A Bolt from the Blue

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

*

Danger gives even the smallest bird swift wings.

– Leonardo da Vinci, The Notebooks of Delfina della Fazia

Tito’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.”