Il Usignolo

I: La Mission

Venice was far from a quiet city, but at night there was an air of peacefulness that she appreciated. It would calm her as she alternated her fingers across the long instrument in her hands, her legs dangling off the edge of one of the taller buildings that decorated the skyline. She'd heard some of the people of the city claiming it to be a workshop for a new artist moving to the city.

The particular song she was playing was one of her favorites. A lullaby her father used to play for her when he had extra time. Though she took care to play softly that night, as to avoid the townspeople growing worried from their ridiculous rumors whenever she played her dizi.

Silence, she believed, had the capability to be the most dangerous thing in the world. It could drive a person mad under the right circumstances, especially when they were haunted by the ghosts of their past. And so, she felt it her civil duty to do them a favor before they died.

Music was powerful. It had the capability of conveying any emotion she wanted.

At that particular moment, she wanted serenity. It was the night before she was expected to begin her hunt for yet another man – one by the name of Ezio Auditore da Firenze. She did not know him personally, but she had heard of his deeds, whispered across the plains of Italia. One of the key players in the Order of the Assassins. She had no quarrel with him, but she wouldn't be paid until he was dead.

Her assignment was simple; kill him and do it before he realizes someone is specifically out to do so. And he was rumored to be quite the sharp fellow. She assumed he was a cautious man, considering the nature of his occupation. Her employer, a rather fat, sinister man who refused to disclose his name, was very terse in his orders. He also not-so-subtly hinted to make the poor bastard suffer before he died. She hadn't replied when he suggested it, but she had no intention to do it. She didn't like the man in the least; he gave off such an eerie aura that made her uncomfortable when she was in his presence.

Death wasn't something she intended to play with. No matter how despicable the person, she felt that dying in itself was painful enough. No need to add on to the effect for the sadistic enjoyment of the one doing it. She took no personal pleasure in her job, nonetheless. She did what she had to in order to survive.

She noticed the sun was beginning to rise, and figured it best to sleep. Ezio Auditore was a mobile man – tracking him down was not going to be a simple job.

She awoke with the sun beating down on her head and her back aching incessantly. At that point, however, she was used to it. The concept of a bed to sleep in had long since past. She did not even remember if she slept in a bed after her father died, and she didn't care much for the lost luxury. It was possible to sleep anywhere, it was all about the mindset.

There seemed to be something of commotion going on below her, and she awkwardly poked her head over the edge of the building to see three figures discussing something. So not to be suspicious, she ducked her head back over the edge to not be visible and quietly listened to see if they were discussing anything of interest.

"And now, I present to you, your workshop, Ser da Vinci!" cried a blue-clad man to another man she saw was the artist that the workshop was built for. "We spared no expense in its design. You'll see! It is perfect; as if you never left Firenze! I wish you great success and hope you enjoy Venezia as much she enjoys having you!" The man bowed to the artist, palm extended, obviously asking for money for all of his troubles. The artist did not seem to notice, patting him on the shoulder. He was a handsome man – with medium-length brown hair topped with a stylish red hat reminiscent of her homeland. And from her height, she could even make out some freckles on his face.

"So here we are!" he exclaimed. "Exciting, isn't it? Care to come in?" He was speaking to a hooded, far more suspicious-looking man. She did not know what exactly Assassins wore, but she had a feeling that that man was her target, as no man would dress in so strange a fashion. How convenient, she thought.

The man shook his head. "Maybe later," he said as he began to leave, "I need to visit the Palazzo della Seta. Try and gain an audience with Emilio." She'd been in Venice for about a week, and from what she heard from the people, Emilio Barbarigo was not a kind man. He was a ruthless merchant that managed to monopolize a good portion of the market, often terrorizing the poor families who made a living there.

"As you wish," he replied. "But should you find yourself with some free time, or another Codex page, don't hesitate to visit. My door is always open." Codex page? Her eyebrow rose at such a strange name, a curiosity growing in her head.

"Grazie, my friend." The artist opened his arms for something of a brotherly hug, and after a moment's awkward hesitation from the hooded one, they hugged briefly. She almost smirked – weren't the Italians supposed to be an emotional people?

"Di nullo," answered the artist, and both men went their separate directions. She waited a bit before tailing him, as she always did her targets before killing them. It benefited her to assess their movements before striking. Silently, she made her way across the rooftops right above him, realizing that he moved rapidly, even when walking. And then there were the times where he just broke out into a sprint with no warning, forcing her to do the same. It was certainly an annoying habit.

The first thing she noticed personality-wise was that he was definitely bold. He walked up to the Palazzo and started to stare at it, analyzing the structure with narrowed eyes. She wondered if he was planning to scale the building and break in – and with such a multitude of guards. Yes, boldness was a strong trait in that man. Perhaps a bit too bold for his own good.

Just then, a small band of thieves rushed past him and he stood still, dumbfounded by the spectacle. A female thief – something she didn't expect to see – dashed past and began to scale the wall like an expert. It would have gone quite well if the thieves had thought to take out the archers guarding the building from outside the walls, who were now shooting at the woman with deadly accuracy.

She almost thought the woman was going to get away until an arrow hit her straight in the back of the thigh, and she fell to the ground, groaning in agony for a moment before jumping back up to her feet and fleeing. And she did so straight into the chest of her target.

"Hey, I remember you," Ezio said to the woman.

"We need to go!" the woman insisted, out of breath and loosing blood quickly.

"You never did apologize for knocking me over." He is not a serious man either, she assessed with an analyzing raise of her eyebrow.

A terrified look crossed the woman's face as she glanced at two guards nearing. "Now."

Thankfully, he seemed to be a fast learner. "Va bene, where to?"

"The water," the thief replied, effectively confusing her. Venice was an aquatic city in every regard imaginable.

"That doesn't exactly narrow it down," Ezio pointed out, voicing her concern. She didn't reply, bolting in the opposite direction and thereby forcing him to protect her from the waves of guards appearing. She watched as he rather skillfully handled at least twenty of them before the woman ran off, limping and dripping the occasional bit of blood off of her leg.

He sprinted off after the woman, forcing her to leave her comfortable perch on the rooftop to pursue them. She realized that eventually that either he or the thieves he was bound to befriend at that point were going to notice her stalking him and either kill her, interrogate her, or both.

And she wanted to avoid such unpleasant situations at any cost. She leapt to the ground and blended herself in amongst the peasantry of Venice, careful to keep up with them as subtly as possible. Her outfit was not as obvious as her target's, thankfully for her, though it was a bit more decorative than people were used to seeing. Her father valued a mixture of style and practicality, personally seeing to it that her outfit was her favorite color – grayish blue. He claimed it matched her eyes, though she never agreed with him.

She watched closely as Ezio and the thief woman fought group after group of guards of about three to four, depending on how armored the men were. For a moment, she considered popping out to assist them when the brute showed up, armored from head to toe in gold, but Ezio once again exceeded her expectations and took him down without too much effort. The rumors she had heard were no laughing matter.

Soon, the woman could no longer walk, dropping to the ground. He wasted no time in lifting her and carrying her effortlessly. She quickly added both gentleman and womanizer to her mental list – she'd known her fair share of men with both of those traits. In fact, one was most likely actively looking for her – an annoyance she'd been dealing with since she was sixteen.

She pushed such arbitrary thoughts out of her head and focused on the task at hand; analysis of the target. She'd been tailing him for over an hour at that point and it was getting mundane, though it was amusing to see him barrel his way through so many guards. In their small conversations, she learned that the woman's name was Rosa.

Soon enough, they reached a boat where another of the thieves was waiting, confused as a hooded man brought forth his wounded comrade. A small, unimportant exchange occurred and Ezio volunteered to take care of the guards guarding the entrance to their safe house, which she knew the location of. The leader of Venice's thieves was a talkative man, and when he heard the stupid rumors surrounding her existence, he tracked her down. Antonio was, to say the least, surprised at how she looked in person, then promised not to spread the word around. He found it more fun that way.

Ezio was vastly outnumbered – and these guards were archers. She toyed with the idea of helping him; even if his death by the hands of a few guards would be convenient enough. Realizing that her employer, judging by the look of him, would probably skimp out on paying her if he died by another's arrow, she grabbed the bow on her back and hooked an arrow on. With careful aim, she let it fly and watched it sore through the neck of an unfortunately placed guard.

Careful to conceal herself to remain hidden, she climbed for higher ground to take out the ones scattered on the rooftops. Each one fell to the docks below as her arrows flew from her bow, and she resisted the urge to smirk smugly to herself. My aim improves daily, she thought proudly. When most of them were dead, she motioned to follow Ezio once more but was presented with a problem.

He was obviously suspicious as to why guards decided to commit suicide with their own arrows and was more cautious than before. She resolved to get to the Thieves' Guild the other, safer way, and quickly jumped in the opposite direction from whence she came.

Antonio, ever the sharp one, was outside in front of his headquarters and noticed her jumping about with time to spare. It frustrated her.

"Ah, my beautiful little bird!" he called out. "Vieni qui, Colette, do not be shy!"

She sighed. "Antonio, I am rather busy …"

"Nonsense!" he cried. "It will only take five minutes, come now." With another heaved sigh, she made her way to the ground, smiling as politely as she could at the social leader of the thieves of the Venice. He was not very attractive physically, but it was easily compensated with his way with words. His skin was rather pale and his angular face was framed with unkempt black hair that stretched down to the bottom of his neck. A finely trimmed mustache sat nicely on his upper lip.

"I cannot stay for long," she informed him. If Ezio knew of her existence, then her mission would be made ten times more difficult and nearly impossible. He could not know what was coming, if she chose to kill him.

He dismissed it with a casual, carefree gesture. "So, bonjour! Comment ça va?" She stifled a laugh at his terrible accent. Her language was not for this man.

"Ça va, et toi?" she replied.

He paused, biting his lip, forgetting the appropriate response. He gave up. "Come sempre."

She laughed softly. "Glad to hear it. Look, I am sorry I cannot stay but I truly must–!"

"So you found a new target!" he exclaimed, hands on his hips with smug reassurance. "Now you do not have to be bored and terrify the townspeople with your music." Damn him and his wit, she mentally cursed.

She rolled her eyes. "It is of their own insane creation. In no way is my music a bad omen."

"And yet, every time it is heard, someone dies," he pointed out matter-of-factly. "Is that a dramatic habit or …?"

She shrugged. "With practice comes skill. Who am I to stop a love of mine because of paranoid, superstitious idiots?"

He threw his head back in a laugh. "Well said." Despite his persistent attitude, she quite liked Antonio. He gave her company in a fairly lonely occupation. Their conversation would have continued, had she not heard shouting and cursing from a distant corner.

"Merde," she snarled to herself. "Antonio, I must go." Before he could attempt to stop her again, she ran over to a wooden scaffold, scaled it and vanished from his line of sight. His attention was quickly drawn from her when Ezio carried Rosa into the yard.

"Rosa! What's happened?" Antonio asked, alarmed at her current state.

She looked severely wounded as Ezio laid her out on a nearby table. "Just get this thing out of me."

"Soon, soon, let's have a look first," he replied in a fatherly manner. "Clean entry and exit through the thigh, that's good."

"Get – it – out!" she commanded, grinding her teeth against the pain.

"Rosa, we must take care not–!"

She would have none of his medical nonsense, it seemed. "Now!"

He conceded without argument, cupping her cheek briefly. "Come vuoi," he then looked to the men around him. "Tenetela!" And the men did as they were told, holding her down as he broke the end of the arrow, eliciting a scream of pain. He ripped the other end from her thigh, and she screamed even louder, making Colette cringe from where she was perched.

"I am sorry, piccola," Antonio said.

"Sorry? Ficcatelo nel culo your sorry!" Rosa roared, and she had to stifle a laugh at just how loud the woman was. It was something uncommon in France.

"Go fetch Bianca and be quick!" the thief leader ordered of one of his thieves. And so the two of them, Antonio and Ezio, tended to Rosa's wound as well as they could before the nurse was to arrive. She groaned and cursed like a drunken sailor the entire way through. "Avanti! Get Rosa inside so that Bianca can close the wound."

As she was carried off, she laid out quite a few colorful curses, wishing he would catch plague – him and his apparent whore of a mother. The fact that he remained so unflinching throughout it was hilariously baffling to Colette.

"Thank you," he said to Ezio. "Rosa is most dear to me. If I had lost her …"

Ezio exhaled. "I've always had a soft spot for women in distress."

"So I've heard," he replied with a smirk. Even to Colette, who had known the man for all of an hour and a half –indirectly, but still– Ezio seemed like the type to drift between women. Often. Even with a job as demanding as that of an Assassin. Also a trait she'd seen quite a bit of in her hometown.

"Don't look so surprised," Antonio said as a suspicious look crossed the Assassin's face, "We know all about you, Ser Ezio. Your work in Firenze and the rest of Tuscany. Good work, too! If not a little … unrefined."

"Then you know why I am in Venezia?" he asked.

"I can guess," Antonio answered, and Colette was not surprised in the least. "When you have a minute, come see me in my office. There's something we should discuss." She cursed under her breath – there was no possible way she could hear that without obnoxiously pressing her ear to the door.

She sighed to herself and figured she was done there for the day. She figured she could practice her flute before she decided to call it an official day. She had only learned enough information that her target had a womanizing tendency to rescue rather loud damsels in distress. She could only assume that he intended to kill Emilio Barbarigo, and that was only from his much earlier conversation with the artist.

In her occupation, assumptions were risky and dangerous.

With a sigh, she found an uninhabited rooftop in one of the more rundown corners of the city, pulled her flute from her bag and began to play a random melody off the top of her head. She closed her eyes and allowed her fingers to alternate across the holes of the instrument.

Colette played for about an hour or so, her legs idly dangling off the edge of the roof as she switched from soothing songs to more sped up tunes, all the while calming herself. It was so simple for her to be at ease with the dizi at her side.

She was immediately altered to footsteps behind her, coming closer, but no one was important enough for her to stop her valuable practice time. They would simply have to wait and enjoy the music until she finished.

"Such beautiful music," a familiar voice commented from behind. "I do not think I have heard one as skilled as you." She casually turned her head to see none other than her target staring directly at her.

God dammit.

Dem translations:

Ser: Sir

Firenze: Florence

Venezia: Venice

Palazzo: Palace

Grazie: Thank you

Di nullo: It's nothing

Va bene: Alright/okay

Vieni qui: Come here

Come sempre: Like always

Merde: Shit

Come vuoi: As you wish

Tenetela: Hold it

Piccola: Sweetheart

Ficcatelo nel culo your sorry: Shove your sorry up your ass

Avanti: Let's go