Author's Note: Thank you so much, faithful readers! The feedback I get from you is wonderful and I appreciate each and every one of you taking time to read this story I have had the pleasure of writing. It's great when I can finally get these scenes out of my brain and share them, which is why updates are sporadic. Thank you again for your continued patronage. ~DFF
She felt ill. Her stomach lurched back and forth. She had no concept of equilibrium; the world flowed around in currents. Like hitting a bump while driving, she was in freefall for a split second before solidly connecting to the earth again. Her eyes refused to stay open for longer than a moment here and there. Whenever she blinked, the world was completely new.
Voices. There were voices. She couldn't understand them. No words would work for her. Languages were a jumble in her head. Aurelia had no idea where she was or who was carrying her. The world dropped away again.
Antonio. Why? Betrayal? He had rescued her from the mob to be drugged and literally handed to the Guild. Good thing? Better with them than Borgia. He was likely to have cut her throat while she slept. Would the Assassins do the same? Thoughts just swirled, eddied and flowed away. Darkness.
He looked back behind him. The woman was still unconscious in the floor of the cart. They had piled sacks and crates around her to disguise her presence but to also keep her from being able to move or escape.
"Giovanni, is everything alright?" The man breathed over his shoulder to his friend. The long-haired man, returned his gaze to the road and settled.
"Yes, I just thought I heard something shift back there." They exchanged a glance, knowing what he meant. "Seems in order."
"Very well." The driver continued to steer the one horse to the Guild's interrogation house. They would never allow a prisoner to set foot inside the guild itself. It would prove too dangerous if they could figure the way back. They had set up a small place on the outskirts in the poorer district to disguise comings and goings. The locals would say little if screams were heard or if a body turned up in a gutter lest the same fate befall them.
Auditore had done much in his short tenure as the de facto leader of the Order. He rose quickly through the system, thanks in part to his uncle Mario's tutelage. Having one's own village could not have hurt his position, either. Giovanni knew Auditore had some sort of vendetta against the Borgias, but who didn't these days? Best to leave that sleeping dog lie.
The two wound their way to the outskirts. It reeked of piss and poverty. A cluster of whores shouted at them, trying to buy their time. They must be new at this, he thought to himself. They don't know there's no money here. The roofs here creaked and grass grew through the unkempt road pavings, where any remained. Every alley was a party to something happening. It wasn't custom here to know too much of what was actually going on.
They reached the flat. The wagon's wheels sank lopsidedly into the mud. A man sat on a upturned crate near the door, watching them.
"Give us a hand, old man!" the driver gruffed.
"I'll give you a knife in your belly if you call me old again, Cristobel," he returned. He groaned as he stood. He walked behind to help start offloading. Giovanni looked to his compatriot. His name wasn't Cristobel, but Gavino. The watchman had given them the code. Three men waited inside. The watchman chuckled to himself.
"Been to market, have you?"
"Si, we need to get everything inside quickly before it spoils in the sun" Gavino said, clambering down.
They had laid down sack cloth in the bottom to make the move a little easier. With a repositioning of some of the crates surrounding her and a good tug, the men slid her out of the cart bed and wrapped her in the cloth. Giovanni slung her over his shoulder and grabbed another crate. A few eyes were on them.
"Door's open."
He nodded and took the first trip inside, with Gavino a couple of steps behind him. He pushed the door open with his weight. A hand from the inside opened it immediately and allowed him in. Jacopo, a dark man, grabbed the crate from him. The third man stood against a table, watching them bring it all inside. Jacopo brought a chair from the side of the room and placed in it the center.
"Here, take her." Giovanni dipped his shoulder inwards to sling her off his shoulder. The first assassin, Montalvo, unwrapped her and sat her in the chair. Gavino had brought in a second load with the old man.
"We've got one more round to go," he muttered. Giovanni looked at the third man, who nodded. The two porters exited. Jacopo brought down a coil of rope from a hook and began to secure the prisoner.
"All this trouble for her?" he laughed. "She must be pretty important, Maestro." Montalvo stood by the door awaiting the last of the cargo. Giovanni and Gavino sat the last of it on the table beside the third.
"We will send for you if we have need. Grazi."
"Of course, Maestro Auditore." Giovanni and Gavino left them to work. Montalvo closed the door behind them.
The room wasn't well furnished, but it wasn't meant to be. A couple of worn chairs, mismatched, the table and the walls had hundreds of dagger cuts. More than just of few sprays of blood spattered here and there, if one knew where to look. Ezio eyed the woman suspiciously. Her head slumped onto her chest, hay still stuck in her hair and on her dress. A sleeve had been ripped off and her shoes were missing. Faint bruises and scratches were appearing on her bare arm and around her neck.
"Looks like she's had a bit of a rough first day," Jacopo said, securing the last rope. He leaned her body back into the chair.
"You believe the story, amici?"
"If she is who she says she is, I cannot afford not to. I know what my ledger looks like." He stood regarding his work. "I'd like at least one angel on my side."
Auditore snorted. "If she is who she ibn-La' ahad said she is, you may not."
"Who? Her?" Montalvo asked. "That's supposed to be the Messenger?"
Auditore turned back to the table. Books and loose pages were everywhere. He started poring over them, trying to find something. "Lorenzo d' Medici found these writings on the subject for us. They had been passed through his family line for ages." He found the page he was looking for. It was an old drawing of a woman.
"This is the work of Altair's son, who saw the Messenger that first day." The three men stood shoulder to shoulder peering at it and back to the woman.
"It…could be her," Montalvo posited. "It doesn't look exactly like her."
"But it does get the point across. See? The shape of her face is correct."
"But her nose. It's all wrong."
"Show me a portrait of a woman with the nose looking like the one on her face and I'll show you a dead painter."
Ezio chuckled lowly. "Get her talking. See if she knows more than we think."
"We need to wake her up, first." Jacopo said. "Do we have salts?"
"No, just let her come to on her own. I don't know what our man gave her. I'd rather like to keep her alive." Ezio turned and began ascending the stairs. "Let me know when she does. I have letters to write."
"Si, Maestro," called Jacopo. Montalvo grabbed the other chair and sat in the corner nearest the stairs. "Amusing. I got in trouble with our neighbors for this when I was young."
"For what?"
"Watching a girl sleep." He smiled to himself for a moment before looking over to Jacopo. He shook his head.
Upstairs, Auditore tried to make sense of what was happening. If this woman was the Messenger, what did that mean for him? For the Order? Would she set him on a holy mission, his own personal Crusade? Against whom? The Borgia family, if God was good. Age, he hated to admit it, was beginning to set in. He couldn't do this forever. His family still needed him to right the wrongs of the Borgia. Pazzi had just been a stepping stone on the path of his final vengeance. There was still much to do. What if she mission she had for him took him from that? How could he forgive himself?
Claudia sprang to mind. She had taken up the accounts, an Auditore through and through. Father would have been pleased. Ezio knew he never had a mind for figures like she did. One day, she would have a family. The idea of his sister having a brood of screaming children was foreign. If she did, she'd make them study all day and read all night. Ezio would have to be the uncle that brought them things, taught them how to dice when their parents weren't looking. Uncle Mario was never like that with us.
Caterina Sforza, his Duchess of the swamps at Forli. He tried to miss her a little. She had a small army of children by now, he supposed. They knew it was never going to work, but it didn't stop them from trying.
Ezio cleared his mind after some time and put quill to paper eventually. He dictated to his lieutenants about the captive they had in their possession and what would happen as the need arose and to await further orders. The window on this floor let him out onto the neighboring roof, where he housed some carrier pigeons. Four were sent to posts around the city to have their information gathered.
He looked out onto the district. There was nothing to be done about it. The people here were crushingly poor. The rich kept them down here, away from the beauty and shine of the city proper. One always knew assassins and Templars hide out here, but to ferret them out was an exercise in tedium and futility. Both sides were forever locked in battle. Because of them. Because of her. Minerva.
Wait a moment- was that it? Was the Messenger one of them? One of "those that came before"? Ezio's heart pounded hard for a while and his throat felt thick. What if this girl was more ancient, more strange than even to be presumed a hand of God?
A flash of white brought him out of his thoughts. Turning slightly, he saw a white hood in the window, brilliant in the setting sun. He walked the rooftop quickly and pulled himself inside. Jacopo gave a hand to steady him.
"She is awake, Maestro Auditore."
"And how is she?"
"She struggles. More with the remnants of the potion than with her restraints. When she regains her senses, those will probably vex her more."
Ezio let Jacopo lead the way down stairs. His made sure his steps were measured, hard against the floor boards. Setting the appropriate mood for interrogation was the most important part. The captive had to know who was in charge before a word was spoken.
His descent brought him to the final stair in the case. Her lead still lolled to one side, still under the effects of the drug. Montalvo brought a cup of wine to her, trying to get her to calm down. She drew back instinctually and cried out.
"Easy, now. She's learned her lesson about drinking what she does not pour herself, do you see?" Jacopo laughed. Montalvo spoke softly to her in a whisper, trying to calm her. The woman finally put some bones in her neck and returned to a normal seated position. Her eyes were bleary still, Ezio could tell from here. He watched as the feeling returned to her limbs and where she found them. Her arms were pulled downward, tied by the wrists to the back legs of the short chair. Her ankles, bound together to the left front. She wiggled her toes trying to find any ground under them.
"My lady," Montalvo said, trying to hold her head up with one hand. "Please drink." Again, she bristled as he put a hand on her and tried to pull away, but he held fast. The prisoner locked eyes with him, staring far further than the mere inches he was from her. She was gazing directly into his heart, his soul, he could feel it. Ezio could see her faculties return with a terrifying speed. Or it was a damn good bluff.
She said nothing, but flicked her eyes to the cup. Montalvo brought it to her lip slowly and helped her drink. She pulled away after the smallest sip and he released the hold on her head. The woman held her head high. She didn't register the way she looked. All the cuts and bruising, the missing shoes, the straw still in her hair meant nothing.
This would be interesting.
Ezio descended the final stair and came to rest on the handrail closest to her. In a silent moment, the one silently read the other for any tell, any trace of fear. Neither found one. His men stood on either side of her, ready to do whatever their master asked. He had the numbers on his side, but what were three men against an angel?
"Are these necessary?" she said at length. "I'm not going anywhere." She had broken the silence. Ezio had the advantage.
"I'm sorry, but-"
"Excuse me, I was speaking to him," she nodded over her shoulder to Montalvo. "This is uncomfortable." Jacopo tried hard to hide his smirk from Ezio. Montalvo looked to Ezio for permission. It was not given.
"You may want to watch your tongue, my lady, if you wish to keep it."
Fitz went into full interrogation mode. "Is he always so kind to his guests, Signor?" she called over her shoulder. "Is this when I'm supposed to trust you more as he continues to insult me, so I end up saying all to you?" She returned her eyes to Ezio. "Because this hardly ever works."
He crossed his arms and leaned away, scratching his face. "Oh? And how do you know that? Been in this position before?"
Yes. "No. But I see how you treat others. Mankind. You threaten, you kill to get your way. You think fear yields results. It does not."
"Ah, yes," Ezio laughed. "I forget. You're the Messenger, no? Come to call the lightning from the hidden places?"
"So I've been told."
He kicked off the rail and stepped toward her. She could see he was becoming agitated. This could go either way. Stay still…
"You do not believe it yourself?"
She held his gaze. "You seem to think so. Roderigo Borgia, His High Holiness, seems to think so. Most of the city seems to think so. Or at the very least, they are afraid I may be. Are you?"
"I do not fear a girl."
"Then why bind me to a chair? Untie me."
Ezio glared at her. His jaw was clenching over and over. He knew this was a bad idea. But he knew the district. She wouldn't make it five paces without being carried off by someone. He had the feeling she knew it, too. He nodded to Jacopo, who drew a dagger and cut through her bindings. She showed discomfort as the blood rushed back into her hands and feet, quickly turning red and bruises blooming purple.
"My thanks," she went to put a hand on Jacopo's shoulder but he reflexively pulled away, dagger still in hand. She went to stand, but the drug Antonio still held her in place. A wave of dizziness swept over her again. She sat still. "Now, Signor Auditore, shall we begin?"
He grabbed the bottle sitting on the floor and poured a drink for himself. "Begin? I was under the impression I already had."
"No, Signor Auditore, I mean your mission." She sat straight against the back of the chair. "The reason I am here."
"You are here because I had you brought here."
"Sent, then. Do not think I am playing games. Neither of us has the luxury of time."
"I do not believe you, woman."
"You need proof? Very well. Bring me paper and quill. I will tell you what is in your heart. Weakness and Fear."
Ezio sneered into his wine. He stepped away from the desk where the papers lay. "You're unbound. You'll find them upstairs."
She had to make her move. This was the only opportunity she had. Carefully she rose to her feet. Her head was pounding gently, but nothing worse than a hangover. Ezio watched her. She could feel the eyes of the Eagle on her. She looked at him. His gaze was fixed, his eyes shone. That was the power in use. How did he see her?She collapsed on the floor, the butt of her hands slamming into the second stair.
He laughed. "Fly then, if you must, angel." She did not look at him, but hauled herself to her feet. Her face felt hot. Slowly, she ascended the case to his study. She left the door open.
Ezio put his cup down. "Weakness and Fear. This woman needs a husband to slap sense into her."
"Maestro," Montalvo said. He kept his voice low so she would not hear. "Do you not believe? This would be our chance to bring the Templars to heel once and for all."
"If she is the Messenger, we need all of her. The meek may inherit the earth, but only after the wrath and fury of Heaven fall from the skies."
"How are you certain she will not turn it upon us, Maestro?"
"I do not."
The men stood for a moment, not sure of what to say next. The only sound from upstairs was the light creaking of a body in motion.
"Stay here," Ezio commanded. "I will see what proof she has." He climbed the stairs silently, to catch her in whatever she was doing. He listened at the open door. She must be regarding her work. Quickly, he stood in the doorway. She was gone. The window had been left open. Damn. He called downstairs for them to join him.
Jacopo joined him first. "Where is she?"
"She took my advice and flew, it seems," Ezio growled. Montalvo entered a moment later. "Take to the rooftops. Find her and bring her back safely."
"She had not proof, so she fled." Montalvo sighed. "I hate it when they run."
Ezio looked at the desk. A quill had been placed over a sheaf of vellum. A picture of a woman had been drawn hastily. He recognized the face. His heart broke.
Cristina Vespucci.
There was no way any person could have known. It was the one woman he had never spoken of. Her death weighed on him as heavily now as it did when she died in his arms. He snatched it up before his underlings could see it. As he did, the quill hid one more secret. Underneath she had written one word. A name.
DESMOND
She was the Messenger. And she was loose in the city.