Recap: Halt and co. head for Vercelli in hopes of a new lead on the Liberator.
Ezio and co. are reunited and question their Templar captive.
~17~ Interrogation
Will rolled the silver cube over in his hand. He turned one face. Then another. Then rolled it around before turning yet another face. Then he stopped, sighing.
This was hopeless. Lord knew how many Ranger commandants couldn't solve it before him, so what hope did he have?
Looking up and around, Will took in the scenery for a while, lulled by Tug's tireless strides beneath him, only spending minutes in oblivion at regular intervals because his companions were there to keep a constant watch on the forests and farms they passed.
"May I see it?"
Will jolted, twisting the other way in the saddle.
"Whoops, didn't mean to scare you," said Gilan, not looking at all apologetic but smiling warmly. He held out his hand.
Will glanced forward to Halt, riding in the fore, but when the old man said nothing, Will nodded and passed the puzzle cube to Gilan.
"Why would those Templar blokes want this?" He hefted it, then held it up to the light. Rainbow rays glanced off its surface.
Will shrugged. "All I know is that if they want it, we shouldn't give it to them. At least, not now."
Gilan turned a few of the faces. Will didn't mind; he wasn't exactly on a roll.
"You can't solve just one face at a time. You have to solve them all at once," said the taller Ranger.
"Unfortunately, yes. Which means there are more possible solution paths than there are stars in the sky."
"Hmph, don't envy you there, mate." Gilan tossed it back to Will, who glared witheringly at it, wishing nothing more than to cast it away. And yet he knew he'd run after it even if it wasn't important. It...wanted to be held.
"I just need to stop thinking about it and just...do it."
"That's the spirit!" Gilan nudged Blaze into a trot, and the bay brought him to the head of the line, alongside Halt.
"Let me look at it."
Will turned in the saddle again, looking at Horace. Although doubtful Horace could solve it (not that he thought him dim, but because he was more of a doer than a thinker), he tossed the cube to him.
Horace set to it with surprising eagerness, and Will took over watching their surroundings. Although Italy was truly a country of natural beauty, he missed his homeland dearly. The snow-capped peaks to the north seemed an impassible wall to the forests he'd roamed ever since he could walk.
Sighing, he stood in the stirrups and stretched, shaking either leg out before settling again. It would be days yet before they reached the town of Vercelli, where a Templar agent might have information regarding the location of the White Liberator. Might. There was even the possibility he would not speak with Will, whether he had a location or not.
When he glanced back, Horace had passed the cube to Alyss to fiddle with. Will had to fight the urge to demand it back.
Shocked with himself, he faced forward again, realizing his hands were cupped together, as though he were still holding the cube. How strange was his longing to have it back. He tried to force the artifact from his mind, pulling out his journal and beginning a fresh entry.
July ?, 1504...
Ezio watched Pedro emerge from the trees, smoothing out wrinkles in the sleeves of his recovered robes and testing his hidden wrist blade. The man had been pleased to have his affects returned undamaged, including his mother's English hand-and-a-half sword. Fortunately, when the smugglers' leader had ended up in the river, they'd looted the wagons and scattered – they hadn't bothered with Pedro's possessions.
Although there were now over half a dozen thieves running around with priceless art and trinkets that belonged to the people of Milan, Ezio considered their mission a success. They'd captured a Templar leader, reacquired the black Precursor mystery box, and, most importantly, they had rescued Pedro before his face could be carved off.
"I still think I pull this look off better than you," said Lauro as his friend approached him before the fire. Pedro brushed the back of his fingers along Lauro's cheek in reply, grinning when the man slapped his hand away.
"I thought of you every minute we were apart, dove," said Pedro, sitting beside him.
"I tried to forget you, but Ezio kept reminding me that you were somehow 'important' or something," Lauro rolled his eyes. His face scrunched up as Pedro leaned into him, and he pushed him off. "Get away."
Pedro laughed.
"You two are going to make me vomit," Dante sneered.
"Let it happen," said Lauro. "I've never seen a rat vomit before."
"Why, you—!"
"Save some for later, boys," said Ezio. He was holding up the black box, looking it over again. It was small, about the size of his fist, and apparently, had yet to be opened. His eyes moved from the box to the Templar woman lying on her side with her arms tied in front of her, her ankles bound together, mouth gagged. She didn't move for the pain that would be ravaging her side. Ezio had cleaned up the bullet wound—courtesy of one of her own smuggler riflemen—to prevent her from dying of infection before he was done with her. The bullet had gone straight through her.
Rather than show any kind of gratitude for his mercy, she glowered at him, and Ezio couldn't help but feel a bit unsettled – Lauro had given her his spare set of clothes so she wouldn't die of the chills overnight, and so she looked like an Assassin disciple, minus the outer robes.
But the uneasiness evaporated once Ezio stood and stepped over to her, wrist blade flashing in the firelight. She curled away from him, brow crunched. He crouched next to her, letting her get a full view of the blade.
"Scream and lose your tongue. Understand?"
Her eyes hardened but she nodded. Ezio pulled the gag from her mouth, letting it fall around her neck before he sat down. He held the box up.
"What is this?"
"What makes you think I know?" she snapped.
"A thief takes only what he knows to be of value."
"I am no thief."
"You are as good as." Ezio tried to open the box. He could feel the tiny hinges and the seam but it refused to unseal itself. Not that he'd expected it too. It seemed foolish not to try.
"Mentor, allow me."
Ezio glanced over at Pedro, then tossed the box over. He caught it and slipped a throwing knife around the seam, as though to break a seal. Then he tried to pry the lid off with the same blade. No luck.
The Templar rolled her eyes. "Don't you think I've tried all this? I've tried heating it, shooting it, stabbing it. I've had it run over by carts, smashed with boulders, I've even had shamans and holy men attempt to open it with their...'influences.' Nothing."
Lauro took it from Pedro, leaning forward and tilting the box to see the etches on all the faces better. "What language is this, do you suppose?"
"Looks like a cross between Greek and Arabic," said Pedro.
"I know a bit of both. Give it to me," said Dante.
Lauro glared. "It's neither."
Sensing another squabble inbound, Ezio held out his hand, and Lauro tossed it back. He knew what language it was, but he wasn't about to indulge that knowledge in front of the Templar, or even Dante.
"How did you get this," he asked the former, "if you are no thief?"
"Unless you think taking an object from a heap of stone and overgrowth is thievery, I simply took what no one owned," the Templar toned.
Ezio frowned. "It was stolen from the Milanese Assassins—"
"Not. By. Me."
"Then by whom?"
She rolled her eyes. "Your reputation may have preceded you, Master Assassin, but it is grossly overblown. I told you, I found it in a ruin and brought it to Milan a couple years ago. My superiors lost interest in it when I failed to open it, and it ended up where, I assume, you found it."
"In the cellar," said Lauro darkly, "in a chest full of Assassin gear."
"You kill Templars. I kill Assassins. It isn't complicated," she snapped at him.
"They'd been shot in the back!"
"Then they were cowards running away from a fight—"
"Lauro." Pedro grabbed his friend's arm before he could stand. "Peace." He looked back at the box. "So someone stole it from Milan, abandoned it in a ruin, and then Teresa found it and brought it back to the city."
"This ruin," said Ezio, leaning towards the Templar. "Where is it?"
The woman scowled at him. "Why should I tell you?"
"You've told us everything else so far. It might even be enough to earn you your freedom."
"Go to hell."
Ezio sighed. He knew he'd hit a dead end with her at some point. Frankly, he'd already gotten more than expected. Did he really need to know which ruin the box was found in? He was more curious as to who stole it from the Assassins and then left it there to begin with.
"I can make her talk, Ezio," said Dante, using a knife to clean under his fingernails. "It'll be fun."
"No."
Dante's face contorted into that of a child robbed of a special treat, but Ezio ignored him. Looking at this woman, pain had little meaning to her. Afraid of death but not the dying part. Although every man and woman had their breaking point, finding it in this woman was...unnecessary. Especially when time was on his side.
He could, of course, use the Apple of Eden to break her mind open like a gourd. But that would be the Templar thing to do.
"Get rest everyone. No, not you, Dante. Keep watch for two hours, then wake me."
Dante grumbled inaudibly but again was ignored by the grand master, who moved away from the Templar, to his sleeping roll. Tucking himself inside, he kept one hand on the box. The other he discreetly reached into the pouch containing the Apple. If it had something to say, it would tell him in his dreams. Hopefully he wouldn't speak in his sleep...
When he woke up later, he would be surprised to do so. Slipping into sleep was so smooth he really thought he was the bird watching the thief breaking out through a window, a man shrouded in white and black. He plunged two stories before catching himself on a sill, dropping again, and landing in an alley. Ezio took flight, curious, watching the thief dash away, vanishing into the crowds. But he could follow him from above, and in the distance, admire the spiky Cathedral of Milan...
The thief was riding hard through acres of farmland, fleeing the dawn...
Now he was being pursued from a city dominated by a basilica Ezio did not recognize. The riders were gaining, but the thief was willing to push his animal beyond its limits to outrun them. The riders, however, were not, and as Ezio watched from above, they slowed one by one, still following but at a pace that wouldn't burst their steeds' hearts. The thief kept the reckless pace until, at last, his horse collapsed. The man leaped free without a backwards glance, still heading north across the grasslands. He stole a fresh horse from a farm and did not stop, not even to sleep...
Now he was in the mountains, surrounded in lush greenery and shreds of mist. Again on his tail were riders, but again he outpaced them, and didn't even bother covering his tracks as he came to the ruins of what looked like a monastery, a chapel at its core. Ezio swooped down to keep an eye on him, landing in the rafters of the chapel's nave while the thief rested near the altar...
Alone for now, the thief finally brought out his prize from Milan – a small black box, inscribed with archaic symbols. He ran his hands all over it, cradling it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. He mumbled something to it and caressed its lid, then brought out a knife.
Ezio took off from the rafters and dove, wanting to get a better view of what he was about to witness. But the hooded man looked up and stared straight at him, and Ezio recognized him at last. He tried to bank, but all he could see was the void down the barrel of a pistol. Then, a spit of sparks, a flash of white, a burst of smoke and a deafening thunderclap and Ezio felt his chest explode. He fell, landing on the dusty floor, black feathers fluttering down all around.
The White Liberator approached, knelt. His face was too dark beneath his ivory hood.
"I see you. I want you to see me. Find me in the land of the ancient Raśna, and realize your fate, child of the old world."
Ezio was struggling to breathe with lungs that no longer existed. He twitched soundlessly on the floor as the Liberator stood and turned away, leaving him with only a view of the chapel's nave, and the broken windows above, but even they were fading...
He heard the bell as well as felt it throughout his whole body, as though he were standing inside it as it sang. It shattered his hearing and shook the world—
"Ezio! Ezio! Wake up!"
He opened his eyes and realized he wasn't breathing. He couldn't breathe. He was on his back, writhing, mouth open but not taking in air, because he'd been shot and his lungs were gone.
No, no they're not. It was a dream. Had been a dream! And with that recollection his chest unlocked and he gasped, banishing the fog in his mind, blue fading from his cheeks.
Pedro was cursing. "What happened, mentor? What's wrong with you?"
More embarrassed than anything, Ezio took his time sitting up, knowing everyone would be staring at him. He knocked Pedro's hand off his shoulder.
"I'm fine," he rasped. "Bad dream, is all."
Lauro and Pedro took the hint and backed off, knowing Ezio would explain what really happened when the other two weren't around. But the Templar, Teresa, scoffed.
"Something must be seriously wrong with you, if you call that a nightmare. But then, you are who you are."
Ezio knew what she meant but didn't dignify her insult with a response, getting to his feet and looking east.
"It's nearly dawn. Why wasn't I woken for my watch?"
"I couldn't sleep, Mentor," said Lauro. "So I took it."
"I don't care if you couldn't sleep. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed. Understand?"
Chastened, Lauro nodded, and Dante looked smug until Ezio turned on him. "I gave that order to you, apprentice. If you can't handle so simple a command as keeping a watch schedule, what makes you think you could do anything complicated?"
Dante's face flushed, from anger or humiliation, he wasn't sure, nor did he care.
"You see what happens, when you let order slide in an organization, Assassin Grand Master?" said Teresa, smirking.
"Order?" Ezio turned on her. "Giving orders is not the same as forcing order."
"And you can do neither, it seems."
For a second time, Pedro had to stop Lauro from lunging at her. She was, after all, tied up and lying on the ground, defenceless. Lauro snarled, trying to get around his friend.
"Ezio saved your life, you ungrateful bitch! He didn't have to! But he did, because he chose to. I doubt that you could have ordered any of your men to jump in the river after you. And in case you've forgotten, you failed. You were captured by three men against a dozen, with nothing more than a few chemistry experiments and one crossbow. How well did your orders serve you then, hm? How—"
Ezio raised a hand. "Enough."
Lauro ended his rant but stared at Teresa, and she at him, like a pair of ring dogs taut at the ends of their leads.
"If we leave now, we'll reach Milan with much of the day left," said Ezio.
With that, the younger Assassins split to dismantle camp. The elder grabbed the Templar by the arm and hauled her to her feet, despite her small sounds of pain.
"Can you ride?"
She scowled. "Not likely."
"Tough. You have no choice." Ezio dragged her over to one of the horses recovered from the smuggler caravan and managed to coax the beast to its knees. He helped Teresa get on, then bound her to the saddle. The horse's reins were then tied to Fool's saddle and, as though the dapple-grey knew what Teresa had done to his human, his ears flattened and he stamped.
"Easy, easy," said Pedro, stroking his long face.
Ezio's estimate proved correct, with several hours of daylight remaining once the company returned Milan. And it was less than an hour later they were off again, minus two of their company.
"Mentor, what's the rush?" said Lauro, once they slowed their horses for a rest. They were heading east, but on a road different from the one they'd used to approach the city earlier that day. "I mean, I'm just as happy as anyone getting rid of Dante and the Templar bitch, but..."
"That dream this morning, I'm sure you've guessed, wasn't a dream," said Ezio.
"Was it the Apple?" asked Pedro.
"Yes. It showed me...something." He recounted his vision, censoring the Liberator's words a little.
"The land of the Raśna. Where did I hear that before?" Pedro mumbled thoughtfully.
"...Malik's journal, remember?" said Lauro. "He was the right hand man to Altaïr. He mentioned the location of the Reliquary, believing it somewhere in the land of the Raśna... Right?" He turned to Ezio, who nodded.
"I still do not know where that is, but there is somewhere we must go first, and I know where that is."
"...Where?"
"Remember the city the Liberator was chased from, before he reached the monastery ruins. I didn't recognize it, but I was able to sketch its skyline from memory and one of the Milanese Assassins recognized it as Vercelli. The monastery was in the mountains north of there."
"Do you think he opened the box?" asked Pedro.
"I don't know. But it looked like he knew what it was. It was the only thing he took when he broke into the Assassin den, and once alone at the ruins, he seemed to...caress it." Ezio paused, thinking back on the dream. He was still unsettled at the thought of the Liberator turning to him and shooting him out of the air, and then speaking to him through time. Whoever this man was, he was like no other.
"If we get to that monastery...perhaps there will be clues."
"Your special sense?" said Lauro.
"This happened three years ago, but maybe..."
They fell into silence, but then Pedro cleared his throat.
"What do you suppose they'll do to Teresa?"
"Who cares," Lauro muttered.
"They'll question her," said Ezio, "although I'm not convinced they'll get her to say much of anything. But hopefully they'll be able to use her to root out any more Templar agents in the city. It's in Arabelle's hands now."