Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

My footsteps rang loud upon the stone floor as I ventured a bit farther in, for only a scattering of reeds and no fine carpets had been put down to dampen the sound. A substantial trestle table lay directly before the broad stone hearth. A single matching chair, intricately carved and large enough for two men, was positioned behind it. I had no doubt this seat belonged to Nicodemo. Other tables and benches were arranged so as to leave a wide aisle from that main table, giving the duke a clear line of sight to the door.

Glancing to either side, I saw several threadbare tapestries hanging from the walls on ornate iron rods. Each woven work depicted gruesome scenes of hunted beasts, and none of them added any real cheer. Alternating with the tapestries on one wall was a series of alcoves. These presumably led to a single hallway that ran parallel to that wall, and where the servants might discreetly enter and exit. . perhaps where a musician might be hidden away.

My tentative steps caused the large black hound sprawled upon a pile of dried reeds in the corner to lift its nose from its paws. From the aggressive tilt of its broad head, it appeared to be debating between the pleasure of confronting an intruder and the comfort of remaining snugly in its nest. The latter choice won out, for the hound contented itself with a half-hearted woof before sighing back into canine slumber.

Relieved, I started toward the adjoining chamber. My goal for the moment was to make my way up to the battlements above the barracks and discover if the flying machine was there upon the roof. I dared not try to reach the top by means of the tower that was part of the soldiers’ quarters, lest I encounter the duke’s men. But if I could find another way to access the roof, I could surely reach that particular spot, for all the upper walkways would be interconnected.

I passed several servants as I traversed the lower level, but none questioned me or paid me more than a glance. Keeping a keen eye out for a passage leading to a stairway, I decided to follow one of the older pages who was wandering a bit apace of me. He disappeared into an alcove, which turned out to conceal the hoped-for course. . a narrow stone staircase. I waited at its foot long enough to be sure I would not stumble across him at the landing above before making my way up.

The staircase led to an open chamber that appeared to be the dividing point between two separate wings. I knew that I was unlikely to stumble across the duke here, for I had learned from Rebecca’s conversation with his servants that his personal chambers lay in the right arm of the U. I assumed that, as with Il Moro’s private residence within Castle Sforza, the Duke of Pontalba’s rooms were secured from the rest, allowing him greater refuge should the castle ever be successfully stormed.

Tucking my linens beneath my arm, I went to the nearest window and leaned out to get my bearings. This high up, the windows were broader than those at ground level, so that I could comfortably sit upon the sill. But they did not overlook the outer wall and give a view of the open field beyond the main gate and guard towers. Rather, their view was that of into the inner castle grounds, and of the smaller towers and turrets not visible from the front.

Clutching the stone edges to stave off the sudden dizziness that threatened, I gingerly leaned out a bit farther. I could glimpse to my left a curl of smoke and the corner of the shed where Rebecca and Tito were doing the laundry. The barracks lay on the opposite side of the castle, the same side where the duke was housed. That was where I needed to be.

Aware that time was passing, I turned to the south wing, slipping past the first door. The next series of rooms were far smaller than those on the floor below, consisting of salons and apartments reserved for guests. Some opened into one another; others were connected by short halls. As with much of the rest of the castle, several of the rooms appeared to have been added as afterthoughts, portioned out of larger chambers.

Midway through, I startled a young porter and serving girl who were attempting a hasty coupling in one of the toilets. An odorous alcove set into the outer wall, it boasted nothing more than a slit of a window for ventilation and an open stone seat built over the cesspit far below. It was hardly a spot conducive to romance, though it likely afforded more privacy than the pair would know in their own quarters.

Muttering a hasty apology, I ducked out of that niche as quickly as I had entered and, their curses ringing in my ears, continued with my search.

Another alcove led to yet another staircase, this one consisting of rough stone steps that led upward in a spiral to a broad wooden hatch set into in the ceiling. My excitement grew, along with my trepidation. Surely I was getting closer to my goal.

Leaving the linens behind, I started up the first step, trying to ignore the sudden light-headedness that threatened. While I had never cared much for heights, my fearful adventures within the towers of Castle Sforza a few months earlier had intensified that dislike. Thus, the open design of this crude stairway was sufficient to set my heart beating far faster than its usual rhythm. Telling myself not to look down, I clutched at the wall for support and grimly continued my climb.

Sweat beaded my upper lip by the time I reached the top.

With an effort, I schooled my uneven breath and gave an experimental push upon the hatch, noting as I did so the heavy iron loops set into both that wood and the stone around it. A pair of iron bars could easily be slipped through those circles, making the hatch almost impossible to open from above should an enemy threaten. But for now, it swung upward with but a small squeal and landed with a muffled thud.

Aware that I had announced my presence should anyone be up there, I hesitated a long moment before taking the final steps to the level above.

To my relief, none of Nicodemo’s men came bearing down upon me, swords drawn and ready for capture. Instead, I found myself alone at what was best described as a crossroads between two open doorways. Those doorways were situated at right angles, with each leading to a narrow passage.

The stone walls directly behind me were part of the outer fortifications, for they were notched with the familiar archer’s windows. I squinted through one and glimpsed a bit of the forest through which we had driven earlier this day. I could see little more than chiseled rock by looking up, but I judged that I was right below the battlements. Heading to my right would put me above the barracks.

Still, I remained where I was for a moment, studying that passage in question. Opposite each window was an arched doorway, the wood fortified by iron strips and solid save for a gap at eye level that would allow someone to peer inside. On closer look, I saw that heavy locks hung from each latch.

At the realization, my heart began pounding as fiercely as if I were balanced on that open stairway again. I took a deep breath, seeking calm. Perhaps those doors merely led to a series of storage rooms secured by a jealous lord against possible theft, I told myself.

Or perhaps one of those doors concealed something else that the Duke of Pontalba did not want discovered. . such as the kidnapped man whom he believed to be his ally’s master engineer, Leonardo the Florentine.

Moving as silently as Pio the hound, I eased my way to the first door and peered through the slot. Another archer’s window within allowed sufficient light into the small chamber for me to make out wooden boxes and barrels piled high. Arms, perhaps? Or grain and other supplies stockpiled in case of an attack? No matter; so many varied containers filled the room that no space remained for a prisoner.

With the same soft steps, I made my way to the next chamber and gazed through the slot. Similar to the first room, this one held rows of crates and piles of bulging cloth sacks. The next room contained much the same, as did the two after. Discouraged, I was prepared to give the final room but a cursory glance.