Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

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.”

“My men are waiting for me, Excellency,” Leonardo coolly countered. “If I am not returned to them hale and hearty by noontide, they will consider me a captive and your action one of aggression. As for my flowery accusations. .”

He paused and shrugged. “Just as Pontalba has its spies in Milan, so Milan has its spies in Pontalba. Let us agree to that much. And so, let me speak plainly.”

“Do go on,” the duke replied with an ironic nod.

Nodding in return, the Master continued. “We know that you hold as a captive Ludovico’s court engineer, the great genius Leonardo, a man of unrivaled talents known to all the surrounding provinces. We also know that you have stolen his magnificent invention, the likes of which has never before been seen, and that you intend to use that invention for ill.”

He paused again. . solely for dramatic purposes, I was certain. Then, like a magician performing his final illusion, he gave a sweep of his hand.

“And so, I present the Duke of Milan’s fi nal offer. Return both man and machine without delay, and our great excellency will forget this vile breach of your alliance with him.”

“And if I refuse?” Nicodemo countered with a feral grin.

Leonardo shrugged again. “If you refuse, you must prepare yourself for a siege that you shall not win.”

The muttering recommenced, and far louder this time. I watched in alarm as the nobles and men-at-arms began putting their hands to their hips, fingers stroking sword hilts. The situation was fast growing dire, I realized. Moreover, I likely had but little time left to find my father and make our escape before the guards were ordered to seal the gate.

I was prepared to slip away as silently as I had entered, when I heard a stir at the rear of the hall. Two men-at-arms were striding down the broad aisle toward where the duke sat, a third man a prisoner in their grasp. Though I could not make out his face for the small crowd that had surged closer to the aisle for a better look, I recognized in dismay his mane of dark hair and his bearing.

Halting alongside the spot where Leonardo stood, the soldiers released their prisoner and stepped back a few paces. The duke surveyed the two men, his feral grin returning.

“See, Captain, I am not an unreasonable man,” he said with cool joviality. “I have complied with part of your demand. Here is your missing master engineer, Leonardo the Florentine.”

Leonardo spared the briefest of looks at my father before giving the Duke of Pontalba a cool bow.

“My thanks, Excellency. You are a reasonable man and a worthy ally of Milan. And now, perhaps we might discuss the terms for returning the flying machine.”

The duke chuckled.

I winced, for the sound uncannily resembled that of the chain as it raised and lowered the castle’s portcullis. To my relief, his amusement was short-lived. The chuckling ceased, and his features slipped back into their familiar lines of cold deliberation.

“My good captain, you misunderstand me,” he replied, tapping his fingertips together. “I have no intention of giving up the flying machine. Indeed, I wish to build many more like it. And so, upon further consideration, neither will I relinquish the man who designed it.”

A ripple of laughter washed over the room. Nicodemo, looking pleased with himself, leaned back in his chair and awaited the reaction of the man he believed to be Ludovico’s captain of the guard.

I could not see Leonardo’s face, but I noted an almost imperceptible tightening of his bearing. His tone no longer conciliatory, he replied, “That is unacceptable, Excellency. Milan demands the return of both man and machine.”