Entry #19

I find it wise to interject here as the purpose of this file is to display evidence of the narrator's skills while compiling a detailed account of his activities during this crucial time period. The entries at this point alternate between daily medical accounts involving several broken limbs, a handful of burns, STDs (entries which are written in a more aggressive tone), and approximately 72 different births over a period of two years. These entries have been omitted, for obvious reasons. Meanwhile the other entries detail the author's aggressive campaign against enemies of the Pope and have been fully transcribed in the next few entries.

-1493 (The week following the last entry)

The sun set less than an hour ago, and it is safe to begin my investigations. I believe, much to my chagrin, that I will have to use less forceful means to obtain any leads this time. The errand boy at the Rosa in Fiore tells me that their leader was taken today by Borgia guards and that Cesare has had a puppet put in her place. This "Madame Solari" is as filthy a bitch as one can find, but she's Cesare's bitch so not only can I not touch her, but the organization that trickled information through the brothel will now avoid it like the plague.

Thankfully, Baltasar trained me to be ready for this type of situation. A handfull of dirt to smear in my hair and over my face, a rag to tie around my head, and a pair of filthy worker's clothes I'd kept after their owner was brought in for falling down the stairs of a local tavern (idiot broke his neck), and I had the perfect disguise. Baltasar's training had also involved learning the mannerisms of a variety of professions. Sailors always got in fights, carpenters drank little, servants from noble houses were almost always condescending, and vagrants were always drunk.

However, criminals were a different sort, they kept to themselves but were always on the look out for incoming talent. The more skilled their recruits the better. If I want to find any leads I'll have to draw their interest, and I know just where to start.

...

Il Cinghiale Rosso, if I were to ever visit hell I would still see less human filth than I saw in that place. Located in the poorest part of the district it is rumored to be the headquarters of a guild of thieves, a rumor that I find hard to discredit given its clientele. As I walked into the tavern I saw a group of men throwing a fellow patron on the ground and kicking him in the stomach over and over. Working hard to supress my rage as the man began vomiting his own blood, I walked up to the bar and ordered a drink.

After the bartender, a bored looking man with a scar running down his left cheek, had finished sizing me up he shrugged and brought me my drink. He held his hand out for my money, completely oblivious to the violence behind me, and I dropped the coin into his upturned palm. While he pocketed the coin, I made my way over to a table in the far corner of the room and sat down to examine my surroundings.

The group of men were no longer kicking their victim on the ground, they'd pinned him to the wall and were now taking turns pounding him with their fists. The rest of the room was filled with groups of broody, scarred men roaring in approval of the violence. They pounded the tables with their fists, they jeered insults at the victim, and shouted encouragement at the thugs. Meanhile the bartender continued to ignore the violence, doling out drinks and counting his money. This was total chaos, the uninhibited bestial side of human nature, and they relished it. It made me sick.

Feinting sips of my drink I kept alert for any abnormalities, any thing that would point me to any leadership in this maelstrom of activity. And then something unexpected did happen, a girl burst into the tavern. Her light brown hair coated in sweat, her clothes a shoddy pair of trousers and an old dress shirt with a layer of filth on her frilled sleeves. Most out of the ordinary was the look of complete terror on her face.

When she saw the brawl in the corner she screamed, "Fratello!" Then she charged towards the thugs drawing what appeared to be half a pair scissors from her belt. She jumped on to one of the men, giving herself a piggy-back ride, and brought the scissor blade down twice through the man's chest bringing him crashing down. The other men, noticing their fallen comrade, dropped their victim and moved away from the girl as she ran over to the fallen man.

Cradling his bruised face in her arms she cried the word "Brother," several times as his breathing grew more ragged. It appeared that the man was trying to whisper something to her, but I was quickly distracted by movement in another part of the room. While most of the room was looking on at the pair of siblings on the floor, the two remaining thugs had snatched a bottle from a nearby table and were approaching the girl quietly from behind. The girl, focusing to much on her brother, didn't see the first blow, but she certainly felt it as she was sent flailing to the side by the force of impact.

Her two attackers, convinced that without the element of surprise she was useless, pinned her down and began ripping at her clothing big toothy grins revealing their decaying teeth. The girl screamed and struggled to get loose, but one of the men just slapped her across the face as his partner continued ripping her clothes off. I couldn't take it anymore.

As the two attackers tossed the tattered remains of her shirt aside they didn't notice me approach them from behind. The first was easy, I plunged my knife through his neck and the blood gushed out. His friend, releasing the girl in shock, didn't react fast enough as my foot connected with his stomach and in a blind rage I began kicking him in the stomach as he had done to the girl's brother. He begged for me to stop as he began to spit up blood, then I was brought out of my rage as I heard movement behind me.

The girl had gotten on her knees and crawled over to her brother. I left the thug on the floor and walked over to join her. I crouched down to examine the body looking for a pulse in the man's neck. I found none. I laid him down on the floor gently and said, "He's dead."

The girl, now completely beside herself latched on to me, her tears staining my shirt. I carefully led her over to my table in the corner and sat her down, then I called to the bartender for another drink and a rag, preferrably clean. As he looked at me, now stunned by my sudden show of force, I threw him some coins to speed up his delivery. When I had what I wanted I soaked the rag in the alcohol and began examining the girl's head. Thankfully no shards of glass had been lodged in her scalp but she was bleeding more than I'd have liked. I began applying the rag to her wound, disinfecting it as much I could, much to my surprise she began speaking to me.

"So do you do this to all the young girls?" she asked, trying to sound confident even though the trauma of her brother's death was causing her voice to crack and tears continued to run down her cheek. She tried her best to cover her chest with her arms as she flinched from the alcohol, this girl was stronger than most people I've met.

"Only those who get themselves in over their heads," I replied, then I motioned to the bartender for something to cover her with. He brought a blanket from the room and accepted a coin as I stopped applying the rag for a second to cover my patient with a blanket.

"Quite frankly," I continued, "I find it hard to believe that a young woman chose the streets over the brothel." She was no whore, that much was obvious from her appearance, courtesans always tried to look pretty on the outside no matter what filth lay within. This girl was obviously malnourished and hadn't bathed in a long time, she'd also never worn a dress, the visible flesh on her legs was too dark.

"I'm the odd one out, aren't I?" she said, chuckling quietly as she picked up my abandoned drink from earlier and began taking small sips, the alcohol helped her relax. "This is the first time that's been to my advantage, by the way my name's Faustina, Faustina Collari." She looked at me expectantly, awaiting my introduction, I used the name I'd created for this alias, "Bernardo Vozzi, I came in from the country recently, looking for work."

"My advice," she said craning her neck to look me in the eye, "Go back home, there's nothing here, unless you work for Augustino Barbieri, he runs the biggest thieve's guild in town." I nod, soak the cloth in more alcohol, and reapply it to her now stable wound.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, "Now, I want you to keep this rag pressed to your head and go to the nearest medico. If you don't trust any of them, I know a man who owns a clinic a few blocks over. Just ask for the old doctor's son, he should be able to give you stitches, tell him I sent you.

She nodded and looked up at me, her tears now dry and a small smile on her face, "Thank you, I won't forget this," she said. Then she walked over to her brother's corpse, closed his eyes, picked up her scissor blade, and walked out the door. Satsified that she'd left the bar, I turned to the man I'd left on the floor.

While I had been tending to the girl's wound he'd been slowly trying to get away, but the damage I'd inflicted earlier was too much for him to shake off so quickly. He had only managed to stumble to his feet when I grabbed his throat and pinned him on a nearby table, scattering the patrons seated there and sending their drinks flying in all directions. "Where can I find Augustino Barbieri?" I asked, squeazing his throat.

I loosened my grip just enough to hear his response, "Has meetings... Every week... Bartender locks up the place... Please, don't kill me!" I applied more pressure to his throat, hearing him wheeze, then I knocked him out with a bunch to the head. With one problem solved I turned to the bartender.

"After that, the boss'll be dying to meet you. Come in two days from now and you can get acquainted!" The bartender sputtered out quickly. He was nervous now, but he was right, the Borgia had tightened security, thieves were dying every day, Barbieri would be more than willing to offer me work.

I tossed the bartender some more coin and walked out. When I was sure no one could see me, I made for the rooftops, I had to get back to the clinic quickly and get out of my disguise in case the girl showed up, I don't want anyone getting suspicious.

...

I beat her back here by a good ten minutes, more than enough time to get clean and back to my normal appearance. The girl walked in, a little apprehensive, but no worse than I'd last seen her. I treated her wound again, this time with real equipment, and sent her on her way. She was quiet during the entire procedure but I won't blame her, she felt safe talking to a fellow vagabond, but a doctor with a well kept clinic? Out of the question.

I locked the door after she left and wrote this entry in my journal. At least tonight yielded some fruit, if anyone knows who the pope's enemies in Roma are, it's the Thieves Guild.