“Make certain someone applies the salve no less than twice a day, and give her herbed wine for the fever. And now, I have done all I can do.”

I tucked the jar into my tunic and gave the tailor a quick hug. “Many thanks, signore. We shall take her to her daughter, who will care for her. And when all is done, I promise I shall give you an account of all that led to this.”

“Pah, I shall believe that when your master pays his latest bill,” he retorted, though his black eyes gleamed with keen humor. Giving the washerwoman an exaggerated bow, he added, “It was a pleasure, my good woman… and I strongly advise that you stay clear of young Dino in the future, lest you find yourself in far worse straits the next time.”

With that caustic dismissal, he opened the door and gestured us out into the street. Tito and I settled Rebecca into the wagon again and started at a quick pace through the city toward the castle. Now I had time again to worry about my father and the duchess. Surely Leonardo must have returned from his mission and read the missive I’d left behind for him. Perhaps he’d already concocted a plan. If not, we would be able to do naught but wait for his arrival, knowing in the meantime that my father’s safety hung in the balance.

Fortunately, Rebecca’s captain was not on duty at the gates, so that we made it past Ludovico’s guards avoiding any awkward questions. My heart thumping loudly in my chest, I focused my attention on the Master’s quarters, half hoping that, by sheer force of will, I could make him be there, though he was not. Tito glanced back at me once and shook his head.

“Calm yourself, Dino. You bounce about like Pio the hound. We shall be at the Master’s quarters momentarily.”

I managed with an effort to heed his words, though the final few minutes of our journey seemed the longest, yet! Tito had barely halted the cart before Leonardo’s step when I leaped out and began a frantic knock upon the door.

“Master, it is Dino! Tito and I have returned with news!”

When the door did not immediately open, I could feel my stomach plunge as it had when I’d first stood atop the roof of Castle Pontalba. Tito shook his head and jerked a thumb in the direction of the main workshop. “Perhaps he is there, instead.”

I did not bother climbing back aboard the cart again but sprinted around the corner. The first thing that I saw was four large wagons waiting outside the workshop door. The door itself was propped open, and the apprentices, who should have been busy at work upon the fresco, were running back and forth between wagons and workshop with solemn purpose.

“Dino!” I heard my name called.

I looked over to see Vittorio beside one of the wagons. He gave an awkward wave as he used the other to balance a board upon one shoulder. “Finally, you have returned!” he cried, his expression one of relief. “Quickly, the Master awaits you.”

I needed no further urging but rushed inside to find the workshop awash with frantic activity unlike any I’d ever seen. Davide was standing atop one table and directing the other apprentices with shouts and gestures. Some were cutting lengths of wood, while others were splashing paint upon large sections of canvas, which had been stretched on head-high frames. Davide spotted me but had no time for a greeting. Instead, he simply pointed in the direction of the fireplace along the far wall.

While normally it burned with a cheery flame, the hearth now raged like hell’s own furnace, spewing a blast of heat and a blaze of light that momentarily stopped me in my tracks. Throwing up a hand to shield my face, I saw that an anvil had been set atop the hearth, and that a lone figure stood before it, wielding a hammer, which sparked against an immense blade glowing red with heat. With a final crash of the hammer, he set aside the blade and turned in my direction.

My first thought was that the fire god Vulcan had taken up residence in our workshop, for the man before me looked hardly human. He wore nothing save black trunk hose girded by a large leather belt, and his bare torso and arms gleamed with sweat. Where his face should have been, I saw but a black, masklike countenance, around which russet brown hair-appearing almost ablaze itself in the flickering light-spilled like a halo. He was an awesome and glorious figure, and I could do nothing for a moment but simply stare.

Then the fire god plucked aside his mask, and I saw in relief that beneath the emotionless facade lay Leonardo’s familiar face.

18

“Master!” I joyfully cried and rushed toward him, only to halt in confusion as he held out a warning hand.

“Not so fast, my young apprentice,” Leonardo declared, a hint of a smile warming the look of weary determination on his face. “Come too close, and you may be burned like a moth rushing into a flame. I cannot afford to have you combust in such an undignified manner until you have explained all that has happened these past days. As you might guess, it was your dramatic missive to me that has put all of this”-he waved the hammer to encompass the bustling workshop-“into motion.”

Setting aside mask and hammer, he grabbed up his tunic and pulled it on; then, taking me by the arm, he led me through the whirl of apprentices back outside the door. By now, Tito had moved the wagon, and Vittorio had joined him in checking on a surly if now fully conscious Rebecca.

Confusion reigned for a few minutes as Leonardo took swift stock of the situation. Under his direction, Rebecca was installed with much protest in Leonardo’s own bed, with Vittorio dispatched to bring back Novella to care for her injured mother. Tito, meanwhile, was charged with returning the valiant mare and the wagon to the stable, leaving me alone to explain the past days’ events to the Master.

“Now, tell me all,” he commanded, gesturing me to the bench outside his quarters. “Have you and Tito discovered the fate of the good Signor Angelo and my flying machine at Pontalba? Speak quickly, for time is short, but leave nothing out.”

I obediently launched upon a detailed account of all that had happened since the morning, seemingly a lifetime ago, when I had discovered my father missing along with the Master’s invention. Leonardo listened with keen attention, occasionally nodding or inserting a sharp question to keep me on track. He appeared saddened but none too surprised to learn of the Duke of Pontalba’s traitorous treatment of his young bride. Neither was he taken aback to know that Nicodemo had perpetrated the kidnapping and theft against his supposed ally.

“There was little to trust about the man,” was his grim reply, “though I suspect Ludovico will be less surprised by his perfidy than were we.”

I went on to explain my father’s bold plan to rescue both himself and the flying machine from Nicodemo’s clutches. “The duke intends for him to build a flock of such crafts, which he will use to terrorize the surrounding provinces. My father said that the duke must be stopped… and he would sacrifice himself, if need be, to accomplish that.”

I choked a little over those last words, but Leonardo merely nodded. “Signor Angelo did well to keep his masquerade, pretending to be Leonardo the Florentine. Otherwise, we would be praying over his corpse right now. But I fear that he may not be the man to fly my craft from Pontalba.”

“What can you mean?” I countered, instinctively jumping to my parent’s defense. “He is skilled enough to complete the design and clever enough to understand its workings.”