A Bolt from the Blue

I paused in fastening the belt and sat back upon my heels, craning my neck in hopes of a better look. From the angle where the craft was poised, however, it was impossible to see the activity below. Still, the hum of preparation continued, and I lent my ear to that activity as I once more settled upon the frame and reached for the harness. Indeed, so carefully did I focus my attention on those sounds that the soft scrape of footsteps was almost upon me before I realized I was no longer alone on my rooftop perch.

I turned to gaze with dismay but not much surprise at the richly dressed youth standing before me. Knowing what I now did, I could see some small resemblance between him and his uncle that proved the relationship. Perhaps it was the hint of fleshiness beneath his eyes and chin that hinted at a different profile to come as he aged, or perchance the similar watchful look in his dark eyes. Or maybe it was that look of disdain as he surveyed me, for all purposes helpless before him as I lay sprawled atop the flying machine’s frame.

Almost without meaning to, I glanced at the knife that hung from his belt… the same knife he’d hidden under his tunic before. Dressed as a young nobleman, he could carry the weapon as it was meant to be displayed. He caught the direction of my gaze, and a smile flitted across his lips as he lightly touched the knife’s hilt. I shivered, all too aware that I was stretched before him like a lamb ready for sacrifice. With a swift thrust of that blade, he could dispatch me before I had time to drop the harness’s loose end and scramble to my feet.

Barely had that thought crossed my mind when he dropped to one knee beside me. But rather than slip his knife between my ribs, he grabbed me by both shoulders and unceremoniously yanked me from my spot atop the craft, tumbling me in a heap upon the slate roof. While I dragged myself back up to a kneeling position, he demanded in a petulant voice, “What are you doing with my flying machine?”

“Your flying machine?”

Surprise made me forget my momentary fear. “This is the Master’s flying machine,” I protested in no little indignation and scrambled to my feet. “He and my father built it, and you have no claim to it.”

“But it is here in Pontalba now, and so it belongs to us.”

Recalling his uncle’s treatment of him, I wondered at the fact that he claimed loyalty to the duke. Was that blood tie tighter than the bonds of apprenticeship he shared with me? I feared so, for his features had tightened into the same stubborn expression that Davide had worn earlier that morning as he tried to stop us midway to the castle.

But as Davide had wavered when faced with compelling logic, perhaps Tito might also be made to see reason. Or, if I could but give him the means to deflect any guilt from himself, perhaps I might yet retain him as an ally.

“Surely you had no hand in this unsavory plan,” I insisted in as calm a voice as I could muster. “Recall the page, who summoned you in the middle of the night? And what of the three mysterious men you told me about, the ones who held my father tied in a wagon all night while they waited for dawn to smuggle him and the flying machine past the castle guards? Surely these crimes were their fault, and not yours.”

The offer made, I waited to hear him agree that it had all been a terrible mistake… waited to hear him confess that he had somehow been duped by his uncle. That hope, however, was extinguished with his next words.

“There was no page,” he replied and gave a snort that mocked my gullibility. “I told you that, so you wouldn’t question why I believed I’d had a message from Leonardo. And the men were three of my uncle’s soldiers, who came to the castle that day disguised as laborers.

“I even vouched for them,” he added with a grin at his own cleverness. “I told your captain of the guard that they had been hired to assist Leonardo, so that they never questioned the wagon coming in and out.”

Then his grin faded.

“It should have been a perfect plan. How was I to know that Leonardo had chosen that day to leave Milan without telling anyone but your father? I instructed the guards where to find him, told them what he looked like. Fools that they were, they never asked your father’s name but decided he matched the description that I’d given them and took him away.”

Shrugging, he added, “Of course, the kidnapping was but a last-minute solution. We didn’t really need him, not the way I’d planned it. I could have finished building the flying machine myself, if I’d still had all of Leonardo’s notes.”

Leonardo’s notes.

Full realization came to me, so terrible that it stopped the very breath in my lungs. And yet, how could it be? He had been one of us for many months, sharing the same work and the same meals, sleeping but an arm’s length from his fellows. We had given him our trust and our friendship. How could he have forgotten that sort of comradeship, no matter that he was nephew to a duke?