Author's notes: I apologize if it took a little longer to post this update but the last couple of weeks I was swamped with exams. I would just like to thank anyone who liked the story so far and hope you keep reading until I reach the end. Without further ado here's part three.

Entry #5

Notes: This marks the author's first known contact with the Brotherhood through one of its most prominent agents. Though he is unaware of the Order's existence his manuscript enabled us to locate another ancestor for utilization in the Animus training program.

1488

Another strange day… This morning began like any other, with father and I making our regular rounds, when a group of guards walked in. Two of the men were simple recruits dressed in standard berets. They were supporting a third man in between them, a captain judging by his armor, as he raved madly about spiders.

Father waved me over and pointed to the men. "Take him off their hands, my son." He said. I nodded and relieved the men of their burden, moving the man to a nearby surgical table. Then I nod at father and he walks over and peers down at his patient. "How long has he been like this?" he asks and turns towards the two soldiers, now nervously shifting from one foot to another. They looked at each other, debating whether or not they should answer. Then the younger of the two, with only a thin layer of stubble on his chin stepped forward.

"Well doctore we were walking near the Rosa in Fiore and, well… We took a peek inside." Then he flinched as father glared at him. "W-we know you don't approve of that kind of thing but I swear we only drank some wine and flirted, a little."

Father was furious; he had treated the guards for diseases picked up from Roma's… less reputable women, he often lectured them about the risks of pleasure seeking. However as father began to speak the man on the table started flailing madly. I moved quickly to steady him, forcing his arms down as he began ranting louder, "Let go of me… Who are you? That bitch! I should have never taken that French swill!" I forced him down, applying pressure to the nerves in his arms until they fell uselessly to his sides. Then I began examining his symptoms, no amount of whoring could cause this kind of hysteria. His pupils were dilated, his breathing quick and shallow, an obvious sign of poison.

My father was moving around the other side of the shop, searching through the cabinets. Then he removed a vial and reached for the syringe at his belt. An intricate, yet durable instrument, handmade by a craftsman my father treated for a knife wound, its long thin needle quickly drains the contents of the vial.

He moves quickly, forcing the man's head down he injects the antidote into a carotid artery on the left side of the neck. "This should counteract the poison's effect on the brain but it will take some time to reach your other major organs." Father said reassuringly. "I suggest you rest for now." Then he returned the vial to the cabinet and made a note of the antidote so he could replace it later when he visited his contacts at the docks.

The captain, having regained his senses, shook my arm and motioned for me to come closer. "A letter… in my pouch." He whispered. I reach into a pouch fastened to his armor and pull out a roll of parchment bearing the papal seal. "Figlio, this must be taken to the barracks near Il Vaticano. Ask for "The Officer." Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and began sleeping peacefully.

"Papa, will you need my help?" I ask. He looks up from his note taking, smiles, and motions for me to be on my way. I remove my apron, pull on a pair of boots, and hurry out the door. As I walk through the city I notice the gradual change in atmosphere. Dirt roads become cobbled streets, beggars become artists, emaciated courtesans become plump noblewomen, and monks in threadbare robes are replaced by wealthy cardinals. "What a waste", I muttered; gazing upon the glorious arches, columns, statues, and other wonders that make up the center of the city. "All this beauty, all this order, and no one here to appreciate it, only fat swine and spoiled children."

I was brought out of my reverie when I spotted my destination. The barracks in the Vatican were nothing like those in my own district. There the guards are tired but, for the most part, honorable men. But here the guards are arrogant, snobbish, and look down on me like a stain on their boots. However, when I ask for "The Officer" they snap to attention and treat me with respect.

A soldier leads me through the barracks and I take in everything I see. There are so many holes in their security; sentries stumble about the walls, the captains spend too much time drinking instead of drilling their men, and the new recruits are drawn from wealthy families, too spoiled, in need of discipline. My father always taught me the value of order; obviously this wasn't the case here.

The soldier suddenly stops at a simple, but imposing wooden door; he knocks three times and motions for me to wait. Then he walks back down the corridor, leaving me standing there alone, and waiting. Then I hear a voice from inside the room, steady and authoritative, "Enter!"

I am taken by surprise; the office is nothing like the rest of the barracks. It is neat, organized, and business-like with no decoration save a rapier hanging on the wall. The man sitting at the desk is no different. His face is free of stubble, his uniform spotless, and his eyes cold, without emotion. I cannot help but feel respect for such a man, a real soldier, even though he is only a few years older than me.

"I am Teodor Viscardi," he says, "You have a message for me?" I nod and hand him the parchment I have kept clutched in my hands. He breaks the seal and reads it carefully, and then he reaches into his pocket and tosses me a bag heavy with coin. "Thank you for your help, boy. I am sorry if you were caused any inconvenience. You may go now." As I hurry home, taking care to conceal the coin purse, I wonder what message the captain carried and why a courtesan at the Rosa in Fiore would have poisoned him to get it.