Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

With my first burst of energy depleted, I had but strength to nod once and reply, “He confessed all to me, in the end. It was he who stole the Master’s flying machine and kidnapped my father. . and it was he who brutally shot down Constantin lest he reveal Tito’s plans.”

Vittorio’s face momentarily crumpled, and I saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. In a rough voice he demanded, “How could he do such a thing? We were his friends, all of us. . and Constantin, more than the rest.”

“His need to find favor with his uncle became more important than any of our friendships,” I explained, my own voice shaky. “But, in the end, he realized the evil he’d done and sought to make amends. He could have stopped me there on the roof if he’d truly wished, before I took the flying machine. Instead, he let me try to save the rest of you.”

What I didn’t tell Vittorio was what happened in those last seconds, how Tito had cried out in anger and come running after me. But I was certain he had never meant to catch me, certain that he had deliberately kept running even as he’d reached the castle’s edge.

Neither did I admit to Vittorio what had occurred as I lay in the wreckage of the flying machine, drifting in a painless sea of black.

How long I drifted there, I did not know. After a time, however, the darkness had begun to lift, banished by a light blazing upon some distant horizon. I had been surprised but not truly frightened to find my inner being rising and moving toward it, leaving behind my body still sprawled upon the field.

The light had grown brighter as I neared it, and yet I felt no need to shield my eyes. Vaguely, I realized that I had come upon a place that was welcoming but at the same time forbidden to me beyond a certain point. And so I halted and waited for what might come next.

I had sensed more than seen another figure pass me by, continuing toward that light until it held him fully in its embrace. It was then that I recognized the figure as Tito! He stood silently facing that brilliance, and I sensed an air of expectancy about him that puzzled me. But soon enough the same feeling of anticipation gripped me, as well, though I had no idea for what-or for whom-we waited.

A moment later another figure had appeared, this one stepping out from the very heart of the light to face Tito. Constantin, I had gasped, and I took a reflexive step forward.

Constantin had glanced my way, as if hearing me calling his name. And then he smiled. While he had not lost his familiar expression of kindness, I sensed about his being something richer, deeper. . almost as if the pettiest of life’s emotions had been stripped from his being and been replaced with some higher wisdom. While he was still the friend that I had loved, I realized that he was no longer quite who he had been.

He gently shook his head, and I knew he meant that I could move no closer, not even to make my final good-byes. My heart had twisted a little, but I made no protest. Turning from me, he reached out a hand to Tito, who clasped it gladly.

In that moment, I had sensed a change sweep over Tito, as well. It was as if his old cares and emotions suddenly had been burned away by the light, leaving behind the very finest essence of him. He, too, had glanced back in my direction and offered the same wise smile as Constantin had bestowed on me. And then, side by side, the pair had walked off together into the light.

Vittorio’s concerned voice roused me from my thoughts.

“Dino, what is wrong? You’re crying,” he declared, conveniently forgetting that his own eyes held suspicious dampness. “Is the pain growing worse? The Master said I might give you a sip of the herbed wine to help ease it.”

“No, I am better,” I replied with some truth and managed a small smile. The smile twisted into a grimace, however, as I added, “But I probably should take a bit of that wine and rest for a while. I fear that when I finally face my father and the Master to confess my sins, I will need all my strength.”

“Ha, what you will need is swift feet,” he cheerfully corrected me as he produced the wine jug in question and poured a few sips’ worth into a wooden cup.

“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.