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!”

Wrapping my blanket about my shoulders-I dared not take time to don my corset beneath my tunic-I hurried after Tito through the darkened workshop. I judged from the cold hearth and the angle of the moonlight seeping through the windows that it was well after midnight. None of the other apprentices stirred; nor, when we slipped out of the workshop door and into the chill night air, did I see a light burning anywhere near.

My heart pounded like a smith’s hammer in my chest as I followed Tito across the shadowed quadrangle. What reason he might have had for killing our friend, I could not fathom. Nor could I guess where he might have found the crossbow to do the deed, save that he stole it from the armory.

I bit back a groan. Saints’ blood, why was I the one he had chosen to unburden himself to, rather than the Master? And what would happen once he made his act of contrition? Would he walk meekly to the guard post and give himself up to justice? Or, his conscience relieved on that account, would he murder me, as well, to keep his secret safe?

I glanced up at the parapets that ran along the tops of the walls enclosing the castle grounds. I knew that Il Moro’s men patrolled there both day and night, keeping watch for intruders. Given the current political climate, those patrols had recently been redoubled. If I cried out for help, surely the sound of my fearful appeal would carry across the silent grounds and reach the soldiers.

The question was, would they be able to respond to my summons in time to preserve my life?

Tito halted at a spot near the kitchens, not far from where we took our daily meals. The cool night breeze brought with it the sharp, sour odor of rotting garbage from the nearby pile where the kitchen’s leavings were routinely discarded. As the sharp odor wafted over me, my already queasy stomach lurched.

With an effort, I suppressed the sick feeling and faced my fellow apprentice, blanket wrapped about me as much for security as for warmth. Perhaps I’d been a fool to follow Tito like this, but my need to know the truth of Constantin’s murder had outweighed my good sense. Besides, he carried no weapons that I could tell-surely a crossbow could not fit unnoticed beneath his tunic!-and I was swift enough of foot that I could outrun him, if need be. And so I would hear him out, and then decide what to do next.

Tito, meanwhile, leaned against the wall of the outbuilding, not noticing-or else not caring-that the stone was damp and the night chill. His arms were crossed over his chest, while his head dropped in resignation. I waited for him to speak; then, when he remained disinclined to say his piece, I forgot my earlier uneasiness and succumbed to annoyance.

“Tito, it is late, and I am cold. Quickly, confess your crime and be done with it,” I snapped, my patience at an end.

He looked up, startled.

“Crime? I did not murder Constantin, if that is what you are thinking!” came his sharp protest.

Now it was my turn to look surprised.

“I do not understand. What is it that you have come to confess, if it is not that you cruelly murdered our friend?”

He did not answer at once but spared a glance around us. Seemingly assured that no one would step from the kitchen at this untoward hour to scrape out the cooking pots, he answered, “I did not wish to tell anyone, not even the Master, but my conscience would not let me rest. I thought perhaps if I talked to you…”

He paused to take a deep breath, and then went on. “Yesterday, I spoke with Constantin after our morning meal. He appeared upset over something-nay, almost frightened-and I was concerned, for he’d been in that state for several days. But he refused to say what ailed him, no matter that I prodded him for answers. Finally, I grew angry.”

His tone grew more somber. “My words were harsh as I parted company with him, but I did not care. I watched him walk toward the garden where you and your father labored with the Master, while I started back to the chapel where the rest of us were working. That was the last time I saw Constantin alive.”

I sighed.

“If that is all that weighs upon your conscience, then you have no cause for guilt,” I replied with a sympathetic shake of my head. “No matter that your last words with him were spoken in anger, Constantin would have known that you did not mean your unkindness, that you were truly his friend.”

“But if I had been his friend, Dino, I would not have let him go alone to his death.”

His gaze was level with mine now, and his tone was thick with condemnation… but whether that emotion was for me or for himself, I was not certain as he spoke again.

“I know it was not bandits who killed Constantin, as the Master claimed. No, do not try to persuade me otherwise,” he added when I opened my mouth to protest. “You see, I regretted my words almost as soon as they were spoken, and so I went after him to beg his pardon. I had just reached the garden, when I heard his cry for help.”