Timeshares (2010) by Rabe Jean

Author:Rabe, Jean [Jean, Rabe,]
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2011-01-14T19:10:00.765000+00:00

But dinner provided no time for private conversation. The son of the duke of Padua was present in the place of honor at the head of the long table, along with his wife and young sons, who waited on their parents. The other seats were filled by several prosperous merchants of the town. Most of the conversation was about trade, but in the middle of a fish course, a pike served with leeks and tarragon, it turned to Leonardo’s work.

“So, I hear you are building a machine that flies?” the nobleman asked.

“Alas, it does not fly, except in my dreams,” Leonardo said, with a smile.

“What is the problem?”

“Mainly that no means of driving its wings exists, at least at present. It is a problem I cannot yet solve, but rest assured I continue to try.”

“You have created nothing that can press the air into it, as a bird’s wing?” the man asked. “I have seen your drawings of anatomy. Something that would cause it to flap and rise from the ground? A gigantic bellows, perhaps?”

Marguerite, an aeronautical engineer, hastily swallowed a bite. “This is not a machine that flaps, your grace, but that spins, like a child’s top, and can lift that way. Or should.”

“Ah.” The young lord’s shining dark eyes lit on her in amusement. “So, are you a woman of science? Where did you learn the terms? They come easily to you, I see.”

Lorraine, beside her, was horrified. They were supposed to be noblewomen, visiting their mother for the first time. They were not to speak out in this very masculine society. The unique niche that their mother had carved with care over these last few years was not theirs to occupy.

“Forgive my sister,” Lorraine said, hastily. “My mother writes to us of these things. I feel we know them as well as we know scripture. Ser Leonardo is so well regarded, even in our faraway homes.” She punctuated the sentence with a stomp on her sister’s foot. Marguerite gasped.

“Oh, and where do you live?” the lordling asked.

“Spain,” Lorraine said, falling back upon the cover story prepared for them by Timeshares. “My husband is a merchant in Barcelona.”

“You have not fallen prey to their ghastly accent,” he said. “I compliment you. And you, madonna?”

After one angry glare at Lorraine, Marguerite collected herself. “England, sir. My husband has estates in the Midlands.”

“And have you children?” asked the wife.

“Two sons. One is in college. Oxford.”

“Only two children, but one to the priesthood?” the lady at his left asked.

Damn! Both of them had forgotten that the universities were founded mainly to train priests.

“He has a calling,” Marguerite said simply.

Such things evidently did not interest the son of the duke of Padua. “When you make your whirlybird fly, Ser Leonardo, I wish to be present.”

“You shall be notified, my lord,” the inventor promised.

Leonardo and Genevieve exchanged amused glances. Lorraine noticed it, and felt herself flush. So now she understood why there had always been books about Leonardo all over Mother’s apartment. The

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