December 4th, 1511

Renasks:

"Dear Ezio,

When was the last time you were afraid of something? I mean, being a fearless Assassin and all, but how do you deal with them?"

Ren,

I regret to inform you that I am neither as heroic nor brave as the icon I have been represented by recently.

You see, for my purposes there may as well be two copies of Ezio Auditore patrolling Constantinople. The first copy is a very dependable man whose only fear is that one day he will grow old and become of no use to his Order. He does not fear death, he does not fear pain, and he does not fear fear itself. Nothing can shake the resolve of this strong vigilante- he runs the city of Constantinople with a firm, yet open hand. This is the Ezio that most of my students (and questioners) seek advice from.

I can only assume this question was meant for the second Auditore. That is the copy that very few people can say they truly know. He is middle-aged man who is quite conscious of the fact that he has already passed the age of fifty, and fifty-three is looming on the horizon. He is the man who woke up this morning wondering where he was, and why his bed smelled like smoke. He is the man who, the very moment he stepped into a room, forgot the reason he did so.

And this Ezio is afraid of so many things daily he cannot possibly recall all of them.

That being said, I suppose the last time I truly experienced fear was a few hours ago, just a few paces from the desk I write at now. My fellow Assassin and very good friend, Yusuf Tazim, was showing me a few more of his special "bomb-crafting" techniques. He had splayed out on the table the three prime ingredients in the explosive: an impact shell (a very brittle casing that protects the bomb), a pouch of Arabian gunpowder (Standard explosive material), and a vial of Datura (a lethal poison).

"Now, assemble the ingredients carefully," Yusuf had told me.

I nodded and tried to remember how to construct a bomb. But believe me when I tell you this is not something we sit around and ponder back in Italia. I stared at these foreign bags of danger like a child stares at a sword. I had not a clue how to proceed.

But I wasn't about to let Yusuf know that. He isn't…how to put it… A very mature man. He thinks me an incompetent Italian buffoon permanently jammed in the fifteenth century. So, admitting weakness to Yusuf was clearly not an option.

My hands wandered from component to component; weighing the bag of gunpowder, tracing the fine glass finish on the Datura vial. I carefully opened the impact shell and sifted in the powder, which filled the air with the stench of smoke and eggs. Then, I removed the stopper in the Datura vial and let a few clear drops fall into the mix. From the corner of my eye I watched Yusuf stroke his beard, following my progress intently.

Finally, I closed the casing and turned to my mentor with a smile.

Yusuf returned my gesture and moved to take the bomb from my hands. But somehow during the transaction he slipped, and the explosive crashed to the ground loudly.

That was when I began to feel afraid. If it wasn't the noise that shocked me, it was certainly the thought that I had just released a cloud of life-threatening gas upon my bureau.

I coughed into my sleeve and tried to clear the smoke with my other arm. It thinned faster than I expected, but my stomach did another flip when I saw Yusuf clutching at his throat.

My friend exclaimed something frantically in Turkish as he fell to the floor in a heap. I was at his side immediately, quickly becoming overcome with the fear that I had done something terrible.

"Yusuf!" I had yelled, eyes wide.

Yusuf let out a long sigh and went limp.

It was then I first suspected something was afoot.

I became certain something was afoot when a few moments later, Yusuf began to shake with laughter. He was absolutely rolling with hysteria by the time I agreed to help him to his feet.

"You should have seen the look on your face!"

When he had recovered, Yusuf explained to me that I had only inserted the miniscule dosage into the bomb. That little Datura would, at best, upset a Byzantine stomach. He had only pretendedto be incapacitated. Ishould stop being such a Florentinegrouch.

Yet I did feel true fear for his life in those few moments. I am certain the hero Ezio Auditore would never have doubted in his companion's safety. In fact, I'm sure he would have laughed at a prank well played.

Middle-Aged Ezio would like to sit down at his desk and answer his letters.

-0-

Yours,

Ezio Auditore