A Bolt from the Blue

“Our work will progress, yes, for it is in everyone’s interest that we complete this cursed project sooner than later,” he said with unaccustomed heat. “And if we are all quite fortunate, the design will prove flawed, and that will put an end to Leonardo’s folly.”

Tempering with a hint of a smile that irate reference to the popular name for the Master’s rumored invention, he added, “Before he left, I asked Signor Leonardo that you be allowed to put aside your work on the fresco and return to assist Tito and me. He saw the wisdom of another set of hands and agreed you should rejoin us.”

Rather than being pleased, however, I frowned at his words. “Father, this makes little sense. A day ago, both you and the Master insisted that I was too weak for such labors, and that the work was far too dangerous. How can you have changed your mind in so short a time?”

“Ah, you have been around these boys for far too long that you speak with such disrespect,” he replied, though his rebuke held more amusement than outrage. “Each day you remind me more and more of your mother.”

His tone grew serious again as he went on. “And you are right. Perhaps it is safer for you to remain among your fellows, with a crowd offering more protection than two or three. But with your master gone for the time being, I feel better knowing you are nearby. Besides which”-the twinkle reappeared in his eyes-“working as my assistant will give you the opportunity to learn if your brothers’ laments all these years were justified or but an excuse for their laziness.”

I could not help but smile a little at that last. “I promise I shall tell you truthfully. But what shall we say to Tito when he sees me instead of Leonardo with you?”

“Young Tito is but the apprentice and I the master,” my father reminded me in a firm tone. “He shall be satisfied with whatever I tell him. Now, give your father a kiss good night, and be off with you.”

I did as instructed, my embrace rather longer than usual as I gave silent thanks that it was Leonardo and not he riding the dark roads in search of Il Moro.

“Return here first thing when you awaken, and we will walk together to the shed where the machine is stored,” he called after me as I started out the door. “We shall begin work with the lark and end with the owl.”

Nodding, I made my pensive way the few steps’ journey back to the main workshop and rejoined the other apprentices. Tommaso’s lute continued to lend a cheery accompaniment to the dice game, which still progressed with great enthusiasm. Tito was among the players, appearing engrossed in the game. I wondered if he had noted my absence and guessed where I had gone. If so, he gave no indication as I leaned closer to see whose fortune was proving better this night.

Too soon, as always, the evening’s ration of candles began to gutter. With that, Davide decreed, “To bed, everyone.”

Tommaso played a few final notes and then put away his lute. Paolo, meanwhile, had pocketed his dice as his fellow gamblers tucked away their night’s winnings of jewel-toned shards. While Davide snuffed the remaining wax stubs, I spared a moment to advise him of the Master’s change of plans for me. The senior apprentice added his agreement; then, our way lit by the faint red glow from the hearth, he herded us toward the sleeping alcove.

As I passed by Tito, he gave me a friendly nod but made no comment, for which I was grateful. I was in no mood for idle conversation; neither would I sleep easy this night… not while the Master likely lay wrapped in a cold blanket somewhere in the dark hills of the duchy while we apprentices rested comfortably in our beds.

But despite my vow of restless slumber, I fell asleep quickly and awakened as daylight began to seep over the horizon. The other apprentices would not stir for several minutes more; thus, I moved with silence as I donned my confining corset and pulled on a clean tunic. After making my swift ablutions, I laced up my jerkin against the morning’s chill and hurried the short distance to the Master’s quarters to meet my father.

I was reaching out to knock upon that door when I realized it hung uncharacteristically ajar.

“Father?” I called, disquiet sweeping me.

I gave the door a cautious push inward and looked inside. The chamber was unchanged from the night before, the same empty bowl and stack of notes spread upon the table. Pio continued his peaceful slumber upon the bed, stretched at full length with his thin legs stuck out well past the pillow’s edges. But the covers beneath the small hound were still neatly laid, so that it appeared Pio alone had claimed the cot for the entire night.

Of my father, there was no sign.