Ottoviano was sick of it. Thoroughly sick of it.
Every night, without fail, there was always a loud thumping directly above his head. Every single night; he would climb into bed, snuggle up with his teddy bear, Juliano, his mother would say his prayers with him and kiss him goodnight, and he would close his eyes. And then there would be the thumping on the ceiling.
He told his father about it once, but of course, he blamed the young boy's imagination.
"There are no monsters in your room, Otto," father chuckled.
Ottoviano scowled and stomped back up the stairs and into bed.
Sometimes the thumps came while he was asleep, and they would wake him up. Sometimes there was even shouting with the thumps- but the shouting would never last very long. In fact, the boy mused, sometimes the shouting seemed to stop while the speaker was still in mid-sentence. Or so it seemed from his room in the attic. Finally, after a week straight of interrupted naps and beautiful dreams, Ottoviano decided to take matters into his own little hands.
Late at night, when the six-year-old was certain his parents and older sister were asleep, he scrambled out of bed, wrapping his quilt around his shoulders like a king's cape. Ottoviano opened his closet door and poked his head in, nudging the clothes out of the way. His mother didn't think he knew about the trapdoor to the roof, but he knew. Often his klutzy mother had woken him up when she tried to 'silently' hang up some clothes on the roof, using the only entrance in the house. There was a ladder, which was difficult to climb as the rungs were far too far apart for his toddler feet, but he managed. Carefully, Ottoviano pushed the door open and climbed onto the roof. The cool night air felt wonderful on his warm skin, and the sky shimmered with a sea of crystal stars. Ottoviano watched the night with wide eyes, jaw agape in wonder. He'd never been outside this late before- well, maybe once during Carnevale, but he didn't remember much of that. Too little, he frowned. But now...he saw just how beautiful the night was. He shook his head quickly- remember why you're here, Otto? He asked himself, we're going to find out what's causing those noises.
At first he was afraid it would be a monster. That's why the six-year-old had hidden his father's hammer under one of the roof tiles. Being a carpenter, Otto was sure father wouldn't miss just one hammer, and it was the only one he could lift easily. But, as he turned around on the tiles under the moon, it was apparent to the child that he was the roof's only occupant. However this did nothing to discourage him. Instead, Otto merely sat down, pulled his covers around himself comfortably, and waited. It wasn't hard for him to fall asleep, resist it as he tried, though. Of course, he was awakened by the sound of running.
Immediately Ottoviano snapped awake and sprang to his feet, raising the hammer warily. Finally, his patience was rewarded- the cause of the mysterious thumping on his ceiling late at night was...a man in a white hood. Otto watched in amazement as the white-hooded man leapt from roof to roof, heading for his own. The child gulped- no man could do that- this must be a monster! Gaze hardening in determination, Otto ducked down into his quilt and waited for the man to move over his bedroom, like he always did. Finally he was in range. With a cry, the six-year-old broke out of his hiding spot and ran at the figure, which was not facing him, hammer held high. However, Ottoviano's little feet were not as used to running on rooftop tile as they were to running on dirt streets, and the uneven-ness of the textures threw him off. Instead of plunging the hammer's tip into the target's rear end as he had intended, his toes got caught under a tile and he went flying face-first into the victom's calves. There was a loud thud as Otto hit the ground with a small 'oof'!
Paralyzed with fear, Ottoviano glanced up in horror as the monster turned around slowly. He felt its gaze on him and instantly felt sorry for what he tried to do. Otto squeezed his eyes shut and curled up, afraid the figure would strike him. After all, he thought, that's what I would do if someone tried to hit ME with a hammer.
He was very surprised when instead of anger, the man responded with a relieved chuckle. Otto squinted one eye open curiously. He noticed the man had bent down to his height and he got a glimpse under the hood- it was not a monster, but a young man with warm brown eyes and a friendly grin.
"Here," he said, holding out his hand in the darkness, "Give me the hammer."
Otto nodded silently and dropped the small work hammer into the man's gloved hand. The stranger eyed the tool with amusement.
"Now," He smiled, ruffling Otto's hair in a brotherly manner- Otto tried not to return his smile, "What is a small boy like you doing up alone on a rooftop late at night trying to hit perfectly good people with hammers?"
The stanger asked the question in such a funny voice that the six-year-old couldn't stop his laughter from tumbling out. He bottled it up in a moment though, returning to business.
"You were trespasting!" Otto frowned, proud of his use of the new word. He'd heard it from father.
"Trespasting, was I?" The man laughed, toying with the variation of the word, "I'm so sorry, messere. What can I do to make it up to you?"
"You should have asked my permission before running on my ceiling!" Otto grinned mischevisouly, glad his opponent was taking him seriously, "I can never get any sleep late at night!"
"Mi despiaci, Messer...?" The stranger begged, his statement trailing off into a question.
"Ottoviano," the boy replied dignantly, "but you can call me Otto."
"Well, Otto," the man smiled, "I am Ezio. And I am very very sorry for trespassing on your roof at such late hours in the night."
"Mm-hmm," Ottoviano nodded, "You should be!"
The stranger laughed again, and then bowed courteously.
"In that case," he began, "Messer Ottoviano- may I please have permission to cross your roof at night if I promise to walk very lightly?"
Ottoviano pursed his lips, tapping his foot as he considered Ezio's proposal. Could he trust the man?
"...bene," Otto said carefully, "But if you're lying, you're gonna be real sorry! My father has a lot of hammers you know!"
Ezio chuckled again, "Grazie, Otto. You have my word."
True to his promise, Otto was relieved that the next night, there was no mysterious thumpings. He was so excited when he woke up the next morning he ran down to his mother in the kitchen and told her the whole story. Well not only did she not believe the part about his meeting with the white hooded man, but Otto spent the rest of the morning in his room for sneaking out at night. Luccia believed him though- Ottoviano told the whole story to her, but soon regretted it. He should've known Luccia would lapse into romantic sighs and stop paying attention to the rest of the story the moment he said 'white hood'. 'All the girls in the city are going crazy over the white hooded Assassino,' to use her words exactly. Girls, Otto sighed, there were so un-reliable. He was just glad Luccia didn't ask to come up to the roof with him tonight to meet with Ezio. That would ruin everything, he mused. Because, believe it or not, Otto planned to meet the Assassin again tonight.
That night, like the previous one, Otto ascended to the roof. He sat around waiting for his new friend impatiently. He had even brought up cookies this time for the two to snack on. However the longer he sat there, the more it seemed the Assassin was not coming. Out of boredom, the boy began to nibble on a cookie. After a long amount of time, the clacking of boots on rooftiles broke the child from his munching. Cheeks stuffed with cookie crumbs, Otto whirled around, eyes wide. He was very relieved to find Ezio, smiling down at him.
"Look, Ezio!" Ottoviano cheered, lifting up the small bag he carried, "I brought you cookies!"
Ezio laughed and bent down to the child's height. He took the bag with mock-greed and poked his head inside.
"Otto," Ezio raised an eyebrow, "There's only one cookie in here."
Ottoviano frowned in confusion and stuck his head in the bag as well. To his chagrin, he found that while there was a great deal of crumbs, only one whole cookie remained.
"Oh," The boy mumbled, blushing, "I'm sorry, Ezio. I guess...I ate them all while I was waiting for you."
But instead of getting angry, as Ottoviano imagined, Ezio shook his head and chuckled.
"It's quite alright, my friend." He grinned.
From that day on, the boy and the assassin began meeting regularly. Otto told Ezio everything about his life- how he played with the other boys, his favorite hobbies, he even explained his sister's ridiculous crush on the man himself. Ezio liked that part, he said. Ottoviano gagged. The boy was confused as to why Ezio never wanted to talk about himself, but he had a lot of respect for him anyway. Ottoviano enjoyed these visits, and he was very disappointed when, for seemingly no reason, they stopped. One night, Ezio just didn't show up. Otto had merely shrugged his shoulders and returned to his bedroom, sad. But he figured the great Assassino probably had something better to do than sit around eating cookies and talking with a six-year-old. He had waited all day for their next meeting the following night, but that one didn't happen either. His mother was getting suspicious of the bags under his eyes and was making him go to bed early now, so Otto had to wait even longer for the Assassin who never came.
Finally, after countless nights, Ezio returned. Ottoviano was so glad, he ran up and hugged him. But instead of laughing and making jokes as usual, Ezio said he had bad news.
"I'm leaving, Ottoviano," Ezio said sadly, ruffling the boy's hair like he always did, "I'm leaving the city and I won't be back for a long time."
"But-" Otto began, his true feelings escaping before he could even think about them, "But I'll miss you!"
Ezio laughed bitterly, and smiled at the six-year-old one last time.
"I'll miss you too, piccino."
The ride to Rome had been bumpy and unpleasant, but nothing seemed to disturb the hooded man as he exited the carriage. He clung to the shadows as he made his way through the city, weaving through crowds like a needle through thread. Cautiously, he approached the marketplace his target was last seen near. Fortunately for the young man, he was still there. In awe, the man's eyes travelled to the foreign device on his wrist. Flicking his ring finger, he watched the metal slide in and out. He vividly remembered each one of his teacher's instructions on how to use it, eager to please. Inhaling, the hooded man plunged into the market, making sure never to stay in one place for long. He neared his target in a zig-zagged manner, and the Templar didn't see him coming until it was too late. He flicked his finger and shoved the blade deep into the man's gut, twisting it. Thick, wet blood flowed over the metal piece, staining the man's sleeve. Quickly, he retracted the weapon and took a few steps back, escaping the scene before the dying man even had a chance to fall. Glancing warily over his shoulder, the assassin broke into a nervous trot, heading for the bureau. After a few minutes of anxious walking, he approached the building in relief. On the outside, it looked merely to be a boarded up old bordello, the occupants slaughtered by order of the late pope. But after the hooded man gave a kind of tap at the window, the scene changed. He was allowed in by a similarly dressed man. The two exchanged nods as the assassin headed deeper into the hideout. He strode quickly and boldly until he reached a room near the back, where an older man in a white hood sat, poring over a map that laid open on the table.
"Maestro," the guest announced, bowing, "it is done." He raised his right wrist and flicked his finger, showing off the impressive hidden blade.
The older man smiled, pleased.
"I should have known," he replied, "You never have disappointed me, Ottoviano."
Ottoviano returned the gesture and entered the room, taking a seat at the table. Ezio offered him a small pastry.
"Cookie?"