Faustina sank beneath the murky waters of the Tiber. She inhaled water, choked, and sputtered, only succeeding in gasping in water. Her head broke the surface for a second, and she managed to draw a breath, only for her heavy clothes to drag her down again. The current had already carried her beyond reach of the dock.
She clawed ineffectually at the water, trying to fight to the surface. The rank water seeped into her mouth and stung her eyes. All rational thought had been thrown out in favor of the desperate desire to survive.
Her muscles were locked with cold and panic, her lungs on fire, and her head swimming, but Faustina found a strange moment of clarity. The tide was carrying her farther and farther downriver. She watched the dim glow of the sunset grow farther and farther away as she sunk. The river slammed her against a rock. Something cushioned her impact, crunching beneath her. A corpse had been tossed into the river, and snagged on the rock. The river dwellers had picked it clean.
Bone splinters went everywhere. Faustina tried to quell her horror, but her oxygen-starved brain was running on overdrive. A skull floated past her and for a second she could have sworn she saw Adrian's face, taunting her, pleading with her as she drifted further into the depths.
She closed her eyes against her horrific companion, the bit of her brain that was still functioning enough to make witty comments remarking that soon she would be reduced to nothing more.
Her lungs could withstand the pressure no long. She breathed, sucking in nothing but water. And still she tried to fight to the surface. For Faustina there was no such thing as a peaceful end. Death brought no comfort. She was barely religious, but what she did know of religion told her she was going to hell. No dignity in death. There was only the constant need to survive.
Her vision was fading in a pattern of swirling black dots, and the blood pounding in her ears was beginning to slow its incessant cycles. Suddenly there was a flash of brown fabric, and someone had hold of her. Strong arms were pulling her through the water, up to the surface.
The yells and clash of weapons that suddenly split the tranquil silence, and she dimly registered she was above water again. Her consciousness was fading, when she finally remembered how to breathe. She couldn't seem to make her lungs move though, she was too tired… so tired… Whenever she tried she was only choking on water, as if she was still drowning.
With what little strength Faustina had left, she clung to her rescuer, fearing that they would see fit to let her drown if they saw her incompetence. She had been breathing all her life, surely she must be incompetent if she had suddenly been unable to.
Someone dragged her ashore, or at least she assumed she was on land again because she could feel the dirt under her fingers. Faustina lay on the shore, gasping, coughing up mouthfuls of foul river water. Some crouched down next to her, and when she looked up she was staring into familiar purple eyes.
La Volpe's clothing was soaked with river water, and she was hit with the delayed realization it had been he who pulled her from the Tiber. The ability to think logically was returning with each breathe she took. Faustina stared at him, aware of what a pathetic sight she was. She was still coughing convulsively, and uncontrollable tremors ran through her limbs.
The thief leader had discarded his cowl and cloak before jumping into the water, and she could see his face clearly now. He had dark hair, shot through with gray, and pulled back into a ponytail. His face was weathered and lined, appearing about thirty or forty. From what she had heard, La Volpe had been leading the thieves in Florence for over thirty years. Surely her sources must have been mistaken.
"Th-thank you," she said once the coughing had ceased. Her voice came out raspy and weak.
"It would have been unfortunate if you had died," he glanced towards where the sounds of battle were coming from, back to the dock where Faustina had been thrown in. "Luckily, I was coming to meet with another potential ally, and sent one of my thieves to carry a message to you. They saw the fight and reported back."
Another potential ally? Faustina wanted to ask, to analyze what he had just told her, but the near drowning had exhausted her. "Thanks…" she repeated weakly, and collapsed.
(((((()))))))))
Sensations returned slowly. She became aware of sounds first- the murmur of voices nearby, speaking in low tones.
There was someone prodding Faustina's neck. Gloved fingers moved up to her face prying open her mouth. Instinctively she jerked away, her eyes snapping open. She was met with the sinister mask of a dottore. The polished glass eyes seemed to glare down at her menacingly, taking in all of her secrets.
Patiently, the doctor pried open her jaws again. The smell of burning herbs from his beak was overpowering, and she resisted the urge to cough. He peered down her throat, expression inscrutable. "If her lungs do not become infected, she should recover quickly."
"Good," a second voice said - La Volpe. The thief was standing off to the side, arms crossed over his chest.
Faustina closed her eyes, and feigned slipping back into sleep. She wanted time to gather her thoughts. She was back in La Volpe's base; she had recognized the decrepit walls. The clothing she was wearing was not hers- it was rougher fabric, and much lighter.
Mentally, the thief sorted through what she had been carrying earlier. Her scissor blade, lost in the struggle with the Cento Occhi, her coin purse, several smaller knives, some wire, and the note from Garnette. Idiot, she cursed herself. I should have burned it. Still, the river water had probably washed the ink from the parchment. Even if it hadn't it didn't reveal information.
"Bleeding would balance her humors better, and drain any toxins from the river," she heard the doctor tell La Volpe. Faustina shuddered at the idea. Only a doctor would come up with the notion that causing further injury to a person would help them heal.
"I have been an assassin far too long to think spilling blood is beneficial to someone's health," La Volpe replied, his voice slightly mocking.
"Very well," the doctor's voice was muffled by the mask, but she was pretty sure there was more than a trace of annoyance in his voice. "That will be fifty florins.". There was a jingle of coins, and booted feet clomping towards the door. A moment later a lighter set of footsteps followed them. For a moment the thief listened, trying to pick out if there was anyone else in the room. She heard nothing around her, just a murmur of voices muffled by walls.
She relaxed. The situation was puzzling, but not an apparent cause for worry. La Volpe had spoken of seeking out another potential ally. That made sense, though she did wonder who it could be.
What made less sense was the fact La Volpe has saved her. Yes, she was a useful resource to him. However he seemed to already have a strong hold on the city, and among its thieves. She could provide useful information in fighting Cento Occhi, but why was that enough for the Assassin to risk his life? She would have let herself drown.
It was disconcerting. Faustina owed her life to the very man she had vowed to kill. Debts meant nothing to her if they did not suit her purposes… However, the thief leader was the reason her heart was still beating.
La Volpe didn't seem the naïve type. She didn't know Florence well, but if its underworld was anything like Roma's he wouldn't have last a day if he were idealistic, never mind risen to become the Thieves' Guild leader. From the rumors and from her interaction with him she could tell he was a clever, ruthless man.
The thief would have liked to analyze these events longer, but she was still weak, and the bed was warm and comfortable. She drew the blankets around her shivering frame, and drifted back into sleep.
(((((((()))))))))
She was cold. So cold.
She must be dead. The cold grip of death had its hands on her, drawing the life out through her eyes. Was she still drowning? Being carried away by the tide? That fit. There was a certain weightless quality to her state. Nothing seemed connected. The passing of times was fractured, interspersed with periods of nothing.
The seemed to be pinpricks of warmth, burning pain in her lungs. She took comfort from it. Pain meant she was alive. Right? There couldn't be pain after death. Not this kind. Maybe the flames would burn her, consume her being, but for now they seemed to drive death away. Or were the flames and the cold conspiring? Nothing was impossible. Nothing. She must always be ready to confront any possibility.
Drifting with the water… yet she could breathe. It was difficult, but she could gasp in air past the water. Perhaps she was falling then.
Adrian had fallen. The fall hadn't killed him.
No, an assassin had done that.
She had to get away. She was in the nest of her enemies, bound by them. Perhaps they would toss her into the water again. Or would they cut her throat, or her chest, watch her life drain away with the blood? How much blood would she bleed before she died? Enough to drown in?
Strange, she had never thought to learn to swim. It seemed none of her foresight could protect her. Perhaps it was all useless. No one was trustworthy; everyone had a motive to make her bleed.
But she could not let go. Surviving was her purpose.
She could still breathe. She was still breathing.
That was all that mattered.
(((()))))
Faustina Collari was not accustomed to being weak.
The best way to survive on the streets was to either avoid direct confrontation or show up everyone. The former option had always suited her and Adrian better, though they would occasionally need to eliminate a problem. To be injured in such a hard life was almost certain death. Especially after Adrian had died, and she had been left to fend for herself. Baltasar had given her minimal help or training, preferring to let the streets hone her skills. It was of no consequence to him whether she survived. If she didn't, he could find another with reason to revile the assassins.
With caution and luck, she never fell prey to serious illness or more than a handful of grave injuries. She had always retreated alone to nurse her wounds, never entrusting a doctor.
She lay in the Thieves' Guild base, trying to piece together her memories from the last few days. Her muscles ached from disuse, and her mouth was dry and parched. Cautiously, she opened one eye. Sunlight was filtering through the cracks in one boarded up window. Outside she could hear the bustle of everyday life. Through the opposite wall, she could hear the raucous laughter of perhaps ten people.
"Oh, good, you're awake!" someone to her right exclaimed, his voice earsplittingly excited.
The thief winced and covered her eyes, still adjusting to being awake again. Every sensation seemed to add to the ache in her head. When the pain his voice had woken in her skull subsided, she risked a glance.
It was the incompetent thief, Claudio. He was staring at her, grinning from ear to ear.
"How long has it been?" Faustina licked her lips.
"You've been here for three days, ever since Volpe pulled you from the river," Claudio replied. There was a pitcher of water beside the bed, a strange luxury in this ruin, and the younger thief hastily poured her a cup. He pressed it into her hands and continued "La Volpe was furious the Cento Occhi knew he was hunting them."
He probably will suspect me of telling them. She took a sip of the water. "I have had dealings with them before. Lanz is a clever bastard. He would know that the first thing La Volpe would do after establishing himself would be to hunt down rival gangs."
"But how did he know you were allied with us?" Claudio asked.
"Hmmm," she shrugged. "That is information for your master."
"My master?" Claudio looked puzzled.
Faustina sighed. "La Volpe. Is he not your master?"
"He is our leader, yes," Claudio nodded. "But I wouldn't call him our master."
"Use what term you wish," she said. "I do have one question however… why did La Volpe see fit to pull me from the Tiber?"
"You're our ally," Claudio said. "We take care of our own."
Faustina blinked. What an odd concept. She waited for him to elaborate, but it seemed that was he had on the subject.
"You were really sick," the young thief looked worried for a moment. "The dottore said that your lungs were infected from the river water."
She took a deep breath, noticing the sharp pain in her chest. "Will it go away?"
"It already has, mostly," he said. "Your fever broke last night. According to the dottore all you need is a few days of rest."
That was advice to be disregarded. She had already lost far too much time. "Is La Volpe here?"
"He just returned from meeting the other assassins," Claudio nodded.
"Can you fetch him for me? I have information for him," she swallowed another mouthful of water. For a moment her survival instincts reminded her it could be poisoned, but she had been at La Volpe's mercy for the past days. A knife between the ribs, or simply letting her drown or die of infection would be easier.
Claudio hesitated, but then nodded. He walked towards the door, putting his cap back on.
A few minutes later, La Volpe strode into the room. He was not a notably tall man, but he commanded attention. He stood like a fighter, constantly ready to draw the sword that hung at his belt.
"Faustina," a smile played over La Volpe's lips. "I am glad to see you have recovered."
"Thanks to you," she grinned, and for once it wasn't false. She was grateful.
"After my thieves chased off the Cento Occhi, Claudio found this. He guessed it was yours," La Volpe took her scissor blade from his belt.
It took an effort not to snatch it from him. Her grin widened as she ran her hand over the familiar contours of the weapon. She had been wielding it for so long it felt like an extension of herself, not to mention it was the last tie to her brother and her family. Losing it would have been difficult. "Thank you." Once more, she was in La Volpe's debt.
"Claudio said you had some information for me," La Volpe said.
"Lanz was overconfident in his assumption I would die. He let slip he has a spy among your men." Briefly she wondered if it was Paganino. Unlikely, unless his persona of a fanatic was a guise. He wouldn't do anything to harm the Templar cause, and he knew she had to act as if she were converted to the Assassin cause.
The smile fell from the thief leader's face. He looked at her intently, and when he replied his voice was tight with anger. "A spy?"
She nodded. "That is how he learned I sided with you." If La Volpe's thief had not overheard that information, he couldn't have overheard Lanz calling her a traitor. If he had heard, it was a mere annoyance, but her situation was precarious already.
La Volpe turned on his heel. "Bad news indeed…" He strode towards the door.
"Volpe," she called after him. "Are you still planning on attacking the Cento Occhi?"
"Yes," he called over his shoulder, pausing. "Tell me the locations of the bases you know of."
Withholding them had been a precaution, both of her persona for this mission, the converted Faustina, and for herself. To make sure he wasn't planning on just getting what information he could and then offing her. If Faustina had been genuinely swayed to the Assassin's side, La Volpe's rescue would have done away with any suspicions.
"One of them is in a warehouse, at the edge of the poor district," she replied. "The other is a small house out in the countryside. A few miles from the Coliseum."
"I will lead some of my thieves there tomorrow," he said. "How well defended are they?"
"The Cento Occhi are unaccustomed to being challenged," Faustina replied. "The smaller bases are occupied by underlings, and if we attack towards nightfall they will all be drunk."
"'We'?" there was a slight sardonic edge to his voice.
"Move the attack to the day after tomorrow. I will accompany you."