Part Fourteen: Acclimating to Venice
Sef's eyes snapped open, uncertain where he was first, or how he got there. No, not Sef... Maria half sat up, vision blurry and half awake, making her rub her eyes. Her breathing was hard, uneven, and she realized dimly that she was covered in sweat. She still had to prove her worth... No, no, that wasn't right, Altair was leaving at dawn, he hated leaving her but his duty was to the Creed and they both understood.
... No, that wasn't right either. Who was he?
He looked down to his left hand. Five fingers. Five whole, un-amputated, fully functioning fingers.
Altair blinked, and then shook his head.
Desmond blinked, and rubbed his temples, leaning forward and wondering what the fuck his mind was trying to do to him. He took a shaky breath, trying to sort out his thoughts.
"Sorry to barge you on like this," a rich contralto voice said, piercing through his foggy mess of perception, "but it's getting late and we were... Hey, you okay?"
Desmond looked up, seeing Rebecca, headphones and all, music floating faintly into his ears, grounding him to reality. He was here, he was here, in 2012. He was Desmond Miles. Everything snapped back into place, and he shivered, shaking off the last vestiges of that screwy dream.
"Yeah, yeah..." he said, getting up from his bed. When had he managed to get to bed? Last he remembered was being with Mari... was going to the loft for... He shook his head. "All good. Weird dreams. That's all..."
"All right," Rebecca said, a little uncertain. "I'll let you get ready. See you in a few."
"Yeah," he said, slowly, only half aware that the rocker chick was already gone. He looked around the loft, seeing Lucy and Shaun already at their stations, Rebecca walking over to the Animus and booting up the machine. Yeah... 2012... He shook his head, getting up and walking past the couches and plasma, and beelining to the kitchenette. Coffee. He needed coffee. Lots, and lots, of coffee.
Two cups later and nursing his third, he reentered the loft.
"Ah! Good of you to join us," Shaun said from his station, traditional sarcasm rolling off his tongue. Desmond winced, unsure how to explain.
"Sorry, long night..."
"What a professional, what a professional approach!" Shaun said.
"Leave him alone!" Rebecca said, sounding annoyed.
"Well, you'll forgive me if I want to get some actual work done," Shaun bit back. "Hmm, madness, isn't it?" he added, waving his hands as if he were the crazy one. Desmond shied away, uncomfortable with even the suggestion of madness.
"Shaun!" Lucy called, her voice a whiplash across the loft. "Please. That's enough."
"Alright..." Shaun defended, turning back to his station.
Desmond loved Lucy just for that. The vision of Maria filled his vision. Strike that, he liked Lucy just for that... Really... Shaking his head, he walked over to her desk, wanting to thank her.
"Hey..." he said slowly, a tentative smile on his face.
"Uh, hi," the hot blond said, glancing up with bright eyes. She looked away.
"Are you okay?" Desmond asked.
"Yeah," she said quickly, her voice shaky. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."
"... You sure?"
Lucy sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. "We lost two more teams last night. That's eight of us just... gone."
Just like the assault at Abstergo, listening to the sounds of guns over Vidic's speaker system as they slowly faded, the clinical report of all targets neutralized. Desmond winced. "I'm sorry."
"I don't know what to do anymore..." Lucy said, shaking her head, still rubbing her tears away. "It just keeps getting worse and worse." She let loose a muffled sob.
"Hey," Desmond said, walking around the desk and crouching down by her, taking her hand and holding it. "Remember what you told me? You gotta have faith." He held up his hand, ring finger held down Altair's hand to remind her of that silent cue she had given him at Abstergo, her gift of hope. "And look. Here we are. Safe and sound."
Lucy let out a half-crazed laugh, filled with sorrow. "For how long? And when they find us? Then what?"
Hard questions, with no easy answers. Desmond offered the best he could: "When that happens – if that happens - we'll deal with it." He put his other hand around her, holding it with both and lifting it up slightly, ducking his head and looking into her watery eyes. "I'll keep you safe."
She looked at him for a long time, her face red and cheeks wet, but she offered a soft, shy smile.
She never looked more beautiful.
"Anyway," she said, taking a shaky breath, "enough with my little breakdown. I should get back to work. And so should you."
"Are you okay with that?" Desmond pressed.
Another deep breath, less shaky, and a nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine this time. For real."
And Desmond took his turn to smile, getting up and holding her hand to the last, and he got into the Animus.
Being a Florentine, Ezio had grown up with certain... prejudices. For example, Sienna was a traditional enemy of Florence, and it had taken a lot for him to pack up his family and run to Monteriggioni. But, after years of living there, the twenty-one-year-old had learned to love Sienna simply because it held Monteriggioni. It held his uncle and his pragmatic views of politics, and honest people like Santino or Alfeo or Ulderico. He loved the Tuscan countryside, the rolling hills and rich farms and golden summer mornings, and with that in mind he had turned to Florence's other traditional enemy, Venice, and tried to keep an open mind.
Venice, however, did not have such an open mind with him.
The first thing that assaulted him was Venice's (in his mind dubious) requirement of having a pass, and though he was glad that Caterina Sforza had taken care of it, he was weary of a gift from a woman who was married to Girolamo Riario - Pazzi conspirator and nephew of the pope, ergo close to Borgia and the Templars. Even with her interceding, the captain eyed him suspiciously from the moment they were out of sight of Forli, and Ezio was acutely aware of the attention and did not like it.
Then he arrived at the city.
The smell was awful: rotting fish, stagnant water, wet wood, and decidedly no sea breeze to whip it all away. As he disembarked, Leonardo expounding on the impressive architectural genius that allowed the city to, essentially, float on stilts, Ezio couldn't help but think the city was rotting under his feet, and he found himself wondering if he could feel the city sway under his boots. Unfortunately, he had been stupid enough to share that thought with Leonardo, and the painter immediately started spouting mathematics of motion and wondering if such a thing were possible and orally outlining experiments to see if it were true and whether or not it could be controlled. It wasn't that Ezio didn't enjoy his friend's company, but sometimes it was just hard to keep up with him.
The captain was still eyeing him, and so he followed the blond twenty-eight-year-old down the gangplank and looked around.
Venice was not constructed with the traditional sand and brownstone of Florence, instead it was some kind of clay brick - not unsightly, to be sure, but just different, and Ezio simply could not abide the fact that almost every building he saw seemed to be painted - again, not a bad thing, but there was no... uniformity. Bright sunshine yellow on one house, a blue on another, an audacious red on yet another; there was no pattern that Ezio could discern, and the visual confusion left him a little disoriented and more than a little perturbed.
Open mind, he reminded himself, he had to keep an open mind. He had no idea how long it was going to take to find Emilio Barbarigo; Venice was a big city and the Florentine assassin had no contacts like he did in Florence and Tuscany. He was well and truly on his own, Mario off in Rome again to monitor something and no backup to save himself if he did something stupid. The sense of isolation only seemed to aggrandize now that he was in the coastal city, and it was another black mark against it.
He pouted, once more reminding himself of an open mind. He asked Leonardo about the sights of Venice, hoping to learn the major landmarks, and the enthusiastic painter was off on another tangent, talking about churches and statues and the like before a man tentatively walked up to him, dressed in blue with a round race and very closely cropped hair.
"Messer da Vinci?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"Buongiorno and welcome!" the man said expansively, a wide grin on his face. "I am Alvise. Il Signor Dona' has asked that I escort you to the workshop. Are you ready?"
"Oh, yes, of course!" Leonardo said.
Ezio stepped forward slightly. "Is it far?" he asked.
"Uh," Alvise said, surprised to see an armored man by a harmless painter.
"We're both new to Venezia," Ezio said easily, putting on the charm as he patted Leonardo's shoulder to emphasize the point. "And we'll get lost very easily. Perhaps a tour of some major landmarks will help... acclimate us to the city. I'm certain, as a Venetian, there are many buildings you are proud of, yes?"
Alvise lit up like a candle. "Ah, Venezia!" he said proudly. "What other place is as beautiful, as stable, as perfect? Come, I will show you her wonders!"
Ezio smiled and nodded to Leonardo, gesturing the blond painter to leave his material be to the couriers and load-men, and the trio went north, up the river a small ways before stopping at an impressive wooden bridge, filled on either side with buildings much like Florence's Ponte Vecchio. "Our first stop, the Rialto Bridge! Behold the elegance with which she spans the Grand Canal; a symbol of Venetian unity and pride!" Leonardo was already flitting back and forth, trying to take in everything, and Ezio studied it as well, trying to construct a mental map of the district starting with this wooden bridge and the loading dock on the main river - which he now knew was called the Grand Canal.
"Let us continue," Alvise said after several minutes. The turned west and traveled down a main thoroughfare. Further down the street the man pointed to an impressive church. "Here we are: San Giacomo di Rialto, oldest church in Venezia. Isn't she beautiful? And her clock tower? Magnifico! Come, come! There's more to see!"
Ezio scoffed, not having enough time to commit the church to memory as Alvise set up a strict pace, pointing out buildings on their walk seemingly at random, rattling off bits and pieces of information - too fast for Ezio to retain and hardly slowing down. The man did not understand how to take a tour, apparently, and Ezio wondered if all Venetians were this... hurried.
After an hour, however, Alvise did slow down, conveniently in the smelliest place he could find, Ezio thought, reaching up and covering his nose in disgust.
"No other city can match the size of Venezia's markets," he said, making a sweeping gesture to an enclosed open-air market, round arches holding up the structure above it but the shaded courtyard-like space filled with stands and tables and buyers and sellers. Their product? Fish. The stalls were filled with fish - freshly caught and at the best price! - hanging from hooks and beams, spread across tables, held up by pushy entrepreneurs, and making the entire area reek. Alvise happily went up to one merchant, selling cooked fish at least, and quickly explained the tour and watched as the cook turned on his charm to the two Florentines.
Leonardo was besmirched, had been for the entire tour, eyes darting everywhere trying to breath in the sights, and Ezio smiled and shrugged his shoulders, buying the cooked meat and they sat down in the shade and the stench to eat. Well, Alvise and Leonardo ate, Ezio took as much as his stomach would allow.
"Fascinating, fascinating," the painter was saying. "Are all the markets specialized like this? Or can other varieties be found? I would hate to think I have to travel the entire city looking for the oils and dyes necessary for my paints, or canvas."
"No, no," Alvise said, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. "Be it spices or silk, from near and far, there is... there is..." His voice trailed off, eyes caught on something beyond their table.
Ezio pulled his hood further down before looking back to the market, seeing four Venetians in armor - likely city guards, he took note of the uniform - storm into the market and horn in on one particular fishmonger.
"You were told to stay home!" one guard in blue and leather said.
"But the rent is paid!" the fishmonger growled, eyeing the drawn sword and spears. "I have every right to sell here!"
"Emilio disagrees!" the guard said, and the fully armored men overturned the tables, shooing away customers and overturning the fish.
"No, stop! Stop!"
Ezio's eyes narrowed. Emilio? Emilio Barbarigo? He couldn't be certain, but given the cruelty of the Pazzi and the lengths the Templars had gone to kill his family...
"Let us continue the tour... elsewhere," the round-faced Alvise said, getting up quickly. Leonardo gave a nervous nod, and Ezio reluctantly followed. He couldn't afford to cause a scene so quickly after his arrival. He would have to be patient.
The tour continued well into the afternoon, Alvise still doing a terrible job of helping Ezio map out the city. Leonardo helped even less, stopping at every market and stand and asking Alvise questions that - while interesting - were more diverting than useful. For example, Leonardo pulled the entire tour to a halt at one shop as his curious eyes caught sight of an articulated wooden figurine.
"Look!" he said. "Isn't it amazing? It's fully articulated, imagine the craftsmanship that went into making it... Would you mind buying it for me?" he said, turning bright, child-like eyes to Ezio, face flush with excitement. "I left my money with my bags."
Ezio crossed his arms, feeling slightly put out as he heard a rush of feet behind him. A small group of men dashed past them, Leonardo oblivious as he tried to turn his eyes into that of a puppy, determined to wear Ezio down. The distraction was all that was needed, however, as someone ran into Ezio with enough force for him to take one stumbling step.
"Hey!" he shouted, "Mind your step, coglione!"
The person who ran into him turned, and Ezio was surprised to see it was a woman, short dark curls peeking out from her hat, dark eyes, and perfectly shaped lips. Even the men's clothes she wore could not hide her full curves. She looked Ezio up and down, grinning suggestively, and continued running, unrepentant for bumping into him. Ezio himself smirked, making Leonardo sigh, at such a fine specimen of the female form.
At least, until he checked his pockets and realized one very important pouch was missing.
"Thief," he muttered, cursing bitterly.
Alvise laughed. "A smart man in Venice will keep his coin pouch in a much better place, but then one hardly knows how that oversized belt of yours even keeps your pants up, Messere."
Leonardo, still holding the figurine, realized what had happened and sighed, putting the wooden doll down. "Perhaps later," he said, turning back with his face cheerful once more.
The tour continued, the painter easily distracted, and Ezio began to realize another facet of Venice that decidedly didn't like him.
Bridges.
Because the city was ensconced over water, in order to get from one part of the city to another, one had to cross bridges. Back alleys were no longer alleys, but canals, and Ezio did not relish the thought of swimming through that foul-smelling water. The bridges themselves were always packed full of people, all the time, as travel bottle-necked to the smattering of bridges and people tried to gently or brutally shove their way through.
At last, however, Alvise stopped at one particular bridge, pointing down further along the canal.
"And here we have the Palazzo della Seta," he said, "home to Emilio Barbarigo."
Ezio straightened, suddenly focused.
Leonardo was marveling. "Look at the gothic architecture. There isn't much of that in Firenze, so fascinating and exciting!"
"Normally, I'd suggest a closer look," Alvise said, "but...with the way things are now..."
Ezio turned intense eyes to the round faced man. "Why? What's happened?"
"He is attempting to unify the merchants beneath a single banner," Alvise explained. "There's been resistance, some of it violent."
"What kind of resistance?" Ezio asked, stepping to the edge of the bridge, his eyes taking in everything of the palazzo. Guards were everywhere.
"They say they're fighting for the people; for freedom or some such nonsense. Nonsense, if you ask me."
But Ezio was already eyeing the grand entrance, seeing the fishmonger from earlier marching up to the guards with an intent look on his face.
"They destroyed my stand," he shouted. "I demand compensation!"
"Here you are, then," a guard replied, taking his lance and ramming it into the gut of the merchant.
Grunting, the fishmonger growled, "The Doge will know about this! I'll report you to the Council!'
"Good luck with that, my friend," the guard said with a sneer, two armored men moving up and grabbing the merchant's arms. "You're under arrest for disrupting commerce."
The fishmonger openly gaped. "What?! You just invented that! There's no such law!"
"There is now."
They carried him away, Alvise and Leonardo oblivious to the event as they talked about architecture, steeped arches versus perfect semi-circles, and other trivialities. But Ezio saw it, and his eyes narrowed. Uniting merchants under one banner might be a good idea on parchment... but not if Emilio Barbarigo was in charge of it, that much was clear. Not only was he a Templar, responsible for Ezio's family's death, but he was also a cruel man.
The last of the tour wrapped up with the sunset, Alvise at last arriving at a blessedly unpainted brick structure and turning around.
"And now, I present to you, your workshop, Ser da Vinci! We spared no expense in its design! You'll see it is perfect; as if you never left Firenze! I wish you great success and hope you enjoy Venezia as much as she enjoys having you." He ended with a pleasing bow and sweep of his hands, looking for a tip.
"Most impressive, most impressive," Leonardo was saying, eyeing the building. The painter was oblivious of the extended hand, and Ezio smirked when the twenty-eight-year-old simply patted Alvise's shoulder and breezed into the studio. Alvise looked to Ezio for recompense, and he smoothly shrugged his shoulders.
"My pockets were picked, remember?"
The grumbles hid most of the cursing, and Alvise departed as Ezio followed his friend into the studio. Most of the painter's boxes and materials had been moved in over the course of the tour, and Leonardo was already poking through them, pulling out things mostly at random, putting them down as something else caught his eye.
"So, here we are!" he said. "Exciting, isn't it? Will you be staying here? I don't know how many rooms there are, but I don't mind sharing a bed if we have to..."
"Maybe later," Ezio said, thumbing his chin and thinking dear God this guy's clueless Leo's totally into him. "I need to visit the Palazzo della Seta; try and gain an audience with Emilio."
Leonardo turned away, disappointed before turning back around with a bright smile. "As you wish, but should you find yourself with free time don't hesitate to visit. My door is always open."
"Grazie, my friend," Ezio said. Leonardo held out his arms, and Ezio gladly hugged his friend, happy for the safe journey and pleased that his friend had such a generous patron.
"It's nothing," Leonardo said, giving an extra squeeze. "Whatever adventure you are about to embark on, stay safe."
"I will."
His first stop was to the nearest herald he could find, listening to the news of the day and wondering if he could learn anything about Emilio Barbarigo other than he was a merchant of Venice, cruelly trying to dig all other merchants under his boot. That was hardly a clear picture. Sadly, however he was mostly disappointed:
"By order of the Doge himself, known carrier pigeons are to be shot at will by the populous. The bounty of one ducat per hundred shall be offered as recompense for the truly industrious... Tired of feeling the road through your boots? Is the rain keeping your feet cold and clammy all day? Perhaps it's time you made an appointment to treat your feet right! Come to Faco, he's got just the boots for you! ...To all members of civilized Venetian society, let it be known that there will be a party at the Palazzo Tangolo in one week's time. Giofrangi Tangolo himself shall preside... Following the death of the Borgia ambassador, the Council reminds all citizens not to eat the fish from the city's canals. Extending a warning to all visitors to the most serene republic is considered a civic duty..."
Ezio sighed, most of the information useless. But... a Borgia ambassador died because of fish? He was suddenly glad he had eaten as little as he did, and hoped Leonardo would not fall ill. Or was it an assassination by one of Mario's men? No, Mario mostly worked with mercenaries; he wasn't subtle like that. Still... it gave Ezio hope there might be allies in the city.
The sun was almost fully set, and if Venice was anything like Florence the shifts would be changing now, and so Ezio backtracked to the Palazzo della Seta. He got lost no less than three times, cursing Alvise bitterly and finally climbing up to the roofs, startling several homeowners as they saw a figure climb over their windows. Once above the streets, he quickly saw the distinctive gothic architecture of the palazzo, and now that he was oriented, he stalked his way over. He wasn't foolish enough to stage an assault now, but he wanted a better lay of the land and the grounds. A scouting trip first, and then he would come back with charcoal and paper, sketching out what he would need.
Scaling down to the ground, he approached the only bridge that gave access to the palazzo. It was filled shoulder to shoulder with guards. It was easy enough to distract them, but after... How best to get inside? He could scale the wall and...oh that's no good. Ezio traced his eyes up the building, noting windows and stone arches, but one ledge was well below a simple square window, and Ezio was good, but he could never make that jump. He needed to find another way.
He was about to go up again, circle the palazzo and examine the other walls and facades, when a group of men, thieves by the clothing, once more blew by him. Several deliberately rammed into Barbarigo's guards, angering them, and taking off on light feet as the more heavily armored men took off after them.
That... that left the entrance open, when would Ezio get another chance? But he still didn't know anything and...
Another thief - the voluptuous girl from before, raced past Ezio and ran full tilt to the palazzo walls, taking the route Ezio had just been tracing. She wasn't as fast as Ezio, but he clinically appreciated her skill as she made her way up the side of the building, and he openly whistled when she did make the leap Ezio knew he couldn't, reaching that square window.
Archers, however, had taken sight of her - something Ezio had not anticipated, and he could see the arrows snapping on either side of the thief. One of them finally hit its mark, piercing her leg and Ezio could hear a throaty grunt. The thief struggled to hold on, but the pain overtook her and she fell several meters down to the ground. Ezio was impressed again, the woman twisting as the fall allowed her and landing - not delicately but without breaking any bones. She rolled, grunting again at the pain, and lay still for only a moment before she struggled to her feet. Limping painfully, she exited the courtyard, and Ezio realized she was running right towards him.
"I need your help," she moaned, practically falling into his chest. "We need to go! Now!"
"Va bene," Ezio said, unable to say no. "Where to?"
"The water."
Ezio frowned. "That doesn't exactly narrow it down..."
"Useless," she growled, and hobbled out of his grip and down the street.
Cursing, Ezio gave chase; catching up to her easily and trying to grab her arm to sling it over his shoulder, offer his weight as support. She spat at him and limped ahead, refusing his help where she had asked for it before.
Two guards all but appeared from an unseen alley, surprising them both, and Ezio quickly pulled out a throwing knife, tossing it into one guard's leg and ramming himself shoulder first into the other guard, punching him in the gut and then jaw, sending him spinning. The woman thief was already lurching down the street, and Ezio gave pursuit again.
"I'm better off on my own," she growled, limping into the shadows.
"I rather doubt that," Ezio said. "I've already agreed to help you, Signora, you might as well accept it."
"Goddamn archers," she cursed, ignoring him and falling to her knees as pain shot through her injury. "Ahh! Cristo, my leg!" Ezio roughly hauled her to her feet, but she pushed him away again, having the audacity to look irritated. "What are you doing? Hurry up!"
He supposed that was as close to ascent as he was going to get, and the two took off again, crossing a bridge and then another, the woman never taking a perfectly straight path. Ezio, sadly, was getting more lost by the minute, and he eventually gave up trying to figure out where he was. She obviously knew where she was going, and so he let himself trust her.
Over another bridge they came across a patrol, shouting and drawing their swords.
Ezio extended his hidden blades and dove into the fray, spinning around one man and stabbing him low in the back, kicking at the knees of a second and slicing into his shoulder as his second blade was busy with a third, deflecting a stroke before he could duck under the swing properly and stabbed him in the thigh, and finally leaping up onto the fourth guard and letting his weight press his hidden blade into the man's shoulder. All four were incapacitated, and he looked up to see the thief disappeared.
Of all the...!
He didn't have to guess where she went however, there was a trail of evening travelers climbing back to their feet, knocked over by the nimble thief in her escape, and within minutes he was matching her pace again. She was much slower now, her face glistening with sweat even in the cool winter air. Her limp was more pronounced, blood trailed down her entire leg. It finally could no longer hold her weight, and she collapsed along the edge of a building.
"Augh, Cristo," she cursed.
"I never did catch your name," Ezio said, bending down to examine her injury. She batted his hand away, apparently instinctively, before she sighed and answered. "Rosa."
"Honored to meet you, Rosa," he said, scanning the square and trying to figure out where she was going. "I'm Ezio."
"I know."
He turned to her sharply. "What do you mean 'I know'?"
"Not now. Now is not the time for small talk. Or are you blind?" she demanded, wincing.
Another patrol arrived, and Ezio saw men in full armor. He drew his sword, standing protectively in front of the dark haired thief.
"Rosa!" shouted a voice, and both she and Ezio turned to see four men, thieves, baring daggers and stilettos and running towards the armored guards.
"Don't!" Ezio shouted, "Daggers won't-!"
But one of the faster men had darted forward, and had not expected the brutal sweep of the spear, nor the strength behind the follow up thrust, the weapon embedding itself deep in the thief's abdomen.
"Fabiano!"
Ezio growled, advancing. The spear had an infinitely longer reach, but even in the metal and leather helmschmied armor Ezio was faster than anyone here, and he ducked easily under a swing, coming up and stabbing both hidden blades into the guard's eyes in retribution before changing to his sword and blocking a blow, circling the blade away and then impaling a second guard. One armored guard came in Ezio's blind side, but a warning from one of the thieves sent Ezio sidestepping, sheathing his sword and pounding his fists together, grinning at the man in sheer bravado. "Try and get me," he taunted, unarmed and coy.
"Bastardo," the brute grunted, and moved to swing.
Just as Ezio planned, he grabbed the pole, kicked at a knee and then between the leg, forcing the brute to leg go. The Florentine assassin had the spear, swung in a wide arc, slashing both the armored man in the neck and the fourth guard, leveling the playing field.
Dropping the weapon, he found the other thieves clustered around Rosa, the woman trying to put weight on her foot, arrow still sticking out of both sides.
"Can you walk?" Ezio asked. Rosa's leg crumpled under her in answer, and Ezio swept her off her feet, surprised at how heavy she was.
"This way!" one of the thieves said, pointing and dashing down the street. Ezio was slowed by the extra weight, but he kept good pace with the other four, two always staying behind to guard his unprotected back. If nothing else, thieves in Venice seemed to have some honor.
Unlike Rosa, they took a much more direct route, sticking to the main street almost exclusively. Several guards accosted them, forcing Ezio to stop and defend the thieves and Rosa, sword and hidden blades dripping in blood as he did the sad majority of the work before picking up Rosa and starting again.
They at last made it to one of the canals many bridges, a small dock by its side and a gondola there.
"Ugo!" Rosa moaned, her face white in the moonlight.
The man at the gondola was on the pier almost immediately. He also had dark curls and short hair, a brother? "What's this?!" he cried out, dashing on light feet to Ezio.
"Rosa's been wounded," Ezio explained. "And we've a trail of guards following us."
"Pass her here," the man, Ugo said, trying to take the woman from Ezio. "We'll go the rest of the way in the boat."
"Careful," Ezio said, "Until that arrow's out every movement does more damage." Further advice was lost, however, as an arrow erupted on the dock by their feet. Frustrated, Ezio finished the transfer. "Go!" he commanded, "I'll deal with the guards!"
Running down the dock, Ezio leapt up to a pole sticking out of the water, balancing precariously for a moment as his arms pinwheeled, and then hopped onto another and to the other dock across the canal, running up to the archer and leaping onto him, hidden blade diving into the guard's neck. He turned around, seeing the thief Ugo manning the gondola and making good speed down the canal. He pointed his intended direction, and Ezio was off again.
Down a road, across a bridge, down another dock and knocking another guard into the smelly waters, Ezio leapt up a table, and then to a platform and a series of lantern and flower beams along the canal, slowly getting higher and higher. He spied another archer, already firing arrows into the gondola, and threw a knife to the man's shoulder, incapacitating him. After that was a balcony to another platform, reaching out over the canal and an archer on the far side of it. The man was aiming at Ezio this time, but the Florentine assassin leapt over the distance and knocked him into the water, following the gondola again and leaping down to a lantern post and then to the ground, ducking into a tight roll before dashing forward and shoving another guard into the waters, crossing a bridge and darting down another dock.
He was panting now, over an hour of running hither and yon in circles around the district, carrying the thief Rosa, and fighting guards left and right, Venice was certainly putting him through his paces. Was the city trying to piss him off? He growled, leaping at yet another guard and cutting deep into the man's shoulder before hopping up some barrels and to another series of lantern beams and up to a balcony.
Ezio was losing track of the number of people he was shoving into the canals, cutting into their bow-arms, or out and out killing when there wasn't time to do otherwise. He was almost to the roofline now, leaping from balcony to balcony, using crossbeams or backtracking to find another way across. If he fell into the river now, Ugo would either shoot ahead without cover or wait and give the guards time to regroup, and so he stepped carefully, fighting to keep parallel or slightly ahead of Ugo and his gondola. He'd long since run out of throwing knives, and he was dog tired.
At last, however, they cleared the line of archers, and Ugo signaled Ezio down, which he did with exhausted relief, joining Ugo on the gondola and panting, sweating in the cold air and desperate for breath.
In seemingly no time they arrived at one of Venice's many docks, and Ugo guided the gondola into a secluded pier. The torchlight was stronger than the moonlight, and Ezio realized that Ugo and Rosa were the only ones alive on the gondola. Shocked, he overturned the bodies, looking for arrows. Had he missed someone?
"He's dead, idiota!" Rosa growled, gaunt and struggling out of the boat. "Say a prayer later! I need to see-ugh-I need to see Antonio!"
"Porco demonio!" Ugo cursed, rolling the body over the edge of the gondola into the water. Rosa moved to get up, but her leg once more crumpled under her, and her cry of exhausted frustration was filled with colorful curses. Ugo was immediately at her shoulder, trying to drag her off the boat to the pier, and Ezio could see he was doing more harm than good.
"Be careful!" he said, stepping over another body. "Let me do it. Go and find this Antonio."
"Don't touch her," the thief hissed, "She is my sister."
"But you're only making it worse-"
"I don't need you to tell-"
"Oh, cristo Ugo!" Rosa moaned. "Do what he says!"
He stared at his sister, aghast, before cursing and throwing his hands up. "I can't believe I'm taking orders from this guy!" He looked to Ezio. "If you do anything to her...!"
"I know," Ezio said, thinking of Claudia and the lengths he would go to - had gone to - to keep her safe. He could not fault Ugo for his protective streak, and so he made a show of picking Rosa up carefully, mindful of her terribly injured leg, while Ugo disappeared into the shadows. Ezio followed suit, careful of his steps.
Rosa moaned again, her head lolling to his shoulders. "So tired..." she whispered.
"Hey, hey," Ezio said. "We can't have you sleeping now. What about that man, Antonio? Wake up!"
But all she did was pant.
Cursing, the Florentine assassin lengthened his strides, entering the dark shadows after Ugo.
"Over here!" someone said.
"We need help," Ezio said, striding into some kind of courtyard. People, thieves, seemed to appear from thin air, filling the small space. Ugo was already there, shouting.
"Where's Antonio? Make yourselves useful! Clear a space for her! Make sure we weren't followed, dump the bodies in the pier!" The thieves hurried to do as the anxious brother commanded, one boy - barely a man - shoving rope and things off a table to the ground. A canvas appeared and covered it; Ugo grabbed a candle and gestured to Ezio. "Put her down there," he ordered, and Ezio did so carefully.
Moaning, Rosa came to briefly as Ezio adjusted her head.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
"Home," Ezio replied, Ugo taking her hand. "They've sent for help."
The female thief stared as Ezio for a moment, before offering a coy smile. "Not so useless... Thank you..."
"Rosa!" a fresh voice cried out, a sharp tenor. From the shadows came a man in his thirties came out, dark hair and stylish moustache doing nothing to hide a frightful look. "What's happened?"
The thief grunted, shaking her head. "Just get this thing out of me..." she groaned.
"Soon, soon," the man said, putting a soft hand on her cheek before taking the candle and holding over the injury. "Let's have a look first..." He ripped the cloth of her pants and adjusted the light, examining the arrow. "Clean entry and exit through the thigh. That's good."
"I don't care. Get it out!"
"Rosa, we must take care not-"
"Now!" she shouted, grabbing the thief to show her conviction. The older man sighed, his face aging with the gesture, before straightening and nodding.
"As you wish," he said. His eyes flicked to Ezio and Ugo. "Hold her," he ordered. Ugo nodded emphatically, bracing his hands on her shoulders. Ezio moved around the table to the other side, one hand placed at her hips and the other holding her thigh while the older thief places his hands on the fletching of the arrow. He took a deep breath, and with no warning to Rosa snapped it off. The young thief cried out, tears pricking at her eyes, and her entire body was moving, shuddering, trying to find some position that wasn't in pain. Ezio was hard pressed to keep her still, and adjusted his hands accordingly before finding a sweet spot.
"Are you ready?" the older thief asked.
"Si."
"Hold on, Rosa."
"Shut up Ugo, I'm not a baby!"
The older thief held a tight grip on Rosa's thigh, his other hand seeking purchase on the arrow, and there was a sudden yank, and Rosa's shouted paled in comparison to her latest shriek. Ezio could hear the shadows around him whimpering and hiding from her voice.
"I'm sorry, piccola," the older thief said with a soft term of endearment.
"Sorry?!" Rosa shouted, her voice cracking as she collapsed to the table. "You can shove your 'sorry' up your ass, figlio d'un cane! Cristo! Merda! Cazzo! Porca puttana!"
"Gaetano, go fetch Bianca and be quick," the older thief ordered. "We need to staunch the bleeding. Help me with this."
Ezio blinked, realizing he was being spoken to. Was he that tired? "How?" he asked.
"Take a clean piece of linen. When I remove my hand, press the cloth into her wound. Are you ready? Now!"
Ezio was hard pressed to move quickly, dimly surprised that fatigue had slowed him so much, but there was only one squirt of blood before he pressed the cloth into the wound. Doing so triggered a memory even as Rosa started cursing again.
"I'm an idiot for not thinking of this earlier," he muttered, and then turned to the older thief. "We need rope."
"Rope?"
"A tourniquet," Ezio explained. "We can tie off her leg and slow down the bleeding, then the stitching that Bianca or whoever you are getting will go faster and cleaner. We'll also need to boil some water for the needle and thread."
"Ugo, take care of it."
"But-!"
"Now."
Rosa's brother disappeared, cursing as badly as his sister.
The older thief glanced at Ezio, nodding in approval as he helped hold the woman down from her twitching. "Well done," he said. "You work well under pressure. Where did you learn about boiling water?"
"Let's just say I learned the hard way," Ezio replied, thinking of the stitches of his own that had to be redone because Estachio had forgotten that step, sending Alfeo into a bad mood. Rosa bucked on the table again, still unable to get comfortable and adrenaline preventing her from passing out.
"She's spirited, this one," the older thief said with a proud smile. He looked out to the shadows. "Come on!" he ordered, "Get Rosa inside so that Bianca can close the wound. Keep a lookout for her, and help Ugo with the water." People disappeared and scurried, the man looking down to Rosa and her dark curls. "You'll be alright," he said, his sharp tenor turning gentle. "The worst has passed."
Rosa was too busy cursing and insulting him and the world at large. "I hope you catch the plague, brutto bastardo! You and your overgrown whore of a mother!"
"Antonio, I'm here, where is she?"
"Antonio, I have the damned rope, and the water's boiling now."
"We've cleared the last of the bodies, Antonio, and we can't find any signs of city guards following us."
"I've run the entire dock, there's not sign of anyone, Antonio. They know not to come here."
"Good, good," the older thief - Antonio - said, wiping a bloody hand over his face. "Help with Rosa first. Bianca, Ezio, show Ugo how to make the tourniquet and help sew her closed. Hopefully she won't bite too much-"
"Proco puttana!"
For the next two hours Ezio was in a quick and dirty surgery, offering the occasional fact or piece of advice he remembered from Alfeo, ducking under Rosa's horrible mouth and Ugo's unfiltered glares. His arms were shaking by the time they were done, blood soaked his clothes almost up to his elbows, and he worried that his hidden blades would rust from it. Rosa finally passed out, from blood loss Bianca said, and when Ezio stepped back into the courtyard he realized dimly it was dawn. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours.
Antonio was pacing the courtyard, dawn light showing he was pale with worry. Ezio let Bianca give her report, instead drawing water from the well to clean himself up. Doriano would hate to learn his new clothes had been ruined so quickly. He rinsed and soaked and scrubbed and washed, trying to save the fine embroidery and detail work of the tailor. The cold water made him shiver when he was finished, and all he wanted to do was go to bed.
Antonio walked up to him. "Thank you," he said softly, his tenor tones more gentle. "Rosa is most dear to me. If I had lost her..."
Ezio shrugged his shoulders. "I've always had a soft spot for women in distress," he said, waving the work off.
It made the dark haired thief grin. "So I've heard."
Ezio stiffened but forced himself to relax.
Antonio saw it, however, and brushed it off. "Don't look so surprised," he said, "We know all about you, Ser Ezio; and your work in Firenze and the rest of Tuscany. Good work too," he added, "if a little... unrefined."
Another connection of Mario's? Just how many people did he know? Ezio shook his head. "Then you know why I'm in Venezia?"
"I can guess," the thief said with a knowing look. "You've had a long day, no doubt you're tired. God knows I am. Rest now, I've had a room set up for you. When you have a minute, come see me in my office. There's something we should discuss." He turned with an aristocratic flair and disappeared into one of the buildings facing the courtyard. A timid little boy led Ezio into another, up three flights of stairs and to a tiny excuse of a room with no bed to speak of. When he looked in askance, the child pointed to a hammock hanging from two hooks.
Too tired to protest, Ezio shed himself of everything but his hidden blades - he was sleeping with thieves, after all - and tried three or four times to get himself into the hanging canvas before finally settling down.
Venice seemed to hate him indeed, but at least she had smiled on him with the gift of Antonio, and he finally decided he could learn to like the city.
He was asleep in minutes.
He awoke sometime in the afternoon, if the sun was any indication, and as soon as he emerged from the building the timid little boy gestured Ezio to go into a different building, the façade cracked and wearing, exposed brickwork everywhere; it was the one Antonio had entered before, and the boy led him to a cramped room, dominated by a table filled with blocks shaped loosely like buildings and arranged carefully. Around it, other tables and shelves were shoved up against the walls, lanterns and candles supplementing the dying afternoon light, and filled with papers, books, and plates of half eaten foodstuffs.
Pouring over the table full of blocks, Antonio looked up.
"Come in, Ezio. Welcome. Can I offer you something? Biscotti? Bread? Fish?"
"No fish," Ezio answered, the smell of yesterday's market still fresh in his mind. "Bread is fine."
Antonio pulled out a dagger and cut off a hunk of a roll, tossing it to Ezio; he took one bite before immediately spitting it out.
"What idiot puts salt in bread?" The twenty-one year old demanded, wiping his face.
"I suppose it's something of an acquired taste, for you Florentines," Antonio said, shrugging. "You'll have to get used to it, however. You'll be hard pressed to find Tuscan fair anywhere here."
Ezio made a face, taking another bite of bread and struggling to choke it down.
"Enough about that," the thief said, fingering his mustache. "Now where were we? Our failure at the palazzo cost us dearly. Rosa was the only one to make it out alive, and the men who came to help her are either dead or as badly injured as her. My forces are down by over a third; it will take time to recover. No doubt Emilio will use this pause to strengthen his defenses and continue his oppression of the district. You may not share our motive, Ezio, but I know you share our goal."
The Florentine nodded. His care for Venice was minimal, at best, but Emilio Barbarigo was very important to him. "Why not gather your forces and try again?"
"To act in haste would only bring more losses. No. We must resupply and draw new plans."
"... I can ill afford to sit around and wait," Ezio said, weary. He was grateful for the shelter, to be sure, but the idea of one of the Templar's building his defenses did not sit well with him.
"Nor would I want you to," Antonio reassured. "Work with us instead. Already my men begin to mend today's wounds. Seek them out; they'll put you to work. The sooner you aid them, the sooner we can strike."
"What kind of work?"
"How good a thief are you?" Antonio asked.
Ezio tried not to make a face; he remembered the terrible job he had done under Paola's tutelage, and he had not tried to steal since.
Antonio was perceptive, however, and saw the look. "I see. Then perhaps my boys and men can teach you to steal - it is an essential skill for a man to survive here in Venezia, and in return, you can help train recruits in how to climb - that I know you have skills with, if you are anything at all like your father and uncle."
The mention of Giovanni made Ezio think of the gallows, but if it showed at all Antonio did not bring it up, and instead he nodded his head. "Molto bene, Messere. I accept."
"It is the right decision."
"I hope it is."
The next day Antonio introduced Ezio to his entire gamut of thieves, some young as ten and some older than even the aristocratic Antonio. More than a few - Ugo most notably, were mistrustful of the Florentine Assassin, and many eyes glanced over to the building that held Rosa and the other two thieves who were recovering from the assault on Palazzo della Seta. The young ones were easily won over, however, when Ezio suggested a simple race over the rooftops, and he beat every one of them by a mile - even in helmschmied armor. The kids were immediately impressed, and even Ugo had to give a grudging respect for the shear speed that the young Florentine had demonstrated.
After that, he spent the rest of the winter and all of the spring showing the youngest how to climb, how to look for handholds and footholds as Federico had taught him, and how to trace lines up the facades of buildings. He was not a natural instructor - at least he didn't feel it - and often Antonio would step in with aristocratic flair and say just the right thing. The older thief had a knack for breaking down the points Ezio tried to make, and he marveled at how instruction became much easier after that.
It was mid-April when Rosa was finally up on her feet and on a crutch. She had spent much of the winter swearing at everyone and everything, except Antonio, Ugo, and strangely Ezio. The Florentine learned that Antonio had taken her and her little brother in as children teaching them everything he knew. Both of them looked up to him as a father figure, and it was obvious that he doted on them both. The pair were more than a little rough around the edges from their childhoods, Antonio explained (much to Ugo's acute embarrassment) that Ugo was mistrustful of everyone on first blush, and to ignore him until he came around. That left Ugo grumbling for weeks and glaring whenever the situation arose. Rosa, by contrast, as the older sister did everything for her brother, taking all the chances and doing all the dirty work. It was like an odd mirror of Ezio and Claudia, and to find a kindred spirit in such a curvy body made Ezio more than a little curious about her. On the other hand, however, she was not some farm girl in the countryside he would never see again, and he knew that that kind of relationship had expectations and consequences, neither of which he had time for if he was to kill Emilio Barbarigo and get one step closer to the Spaniard Borgia.
That didn't mean he wasn't interested, however, and much to Ugo's dismay, she was just as interested in him.
"Salute, Rosa," he said one morning, seeing her hobble about on a crutch and cursing at some of the children for getting in her way. "You seem to be healing well."
She turned her perfect lips to him and smirked. "Si, better now that I can see the city. Which reminds me, how are you finding Venezia?"
Ezio shrugged, charming and flirtatious. "It has its charms. But how do you deal with the smell? How disgusting..." He wiped his nose theatrically to emphasize the point.
They both laughed, Ugo spying the two and pouting outrageously in a corner of the enclosed courtyard. "So," she said in a low, throaty voice, eying him up and down, "what brings you to me?"
Ezio grinned rakishly. "I was hoping you could help me with something," he said, reaching up and thumbing her chin.
"And that would be...?"
"I want to learn to climb the way you do."
Rosa made a face. "Oh. You're terrible. Va bene, I can do that. Well," she added, looking at her bandaged leg and crutch, "I can't, but Ugo can. Ugo! Move your ass! Show Ezio how to reach the top of that scaffolding."
"I'll do no such thing for some idiot who thinks bread shouldn't have salt!"
"Do it Ugo, or I'll tell him about what you're like when you're drunk."
"You wouldn't!"
"I'm your sister, you know damn well I would."
"Cazzo..." Ugo muttered, hunching his shoulders and marching over to the aforementioned scaffolding. With a breath, he leapt up to one of its support beams, feet pressed against the wall and hands gripping the wood structure.
"Begin in a hanging position like that," Rosa was explaining, "then jump to the ledge above you. As you reach it, grab it with your hand and pull yourself up. There. See how it works? Ugo, do it again!"
"Rosa..."
"Again, pezzo di merda!"
"Porco puttani..."
Ezio understood the logic well enough, but it took over an hour of trying before he mastered how to angle his jump and swing his arm - it wasn't as easy as it looked, and required certain muscles he didn't usually use. Ugo lorded it up over him in spite of Rosa's protests, but was eating his own words when, by that evening, Ezio had climbed the scaffolding faster than him.
"So?" he asked, a pleased grin on his mouth. "How did I do?"
Rosa, just as much of a tease as Ezio, shrugged her shoulders. "I've seen better," she said, coy smile and bored tones.
"Ah!" Ezio said, grabbing his chest. "You wound me with your cruel, cruel words!"
The woman thief gave an indelicate snort. "Alright, show-off, let's put your skills to the test. Meet me in front of the Frari tomorrow."
And, the next day, Ezio was at the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, the Frari for short. The second biggest church in Venice, it was a minor Basilica only, not the same as the Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, but its impressive gothic architecture made for one of the major landmarks of the mercantile San Polo district. The roofs were some kind of metal turned green, and the tower was one of the tallest in the entire city. Rosa stood in the square in front of it, leaning heavily on her crutch as she watched Ezio swagger up to her, eying him appreciatively. Ugo was there, too, grumbling.
"Climbing a bit of scaffolding is all well and good, but let's see how you do out in the open," Rosa said, throwing her glance up to the massive church.
"Top of that tower, then? I'll be right back," he bragged.
"I doubt that," Ugo muttered. "Even Rosa can't climb to the top."
"Oh, a challenge then," Ezio said. "What do I win when I do the impossible?"
Rosa gave an earthy smile, thumbing his chin as he had done the previous day. "You get to see Ugo drunk."
"Ha!" Ezio said. "Such a tease."
But it was all the prompting he needed, and Ugo, as judge, followed Ezio as he darted up an adjoining building, hopping from it to the greenish roof of the church, and then began climbing the tower. He plotted his route carefully as he went, there were far fewer handholds here as there were on other buildings he had climbed, and it really was a challenge for him to work out how to get from one part of the tower to another, and he used his new climbing technique no less than three times in order to get to some of his desired handholds. Ugo had long since disappeared, not having the reach that Ezio did, and it was midmorning by the time Ezio ascended to the top. He stood on the tower's highest roof, looking out over the city. The smell was gone this high up, just a faint hint of salt, and a strong wind from the sea. The canals shone bright with the morning sun, almost dazzling, and he could hear seagulls.
Venice...
It certainly had its charm.
He sat on the tower for a long time, admiring the view, thinking. Cristina would love this view... But he put that thought away, instead committing the sight to memory for his next letter to Claudia. There was something about being so high above the city, looking down and seeing how small the people milling about were. There was an urge in him to jump, to fly like the eagle he was named after.
There was no hay below him, however, and even then a leap from this height would kill him.
And so he began his arduous climb down, taking his time and working carefully, before landing in a tight roll on the ground, startling several people on their commute.
That night Rosa arranged a party in honor of the impossible being done, and everyone took part, even the children, in fish and pork and chicken and salty bread and much, much wine. Ezio regaled everyone with an exaggerated account of his climb, describing the view as best he could as his audience got more and more smashed. He never did see Ugo drunk, but Rosa was downright entertaining, sweating and unbuttoning her shirt and swearing at anyone who dared look at the obvious gifts she was adorned with. There was dancing and disjointed music, Ezio had more than a few drinking contests, and woke up the next morning bleary and confused in his room, several others in varying states of dress and undress cluttered around the floor. The hangover wore off quickly, however, and Ezio enjoyed lording it up over everyone and training them extra hard just for the hell of it. Rosa was nowhere to be seen, but when she did show she looked very satisfied. Ezio wondered who had helped with that and found himself slightly jealous that it hadn't been him.
Ah, well.
Antonio gradually collected over a dozen new recruits, all of varying ages, and Ezio joined them unabashedly in the lessons on pickpocketing even as he taught the fresh blood how to run and climb. Antonio, Ezio learned, was the son of a cobbler and a maid, raised in poverty and believing, like everyone else, that if he simply worked hard enough he could become rich like the nobles. But, even with the education, the noble collegiates and universities refused entry because of his heritage. The bitterness eventually turned to clarity, and Antonio realized the true nobility existed in the people who held up the cities: the thieves, mercenaries, and whores; the merchants and maids and cobblers and tanners; the people not the rich.
Ezio also took it upon himself to give the thieves a more rigorous training regime with knives and daggers, the thief's dismal performance at Palazzo della Seta when they first met showing him just how much the thieves had to learn.
He learned very quickly, however, not to push himself too much when summer came and he went down with the heat.
"I don't understand," Ezio complained after fainting the third time in a week. "Firenze was certainly hot in the summers."
"It's not the heat," Antonio said, smiling as he offered another glass of wine. "It's the humidity. All the water in the air gets trapped on your body, and you work all the harder for it."
After a while Ezio learned what he could and couldn't do in high summer in Venice, and he sent a long and extended opinion on the city in a letter to Claudia, explaining the contract he had taken on to train thieves (thieves! He would never have guessed) and regaling her with stories of the thunderstorms and gaudy painted brick. His little piccina wrote him every week, telling him about their mother's progress (or lack thereof) and new tax brackets Adler had computed and Orazio's latest building project after fixing the church. Mario's letters were less frequent asking after his training (and when would Ezio ever finish his training...?) or offering some tidbit of news on the goings-on of Italy. Lorenzo, too, wrote his own letters, only one or two, mentioning the odd story of his many children or expressing in hidden words rumors of so-and-so or such-and-such doing things perhaps they should not. The patron of Florence had quite the information network - likely why Mario was gallivanting around Italy all the time - and occasionally Ezio would learn one of Lorenzo's enemy's was in Venice, and he would take care of the problem.
When he wasn't training thieves, he was chatting up Leonardo if the painter wasn't busy, and generally familiarizing himself with the city. He also took extra lessons from Antonio, learning what he could about the politics of Venezia. They had a Council of Ten, lead by a Doge - a man elected as the most senior officer and held the title for life, and he learned that the name Barbarigo was actually noble; Emilio was more than just an arms merchant. He was cousin to a pair of brothers, Marco and Agostino, and another cousin, Silvio. Antonio said that some were Templars and some were not, and that even he did not know which was which aside from Emilio.
Author's Notes: And, thus, we begin the four year time skip. Let the whining begin. You have NO IDEA how hard it was to fill in the time skip. At least with the ten-year skip later we have a war and an extra video game we never played to thrive on. Not so, here, and dear GOD it was like pulling teeth to figure out how to make it all work. And there was Rosa, and Ugo, and describing Venice with Ezio's Florentine prejudices and, well, the hair pulling was generally painful. For all of Venice really, but I'm sure you'll hear more of it as the fic progresses.
Rosa and Ugo - while not the hardest characters to define from the game - we probably had the most care with. Rosa, in particular, has a certain... image she projects in the game around Ezio, and we were once gain saddled with trying to make it believable. More on that in the next chapter. Ugo, too, we wanted to make a very particular archtype. As Antonio describes, he doesn't trust anyone at first blush, but there are other nuances in his character that we tried to put in place, as well as skill sets compared to other thieves. More on that in later chapters as well.
The Venetian assassins in general were hard for us; Ezio doesn't get the intense personal connection to them like he does with Lorenzo or Paola or Volpe, and many of them he meets in a painfully short amount of time, making it hard to even define the characters/relationships. Sigh. We did what we could.
We also hope that the sense of weather and temperature are vaguely accurate. Wikipedia can only give so much in the way of information, but it seems logical that Venice would be much more humid than Florence and - living in an area where humid summers really can make you faint, it entertained us greatly that Ezio would have the same problem. I'm sure our Italian fact-checker will disabuse us of any misconceptions.
And note Desmond's first sense of fractured reality, and think long and hard about Brotherhood. Just think about it.
Next chapter: that damn four year gap continues.
Note: Anyone watching the weather may have noticed that thing called Hurricane Sandy, this Frankentstorm that is a bastardized child or Hurricane Irene and the October snowstorm of last year. Guess who's in the path of it? If you don't see us next week it'll be because we're without power for days, trapped in our house because of fallen trees, or out with our baby chainsaw trying to clear out from the oncoming disaster. Just thought you should know.