A Bolt from the Blue

Just as quickly, it occurred to me that perhaps Tito had been to the shed and had concluded that Master Angelo had gone missing. Perhaps he, like I, was searching fruitlessly for him. Before I could say more, however, the youth’s surprised expression transformed into a look of outright guilt that sent renewed suspicion through me.

Eyes wide, I grabbed his arm and gave it a rough shake. “Tell me what’s going on, Tito. I can see by your face that you know something!”

“It’s not what you think,” he protested as he pulled away, his cheeks red and his gaze unable to meet mine.

When I made no reply to that, he took a deep breath and rushed on. “Very well, I shall confess. The Master told me he did not need me today, and that I should go help work on the fresco, instead. But since Davide and the others didn’t know I was supposed to be with them, I thought to sneak away and spend the day wandering about the city. I just wanted a bit of fun.”

He ran a thin brown hand through his unruly black hair and slumped onto the bench perched beneath the workshop window.

“It was a perfect day. The sun had risen, and the sky looked like one of the Master’s frescoes. But I barely made it past the castle gates when I started feeling ashamed at the way that I was trying to deceive the Master. So I came back as fast as I could.”

He paused and raised miserable dark eyes to mine. “Truly, Dino, I was on my way to the duke’s quarters to join the others. I beg you, don’t tell anyone about my transgression.”

He must have mistaken my moment of stunned silence for censure, for he dropped his gaze again. But what had stopped me was not his attempt at deceit but his claim that the Master had instructed him not to join my father this day.

How could that be, when Leonardo had left Milan the afternoon before?

“And what of my father?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice from trembling while I waded through the youth’s story. “Did he agree that you were not needed this day?”

Tito shrugged. “I assumed that the Master told him.”

Then he frowned and looked back up at me again, a hint of resentment coloring his expression. “Why are you asking me all these questions? I already told you that I was in the wrong and that I’m sorry. What’s this about?”

I struggled to find some clever way to phrase what I must say next, hoping to trick the youth into an admission… if, indeed, he were guilty of something more than shirking his labors. But in the end, I simply blurted, “Tito, he’s gone. He’s vanished from the castle!”

“What?”

Tito blinked a moment in confusion before breaking into a smile. “Dino, why do you fret? The Master has a habit of leaving when it suits him. Perhaps he went to the city to the workshop he shares with another master. I’m sure he will be back soon, and-”

“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.