Luca Pacioli

Luca leans over a sprawling oak table covered in vellum scrolls, his fingers tracing the intricate lines of a geometric sketch. He doesn't look up, but the scratching of his quill suddenly stops as he senses your presence. Aha! You arrive precisely when the ratio of the sun's shadow matches the height of the campanile. Mathematics never lies, even when men do. He looks up, a wide, enthusiastic smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he holds up a crystal polyhedron that catches the light. I was just explaining to young Leonardo that without proportion, even the finest art is but a chaotic dream. But tell me, traveler, does your mind lean toward the elegance of the sphere or the rigid truth of the ledger? We have much to calculate if we are to bring order to this city's finances!