But I’d not forgotten my conversation with Tito the night before. Seemingly, neither had he, for he’d managed to keep his distance from me all of this day, avoiding my gaze every time I looked his way. And when I would have spoken to him now as we were gathering our empty bowls for the return to the workshop, I realized he was no longer among our number.

“Tito left some time ago, while Bernardo was telling the story about Constantin stepping into a bucket of plaster,” Vittorio said when I questioned him about the other youth’s absence. “He told me he did not feel well and that he was going to return to the workshop.”

I frowned as I licked my spoon clean and set it into my bowl. I did not wish to doubt Tito, for I knew he had been greatly affected by Constantin’s death. Perhaps our return to merriment had happened too quickly for him. And so I kept my suspicions to myself, even when Tito proved not to be in his cot or anywhere about the workshop. It was not until Davide was snuffing the evening’s ration of candles that Tito rejoined us, slipping past the door unannounced as if he’d merely been gone to take a piss.

And it was not until morning that I learned just where Tito had been and what he had done while he was gone.

8

“You want Tito to assist you in building the flying machine, instead of me?”

My words incredulous, I stared at the Master. That must have been why Tito had been gone for so long the night before. While the rest of us were mourning and praising our fallen friend, Tito had been busy convincing Leonardo that he should take on what had been my role.

“Have I failed you in some way, Master?” I persisted, trying to keep my feelings of betrayal from coloring my tone. “I have worked diligently and kept my counsel.

“And, besides,” I added a bit peevishly, “Signor Angelo is my father and not Tito’s. That should count for something.”

We were in Leonardo’s private chambers, where I had come at his summons fi rst thing upon awakening. I had found him and my father seated at his worktable, the pair of them bent over a sheaf of drawings and notes. The model of the flying machine sat nearby, rakishly draped in green silk.

Leonardo leaned back in his seat and gestured me to take the spot on the bench beside my father.

“My dear boy, pray do not take this as an affront,” he said as I settled myself. “I have given the matter due consideration and believe it the best solution for us all.”

He paused to make another note on the page before him before continuing. “Tito came to me last night, telling me the same tale that he said he shared with you. His distress was genuine and his arguments persuasive. It is imperative that we complete the flying machine before another such incident happens. Tito is a diligent worker with experience building boats, and he has assisted me in the past with my designs.”

Glancing over at my father, he went on. “Signor Angelo and I agree that our model has served its purpose, and that it is time to complete work on the full-sized model. One cannot overlook the fact that Tito is far larger and stronger than you, meaning he is better able to provide the brute force needed. And while I do not question your valor, should another assault occur, he would be better able to defend against it.”

I bit my lip lest I blurt out a reminder of the times that I had been forced to defend myself against an assailant or even leap to the Master’s aid when he himself was under attack. How could he forget that I’d survived being stabbed and left for dead inside a locked burial vault, had stood unarmed against sword-wielding assailants, and had escaped a deadly fire unscathed? Yet I dared not speak of these dramatic events before my father, lest he whisk me from Milan faster than a hawk could swoop upon a helpless rabbit.

Instead, I glanced at my parent in silent supplication, hoping he would see the injustice of this arrangement, but he merely shook his head.

“I fear I must concur with Signor Leonardo on this matter. Work on the full-sized model will require strength that a young, er, boy such as you may not possess.”

Unspoken was what I knew must be foremost on his mind: his fear that this project held dangers far greater than a dropped plank upon one’s toe or a hammer connecting with an unsuspecting thumb. And while I understood his concern, that did not lessen the sting I felt at his words.

My dismay at this dual perfidy must have been apparent, for Leonardo gave me a kind smile.

“All is not lost, my dear Dino,” he pronounced with a grand sweep of his hand. “You see, I have not forgotten my words to you from several days earlier. Once the plastering for the new fresco is complete and the outlines of the stencils pounced, you will pick up a brush and work with Paolo and Davide in painting the background.”

Once, such an announcement from the Master would have brought me to my knees all but weeping in gratitude. Now I managed little more than a grudging, “I shall be glad to assist them,” before making my bows and rushing out the door.

My unsettled humors were further stirred when I almost stumbled over Tito as he was leaving the main workshop. I halted and favored him with a sour look.

“I am surprised you do not fare better when playing dice,” I told him, “given your skill in tossing words so that they readily tumble your way.”

He did not pretend not to understand my words. Indeed, he had the good grace to look ashamed, if his tone when he replied held a note of defiance.

“I did not mean to replace you, Dino, only to join you in helping the Master with the flying machine. And I will not deny that I would like to gain some of the fame for my part in building it. But you must believe me that my motives go far beyond any glory I might earn.”

He paused and gave the familiar glance about him, as if fearing eavesdroppers. “As I told you, I cannot help but worry that the Master may be in danger, after what happened to Constantin. I may have failed our friend, but I vow I shall not fail Leonardo in the same way. He does not know it, but my true plan is to serve as his personal man-at-guard.”

At that, he reached beneath his tunic and whipped out a knife that I had never before seen him carry. The straight, sharp blade appeared finely crafted and was one such as gentlemen wore about town for protection… hardly a weapon that an apprentice might own, let alone be able to wield.

It was my turn to gaze about lest anyone be within sight or hearing of us. Eying the weapon with mingled admiration and alarm, I asked in a low tone, “Tito, where ever did you find such a knife?”

“My uncle gave it to me. He was a soldier, and he told me every man should have a weapon lest he be taken unawares when danger threatens.”

Tossing his unruly black hair from his eyes, he sliced the blade through the air before him as if dispatching an imaginary attacker. Then, to my relief, he hid the knife beneath his tunic once more.

“Don’t worry. I can use it,” he said with a shrug. “But the Master would forbid me to carry such a weapon, and so I shall keep it hidden. You will not tell him, will you?”

For a single unworthy moment, I considered doing just that. By exposing Tito’s secret, I might gain back my role as assistant in this project. Despite the fact that he had been hired by Il Moro to build weapons of war, Leonardo loathed violence and disapproved of carrying arms.

On the other hand, I had seen him wield a sword when danger threatened and knew he was not foolish enough to let his scruples override the safety of those around him… including himself. And, in truth, I would feel better knowing that both the Master and my father had someone with them as they worked who could serve as protector.