A Bolt from the Blue

Stung a bit by his dismissal of my enthusiasm, I made no reply as he pulled the cart to a halt alongside the kitchens. A few of the kitchen boys were milling about, but they spared us no more than a glance. I wondered if the rest of the castle realized that they were supposedly on the brink of siege. Surely everyone should be making preparations for a possible attack, I thought in some confusion.

I wondered, as well, what had happened to Leonardo’s grand chariot. We had passed by the main doors leading to the great hall, and I’d not seen it there. It was far too unwieldy to store away in the stables along with the other carts and wagons.

I frowned as the most likely possibility came to me. Doubtless the Duke of Pontalba had seen the glorious invention and, as he had with the flying machine, decided to claim it for his own. Perhaps it sat in one of the inner courtyards awaiting Nicodemo’s dubious pleasure.

Tito, meanwhile, was digging into the baskets. I had assumed them to be empty, but to my surprise he plucked a pair of familiar tunics from one.

“See, Rebecca saved these from last time we were here,” Tito said as he tossed one to me and swiftly donned the other. “Now we may wander about in disguise.”

I pulled my borrowed tunic over my own garb, sniffing at it in satisfaction. This one had been freshly laundered by the capable washerwoman, unlike the previous soiled garment I’d worn. Tying my belt over it, I gave Tito a nod.

“I shall go in search of my father. They must have him on the roof working on the flying machine, so that is where I shall begin my search. You go to the dungeons and look for the duchess. Perhaps that is where the duke has moved her.”

“I shall look,” he agreed, “but if I find her, how will I free her? I doubt that the guard will give me a key.”

“Ah, but I shall.”

I shot him a lofty look as I reached into my pouch. With a flourish, I plucked forth one of the heavy pieces of curved wire that I’d borrowed from Leonardo’s forge before our expedition had set out.

“I’ve seen the Master open locks with such a wire before,” I explained as he gave me a puzzled stare. “You simply fit it into the lock as you would a key, and twist it about until the lock yields. It did not appear to require much talent.”

“I think I would do better to leap upon a guard from behind and steal his key, instead,” the youth replied in a doubtful voice, though he dutifully tucked the wire into his own pouch. “We’d best hurry. And be sure you find a bit of laundry that we can use to cover the tops of the baskets.”

We quickly parted, Tito toward the kitchens and I retracing my earlier steps toward the great hall. Slipping inside past the broad doors, I saw to my surprise-though perhaps I should have expected such a scene-that the great hall was again filled with men. Some soldiers, others minor nobles, all appeared in the midst of a minor uproar. Nicodemo lo Bianco, the Duke of Pontalba himself, presided over the chaos in his tall, carved chair.

This day, he was dressed in a long black tunic, over which was belted an ankle-length coat of gold and white brocade, heavily edged in black fur. A broad, puffed black velvet hat with a rolled brim of gold silk perched atop his balding head, adding further shadows to his craggy face. Rather than soften his features, the fineness of his garb emphasized the cruel slash of his lips and sagging flesh beneath his eyes and chin.

Or perhaps it was simply the contrast that made him appear far more repulsive than he was. For, standing before Nicodemo was the man whom many claimed to be the most handsome in the entire court of Milan. Breastplate gleaming and flamboyant plumed helmet tucked beneath his arm, Leonardo was in the midst of making his case.

Moving from the duke’s line of sight, I ducked into one of the alcoves. Here, I could see but not be seen for the shadows, or so I prayed. The Master was speaking, his tone measured; still, I could make out but a few words, for the duke’s men were muttering among themselves, seeming unconvinced by the speech they were hearing.

Abruptly, Nicodemo raised his hand.

“Enough,” he called, his harsh voice ringing through the hall. As silence fell, he addressed the Master.

“I have listened to your accusations, Captain. They are couched in flowery words in an attempt to deceive me into thinking you approach as an ally and not an enemy. But they are accusations, nonetheless.”

He stood and thrust a beefy finger in Leonardo’s direction. “You think yourself clever, but I am not Ludovico’s fool! You have come to me with this false charge simply to pretend cause to violate our treaty.” Apparently satisfied that he had made his point, he sat once more. “And so, I must make a decision,” Nicodemo continued in a more deliberate tone. “I could allow you to return with your men to Milan, so that you might tell your duke that Pontalba has nothing of his… or I could hold you here until Ludovico comes and makes his apologies to me in person.”