Recap: Halt and co. are grasping for straws on the hunt for the White Liberator, and cling to their last lead by seeking a Templar agent in the city of Vercelli, whose web stretches across all of Northern Italy.

~18~ Vercelli

It took a couple days longer than expected for the company of Brits to reach the Italian city of Vercelli. Patrols of Frenchmen strutted down every main road, it seemed, and poked their noses into every village between this city and Turin. Having been stopped once already, Halt had declared it best they avoid anyone carrying a weapon. He had only just managed to convince the first party who stopped them that they were nothing but poor, journeying minstrels, and had Will sing to prove it. They had simply been robbed of their instruments not two days earlier. The Frenchmen had looked suspicious, but the weird Ranger cloaks and small shaggy horses had helped their case, even if the longbows didn't.

Now the weary group hesitated leaving the shadows of the forest, the packed road before them leading up to the city's front gates.

"Maybe I should go alone," Will muttered.

"I'm not sure I could take another night on this unyielding ground," Gilan grumbled. "Just one night in a bed, please."

"And you'll need help finding this Mercutio man," added Horace.

"I think I know how I'll find him," said Will, "I just don't know how long it will take."

"We all go in." Halt nudged Abelard on, and the others followed him on the last stretch of open ground to Vercelli.

No one seemed to give them much attention, not like they did in the villages. Strangers were more common in bigger settlements, although they were still given curious looks. They found an inn with a sizable stables, and there they unsaddled and rubbed the horses down, leaving them with hay and buckets of water. Will was just as ready to plop down in a soft bed as his companions, but there was daylight left and he felt urgency gnawing like an itch.

"I'll be back," he said, turning to go down the street. He didn't get far before he felt a pounding on his shoulder. Horace smiled but said nothing, and Will smiled back. He really didn't want to go alone.

Ivory, ochre and golden walls guided them deeper into the city, shadowed windows brightened with potted flowers. The occasional tile cracked underfoot, having fallen from the rooftops, orange chips settling between cobblestones. Lines burdened with linens draped between the buildings, women stretching out of windows to pull them in or else put them out, waving to friends on the streets below. Children ran amok, chasing dogs and pigeons, giggling like little fiends. Every conversation overheard was polite and dignified, as though this were an important gathering and propriety was paramount.

If there was one thing the Ranger company learned of Italians, it was that they were proud creatures. Banter was nonexistent. Teasing was left to children. Gossip, however, dangled its fruits in every corner...

"Where are we going, anyway?" asked Horace.

Will pointed. "See those towers? It must be a cathedral. If there's a Templar here, he'll be there."

The cathedral, he found out from a local, was the Basilica di Sant'Andrea, and it was at the northern end of the city. An hour's walk brought them to its plaza waving in the heat, and they gazed up its awesome façade, hands shielding their eyes.

Above the middle of three layered archways was a rose window, plain on the outside but would be brilliant with the light shining through on the inside. Above that were double rows of blind arcades, capped with a peak that bridged twin towers of roan and blond stone. The nave's roof was shorter than the façade, but still looming, and like many cathedrals, its body formed a cross. At the transept was an octagonal belfry, also of red stone.

"Can you imagine building a place like this?" said Horace, craning his head back so he could keep gazing at the towers as the friends approached the door.

"No. You'd be lucky to even live long enough to see it finished." Will glanced up at the relief carved into a lunette over the door. It looked like a crucifixion. A martyrdom, perhaps. He pushed open the dark door, peering inside. It was the middle of the week and there were few praying in the pews, but it was nice and cool and Will let himself in. Horace pushed the door shut behind them too hard, and they both winced at the echoing boom thundering through the basilica.

"Sorry," he hissed, which earned glowers from the people in the pews.

Will was once again struck by the majesty before him. The nave looked bigger from the inside, with a central aisle and two shorter, but no less grand aisles on either side, divided by pointed archways and towering pillars. The ribs of the vaulted ceilings patterned red and white, and embossed on the walls to either side of the nave were multiple cross pattée, the now oh-so-familiar mark of the Templars.

Did that mean Will's contact resided here? No. But his growing understanding of the Order led him to believe that any place of authority quite likely had one of them within its walls.

"So you really think this Mercutio character will lead us to the Liberator?" Horace hissed.

"I don't know. But it's the best lead we've got." Will led him down the middle of the nave, hoping to see someone of the cloth. "If not, then we came a long way for nothing."

"I don't like it. These Templars sound as bad as the Assassins, if not worse."

"Have you met one?"

"Well...no, not that I know of," said Horace. "But you've never met an Assassin."

"I came face to face with the Liberator."

"He's not a... Is he?"

"...I'm not sure," Will admitted, remembering the conversation overhead in the Alps. The French Assassins following him and his companions certainly hadn't believed the Liberator to be of their brotherhood, if they'd believed he existed at all.

"Posso aiutarla, signori?"

Will turned around to see a young man, with a narrow face and mop of sandy brown hair. His ears stuck out and his eyes were big and inquisitive. Dark robes covered his feet.

"Ah, sì, messere," said Will hesitantly. "Noi stiamo cercando—"

The boy smiled, eyes squinting. "If you like, we can speak the English."

Will couldn't help but smile back. "My apologies for butchering your beautiful language."

"No harm done. Please, how can I assassinate you?"

Both Brits flinched, but Will recovered first. "Assist? Yes, er, we are looking for someone, and we were hoping he might reside here. Mercutio Cavaloni."

The squinty-eyed smile faded to one of slight puzzlement. "Our archivist. May I ask what is about? I ask only because...well, ever since the...what is the word. Happening. The mistake. The..." He huffed.

"Did something bad happen to him?" asked Horace.

"Yes, something very bad. He was attacked in the cloister not two months past, by a devil in white," said the young man, scowling. "Plunged down from above, like Lucifer himself was Falling again—"

"Assassin," Horace hissed to Will. "Had to be."

Will elbowed him, even though he could not but agree. The Liberator had been on the northern side of the Alps two months ago, and so could not be the culprit.

"Was Mercutio hurt?" he asked the boy.

"Ah, sì, but he was able to keep away his attacker long enough for help to come. When we came out, hearing noise, the man fled, climbing the wall like a spider. Ever since, il signore Mercutio has stayed indoors, away from the windows." He shook his head. "His face looks like snow, it misses the sun much." Suddenly, the youth looked horrified. "Why I tell you this? Che diavolo, I must request absolution." He made to leave, but Will grabbed his arm.

"Please. We just wish to speak with him. Will you ask him to accept our audience? Tell him Marcello of the southern vineyards sent us." He pulled from his pocket the Templar pendant and showed it to him. The youth saw not a symbol of an ancient order but the mark of the Savior.

"Ma certo, signori. Please, wait here." He took the pendant and trotted off, leaving Will and Horace in a pew to await his return.

"You look bothered, Will," said the man-at-arms, arm resting over the back of the bench. "We found him, and on our first try, too."

Will was leaning forward, arms on his knees, consternation aging his face. "The Assassins found him first, by months. Mercutio was supposed to be the spider in the middle of the web. The ear of Northern Italy. That makes him important, which would be why the Assassins tried to eliminate him. But then, if he was important, why retain his position here? Unless he's completely confident there are no enemies nearby, but there's still a chance messages could be intercepted. What I'm saying is, he might be cut off. He might not know of the Liberator's location at all."

"...I suppose we won't know until we speak with him."

Will was accustomed to waiting, even for something he wasn't sure was going to happen. Horace, on the other hand, fidgeted like a squirrel and it was all Will could do to not chastise him.

"Do you think they'll let me use their privy?" the man-at-arms hissed.

Will shrugged. "Probably. If you can find it."

Horace hummed and hawed, crossing his legs, rocking like a child. Will snorted.

"Try thinking of Evanlyn."

Horace frowned. "Why?"

"Just...because. You miss her, yes? If she walked in right now, what would be the first thing you would want to do?"

"Hug her."

"Yes, and?"

"Um, welcome her?"

Will made a rolling gesture with his hand. "Yes, a-a-and?"

His brow creased, then cleared. "You can't think about that in a church!"

"See those robed men over there? I'll bet you that's all they think of."

"Will—!"

"Signori."

The Brits turned to look at the returning youth, who twisted his hands together nervously. "Mercutio has agreed to see you. But you must be searched for weapons first."

Will had anticipated this, and had left his weapons at the inn. He wasn't so sure about Horace, though, and looked at him with concern.

Horace smiled. "We have nothing to hide."

After searching for hidden weapons, to no avail, the youth nodded. "Bene. Seguimi." He led them through a side door and across the cloisters, nodding at anyone who looked their way too long. Will tried to look like he belonged there, even though he felt like a jester at a funeral. Horace seemed more at ease, although he walked a little stiffly, clearly still in need of a privy.

"This way." They entered through a door and followed a dark corridor, turning into a library. Half a dozen young men were bent over their tomes and scrolls, not giving the intruders a second of their time as they ghosted to the back of the chamber. There, a dark door engraved with a tree guarded their quarry.

Their guide knocked twice, and then pushed the door open, gesturing for the Brits to enter.

"Please, do not keep him long. He has much work."

"Grazie," said Will. "We can find our way out when we're done."

"I will wait," said the youth firmly, standing as though he fully intended to remain there until the meeting was complete, should it take minutes or hours. Will shrugged indifferently and followed Horace into the archives.

It was dark, only a few rays of light making it through narrow windows, most of those blocked by piles of scrolls. Stuffy air tasted of parchment and dust. Weaving through standing shelves and stacks of books, Will and Horace found themselves at the far end of the room, where a single man sat at a single desk, with a single candle and enough manuscripts to blanket the cloisters. The man didn't raise his head as the foreigners approached, a quill scratching across parchment the only indication that he was alive.

Will waited to be acknowledged, for even if this man had been a Brit and therefore subject to a Ranger's authority, Will had requested audience without an appointment. He was intruding on Mercutio's time.

But as minutes drew on, the stuffiness and semi-darkness weighed on his eyelids, and the heap of manuscripts over there looked mighty comfy...

Horace's barely stifled yawn jabbed Will awake, and he stood straighter, breathing stiffly through his nose.

Finally, the old man stopped writing. His forehead wrinkled as he raised his eyes at them, miniature candle flames reflected near his pupils. Tufts of white hair stuck out behind his ears, reminding Will of a Red squirrel. Mercutio's voice rasped, throat as dry as his parchment, as he spoke.

"Nothing is true."

Will and Horace both stared blankly, blinking like owls. What the hell did that mean?

The Ranger cleared his throat. "I'm sorry?"

Mercutio sat back, setting his quill down. "Englishmen. Mmm, it's been a long time since I've heard from our northern kin, yes indeed. Your assignment must be of some interest if il veccio Marcello has sent you my way." He opened a drawer and pulled out Will's Templar pendant. He allowed the Ranger to take it back, and in doing so, saw his hand unadorned. "And yet, you did not accept his gifts."

Will slipped the pendant into his pocket. "I need to know more before I make any sort of decision. It's a choice that would affect more than just myself. But that's not why I'm here."

"Of course not. You want information."

"Have you heard of the White Liberator?"

Mercutio's already wrinkled face soured. "Indeed, he returned not a moon ago. I'd hoped he'd gone north and died there."

"What do you know about him?"

"Not a name, not a face, but his purpose is as clear as blood on cloth. To kill Templars, yes indeed. Yet only a selected few. A strangely selected few."

Will shifted. "Well, I can't imagine he would know every Templar in every country. Not unless you keep a very detailed roster."

"Hmmm, yes. Tell me. Were the people he killed in your homeland...important?"

"If you mean of high standing, not all of them. Some were common labourers, peasants. From what we've gathered, he marks the Templars he kills, but not those who get in his way."

"Indeed, yes, that is what my sources say," said Mercutio. "But they also tell me, not all those he marked were indeed Templars."

Will frowned. That's not what Philippe Dumont told him. "So he made mistakes. By how quickly he moves, that doesn't surprise me—"

"Were you hoping I could help you find him?"

"...Well, yes."

"Perché? Why?"

The Ranger rubbed his fingertips against his thumbs, hands by his sides. "Are you asking why am I asking you or why am I seeking him?"

"Assassins murder Templars all the time, yes indeed," said Mercutio. "And yet you hunt this particular one with a vengeance. You have come far when your own home is infested with them."

"He killed innocent people," Horace blurted, patience draining. It was stuffy, he was hungry, and he still needed to pee. "This has nothing to do with your war."

"And he killed an Assassin." Will crossed his arms. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"I would not put an Assassin past killing his own kind to pursue his agenda, yes indeed. But have you not wondered why this Liberator has chosen to travel so far on his crusade? The Templar Order is vast and deep, accompanying every court and county in the known world. He lessens his damage by wasting time in travel, yes, yes indeed."

Will frowned again. He hadn't thought of it that way before. He'd just assumed the Liberator had drawn up a list of known Templars across Europe and began his killing spree from there. It had never crossed Will's mind that he might have been after something else.

"Is there anything you can give me?" he asked, failing to keep the desperation out of his tone. The trail had gone cold after Turin and this had been their only lead.

"In fact, I might." With a grunt and a groan Mercutio stood, waving away Horace's offered arm. The old man went to a side table, where he picked up a tiny scroll before waddling back to the desk. He unrolled it and offered it to Will out of courtesy, but knew the Ranger wouldn't be able to read it in the dark with his limited Italian.

"A pigeon message from Milan. My sources say Grand Master Ezio Auditore is coming here, to Vercelli. Or, more specifically, to a monastery ruin north of here."

Will jerked. Then steeled himself. "What has that got to do with—?"

"Marcello sent word ahead of you of your coming. He told me what he has tasked you with, yes, indeed."

Will could see Horace looking at him, but refused to meet his eye. "Marcello is convinced that if I find Ezio, I'll find the Liberator."

Mercutio plopped back into his chair. "Believe what you will, but you cannot deny: if the Assassin grand master seeks the Liberator, it does not matter if it is to hunt or to consort. By the by, you have them both, yes indeed."

"Will, I don't like this," Horace hissed. Will made a silencing gesture.

"Is there anything else, sir?"

"If you tell me where you are staying, yes, I can send word should any news reach my ears."

"...You already know where we're staying."

Mercutio sniffed. "Actually I do not. I will in a few hours' time, but I was only trying to be polite, yes indeed."

"The grand master? You're going to kill the grand master of the Italian Brotherhood? Are you insane?!"

The great doors to the basilica had barely closed behind them when Horace had turned on Will.

"Isn't that...like going after a king? Even if you were to succeed, you'd be hunted forever."

Will started across the baked plaza, eyes flicking everywhere for eavesdroppers. "I never said I was going to kill anyone. The Templars requested I do it, in exchange for their protection. Basically, if I comply, the Ranger Corps will be considered allies, and they would provide sanctuary globally."

The man-at-arms shook his head. "I don't like it. There's a reason the Rangers haven't "chosen" a side for hundreds of years."

"You sound like Halt."

"He knows? Who else does?"

"No one, Horace. Let's keep it that way. As I said, I haven't agreed to anything. The Templars have no leverage, only requests. It's not as though something like this has never happened before. So long as the Corps stays neutral, both sides will continue to try and win us over, and they won't succeed if they become hostile."

Horace leered at him. "What about Ranger Toryn? He was killed by Assassins because he spoke to a Templar. Alyss told me."

"Was he, though?" Will stopped cold and turned to him. "I wasn't there. You weren't there. No one was there to see the actual deed. It looked like an Assassin kill, but anyone can hold a knife and drop on a person from above." He continued as Horace went to speak. "We can only go by what we know. And we know the Liberator is a murderer. If this...Ezio can find him, I say we let him. And then we'll see if he is a threat or just another obstacle. Come on, I'm starving."