A Bolt from the Blue

“My dear boy, pray do not take this as an affront,” he said as I settled myself. “I have given the matter due consideration and believe it the best solution for us all.”

He paused to make another note on the page before him before continuing. “Tito came to me last night, telling me the same tale that he said he shared with you. His distress was genuine and his arguments persuasive. It is imperative that we complete the flying machine before another such incident happens. Tito is a diligent worker with experience building boats, and he has assisted me in the past with my designs.”

Glancing over at my father, he went on. “Signor Angelo and I agree that our model has served its purpose, and that it is time to complete work on the full-sized model. One cannot overlook the fact that Tito is far larger and stronger than you, meaning he is better able to provide the brute force needed. And while I do not question your valor, should another assault occur, he would be better able to defend against it.”

I bit my lip lest I blurt out a reminder of the times that I had been forced to defend myself against an assailant or even leap to the Master’s aid when he himself was under attack. How could he forget that I’d survived being stabbed and left for dead inside a locked burial vault, had stood unarmed against sword-wielding assailants, and had escaped a deadly fire unscathed? Yet I dared not speak of these dramatic events before my father, lest he whisk me from Milan faster than a hawk could swoop upon a helpless rabbit.

Instead, I glanced at my parent in silent supplication, hoping he would see the injustice of this arrangement, but he merely shook his head.

“I fear I must concur with Signor Leonardo on this matter. Work on the full-sized model will require strength that a young, er, boy such as you may not possess.”

Unspoken was what I knew must be foremost on his mind: his fear that this project held dangers far greater than a dropped plank upon one’s toe or a hammer connecting with an unsuspecting thumb. And while I understood his concern, that did not lessen the sting I felt at his words.

My dismay at this dual perfidy must have been apparent, for Leonardo gave me a kind smile.

“All is not lost, my dear Dino,” he pronounced with a grand sweep of his hand. “You see, I have not forgotten my words to you from several days earlier. Once the plastering for the new fresco is complete and the outlines of the stencils pounced, you will pick up a brush and work with Paolo and Davide in painting the background.”

Once, such an announcement from the Master would have brought me to my knees all but weeping in gratitude. Now I managed little more than a grudging, “I shall be glad to assist them,” before making my bows and rushing out the door.

My unsettled humors were further stirred when I almost stumbled over Tito as he was leaving the main workshop. I halted and favored him with a sour look.

“I am surprised you do not fare better when playing dice,” I told him, “given your skill in tossing words so that they readily tumble your way.”

He did not pretend not to understand my words. Indeed, he had the good grace to look ashamed, if his tone when he replied held a note of defiance.

“I did not mean to replace you, Dino, only to join you in helping the Master with the flying machine. And I will not deny that I would like to gain some of the fame for my part in building it. But you must believe me that my motives go far beyond any glory I might earn.”

He paused and gave the familiar glance about him, as if fearing eavesdroppers. “As I told you, I cannot help but worry that the Master may be in danger, after what happened to Constantin. I may have failed our friend, but I vow I shall not fail Leonardo in the same way. He does not know it, but my true plan is to serve as his personal man-at-guard.”

At that, he reached beneath his tunic and whipped out a knife that I had never before seen him carry. The straight, sharp blade appeared finely crafted and was one such as gentlemen wore about town for protection… hardly a weapon that an apprentice might own, let alone be able to wield.

It was my turn to gaze about lest anyone be within sight or hearing of us. Eying the weapon with mingled admiration and alarm, I asked in a low tone, “Tito, where ever did you find such a knife?”

“My uncle gave it to me. He was a soldier, and he told me every man should have a weapon lest he be taken unawares when danger threatens.”

Tossing his unruly black hair from his eyes, he sliced the blade through the air before him as if dispatching an imaginary attacker. Then, to my relief, he hid the knife beneath his tunic once more.

“Don’t worry. I can use it,” he said with a shrug. “But the Master would forbid me to carry such a weapon, and so I shall keep it hidden. You will not tell him, will you?”