Part Three: Fall from Grace
Ezio entered Giovanni's office and found his father sitting at his desk, writing a letter of some kind. He waited a moment, but his father did not look up or even acknowledge that he came in. Indeed, his face seemed oblivious to everything but the intent concentration and worry that was going into wording the letter.
A moment more and the young Florentine cleared his throat.
"Ezio. Come in, son," Giovanni rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking up again. "I need these packages delivered to associates of mine in the city. I also need you to retrieve a message for me from a pigeon coup not too far from here."
"Va bene. I'll get it done."
Giovanni nodded. "Quick as you can, Ezio."
"Shouldn't it be Federico, then?" he asked. "He is faster than me." And was getting faster by the day it seemed.
"No," Giovanni smiled, "you are still faster than your brother. Plus, I have another task for him, once he gets around to coming in here."
Ezio gave a shrug. "My brother seems to be indulging his lazy side at the moment. He's with Petruccio."
"I shall go collect him then." Giovanni sat back with a deep sigh and Ezio felt as if his father had aged in the hours since he'd seen him last. Something was wrong, but he didn't know enough to even know what questions to ask. "Come back here when you're finished. There are some things we need to discuss," Giovanni said with a touch of firmness. Then he smiled. "And please, my son, stay out of trouble, hm?"
Ezio gave a small chuckle. "I can make no guarantees," he offered lightly. "It's not like I go looking for trouble."
Giovanni barked out a laugh. "Be on your way, son. The places you must deliver those letters are listed on the envelopes."
"Of course. I'll be back before you know it."
"Faster, if you can," his father said quietly, heading to the stairs that would go up to their bedrooms and find Federico.
Ezio stepped out to the courtyard, the mid-afternoon sun still shining brightly in the chilly air. Ezio straightened out his half-cloak and tightened his boots, stomping them briefly on the Auditore crest inlaid in their courtyard. With a deep breath, he took off out the gate and headed due south. He kept his hood up as he raced through the crowded streets, and wondered what was worrying his father so.
Giovanni was a banker, and a good one. Just five years ago, their patron Lorenzo had rewarded the Auditore by buying the palazzo they now resided in due to how good a banker Giovanni was. And while people would always hold some distaste for bankers and their control of money, Giovanni was known for being fair. He was also a skilled lawyer, often helping the Gonfaloniere. Ezio could think of no one who could harm their family, not with Lorenzo de' Medici as their patron. To cross the Auditore was to cross the Medici, and none were so foolish.
But Lorenzo wasn't in town.
But Ezio still wasn't sure what was worrying his father so. The business with the Pazzi was what first came to mind. As Maria had said, Giovanni was the one who had the evidence and would need to present it to the trial. And while Ezio didn't care for politics or court, he did know that people could disappear before giving evidence, leading to a case being thrown out. But as Ezio already knew, no one would cross the Medici.
Ezio shook his head, entering a small courtyard and taking a moment to catch his breath. He shouldn't worry so. His father was careful and meticulous. He could handle anything. This problem, whatever it was, merely needed more thought.
"You Giovanni's kid?" came a rough voice from the shadows. Ezio turned, surprised to see two less-than working-class people. One a man in patched rags with a scarf around his throat and another wrapped low over his head, almost to his brow. The other was a courtesan, her corset so low that her bosom was practically falling out, her hair tied up so as not to get in the way of business.
"No, idiot. He just happens to look exactly like the man," the whore said in a deep, sarcastic voice.
...Were these the recipients? His father was a banker! This thief and courtesan wouldn't have money to bank!
"Give it here," the man grunted, thrusting out a hand. Ezio hesitated, his mind awhirl on just what sort of trouble his father was facing that he was turning to the bottom of society for help. He handed the package over wearily and slowly. "Don't worry, boy. We're not contagious. Least I'm not," the thief said in a low chuckle.
The harlot elbowed him hard. "Our girls are all clean!"
The two walked away, bickering between them like they hadn't just turned Ezio's worries upside-down.
Ezio stared after them, still getting his breath back, before he composed himself. The sooner he did these errands, the sooner he'd get back to Giovanni and start asking for an explanation. Ezio may not know enough to ask the right questions, but not asking anything was just leaving him as uninformed as before and that was going to have to stop.
With one measured breath, Ezio took off again, flying through the streets and over crates, dipping through alleys and crossing squares.
It must be a fluke. Those two must be secret couriers or something. There was no way his father would work with such disreputable people. Not unless they were intermediaries to someone who valued privacy and didn't wish to be known as connected to the Auditore or the Medici. That had to be it.
... Right?
Ezio paused again, slowing down enough to catch his breath and look around. He was supposed to meet someone here, a few streets away from the Palazzo della Signoria, but where... Everyone was moving around with their own errands, specifically shopping as mid-afternoon was transitioning to late afternoon and early evening. No one was looking around for someone, merely bustled about.
A pebble knocked Ezio on his shoulder and he turned sharply, but found no one. Still panting, he merely stopped, slowly circulating. As he made a full circle, another pebble dropped to his feet and Ezio looked up. For a half-second, he saw a shadow and knew he'd found his recipient.
On a roof.
Ezio backtracked to find a ladder so he wouldn't feel so stupid climbing the side of a building with scores of people wondering if he was still sane. Not finding one quickly, he ducked into an alley and looked at the plastered walls, finding the cracks and crossbeams that would support him as he climbed up the shadowed wall. He glanced around and no one seemed to be looking down the alley, so he quickly ascended to the roofs.
The tiles were still new to his feet, and Ezio walked slowly, keeping an eye on the streets to keep his bearing as he made his way back to where pebbles had tried to get his attention. The roof he arrived at was flat and almost completely surrounded by other roofs; making an isolated nook that was almost completely hidden from the street, but it allowed for complete view of the bustling people below.
A man in leather armor was skulking in a corner, his eyes wandering around continuously, roving the streets and scanning the rooflines as the shadows of the sinking sun kept lengthening. In his hand were pebbles that he was tossing from one hand to another.
The mercenary kept a hand near his blade, as he turned to Ezio.
"I have a delivery from-" the young Florentine didn't even get to finish his sentence.
"-Giovanni Auditore?"
"Yes."
The mercenary nodded, scanning the street and roofs again. "Were you followed?"
"No," Ezio replied, the question ringing as odd to his ears. "Why would I be followed?"
"Give me the package." Ezio hesitated, questions welling up one after the other before the man put a hand to his blade. Ezio handed it over and opened his mouth to ask one of the litany of queries, only to be cut off. "Tell your father that they're moving tonight. He should as well."
"Who's moving?" Ezio asked, hating his ignorance more and more as the afternoon went on. "What's going on here?" But the burly man was over onto the roofs and then ducking down a ladder "Wait! Come back! Explain yourself!"
Moving? That sounded like something was happening. Something big. Ezio turned to the Villa Auditore, intent on delivering the mercenary's message as it seemed important, but paused.
Giovanni had wanted all those errands concluded, including visiting the pigeon coup north from here.
Desire to check in with his father warred strongly with the responsibility of finishing what Giovanni had told him to do. Ezio, though he often still played around as evidenced by his drunken brawl with Vieri the previous night, still took his responsibilities seriously. He had great respect and love for his father, so if Giovanni asked him to do something, he did it. Ezio may get sidetracked and have fun while doing the errands, but he still did them, unlike Frederico who had a lazy streak.
But after how Ezio's day had been going, he was getting worried. Something had been wearing on Giovanni and keeping him locked in his study, Ezio had been asked to send an urgent message to Lorenzo, but he wasn't there. Now his father was sending messages through courtesans and thieves and might be hiring mercenaries, if that last person was any indication. Mercenaries for protection? Ezio wasn't sure. And why? What was going on? Surely it had to do with the Pazzi, but what? No one would dare cross the Medici, not in Florence, and it was known that the Auditore had had close ties with Lorenzo for years.
If Ezio wanted answers, he'd need to see his father.
Looking up to the sun, he decided he'd get to the pigeon coup and head back. No pauses, no waiting, he was going to fly. And the longer he spent in indecision, the longer he'd wait for those answers he needed.
So Ezio headed to the ladder the mercenary had used and, once in the alley, straightened his hood and half-cloak again. This wouldn't be a matter of timing himself. This was a matter on seeing what danger seemed to be approaching his family. So Ezio took a deep breath to steady his panting, and took off.
Despite the cool air that was getting more and more chilly, Ezio was starting to sweat. All this running around for several hours was keeping him warm, and the cloak and hood kept him warmer. He dashed over carts, cut between stalls, and tripped through crowds, the desire to see his father and get answers pushing him further and further as he reached another alley with a ladder heading up to the rooftops. Ezio's legs were starting to burn from the hours of exertion and his breath was heaving as he bounced up the ladder and headed to the pigeon coup.
The sun was lower on the horizon, evening truly starting to settle over the city. The lamplighters were all out, giving the streets a soft lantern glow as people continued to bustle for last-minute errands before heading home. Ezio sat in front of the coup for a moment, willing to settle his heartbeat and control his breathing. He stayed like that for a moment, then stood and reached in for the pigeons. Several had notes, each bearing different seals, but he found the bird he wanted quickly. It was Bianco, a pure white pigeon that Giovanni often liked to use for important messages. Ezio pulled off the small strip of paper and slid it into his vest.
Still breathing more heavily than he would like, Ezio pulled back his hood and wiped his brow in the chill air.
Glancing west, he figured he'd make it back home before the sun finished setting if he ran at top speed the whole way. The streets were starting to empty, making it easier to get through, and faster. So Ezio took a deep breath and headed back to the streets. He took off again, ducking through crowds. He used every short cut he knew of, every alley, every courtyard, anything to shave off more time so that he could see his father and find out what was going on. To have Giovanni explain that Ezio's imagination was putting things that weren't there before him, and it was really just a simple matter.
But really, he should never have put down his hood.
He was pausing by a fountain to get a quick drink before taking off again, when his head was abruptly pushed into the water and held there, a heavy hand crushing his shoulder to hold him.
Well Ezio would have none of that and given the lopsided hold, easily turned, using the momentum to dig an elbow into the side of whomever was stupid enough to try and fight him when he was in a hurry. He came up sputtering, a gloved hand wiping the streaming water off his face. He ignored the stinging of his stitches as he glared at the three who had circled him around the fountain. The fourth was coughing beside Ezio, but staggering to his feet.
Ezio recognized them. They were all supporters of the Pazzi family.
Deep inside, Ezio's worry increased manifold. But on his exterior, he merely flicked his wet hair back and put his hands to his hips, leaning to one side. "Is this all the Pazzi can throw at me?" he said, looking down his nose.
"Get him!" the supporter Ezio had already elbowed growled, a hand holding his side.
Ezio did not have time for this. He ducked under the first punch, grabbing the arm and twisted it behind the man's back before shoving him into the fountain. The cold would sap his strength, especially soaked as he was. It would make him sluggish, so that left Ezio with two fresh fighters with the one he'd already elbowed.
The other two came at him, one with a broom, and Ezio focused on him first. He grabbed the broom as it came down to him and easily grappled with it. The two fought over who would keep the weapon, pushing and pulling, Ezio trying to twist it away and the Pazzi supporter trying to trip him. So focused was he that the second fresh fighter landed a solid, two-fisted hit on Ezio's shoulder, pitching the young Florentine forward. Quickly using this to his advantage, he shoved the other brute forward, making them both land on the ground. Ezio quickly pulled the broom and rolled back to standing. In one sweeping motion, he brought the broom up to second brute's chin, sending him flying backwards with a tooth flying free of his mouth. Ezio panted then turned and brought the handle of the broom down on the delicates of the man he'd previously toppled, who let out a soprano scream.
Ezio dropped the broom and took off running again, worry over his family first and foremost. He kept heading west towards the sun, which was now barely visible over the roofs of the city.
His lungs were burning, his head was freezing, and his legs felt like counterweights. He'd been running since mid-afternoon, yet Ezio dared not stop or slow down. He had only one purpose, and that was speaking to his father. He had to deliver the letter from the pigeons, give the mercenary's warning, and then get answers.
Arriving at the palazzo, Ezio took a moment in the courtyard to catch his breath, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. But only a moment. He straightened, evened out his breathing, and headed in.
It was so silent. And dark.
The palazzo was hardly the size of Lorenzo's or of other nobility. But there was always someone bustling about. By now he should be hearing his family sitting for supper, laughter or conversation, servants bustling in the kitchens, the occasional messenger. Candles would be lit since the afternoon as the sun continued to set.
But there was none. There was only darkness.
"Father? Federico?"
Anyone? Where was his family? Why was it so quiet?
He charged up the stairs. "Mother? Claudia? Petruccio?" He was checking their rooms, and when he got to Annetta's rooms, he was soundly thunked on the head. Ezio grunted, stumbling forward.
"Ser Ezio!" Annetta cried out. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
"What happened?" he demanded, rubbing the back of his head. "Where is everyone?"
"They took your father and brothers to the Palazzo della Signoria - to prison!" she sobbed.
No...
"And my mother? My sister?"
Annetta glanced to the library down the hall and he raced toward it, calling their names.
"Ezio..." Claudia poked her head out from behind some shelves.
"Claudia!" Ezio let out a sigh of constrained relief. She raced to him and he swept her into a tight hug, holding her close, remembering how he'd just done this earlier because Duccio had cheated on her. Oh, that was so long ago. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," she said with tight control that was clearly wavering. "But Mother..."
Ezio let go long enough to walk around the shelf to where Maria sat, staring at nothing. Occasionally her head twitched, but otherwise she just looked ahead vacantly.
"She's in shock," Annetta said quietly. "They... When she resisted..." She gave a quiet sob. Claudia sniffed. And Maria just looked on.
Ezio's family was in pieces. His father and brothers jailed, his mother traumatized, and Claudia trying so hard to hold it all together.
What had happened? Should Ezio have skipped the pigeon coup all together and come straight home? Would it have made a difference? What were they supposed to do now?
Ezio sucked in a breath. He was the only man of the house for the moment. And suddenly responsibility was heavy around his shoulders. He'd dallied in indecision about coming home or getting the damn message from the pigeons. He could no longer wait.
"It's not safe here," he said quietly. He looked to Annetta. "Is there some place you can take them?"
"Yes. Yes! To my sister's."
"Good. Do that. In the meantime, I'll go see my father."
Slowly, he knelt down before his mother, and then hugged her close, reassuring himself of the fact that she was still alive.
His heart broke when she didn't respond with a hug of her own.
"Ezio," Claudia sniffed, diving into the hug as well. "Please, be careful."
"Si, be careful Messer Ezio," Annetta agreed. "The guards were looking for you as well."
Ezio nodded. "Pack up some clothes. Anything important. Annetta, can you get them there safely?"
"Of course," their maid nodded. "We'll take alleys, stick to shadows, keep an eye out."
"Wear hoods," Ezio suggested. "Cover your faces."
"I can't believe this is happening," Claudia mumbled.
The young Florentine agreed, but did not voice it. Instead, he retied his hair, tighter so that it would not loosen, and squeezed some of the remaining dampness of the fountain out of his sleeves and shoulders. Once he was ready, he helped Annetta pack a bag with a few dresses for Maria, who simply sat in the chair they settled her in.
Ezio's very heart ached. But he just packed things, grabbed some food from the kitchen, looked over things. Then, just because he couldn't stand seeing his mother like that, he went to Petruccio's room and grabbed the gold-guilded box of feathers. He walked right to his mother and put the box in her hands.
"Mother, Petruccio was collecting feathers this morning," he said softly. "Well, I was collecting them for him. He wanted to give them to you." He reached up and cupped her face. "I know I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I'm sure Petruccio will explain his plans to you soon."
Maria gave no response.
Ezio squeezed his eyes to hold back the tears, and stood.
"Claudia, you have everything?"
"Yes, my brother," she replied quietly.
"Annetta, look after them."
"Like my own family, Ser Ezio."
He looked over them and nodded. Claudia ran forward and hugged him again, and Ezio couldn't deny her. Or himself.
Looking out at the square in front of their palazzo, he made sure there were no guards or Pazzi supporters, before nodding. Annetta guided Maria and Claudia kept a sharp eye out.
It hurt to let them out of his sight, but Ezio trusted Annetta. And he needed to hurry off before he listened to his heart and followed them.
He ran through the emptying streets, his time helping Maria and Claudia having been enough of a breather that he felt fresh again as he was once more ducking through alleys, leaping carts and lamp poles as he headed east.
The Palazzo della Signoria was the seat of power for the Republic of Florence. It was where all the major meetings and decisions of the city were held by the Signoria. The Priori, the nine council members each had offices, befitting the six major guilds, two minor guilds, and of course, Uberto Alberti, the Gonfaloniere of Justice and the Collegi councils. The Palazzo itself was around a hundred years old and, like the Duoma, a major landmark of the city. Lorenzo de Medici often visited the various councils, particularly since the councils were elected new members every two months.
Ezio hid in the shadows of a narrow alley behind some crates, catching his breath yet again, as his eyes automatically went to the tower where there were small jail cells. That was where the rest of his family would be. It was full night now, the lights of the candles casting dark shadows up the palazzo. Thankfully, the moon was still out.
He considered sneaking in through the palazzo proper, especially since it was night and most people would be home. But that also meant that the guards would be keeping a sharp eye out for anyone not a guard.
Ezio looked around again. No, sneaking inside wouldn't be a good idea. Besides, there was no way in. The doors would be barred by now. Slowly, he eased around the palazzo, trying to see if someone had left a window open or something, but given the cold December air, he knew he was grasping.
With a sigh, Ezio looked up the outer walls, looking for some way up at least. Federico's lessons on climbing from the previous night and his brief experiences with it over the course of the day making his eyes catch where his handholds would be. The main problem was once at the top, he could see guards against the moonlight.
On the east side of the palazzo, away from the piazza, Ezio looked up and saw open construction. Likely from renovation, but it provided cover and was away from the well-lit square.
Thankfully, there was a ladder up to the construction, and Ezio climbed up swiftly, his breath under control once more. His legs still ached from the running over the course of the day, but hopefully this would mostly be work for his arms.
Once up the ladder, Ezio eased to the barely constructed windows, poking his head up and assessing where the guards were. There was only one at this level, at the south and looking out to the Arno River. With silent feet learned from years of trying (and failing) to sneak up on his father, Ezio crept across the open roof to the scaffolding and started to climb. Atop the wooden structure, he quietly stepped to another ladder and ascended to the top of the palazzo. The tower was before him and from what Ezio could see there were two guards circling the edge of the roof.
Ezio waited, biding his time, then dashed across. He checked around the tower, but there was no scaffolding or ladder to take him further. So with a quick running leap, he leapt up the door and grabbed the sill of the window above. The guards heard his scurry and came over to investigate, but Ezio was already above the window, grabbing sills and stone cracks, his fingertips already shaking with the exertion of hanging by them as he eased his way around the corner of the tower. A strong wind blew and Ezio hung on for dear life. He never knew these heights had such winds. Would that he could feel them on a hot July day...
The moon hid behind a cloud and Ezio was left with the daunting task of trying to climb blind. The firelight from the piazza didn't reach this high and without the moon's gentle glow, he had to go even slower, making his arms ache for each new handhold. His hands finally reached a protrusion above his head, the base of the spire that held the two jail cells. One of those cells would hold the Pazzi patriarch. Ezio could only hope the other held his family.
Reaching up and essentially behind him to find a new handhold in the dark was terrifying, and his arms were slowly giving way, particularly when his legs were suddenly dangling over nothing as he worked his way up blindly. He was breathing hard, almost gasping for breath. His whole body was burning at the endurance needed to keep going after such along day of exertion and his heart was pounding as sweat kept gathering at his brow.
His hand finally reached a cold iron bar. With a near-silent grunt, he hauled himself up, letting his feet stand on a stone sill and he looped his arms through the bars. The approximation of standing eased some of the muscles in his abdomen and back as he gasped for breath.
"Ezio."
The moon finally peaked out from behind the clouds and Ezio worked to keep his voice a whisper. "Father! What's happened?"
Giovanni grasped his son's hand and smiled in the moonlight, showing an ugly bruise blossoming along his jaw and brow. Ezio gaped, then reached out to cup his father's face as he had his mother mere hours before.
"Took a bit of a beating," Giovanni whispered, "But I'm alright. What of your mother and sister?"
"Safe, now," Ezio reassured him. Unlike you...
"Annetta took them?"
"Yes... Wait," things strung together quickly in Ezio's mind. "You knew this would happen?" That was why he was sending Ezio and Federico out hiring mercenaries, as far as Ezio could tell. His father knew something bad was coming. But why didn't he tell them?
"Not the way it did..." Giovanni's head bowed looking almost defeated, "and not so soon. It doesn't matter now."
The hell it didn't! "What do you mean? Explain! Where are Federico and Petruccio? Are they alright?"
"There's no time!" Giovanni hissed. "Your brothers are asleep for now, leave it at that. Now listen closely: Return to the house. In my office is a hidden door. Use your talent to find it. Beyond it lays a chest. Take everything you find inside. Much of it may seem strange to you, but all of it is important. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Ezio nodded. "But what about you?"
"Good," his father replied, ignoring the question. "Among the contents is a letter - and with it some documents. I need you to take these documents to Messer Uberto. He was with me in the office this morning."
"The Gonfaloniere. I remember," he said. "Now please - tell me what's happening. Are the Pazzi behind this? There was a note for you at the pigeon coup. It sai-"
There was a ringing bang below, likely a door heading up to the cells.
"Go Ezio. Go now!" Giovanni hissed.
"Father!" Ezio reached for his father, desperate for something, anything, he didn't know what, but Giovanni looked pained before he swiftly loosened Ezio's remaining hand's grip.
The young Florentine scrambled, his shirt tearing and his worn gloves slipping almost off his hands before he fell backward, the wind racing around him before he landed in a haystack below that he hadn't even paid attention to before.
"Father..." Ezio stayed in the haystack, tears rushing down his face as he struggled to hold back sobs at the finality of that conversation. It felt like a torch had been passed, but Ezio had no idea what responsibility had been placed on his shoulders beyond looking after his mother and sister. And hopefully saving his father and brothers.
It took longer than he liked to compose himself. Much longer, but once he was back to himself, Ezio strained his ears for the guards patrolling around him. Once they were passed, he stepped out of the hay and backtracked the way he had come, dashing across the roof and heading down the ladder and the scaffolding on silent feet.
The guard below was half asleep, to Ezio's benefit as he slipped right by him and then over the side to the ladder that lead down to the street. He adjusted his cloak again and straightened his hood to hide rubbing more tears from his eyes. His father had given him a job to do. And with any sort of luck, it would free his family. Ezio clung to that belief, that whatever he found in his father's study would exonerate them all and then things could go back to normal. Lorenzo would return, reinforce his protection of them, and Giovanni would somehow know how to bring Maria back from wherever her soul was hidden.
Exhausted but refusing to stop, Ezio raced back through the streets and alleys to the Palazzo Auditore. A cold breeze blew through the streets, making the night feel almost frigid. Ezio's torn and dirty clothes were still damp from his dunking in the fountain and sweat leaving him feeling even colder. But that coldness didn't even compare with the icy hole in his heart. His family was split, in danger no matter what, and all he could do was keep being a damn courier. Ezio felt like he should be doing something more, but he didn't know what.
But he trusted his father.
This had to work.
It just had to.
He was panting yet again when he arrived at the palazzo, but he didn't even break stride as he burst through the door and headed for Giovanni's study.
The study looked as it always did, though clearly there were signs of struggle with an overturned chair and strewn papers about the floor.
Gasping for breath, Ezio looked around, trying to see what was amiss beyond the obvious. Giovanni had said to use his talent, so Ezio reached for the eagle in his mind and looked again. Colors faded from his vision, desaturating down to an almost blue world around him. He looked again, concentrating between pants and burning muscles on a hidden door and where it could be. A faint trace of gold outlined the back wall of the fireplace and Ezio approached it. He could barely see the glow, but it was enough for him to start feeling around the mantle for some sort of switch and... ah.
The back wall rose, and Ezio brought his candle with him into a room he'd never seen before. There were no windows, no doors; indeed it seemed completely enclosed if it hadn't been for the trick wall of the fireplace. Candles were already lit and gently burning, making the hidden room seem the most welcome of the palazzo. There were shelves overflowing with books and scrolls. A straw mannequin held some white-hooded outfit that Ezio was grateful to see. No doubt the Pazzi supporters he'd taken down earlier had already spread word of what he was wearing. Plus, he was once again torn and bloodied and a fresh set of clothes would help keep him from being hunted.
The hidden door shut behind him and Ezio set about changing. The long coattails in back would take some getting used to. He was unaccustomed to having fabric trailing so loosely behind him, but as long as he didn't trip over it, it wouldn't matter. The sword was good quality, but common. And given the insanity that had occurred, Ezio thought it best to keep it by his side. At this point he wouldn't take any chances. He was all his family had left to save them, so he needed to be able to defend himself. There was an odd bracer with a broken blade that Ezio strapped to his wrist, putting the blade in one of his now plentiful pouches, along with the florins he had on him and some salves he found in a desk (some of which, he applied to his stitches).
The clothes... fit. Ezio knew he was of similar size and build to his father, but these clothes... They really fit. All he'd wanted was a fresh set of clothes so he wouldn't be recognized, but there was something about these white robes and white hood that had... weight to them.
Ezio ignored such fanciful feelings and laid them at the feet of exhaustion and went to the chest. Inside were more florins, which he pocketed, and the letter that Giovanni had mentioned.
Good. He need only bring this to Messer Uberto and his family would be free.
Fatigue was still pulling at him, but Ezio pushed it all aside and quickly found the switch to take him out of the hidden room. The back wall of the fireplace shut behind him and Ezio took another breath. He needed to race to the Gonfaloniere in order to get these papers to him before the Signoria opened in the morning.
Ezio left out to the courtyard and was surprised to see a pair of the city guard starting to come in from the ajar gates.
"Traitor!" one of them shouted, drawing his sword.
Ezio blinked.
"Hey!" he retorted, every inch the noble. "What's with the swords? Aren't you supposed to arrest me?"
"No," the other guard spat.
"What do you want, then?"
"For you to die."
Ezio frowned. "Well, that's not going to happen. So why don't we explore other options?"
"There are no other options."
To Ezio's shock, they attacked him. This was the Republic of Firenze! Guards didn't just attack people! They needed a reason! Ezio admitted, some of his drunken fighting often proved to be a good reason to be arrested, though his father always bailed him out, but he truly hadn't done anything yet. So why? What was going on? Why label him a traitor?
Questions swirled in his head as Ezio ducked under a sword, rolled under the other guard, and then raced out the gates. His knowledge of the district, particularly around his own home was to his benefit as he used crates, alleys, and crossbeams to evade the two guards that chased after him. Racing along, his eyes spied a set of crossbeams that lead to a balcony and then to an iron lattice covered with hibernating vines that would bloom in spring. That led up to the roof. That was all Ezio needed. He was more accustomed to running and leaping over beams, so it was easy to make his way up to the lattice work and then climb up from there without expending the energy he would if he climbed up the sheer face of the building. Once on the roofs he was once again racing along the tiles, though slower than he would on the street, more cautious of his footing. The guards below still shouted at him, but they were further and further behind.
Ezio paused again to catch his breath and get his bearings. It would look strange from up here instead of street level, but he knew Florence like the back of his hand. He started to head southwest, taking more cautious steps and not liking just how many guards he was seeing down below. Would they all attack him on sight? At this point he didn't want to take the chance. His life was shattered and spread across the city; he didn't want to lose anything else.
He stuck to the roofs until he got closer to the Gonfaloniere's residence. From there he started looking for ladders to make his way down. There were none close by and he was three streets away when he finally found one down to a closed courtyard and he descended. He'd have to stick to the shadows of the streets now. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.
Dressed in so much white, he felt exposed in the shadows, but none seemed to look his way as he stayed away from any light, no matter the source.
Ezio looked around as he exited an alley. Uberto's home was at the end of the street but there was no way to approach from the shadows. He saw no guards, so he'd just have to make a run for it with his burning, stiffening muscles.
The night was starting to pale by the time he reached the Gonfaloniere's residence; he had been running since the previous afternoon and was more than panting by the time he knocked on the door. His hands were shaking slightly in the cool air, though his body was covered in sweat. The young Florentine had been up for over thirty-six hours; he hadn't eaten in over sixteen, and had run for a bout as long. Incessant, he banged on the door again, heedless of the time. None of it mattered, his body, his health, none of it was as important as delivering the letter and documents from that hidden room to Uberto Alberti. The Gonfaloniere of Justice would be able to fix this, the man would free Ezio's father and brothers, and everyone could go back to the villa and everything would be okay again. The Gonfaloniere could do it. He had to.
He had to.
Growling, Ezio banged on the door again, kicking it with his boot. He would wake the entire street if he had to.
He was about to bang on the infernal door again when he heard voices beyond the door and steps, the turning of a latch. Panting, he stepped back and yanked down his hood, looking this way and that to see if any of the night guards were about to see him.
"... Ezio Auditore? What are you here doing at this hour?"
Uberto was in his nightgown, white linen and lace covered with a robe doing little to hide his girth as he opened the door more fully, a candle in his fist to get a better look at the bedraggled and exhausted noble.
His only hope had opened the door in person.
Ezio was overcome with emotion.
"It..." he started, trying to get the words out. "I don't..."
"Wait, child," Uberto said, stepping back from the door and letting the young man in with a gesture. Ezio did so gratefully; glad to be away from the eyes of the city guards. Uberto closed the door behind him. "Take a breath," the judge said slowly, gently. "Collect your thoughts."
Ezio did so, leaning against the closed door and closing his eyes, fighting his breath and his burning muscles and his desperate anxiety. It all came out in one great huff. "My father and brothers have been imprisoned! I don't know why, but they attacked them at the villa, my mother has been traumatized, she won't speak! I saw my father at the Palazzo and he wouldn't answer my questions, I don't understand why all of this is happening; none of it makes any sense. I know at least that this happened because Lorenzo de' Medici isn't here, but this is Firenze! No one would dare do this to one of his supporters, but maybe they would and I wouldn't know it because nobody is explaining anything and I have to get my father and brothers out of prison. They don't belong there! They've done nothing wrong! I'm so worried; Petruccio has a weak constitution I don't know what this is going to do to him and they beat my father God knows what Federico has gone through and Mother hasn't spoken a word it's like she's not even there and you have to help them!"
Uberto held up a hand. "Easy child. Easy, that was too fast for me to understand, save that you've had a trying experience. Try again: slowly."
"There's no time!" Ezio said, suddenly afraid that the judge wouldn't be able to help. "I was told to bring you this, please, help my family!" He all but shoved the parchment into the Gonfaloniere's hands, still struggling for breath but full of nervous energy. He shifted from one foot to another, unable to keep still.
Uberto put down the candle and held the letter to it's light, his brow furrowing as he read through the note. The heavy-set man read through everything, nodding here and there, with an air of nonchalance that drove Ezio to madness.
"Will it help?" he demanded, impatient. "Can you save them?"
"Ah," Uberto said after going through another page. "I see now." He looked up to the young noble. "It's a misunderstanding, Ezio. I'll clear everything up."
"How?" Ezio asked, afraid that this was a dream.
"The documents you've given me contain evidence of a conspiracy: against your father and against the city. I'll present these papers at their hearing in the morning and they'll be released."
They were safe.
... They were safe.
Anxiety left Ezio in a great rush, filled with exhausted relief and Ezio rubbed his sweat-stained face, his legs giving way slightly as he thumped against the door again.
"Thank you, Signore," he said in a great sigh. A giggle bubbled up from his taxed lungs, and he looked up to the Gonfaloniere with misty eyes. "Thank you. Thank you."
"Of course, my child," Uberto said, placing a soothing hand on the young Florentine's shoulder. His eyes studied Ezio's lackluster appearance before adding, "Do you need a place to stay? You are more than welcome here."
"No, grazie," Ezio said, pulling himself upright. His family may have been saved but he was not, the city guards were still looking for him and it would be wrong to draw ill onto the honorable judge after this enormous favor. He could hide for a few more hours. "I'll meet you at the piazza."
He turned, opening the door and stepping out.
"Don't worry, Ezio," Uberto said at the door. "Everything is going to be fine."
He flashed a winning smile as the door closed before taking off down the streets.
It would be years later before he remembered the man in black, dressed almost like a cardinal, watching the harried meeting from beyond the foyer.
Ezio made his way tiredly through the San Giovanni district, weary of guards but finding blessedly few of them as the shifts were changing. He entered the grand piazza that expanded in front of the Palazzo della Signoria and found a bench, pulling his hood up and sitting down, he wrapped his cloak about him and leaned back. It would be a few hours still before the Palazzo would open, and though Ezio wanted to climb the clock tower again to tell his father the good news, he simply didn't have the energy to do it. He looked up to the tower, to the two tiny cells where his father and brothers were.
"You'll be free in just a little bit," he whispered, smiling. He imagined the looks on their faces, their smiles; he imagined his mother and his sister, and he could only smile.
In that bliss he fell asleep in the chill air.
When he woke the dull grey of dawn had disappeared.
In point of fact it was midmorning.
"Cazzo," he cursed, lurching to his feet. Every muscle in his body protested, still wanting rest from his previous exertion, but he rolled his shoulders and his hips and his ankles, stretching out his muscles and limbering his limbs. He was going to meet his freed family; he didn't want to limp about like some beggar. Ezio pulled out his hair as he began walking to the crowd in the piazza, running his fingers through it to straighten it out before retying it; then he tugged at his doublet and his cloak, fixing himself up to look good.
He saw figures at the stage, the crowd was cheering uproariously, happy for a hanging before New Years. Ezio was never fond of watching someone's neck be stretched and he-
His eyes doubled in size when a child was tugged up onto the stage and a rope looped about him. That was Petruccio! And Frederico!
Ezio stared in wide-eyed horror, suddenly stock-still as the crowd churned and swayed all around him. His father was dragged up to the stage last, his swollen jaw visible even at this distance. All three of them were... but how! He had delivered the documents! Uberto said everything would be fine! Uberto said he would fix this!
Ezio began to push his way through the throng of people, uncertain if what he was seeing was real. Petruccio, he looked so weak, his head hung down against his chest, dark hair preventing Ezio from seeing his face. Frederico, he stood to his full height, blood smearing a temple but looking straight ahead and more serious then Ezio had ever seen him; gone was the lazy smile. And Giovanni-
"Giovanni Auditore! You and your accomplices stand accused of the crime of treason." Ezio's eyes snapped to another figure on the gallows: Uberto Alberti. A figure in black stood behind him, but all Ezio could see was the judge who had told him only hours ago that everything would be fine. What was happening? "Have you any evidence to counter these charges?" the judge asked theatrically.
"Yes!" Giovanni growled. "The documents that were delivered to you last night!"
Yes, the documents! What happened to the documents!
The Gonfaloniere of Justice shrugged, looking out to the crowd. "I'm afraid I know nothing of these 'documents.' "
What?
"He's lying!" Ezio shouted, pointing. "I delivered them in person! Why is he lying?"
A few people turned to him, curious, but no one at the gallows seemed to hear him. Frustrated, confused, Ezio pushed his way further, trying to get in shouting distance, trying to get closer, trying to stop this from happening because this just wasn't happening...
"In the absence of any compelling evidence to the contrary," the heavy-set judge was saying, "I am bound to pronounce you guilty." The crowd roared in pleasure, shouting to get the formalities over with. Ezio would never understand the people surrounding him, and his frustration made him shove one man brutally to the ground in his attempt to advance. The man called after him but Ezio paid no heed, determined to get to the gallows before it was too late. Uberto made a grandiose turn from the people to Ezio's family, leveling an accusatory finger at them. In a booming theatrical voice, he pronounced: "You and your collaborators are hereby sentenced to death."
The crowd cheered.
"No! I gave you the documents! Just wait until I get there! Stop. Stop!"
On the stage, Petruccio gave a small whimper heard by none, but Ezio knew it happened because Federico's serious face broke and he turned to his little brother - as both of them had done for the boy's entire life - and moved as if to touch his hair. Giovanni, too, perhaps heard, because he erupted in rage.
"You are a traitor, Uberto!" he shouted, eyes bulging, "And one of THEM! You may take our lives this day, but we will have yours in return! I swear! We will-"
The hangman pulled the lever, and Ezio watched in horror as his family fell from the gallows.
"FATHER!"
Petruccio's neck snapped instantaneously, a merciful death save that Ezio could see the unnatural angle of the break as his thirteen-year-old brother began to sway. Federico's legs pumped furiously in the air, struggling for purchase and swinging back and forth. The crowd was shrieking in satisfaction as they watched the spectacle, Federico's easy-going and smooth face slowly turning pink, and then blue as he ran out of air, froth gurgling out of his mouth at every attempt made to breath. Giovanni, too, was struggling for air, but instead of the panicked twitching of Federico, Giovanni was swinging his legs back and forth in unison, building momentum before one leg reached out and a boot touched the platform; it caused the crowd to suddenly gasp as they realized one of their acts of entertainment might, in point of fact, survive - at least until the hangman took a mace and bludgeoned the man, blood and brain matter flying everywhere. Giovanni swung back out over the hole, and Federico's movements had stopped.
They... They...
They were dead.
Ezio shook his head in denial.
They were dead.
They were dead.
They were-
"There!" The Gonfaloniere was pointing into the crowd, pointing to Ezio. "Grab the boy! He is one of them!"
Their eyes locked, and Ezio at last realized the truth. "You killed them," he whispered, unaware of the tears staining his cheeks. "You killed them."
A pair of guards grabbed at Ezio, one on each arm, and the motion broke whatever had frozen Ezio in place.
"You killed them!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, the mass of cheering bodies suddenly pulling away from him. "Figlio d'un cane! I'll kill you for what you've done!"
Impotent rage was no longer impotent, while three innocent bodies swung on the gallows Ezio gave an agonized cry of anger as he ripped one arm free and then another, shoving one of the guards who had claimed him to the ground and kicking him in the head before carelessly drawing his sword, swinging it in a wide, callous arc to get everyone away from him. His moves were not that of a trained nobleman, but of an angry child consumed with grief. Three bodies swung in his mind's eyes, the vision was burned into his heart and he would never forget it for the rest of his life. Never. Never.
It was all Uberto's fault; he had the documents, but had not used them, perhaps even destroyed them. Why? For what? The story of the conspiracy, was it just to placate Ezio into a false sense of security? The cruelty of it...! And worse, the young Florentine had fallen for it, had believed the hand on the shoulder and the soft smile, had believed the Judge to be honorable! That man would pay, that man would suffer, that man...!
"Guards! Arrest him! Put him down!"
HE WOULD KILL HIM FOR WHAT HE'D DONE!
Ezio swung blindly at the first guard that tried to approach him, growling in rage and marching towards the gallows. The crowds had backed up quite a bit now, but Ezio was consumed with his anger and saw nothing of it, nothing of the guards. All he saw was that one fat man and he was going to DIE.
Until the pommel of a sword crashed into the back of his skull and Ezio lurched forward, stumbling to keep his footing and blinking rapidly. He looked up to see a man in full armor, almost a head taller than Ezio and bearing an axe at least as heavy as the young nobleman. Flanking the brute were two city guards, swords drawn, and behind Ezio were two more. Five on one, and one so very, very big, and Ezio suddenly realized just how difficult it would be to kill Uberto.
Fear trickled into him, his anger gone like a tendril of smoke.
"... Better run boy."
Ezio's eyes darted to the side, between the guards to the thinning crowd. The courtesan from before was there, as was the thief. "And fast," the man added.
The massive armored brute swung his axe down in a vicious strike, faster than Ezio ever could have guessed. He had risen his sword to counter but it was batted away like a child's toy, and that in that one moment Ezio realized - I don't want to die - and he turned and barreled through the two city guards behind him, running full tilt to the far end of the plaza.
He circled around the fountain at a dead run before sprinting down to a narrow alleyway, tripping over a stockpile of bricks before picking himself up, splashing through a puddle and exiting to a row of houses. Ezio ducked around a merchant stand, dashing up and over some crates and up a lattice frame filled with vines, uncertain where he was going but only thinking of away. He could hear the guards' cries dimly from behind, and that made him leap without thought from the lattice to a flowerpot hook and onto a balcony. He ran across it and up to a roof, sliding on the stone tiles, spying a flat roof that held some kind of sky garden, and he dove into it, momentum cracking his head on the far side of it and slumping into a ball, panting.
It felt like he stayed there for an eternity. He had long since stopped hearing the faint calls of the guards; all he could hear was his father's voice. "You are the traitor Umberto, and one of THEM! You may take our lives this day but we will have yours in return!" All he could see was Frederico swinging back and forth, his face distorting as he slowly strangled. All he could comprehend was Petruccio's neck snapping as soon as the rope was taught.
He moaned, running his hands through his face and his hair, sobbing.
He couldn't... he couldn't just leave them like that, swinging in his mind. Ezio wanted to erase it in some way, make it turn out differently. Numb, he climbed out of the garden to see it was raining - he hadn't even noticed. The chill precipitation barely affected him, and he climbed down to the ground automatically, his mind not really there.
"Ezio!"
The voice rung as familiar, dim in the back of his mind, but when he turned he found the pained eyes of a brunette as she darted towards him. "Ezio! My God, you're still alive!"
And Cristina Vespucci quickly pulled Ezio into a tight embrace, the drizzle the only sound between them. The brunette was a surprise, but Ezio looked around slowly, dimly coming to realize he was near her house. He'd raced halfway across the San Giovanni district in his flight. "I just heard," she said, her voice thick with tears. "I didn't believe it... I came to see for myself... But you're alive! Thank God! Where are the others, your father and Federico?"
And Ezio's eyes watered, and he pressed his face even deeper into her shoulder.
"Oh, Ezio," and he wasn't the only one crying. "Tell me," she begged, desperate to ease his pain in any way, "what can I do?"
The young Florentine didn't even know where to start. He pulled away slightly, taking her hands in his and pressing his forehead to hers. She tugged one delicate hand gently free and cupped his face, looking at his misery with eyes unflinching.
"My family's bodies..." He started to say, but his voice cracked, reliving their fall, the sights, the sounds, the feelings. His face crumpled in on itself, and Cristina balanced on her toes to kiss him, tenderly. "I can't just leave them hanging from the gallows..." Federico still gurgling for air, Petruccio swinging limp, his father playing one last gambit, it replayed over and over in his mind. "I need to..." But words completely failed him, and he could only look at her, helpless.
Cristina nodded, understanding. Without a word she took Ezio's arm and lead the broken boy back the way he had come, to the plaza in front of the Palazzo. They walked slowly and without words, Ezio too lost in his grief and Cristina a strong, silent support.
The site of the piazza in the drizzle made Ezio weary, his eyes cast out over the noon crowd, confused that they went about their business as if nothing had happened. Why were they still moving? Why was anything still normal?
Then he realized: the gallows were empty.
"They've already been cut down!"
Cristina gasped, following his gaze. "What are we going to do?"
"I... I don't know," Ezio said, feeling weak in his knees. Would the bodies swing in his mind's eye forever? He couldn't live with that, he couldn't... he couldn't...
"Excuse me, messere." Ezio turned, dazed, to see Cristina talking to one of the city guards. Fright filled his mind, he didn't want to die like his father and brothers had and there were so many guards. He looked around to see them everywhere - did Florence always have this many guards? Had they seen him? Were they going to chase him again, or worse?
He had already taken a few steps back, ready to bolt from the plaza, when Cristina touched his arm. Ezio jumped, a strangled cry in his throat, and she startled, too, before quickly breathing reassurances. "It's me, Ezio, it's me; calm down, no one is going to hurt you."
"Cristina..." Ezio said, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"No, I understand, Ezio," the brunette replied. "I know where the bodies are. They..." Her eyes watered. "They're going to dump them into the Arno."
"What? No... no..." This was a dream. This was a dream and nothing more. He let his lover lead him through the chilly drizzle and tried to convince himself that none of this had happened. But it had, it had, and it was all that bastard Uberto's fault. Anger started to fill him again, and when they reached one of the ports and saw the small patrol of guards, Ezio was boiling.
The two hid around the corner of a house, the alley stretching out to the river. The guards paced it back and forth, joking as if everything were normal, as if anything would be normal ever again. How dare they!
"What will we do?" Cristina whispered into his ear.
"Only one thing to do..." Ezio answered, "kill them."
"No, don't do that!" she said in a frightened whisper. "They did nothing wrong."
Ezio shook his head. "They follow orders unquestioningly. That makes them-"
"Ezio!"
Her frightened face had lost almost all color, and just like that the anger wafted away like smoke, and Ezio realized just what he was saying. He moaned, running a hand over his face. He was soaked.
"Va bene," he said weakly, "I'll sneak behind their backs. I'll get my family one at a time if I have to, and carry them down to the river."
"Be careful," Cristina said, the brunette still eyeing him. "I'll go up river and get a gondola and meet you at the pier."
"All right."
Before she left, however, Cristina planted a tearful kiss on Ezio, reminding him of... of what life used to be like.
The midday shadows were dark because of the rain, and Ezio used his half cloak to hide most of his white and grey, sneaking up behind the guards and then ducking behind a crate when they turned. The... bodies... were strewn callously by a hay cart, spread out like refuse, and Ezio burned brightly with anger before it seeped out of him. The noble house of Auditore, supporters of Lorenzo de' Medici, proud sons of Florence... reduced to this.
Struggling to breath, Ezio wrapped his arms gently around Petruccio. He was so tiny in his arms, so thin and light. His head swung back and forth loosely from the broken neck, and Ezio couldn't stand to watch and instead propped it against his shoulder. Petruccio... he... he was asleep, Ezio told himself. He'd been up looking for feathers again, and now Ezio had to carry him to bed to... to rest. Ezio took a shaky breath and lifted the child up and darted down the steps to the pier. Innocent of anything and everything, confined to bed because of his health, and still labeled a collaborator, still accused of treason, still put to death like a dog.
Holding back a sob, he saw Cristina slipping down the river in a gondola, pulling up next to one of the small docks, and Ezio gently laid his brother down in it, touching the dark locks and kissing his forehead. His lover let out a chocked sob.
Back up the steps he went, peeking out and watching the guards walk by before darting to the hay cart. Federico's doublet was open, as was the linen shirt underneath, and Ezio could see the marks of the rope around his brother's neck. Always three years older and three years wiser, Federico had taught Ezio how to fight, more recently how to climb. Lazy, laid-back, easy-going, he would never dream to hurt anyone. No, his time was spent looking out for others, looking out for all his siblings - Ezio, Claudia, and Petruccio, spent pleasing women and loving the smiles he would receive. He was a helper, and still none of that mattered to the judge, his personality completely ignored in favor of the "conspiracy."
Ezio carried his brother down to the pier, laying him down on the gondola before buttoning up the shirt and doublet, hiding the marks on his neck. Federico... he was sleeping in again, too lazy to get up.
Next was his father. The guards hadn't even noticed the disappearance of the bodies - yet - but Ezio hurried to the hay cart nevertheless.
His face was a mess. Hair splayed out everywhere, sticky with blood and brain-matter, the horrendous fluid splashed over his face as well. His jaw was still bruised, as was his brow, and Giovanni's face was twisted in such anger. It was everything Ezio could do to pick up the man, heavy as the young Florentine himself, and he half carried, half dragged his father down the steps. Cristina gasped at the sight of him, and was shaking almost violently as she pushed the gondola away from the pier and guided it down the river.
Ezio pulled out a handkerchief, cleaning off his father's face. He realized belatedly that the man's eyes were still open, twisted in rage. They were not his father's eyes at all, and Ezio closed them slowly. Giovanni was the best of men, the epitome of a nobleman. He was proud of his work and of his family, he held his sons in a firm hand but always let them know he loved them; he loved banking so much he would attend it at all hours of the night, excited about news from Constantinople and what it meant for inflation and finance or darting off to Venice or Rome to talk to a particular branch with an idea. He was smart, wise, unerringly patient even when Ezio didn't deserve it, he was... he was...
He was dead...
Ezio almost broke, and he shook his head violently, turning helplessly to Cristina as she guided them to safety. The brunette had never seen bodies before, her face was still deathly white, but when she looked at him there was strength, determination to do what needed to be done. For him.
He made a decision.
"Cristina, I want you to come with me."
"Come? Where?"
"I can't stay here," Ezio said, holding his father's hand. "The city guards are still looking for me. I have to go into hiding. I want you to come with me."
She stared at him, wide-eyed, a hundred emotions flitting over her face. She... she could help him through this. She could make this bearable. She had to come with him.
"I want to..." she whispered slowly, stopping work on the gondola and carefully kneeling down to his level. "But I can't." Tears streamed down her face. "My family..."
But Ezio didn't want to hear more, so he held up a hand. "I understand," he said in a broken voice, and he looked down to his father, his brothers, tending to them.
It was quiet for a long time.
They reached a different pier, further down the river, some time later; Ezio couldn't guess how long. The drizzle had grown to a steadier rain. The two looked at each other, so many emotions weighing on them both it was a miracle they were still standing.
"Ezio..." Cristina breathed, seeking to say something, anything to take away the hurt she had added to his already impossibly long list.
Ezio held up a hand, reaching under his doublet and pulling out a necklace. The Auditore crest hung on it, and he loosely placed it around her neck. "So we'll always be together, Cristina." He hoped she would understand.
She tilted herself up to her toes and kissed him, soft and lingering, before she pulled back and nodded.
The two got to work.
Author's Notes: Tear-jerker.
Not much to say about this chapter a as a whole, the beginning of the series really writes itself, and you won't hear much in the way of us whining and complaining until later. You'll also note that we'll be trying to incorporate the Cristina memories from Brotherhood; since we're digging through Ezio's memories chronologically, it makes sense that they would be here and not in ACB. It also gives us less to worry about for the next novelization, but that's neither here nor there. Also note we're trying to build up Lorenzo de' Medici. He doesn't get much screen time in the game, but we both agree he's an important figure in Ezio's life - for more than his relationship with his father Giovanni. More on him in later chapters.
Also, last chapter had a typo: it's Federico, not Frederico. Sorry, everyone!
Thanks as always to Tenshi for beta-ing, and JediKnight55 for her Italian tidbits.
Next chapter: The fallout.