A Bolt from the Blue

What unsettled me was the fact that, given the untidy sprawl that was Castle Pontalba, my father and the flying machine could be hidden anywhere. And I had to suppose that the inner chambers would be as tangled a skein as the castle’s outer plan. Not knowing my way about, once I began my search, I could readily become lost within the fortress’s belly.

I thought to share my worries with Tito, but he looked more absorbed by the pair of comely kitchen maids who were struggling their way past with a bulging sack of grain. They could see little of him, however, for he had pulled his cap low on his forehead and pulled his cloak high enough so that it swaddled his chin.

“My disguise,” he had whispered by way of explanation while Rebecca had gossiped with the guards. “Those three men who took the flying machine got a good look at me that night. If they recognize me here, they’ll know we’re after them.”

I’d not considered that possibility and was grateful that he’d had the foresight to take precautions. But now, I needed his counsel. Only when I gave him a swat with my cap, however, did he tear his attention from the girls to me.

“Tito, where should I start looking for my father?” I softly asked. “Look at this place. He could be anywhere.”

“Or he could be nowhere,” Tito replied, what little I could see of his expression gloomy again, now that he no longer had the girls to ogle. “Remember, we don’t even know if those men brought him and the wagon here.”

“But we must go on that assumption. Besides, Rebecca will find out something. You saw how easily she handled the guards at the gate.”

“Pah, I could have gotten us past them,” Tito replied. Then, with a shrug, he added, “Don’t forget that the Master had the flying machine stored in an old shed. That’s where I’d look first, anyhow.”

I did not get a chance to reply, for Rebecca reappeared, a broad smile upon her face. She gestured us to jump down from the cart and join her.

“Good news, boys,” she softly declared as she hooked an arm around either of our necks, drawing us to her in the now-familiar embrace. “I cut a deal with the kitchen master. He’ll let us use the laundry shed and as much wood as we need for the fires. All he wants is a quarter of our profits, in return.”

“That sounds like a lot,” Tito protested as he tried to extricate himself.

Releasing her grip, the washerwoman shook her head. “He wanted half at first, but I made him see reason. So, boys, help me fill the pots and get the fires going, and then we’ll collect our laundry.”

“But what about the wagon?” I asked, my tone anxious. “Did you learn anything about it?”

“By Saint Jerome’s lion, you are an impatient one,” she replied with a shake of her head. “We’ll find that out as we gather the clothes. First things first.”

Retrieving the empty baskets, she sent Tito off to the stables with the mare and wagon. She and I began readying the kettles, each large enough to easily hold Tito and me both. There was water for boiling to be had from the cistern on the roof, so that filling the four vats-two for washing and two for rinsing-was an easy matter. By the time Tito rejoined us, we had fine blazes burning beneath each pot.

“With that much water, it’ll take some time to boil,” Rebecca reminded us. “Come on; let’s get some laundry.”

Carrying a basket between us-we would return for the second one once this one was full-we followed the washerwoman as she began her rounds. As before, Tito and I let Rebecca do all of the talking while he and I gathered the filthy bed linens and stained tunics. Her casual question as she bandied with each potential customer was the same: had they seen a large covered wagon carrying perhaps three men arrive at the castle earlier that morning?

“They about run me and my boys off the road, they was going so fast,” Rebecca would indignantly explain. “If they’re here, I want a word with them about frightening good people because they’re in a hurry. By the Virgin, we’ve got the same right to the road as them!”

At first, no one admitted to seeing any such men or wagon, and my spirits became as gloomy as Tito’s. For surely so large a conveyance would not pass unnoticed by the entire castle. But then, one of the pages-a smooth-cheeked boy in a pale blue tunic who was struggling beneath a small mountain of clothing collected from his fellows-nodded at her query.

“I saw a big wagon come into the castle this morning,” he agreed with a self-important air. “I couldn’t tell what they were hauling, though, because there was a cloth covering it.”

Then his eyes widened, and he stared at Rebecca in unfeigned alarm. “Pray, don’t say anything to them! It was the duke’s men driving the wagon. If you’re lucky, they’ll simply laugh at you. But if you make them angry, they could do worse! And if they find out I was the one who told you…”