''The judgement of Maat'' Chapter 7


Altair opened his eyes. His head hurt as if half a dozen hammers were hitting his skull at the same time and a voice sang in his ears:

''Well, well. See who's awake!''

The Assassin found himself in the basement of the house by the Vatican, tied to the brick wall by long chains tightly shackled around his wrists. His white robes were still wet from the rain and dirtened by the thick layer of dust covering the floor. It took his eyes a while getting used to the strong light of the many torches at the walls. His detachable hood lay discarded on the floor at the leg og a wooden chair on which Frédérique Lacroix sat. Beside the Templar stood his mistress and Jaques Lefevre. Cold blue eyes observed the Assassin's face and the small smile stretching thin lips announced nothing good. The Arab brought himself to a seated position, back against the wall and asked calmly:

''What gave me away?''

''Nothing, actually.'' Lacroix answered, taking his mistress' hand in his. ''Jaques always had the habit of looking for spies even when there seemed to be none. You can never be too careful.''

''Is this the part where you torture me to find out how much I heard?''

Lacroix shifted in his seat.

''Wrong.''

''So you are just going to kill me.''

''Wrong again.'' The Frenchman's smile widened. ''I am going to trade you.''

Altair's eyes widened slightly. That was a new one. The Templar let go of his woman's hand, stood up and came to squat down in front of his prisoner.

''You see,'' he said, ''there are dozens of Assassins, of small, invaluable ones. I can tell the value of a man just by looking at him, and I can also tell that this bastard Mario Auditore can't afford to lose you. It would be catastrophic for the Assassins if you or his nefew got killed, for you two are the best he has. I am pretty certain he'll be willing to give up a certain silver scale for you.''

Altair snorted:

''The cardinal is already going to give you the Feather. Destroy that and you've got what you wanted. The Scale can't work on its own to prove Maats power.''

''Correct. But there is just one problem. The Feather has been in the Church's possession for over a century, and you have no idea how many times they tried to get rid of it. They tried to burn it, rip it to pieces... the damn thing just keeps coming back. It is indestructible and will always be...''

The Assassin felt like he had fallen into a lake of ice-cold water. He suddenly knew what Lacroix wanted.

''As long as Maat exists. You need both the Feather and the Scale to get to her. It's not enough for you that her powers can't be proven, you want her dead and every trace of her existence destroyed.''

The Frenchman's sinister laughter echoed off the walls.

''Exactement! Auditore really made one hell of a pair by teaming you up with Ezio.''

''How do you know that?''

Lacroix regained his seriousness, his features hardening again:

''I was the easiest thing in the world.'' He turned to his woman. ''If you please, ma chère.''

The mistress lifted her delicate hands to the black hood covering her face and pulled it off her head, freeing a cascade of voluminous golden hair. Marcia.

The Templar turned back to the Assassin:

''At first, the plan was that she would seduce Auditore's nefew and lead him to us so his uncle would give us the Scale. Unfortunately, he didn't swallow the bait as we thought and he did not accept the offer of spending the night with her. We couldn't get him but you will do just as well.''

The Arab scoffed:

''Somehow I doubt that Mario Auditore is going to let you blackmail him.''

''Of course he will, unless he is prepared for the loss of a good warrior and wants a sad nefew.''

''Ezio and I fight all the time. My death would mean little to him.''

''My, you are totally blind to that kind of thing, aren't you?'' Marcia chuckled, dark eyes fixed upon Altair, twirling a finger into her curls. ''The fights you have aren't exactly those of people who are indifferent to eachother. People who are indifferent do not care enough to even bother arguing, and Ezio is very fond of you. I spent an entire afternoon with him, I could tell.''

Lacroix clapped Altair's shoulder and stood up:

''Auditore will trade you for the Scale, he has more to lose if he doesn't. And if I wasn't sure, you'd be dead already. Now if you excuse me, we have a cardinal to murder.''

He invited Marcia to take his arm and walked out of the basement with her. Their weight made the wooden staircase creak all the way up to the first floor, where the sound of their steps faded little by little as they continued their ascension to the higher levels. Lefevre closed the door and sat himself on the chair facing Altair, his large arms crossed over his broad chest, solitary green eye glittering in the light of the torches.

''With the guy posted right outside, you in here and me having a thundering headache, I'm not going anywhere. Care to uncuff me?'' The Arab asked.

The frown on Lefevre's already twisted face twisted his features even further.

''I kept you from breathing until you fainted,'' he answered, ''but I know not to underestimate men half my size, even with their senses blurred.''

''What's that? Are you scared?''

''Don't waste your time, you can never provoke me. Years in battle have taught me that if you let your emotions get the better of you, you're gambling with your life. I learned how to control them before they got me killed but I knew men who were not quite that lucky.''

''Back when you were an Assassin, right? So, how does it feel to be a traitor? There must be something to it since you took that road.''

''I never betrayed any of the Assassins' secrets or the locations of the headquarters and hideouts.'' Lefevre growled with his deep voice. ''I only changed sides.''

''Sure you did. And killed former allies.''

Lefevre did not answer, his eye locked onto the Arab whose grey gaze held his scornfully. The Templar stood up with a grunt, his massive form casting a giant shadow over the other man. He unbuckled and removed the large leather belt from over his uniform, a belt from which a set of keys hung. He trew it over the chair and went to sit down on the floor in front of Altair.

''So you want this to be personal,'' he said, ''fine. I'll answer your questions. But now the keys are out of your reach.''

''I don't understand your way of thinking. Did you really think that your survival was a sign?''

''The blow from the axe was impossible to survive and yet I did. God wanted me to live, there is no other explanation.''

''How about luck?''

''No one is that lucky. The Templars are much closer to God than the Assassins can ever hope to be, and I believe that He saved me so I could open my eyes and join their ranks. I found who to be loyal to, and I will do everything that is asked of me. Everything.''

''You obviously are more damaged than I thought.''

The enormous Frenchman shrugged:

''You can mock me as much as you want, I don't expect you to understand why I gave up my vices for Him. I gave them up all but one.''

The Assassin snorted, his face sarcastic, the Templar looking back at him impassively. Then the massive man leaned forward a little and lay his lips over his. Caught by the unexpected, Altair did not react at first. The Templar grabbed him by the arms and dragged him close, crushing his lips with his own mishapen ones. When he realized what was happening, the Assassin tried to push the other away, but the man's grip around his arms went from firm to painful.

''Don't struggle,'' Lefevre groaned against his mouth, ''I am not going to harm you.''

''This is not a very Knight of the Cross-like behavior.'' Altair mocked bitterly, trying to regain some of his dignity and balling his hands into fists against the Templar's chest.

''I know. But flawlessness is for saints, and the Knights are just men even if they'd like it to be otherwise.''

Lefevre kissed the Assassin again, holding him in place before slowly letting him go. The look on Altair's face was a combination of confusion and violent anger, and the Templar did not stay close long enough for Altair to take his anger out on him. Lefevre went back to the chair, picked up his belt and buckled it back around his waist.

The muffled sound of Lacroix's voice shouting an order reached their ears, and shortly after footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. The door opened and one of Lacroix's guards entered.

''He wants to see you,'' he said in a gruff voice, ''I'll watch the Assassin.''

The red-haired giant nodded without a word and walked out to see his superior, taking the keys to the shackles with him. When the sound of his steps reached the first floor the guard dropped his cape of coarse wool to his feet and hurried over to Altair, his face hidden under a white hood.

''Ezio,'' Altair whispered, ''what the hell are you doing here?''

''Helping you. Uncle Mario had me follow you in case something went wrong,'' the Italian answered with a grin, ''just like he had you follow me the day we met Marcia.''

''About Marcia, she's...''

''I know. Did they hurt you?''

''I'm fine.''

''Bene. Give me your hand, I'll see if I can pick the lock.''

Ezio took a long slim piece of metal with one twisted end out from his belt, took Altair's wrist and examined the handcuff. He grimaced, concern lighting up in his brown eyes.

''What's wrong?'' The tan Assassin asked, standing up.

''That lock is incredibly complicated... I've never seen one like this before. I can try to pick it but I won't be knowing what I'm doing. And the Templar will not be gone long enough.''

''Do it. We've got nothing to lose.''

Ezio ran his eyes along the chains holding his partner. They looked new and had no apparent weaknesses. His eyes continued their travel to the wall, where strong bolts were fastened. They looked older than the chains and Ezio let go of Altair's wrist, grabbed the chains with both hands and pulled violently. The bolts did not budge. Pushing his foot against the wall, he tried again, pulling with all his strength without result. The Assassins tried together, but even if the bolts were old they were solid and so was the wall.

''We are wasting our time.'' Ezio sighed, letting go of the chains.

He took Altair's wrist, inserted the twisted end of the metal piece in the lock of the handcuff again, trying to find how to trigger the opening mechanism. After a minute or two, a soft click came from the lock and Ezio put his face closer to it, worried.

''Merda... what the Devil is this?''

''What?'' Altair asked, anxious.

''It seems that these are designed to be very hard to open without the key.''

''I felt some pressure leaving just now.''

''Yes. Because what I did equals one turn of the key. Apparently, the key has to be turned about five times before the lock opens completely.''

''Are you joking? Who the hell invents things like that?''

''Stop moving, will you? Lefevre will be back soon!''

He roughly tugged Altair's arm closer and put the piece of metal back into the lock. The Italian had managed to unlock the equivalent of three more turns of the key to the first cuff when heavy footsteps were heard, quickly approaching the basement.

''Merda, he's coming back!'' Ezio hissed through clenched teeth.

He backed away from his partner and went to flatten himself against the wall by the door, in the blind spot of newcomers. He tensed the muscles in both forearms, as if to assure himself of the presence of the precious hidden blades at his wrists. He had sent Lefevre away because he knew his chances in a fight against the man were small, but with the Templar coming closer by the second and blocking their escape, he had no choice.