A Bolt From the Blue by Diane A. S. Stuckart Page B

alcove, leaving but a narrow aisle between the two rows, so it was easy to stub one’s toe or bruise one’s shin when wandering in the dark. Still, we had the illusion of personal chambers, a grand extravagance for youths of our station.
    Moreover, it had been the relative privacy of our sleeping quarters that had allowed me to maintain my male disguise for these many months. Each morning before the sun rose, I used the shadowed alcove to my advantage, secretly donning the corset that flattened my female curves before putting my tunic over it. And, every night, I performed the same ritual in reverse, removing the rough garment again under cover of darkness. I dared not guess how I might have managed such a deception had several of us been tumbled together into a single bed like a litter of pups.
    Climbing beneath my thin wool blanket, I reached beneath my tunic and swiftly untied the corset lacings; then, shrugging out of the offending garment, I tucked it beneath my pillow and breathed a sigh of relief. But, not surprisingly, sleep proved elusive this night.
    I was not the only one to lie restlessly upon my cot. I could hear around me the muffled sounds of shifting bedcovers, along with the occasional sigh or sob, quickly suppressed. Under cover of darkness, I allowed myself my own silent flurry of hot tears in memory of my friend. Tears finally spent, I found myself staring up at the narrow windows set high along the storeroom’s outer wall.
    I watched as the dozen slim fingers of moonlight that had thrust their way into the room retreated once more with the passing minutes. I dared not shut my eyes, lest I see Constantin’s pale face before me. Neither did I wish to sleep, for I feared I would see his death played out before me again in my dreams. And so I fought slumber for what felt like hours.
    I must have been defeated in that battle, however, for sometime later I jerked awake from dreamless slumber to realize someone stood in the darkness beside my cot.
    My first thought was that it must be the Master. In times past, when we’d had other murders to solve, he’d often awakened me in the middle of the night to accompany him on some secret errand or another. But the shadow looming beside me was not his . . . was not one that I recognized.
    Abruptly, I recalled the mysterious robed figure. Was he the murderer of Constantin? Had he found me here, among my sleeping fellows, and even now was prepared to butcher me in the same way?
    But before panic took full hold, the figure softly called, “Dino, are you awake?”
    “Tito?” I replied in an uncertain whisper, recognizing the speaker’s voice though he still stood cloaked in shadow. “It’s late. What do you want?”
    “I must talk to you.”
    His tone held a note of urgency, and as he leaned toward me, I caught a glimpse of his pockmarked features in the ribbon of moonlight that lay over my cot. His mouth turned downward in grim lines rather than rising in the usual casual smile he always affected. I was reminded of his reaction earlier this night, when the Master had announced the news of Constantin’s murder. Tito’s reaction then had struck me as odd, but now his manner was far stranger.
    Abruptly, I sat up in bed. Tito occasionally served the same role as I had once with Leonardo, assisting him with secret projects and confidential errands. Perhaps he knew something about recent events that I was not yet privy to. Perhaps the Master’s absence earlier this night had signaled something far more ominous than I had been willing to believe!
    “What’s wrong? Did something else happen?” I demanded in a soft, urgent voice, trying to tamp down the sudden alarm that swept me.
    Tito shook his head. “Nothing else has happened . . . That is, not yet.”
    His soft tone dropped lower still, so that I strained to hear his last words. “Please, come outside with me for a bit. I—I must confess to you about Constantin’s murder.”
    “ Constantin’s murder!