Part Nine: Favors from Lorenzo

At dawn Ezio entered the house, this time welcomed immediately by Poliziano, and was ushered into the house to an ornately decorated chamber. Ezio immediately recognized the frescoes as the Procession of the Magi, but "Oh, my God, that's the Magi Chapel!" Shut up Shaun! the people depicted were all distinctly Medici. Ezio marveled at the exquisite art, and looked to the man standing in it, gazing at the frescoes while still gingerly holding his neck.

"... When I was six years old I fell into the Arno," Lorenzo said, staring at the chapel. "I soon found myself drifting down into the darkness, certain my life was at an end. Instead, I woke to the sound of my mother weeping. At her side stood a stranger, soaking and smiling at me. My mother explained that he had saved me." Lorenzo turned and stared at Ezio, his face a complex mix of emotions before finally settling on a sad smile. "And so began a long and prosperous relationship between two families: yours and mine."

Ezio blinked, having never known how his father had met Lorenzo, only that they had been old friends, the patron was barely twenty-nine, the young Florentine was surprised to learn they had been close for so long. It was another facet of his father's life he knew nothing of, and Ezio felt very young and very curious.

"What was he like, my father?" he asked. "I feel like I hardly knew him, I didn't know he was an Assassin until... after."

Lorenzo nodded, still smiling sadly. "He was an honorable man in the truest sense of the word; a very rare find. After he saved me as a child, he came to visit me often. He was... something of a Mentor." He turned slightly, pointing out one of the men in the fresco. "There he is, do you see him? My mother asked that he be included, and my grandfather agreed."

"Wait, you mean that's Giovanni Audi-" SHUT UP SHAUN!

Ezio stepped closer to the fresco, admiring the Tuscan countryside and the Italian and Turkish men, looking at the very back of the procession, the smallest characters in the piece. The details were hard to make out, but Ezio could see his father's nose, and his eyes suddenly watered, making him look away.

"I am sorry I could not save your father and brothers," Lorenzo said, pulling his hand away from his injury and placing it on Ezio's shoulder.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Ezio replied quickly, blinking his eyes rapidly and rubbing them.

Lorenzo watched Ezio compose himself, before smiling again, and leading him out of the frescoed chapel, down the opulent marble hallways and to the inner courtyard, surrounded instead by arches and columns and recessed statues. "My grandfather," he said, "was a very wise man. He told us often that men with money had power, but only so long as the people allowed it. He often rode an ass instead of a horse, saying it made him less conspicuous if the people revolted. I grew up terrified of the people, wondering when they would rise up against me. It was your father who taught me that the best way to prevent a revolt - indeed the best way to ensure prosperity - is to keep the people happy." Lorenzo paused for a moment, letting his words sink in, before adding, "Your father was the type of man that made me the way I am, Ezio. He was the type of man that made you, who saved my life without a thought to your own safety. That was the kind of man he was."

That... that...

Something swelled in Ezio, making him stand a little taller and a little prouder, making him unexpectedly smile.

The moment hung between them, rich and warm and good, before Lorenzo asked, "What will you do now?"

"Immediately, there are some friends in the city I would like to see, let them know I am all right. After that, though, I have more work to do. I believe Jacopo de' Pazzi played a part in my family's deaths, the attack on you as well. I saw him in the Piazza before Francesco was hung, I need to find him."

Lorenzo nodded, looking away in anger. "That coward fled before we could arrest him."

"Have you any leads?"

"No. They've hidden themselves well."

"They?" Ezio asked, blinking.

"Jacopo was not the only conspirator to escape," Lorenzo said. "Over the last several hours our information has become much more reliable as the riots are beginning to settle. There are four others, perhaps more, directly involved in the conspiracy, and many others who are just dupes."

Ezio nodded, turning the information over in his mind. "... If they work with Jacopo, they were surely involved in the plot against my family as well. Give me their names."

Lorenzo looked at the nineteen-year-old for a long time, measuring, before saying: "Antonio Maffei, Archbishop Francesco Salviati, Stefano de Bagnone and Bernardo Baroncelli."

"Bene. I will go and see my uncle when I am finished here. He has men stationed in the countryside."

"Wait... Before you go," Lorenzo said, touching his neck. "Firenze still has need of your skills. I will try to protect the innocent dupes of this plot, but the ones involved in this conspiracy, they must suffer the consequences of their choice. Poliziano is a competent man, but there are limits to what he and his men can do as scholars and not guards. Would it be possible for me to retain your services for a short time, until the worst of this crisis has past?"

"Of course, Maestro," Ezio said, honored to be of service to Il Magnifico, moreover because of the trust Lorenzo had in him and the relationship he had with his father.

"Maestro," Poliziano said, coming up, "We have all the documents recovered from the Pazzi compounds. You said you wanted to see them at once."

"Of course," Lorenzo said, turning to Ezio with a soft, cruel smile, "Seeing as he clearly no longer needs them." He added, "Would you like to take a look? We may find some clues as to where those men are hiding."

"Yes."

For the next three hours they perused the volumes and volumes of books, ledgers, letters, and half-scrapped notes looking for information. Several documents were very old; Lorenzo eyed them appreciatively and made a separate pile for them. When Ezio looked in askance he said, "I've always had an interest of things of antiquity. As did your father." The young Florentine nodded, going back to the accounts he had been rifling through before a particular scroll caught his eye.

"A Codex page!"

Lorenzo looked up. "A what?"

Ezio frowned, uncertain how to explain. "... It is a piece of a document my father was collecting before... before. I recognize the script and the decorative boarder. Francesco's son had several pages on him, and now Francesco himself..." He flipped through the pages, the writing of the ancient assassin Altair, who had also lost someone dear to the Templars. He wondered what secrets these pages contained. "It is meaningful to me," he said, looking up to Lorenzo.

"Then consider this a gift," Lorenzo said, pulling out similarly marked pages from his pile of older documents. "It is the very least I can do for you."

"Thank you, Maestro."

They combed through the documents for another hour but found no other Codex pages, and the two left the palazzo, Lorenzo to the Palazzo della Signoria to try and save the innocent men from the outraged people, Ezio to a certain painter who was no doubt very worried after the previous night's terror. The young Florentine navigated the streets easily, hood up and weary of more fights but feeling good about himself, and when he arrived in the San Giovanni district he quickly found Leonardo's studio and knocked on the door.

"Ezio!" Leonardo cried, opening the door in a hurry. Relief flooded the twenty-six year old man's face. "Thank God you're all right! This madness with the Medici and the Pazzi..." he said, ushering his friend in. "People have been running about hither and yon all morning, swords drawn and blood on their minds. I saw the hangings last night; I have some of them sketched... My assistants are all late this morning, one of them sent word that his uncle died in last night's riots, and one of my patron's died, too... But never mind that, did you take any injury? I have no doubt you were in the thick of it, is it why you pursued Francesco?"

"Not exactly..." Ezio said, the flurry of words confusing him.

"Well, whatever your reasons, the city will be safe again - thanks to you! Now tell me: how may I be of service? Would you like something to eat? I'm sure I can scrounge something up in this mess..."

"Leonardo, take a breath," Ezio said, laughing slightly at his friend's enthusiasm. He pulled out his freshly discovered Codex pages, handing the bundle over to the painter.

"Ah! Another page!" Eagerness flooded Leonardo's eyes, and the blonde all but snatched the pages out of Ezio's hands, unrolling the scrolls and immediately shoving a clean space onto his workbench. Ezio, now knowing what to expect, stepped back and watched.

"Aha! It's similar to the last one, how very boring... This won't take long..." He grabbed a quill and started his work, and Ezio wandered around the studio, staring at the paintings and reproductions, eying the odd bits of metal and wood that made some kind of contraption, running his hands over the ever-present drapings and half made still-lifes. He thought of his father's portrait in the Medici house, and he smiled slightly, glad that his father had been immortalized in some small way.

"Interesting!" Leonardo said, looking up and rubbing his small beard. "Oh, indeed... I see... It's another blade design, for delivering poison."

Ezio perked, wondering how a blade could deliver poison. "Can you build it?" he asked, incredulous.

"Si," Leonardo said, "A challenge of a different kind." He walked right up to Ezio, grabbing his hidden blade and inspecting it, muttering to himself. "It won't take very long, I just need to find a way to hollow out the blade without sacrificing the-" Leonardo looked up, embarrassed as he realized how familiar he was being, how close he was.

Ezio shook his head. "It's all right, Leonardo," he said, already unbuckling his father's bracer. The man's curiosity took over everything, including social decorum. "Just do what you need to do."

"Excellent," Leonardo said, "How exciting! Come see me in a day or two, the design should be done by then."

"Bene, I'll see you then."

Ezio left an excited Leonardo just closing the door before one of the assistants, Vincenzo, darted up. They nodded to each other and Ezio took to the streets again, pulling his hood up and making his way northeast, past the Duomo and to the Rosa Colta. It was midday now, and he stopped off for a quick loaf of bread before entering the brothel. One of the girls recognized him, and he was quickly ushered to the back garden, surrounded by flowering trellis and fruity scents.

Paola arrived, her footfalls soft whispers of silk. Her arched eyebrows were pulled together slightly, as if examining him, before she nodded. "I take it you were successful," she said slowly, "In finding La Volpe."

Ezio grinned. "Perhaps."

"And it would appear that you have survived the night without injury."

"A great miracle, I'm sure."

Paola smiled. "I doubt you've eaten. If you're anything like your father you must be half-starved." She clapped her hands sharply, one of the courtesans appearing from somewhere, clearly skilled at being invisible. "Lunch," Paola ordered, and soon Ezio saw a small table and chairs set up in the back garden in the shade of the trellis, food and wine all but appearing. "Sit," she ordered when the work was finished, "And relax knowing that you are safe here."

"Thank you, Madonna," he said, taking seat. Paola joined him, and for the next forty minutes there was no need to talk. Full and satisfied, Ezio leaned back in his tiny chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin and feeling oddly content. It took him a moment to realize that he knew this feeling: this was the feeling of a job well done; when he'd delivered a letter for his father in record time, or when his mother praised him in some feat that he'd accomplished. It was still hard to think about his family, but he was glad that he felt like this, as well. It was a sign that he might, someday, move past the tragedy.

"Your mind is heavy with thought," Paola interrupted, still sipping her wine.

"It is," Ezio admitted. "I am thinking about my father."

The matron of the brothel nodded, smiling enigmatically. "Any thoughts of Giovanni are often heavy," she said, "he was that kind of man."

"... How did you know him?" Ezio asked.

Paola's eyes darkened in memory, a hand going over her covered wrist and the network of scars on it. "He was a lawyer as well as a banker, did you know that?"

"Si, he was often helping the Gonfaloniere," Ezio replied slowly.

"He represented me at a murder trial," Paola said. "And after I was acquitted, he took in my sister to keep her safe, and gave me the finances to begin this." She gestured to the brothel. "He was a fine man."

Ezio's eyes misted again, and he looked down. The courtesan reached across the table and took his hand, and they stayed like that for a while before Ezio composed himself.

That night, he wrote a letter to Claudia, giving a very brief account of the events in Florence and explaining how he would likely be stuck there until things had died down. He shared what he had learned of their father from Lorenzo and Paola - what he could on paper - and said he would tell her more when he returned. He also asked her to tell Mario there were more names to the list, again not getting specific, and apologizing; saying she would get the full story when he returned.

The next morning, letter tucked in his pouch; he left Rosa Colta's soft couches and softer moans to the bright streets of Florence, late spring making the air warm and comfortable. He had no idea how to contact La Volpe and tell him of his safety, but he suspected the thief already knew, and instead dropped by Leonardo's, the blond painter barely noticing him as mulled over different scraps of metal and knocking on them, trying to determine something. The assistant Vincenzo apologized profusely for his master, working on a reproduction of a painting in one corner of the studio. Ezio leaned over the assistant's shoulder and nodded. His style was similar to Leonardo's, and Ezio liked what he saw.

"When you finish your apprenticeship," he told Vincenzo, "I want you to come to Monterrigioni. We might have some work for you."

"R-Really?" the assistant asked, wide-eyed. "Thank you! Messer, thank you!"

"Leonardo!" Ezio called out from across the studio, "When Vincenzo here is done with his apprenticeship, I'm stealing him!"

The blond looked up, utterly slack-jawed. Ezio laughed at the expression and bid his goodbyes, knowing it would be a while yet before he had his bracer back.

Lorenzo was not at his palazzo when Ezio arrived, but the scholar Poliziano was. "I think the mess is dying down," he said slowly. "I've been putting more of the Maestro's guards, many of them fellow humanists, on the streets, and most of the fighting has ebbed. Now it's just a matter of rounding up the leftovers."

"I see. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Si, there's a man who works in the Signoria, we've just learned that he helped the Pazzi turn people against the Maestro. He's been missing since Sunday, and rumor has it he's arranging a meeting to be smuggled out of the city."

Ezio nodded, understanding. "Can you give me his name?"

Poliziano gave more than a name; he gave a description, family members, Signoria title and duties, as well as known associates. Thanking the scholar, Ezio bade his farewells, noticing a child watching him from a doorway. He smiled, but the boy ducked away, apparently shy, and Ezio was on his way. The young Florentine took to the roofs, looking out over the skyline of the city to determine his direction, the Duomo and the Palazzo della Signoria to the southeast. Should he start there? No, the man was in hiding, and more likely as far from the government as possible. That meant west, in the Santa Maria Novella district. Ezio took off in that direction, seeing the church the district was named after as well as the San Lorenzo, trying to figure out how he could find the man. Ezio had had a hard enough time finding Francesco, and that had been with the help of-

Grinning, Ezio adjusted his course slightly, and within the hour he was lounging around the Mercato Vecchio, looking at the many stalls and being waylaid by terribly off-key bards as they tried to sing poorly rhymed stanzas of the "Pazzi Conspiracy," as it was being called. The verses about a man in a white hood killing in cold vengeance made Ezio wince, and he wondered what more he could do to attract the attention of a certain fox.

"Gold! Gold!" someone shouted, and suddenly there was a throng of people mobbing a corner of the Mercato, grabbing and pushing and shoving to gain access to the coins that had littered the ground.

Ezio blinked, wondering if a cutpurse had failed, but a bony hand clamped on his shoulder, and the young Assassin turned to see the hooded Volpe, grinning and motioning that he make no noise. Ezio followed, away from the open-air market and into a narrow alley.

"One wonders why you're back," Volpe said, purple eyes alight with mirth. "A man rarely wished to lose to a Fox twice."

Ezio grinned slightly, crossing his arms. "Maybe I just wanted a rematch," he said.

Volpe laughed good-naturedly. "A sense of humor!" he said. "Come, let us see if you've learned your lesson."

And he was off.

Grinning, Ezio pursued, hot on the thief's tail. He still wore leather armor, to be sure, but he was not winded from a previous chase, and he'd had a full meal and mental preparation for the race. They all but flew over rooftops, climbing over lattice and trellis and boxes and pigeon coups, using signs and stepping stones and lantern posts as swing bars before Volpe stopped near the Santa Maria Novella, much as before. Ezio was still panting compared to Volpe, but he took some satisfaction in not making the fox wait for him to catch up.

"You're fast indeed," Volpe said, nodding in approval. "Not as fast as your father, yet, but I see the signs. Now, what do you need?"

"... You knew my father...?" Ezio panted between breathes.

"He helped train several of my best," Volpe said, shrugging it off as if it were nothing. "He was a good man, fast with his mind as well as his feet. He was the only one to ever catch me."

Ezio blinked, marveling at the idea, but one look at the hooded fox told Ezio he was decidedly not going to get that story. Taking a deep breath, he got to the point. "I'm looking for another man, he worked at the Signoria and was part of the conspiracy."

Volpe nodded, as if expecting that. "Lorenzo snatched you up quickly, I see. I don't blame him."

Ezio explained the details, hoping that if La Volpe could find Francesco, then he could find this traitor. Volpe made a sharp whistle, making almost a dozen different thieves come up and out from seemingly nowhere - as skilled as Paola's girls at being invisible, it seemed. The thin fox relayed the details, and a cluster of three thieves said they'd seen a man of that description, and could lead Ezio there. The nineteen-year-old gave his thanks, and asked the thieves to lead the way, and though they did so, Volpe said, "We'll discuss payment later."

Ezio gulped when he heard that, he had very little money to just hand over like that...

Still the assignment came first, and Ezio followed the group of thieves easily over the rooftops, further west towards the city wall. The four paused an hour later at a covered alleyway, city guards on either side instead of the humanists, and Ezio could just see the man Poliziano had described, pacing back and forth as if waiting for something, likely his contact out of the city. Ezio frowned, studying the archway; there were no beams to sneak inside, and the guards were practically shoulder-to-shoulder, preventing literally everyone from using the cut-through. He looked to the thieves.

"Is it possible for you to distract the guards?" he asked.

One of them laughed. "Certainly. It will cost you extra, though."

Ezio winced, painfully, but nodded. He wasn't good enough that he could do something like this on his own. Claudia was going to kill him for wasting money like this.

The thieves grinned, and all three of them disappeared into the afternoon shadows, melting into the crowds. Ezio watched from above, a certain clinical appreciation over what was happening as one of the three thieves broke from the crowd and deliberately shoved a guard, knocking into another and then another until all four were sprawled on the ground. Ezio could hear the curses even from where he was as all four city guards gave chase, the nimble thieves quickly scattering and forcing the guards to split up as they ran hither and yon. Ezio made his way back to the ground and entered the now un-barricaded archway, watching his target pace out, muttering to himself. Ezio, lacking his bracer, took a throwing knife and stabbed him in the back, a low gurgle the only noise he made as Ezio slowly lowered him to the ground. Blood stained his gloves, and as Ezio took to the streets he shed them and bought a new pair, once more wincing at the expense.

Not twenty minutes after the deed was done, Volpe took pace next to him.

"Now, about payment," he said brightly.

Ezio groaned. "You know my uncle has little in the way of finances, yes?"

"Ah, but I doubt he knows about all the curios and artifacts you have in your possession from a certain tomb you found?"

The young Florentine blinked, wide-eyed. "How...?"

Volpe smirked again, arrogant smugness filling his face. "I know everything," he said simply.

Ezio groused, badly, all the way to Paola's in the San Marco district, muttering curses and expletives. He made La Volpe wait outside, wanting to keep something personal, but he doubted even where he was keeping the loot he'd taken from the tomb was a secret to a man like Volpe. Hell, Paola was probably watching; and he sighed, the anger leaving him as he pulled out his pouches of curios and exiting the brothel. The two moved back up to the roofs, a transaction like this needed some privacy - and Ezio winced at the irony - before he laid out his spread.

Any negative feelings he felt, for the record, disappeared in an instant when he saw the look on Volpe's face as he browsed the merchandise. The unbridled hunger that spread across those purple eyes made Ezio realize just who had the advantage in this transaction, and his scarred mouth pulled into a smug grin as Volpe began negotiating.

"We'll start with this seal," the fox said, pulling up the circular relief of a hidden blade.

"That is the only item that is not for sale," Ezio said, snatching it and hiding it behind his red sash. That little item was going back with him to Monteriggioni.

"Then, these goblets, I can take them for, say, five hundred florins."

"They're worth at least ten thousand."

And so the haggling began. Volpe, the thief, versus Ezio, the banker. It was fast and vicious, with many friendly and not-so friendly insults hurled back and forth, bargaining and negotiating, factoring depreciation versus appreciation, percent interest, commissions, all kinds of nitty-gritty little details that would have made other men weep. When it was done, however, both men were certain they came out the victor, Volpe with several black market items, Ezio with enough gold to do... well, plenty in Monteriggioni.

That night Ezio returned to the Palazzo Medici, reporting the success of his mission to Poliziano. Lorenzo appeared as well, giving his thanks.

So it went for the next two weeks. Ezio would stop by the Medici, Lorenzo or Poliziano would give him a name or a description, and Ezio would take care of the problem. While he was out he practiced his climbing and his running, occasionally doing courier assignments or racing a thief that La Volpe sent his way to be tested. He found two eagle nests, taking with him a large collection of feathers, hoping to give them to his mother in Petruccio's name. Paola housed him most of the time, and sometimes Lorenzo himself. He checked every morning to see Leonardo, but the painter had not yet finished with his hidden blade, and Ezio was starting to miss it.

When he asked Leonardo about it, he waved it off. "It got boring," he said in an airy voice. "Why not ask Vincenzo to do it?"

Ezio frowned, uncertain where the mood was coming from. "How could I ask an assistant to do something that I know only the Maestro is capable of doing?" he asked.

Leonardo's entire face brightened at the comment, a pleased flush covering his cheeks. "Do you really mean that?" he asked.

"Of course, Leonardo. Don't tell me you're jealous because I want to hire Vincenzo? He is not my friend, you are."

And the next day Ezio's bracer was returned to him.

"All done!" the blond said happily. "I've filled your blade with poison to start with. Should you run out, just visit a doctor."

Ezio, putting on his hidden blade, looked up in confusion. "Poison? From a doctor?"

"In high enough doses, anything which cures can kill," Leonardo said expansively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ezio grinned, learning yet something else from the painter. "I am in your debt once more, my friend."

"Anytime, Ezio. Anytime!"

The third week, Ezio waited until sunset before milling about the north face of the Basilica Santa Maria del Fiore, staring at the skull relief in a red triangle. How many times had he and Federico postulated on why it was there? But now Ezio knew, it was a sign that there was a crypt here, as was a seal, and so he pulled at the skulls eyes, twisting it until it was upside down and the red triangle had turned into the Assassin symbol. He heard a click and felt the recess he was standing in give way, and Ezio walked down a pitch-black hallway, his night vision still perfect, and exited into the main chamber of the cathedral.

"Please, stay away from the artwork on the walls," a monk was saying. "And when your men paint the dome, take care not to disturb any of the sacred relics in the lanterna on top. They are the most important artifacts in our church."

"Yes, yes, Father," replied a man, obviously a construction worker of some kind. "Just make sure to pay us the full sum for our work."

The pair disappeared into a back room, and Ezio came out into the cathedral proper, closing the secret passage behind him. He had not been in the massive church since the attack on Lorenzo weeks ago. The blood smeared marble tiles had been pulled up, likely to be replaced, and there were several scaffolds on the upper levels of the church, for the painting of the massive egg-shaped dome that so dominated Florence's sky. Frowning, the young Florentine closed his eyes and focused on his eagle, looking around with fresh eyes and looking for clues on where he was supposed to go.

There was nothing in the central isle for worshipers, and Ezio made his way to the back, where the massive dome was. He finally found the assassin symbol. Upright, and as Ezio trailed his sharp eyes up he could just make out more symbols, all pointing the same way. Up, up, and up.

"The lanterna," he muttered, his rich baritone echoing off the walls. This was going to be... tedious. Closing his eyes to his eagle, he looked around at first, eyeing the scaffolding that surrounded the inside of the dome. It was plain for now, the church still approving plans for painting it. That must have been whom the monk was talking to. Nodding to himself, Ezio snuck into the back of the church, slowly making his way up choir steps and reentering the dome, this time several stories up. He saw several strung-together boards of wood, hanging by a wooden platform that had been set up for work, and Ezio hopped gently over to it, allowing himself time to adjust as it swung under his weight, and the leaping over to the platform, and then to a series of crossbeams. Ezio took a moment to plan out his route, knowing there were balconies even higher up, though as a parishioner he had never been up there. He spied the window and their crossbeams, however, and slowly made his way over, hopping onto one of the windows and climbing his way up.

The view from so high up was spectacular, Ezio could see the entire geometric design of the marble floors as the late May moonlight flooded the windows, casting pale blue shafts of light everywhere. It felt... spiritual, and heavy. But then, given that he was about to rob a grave, he supposed that was only appropriate.

There were more support beams at the far end of the balcony, likely the beginning of scaffolding when the painters finally settled on a design. Ezio balanced on them very carefully, mindful that a fall from this height could kill him, and looked out over the expanse. He spied a balcony almost completely across from him that had a ladder higher up, and Ezio took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. Forced to travel the entire circumference of the dome, he hopped up to an incomplete balcony, smaller with an unfinished railing. Trying the door, he found it locked, he cursed softly as he looked around, plotting a new route. He wished dimly he had explored the church more with his brother and sister, that he knew the layout and stairs better than he did.

Ezio sent a silent prayer to his father and made a running leap out over the darkness, blue moonlight crossing over him briefly, before he landed on another overhang. His heart was racing with that jump, and he took several moments to calm down.

"What was that?" an echo-y voice filtered from below.

"What was what?"

"That shadow. It just passed over the window there. It looked like an angel..."

"You've been at the sacramental wine again, haven't you?"

"No! I swear I haven't!"

Ezio had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing, wondering how anyone could mistake him, or even his shadow, for an angel. Still, he waited until the sounds of their voices faded away, and he carefully made his way around the circumference of balconies, beams, and platforms that the artists had set up for the eventual frescoes. Ezio finally reached the ladder and ascended it, leading to an even higher balcony, purely decorative given there were no doors up here, only the beginning of the dome. Ezio marveled at how high up he was, that he had climbed this high up, and then promptly put it from his mind. The last thing he needed to obsess over was how high up he was as he began tracing his trained eyes over the brickwork of the dome, spotting hand and footholds, plotting a route that took him at an ever sharper angle. As he began the climb, he tried not to think about how his cape was trailing out behind him because of gravity, tried not to think about the pain in his fingers and wrists as they took more of his weight than they usually did because of his angle.

He reached another wood support beam, and Ezio climbed it greedily, glad for the chance to rest his arms and feet and catch his breath. He panted slightly, pulling his hood down and running fingers through his damp hair and sweaty face. It was hot up here.

After several minutes, he looked up, out across the expanse, and saw the lanterna. The beams he sat on took him right up to it, and with great care he eased himself over until he was in the lanterna proper, and only then did he breathe a sigh of relief, climbing up the ladder and into the cupola.

Another statue could be found here, Assassin symbol at the woman's waist, as were several treasure chests and a tomb. Ezio stood at the tomb, stared at it, and clasped his hands together in prayer.

"I thank you for your work in the past," he said slowly, solemnly, "And I hope you understand my need of that which you possess. I'm sorry."

He looted every chest he could open before opening up the tomb. The light was no longer blue; he could just make out the sun through the arched windows. The body inside was mummified; a long, thin red sash draped from head to toe, and on its chest was the next seal, a circle with a symbol for poison on it. Ezio pulled it out and looked at the mummy for a long time. The seal of Iltani was his, and he nodded his head in respect before closing the tomb and opening a window, exiting out onto the highest rampart of the Basilica.

Several weeks later, deep in July, Lorenzo saw Ezio personally, the former noble coming in as the patron of Florence was talking to a little boy, the one who had spied on him earlier.

"Guilio, my nephew," Lorenzo said softly, sadly. "I will adopt him, now that Guiliano is no longer with him."

"I see," Ezio said slowly, knowing exactly what the boy was going through.

Lorenzo gave a great sigh. "It seems that safety does not come with the death of Francesco de' Pazzi," he said. "The Pope is furious that archbishop Salviati is dead."

Ezio frowned, his head tilting. "But he is not dead. Yet," he added.

"But he is hidden well enough that he may as well be," Lorenzo clarified. "My saving Sixtus' nephew was not enough, it seems. He's put all of Firenze under interdict - no mass, no communion, and he's excommunicated me. Worse, he's massing Napoli to invade."

Ezio blinked, not expecting such a strong reaction from the Pope. "Have you told Milan? And Balogna?"

Lorenzo sighed. "They will be of no help."

...

War. This was... this was war.

Firenze, the jewel of Italia, was about to go to war.

All of Ezio's work to prevent the disaster the Spaniard and his conspirators had sought to create was about to befall on them.

A hand touched his shoulder. Lorenzo looked at him with a soft smile, that of a man about to do something dangerous. "If there's one thing your father has taught me," he said slowly, "It is that there is always hope. This conflict is because of me, not the people of Firenze, and so I will give them what they want."

Ezio blinked, uncomprehending. "What are you saying?"

"I am leaving presently to sail to Napoli. I will surrender myself to their King, and try to negotiate a settlement for the people of Firenze."

... Ezio marveled. "But you could-"

"A small price to pay for the city I love so dearly," Lorenzo said. Then he winked. "Besides, this is not a surrender. I have been a diplomat since I was a child, and I plan to use every charm I have to come out on top."

The audacity of the plan, the bravery inherent in it and the determination of Lorenzo to see it through, it impressed deeply on Ezio, and for a brief moment, he saw his father in this man, and he smiled.

"Send me a letter in Monteriggioni what you get back," Ezio said, clasping Lorenzo's shoulder. "My sister will see that it gets to me. I'll want to hear all about it."

"Of course."

"I'll travel with you part of the way. It's past time I returned to Uncle Mario and Monteriggioni and apprised them fully of what's happened here. We'll see if I can't have those names you gave me eliminated before your return."

"A race, then," Lorenzo said in a light voice. "Who will complete his task first?"

"Bene," Ezio said, and the two men laughed.

"Is there anything you need for your travels?"

"Yes," Ezio said. "I want a banker, one of our old ones, to come with me to Monteriggioni. Also, a good blacksmith's assistant. Can you arrange either of those?"

Lorenzo thought a moment. "There is a German man we absorbed when Giovanni died," he said. "Terrible manners but good with numbers; my men can't stand him, but he may be happier serving an Auditore. I'll ask Poliziano about the blacksmiths."

"Excellent."

Desmond blinked, taking a moment to realize he was no longer riding out of Firenze with an entourage. Sitting up slowly, he rubbed his eyes. "Okay," he muttered, "That was a headache."

"Headache?' Lucy's voice said from behind. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Desmond replied, getting up and stretching. "It's just confusing as hell, like with Monteferrat and his son and all the politics. I didn't get it then, I don't get it now."

Shaun spun around in his chair, looking at Desmond in exaggerated horror. "You mean to tell me you don't know anything about the Pazzi Conspiracy, even now after you've lived it? Don't they teach you anything in those American schools?"

"Hey!"

"I wouldn't know," Desmond growled, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his temples. "Since I never went to standardized, public school. What part of 'being raised on the Farm' do people not understand?"

"Don't feel bad, Desmond," Rebecca said, pulling her headphones down and running a hand through her dark rocker hair. "I didn't get all of it either. It's too bad we don't have a high and mighty historian to explain it all to us," she said with a grin. "Help us understand all the political intrigue that's happening."

"Oh, sure!" Shaun said, throwing his hands up. "I don't have enough to do, keeping all of us alive and safe, monitoring the other Assassins, oh, no, I'll just tack this on to the list. Note to self, 'Make presentation explaining the intricacies of Italian Renaissance politics, church politics, royal inbreeding and lists of major families. Oh, and make it all succinct and clear enough for even baby Assassins can understand.' Right, I'll have plenty of time to do it. Really."

Rebecca patted Desmond on the shoulder, making a quick "V" with her fingers to mark her victory, and disappeared from the loft, presumably to get something to eat. Shaun, still muttering to himself, got up from his stool and started pulling down sticky notes from his pin-board full of portraits and strings, making piles and setting them up at his computer, already getting to work.

Rolling his shoulders still, he grabbed the stool by the Animus, still warm from Rebecca, and dragged it over to Lucy's station. "How are things?" he asked, getting himself comfortable.

"I'm still catching up on everything that's happened," Lucy said, staring at a file. "And I still have to debrief. And on top of it I'm also in charge of Project Legacy."

"And what's that?" Desmond asked, crossing his legs.

"Nothing you have to worry about," Lucy sighed, leaning back in her chair and pushing the file away. She pulled out her hair, blond locks cascading down her shoulders as she, too, pinched her nose and then rubbed her temples. "Frankly, I'm tired of looking at it."

Desmond snorted, Rebecca returning with a platter full of breads and cheeses, a plate of finger sandwiches, and hopped up the small set of steps and set them up by the couches around the giant plasma before disappearing again. Desmond and Lucy shared a look, and both silently agreed that food was a great idea and got up to wander over. The couches were comfortable, and it wasn't long before all four of them were clustered around the small coffee table, chewing and drinking and swallowing.

Lucy with her hair down was a sight to behold, and Desmond appreciated it whenever he wasn't coordinating his hands to his mouth in some way. Her pouty lips and bright eyes were softened with her hair, and he more than admired the view. But before long they were all done, and Desmond was once more plugged back into the Animus, the white loading screen encompassing the "baby" assassin as he waited to see where he would spawn.

Looking down, Desmond eyed the knee-high boots, the red sash and obscenely ornate belt. The vest thingy was silk, embroidered with red pinstripes, and the collar had more details with gold threads. Even his undershirt had lace finery. "This guy was a fop," Desmond muttered. But, then, he'd seen how that Lorenzo guy had been dressed. Ezio didn't garishly wear jewels and gold, at least. ...But he was still a fop.

When the Animus loaded, he had spawned in Monteriggioni. The villa was still covered with overgrown, dead ivy, and the landscaping was in horrible need of repair. Flowerbeds were barren and half dug up, and the walkways were missing stones. Sighing at the bleakness of the place, he looked up to the sky. "Okay, where do you want me?"

"Well," Rebecca said. "It looks like there might be a glyph here in Monteriggioni. Actually, according to the data Subject Sixteen left behind - not easy to parse, I might add - it should be somewhere on the villa."

"Well that'll make this a short trip," Desmond muttered, turning around and staring up at the massive piece of architecture. He called up his eagle vision, walking around the perimeter of the house, around back and over the grating that lit the Sanctuary below. Walking around, he finally spied the glyph, a glorified barcode, on the far corner of the villa, and with a deep breath he hoisted himself up the windows and ledges to scan it, feeling a slight shifting in the Animus as it loaded the new data.

"Three thefts," Sixteen's voice said. "Hidden by murders. People only see what they're trained to see. What the Organization wants them to see." Hat-Trick showed up as the title.

Desmond looked at an old photograph, and Lucy was already talking.

"I bet I know what this is about," she said. "Those three Apples he had mentioned earlier. Pieces of Eden One, Two, and Three. Abstergo has them in their collection. I bet this was how they got them."

"Given who their last owners were, it certainly isn't going to be sherry and giggles," Shaun said.

Desmond gulped, wondering how much history he didn't know. The picture looked harmless enough, the caption reading Houdini and Bess, 1914. The other sentence, however, read: They made it look like an accident.

"So how'd this guy die?" Desmond asked, scanning the picture.

"The story's quite famous," Shaun said in superior tones. "A fan asked the man if he could take any blow to the stomach. Houdini said yes but without giving the man any chance to prepare, the fan hit him repeatedly."

"What idiot does that?" Desmond asked.

"Regardless, without the preparation and suffering an appendicitis, Houdini didn't get it treated, and passed out during a performance. He died."

"That's... sad," he said, looking at the picture. He reached up, almost to touch the picture, when it shifted to a different photograph, that of a grave.

The next photo was of a man, Indian perhaps, with circular glasses, flanked by two men in white. The caption said Gandhi, 1946, and while Desmond had heard of the name, vague notions associated with pacifism, he didn't know much about the man. "And this guy?" he asked, staring at the text: He almost beat them.

"Assassinated," Shaun said. "Shot while on his way to address a prayer meeting. Nathuram Godse did the deed, as they say, with the help of Narayan Apte."

"Both were Templars," Lucy said.

"The cover story is that they were extreme Hindu nationalists and blamed Gandhi for weakening India by paying Pakistan."

"... Yeah, that means nothing to me," Desmond said, looking at the withered, old, gentle face of the man.

"Indian nationalist, protested via non-violent civil disobedience, won independence of India from Britain through it, called the Father of India, his birthday is International Non-Violence Day, The Salt March photograph you saw earlier. Ring any bells?"

"Pacifism," Desmond said. "I link the guy's name with pacifism." He reached up to touch the photo again, shifting to an aerial photo of what had to be Gandhi's funeral procession, hundreds of thousands of bodies in the frame. "And he was really popular," he whispered, marveling at the love so many people had for this man. He was bigger than American celebrities.

A new image appeared, this time a file icon, and when Desmond reached up to open it, it said "Access Denied." Sixteen's voice filtered into his ears.

"The wolves are coming," he moaned, a sing-song quality in his voice, dissonant and not quite on key. "Where, oh where, had Jack gone?" A flood of images assaulted Desmond, of people, buildings, a 60s car, and an old rotary lock. Desmond spun the numbers a few times, wondering what it was supposed to do as he studied the pictures. The secondary wheel of the lock wasn't lined up with the first, and Ezio realized it wasn't a lock, per se, but a cipher. He looked over the images again, recognizing some of the faces, and realized what he was looking at. Whoa... but he realigned the cipher and input the code to the locked file. Inside was a memo.

"Dallas TN

"Operation: NEW FRONTIER

"HQ has given the go ahead to extract the resource. Negotiations are over. F. is planning to give the vote to everyone. Reason just doesn't work with someone like that.

"I'll send you the driver. He's been trained with PE2 in our labs, so he shouldn't be any trouble.

"The motorcade route is marked below. Once the target has been downed, either by Oswald or Z., use PE1 to stage a distraction. Make some kind of phantom appear around this slope I've marked off with an X. Freak people out. The driver will grab PE3 in the confusion."

Attached was a picture of the famous route, the way John F. Kennedy, "Jack" Kennedy, JFK, had traveled, when Lee Harvey Oswald shot him. One of his neighbors in his apartment complex was a total JFK conspiracy nut, always talking details of the event. But now... "I can give him a whole new conspiracy..." Desmond muttered. "Whoa..."

He re-spawned where he had left, hanging off the roof of the villa and hoisted himself up completely. "Did Sixteen know JFK?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Lucy said, apologetic. "He relived several lifetimes in the Animus, and he hacked even more. He wasn't old enough to 'know' JFK, but he may have lived the life of someone close to him."

"I see," Desmond said, trying to put a picture together of the previous victim of Abstergo. Sighing, he added, "So, where to next?"

"Back to Florence," Rebecca said. "Now that you have access to the Santa Maria Novella district, there a couple landmarks there that have glyphs on them you can check out."

"On my way," Desmond said, taking a flying leap of the villa and landing hard on his legs, tucking into a tight roll before coming up and shaking his legs out. "Ow," he muttered, "Not my best landing."

"Still impressive, though."

"For a baby Assassin."

Desmond offered the sky a finger before hopping over the rail to the converted stage, seeing a cluster of mercenaries training and paying the mindless constructs no mind as he made his way down the steps to the broken fountain with the ornate Assassin symbol and down the main thoroughfare. He wondered how the shops were going to do with the entourage Ezio was bringing home, but dutifully grabbed his horse, black with a white mane, and took off south at a heavy gallop, waiting to hit the end of the construct and for the Animus to load Florence. He rode all the way up to the city gate before he dismounted, entering the San Marco district, filled with buildings that were half built because of the growth spurt the district was undergoing, and began navigating the streets with some familiarity. He didn't know the inns and outs of the city like he had come to know Masyaf, but Ezio had been everywhere in Florence, especially when he was older and doing odd jobs for his father Giovanni.

Looking around, Desmond found a cart overfilled with barrels that made the perfect hop to a lantern post. Tracing his way up, it led to a sign, a trellis, and then to a roof, and so the "baby" assassin took off with a shout of "Time me!" before racing up to the rooftops and then up to a chimney, leaping from one to another and then climbing up to a higher roof, and then a higher one before stopping at a balcony with a sky garden. He wasn't even winded, and he smiled, looking out over the city. The skyline was dominated by the places Ezio knew best: the Palazzo della Signoria, the Duomo, and further off another church, the San Lorenzo, still under construction.

It took him a while to get there, and searching the building itself was a bit of a challenge, but he finally found the glyph, hidden away almost, and scanned it with his eagle vision, Sixteen once more talking as the strange file loaded.

"It's getting easier and easier to hack into Abstergo's mainframe. It's like I know what data I'm looking for. Like I've already lived it."

"Yeah," Desmond said, looking at the Infinite Knowledge title of the file. "That doesn't sound creepy and slightly insane. Not in the slightest..." He shivered, wondering at his fate, but watched as a photograph loaded.

"It's open mouth delivers the kiss of death," was the title, the caption reading: Burning Viet Cong base camp, My Tho, Vietnam, 1968.

A second picture said, "Leading the young to their end," with the caption: Members of the 2nd Infantry advance under machine gun fire into the outskirts of Brest, France, 1944.

And finally, an ancient photo titled, "The flames from its throat poke out their eyes," captioned: Union troops formation, Buford, South Carolina, 1862.

"So, what do these pictures have in common?" Desmond asked, studying them. "Other than they're all of war?"

"Or that they're in reverse chronological order."

"Or that they're all American troops."

"Yeah, big help there, Shaun, Rebecca. Thanks, it makes things so much clearer!" Grousing, Desmond scanned the photos with his eagle vision, wondering if his lame forensic-sense would give him any clues. Why didn't his eagle vision look cool, like Altair's enhanced senses or Ezio's intuition of where to look? No, instead he had a lame-ass crime-drama infrared shit-scope, all florescent light and-

He paused, looking at the pictures again. "They all have guns," he said finally, pointing to the bazooka in the Nam picture, the bayonets in the civil war picture, and the automatic rifle in the WWII photo.

A fourth picture overtook the other three, Eastern, maybe Chinese, Desmond wasn't sure, of a man or a god or something in decorated gold robes, a bunch of figures on the right. The title said, "This monster did not come from man," with the caption saying it was: The first pictorial representation of a gun, 900. Desmond blinked, looking up at a demon-looking figure, and a circle of fire in his hand.

ID: Piece of Eden 4 - Apple

"Christ, how many of these Apples are there?" Desmond asked as the file was unlocked and he was dropped back in Florence. "And how did Sixteen know it was this specific one that taught us how to make guns?"

"We don't know," Lucy said. "There are fifty Pieces of Eden, you saw that on the globe Altair saw in his memories, but neither the Assassins or the Templars have all of them. In a way, it's a race to find them. That's part of the reason we're here. Sixteen became fixated on Ezio, always talking about him, so Ezio might know more as he gets older. You, we, might learn something that will help give us an edge."

"A guy out for revenge and taking up his father's mantle is going to find all the lost Pieces of Eden? Do you know how much of a stretch that is?"

"Do you have a better idea on how to defeat Abstergo?"

Desmond frowned, unable to answer.

The next glyph was in Mercato Vecchio, the market centerpiece of Florence where La Volpe could be found if one just waited long enough. Desmond found himself wondering if the weird thief would pick his pocket while he was looking around, and had to remind himself that he was in a construct, that these people weren't going to randomly come to life and start interacting with him. The filtered bits of Italian sales, watching people walk from shop to shop, listening to terrible singers trying to make coin, the scent of dogs and foodstuffs and body odor, it was all for effect. Desmond could still, very faintly, feel his hands on the armrests of the Animus; feel the foreign invasion in his elbow that allowed him to interact with the construct.

Sighing, he put thoughts of thieves and people aside as he found a discrete corner of the open-air souk... no, that wasn't right, open air market that had distinct writing on it that his eagle vision scanned.

"You see?" Sixteen asked, desperation in his voice. "Do you see what's going on?"

A long, drawn out pause followed as the title of the file, Instrument of Power, appeared. Desmond felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and the turned around, but there was only more abstract shapes, black on grey. There was no one here to watch him. No one at all. And yet...

"Not yet. But you will."

"Creepy," he muttered, shaking off the willies he was feeling. Sixteen had switched from photos to paintings it seemed.

"The power they wielded, cut from their enemies." And below was a series of paintings Desmond was supposed to choose from. Not all of them were Renaissance period - and the thought startled Desmond, wondering how he could tell the difference. Was Ezio's eye for paintings also bleeding through to him? Desmond wondered how much of him would be left after this, but pushed the thought aside, now even more creeped out, and tried to pick out what the pictures had in common with the hint of cutting down enemies. He chose all the pictures that had swords, it seemed obvious to him, and the construct hummed in approval.

ID: Piece of Eden 25 - Sword

"Another Piece of Eden?" Desmond said as the next series of paintings filled his line of vision. "At least it isn't an Apple. But a sword? Come on, this is getting ridiculous."

"In their hands, the wise lean on a great force." More paintings, some stone etchings, all from different eras and periods. More than a few of them held rods or staffs of some kind, and as Desmond selected them he suspected-

ID: Piece of Eden 34 - Staff

And he would be right. "At least a sword is cool," he muttered.

"You realize that a sword and a staff are traditional implements of royalty? One represents power and the other represents wisdom and make up the regalia of-"

"I stopped listening to you half an hour ago," Desmond said, unlocking the file. "Rebecca, do the new additions help any?"

"Not really," the rocker replied, her rich contralto echoing off the walls of the market. "Each one is only a second or so long, but their sizes indicate they should be much bigger. I think part of it is the files themselves you're unlocking, but I can't be sure until all of the glyphs have been scanned and hacked. Sorry, Desmond."

"Well," he said, crossing his arms. "If there aren't any more, then I'm going to start practicing."

For the next hour he ran around the rooftops of Florence, occasionally seeing a hint of Ezio, some fragmented memory Desmond had either already experienced, or one he would likely see later, given the distinctive change in clothes. He eventually found a circuit that exercised all of his major muscle groups, and he had Rebecca time him as he ran it, shaving off seconds here and there, not feeling winded in the slightest, even when he took more than a few massive tumbles.

One such fall landed him in a cluster of Poliziano's men, and they all drew their swords in insult to being landed on, and Desmond, instead of running for dear life like he would in Abstergo, extended his two hidden blades (two! He had two!) and tried to see if he could fight.

When he had first tried fighting in Abstergo, with the tortuous stall he had during the assassination of Sibrand, he had learned what a piss-poor fighter he was compared to trained men. Now, however, he held his own, mostly, deflecting the swords and falchions and circling under one man's guard, stabbing him deep in the gut with both hidden blades and shoving him aside. A second man made a swing, but Desmond deflected with the bracer Leonardo had given him, stabbing the guard deep in the abdomen and then a downward thrust with the second blade in the back. It was meaty and wet and disgusting, but Desmond's body seemed to move for him, Ezio's muscle memory helping him along until his own body (or mind, as the case may be) built up the conditioning.

The third guard had an axe of some kind, and the swing was so brutal Desmond tumbled back, the follow up strike hitting him in his unprotected back, and he found himself in the load screen.

"Well, that was a royal fuck up," he muttered.

For the next hour he tried a few different fights, mostly with his hidden blades and occasionally his sword, and he learned the hard way that while he had picked up several of Ezio's skills, he wasn't skilled enough yet to take out a contingent of guards. Satisfied with what he knew about his limits, however, he exited the Animus with a smile, getting up and relieving himself before starting to walk to the warehouse for his jog.

He paused, though, looking back into the loft and at Lucy, still pouring over a file with her hair down, eyebrows drawn into a tight knot.

"Wanna go for a run?" he asked.

Lucy looked up, surprised, but she smiled, her entire face softening, and soon the two were racing around the warehouse. The hot blond did some minor climbing, showing more skill than Desmond had for the moment (and only for the moment, he resolved); and she also had a great stride.

... And a great ass.

The pair came back sweating and grinning, making Rebecca eye them appreciatively and with a knowing grin that Desmond stoutly ignored, trailing after Lucy's tight ass to the fridge, the pair each taking a bottle of water and guzzling it.

"That felt great," Lucy said, sighing pleasantly.

"I love running," Desmond added, shrugging off his sweatshirt and pulling slightly at his tee. He was covered with sweat. "I haven't done a stretch like that in a while, I was starting to take double shifts at the bar to keep up with the rent."

"Ah, the struggles of the middle class in America," Shaun said, breezing in to pour himself a cup of tea. "Never mind the austerity measures and the bankruptcy of Europe, or the slaughter going on in Syria, or the riots in Egypt. No, no, you worried about your rent."

"Because the middle class is shrinking to nonexistent," Rebecca said, joining the trio long enough to grab a thermos of coffee and disappearing, muttering about the video clips Sixteen had left. "And if someone paid attention to all the whining on the internet; they might actually know that."

Shaun huffed and disappeared himself, to do who knew what.

Lucy and Desmond chuckled slightly before reheating something for dinner, talking about nothing before the both crashed for bed.

Author's Notes: Whew, a lot happened here. Sort of.

Shaun started shouting about the Medici Chapel in the beginning of the chapter because it's kind of a big thing. I don't know how big private chapels in palazzos were in the Renaissance, but theirs was build when Lorenzo was still an itty-bitty kid and - in a huge break of tradition and perhaps even a brazen display of egotism - all the major figures in the Procession of the Magi were replaces with actual members of the Medici family. There's also the fact that that kind of chapel would have been extremely private, arrogance like that was kept well hidden from the public face, and so it's quite a gesture that Ezio was honored in being brought there. And, because it was made when Lorenzo was a kid, we thought it would have been six shades of awesome if Lorenzo cajoled Giovanni's portrait being stuck in there. See, even we can fiddle with history.

It would have been too much to include if we did all the assassination contracts in the game - and some of them are rather silly regardless, and so we nod to them in this chapter. More than anything else, this is Ezio taking a breath before his next big assignment, hunting down the conspirators (cue groans and moans about approaching timeskip). It gives us a chance to check in on people he won't see for a while, Volpe and Paola, but also Leonardo.

An astute reviewer thought it strange that Ezio hasn't figured out Leonardo's preferences given that Florence was famous for its tolerance of gays back in the day. Belying that beautifully awkward moment in Brotherhood, Ezio is just so, er, straight as a beanpole that it doesn't even occur to him that people he know may be gay. That kind of thing wasn't exactly advertised, just tolerate, and we soft of think Ezio was of the mindset of "other people, not me and mine," about the whole issue. There's also the fact that Ezio knows that Leonardo knows hookers - a predominantly female profession - and he knows Paola and later Teodora by name, helping him leap to the conclusion that Leonardo is as straight as he is. Hence Ezio the Dim. This doesn't mean he's stupid of course, note his haggling with Volpe. :D

Also note the spiritual resonance Ezio has (and will have) with every tomb he comes across. That's not a build up for something later. Nope, none whatsoever. Besides, as he becomes steadily less and less Christian in his beliefs, something has to take over, and saying "The Creed" is just cheap.

And oh yeah, Desmond snuck up on us! Roughly, he shows up every two memories or so. Again, cue the hair pullingly boring bits we put in for lack of better ideas. God, they were hard to write.

As a side note, aficionados of the game may note that the glyphs aren't being done in order. It's just to make the information dump make sense. It wouldn't otherwise. And hm... I wonder why the files are so large? I'm sure it has absolutely NOTHING to do with Brotherhood... :D

Next week: That damn time skip. Cue the moaning now.