Twelve years ago

Lorenzo had walked into another amazing day of his travels, accompanied by his friend, Placido. Inside the cafe, a short building with a peaked roof, was a full house. He hoped there was a novel idea or a topic that wasn’t treaded upon in the last two weeks. Except chatter all sounded familiar to him, as he passed by, discussed during the six months he was here. 

With no new soirees or operas, he was tiring of the city. It was no longer fresh, instead; he had lived here and seen all it offered. Whether it was the salons, usually with a witty hostess and if they could gain entry, or even the cafes were, they talked as they often worked. 

But he had mostly taken to writing correspondence to the handful who had meshed with him in ideas, often taking up more time than he did. 

Placido had taken to mostly reading all his old books, all day, eager to absorb like a sponge, but he was more of a collector. 

The men all wore powdered wigs, for it was fashionable to do so, and making them difficult to distinguish. He had done so too, over his black hair, worn short, and his hazel eyes, and a relatively small nose. 

But only perhaps Kings were, but most rarely enjoyed having such men of letters as they often talked more than what was permissible in most kingdoms. Often about reforming the government, giving people ideas, which could be dangerous. 

Sometimes, their books were censored and forbidden. Though it was easy to get around the laws. 

As he looked around, all the familiar faces, talking and sometimes getting into heated debates about their ideas. 

Then, they stopped in a familiar group that Placido often conversed with. He was interested in the encyclopedia's improvement meant to contain all the information thus known in the world. “I’ll give them a chat, just to see what stage they’re at and if there was anything that I can help.” 

Lorenzo was less interested in their minor project than he was debating about political philosophy, or living life in accordance to the principles itself of the enlightenment or even arguing what should matter more, whether they could willingly abandon it so that only rationalism remained. Or perhaps just what they should learn in education? 

There were so many ideas that he could.

There, he spotted an empty table, quickly taking it, and then asking for coffee. He had a good question.  

“Do you think this city is becoming boring?” Lorenzo asked, staring at Placido’s blue eyes. 

“I don’t know, but with more and more day of me just reading.” Placido agreed with his friend. 

“Well, if someone returned, it would make things interesting, but that is a temporary solution.” 

Lorenzo said. “Maybe we’ve been here long enough that it’s no longer fresh. It’s become home. Except the other options are above our means.” 

Mostly talking about some of the wittiest salons, and they were provincial nobles of some rank. But neither of them were swimming in wealth, and even his lifestyle was all his father would give him. 

“How do you feel about further north, Britain?” Placido offered. 

“Even further north, with a language that I can’t speak yet. I only learned some basics.” Lorenzo thought about it. “It might be worth a visit.” 

“I can teach you,” Placido offered “Well, I think it was getting on my nerves around two months ago, but you somehow always found some new thinker to talk to or some salon that I could try to enter.” Then he lowered his voice. “But now, I subtly have been thinking whether I should tell you.” 

Lorenzo took a sip. He immersed himself in philosophy, and to expand just what he knows. “But perhaps it’s time to move on.” 

He had to agree, it would be good. A country where a king wasn’t absolute, of fabulous wealth and dominance of the seas and trade. 

“But before we go, maybe I’ll give the library one last raid.” Placido offered, his eyes not willing to go unless he had. 

Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “You go there every week. I’m even wondering where do you find the money to do this. I’m sure you spend more on your books than you did on this entire trip.” 

But it would take one or two weeks to travel to Britain. 

Placido’s family was old, and had a famed collection, but it was far from any cities and he mostly stayed in the small town when he was back home. Lorenzo understood his hunger for knowledge, but never why he liked to collect it. 

“I thought you wanted to be more of an intellectual,” he said, his mind already moving to the next location and all the people they would meet.  

“That’s always more of you, Lorenzo. You talk about all the different perspectives, ideas. But I prefer to collect them and read them for what their worth is, unlike you who prefers to debate them,” Placido said. “I’m just not too comfortable, as I’m not passionate about a particular topic, though I have my gripes back home and its collection. It’s mostly theology.” 

He liked the idea of collecting and storing knowledge, even contributing his own ideas to their minor project to help make things more sensible. But he shared few opinions, although he agreed more or less with Lorenzo. 

He gave a chuckle. “But I’m only good at that in letters, when in person, I stumble all the time. But it’s only meeting them in person who my letters don’t end up unread and they would reply.” 

Even if he felt deeply uncomfortable, he would set it right aside. 

He only collected a few, but he preferred his home, for the capital in his tiny little duchy had a true library to be proud of. He took trips there, but it paled in terms of how intellectually vibrant it was. 

It was time to see what Britain could offer him, or rather, London offered.