Ch. 2
The first part had been simple. Due to the generous information given to him by Ezio, Kylar was able to pinpoint Varese's manor so he could pay him a little visit. Kylar knew it wouldn't be as easy as he had initially hoped once he arrived. Coming up on the manor, standing proudly in the midst of the afternoon sun, the young wetboy could see a handful of the guards that Ezio had warned him about. But Kylar wasn't dumb. He knew the tricks he had to pull to get what he wanted. That had been among his many lessons with Durzo Blint. Don't hesitate. Do what you have to; to make sure the job is done.
With confident steps, Kylar met the two guards standing at the manor's door.
"Is Master Bailey in?" He spoke as if he were an old friend. "I heard he was sick and wanted to pay him my regards."
One of the guards shifted. His gruff voice unwavering. "Master Varese has made it clear to turn all visitors away."
Kylar had figured something of the sort would be said, so he protruded a small vial from a leather purse hanging around his waist and held it up to the men. The clear contents glimmered faintly in the sunlight. It was nothing more than sugar mixed with water; a placebo, fake, but that was the trick.
"It's medicine. I knew Master Bailey back in Midcyru. I'm sure he'd make an exception."
The guards looked at each other. Kylar could feel the unsure air that hovered between them. It was quite possible that even the guards didn't know of Bailey Varese's true state.
"Your name,"
"William Landaus," He lied.
"Master Landaus, we will let you in." The other guard announced. "Come with me." He motioned for Kylar to follow him as he opened the gate. Kylar bowed to the other man gracefully before following his guide into the manor.
Once inside, Kylar saw the full extent of the manor's lavish interior. There was no way Varese could afford such décor in his position. The young assassin's mind raced through his preparations and all the scenarios that might very well play out while attempting to achieve his goal. But he knew what it took to get the job done. Kylar knew this; as did Azoth.
It wasn't long before the guard led Kylar up a winding flight of stairs and stopped in front of an elaborate door. He knocked three times and waited.
"Yes? What is it?"
"Master Varese. There is a young master Landaus here to see you." The guard answered resolutely. "He claims to have brought medication with him to help you to recover."
Kylar waited patiently as locks were unlatched from the other side of the door. The door opened and Bailey Varese poked his head out. His grey eyes fell on Kylar and he straightened, forcing a cough. "You don't look like a doctor."
Kylar smiled genially. "I am sorry to bother you Master Bailey, but I had heard you were ill so I brought it upon myself to bring you this." Again he took out the tiny vial of crystal liquid.
Varese held a suspicious air. It came as no surprise to the young wetboy, given the circumstances and the price on his head. "I find it strange you'd help a stranger." He said rather coldly.
Kylar's smile never faltered. "We have met." He replied. "We met in Midcyru. Though I'm sure you don't remember me in your current state. I see you as sort of an idle; all you've done for the people and all." It wasn't one of his best lies, but the look on Varese's face meant it was working nonetheless. Such a gullible man.
The door soon opened to reveal a man in his early thirties. Kylar recognized the lanky stature, dark hair and tanned features as a trait from his old homeland, but the luxurious white clothes he wore foretold of fortune. He bowed his head to Varese, holding the vial within reach. Varese stepped aside to usher him in.
"Guard the door." He ordered his guard before closing the door behind them.
The room turned out to be a small bed-chamber; just as Kylar had suspected. The walls were scarcely decorated, but the luxury of the finely printed patterns on the bed's headboard and the obvious expense of the white lace curtains was still alive here. It was impressive how egotistical this man was about his belongings, especially given the fact his funds came from an illegal source. Regardless, Kylar hid his disgust with ease and turned to the man.
"You look a bit pale." He began, feigning concern. "Please lay down. It would suit you best." He put a hand on Varese's shoulder, which was promptly pushed away.
"What did you say your name was again?" Varese asked, still a bit apprehensive.
Kylar didn't lose a beat. "William Landaus. Please don't try too hard. I had come up to you in a tavern and you looked to have been drinking heavily so I wouldn't hold it against you if you did not remember me."
He had known very well that Bailey Varese loved his ale, so forging a story around that would be nothing less than credible. The young wetboy made again the motion for the elder man to lie down, which Varese finally obliged to. Kylar smiled.
_ _ _
The rest of Kylar's visit with Varese went by without a hitch. They talked as if they were old friends, commenting on foreign politics (of which Kylar owed his thanks to Momma K) and comparing Italy's living conditions to that of Midcyru. Varese also spoke of an inventor named Leonardo da Vinci. Kylar thought silently about attaining one of the man's famed flying machines before he returned to his own country. Something like that would prove useful on some occasions where the target was in a hard spot to simply climb to.
Kylar pretended to just realize the position of the sun sinking below the horizon beyond Varese's window.
"I'm very sorry, but I must get going." He spoke, accenting a solemn note in his voice.
Varese patted the wetboy's hand fondly. "Very well, but you will have to come by tomorrow. I miss the company."
Kylar nodded and gave the man his parting sentiments before exiting. Keeping the role of William, Kylar made his way down the staircase, back down the hall and out of the manor. Once the building was out of sight, he fell back into Kylar's shoes.
_ _ _
He took his time returning to the inn. The sun had already disappeared and the stars sparkled like precious gems above him as he strode down the backstreets of Florence, Italy. Since the very moment Kylar had arrived here, he knew that things would be different; the people, the culture, everything. He found himself thinking about Ezio again. Lately the elder assassin occupied the wetboy's mind more than he would care to admit. But Ezio wasn't what he was here for. What Kylar was here for was to kill Bailey Varese. Now another thought came to mind. During the chat with his deader, Kylar had noticed a subtle underlying tone that hinted at more than Kylar had hoped for. Something in the way Varese looked at him which would have made Azoth uneasy.
"If that's the case," Kylar thought, mulling over the idea, "then I might be able to use it to my advantage."
A light shuffling caught his attention, but he made the effort not to look for the source. Kylar knew from where it had come even without seeing him. Casually, Kylar entered the inn, climbed the short staircase and entered the tiny room he had rented.
Ezio stood in the entrance behind him, leaning against the doorframe.
"You met with Varese today." It wasn't a question.
Kylar straightened a pillow on the bed and sat down, facing the man. "Yes. I met with him today. Now I know how to kill him." A small smile betrayed his otherwise collected demeanor.
The elder assassin quirked an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? And how is that?"
"Simple." Kylar stood from the bed and strode decisively over to the man. He angled his head upwards to look into Ezio's dark knowing eyes, his expression innocent; like that of a child's. The look of a killer all but dispersed. "I seduce him."
A profound guffaw erupted from the elder assassin. "You jest boy."
Kylar grit his teeth. "I do not jest." He pressed himself closer to Ezio in an attempt to convince the man that he meant every word. When Ezio caught on he placed a hand on the young wetboy's head.
"You are an assassin." He spoke, his voice oddly soothing. "Not some low-priced wench. And believe me, I know the difference." Carefully, Ezio let his hand run through Kylar's bleach blonde tresses.
For a moment, Kylar felt a warm wave wash over him as the taller man pet him. His heart was beating at twice its normal pace, his stomach felt as if it was doing flips and the young wetboy felt his temperature rise. This wasn't the effects of any poison. He knew the feeling, if only briefly. He remembered it entwined with the fading image of Doll Girl. But she was no longer a part of Kylar's life. The young girl, her scarred face a constant reminder of a past long since elapsed, did not belong with Kylar. She wasn't even fit for Azoth. But here in front of him, Kylar Stern, those phantom feelings began to flare up again in the most unlikely of places.
Kylar heaved a shaky sigh and finally pulled away from the comforting warmth that was Ezio.
"I have to do this." He looked down, the dusty hardwood floors becoming much more interesting. "You have to do what you have to; to make sure the job is done."
He never thought he'd be quoting Durzo Blint in a situation like this. The words seemed to flow from him of their own accord. He could see his master's face as the declaration hung in the air surrounding them, could almost smell the thick scent of garlic in those words. He knew there was no escaping them. Azoth had suffered the consequences of not taking them to heart. They were the binding contract that Kylar was forced to endure until the day he died.
Above him, Ezio grunted in distaste.
"I can see that nothing I say will persuade you otherwise." The hard deep tones of his voice reminded Kylar of the day they first met in the backstreets of the city. Kylar felt a pang of anger rise inside of him as Ezio turned to leave. "But if you go through with this, you will be killed."
"I'm not dense." Kylar growled at the retreating assassin. "You underestimate me."
There was a very distinct hmph, evidence of Ezio's lack of condolence. "I underestimate no one. If I did, I would be useless as an assassin. I would advise that you do the same, Kylar." And with that, he was gone.
_ _ _
Hard chapter to write. _