Master armorer signor Renato Arrighi, maker of the most prized armor in all of Italy, paced back and forth across the marble floor of his studio.
The duke is early, he thought; a week early. Why? No matter, we are ready: the new hinge works well, the helmet design has been improved and - He looked through the drawings of armor on his work table. Not finding what he had expected, he searched again.
“Where are Lorenzo’s drawings? The duke will ask to see them.” Signor Arrighi spoke softly to himself. He was trying to remain calm; trying not to be angry with his son. He looked up; the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the armory’s stone corridor. Where is that boy? Does he want to disgrace me?