Read Online A Bolt From the Blue by Diane A. S. Stuckart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane A. S. Stuckart
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tearing at trunk hose and tunic. Still, anyone agile enough—certainly, any of the apprentices—could make the ascent.
I glimpsed a familiar brown tunic over green trunk hose as a youth scaled the wall and balanced atop it. I could not make out his face for the tangle of branches blocking my view, but it was certainly one of my fellows. He stood unmoving for an instant; then, with a sharp cry of pain, his body jerked.
I gave an answering cry as I watched him sway there for what seemed a lifetime, though it would have been but the space of a few heartbeats. Finally, with an uncertain flapping of his arms that uncannily resembled the motion of the flying machine, the youth tumbled from the wall to land in a heap at the foot of the olive tree.
As one, we rushed toward him.
Leonardo reached him first, carefully gathering him into his arms. As he did so, I saw that a bloody stain was rapidly spreading down the back of the youth’s tunic. And, to my horror, I glimpsed something that resembled a small arrow lodged between his shoulder blades. The youth stirred restlessly in Leonardo’s arms, and I heard a final breathless gasp.
“Master,” he managed once more, and sagged into stillness.
His head lolled toward me, so that I had my first glimpse of his face. At the sight, I dropped to my knees as if struck, frantically wishing I could scrub the image from my mind but unable to tear my gaze from the waxen features of my friend.
Vaguely, I was aware of my father kneeling beside me and placing one hand protectively upon my shoulder. Softly, he asked, “Do you know this boy?”
“Y-yes,” I choked out, the word rough with tears that I did not bother to hide. “He is our senior apprentice, Constantin.”
I stared down at Constantin’s white face, his half-open eyes staring sightlessly over my shoulder, and did not need to ask if he was dead. Still, disbelief filled my heart. How could he be alive one moment and his life cruelly snuffed in the next? Surely it was not possible!
Leonardo was the fi rst to stir from the momentary paralysis that gripped us.
“Quickly, we must run the assailant to ground. The murder weapon was a crossbow, which means the killer likely was near the garden wall when he shot Constantin. There is still a chance we may catch him fleeing his crime!”
Barely had the words left Leonardo’s lips than my father was sprinting toward the open gate with a speed I never knew he possessed. I scrambled to my feet and rushed after him, my own feet hardly touching the ground in my haste.
It occurred to me as I ran that perhaps I should be fearful. Constantin’s murderer would have had time to span his crossbow with a new bolt and could easily fire upon me or my father once he saw us in pursuit. But any fright I might have felt at my own potential danger was consumed by the righteous fury that seemed to roar through my veins.
I burst past the garden’s gate to see that the quadrangle before me bustled with court activity, as usual. Panting while my ribs struggled against my confining undergarment, I halted for a sweeping glance across the expanse of green lawn, looking for a man in flight. The only one moving at a rapid pace, however, was my father. He was headed toward the main gate but in pursuit of no one in particular, though several people had stopped in their tracks to stare after him. I gave a despairing little groan. Had the killer already escaped us?
Or was he instead strolling about in plain sight among the servants and nobles, his deadly crossbow hidden beneath a cape or tucked into a sack?
I allowed myself a swift, grim nod. He could not have fled so quickly, not without drawing attention to himself, as my father unwittingly had proved. Thus, he had either slipped into an outbuilding or else was masquerading as one going about his everyday business.
“He must still be upon the grounds,” Leonardo echoed my thoughts, appearing at my side. His gaze swept the grounds with its
I glimpsed a familiar brown tunic over green trunk hose as a youth scaled the wall and balanced atop it. I could not make out his face for the tangle of branches blocking my view, but it was certainly one of my fellows. He stood unmoving for an instant; then, with a sharp cry of pain, his body jerked.
I gave an answering cry as I watched him sway there for what seemed a lifetime, though it would have been but the space of a few heartbeats. Finally, with an uncertain flapping of his arms that uncannily resembled the motion of the flying machine, the youth tumbled from the wall to land in a heap at the foot of the olive tree.
As one, we rushed toward him.
Leonardo reached him first, carefully gathering him into his arms. As he did so, I saw that a bloody stain was rapidly spreading down the back of the youth’s tunic. And, to my horror, I glimpsed something that resembled a small arrow lodged between his shoulder blades. The youth stirred restlessly in Leonardo’s arms, and I heard a final breathless gasp.
“Master,” he managed once more, and sagged into stillness.
His head lolled toward me, so that I had my first glimpse of his face. At the sight, I dropped to my knees as if struck, frantically wishing I could scrub the image from my mind but unable to tear my gaze from the waxen features of my friend.
Vaguely, I was aware of my father kneeling beside me and placing one hand protectively upon my shoulder. Softly, he asked, “Do you know this boy?”
“Y-yes,” I choked out, the word rough with tears that I did not bother to hide. “He is our senior apprentice, Constantin.”
I stared down at Constantin’s white face, his half-open eyes staring sightlessly over my shoulder, and did not need to ask if he was dead. Still, disbelief filled my heart. How could he be alive one moment and his life cruelly snuffed in the next? Surely it was not possible!
Leonardo was the fi rst to stir from the momentary paralysis that gripped us.
“Quickly, we must run the assailant to ground. The murder weapon was a crossbow, which means the killer likely was near the garden wall when he shot Constantin. There is still a chance we may catch him fleeing his crime!”
Barely had the words left Leonardo’s lips than my father was sprinting toward the open gate with a speed I never knew he possessed. I scrambled to my feet and rushed after him, my own feet hardly touching the ground in my haste.
It occurred to me as I ran that perhaps I should be fearful. Constantin’s murderer would have had time to span his crossbow with a new bolt and could easily fire upon me or my father once he saw us in pursuit. But any fright I might have felt at my own potential danger was consumed by the righteous fury that seemed to roar through my veins.
I burst past the garden’s gate to see that the quadrangle before me bustled with court activity, as usual. Panting while my ribs struggled against my confining undergarment, I halted for a sweeping glance across the expanse of green lawn, looking for a man in flight. The only one moving at a rapid pace, however, was my father. He was headed toward the main gate but in pursuit of no one in particular, though several people had stopped in their tracks to stare after him. I gave a despairing little groan. Had the killer already escaped us?
Or was he instead strolling about in plain sight among the servants and nobles, his deadly crossbow hidden beneath a cape or tucked into a sack?
I allowed myself a swift, grim nod. He could not have fled so quickly, not without drawing attention to himself, as my father unwittingly had proved. Thus, he had either slipped into an outbuilding or else was masquerading as one going about his everyday business.
“He must still be upon the grounds,” Leonardo echoed my thoughts, appearing at my side. His gaze swept the grounds with its
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