Free Secret of Light by K. C. Dyer Page A

appearance Darrell decided he must be fifteen or sixteen.
    â€œYou must be my friend’s cousin.”
    Darrell raised her eyebrows, but didn’t reply.
    An impatient look crossed his face. “Well, are you or aren’t you? Giovanni told me his cousin was coming to apprentice with my master for the season, but he didn’t mention a girl.”
    â€œOh? What
did
he say?”
    â€œHe said his cousin is coming here from afar, and will stay with his family.” The young man gave her a long, appraising look, and then leaned over and lit a small taper from the fire in the corner grate.
    Darrell frowned. “Did he say I am an artist, too?” she asked coldly.
    â€œNo, he did not. You are a girl, so I know it cannot be possible.”
    Darrell laughed, and the boy flushed bright red. “I am the one who should be laughing, not you. Girls cannot be artists!”
    Darrell tucked her amusement into her cheek. “Why not?”
    He looked flustered. “Well, because your job is to run the household, not to draw and paint. How can you sculpt or paint with any accuracy if you are not apprenticed to a professional artist? Besides,” he scoffed, warming to his subject, “girls are stupid. They are not fit fora man’s work. They cannot see the world through the eyes of humanity.”
    Darrell felt surprised at the extent of his prejudice. “Do you not think girls and women are human?” she asked.
    He thought a moment. “I do believe they are human,” he answered slowly, his eyes looking into the distance. “Just a little less human than men.” He puffed his chest importantly, obviously proud of his membership in the superior gender of the species.
    Darrell bit her tongue and changed the subject, sensing a lecture on women’s rights might not find receptive ears at this moment. “What have you got there?” she asked, indicating the half-finished drawing.
    He cast it carelessly down on the tabletop. “It is a study for an idea I have,” he said, with a slight frown.
    Darrell picked up the page. “It looks like a shield,” she said. “Like a family emblem or coat of arms.”
    He looked at her with some admiration. “That is true. I am designing a crest to show my father — to show him...”
    â€œTo show him what?” Darrell was curious.
    â€œTo show him I can,” he said, and slammed his hand on the tabletop. “I will show him all this and more. See here...” He pulled a small, leather-bound notebook from a satchel slung over a chair. “I write down all my thoughts and ideas and I keep them with me always.” He flipped the pages, holding the book a little too close to her face.

    Darrell stepped back. The book was half-filled with notes in some strange kind of code, drawings, art studies, and more.
    â€œWhat is this?” she asked, sliding her finger into one of the pages.
    A dark passion filled his eyes and he grinned ferociously. “This? This is the clock I designed to run with the power of water. And this? A study I made of birds that I will transform into a machine to make men fly — into the skies above us and perhaps one day into the past or the future.”
    Darrell jumped a little, her heart pounding at his words. She slipped over to the doorway. “I’ve got to go and find my friends,” she murmured, fearful an adult would be drawn by the volume of his voice.
    â€œI have to work anyhow,” the young man sneered, having clearly forgotten his interest in her leg. “I don’t have time to talk with stupid girls.”
    Darrell gritted her teeth. “I am not a stupid girl,” she said. “My name is Darrell.”
    â€œWho cares for your ridiculous name?” he said, throwing back his shoulders. “After I complete this design, only one name in all of
Firenze
will be heard on everyone’s lips.”
    Darrell lifted the corner of her own