a.n.: (important): I don't know how I always manage but by the time I write the author note at the beginning I end up forgetting half of the tings I had to say. Anyway, let's see how this one goes. For this specific chapter you might have to go back to chapter 18 from 'Heroes and Thieves' in order to remember one of the characters. But do so only while reading,( in case you do not remember the character) or otherwise half of the surprise will be spoiled. Far more important, and the main reason of this note, is a clarification over the rating. As you all know the story is rated M. So far, so was the first story but in comparison that was mild. This story will be rather dark and if in the first part I dodged delicate aspects of the culture and society in renaissance I won't be doing the same anymore. I wish to bring up even the nasty, obstinate, degenerate circumstances if the moment requires it. I do hope no one will be offended; in the end this sequel will be more aggressive, more bloody at times,and even sexuality and nudity will play a fair part. Also, another thing that I want to point: AC has portraied the Borgia family as the perfect image of the villains. I do not plan to go on the same simplistic speaking, they have omitted too many aspects and I do not intend to paint everything in white and black; reason why many other historical figures and events will appear in my story.
Before I leave you to it, on the profile page you will find a link with some quick (random) doodles for the story. And last but definitively not least I shall thank XevilxbunnyX yet again for beta reading this text. Because of her work chapters keep coming up. I always miss typos and grammar mistakes in my own works and the thought that someone is going through the reading process makes it 10 times easier for me to focus on the plot.
All in all, I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter!
Seeking oblivion in the city of stench
The dust was dancing in the light of the lamps, the music filling the air of a city already intoxicated with both wine and good humor. It was the time of carnival in Venetia and the night couldn't conquer the life of the city of masks. Like termites the people were swarming in the warm colors of the streets, minstrels singing of stories long forgotten, and jesters playing their tricks under the exploding fireworks. It was light in the streets below and pure darkness on the roofs above.
A man skipped from around a corner, red ribbons in his hand, and found himself surrounded by women with no masks, strong curls and short dresses. He laughed, prey to their charms, and with a glass of wine pushed in his hand he backed away, to a wall, enjoying the beautiful sound of their language and the alluring taste of their lips. A shadow of the night hid them for a split of a second and dust and small rocks fell in the man's hair and cup. He looked above as a courtesan kissed her way to his neck but saw nothing except the starry night over the roofs of Venice.
The guard yawned and closed his eyes for a split of a second, thankful for the momentarily darkness in his watch over the streets below his feet. The tiles made no sound as a white eidolon skipped behind him to be consumed further by the night. A single click was heard on the wood lattice of the balcony. The curtains swelled in a gust of wind and no sound was further heard. A rough, guttural voice was heard coming from the dormitory and soon the sound of steps followed. A tall, mid aged man made his way into the apartment's hall, wearing nothing at all. He went to the table and grabbed the wine carafe to pour some into one of the already used goblets. The table was stained with dry wine and the smell was reaching the balcony.
Something caught the man's attention and with a tired move he looked towards the curtains. The carafe fell from his hand and the sound of metal echoed into the dark room, wine splashed like blood on the white marble. The outline of a hooded man, standing in the frame of the double doors of the balcony swiped the sleep away from his brain. He waited but, like a statue the white shadow refused to move. He searched for his discarded sword with his eyes but before he had the time to make a move the figure cleared his voice.
"I wouldn't do that."
A click followed and the glimpse of a blade formed at his wrist. At that point the man knew he was facing death.
New sounds came from the bedroom and a soft, low voice was heard.
"Alfeo, is that you?"
But the man dared not to answer. His heart was racing and his mouth was dry.
The same voice came whispering from the darkness.
"Leave. I have no business with you."
For a moment he stood petrified, unsure of the situation. But the shadow took a step inside and it was all that the man needed to jump inside the dormitory, at the feet of the bed to collect his clothes.
The figure on the bed got up on the elbow and watched the desperate man.
With nervous hands, crawling inside the shirt, the man looked up and sneered.
"The nerve of you; being an assassin's whore!"
The white shadow appeared in front of the door. It was his cue to leave. With only his shirt on and some of his clothes in his hands he stumbled past the hooded man, falling after his sword and running barefoot towards the doors and out of the apartment.
Only after the door was shut did the person move again through the sheets of the bed glaring at the assassin.
The man held the gaze. He stepped inside the room and grabbed a white robe that was lying on the vanity table and threw it on the bed.
"Put this on."
If he read the hatred in the eyes, the assassin didn't let it show; he turned around and made his way to the table in the hall, his boot stepping in the pool of liquid. He took a seat on one of the chairs and waited.
Soft steps were heard from inside the room. Then they stopped. It was a heavy silence until the figure appeared in the hall, defeated.
"Did you really have to break into the apartment and scare my client?"
The assassin took a second before answering.
"I don't believe you would have agreed to see me if I had asked politely for a word with you."
Instead of answering the tall figure sighed.
"You could have at least killed him."
The sincerity and the tiredness in the voiced caught the assassin's attention.
He looked up and tried to picture in the darkness how much has changed since their last meeting, more than a decade ago. Brown curls were falling down the shoulders and despite the age, Ezio felt like looking at a beautiful marble statue. Tall, carefully built by artistic hands, even if just woken from sleep there was little doubt why the person was twisting minds of men and women alike. Words in Venice were making justice: Apollo would be jealous of this man.
"How old are you now?"
With an elegant gesture the young man shifted his weight on one leg and stared intrigued at the hood.
"28? You are not 30 yet, are you? How long do you plan on doing this?"
His lips turned thin and he turned, walking around the room.
"Get out of my apartment."
Ezio's voiced went lower.
"Your apartment? You mean the space your patron gives you to receive clients."
The man stopped, his back at the assassin.
"Sit, Vincenzo."
He made no move but the assassin pushed further.
"You know why I am here. The sooner you talk to me the sooner I'll be gone."
His brown tresses slipped down the shoulder as he turned his head to glance at the seated man. He fully turned and licked his lips.
"What makes you think I know?"
The assassin narrowed his eyes at his sudden confrontation.
"What makes you think…" he paused as he approached the table, stepping in front of him and looking down at him. "…that I know…" his hands suddenly went up. He grabbed him by the hood and keeping his head up by the hair beneath it, with the blade of a knife at his throat. "where she is?" he ended, snarling into his face.
The man looked right into his green eyes.
"You don't want to play this game."
The eyelids fell, transforming his expression into disgusted boredom. The tip of the blade was at his rigs.
Within a blink the grip started to lose and the young man sighed, stepping back.
"I don't think she would approve anyway."
"So you have seen her."
He put the knife on the wooden surface and took a seat at the other end of the table.
"I didn't say that."
He looked at the assassin from under his long lashes.
"And I don't know for sure what you are trying to find here, in Venice, but I can tell you from the start that you have been wasting your time."
Ezio let his eyes travel over his features. He had long lost everything that made him a child and the line of his jaw was so clear that it almost looked traced with a pencil. His lips were swollen as if he had a lover all the time to keep them that way and his gentle eyes and long hair did nothing to hide the manly allure his angular face possessed. Still, there was something cruel in his beauty; it had always been there. That alone had not changed.
"I haven't seen or heard of Shiva in a very long time."
The assassin tried to read his expression.
"Then how come you know why I am here?"
He laughed softly but slyly.
"What other reason? She must have done something for you to be that desperate to track down the few people that know her." He stopped and Ezio knew he was considering something. "It has something to do with the assault at Monteriggioni during last year, doesn't it?" By the sudden tension in the assassin's figure he knew he was right.
"What do you know about it?"
The man held his gaze a little longer before shaking it away.
"Nothing."
"Why don't I believe you?"
Once again he stole a side glance at the assassin.
"It's your choice. I am not asking you to believe me. Madame mentioned it. About the Duke of Valentinois erratic attack at the villa."
"Erratic?" the man almost growled. "There was nothing erratic about it."
At that he received a short sly laughter.
"It was not planned by any means. Even I know that. The captains in Venetia talked about it for weeks. The Borgia cardinal had planned an attack over Forli in Romagna. Something must have happened in Romagna to push him further to Monteriggini." He arched a questioning eyebrow. "Shouldn't you know of that?"
He was patronizing him and the assassin didn't like it.
"What do you know of Shiva's doing in it?"
Another annoyed sigh.
"Nothing."
"If you are of no good I can always go and ask my questions somewhere else."
Surprisingly the man averted his eyes and for the longest moment he lost himself in the dance of the blowing curtains.
"Don't go to Madame. She knows even less than I do." Again, he licked his lower lip. "And she wouldn't help you even if she could. She's old. She doesn't need more trouble."
Soon, the realization of the present moment came back to him and he turned.
"Same goes for me. I do not know where she is now. But even if I would I'd still tell you nothing."
It was the assassin's time to look away, into the dark of the room.
"You seem to trust her too much."
The man said nothing. And he waited but all that he received was the feeling of his eyes over him. He finally turned only to find the man staring right at him with a bizarre smile on his face. His eyes glimmered unnaturally.
"She's all I've got."
He clenched his jaw.
"Yet, you claim to know nothing of her. How is that possible?"
His words only managed to enlarge that exhausted smile, giving the impression that the man in front of him possessed knowledge he would never understand.
"You don't know her very well, do you?"
He watched the man swallow and put his hands on the table.
"Shiva never comes when she's caught with something. She stays as far as she can from those who know her until a job is done. No person around her means no face; no face means no trace; no trace means no weakness. "
He looked up at the man watching him from the other side of the table.
"I haven't seen Shiva in more than two years. You want to know for how long she's been working for Valentino? I'd say you could start from there. What she does?" He shook his head. "I don't know." He paused. "Shouldn't you ask around Rome?"
Ezio was surprised to find a knot in his throat when he first tried to speak. He coughed. "She's not there."
He played the fabric of the glove between his fingers.
"What do you know of her alliance with the Borgia?"
The young man wrinkled his nose.
"Whatever it is I wouldn't call it alliance. She keeps far from politics." There was a pause in his voice. "Maybe too far. If you want to know my opinion there is only one Borgia she would strike a deal with: and that would be the bastard son: Cesare." He narrowed his eyes, a thought of remembrance reflecting in them. "It would make sense. She's been to Valentinois even before he became duke….actually… last time she went to France…." he watched the assassin carefully "Cesare resigned from the position of cardinal, enraging his father but before the old man could do anything the French king entitled him over Valentinois. Though…I think there is more to that than title and politics. Shiva is always running from both."
"And since you are here I presume that she is still working for him. It can only mean that her part is not done yet." He stopped and analyzed the assassin. "Is this about that apple thing?" He caught his reaction. "Don't get paranoid. Shiva was in Venice in the same time with you. She told me about the apple. She trusts me." He held the assassin's glare. "She used to tell me a lot of things back then, when both of you were in Venice." He was taking strange pleasure in the tension he was creating. "Would you like to know her thoughts about you?" He stopped, maliciously adding his next words: "the immature boy who had his mind filled with thoughts of revenge?" But he went on. "You know, I told her she wasn't right about that. Your mind wasn't set on revenge; otherwise why would the Spaniard still be alive?"
Silence.
"Hmm… makes you think… maybe if you had been more mature back then she wouldn't be now playing in the Borgia's garden of wonders, throwing rocks at you."
Then the man lined his back against the chair and like a tragedy actor his eyes went wide in realization. "Wait... maybe that's it. Maybe Cesare's more of a man than you are." He grinned, not losing the hooded man out of sight. "What do you say? Are you a man now, Florentine? I bet that whatever it is that she did, she kicked you right into manhood."
"Watch your words, boy."
"Why should I? This is my house, and trust me when I tell you Assassin, that you are not welcomed." To his snarl he answered with the same attitude.
"Then why don't you try to get rid of me?"
"Fight you? It would only be a waste of energy. I rather talk from the comfort of this chair than with a blade against my neck."
"A wise thing."
He snarled, giving up the fight.
"You used to be more fun."
At that Ezio allowed him to have a better look at his face, a cold, unmeant smirk on his face. "What can I say? I'm not a boy anymore."
Either because of the words or the way he looked at him the man averted his eyes again and almost felt guilty.
The room was momentarily lightened by the colorful explosions of fireworks. Neither moved nor spoke.
It was too warm and the air was too humid for this time of the year. Venice was at carnival but never had this city looked more like an old, tired prostitute instead of the jeweled lady it used to be. His skin felt viscid and the hair at his nape was wet with sweat. He wished he could discard that thin robe and step naked into the balcony to feel the feeble draft of the night before the sensation of asphyxiation would take over him. He turned his eyes towards the seated assassin. He was silent. For a man who was chasing someone he looked tired and deep into thoughts himself.
Intrigued Vincenzo narrowed his eyes, for the first time paying full attention to the person under the hood.
"Why are you really here?"
"The more I think of it, the more it feels unreasonable. I am sure that you have both the resources and the men to track her down if you truly want that. But why come here? Why now? You could have settled scores after Monteriggioni. But why wait more than a year?"
He thought that the man wasn't going to answer. Why would he, anyway?
"It's not me. I let her run away exactly because I know who she is. I thought she would be smart enough to take the chance and disappear completely after what she has done. But a month ago…." He stopped and his jaw clenched, his voice spitting the words in anger. "A month ago ten of my best men were slaughtered in Valle d'Aosta. I have witnesses that place her right in the middle of it. I can't afford more damage. "
He received no answer. Instead the other man was watching him even more doubtful.
"I get all that but… why come here? Rome is full of traitors who must have seen or heard something. It's right in front of you and yet you are running fro-…." In mid-sentence he stopped, his mind working fast. "..oh.."
His eyes narrowed.
"You are not here to ask me where she is, are you? You are not here to ask me where to find her. Now that I look at you, you don't even look terribly concerned with finding her. You are here for some other reason."
"I need to take her down."
The man leaned on the table and tilted his head, interested in the answer.
"You need to?" cautiously he let out his next words. "But you don't want to."
The tensed muscles in the assassin's jaw revealed the real anger that the man was holding.
The Venetian lost his ill intentions as another wave of guilt washed his mind. The man in front of him seemed in that moment miserable and regardless the hate he should feel for him, knowing what he was planning, still he could do nothing but pity him.
His throat was dry and he tried to swallow and walk his tongue around the mouth. Again, he retreated his form against the backrest of the chair.
He looked away.
"I get it now." Suddenly his words were the only sounds of the world around him. "You are not here for answers. You are here for excuses…. reasons… You thought that if you'd come here you could justify your actions." A soft, sad laughter escaped his lips as he looked back at the man in the shadows. "Look at you…. almost scared. You do not know what to do. She's the reason your men are dead, she's probably the one who was hired to take the apple from you too… and I hear the last head of the Auditore family died as well… and yet… you come here… reaching for reasons to trust her. After all she did you are still searching for a reason to trust her." suddenly his distant voice raised with fire. "What were you thinking? The stupid boy from Venice, selling his body; what would he do if I were to threaten that I was going to target her? Fall on his knees and beg me not to? Start filling my head with reasons why she deserves to be speared? That maybe she has some secret motives that would justify her betrayal?"
As suddenly as he started he stopped, biting on his words. "None of these would happen because, truthfully, it is not my decision to make. Why should I lie?She's a thief and she can go as low as she wants. Who are you to have expectations? You've been around her enough time to know how dangerous she can be. Just because she lets her hood down it doesn't erase her crimes." He licked his lips, his words heavily leaving his mouth. "And… you know, don't you?" he searched for his eyes. "You always knew. Sooner or later she'd end up doing something bad; she always pushed to see how far she can get." He felt uncomfortable. "Maybe you are right. Maybe she has gone too far this time. And I am not going to stop you; it's not my place."
"But…one thing won't change. No matter how right you are, and no matter what awful things she has done, I can understand why you would take her life but I won't hate you less. It's stupid to think I can do something against you and I couldn't help her even if I wanted. But I won't just make it easy for you. I won't let you step out of this apartment with the peace that you are looking for. It's your decision and I won't let you find your closure through me. I am her friend. I won't let her down; and I won't let you walk away with an approval to murder. Her blood will be on your hands entirely."
One last explosion in the sky, playing shadows over the still image of the table; the braying of lost, drunken people in the dying streets below, the bark of a dog and a yell of a vicious woman; the stench of the canal was reaching through the opened doors of the balcony. The night was tardily fading to dawn.
So many moments went in silence that Vincenzo closed his eyes, his mind slowly floating elsewhere. Finally, he heard the sound of the chair pushed against the marble. With eyes half opened he watched the form of the assassin getting up and slowly walking away.
"It's too early to ask you what you'll do once you meet her…"
He received no answer.
"I know it's too much to ask of you but… it's been so long since I had last seen her. How is she? How does she look now? "
The tall man reached the opened balcony but stopped. There he seemed togazeat the Venetian buildings, with tight passages and musky walls.
"Last time I saw her, she looked like a traitor."
He watched the shadow that the man was leaving on the marbled floor.
"Don't do that… don't leave me with that image over her." He laughed. "You don't need to venture your anger on me. And you are being cruel now."
The man got up and went after the assassin. His eyes lingered over the symbol attached at his wrist. Shortly after he sighed and stepped in the balcony, leaning against the rail and looking over his shoulder at the calm water beneath them.
"I was sincere back then, when we first met. I was ready to have this kind of life until she would grow tired and settle down. I always thought that one day she would stop; drop the knife and the hood and wear a long dress in the coquette courtyard of her own house somewhere in France." He smiled to himself. "When I was a child I used to fill her head with ideas of how we'll live together and of how she'll turn old and always have me there to take care of her, comb her hair, paint her lips and read to her when her eyes would fail her." Through his smiles a faded laughter escaped. "Ah, but then you Auditores kept interfering with my plans." He looked at his fingers and started to play with his hands. "Your brother hated my guts when he came to see her in Venetia. I put spice in his wine and kept kicking him in the shin whenever I had the occasion only to run for my life after." His smile disappeared for a slip of a second. "But then years later you appeared in Venetia. You were funnier than your brother and well, not with the same intentions. But after Madame had told me how confident she was in you I got a little scared... that you would take her away. You may find me sick, me and this attachment to a woman like her." There was a knot in his throat. "But you don't know how it feels to have someone take you by the hand and cover your eyes when all you can see are the worms feeding on your parents. And I always heard of her ugly deeds but they mean nothing to me in comparison with memories of her smiling, teaching me how to read, washing my feet whenever I would return from a barefoot run on muddy days. They mean nothing when I think back at those moments when she would come back to Venetia all beaten and with her clothes torn. And even if her body was sore or she seemed unhappy she would let me join her in the bath, even long after I had grown up and was not a small boy anymore. At first I used to cry when she would leave. I was scared that I was left behind, even if Madame took care of me. But slowly, I was starting to learn and wait: she would always come back. Madame offered me all that I could ever want but instead, I started to work as a cortigiano ; at first it was as a form of revolt - I thought it would bring her back faster but it didn't work that way. She taught me to keep distance so I went on. It was an easy life and why not take advantage of what nature has given me? But I still dream of that life from time to time: attending parties, with people whispering and gossiping about us; how an old unmarried woman would dare to make the scene with a younger man by her arm. We would be the perfect pair to fool everyone and laugh at their sick, empty morals." His smile was slowly disappearing, revealing that he was returning from his melancholic reverie.
"And maybe I am right to blame you. With her involved in this scheme and you here… it still feels like you have taken her away from me. From where I stand…" he stopped and dared to raise his now serious gaze at the assassin. "You're the one who dragged her in this mess."
He pushed himself on his feet. "Which is why she is your responsibility; and your call to get her out of it… a way or another."
After a short moment the hood moved in a heavy nod and the man stepped aside to let the Assassin prepare for the leaving. He crossed his arms and watched the white death ready to take its flight.
"One more thing. I know that what am I about to ask will be too much and unfair but it's the least you can do after this horrible night you made me go through."
The assassin debated a second but turned.
"Go on."
With his bare feet he approached the man.
"I want you to give something to Shiva from me…."
He watched the person in front of him tense.
"I know how absurd it must sound. But I… haven't seen her in such a long time… and… given the circumstances…" he couldn't say the words but both of them knew the end of it.
"What is it?"
The same dry tone.
The man stepped closer and after a moment of hesitation he brought his hands up, gripping the hem of the hood and pushing it down.
The assassin's hands went up to stop him but it was too late and the man was gazing at the face in front of him. Time had worked fast on the man. His strong jaw was now covered with a rough and undefined beard, the scar at the the corner of his full lips more prominent, with only his tired eyes to take your attention from it. They were the dark eyes of a man who had seen few things but learned so many. They spoke of strength and determination. But there was the warmth of doubt in the wrinkles between his eyebrows. There was little left of the boy who once visited Venetia and the man standing now in front of him was a leader. He was the hero Shiva had always hoped for - that's what went through Vincenzo's mind at the sight hidden until that moment under the heavy hood. He wondered if the man knew. But he decided to be cruel one more time and keep it to himself.
With a soft smile to steal the assassin's attention he leaned in and let their lips meet. It had been gentle and quick; caring, the way he'd often show to the woman how much he adored her.
Ezio was taken by surprise and he never had the chance to react.
Before stepping away, the young man looked into his eyes one more time, content and shyly smiling.
"Tell her it's going to be alright. That I am going to be alright whatever she does. Tell her… it's fine now. Tell her... Please."
One more step and he welcomed the man to his departure.
Ezio's confused eyes lingered a second more on the gracile figure before pushing the hood up and grabbing the handrail. He stepped up and pushed his body over the ivy fence, disappearing over the roof.
The man didn't move towards the door instantly. Instead he focused on the cold marble under his feet and stared into the dark waters. The city was almost quiet now, corners filled with garbage and remains of the night celebration. A colorful festoon, now wet, was floating in the water of the canal, one end still caught around a wooden pole. Slowly, it sank.
His long, slender fingers ran along the cold rail. Steps were heard on a nearby alley. It was almost dawn. He thought of reading something. Maybe he'll return to Petronius's Satyricon. He'd always loved Giton a little bit too much.
