Venice would be a very nice place to visit this time of year, if it were under better circumstances.
The reports he had received of increased Templar activity within the city were troubling, to say the least; it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been even a year ago, but if Ezio did not move in quickly to deal with them again, they could actually set down roots again. It was the last thing the wonderous City of Water needed right now, so soon after the Brotherhood had driven them out.
So, he tracks them down as quickly as he can, slipping through crowds and listening to the gossip throughout the city, the whispers of new holy men just arrived from Rome. It isn't particularly hard to find the lovely chapel these holy men have taken as their base of operations after that, though there is some difficulty in climbing up and entering from the roof; there are several large streets around it, making it difficult to get up without catching a guard's attention.
Difficult, but not impossible; it only takes a matter of minutes for Ezio to get up high enough to enter with no one within or without the chapel noticing.
The chapel has a more modest interior than most places of worship in Venice, but it still has high arching wooden beams holding up the roof, with plenty of planks linking them together, making a rather perfect pathway for a proper Assassin to creep along without being noticed by anyone below.
Which is convenient, because there happens to be four other men in here, seemingly arguing about something important.
Fortunately, they speak loudly, but even if they did not, the vaulted ceiling of the chapel would have made their words echo anyway.
Unfortunately for Ezio, they are not speaking in a language he recognizes. He has been studying many languages as part of his education as an Assassin, but apparently his studies have not extended far enough.
The words sound like German, in any case, and Ezio can only pick out a handful of words between their rapid disagreement.
Something about outside reinforcements, and cutting supply lines, and the Brotherhood getting out of control.
Ezio can't help a smirk at that last bit; his Brothers really are doing a marvelous job of dismantling the empire the Templars had been building for centuries, and hearing how much it annoyed their enemies was a more than a bit gratifying.
Still, there is little information he can glean if he cannot understand the language; he resolves to memorize as much of the argument as he can and find the translations back at the villa when he can.
It takes some time before they all seem to come to an understanding of some sort, their voices dropping a bit in volume back to a normal speaking tone. One man is moving about, gathering up papers they'd barely bothered looking over in their anger, while another is grabbing what looks like a rather expensive coat.
Ezio is just easing back a little from his position, ready to get moving once some of the targets leave someone behind, when a slight scuffle from the head of the chapel makes him freeze in place again.
Up at the base of the chapel's gilded altar, the only splash of true splendor in this otherwise modest setting, a small figure has climbed out from behind the display, dressed in rags and looking more than a bit scuffed up and dirty compared to the cleanliness around him.
The boy cannot be older than ten, skinny like a twig and staring with eyes just a bit too wide at the audience he'd abruptly gained as he climbed out of wherever he'd entered from.
"You're not Father Alfonsi," he said accusingly, rather loud in the sudden silence, and his eyes darted nervously between the men who'd all slowly converged together in the aisle between the pews, watching this new intruder like wolves watching a small fawn.
Ezio tensed hard as the boy backpedaled a bit, nearly smacking into the altar when one of the men took a step forward. "Oi!" the man snapped in Italian, moving forward more quickly when the boy stumbled over his own feet in retreat. "How did you get in here, you little gutter rat?!"
The Templar reached out to grab the little urchin, and the boy flinched away, and that was all the prompting Ezio needed. Any plan to stand back and watch for a more opportune moment went out the window at the look of pure dread on the child's face.
He dropped silently from above, twin wrist blades flashing out as he landed directly on top of two of the remaining Templars, and they hit the ground hard with the last grunts of pain they would ever make.
The third man who was left in the group startled so violently at Ezio's abrupt arrival that he dropped the papers he'd been gathering, cursing violently in German as he reached desperately into his coat, but that wasn't happening while Ezio was here; he was close enough that it was only a matter of darting forward, underneath the man's arm when he swung wildly at him, and driving one blade into the base of the man's skull.
He let the man drop like a stone, turning instead to the last man in the room, and wasn't very surprised or pleased to find that he had gotten ahold of the boy during Ezio's distraction, and was now holding the child in a rough headlock, keeping his squirming limbs trapped against him as he yanked a blade out of a pocket and held it threateningly up at Ezio.
"Not a step closer, Assassin!" the man snorted like an angry bull, eyes narrowed to slits.
It might have been a threatening look, if he was not so pale he looked seconds away from passing out.
Ezio made a show of flicking his wrist blades back up into their sheathes before holding his hands out nonthreateningly. He might have gone for a teasing remark, if the boy were not here, struggling in vain. "Whatever you say, Templar."
The brute sneered at him, and his arm slowly tightened around the urchin's neck as he began to back away, back toward the altar, in some attempt to find the exit the boy had used to enter.
Ezio watched the man's movements, trying not to watch the boy's face as his eyes bugged out and his cheeks flushed red from lack of air.
He didn't want-
-Petruccio in his favorite yellow pantaloons, dressed like a little nobleman ready for a day of work in high society, dangling limply from a rope beside his father and eldest brother, little face caught in a gruesome grimace of pain and fear-
-to think of what would happen if the man actually moved to strangle him.
The man hissed curses under his breath, eyes dropping to something behind the altar; the knife was still held up, away from the boy's throat, and Ezio flicked one hand smoothly.
The dagger sank into the man's neck with no trouble, and the surprised gurgle the man made was grotesque even as it was fading out, his entire body collapsing like wet parchment as the boy slithered out of his loosened grip.
The urchin didn't turn to watch his captor die in a puddle of blood; instead, he made the rather wise decision to take off toward Ezio, slipping past him before he could think to stop him and leaping over the other bodies, shrieking all the while as he made his escape.
Okay.
Not exactly subtle, but a job well done, since he was alive.
Ezio swiftly gathered up the blood-soaked papers scattered across the ground before quickly ascending back up the beams before any guards could enter and discover he was still at the scene.
Venice was still free of Templar control, and a skinny homeless boy was still alive despite blundering into a dangerous situation he was not prepared for. That was all Ezio could ask for.
A/N: I haven't played Assassin's Creed in ages, but I miss Ezio.
~Persephone