A Bolt from the Blue

Confusion reigned for a few minutes as Leonardo took swift stock of the situation. Under his direction, Rebecca was installed with much protest in Leonardo’s own bed, with Vittorio dispatched to bring back Novella to care for her injured mother. Tito, meanwhile, was charged with returning the valiant mare and the wagon to the stable, leaving me alone to explain the past days’ events to the Master.

“Now, tell me all,” he commanded, gesturing me to the bench outside his quarters. “Have you and Tito discovered the fate of the good Signor Angelo and my flying machine at Pontalba? Speak quickly, for time is short, but leave nothing out.”

I obediently launched upon a detailed account of all that had happened since the morning, seemingly a lifetime ago, when I had discovered my father missing along with the Master’s invention. Leonardo listened with keen attention, occasionally nodding or inserting a sharp question to keep me on track. He appeared saddened but none too surprised to learn of the Duke of Pontalba’s traitorous treatment of his young bride. Neither was he taken aback to know that Nicodemo had perpetrated the kidnapping and theft against his supposed ally.

“There was little to trust about the man,” was his grim reply, “though I suspect Ludovico will be less surprised by his perfidy than were we.”

I went on to explain my father’s bold plan to rescue both himself and the flying machine from Nicodemo’s clutches. “The duke intends for him to build a flock of such crafts, which he will use to terrorize the surrounding provinces. My father said that the duke must be stopped… and he would sacrifice himself, if need be, to accomplish that.”

I choked a little over those last words, but Leonardo merely nodded. “Signor Angelo did well to keep his masquerade, pretending to be Leonardo the Florentine. Otherwise, we would be praying over his corpse right now. But I fear that he may not be the man to fly my craft from Pontalba.”

“What can you mean?” I countered, instinctively jumping to my parent’s defense. “He is skilled enough to complete the design and clever enough to understand its workings.”

Leonardo smiled a bit at that last. “Ah, see how the cub bares valiant claws to protect its father, who in truth needs no such defense.”

Then he sobered. “I agree, my boy, that your father is a man of many talents. But it is the fact that I designed my craft for a man of my height and weight. Signor Angelo is somewhat shorter and stouter than I. The difference may matter little… or it could prove of great significance.”

Chastened and more than a bit unnerved by this last, I finished with the account of our ambush on the road back to Milan. Rebecca’s role in this, as well as our adventures in Pontalba, brought sincere praise from the Master.

“A valiant woman, indeed, for all her other shortcomings. I know of few females-and almost as few men-who would display such courage.” Then he added with a thoughtful frown, “For the moment, we shall assume that the matter of two washerwomen with the same names is an odd coincidence and nothing more. But recall that one must be careful of dismissing a truth out of hand before all facts are known.”

I nodded my somber agreement.

“So much has happened,” I declared, “and yet much remains concealed in secret. I still have no notion who dealt our dear Constantin his fatal blow, nor can I guess where else to look for an answer.”

“I suspect that all shall come clear once we have put the rest to right,” was his cryptic response. “Recall that we have yet to identify the young page who rousted Tito from sleep and set this all into motion. And there is the matter of this strange robed figure-whether man or woman-that you claim to have seen watching since your father’s arrival.”

I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. “Saints’ blood, it is a tangled web. What if we never learn the truth?”

“The truth has many versions… and often much time must pass before we know which version we should have believed.”

He stood abruptly and flicked his long fingers in the familiar gesture of impatience. “But you have told your tale well, my boy. And now, surely you must be curious to see what your earlier words have wrought.”

We returned to the main workshop, and I saw now that a group of apprentices was loading one wagon with what I realized were some of Leonardo’s war machines. I had thought them but Leonardo’s private notations, alive on paper but never destined to see the light of day… and yet here they were. A small catapult had already been neatly stowed, and now the youths were carting a trio of portable cannons, the gun of each designed to be taken apart from the body and wheels. What appeared to be a combination rolling barricade and ladder, large enough to shield five or six men, also sat to one side.

I stared for a puzzled moment, surveying this strange collection, before the obvious answer came to me. “Master,” I cried in surprise, “can we be going off to war?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”