A Bolt From the Blue (15 page)

“No, not Leonardo,” I cut him short. “He was already gone and will be absent for several days. It’s my father who is missing!”

“Master Angelo?” Tito’s smile vanished like a dove taking flight. “You’re certain of this?”

“Of course! Do you think I would make up such a tale for your amusement? Tell me, when did you see him last?”

“Yesterday, before I joined you at the evening meal. Master Angelo and I finished our work for the day and locked the shed, and then we walked back to the workshop together. That was when we parted ways . . . he, to the Master’s quarters, and I, to eat.”

Hands on hips, I shot him a suspicious look.

“And I saw him later that night, while the rest of you were playing dice,” I retorted. “That was when my father told me that Leonardo had left Milan for a few days, and that he’d agreed I should help once more with the flying machine. I was to meet my father here at the Master’s workshop. But he was gone when I arrived, and the door was partly open. I’ve looked all over the castle grounds for him, but no one has seen him.”

Those last words trembled suspiciously upon a sob, which I struggled to swallow back. Tito did not notice this slip in my boyish facade, however, for he had leaped from the bench and was peering in the workshop window as if to confirm that what I said was the truth. Then he swung about, jutting his face angrily toward mine.

“You said the Master was gone. What did you mean by that?” he demanded, his pockmarked face flushing darker still.

I hesitated, recalling that my father had sworn me to secrecy regarding Leonardo’s abrupt departure. But surely under these circumstances, it could do no harm to reveal to Tito what little I knew.

“He’s ridden off to find Il Moro and tell him that Constantin died trying to prevent a plot against all of Milan,” I cried most dramatically. “And what of you? You said the Master told you last night that you would not be needed this day . . . and yet how can that be, when the Master had already left the castle when you claimed he spoke to you?”

The question hung between us for a few tense moments before something shifted in Tito’s expression. I realized that alarm and not anger now suffused his features.

“It—it wasn’t the Master who told me,” he admitted in a tight little voice. “It was one of the castle pages who said he had a message for me from Master Leonardo.”

I swallowed back the cold bile of fear that rose in my throat at his words.

“That makes no sense, Tito. Why would the Master go to the castle in the middle of the night to rouse a page when he could have wakened you himself? Quickly, tell me all that happened and spare no detail, for it might have some bearing on my father’s fate.”

He resumed his seat upon the bench, his feet shuffling at the sandy ground beneath them. “It was just after midnight when someone woke me up. At first, I thought it was the Master—you know his habit of summoning us in the night—but it was one of the castle pages. He bade me be silent and follow him outside. He said he had an urgent message from Master Leonardo.”

His tone took on a sound of desperation as he went on. “It sounds foolish, in the light of day, but I was still half asleep and I didn’t think to question why the Master did not come to me himself. And so I went with the boy.”

“What happened afterward?” I prompted him when he hesitated once more.

Tito dropped his face into his hands, so that his words were muffled as he continued. “The page said that Leonardo had told him that some important men—diplomats, perhaps—were to examine the flying machine, but that it must be done under cover of darkness. Since I had one of the keys, I was to meet them there and unlock the door. The page said that the Master would join them later and would relock the shed when they were finished. He also said he was to tell me that Leonardo would not require my assistance the next day.”

I stifled a groan at this confession. “Was my father at the shed, or the Master?”

“No, but I did see three men there. They must have been the diplomats.”

“These men . . . did you see their faces?”

“Not their faces,” he replied in a sorrowful tone, “for they were wrapped in fine cloaks and kept carefully to the shadows. They said nothing, but they gestured me away once I’d unfastened the lock. I—I was a bit nervous by then, so I hurried back to the workshop and took to my bed again.”

He lapsed into silence while I took a moment to consider his words. I was certain that these three mysterious men were no more diplomats than were Tito and I. But could one of them be the mysterious robed figure that had spied upon me, or even be the man who had cruelly murdered Constantin? And if none was guilty of those crimes, who had sent them here? And did my father’s disappearance have something to do with their arrival?

The cold knot in my stomach tightened as the questions flooded my brain, and I was certain that Constantin’s death and my father’s disappearance were connected.

“The shed was locked when I tried the door earlier,” I recalled, “and I saw nothing amiss, so those three shadow men were careful to leave no sign they’d been there. Had I not gone there searching for my father, I would have had no cause to set foot near the place, at all.”

I paused and frowned. “And with the Master gone—and you, Tito, sent to work once more with the other apprentices—it might have been days before anyone looked in the shed again.”

The import of what I’d said struck me at the very instant that Tito leaped from the bench again, eyes wide.

“The shed!” he cried. “Quickly, we must check it!”

I made no reply but joined his frantic race across the quadrangle. I dared not give voice to what I dreaded to find behind its locked doors, lest speaking the words make it so.

And yet that was the most logical explanation for my father’s strange absence. Perhaps he had awakened in the middle of the night with an idea for the flying machine, and so had gone to the shed to take measurements or carve a bit of wood. And perhaps he had arrived there to find these three mysterious men examining the craft and had confronted them, only to be overcome by their greater number.

I choked on a sob of denial at that last thought, even though I had to admit that this was the most likely scenario. Having overpowered him, it made sense that the men would have left him locked in the shed so that he would not be found for some time, rather than leave him somewhere on the grounds to be discovered at dawn.

The question was, had they abandoned him injured and unconscious, or had he suffered Constantin’s same brutal fate?

With a shudder, I quickened my steps in hopes of outrunning the gruesome images that filled my mind. Thus, though Tito’s legs were longer than mine, I readily kept apace of him as we neared the secluded spot behind the stables where the shed lay.

We both were gasping for breath by the time we reached the splintered shed and its barred doors.

The heavy lock that dangled from its hasp, once merely a bit of metal, now represented an ominous portent of the secrets that might well be contained within. Tito fumbled in the pouch at his belt to find the key, to my anxious mind taking far too long to extract it from the small bag. But when he finally reached the key toward the lock, I impulsively stayed his hand.

His black eyes met mine in understanding. So long as the doors to the shed remained locked, we could pretend that whatever might lie behind them had not yet come to pass.

“Don’t worry, Dino,” he softly assured me. “I’m certain that Master Angelo has come to no harm.”

I bit my lip, praying he was right and wondering how I could ever bring such grievous tidings to my mother if he were not. Reminding myself that no amount of wishing could change the outcome, I brusquely nodded.

“Open it, Tito.”

He hurried to fit the key and in a single swift move twisted it so that the lock fell open. Removing the lock from the hasp, he pulled open one door, and the other, until they were spread wide enough so that he and I could walk abreast as we stepped inside the dark structure.

For the first few moments, the contrast between the sunlight and shadow was such that the shed appeared to be but a yawning black mouth. I squinted into the darkness, not daring to call out my father’s name while I anxiously scanned the shadows for a huddled shape . . . a sprawled form.

And as our eyes adjusted to the dimness, we saw what it was that those doors had been hiding.

“The flying machine,” Tito cried. “It’s gone!”

10

—Leonardo da Vinci,
The Notebooks of Delfina della Fazia

 

 

 

 

 

T
ito’s shout echoing in my ears, I rushed to the spot where I had seen the half-built craft but the day before. Now nothing but the wooden supports remained. The body of the flying machine, as well as the skeletal framework of wings, had vanished. The only sign that the craft had ever been there was the ring of wood shavings that had surrounded it. The once-neat circle had been scattered by booted feet, however, and was bisected by what appeared to be wagon wheel tracks.

Nor was my father anywhere within the small building. Relief swept me as I finally could admit to my worst fear, that he had fallen victim to some villain as Constantin had. But despair returned with equal swiftness. If not here, where was he? And, almost as important, who had taken Leonardo’s glorious invention?

Regrettably, the how of it was all too apparent.

I could see the look of anguish on Tito’s face as he realized that he had been deceived into allowing some unknown men to carry away what could have become Milan’s most powerful weapon . . . a weapon that now might be used against her. Though, of course, how could anyone without the proper drawings and knowledge hope to complete such a sophisticated piece of machinery? Unless—

“They must have taken my father, along with the flying machine,” I gasped out.

“Tito, don’t you see? A half-built craft would be no good on its own. Whoever took it would need someone who could finish building it, who could explain how to fly it . . . and who could make more like it! They must have planned to kidnap the Master but took my father instead. For how could they have known that Leonardo had left upon a secret mission, when not even you were aware of it?”

“Dino, your words make great sense,” Tito declared, though his expression remained doleful. “Master Angelo resembles Master Leonardo, and he was staying in his quarters. If these villains had but a general description of the man they were to kidnap, it would be an easy mistake for them to make.”

“But who has him? Where have they taken my father?”

With that cry, I snatched off my wool cap and wrung it between my hands. Much as I wished to berate Tito for his terrible folly, I knew giving way to anger would do nothing to help us find either my father or Leonardo’s invention. What we needed were cool minds and logical reasoning of the sort that the Master always employed.

But Tito was already ahead of me. His expression one of grim resolve, he rushed to the doors and pulled them open as far as they would go. Now enough sunlight spilled in to brighten all but the farthest corners of the shed. He returned and, sidestepping what appeared to be a fresh pile of horse droppings, knelt beside the disheveled wood shavings.

“Look,” he exclaimed, pointing to the same tracks I had earlier noticed. “These wheel marks were not here yesterday. And see how far apart they’re spaced? Of course, those men would have required something much larger than a cart to carry off the flying machine.

“And here.”

While I was busy stepping off the distance between the two marks, Tito had risen to indicate a portion of the floor just inside the doors. “Look at the way the smooth dirt has been chopped up, as if by hooves. Surely there were two horses here, if not more.”

Spotting yet another fragrant pile of manure, I had to agree with that last. Though I was impressed by his skill at deduction—indeed, his reasoning was worthy of the Master—my anger did not allow for anything more than a grudging nod of approval.

“But that tells us nothing other than that we are looking for a large wagon pulled by at least a pair of horses.”

With a snort of disgust to hide the trembling of my lips, I once more donned my battered cap and marched over to where Tito stood. “We can learn nothing more from this empty shed,” I decreed. “What is important is discovering the identities of those three men. Once we know that, we can better guess at their direction. Surely that page who summoned your last night would be of some help. Tell me, what did he look like? Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

Tito’s look of misery returned. “I—I’m not sure. It was dark. He was a page.”

“Then we shall search out all the pages until we find the right one,” I shot back and grabbed him by the elbow. “Hurry, and be sure to lock the shed behind us.”