A Bolt from the Blue

“I have never seen the Master so angry before,” he went on. “It is lucky for you that you were already struck senseless when he first saw you. Once he knew you were in no great danger of dying, he threatened all manner of dire things to punish you for disobeying his orders.”

Though somewhat daunted by his words, I pushed aside that particular worry long enough to swallow the wine. By the time the cup was empty, however, another concern had occurred to me. “What of Rebecca? She was at the gatehouse when I left her. Has she returned here?”

Vittorio shook his head, his moment of amusement fading. “Novella went in search of her, and I have not seen either of them since,” he replied, worry evident in his tone. “But surely they must return soon.”

I prayed that he was right, but I feared he might not be. Though Rebecca had proved herself a valiant companion in this adventure, I still found my trust hampered by questions about her that I could not yet answer. At least one of those the Duchess of Pontalba could address, assuming that the cruel Nicodemo had not already carried through with his threats against her.

I meant to ask Vittorio if the Master had confronted the duke regarding his ill-treated wife. Before I could pursue that thought, however, the wine and my protesting body finally took charge, and I drifted into sleep once more.

My resulting dreams were not easy, for in them I was once again piloting the flying machine. But rather than plummeting to the earth, I instead found myself unable to land, doomed to hover in the skies above Castle Pontalba like a sailor cast adrift at sea. It was with relief that I struggled awake sometime later to fi nd that the pain in my head and leg had begun to subside. But more reassuring was the sight of my sire’s familiar face-looking far more stern and worn than usual-gazing down upon me.

“Father,” I cried and reached out a hand to him. “I feared I might never see you again.”

“As did I,” he replied, his tone severe though he cradled my fingers gently in his. “Were you one of your brothers, I would find a stick and beat a measure of sense into you, despite your injuries.”

Then his grip on me tightened, and I saw remembered fear flash over his features.

“Child, what possessed you to attempt to fly Signor Leonardo’s invention like that?” he demanded. “You could have had no way of knowing if I had finished connecting every line and securing every joint. And no one, not even your master, could have said with any certainty if the craft could remain aloft. Had not every saint in heaven been watching over you, you surely should have died this day.”

“I checked each line and joint,” I hastened to assure him. “And don’t forget that you had already told me you intended to use the flying machine to make your escape. If you were not afraid, how could I be?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I do not doubt your bravery, for few men would have dared such a feat. But why did you disobey Signor Leonardo’s orders and make your way into the castle, in the first place?”

“Tito convinced me that the Master’s plan was flawed, and that your life and his were in danger,” I confessed, realizing once more how well the youth had drawn me into his net of lies. Or had it been Rebecca who had convinced me of the particular plan? Now I was not so sure.

More shaken than I cared to admit by this uncertainty, I explained to my father how I’d secretly witnessed Leonardo’s audience with the Duke of Pontalba… including Nicodemo’s threats to hang both him and the Master, along with the other apprentices. I told him, too, of my final encounter with Tito on the roof, and how he had confessed to Constantin’s murder. My father’s frown deepened, and I knew he had been as stung as we apprentices by the betrayal of the young man he had taken under his wing.

When I finished my account, I asked, “But what of the treaty between Milan and Pontalba? Will there be war?”

“I suspect not… at least, not for the moment. It appears that both sides have agreed to pretend that this encounter never happened, so long as the Duke of Pontalba relinquishes both his wife and the dowry she brought with her. As for the treaty, it likely will not hold any longer than it takes Il Moro’s army to return to Milan.”

“Pah, I would have preferred to see Nicodemo hanging from his own parapets, as he threatened to do with us,” I muttered with no little heat.

Though gladdened to know that the duchess would gain her freedom once more, I could not repress the bitterness that swept me. The duke would suffer no punishment for his evil deeds, no matter that he was responsible for the deaths of two young men and would have commanded many more to be killed had Il Moro’s army not arrived in time to halt that heinous crime. Instead, he would continue to feast with his men, perhaps find another young wife to torment, all the while making war on his neighbors and callously murdering anyone who proved inconvenient.

And none of this was fair.