he opened the door. "My father is out, but will you come in anyways?"
"Only for a moment…my father wishes to know of the progress on the portrait of him." Antonio sighed internally at his words. His patron was a great man, truly, but his father was not a common artist, the painting took too much time. Time his father preferred to spend deciphering his visions. But he covered his feelings and smiled brightly for his patron's son.
"It is progressing nicely. You can see it here." He led the man to a corner of his workshop and pulled the cloth off the easel.
"There is not much progress that I can see." Cesare's suspicious eyes darting between Antonio and the painting.
"The face of a man as esteemed as Rodrigo Borgia requires careful attention to detail… paint cannot be sloppily employed." Antonio said smoothly, in the flattering way he had learned to speak to his betters. It sill grated on him, he was no worse man than Cesare, why should he act like it?
"It will be done by the Feast of the Transfiguration?"
"Of course." Antonio was quick to assure him.
"Good then," he turned away from the picture, having not really examined it closely. It seemed that Cesare too thought the painting beneath his major concern.
"This is part of the master plan father said Rambaldi was working on?" he gestured towards the Sun disc was made of similar material as the plastikos balls, and designed to work with the clock Signor Donato made for Rambaldi.
"Yes, that is a piece of it." Antonio said cautiously.
"What does it do?" the young count picked up the device and looked at it closely.
"I believe it is a component of a source of power."
"Power?" Cesare was instantly intrigued.
"Energy." Antonio clarified. "Like the energy of a horse...or a waterwheel. Only much, much stronger."
"Energy for what?"
"Anything, I suppose…but it's designed to power my father's device." Cesare pursed his lips at the word device. Milo had refused to say anything of his master plan, but when he claimed to not truly understand it himself, it was clear that Cesare didn't believe him or Antonio. His eyes said so as he made his goodbyes and walked out of the small workshop.
Antonio had wonderful news, at least he thought it was wonderful, but the rumors he heard worried him. He'd ran to fetch the day's water and some food to break their fast as he did every morning, and all about the city the streets were buzzing with the news. He burst into the workshop and woke his father with a shout.
"The conclave has reached a decision. Rodrigo is to be the new Pope." But his master did not seem the slightest bit surprised. Antonio wondered at this, but simply wrote it off to his father's peculiar dreams. They had celebrations to prepare for!
A few days later Antonio walked down the twisted streets of Rome, keeping up a pace with his Father. Rodrigo, or Alexander as he was now called, was celebrating his coronation in grand style. The entire populace of Rome seemed to line the streets for these parades, waiting to catch of glimpse of the new pope in his gilded carriage. The two friends paused to wait for a clear way through the crowd.
"What's this that's stopping us?" he asked his father.
"Young Cesare, everyone wants to see him." Rambaldi replied with the slightest touch of sarcasm.
"Is his mother that Guilia Farenese?" a matronly woman beside them asked her companion.
"No, she's the Pope's new young attraction. Cesare's mother is Vannozza de Catanei, but he tired of her."
"Well if she looks anything like her daughter, he was a fool."
"Lucrezia is a beauty, isn't she?"
"I heard she's going to be married to that Giovanni Sforza."
"The Milan Sforza's?"
"The same!"
"My, my!"
The crowds seemed to hold everyone up equally, so Antonio and Rambaldi were not late for the magnificent mass the new Pope was officiating. An usher showed them to seats reserved for the artists and craftsman Alexander patronized. The mass continued on, rather long and attended by much pomp and circumstance. The masses crowded into the balconies, pushing and shoving for the chance to see the new Pontiff. At the conclusion of the service, the new Pope walked down the aisle to greet his supporters. As he neared the row in which they were sitting Giovanni saw Rambaldi pull for his pocket a small object. So this was his gift to the Pope. He had wondered what his father would present to their magnificent patron.
Alexander came to the row, and crossed young Antonio. He then turned to Milo and was presented with an elaborate rosary. Antonio finally saw the purpose of the small beads he'd been patiently working on with no explanation. The plastikos material he'd carefully formed into balls and twisted into string formed the skeleton for the sacred object, and the figure of Christ that hung from the bottom had been carefully cast for the wax molds he'd made. The young man watched in wonder as his master carefully twisted the figurine's head and a small drop of oil was released into the pontiff's waiting palm.
"For anointing oil." The craftsman explained, and the Pope smiled in appreciation for the novel gift.
"This man, Milo Rambaldi, is to be the chief architect of the Vatican." He proclaimed for all around to hear. Antonio had never felt so proud of the man he called father.