Part Two: New City, Old Home
Desmond blinked, looking up to the roof of the truck, feeling as the vehicle slowly crawled to a stop. He took a deep breath, reaching up and holding his shoulder, phantom pain shuddering through it but fading slowly. God that was incredibly... Desmond didn't have the words. He rubbed at his face, finding drying tear tracks and trying to sort himself.
It was 2012 after all, not 1500.
But it wasn't like this was Desmond's first time diving into the past.
When the Templars, now masquerading as the multi-national conglomerate known as Abstergo, had kidnapped him only a couple weeks prior, he'd been forced to live one summer of the life of Altair ibn La'Ahad in 1191, during the Third Crusade. That was an emotional ride as well as Desmond had lived, literally lived the change of Altair from an arrogant, selfish bastard to a wizened, contemplative, thoughtful leader who had sparked the whole battle he was now facing with Abstergo. And then he'd lived two full decades of Ezio Auditore da Firenze, from Renaissance Italy, who had witnessed half his family assassinated and then sought revenge, learning and growing to a less brash, more thoughtful adult.
And as grateful as Desmond was to have the experience, to have learned what Ezio learned, and now being able to move as both he and Altair did, with grace and precision, Desmond really didn't care for the invasion of privacy. He wasn't just watching someone's life. He was living it like it was his own. He could feel the emotions, thoughts, memories, everything that made these men in every breath he partook in.
The grief of watching everything Ezio had spent two decades building, the family he had left dying, well, it was really no wonder that Desmond had been crying. Because it felt like he'd lost part of his family, something that he had been building for decades, even though he'd only known Ezio for about a week.
It was the curse of the Animus, the one thing that Desmond hated about reliving so much. It was that he really did relive it. With far more accuracy than Lucy, or Shaun, or Rebecca realized. Ezio's hardships, joys, pitfalls, struggles, were now as much a part of him as Desmond's own life experiences. The same for Altair.
And if Desmond wasn't careful, he'd slowly be unable to identify which part was him and which part was related to Ezio or Altair. Then he'd go insane, like the previous subjects of the Animus, like Subject Sixteen, his immediate predecessor who had gone so nuts he'd painted the walls of Desmond's cell at Abstergo with crazy ramblings in his own blood.
Desmond didn't want to end up like that.
So he took a breath and made sure that he was himself. Ezio, tragic as that most recent turn was, had already lived his life and died. Desmond was just a witness. It hadn't actually happened to him.
Focusing on his shoulder, Desmond let out a breath. The phantom pain was gone. Desmond was himself. So he sat up.
"Lucy," Rebecca said from her station by the Animus, "I can't seem to get a position on Ezio's P. O. E." Rebecca Crane, technological genius for the Assassins, and who had taken the Animus to the next level with only her wiring and coding skills, and usually presided over Desmond's sessions in the Animus. She marched to the beat of her own drum, and had clearly led an adventurous life before being recruited to the Assassins. Her headphones, which usually played some sort of rock that her contralto voice had strained singing in years past, were down by her neck, making her wild dark hair even darker.
Desmond blinked again, confused. "P. O. E.? Could you tell me what's going on?"
"Sorry, Desmond," Lucy said, turning from the driver's seat in front of the van. "Piece of Eden. In the Vatican, Minerva talked about other temples, that they're the key to preventing whatever terrible thing is about to happen to Earth." Lucy Stillman was the leader of their group, and the hot blond had been Desmond's only link to anything during his tenure at Abstergo. She had been deep undercover, risking her life by working with Templars every day and doing terrible things to maintain her cover, until she had finally broken Desmond out and brought him to the relative safety of the Assassins.
Minerva had been one of Those Who Came Before, an ancient race that had died out eons ago. She was a large figure in Ezio's recent life, having spoken to him in Rome before Ezio returned to Monteriggioni to witness its demise. She'd had a message for Desmond, and had spoken to Ezio, somehow knowing that Desmond would be living the memory again centuries later. A message of the apocalypse, which Desmond even a week ago, would have laughed outright at.
After all, apocalyptic nonsense had been around for eons and yet the world kept on spinning. He doubted that the end of the Mayan calendar would be any worse than when the new millennium dawned or any of the other times that the world was supposed to end.
But after having Minerva speak to him so directly, from centuries past, knowing he'd get the message because Ezio was his ancestor...
Well, Desmond couldn't quite dismiss that out of hand any more.
It was September 18. They had just over ninety days to figure out how to stop a worldwide cataclysm of a solar flare or eclipse or something.
That was just a walk in the park. Sure it was. No really.
"Right," Desmond nodded, standing and stretching. Lucy and Shaun got out of the front of the cab and Lucy came around to open the back.
"To find the temples," she continued, referencing temples of old that Minerva had mentioned, "I'm convinced we need to get our hands on Ezio's Apple of Eden. If the readings of the Animus are right, Minerva altered it somehow when she 'touched' it."
He agreed. He remembered watching the hologram of Minerva reach out to the Apple, felt the Apple giggle with its new directive. Whatever that directive was, it was worth it to find it and get help to do the whole over-done "save the world" thing.
And god, they really had to save the world. No pressure.
No, not at all.
Desmond hopped down and looked around, his sarcastic thoughts scattering as he looked in awe.
"Wait. We're at the Auditore Villa?" he whispered, his eyes following all of Ezio's old routes up buildings or through streets that were now bizarrely lit by electric lampposts with tiny European cars parked where hitching posts once were. Modern metal signage were on the walls or posts noting traffic patterns or no trespassers allowed in modern Italian that looked slightly strange compared to the Renaissance Italian Desmond had been hearing and speaking, or the Latin that he was expecting to see painted the signs of Alder's bank or Santino's smithy.
His memories of Ezio's years here kept trying to overlap the modern equivalent right in front of him. The training, the racing of thieves, talking with that girl with the boxes of flowers, visiting the brothel to help the wounded whores who came for respite, talking to the citizens and seeing what they needed. Even debating religion with the old priest of the church.
Watching buildings collapse. Whole sections of the city wall crumbling. People screaming, begging and crying for family members as they tried to run from the shelling. Ezio's horse being crushed under rubble as Ezio barely escaped to climb the walls. The morning sun glinting of tiles as they flew through the air. The smoke of cannons, both Borgia and their own wafting overhead.
This wasn't the collapsed and destroyed city he'd just left in the Animus. This was modern overlaying an ancient city-state.
This was...
Bizarre.
Era impossibile.
"Yes," Lucy nodded. "It's our last safe house in Italy. It turns out the Templars are watching the border."
Of course this would be the last place the Templars would look. Why come back to a known stronghold, even if it was from centuries past? Desmond couldn't quite hold back a grin at the irony of it.
Rebecca crouched by the edge of the van. "Ezio hid the P.O.E. sometime in 1507," she said, her contralto voice perplexed, "but when I try to access that DNA sequence, he seems to be... remembering something else."
Well that sounded familiar. "Like a memory inside a memory?" Desmond asked, remembering how difficult it was for Abstergo to access Altair's particular memory of the map of the world and other Pieces of Eden, seeing as how Altair remembered the confrontation with his old mentor Al Mualim more than the holographic map.
Rebecca nodded. "Yes. Exactly," she paused. "Maybe."
"Exactly maybe?" Desmond said flatly, looking to Lucy and raising an eyebrow. She shrugged.
Shaun stepped around the truck. "I believe you experienced something similar back at Abstergo, didn't you?"
Desmond scowled severely at the British historian. Like Rebecca, Shaun Hastings had been recruited to the Assassins, instead of being born into the brotherhood as most were. The Brit had a distinct knack for putting pieces together and seeing hidden connections that had lead him to finding out about Abstergo and almost getting killed as a result. But where Rebecca was easy-going and fun, and Lucy was steady and calm, if always worried, Shaun was a sarcastic, grumbling, condescending bastard. He was almost funny, once you got past his sideways insults, but the historian had a perverted streak a mile wide that he didn't bother to hide. He enjoyed Ezio's amorous encounters, not understanding a damn thing. It was Shaun's fault Desmond had been forced to live through Ezio's long night with Caterina and Desmond was still pissed off for it.
"You perverted dick," he said harshly. "Don't you ever do something like that again."
Shaun raised an amused brow. "Oh, are you really that much of a prude?"
Desmond stepped right into Shaun's space, not liking this bastardo's lack of respect. "Once you feel the sorrow and pain Ezio is trying to escape from every fucking winter by warming a bed for a few hours, once you remember the grief his piccina Claudia went through from that cazzo, Duccio, once you remember the longing and the ache of losing Cristina and how no woman will ever measure up to that, once you have all that running through your very soul when you decide to sleep with someone, then tell me it's just another porno to you."
Shaun had the decency to look abashed at least. "I hate going through those memories for a reason, you slut, so show some damn respect." Desmond let out a controlled breath and then stepped back, reigning in his anger at the historian and refocusing on the task at hand.
There was an awkward pause before Lucy went back to the point Shaun had made.
"At Abstergo, Subject Fifteen exhibited memory-within-memory-like patterns, but she was pregnant," she said. "The memories of both the fetus' father and mother were competing."
Shaun crossed his arms and rubbed his chin. "Desmond's not pregnant," he said, looking the new Assassin up and down. "At least, as far as I can tell. Might have just had a big lunch," he said, patting Desmond's stomach.
Right. This was Shaun's apology: make fun of the newbie. Typical sarcastic British historian. Desmond rolled his eyes. Sometimes the best approach to Shaun was to flat out ignore him.
Lucy stepped between them to Rebecca, who was still at the edge of the truck.
"Can you skip ahead to a later memory?" she asked.
"Naw," Rebecca sighed, "it doesn't work."
It certainly hadn't with Altair at Abstergo. Desmond had had to go through the entire summer before hand before he'd built up enough synchronization to go through the fight with Al Mualim without losing the thread.
Lucy nodded. "Well that sounds familiar. We couldn't access Altaïr's later memories until Desmond had improved his synchronization."
"Frankly, I don't see how much more I can synch with Ezio," Desmond grumbled. "I've lived his whole life."
"Then it's possible something similar has occurred here," Shaun agreed, ignoring Desmond as Desmond had ignored him. "Ezio's troubled state is being transposed onto Desmond, destabilizing the memory." Then he threw a smile up to Rebecca. "Either that, or Rebecca's just not a very good engineer."
"Thanks, asshole."
"What?" Shaun said with feigned innocence. "I'm simply listing possible explanations. And that is amongst the most likely. Tou-chy..."
Rebecca had the smarts to ignore him. The two could trade barbs all night if they wanted, but Rebecca was usually the one mature enough to let a subject drop. "This place isn't secure. Cell phone surveillance can see right through the walls."
Desmond raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean satellite surveillance?" They hadn't advanced in tech that much since he'd left the Assassins all those years ago, had they? Granted, he'd run away ten years prior from the Assassins, but back then it was satellite surveillance they worried about. Technology hadn't changed that much in his time away had it? He may be rusty, but Desmond had made a point of staying up-to-date on hacking software, backdoors and such to keep himself off the grid and hidden.
"Are you kidding?" Rebecca replied. "Abstergo upgraded to cell towers ages ago. The waves go through everything above ground. They're gonna find us."
"No they aren't," Lucy smiled. "Come with me."
Desmond smirked, wondering what she had in mind.
They climbed up the steps to the Villa, sticking to shadows when possible. Desmond was amazed that there were no people out and he had to wonder what time of night it was. The full moon overhead didn't give any indication and the stars that were normally so easy to see on such a night were invisible with the light pollution of the modern day. Desmond oddly missed the stars and constellations that Ezio would see at night.
Walking along the eastern side of the Villa, Desmond felt a distinct ache in his shoulder, the same spot Ezio had been shot at, and he pushed the feeling away. After all, the last time he'd walked this path, Ezio had been bleeding and about to lose everything he'd gained after the loss of his family decades earlier. It was only natural to remember what he'd just been living through not even an hour ago.
Right?
Desmond was unconvinced, and forcibly looked at the electric lights and signs of the more modern day to stay focused on what year it really was.
In the end they finally reached the rear of the Villa and slipped into Mario's study.
Where the town down below didn't show signs of cannon fire that Ezio had just survived, the study looked as shattered as Ezio remembered it, only more decayed from the five centuries that had passed. The books were all gone, either pilfered or turned to dust, and Mario's crafted desk that had been there for decades was in pieces, if it even was the right desk. The shelves still stood solid against time, but were worn and lacked the polished sheen Desmond remembered from Ezio's many months studying Altair's Codex here.
Lucy immediately went to the hidden door, trying to move the bookcase blocking it. It didn't budge.
"Boys?" she asked, turning to them.
Shaun looked distinctly put out, but both he and Desmond heaved at the bookcase, and it didn't even so much as twitch.
"Not good," Rebecca muttered, checking her tablet. "We don't have forever."
Lucy started tapping, listening to the echoes behind.
"There's a beam blocking it from the inside," she sighed. "We're not getting in this way."
"No surprise," Desmond muttered. "Ezio did lock the door behind him."
"What's our next move?" Rebecca asked.
"The road just loops back into the highway," Lucy said, worry underlying her voice. "This is not a good place for us to be right now."
Rebecca looked around, trying to find something to do. "Do we have any tarps? We need to cover up the van."
Shaun was talking before she even finished. "I really hate to stress this, yeah, but we are running out of time."
"Well help us then, Shaun," Lucy said in irritation. "Do you have any ideas?"
"I don't know," Shaun said softly, "maybe there's another way into the Sanctuary? The Borgia got in, after all."
Desmond wasn't listening, however, as they dissolved into problem solving.
He simply looked to the door they had just come into, remembering a lively race with a hunted thief who had caught up with him at Mario's study.
"Hey," Desmond said, squinting at the ghostly figure of Ezio. "I think I've got something."
Desmond followed, breaking into a full run to the back wall of villa. He saw Ezio glancing down to calculate before diving off the edge and Desmond saw that the iron safety fence was broken in that spot.
"Follow me," he said to the others as he nimbly leapt up and through the broken fence to the support beam. Instinct took over. Ezio knew that the jump would be safe so Desmond leapt into the darkness below, having complete faith that his leap was safe all the way down until he smelled the sweet scent of hay. He heard the gasps above him, but it didn't matter. The wind as he fell meant he was free.
He lay in the hay for a while, looking up to the moon, smelling the hay and the droppings of horses that must still ride by, the scent of the farmland around him that had remained farmland, despite the centuries that had passed, and modern scents of car exhaust.
Lucy had somehow made her way down, though not through such a glorious leap of faith, and Desmond finally stepped out of the hay, feeling more alive than he'd had in years.
Even though he'd felt the leaps in the Animus, it didn't truly compare to doing it himself.
"Desmond," Lucy said with clear astonishment in her voice, "that was... pretty... awesome."
Desmond shrugged, unable to wipe off a smile. "It... just felt natural." He looked to the mines. "We can get in through here." He stepped into the darkness.
Behind him, Lucy smiled softly. "Good job."
"Oh," Shaun called from above, "We'll just wait up here then shall we... yeah? All alone, with, with massive targets painted on our backs?"
Desmond very happily let Shaun's voice fade behind him. Rebecca knew how to handle him and Desmond didn't mind leaving it to her. He could feel Lucy behind him, reaching into her bag for something. He looked around, the moonlight failing to reach into the mines. Desmond had always had sharp eyes, born in part from his growing up as an Assassin, but even this gloom was hard to pierce without any source of light. So Desmond focused on eagles and the sharpness of their vision and reached for that tiny corner in the back of his mind that no normal person could touch and looked again.
His eagle vision was clearer than his regular vision, but Desmond knew from his ancestors that this other sight could come in different forms. Altair's senses would sharpen, literally seeing as sharply as an eagle, and his hearing and smell and taste all improved towards his hunting down his target. Ezio's instincts put his surroundings into color, gold for what he was searching for and red for an enemy. Desmond, personally, thought both of those interpretations of eagle vision were useful. His, he didn't care for as much. It was more like CSI forensics. He could see stains, fingerprints, items meant to be invisible. It did nothing for him in the pitch blackness of the mines.
Lucy growled in frustration behind him. "Why won't this turn on..."
Desmond stretched, pulling at his muscles and shaking them to limber up for what was likely going to be a long trek through the mines.
An actual trek. Not running around a warehouse to build up endurance, but an actual honest-to-God objective to work towards.
He couldn't quite hold back a happy sigh, relishing true freedom for the first time in... years.
Ever since he'd run from the Assassins, he'd been so very restrained and careful to not stand out. He'd join local free-runners from time to time, but he'd kept his head down to avoid standing out. Abstergo took his controlled life and took away his control, sticking him in the Animus, determining what he ate and when, the time he went to bed. Even joining Lucy and Rebecca and Shaun was still him in the Animus, though he finally was doing so by choice.
This, however?
This was wondrous.
This was him doing things he'd actually been longing to do for years. "It's great to be out of the Animus," he said quietly, with a large smile.
"This isn't exactly my idea of a good time," Lucy bit out just above a growl, still fiddling with whatever she was trying to turn on.
Desmond's smile widened. "Let me guess: you're more the in-bed-at-six type," he teased.
"What?" Lucy said indignantly. "Desmond! I know how to have fun."
"Oh, that's very convincing. Yeah, I'm convinced."
"Okay," Lucy said lightly and archly. "Okay," she defended playfully. "After we save the world, I'll show you."
He smiled even more. "Wait, can I get that in writing?" he chuckled.
She laughed.
Whatever Lucy was going to say was cut off, however, as a soft golden glow spread out from a glow-stick that she'd apparently been trying to turn on. "We have light!"
"Good," Desmond smiled. Lucy handed him another glow-stick and he easily turned it on, attaching it to a beltloop as Lucy did. The golden glow spread out around them and they finally took a look at the mines. The beams still held strong, and though they showed signs of age, appeared solid. Out ahead of them, just barely in the glow, were three different tunnels spreading out.
"Great," Lucy mumbled, "which way do we go?"
Desmond switched to his eagle vision again, hoping something might stick out at him. Sure enough, glowing a dull red, were drops of blood, staining the ground under centuries of dirt. Desmond's shoulder suddenly ached from a bullet wound that was not his own. It was the trail of all the citizens as they bled during their escape.
Including Ezio.
"This way," Desmond said, going to the tunnel in the middle.
Lucy looked at him questioningly, but said nothing, following along.
Once in the tunnel, it was a straight shot, and Desmond slipped back to his normal vision, not wishing to strain whatever allowed him to look with his other sight. Within moments they came across the heavy iron gate that blocked the soldier, Desmond stopping and dodging to the side as the ghost of a villager darted past him. An echo of Ezio shouting, Run! Get out before the soldiers catch you! Run! Go! rang through the tunnels.
Desmond blinked, trying to not see it. "What was that?" he asked, hoping that he wasn't the only one seeing ghosts.
"I don't see anything," Lucy said quietly.
Desmond watched Ezio strain at a lever, causing the heavy iron to fall, impaling a soldier that was now just a skeleton.
"They escaped through here," he said quietly, gesturing to the bones.
"What?" Lucy asked.
"Ezio and the villagers," Desmond clarified. "After the attack, I can see them now. For a few seconds there."
Lucy put a hand to his arm. "I know it's difficult," she said softly. "But try and compartmentalize, Desmond. Focus on the present. Don't get lost in seeing what was."
But Desmond was worried. He remembered what Subject Sixteen had become, even if he'd never met his predecessor from Vidic's tender mercies. It was one thing to jump and leap with the grace of his ancestors because it was getting built into his muscle memory from the Bleeding Effect, but it was quite another to actually watch his genetic memories when he wasn't hooked up to the Animus.
"What if I can't stop the visions?" he asked quietly, staring down at the skeleton and still faintly seeing the face that was once there. He looked like he'd originally come from Milan. "How long before I start painting symbols on the walls?"
"Don't joke about that," Lucy said quietly, but firmly, looking away as her own guilt over assisting in Sixteen's insanity flooded up. "Sixteen is dead. We're focusing on the present, okay?"
Desmond sighed, but put his own hand over hers to give a reassuring squeeze. Subject Sixteen loomed over both of them heavily, albeit for different reasons. Lucy was right. She knew enough about the Bleeding Effect and how to effectively postpone it long enough for him to stay sane. He simply had to trust her.
So Desmond ignored the vision of the past he wasn't supposed to see and went to the lever, heaving it as much as he could. The heavy iron gate strained against Desmond's leverage, and lifted out of the skeleton, but was only about a foot and a half above the ground.
He let the gate drop down with a grunt. "Great," he grumbled. "It's stuck!"
"I can get under there," Lucy offered.
Desmond shook out his arms and nodded. With a grunt of effort, he heaved the lever again, raising the heavy gate the foot and a half it would go. "Ready," he grunted, and Lucy darted underneath, slipping easily through.
With a great thunk, the gate fell back down.
Frowning, Desmond looked through the bars to Lucy. "Any chance you can lift that gate?"
Lucy scoffed. "Not unless you want me to end up like that skeleton."
"I'll find another way around."
He stepped back, unlooping his glow-stick enough to hold it up for a better look around. To his left was a pile of rocks that didn't look natural and when he looked, he saw that it was rubble meant for some sort of cart out of the mine. Looking up, he saw an opening from what was likely a higher tunnel.
"Lucy," he said through the bars, "I don't suppose you see a hole in the ceiling a little ways down the tunnel?"
The blond saw the direction his eyes were going and knew what he was thinking. "I'll go take a look."
"Watch out for bats," he called out after her.
"Where?" she shouted, ducking and looking around.
Desmond couldn't hold back his laugh. "I meant in case you see any."
"Remind me not to make you a lookout," she called back. Her glow continued to get further away before she started back. "There's an opening above, some collapsed roofing. I think you can get through there."
Desmond carefully picked his way to the upper tunnel, all too aware that there were easily five centuries of age to contend with and making sure of each handhold and foothold as he climbed and eased his way down the tunnel, trying to stay parallel with the direction he'd seen Lucy go moments before and dropping down.
They continued through the labyrinth of tunnels, Desmond switching to his Eagle Vision to make sure they were following the right path whenever they came across a fork in the tunnels.
Claudia!
Ezio!
"Desmond?"
He shook his head. "More ghosts," Desmond muttered.
"I'm here, okay?" Lucy said, her hand on his arm again. "Just stay with me."
Did anything fall on you?
No. Is Mother all right? Federica?
The ghosts faded and Desmond just sighed, switching to his other vision to find the trail again. Continuing down the tunnels, they came to the bottom of a sharp drop, a crumbled ladder at the base. After much poking around, Desmond spied an old pulley system, much akin to what Ezio had used so successfully at the fortifications when the Borgia had attacked. With some quick words, he haggled Lucy to join him before kicking the lever and going flying up the rope and to an upper level. Lucy had been startled out of her mind, to Desmond's amusement.
Further along and the mine no longer looked like a mine. Statues and graves started appearing in the better built walls that held more weight and were far more structured. It was an ancient section of the Auditore crypt, dating back over a century for even Ezio.
Desmond held up his light, studying statues of ancient ancestors long gone. "You know," he said, "when I came here last..."
"When Ezio came here," Lucy said firmly.
"Yeah," Desmond said, looking to her. "I meant Ezio."
Lucy sighed heavily, shaking her head. "I shouldn't put you through this. It's not right."
He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said, tapping her chin to make her look at him. "All joking aside, I'm having the time of my life." He wasn't just hiding or sitting in a dark apartment. He was doing something. He was a part of something bigger than just himself. "And it's thanks to you."
Lucy gave a soft smile. "Just focus on where you're going, okay?"
"Right."
So it was back to trekking through the tunnels. The crypt soon gave way back to the mines and there was a chilly dampness starting to cling to the air. Off in the distance, there was a trickling sound.
"Is that..." Lucy asked.
"Yup," Desmond replied, remembering Ezio's escape. "We're near the underground reservoir that fed the well for the citizens."
The trickle of water got louder until at last, they reached a large cavern with interspersed bridges that were collapsed or aged over black mass of water. There were remains of bridges, supports looking solid, but planks breaking and falling apart. Desmond and Lucy glanced at each other wondering if the bridges would support their weight.
"You first," Desmond gestured. Lucy took careful steps, constantly checking her footing as she eased across each bridge. He followed just as carefully once she was across. Overall, crossing the reservoir was slow going, but uneventful.
Overall.
The first bridge had Desmond falling into the freezing water. Once he climbed up to the ledge Lucy had easily crossed at, he shivered. "I stink," he grumbled.
"You're exaggerating," Lucy retorted and smiled. "Remember, this is the time of your life," she mocked.
"Yeah, yeah," Desmond groused, but he smiled as well. They both shared a chuckle. Near the upper reaches of the reservoir, they were finally up near a collapsed wall that lead back into the Auditore crypt.
Ezio! We are on the other side! Hurry!
Desmond blinked, watching Ezio sawing at a rope, collapsing a bridge with three soldiers on it. He shook off the ghosts and looked again. Lucy spied a small ledge along the wall that they could get their feet on (barely) and they carefully crossed over.
Desmond shuddered once they were across, still damp from his swim in ancient, smelly water that was worse on the nose than the canals of Venice. As he waited, he sat down to pull off his socks and properly wring them out.
Desmond looked up to the heavy stone doors blocking the entrance. "That's how the Borgia got in. That leads into the main Auditore crypt, not one of these subdivisions."
"But it's blocked now," Lucy replied. "We still have to find the way to the Sanctuary."
"Oh, life is full of disappointments," Desmond agreed. "I can't help but wonder why it's blocked now."
"We may never know. Come on."
They continued up the tunnels, Desmond following Ezio's bloodstains and Lucy's problem solving if they came across an obstacle or gap.
"We make a good team," she commented. And for some reason, that just made Desmond's heart warm.
"I can see the Sanctuary up ahead," she pointed. Sure enough, the faint moonlight from outside could be seen pouring through the grating from the back of the Villa and they both headed up, anxious to finally reach their destination.
"About bloody time!" came an annoyed voice above the grate.
But Desmond wasn't listening. His eyes were locked onto another afterimage of a ghost. This was Ezio, but not a wounded Ezio escaping with the villagers and what remained of his family, but an old Ezio with gray hair and years hanging from his face. He must have come back to the Villa long after the attack, but why? And how? The path from the mines was treacherous and hadn't been touched since the escape, as Desmond and Lucy had seen in their passage, and the door from the study was blocked, as Shaun and Rebecca were waiting by. So how did Ezio get here? And what would make him come back to such a horrible place? Even the Auditore Villa in Florence held too much pain for Ezio to visit after the massacre of his family. So why return?
"Desmond!" Lucy called, walking up the stairs to the study.
"Right," Desmond nodded, looking away from the ghost. "Let's open that door."
He followed her, leaving the moonlight for the dark stairs that curved up to the study and came to the bookcase.
Desmond pulled the iron bars locking the bookcase, yanking and chipping at centuries of disuse. From beyond, Shaun's annoyed and impatient voice filtered through. "Can you open the damn bookcase, Desmond?" It took both him and Lucy to finally lift the lower lock, and at last, the book case slid away.
"You guys did it!" Rebecca exclaimed.
"About bloody time," Shaun griped.
You're welcome, Desmond thought to himself. But he shrugged it off.
Still, with the bookcase open, some of the moonlight from outside started to reflect in off the ancient marble that once glittered and the glow-sticks that he and Lucy carried, now brighter with Shaun's and Rebecca's, revealed something on the wall opposite the now moved bookcase as Rebecca darted down to the Sanctuary itself.
"What's that?" Shaun softly asked, raising his glow-stick for a better look.
"Looks like something Ezio left behind," Desmond answered, recognizing his ancestor's hand in the elegant, yet pragmatic strokes. It was a strange triangle, equilateral in shape and subdivided into smaller triangles, and Desmond, as he had several times already, switched to his other sight, his Eagle Vision, to try and see if there was anything else and was surprised to see the dull red glow of old blood. "There are numbers underneath it," he said, "1419, 1420, 1421."
The strain of switching back and forth between his Eagle Vision for the entire evening finally caught up to him, as a pounding headache suddenly blossomed at the back of his head and crawled forward around his temple to his forehead and Desmond couldn't help but reach up and look down, going back to his normal vision.
Lucy was by his side in an instant, holding his arm and looking into his eyes, worried.
"Maybe you should lie down for a bit," she said, reaching up with her glow-stick to get a better look at him.
Desmond took a deep breath, trying to think straight around the sudden thunder in his head, when just as quickly as it arrived, it just disappeared. He blinked again, with no pain, surprised at both the sudden attack and remission.
"Nah," he said quietly, waving Lucy gently aside. "It's all right. I'm fine."
Lucy was about to say something but Rebecca came up, not realizing she was interrupting something. "Whoa," she said in awe in her rough contralto, "they built this place to last. No signs of structural damage. No cell signal either, so we're safe." She gave a bright smile. "Let's get the Animus down there."
Lucy glanced at Desmond, measuring, but Desmond let her. He was fine now and he wasn't going to go back to doing nothing now that he was actually useful and capable.
"All right," she said.
Together, they all headed back out to the truck and started the laborious process of unloading the material they needed. First they needed to set up ramps to wheel boxes down, along with the large orange recliner that the Animus itself was. It took a lot of hefting and heaving and careful maneuvering and Shaun whining incessantly to Rebecca that she needed to redesign the Animus to something more compact if they were going to keep skipping from one safe-house to another. Then it was back to getting all the boxes out of the truck and underground as swiftly as possible.
Once all of their boxes were down in the Sanctuary, came all the set up. Wires stringing from station to station, as Rebecca corrected Shaun, Desmond and Lucy all on which wires went to what computer and could handle what charge and what wattage. Shaun eventually grumbled that enough was enough and pulled out his papers and cork-board to start setting up historical figures Ezio was likely to face in the Animus once Desmond could get back in. That lasted all of ten minutes before Lucy lightly smacked Shaun's head and told him to help with the heavy work, he could mess with his precious ribbons later.
Desmond, who had grown up on the farm and knew the most about roughing it, was assigned to head back down to the underground reservoir and start getting water for treatment to ensure safety for drinking and washing, and setting up where their latrines would be that wouldn't stink up the Sanctuary or contaminate their water. It gave Desmond a chance to explore more without seeing afterimages of Ezio. Once he'd found a good spot that was easy to get to and set up a trail of candles to get there, he went about setting up a small butane stove for cooking, and the various necessities for living down there undiscovered for an unknown period of time.
Lucy kept them all working as a well-oiled machine, pitching in where she thought anyone needed an extra hand and once they were all set up, she slipped out and drove two towns over to find a convenience store and buy some food, since they'd been running low. She returned with a cold dinner, but after all the work they'd been doing, it was appreciated.
It took easily the entire night, but once it was set up, they all breathed a sigh of relief.
All in all, it was a lot of work, and Desmond was looking forward to getting some sleep as the night slipped into early morning.
Shaun was finally setting up his notes on a cork-board (again) and Rebecca was putting a box of tools away when Lucy made her assessment.
"Okay, everything's good," she said, looking around their new base. "Shaun, hide the van in town. And make sure you aren't followed."
"Wait a minute, guys," Rebecca said, coming over. "We need power down here. There's a line running nearby that I can hook into but the wattage is weak." She came over with a small box of devices that Desmond recognized from his days as an Assassin, though they were more up-to-date than what he'd worked with before. They were designed to go into any power box and steal small bits of energy so as not to be noticed as a drain on any one system.
"Yeah, of course," Shaun griped in full sarcastic fury as his cork-board work was interrupted. Again. "Yeah, yeah. Anything else you two would like? You know, some caviar, perhaps? Maybe you'd like me to knit you a lovely hat. No?" he scowled horrendously. "Fine," he acquiesced.
Rebecca rolled her eyes but patted Shaun's cheek affectionately. "Thanks," she said. "You're a peach."
Shaun rolled his eyes and just stalked off.
Desmond lifted the devices. "I promise, you'll get power soon."
The two headed up the ramp, careful of the wires Rebecca had strung along to get the power they needed and headed out into the gardens of the Villa.
"Right," Shaun said with authority. "Look around Monteriggioni for circuit boxes for Rebecca's little doodads," he explained. Desmond let him, not feeling like interrupting when the British historian was being all self-important. "Don't ask me how they work, if I understood that, I wouldn't be the fellow hiding the van."
Desmond chuckled. He did know how they worked, or at least a little, from back when he was being trained to be an Assassin.
They walked around the Villa and down the front steps to the van and split ways. Shaun got into the truck and drove off to hide it while Desmond slipped into the shadows with the ease of knowing Monteriggioni like the back of his hand. It was odd, wandering around and looking for circuit boxes to steal power from. He knew this town so well after living the life of Ezio. He remembered practicing his climbing skills that Federico had taught him the basics of, he remembered racing thieves in heavy armor and still beating them, he remembered talking with the citizens to see what was needed and discussing it with Claudia on what needed financing next.
And he remembered looking up to her auntie, Claudia, as she looked around this place for the first time. Desmond shook his head and went back to looking for power. Getting lost in nostalgia would be a bad idea. He'd hate to think how Ezio would react to cars and lights in his beloved home. So Desmond melted into the shadows once more and slipped through alleys and and side streets to find ways to divert the energy they needed.
Desmond was disappointed with how often nostalgia tried to overcome him as he walked the alleys of his ancestral home. He kept switching to Ezio's eyes with a memory from centuries past, like a time early on, before Ezio started fighting as an Assassin, when he took his catatonic mother out for a walk around the poor village to get her some exercise and sun. Or when Ezio had returned injured and Alfeo found him out and about too soon and dragged him back up to the Villa.
These types of memories, he was expecting. After all, over the past week he'd lived two decades of Ezio's life. It was the other bits of nostalgia that freaked him out. There were times when his perspective dropped to that of a wide-eyed child who looked around with wonder at her first visit with Auntie Claudia. These were harder to force down because he wasn't expecting it and it was so unfamiliar, yet nostalgic at the same time. He could only assume that his own wonder at being in a town he'd only seen in memories was digging up the same awe that whoever that girl was felt when she visited.
Freaked him out every time it happened.
The sky was lightening when Desmond fit the last component Rebecca had given him into a circuit breaker and he knew he needed to get going. He couldn't quite tell if his head was pounding or not after facing off with Ezio's memories so much over the course of the night. He certainly felt like a headache was ready to blossom at a moment's notice, but he couldn't really say that it was thundering at that point yet. Desmond slipped into the shadow of a tree, looking around carefully as he could hear signs of people starting to get up and lights slowly coming on in windows. He had to get back. Sleep was sounding very good right about now.
Desmond paused, however, before he went to the next shadow. Standing proud and rusted by the tree was a sword in the ground. A familiar sword.
Il mio dio, è la spada del Mario!
Desmond reached forward and pulled the sword out, eyeing the pommel, the hilt, the solid work of Santino, even centuries later, the sword Mario had held at his death. The sword that the villagers left behind must have placed here in their own method of quiet thanks. The sword of Ezio's beloved, dead, Uncle Mario. Oh, Mario, my brother, you'll never see out of that eye again. What happened?
Giovanni... Desmond shook his head. Damn, he hadn't been expecting that. He'd had nostalgia of Giovanni as infrequently as the little girl, but because it wasn't Ezio, he was caught off guard again.
He looked to the rusted sword.
Desmond couldn't leave it there.
He just couldn't. This had belonged to a many great-grand-uncle that had been an important person in both Ezio's life, and through Ezio, Desmond. He'd need to clean it, oil it, and remove the rust, but... Desmond couldn't leave the sword here.
He just couldn't.
So he looped it through his belt, feeling the weight of the sword at his side and finding it familiar, if heavier than what he preferred. Mario always did prefer a broadsword to Ezio's blades, which were better for proper fencing.
Yet once he had the sword, Desmond strangely didn't feel nostalgia assault him any more. One would think feeling the weight at his side would make him reminisce back to Ezio all the more, but instead, he was able to navigate the shadows and streets back to the Villa without once fighting back a memory that wasn't his.
Desmond met Shaun at the base of the Villa's stairs.
"Found a memento?" Shaun grumbled sarcastically.
Desmond said nothing for a moment, before pulling out the sword and holding it with a familiarity he shouldn't have and showed it to Shaun. "It was Mario's."
Shaun's bad humor melted to blankness as he looked at the blade more closely. He looked to Desmond and merely nodded. He glanced at Desmond again, and he thought he caught a flicker of worry on the historian's face. But Shaun said nothing on the subject. "Well come on, then. If anyone finds that van after the night I just spent hiding it, we deserve to be caught."
Desmond chuckled.
Shaun proceeded to launch into an extended complaint list of exactly what he'd had to go through to hide the truck, and Desmond tuned him out. They still kept to the shadows and Desmond found himself correcting Shaun's techniques of staying hidden, which just made Shaun grouse and glare at him. When they got to Mario's study and in the pre-dawn light, Desmond's sharp eyes spied something else. He walked to the corner and brushed off centuries of dirt and dust. "Claudia's account book," he muttered, carefully flipping it open and looking at the summary of expenses and accounts that Ezio's sister had so carefully kept track of. Her handwriting was faded, but still clear in the dim light, and Desmond easily read the words, despite the fact that he'd never learned the language. "They were getting ready to expand," he said quietly.
"Expand?" Shaun asked, looking over Desmond's shoulder.
"Yeah," he said, carefully flipping another page. "Claudia never got to tell Ezio how the accounts were, but you can see it. Look at the amount they were saving. The town was thriving, they were probably going to expand. This type of savings, there was a big project in the works."
"Pity we'll never know what," Shaun muttered. "Come along, Desmond. Before the sun actually peaks out at us."
Desmond took the account book with him.
They descended into the Sanctuary and Desmond smiled, seeing lights on and computers starting to boot up.
"I'm back," he said, heading to a shelf to carefully lay out the account book and sword.
Lucy just nodded to him. "Just in time. The sun's rising."
"Yes!" Rebecca shouted. "It's booted. We're good to go!"
"Did you miss me?" Shaun asked, but Rebecca and Lucy were already busy at their computers and Desmond was carefully brushing at the sword to see how bad the rust really was. "No? Anyone? Hello, am I speaking out loud? Hello?" Shaun sighed. "Workaholics."
"Let's get started," Lucy said firmly.
"I think sleep's a better option," Desmond replied. "We've been up and working since yesterday. I think some shut-eye is a good idea."
"And a shower," Shaun muttered, pinching his nose.
"I can run over baby while you all get some sleep," Rebecca offered. "Do some miscellaneous updates, stuff like that."
Lucy was clearly hesitating, looking at her computer and wanting to get things started. "All right. The water we have should be good for a sponge bath. We can worry about laundry more once we've had some proper sleep."
"There's a laundromat in town," Shaun said.
"We'll figure it out when we know supply runs," she replied. "The two of you have done most of the heavy work, you both should wash up and get some sleep. I'll review what we've missed while Rebecca gets the Animus updated. In four hours, we'll get back to work."
"Fair enough," Desmond said, grateful that he'd have a chance to get out of these smelly clothes.
Desmond lead Shaun behind Altair's statue to where the wash area had been set up and both started to strip down to their boxers.
"So," Desmond said, getting a small bowl of water and rubbing the soap in it to get a later, "Do you have any clue about those numbers under the drawing?"
"1419, 1420, 1421," Shaun muttered. "Offhand, maybe something to do with the Hundred Years War. Or wait... In 1419, Pope Martin V arrived in Florence, right? He left for Rome in 1420, and that was the same year Brunelleschi began building the Duomo. And in 1421... in 1421... Yeah, I'll have to do some more research I think." Shaun shrugged. "Not like I've had a chance to really look anything up, have I?"
Desmond had the decency to be a little abashed. Time to change topic. "So what do you think of Monteriggioni?"
Shaun scoffed at him. "This is not Monteriggioni. Monteriggioni existed during the Renaissance. Ask me how the town was in 1554 when it was seized by Florence and I'll tell you."
"Huh. I figured you'd like it nowadays. Seems not to have changed much."
"Exactly," Shaun said crossly. "History is the study of change. Change is life. When things become static, it means they're dead."
Desmond gave up conversation after that.
A fresh change of clothes later, and feeling a bit cleaner, Desmond crawled into his sleeping bag.
Bleeding shoulders popped stitches everything was gone gone GONE Malik is dead Sef is dead MARIA is dead CRISTINA IS DEAD there's nothing left there's nothing left how long before Claudia and Maria and Federica are taken too there's no time need to protect them need to protect the Brotherhood need to protect Abbass from destroying himself fire powder explosions hidden treachery where is Malik what happened to him Mario at the gate looking up and seeing and blood and death so much death Federico Kadar Giovanni Petruccio Malik Maria Cristina Sef it won't ever stop nothing can end this all over the damned Apple stupid artifact what's its purpose why is it here I understand now the prophet will do his work your name comes up like a distant dream
Desmond...
It was almost a relief when Lucy shook him awake.
Four hours wasn't anywhere near enough sleep, but Desmond stretched and got up. He cooked a small breakfast from the food they had with them from the truck and the leftovers of what Lucy had brought, while Shaun went to wash up again. His motions were mechanical, his gaze only half on his work, the rest of it on the dream he had that made utterly no sense. It was like... had he been living memories of both Ezio and Altair? At the same time? Was that even possible, or was it a sign of the Bleeding Effect, of his slow degradation to insanity? He frowned, staring at the cooktop and the bottled water. Shaking his head, he looked up and saw Rebecca and Lucy across the Sanctuary, talking quickly in hushed voices before Lucy hugged the technician tightly, Rebecca slowly returning the gesture. He looked back down to his cooking, not wanting to guess what they were talking about.
Breakfast was quiet, quick, and heavy before everyone disappeared to their stations, Desmond poured himself another cup and stared at the Animus intently. Putting off his slow crack of sanity sounded like a good idea, so he turned away from the damn machine and pursued other thoughts.
Sipping his coffee, Desmond walked over to Lucy. "What are we going to do about Abstergo?"
"Wait it out," Lucy replied, reading something on her screen. "As soon as we find the Apple, I get in contact with our other teams in Europe, but as far as Italy goes, we're on our own."
Shaun came in, rubbing a towel through his hair. "It would be nice to have some help from above."
"Our top Assassins are busy gathering info about the Templar satellite launch. We've pinpointed several possible facilities in the U.S., China, and Russia, but there are no clear leads yet."
Desmond blinked. "What are the other teams doing?"
"Combating Abstergo's search for Pieces of Eden. As far as I know, Abstergo has no clue about the Temples and Ezio's Apple. We might actually be ahead for once." She gave a soft smile. "And it's about damn time."
"Hear, hear," Rebecca cheered before turning back to her laptop.
Desmond sipped his coffee again and went back to the stove, and cooked a little more, including a thick stack of toast that he offered to everyone. Shaun grumbled as he grabbed four slices, Lucy gave a soft smile and took a few for herself.
Rebecca, however, didn't even notice it was being offered.
"You seem focused," Desmond commented startling Rebecca.
The techie gratefully grabbed some toast. "I've been busy patching new systems into Baby here," she explained. "She's only gonna get better," she offered a huge smile, pulling down her headphones. "I've got a virtual training program for you to practice some of the stealthy stuff that we can't set up like we could in the warehouse."
Shaun, in his usual caustic way, referenced the trouble Desmond had with living memories the previous night. "Is Desmond going to be able to relive memories this time?"
"As a matter of fact, he will," Rebecca said with cocky confidence.
Desmond chuckled. "You always been a tech geek?"
"Nah," Rebecca waved it off, munching on her toast. "I was into sports, but then I broke my leg and started playing with computers." She sipped from her cold coffee. "Who knew that coding could be just as exhilarating as strapping on a board and dropping out of a helicopter?"
Desmond smiled, wondering if that skill was why the Assassin's had recruited her or not.
"Just FYI," Shaun interrupted, "you might want to get your adrenal glands checked. You know, because that, that is not normal."
Desmond rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wondering if Shaun was related to any little old ladies that butted in on any conversation that didn't involve them. The historian was on a roll that morning. So Desmond ignored the Brit and smiled at Rebecca.
"Do you miss your sports?"
The techie shrugged. "To a point. That was for adrenaline. And this job is pure adrenaline," she smiled. "All adrenaline, all the time."
"Just don't forget to crash from that adrenaline sometimes."
"Not a prob!" Rebecca said brightly. "That's what the tunes are for."
Desmond sat in the orange recliner and Rebecca started hooking him up. "I remembered what you said before about wanting to relive memories. Once you've unlocked them, you can go back and relive it as many times as you want."
Desmond smiled, already thinking of Ezio's initiation into the Order. Still, he couldn't stop the playful quip, "And what if there are memories I just want to forget?"
"Desmond, this is very important," Lucy said. "If you need to take a break, log out of the Animus. You can leave the machine whenever you like."
"I'm all set to go," Desmond reassured her. "Don't worry."
"One last thing," Rebecca said, "as you raise your synchronization by executing events the way Ezio lived them, that memory we're aiming for should keep clearing. Okay, let's get started."
Desmond loaded into the White Room of the Animus, waiting for the history of Italy to load whatever city Ezio would end up in. Desmond wondered if he'd still be at the side of the road, bleeding, or back in Florence, or somewhere else altogether. Ezio had been heading to Rome, but Desmond wasn't sure where he was when he finally collapsed. He looked down, to see he was still in his clothes, not even loaded into the Ezio avatar yet.
"Desmond," Shaun said, interrupting again as he had all morning. "I've been looking at these gibberish five-digit codes from the end of Subject 16's files and I seem to have discovered a remarkable coincidence."
"At this point, I'd say there are no coincidences," Desmond replied.
Shaun ignored him."The codes correspond perfectly with coordinates inside the Animus. I've tagged the landmarks pinpointed by the coordinates. We can guide you to them at any point you're not synching with Ezio."
"Like with all those glyphs that made that freaky Truth file," Desmond nodded. "Sixteen has another goose chase for us to chase."
"Now, odds are you won't find anything there, but well, who knows?"
"Only one way to find out."
Desmond looked at the White Room, then hissed in pain as he felt the ache in his shoulder. He wondered what had happened and where he was.
"By God, we'll make those bastards pay!"
"We stand together."
"Be careful."
"I will."
"Repay me by looking after my daughter."
"Tell Federica her father died a hero, and tell her it was all so that she could live a happy life."
"Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you differently."
He awoke crying. A heavy sob wrenching its way up through the darkness and making his face scrunch into hot tears trailing out of his eyes as he wailed. Half his family had been ripped from him years ago, and now more had died. How much more could a person bear! Slowly strangling, neck breaking, head smashed, head exploding, sounds of death beyond solid stone. He tried to curl to himself, grief washing over him in wracking sobs and streaming tears. It made his very heart bleed and ache. Then he fell back into darkness again.
The next time he awoke it was again to crying. His whole town, Monteriggioni, devastated. He may not have always been there, but he'd put a great deal of time into overseeing it, making it thrive, lovingly building up what had once been aged and broken, tending to the citizens with care and patience, expanding. Now it was gone as well. Once more, everything had been ripped away from him. And as he started to sob once more, he fell unconscious again.
The next time he woke up, he was more aware of his surroundings. The overwhelming grief of his very life it seemed, was quickly stomped down and shoved to a corner. A woman was tending to him and he needed to ignore his loss and start thinking. He reached up and grabbed her arm.
Or rather, that's what he wanted to do. Just lifting his hand made him suddenly light-headed and he couldn't seem to coordinate himself well enough. But she saw the motion and looked to him.
"Rest, messere. You've been through an ordeal and need rest," she said softly. Reaching up she pushed his hair back gently and offered a kind smile. "You're still healing. You need to get stronger first before you start demanding answers."
He frowned, not liking how much she seemed to know of his current state, but he was soon in darkness again.
Waking once more, he felt truly rested. Sore, tender, and uncomfortable, but rested nonetheless.
The woman was sitting by his side on the bed and she was cleaning the wound Rodrigo Borgia had given him a lifetime ago. He mustered his strength again, ready to start getting answers. "Who-" but his voice croaked horribly.
"Messere," she said quietly. "A moment please and I'll get you something to drink."
He didn't care for the answer, but trying to form any other words were just indeterminable grunts.
His stomach wound stung horribly from whatever she was doing, but soon she was wrapping clean bandages around him, carefully reaching under him to pull the cloth around and tightening it enough to stay but not hurt.
"Some water?" she asked, and he nodded. It was cold, thank God and he felt every swallow down to his stomach. "I am Margherita dei Campi," she explained softly. "I've been tending to you. If you can, I'd like to get some food in that punctured belly of yours. You need the strength. A man brought you here for help."
"Grazie," he replied. "I am-"
"Messere, food first."
Ezio only stayed a week in that small house. While Margherita, a countess, was kind and clearly knew something of tending wounds, Ezio did not wish to crowd her in her tiny home. It was a house of poverty despite her rank. Well cared for, but threadbare and mended as best as those with almost nothing could do. He did not wish to be a drain on her no-doubt non-existent budget. She kept feeding him good food, but he never saw her eat anything herself and Ezio could not stand that.
"Go, my son. Destroy them... but remember for whom we Assassins fight."
His mother's words were steady and firm in his heart. The Assassins, for all that Ezio had started to become one out of revenge, fought for the people. They fought because the people could not, because the people needed someone to keep them safe. And Ezio doubted tending to him was keeping Margherita safe.
His stomach wound was well on the way to healing. Rodrigo, old man that he was, hadn't done much damage and Altair's armor had diverted and blunted most of the blow. Ezio's shoulder, however, was agony if he even tried to move. But at least he could walk.
Ezio didn't even have any money to give this poor countess to compensate for his stay. He'd left with just the clothes on his back, his hidden blade, and the sword of Altair. Nothing he would dare sell. He'd have to find a banker and get some of his funds from Romeo, if he'd survived the attack on the Villa.
Plans swirling in the back of his head, Ezio prepared to leave. Margherita helped him get dressed, given that his arm was useless with his shoulder, but Ezio refused to stay any longer. The clothes were unexpectedly rich-looking, which surprised Ezio. And all that white, it reminded him of what Arianna had mentioned about a new look for him. Ezio wondered where Margherita could afford such clothes.
"The man who left you here brought them while you were sleeping," the poor countess explained. "He said you wouldn't stay long once you were awake."
Ezio gave a perfect Florentine grin of irony. "Did this man say anything else?"
Margherita gave a coy smile. "Only this: You are to meet Messer Machiavelli in front of the Mausoleo di Augusto."
With clean bandages and fresh clothes, Ezio felt more alive. He took some of the bread Margherita offered, only because his stomach couldn't stop rumbling. With Altair's sword at his side and his hidden blade on his forearm, Ezio finally felt safe, despite his throbbing shoulder. He tested the blades, taking a whetstone to any nicks he saw, of which there were very few. Testimony to the steady craftsmanship of both Altair and Leonardo da Vinci, Ezio's oldest friend.
Margherita walked him downstairs and out the door and, at last, Ezio saw a view of something other than a city wall.
"Ah, Roma," he said softly.
"Yes," she said, looking sadly over the hills through the pillars of the aqueducts. "Or what is left of it since the Borgia came to power."
Ezio frowned. He knew from his last trip through Rome that the people had suffered under the Spaniard's power. Just walking through the streets and seeing nothing but poverty, beggars, and Papal guards intimidating the citizens was proof of it, but Ezio had only been aware of it in abstract, completely focused on getting the Spaniard. Rome was still Rome, after all.
But Margherita's words reminded Ezio of his mother.
"But remember for whom we Assassins fight."
He'd been looking at the problem the wrong way. Only thinking that taking down Rodrigo would solve the problem. That was a childish notion. He'd thought the Spaniard living in shame with his power broken would wipe away the Borgia stain. That was idiotic. Change didn't come from the top and trickle down to the people. Change came from the people who could then tackle the top.
The people of Rome had no hope.
Ezio needed to do something. But what? He was in no shape to do much of anything at the moment.
He'd need to think about it. For now, Machiavelli was waiting.
"And the Mausoleo?" he asked, trying to get his bearings.
"Unfortunately, you cannot see it from here."
Ezio looked around and through the pillars of the aqueduct saw a church atop the hill. He had a way to get his bearings.
Turning to his hostess, he bowed as best he could with his side and shoulder, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles. "Thank you very much for everything you have done for me. Addio, buona donna."
She was blushing furiously, but merely smiled and nodded. "Best of luck to you, Messere."
So Ezio went down the stairs from her home and out into the busy streets. He was clearly on the outskirts of Rome, within areas that had been designated for the farming necessary to feed the massive city. The citizens quickly jostled about from one destination to another, intent on getting to whatever job would actually provide money amongst the poverty of the area. Ezio didn't care for the pace, as he was going much slower and favoring his bad arm. One person almost knocked him over as he ran by, shouting out a hurried apology as he continued to rush.
That didn't stop Ezio from grunting in pain. "My arm, merda, my back!"
At least his side was able to take the jostling.
As good as the countess was, Ezio knew he was going to have to find a doctor.
Once he oriented himself.
At the church, he explained to the threadbare priest his need to orient himself in the city and if he'd please be so kind as to let Ezio up to the bell tower?
The priest, an ancient man pushing into his eighties and with memory seeming to be failing him, nodded, calling on one of the altar boys to guide Ezio up. The view for the morning was spectacular, Ezio had to admit. The church overlooked the central district of Rome, buildings spread out almost as far as the eye could see. The Castel San'Angelo towered not that far away, with St. Peter's Basilica behind it. To the west and slightly south the Pantheon rose over the buildings by several stories, it's round open rooftop clearly visible with the sun behind Ezio, and almost due south, the massive structure of the Colosseum, standing tall and proud of ancient architects that knew so much more about building than any architects of the modern era.
He turned to the altar boy. "Grazie," he said, heading back down. He had a good idea where he was now and could head off in the right direction.
Exiting the church, Ezio started to long walk east and down the hill to find the Mausoleo. It only took an hour to get into the central district where Ezio blended in a bit better. There were still beggars by the score, but the people walking around were no longer the threadbare poor, but the threadbare rich who were wearing last season's clothes with rough stitching on any tears. Ezio frowned heavily at this. How could the Borgia do this to anyone? Just unilaterally take everything from everyone?
Rome was diseased. And as easy as it would be to kill the Spaniard, it wasn't the cure. Much like when Savonarola poisoned Firenze, the people needed to take a hold of their own destiny and fight back. Not just let the Pope walk all over them. Killing Rodrigo would only treat a symptom. It wouldn't cure the city. Such poverty... it did no one any good.
Ezio was bumped into, again, and he couldn't quite hold back a cry of pain as his shoulder was hit just right. Already, he could feel bleeding under his bandages.
"I'm sorry!" a young man exclaimed, getting up off the ground. "I'm sorry! I was hurrying and I didn't expect-! I'm sorry!"
Ezio only rolled his eyes as he cradled his arm closer to him and waited for the stabbing pain to subside.
"Signore, are you alright?"
Ezio was too busy focusing past his pain to reply.
"Come, Signore, I know a good doctor."
"Thank you, but I-"
"No buts," the young man insisted. He all but dragged Ezio down an alley to a side street where there were fewer people and knocked on a plain, unassuming door. Ezio was surprised. Most doctors were calling out their business to get more customers. Glancing around, he saw no signs, no line of customers. How did anyone even know a doctor was here?
The young man by his side smiled at Ezio. "The Borgia are after this doctor," he explained. "He's helping people for free. Other doctors supply him with medicines and such, but he needs to keep a low profile," he explained. "Damned Borgia and their faith-healing. God helps those who help themselves."
Ezio chuckled. A trustworthy doctor. That was good. A contact to start his rebuilding here in Roma.
The door opened a crack and then fully. "Greetings," the doctor said, wearing the waxed robes of his profession and a beaked mask. "I see you gave me another patient, you little brat."
The young man gave an abashed laugh. "I must be going. I hope I get paid today!" And then he was off, running down the streets and running over the only other person passing by, shouting apologies as he got up again.
"Accident prone klutz," the doctor muttered. "Well, come on in. Let's see why you're favoring that arm."
Inside were almost a dozen other people seeking aid. Some coughing, others with infections, but the most common need appeared to be injuries. Beatings the likes of which Ezio had only seen on the battlefield. It made Ezio frown deeper as he realized just how bad it was in Rome, in a way he hadn't noticed the last time he'd rushed through to face down the Pope.
He was brought to a side room where cots had been laid out for some who were in the most desperate need for aid.
"Please," Ezio said, "I merely have a wound reopened. You have others who need your help more than me."
"Just shut up and sit down," the doctor said. "Let me look."
The doctor, who briefly said his name was Dante, pulled off all of Ezio's bandages and examined everything with a thorough professionalism. He dabbed at the wounds gently with clean cloths and then pulled out a needle and thread that he boiled in water, much as Alfeo back in Monteriggioni might. The stitches hurt terribly, but Ezio stayed still with patient practice that this Doctor Dante nodded at.
"The person who did this clearly has some skill, but not all the knowledge of one trained," Dante said as he re-bandaged Ezio. "Most doctors would have suggested leeches, but I've seen no proof of their efficiency."
Ezio liked this doctor even more. Once he'd met Machiavelli, set up what he was going to do from here, Dante would likely be a good man to have on the Assassin payrolls.
Once Ezio could access his accounts...
Later. One step at a time.
"Still," Dante continued, "Someone your age cannot recover from a wound like this with just medicine. You need time. You don't have the strength of the younger generations."
Ezio's like of the doctor immediately evaporated.
"Here," Dante handed over a small bottle. "It will dull the pain. Take a drop before each meal and two drops if something has jarred it. It will heal over time."
"Grazie," Ezio muttered. Still, Dante had helped and a drop of that potion did ease the steady ache.
Dante moved to help Ezio to the door, but instead, Ezio walked over and put on some waxed gloves and went to one of the patients who had been waiting for treatment. "A splint for the break and stitching by the eye, yes?" he asked turning to the doctor.
Dante stood there, eyes wide behind his mask, before nodding.
Ezio stayed for an hour or so helping out until the number of patients had dwindled before finally taking his leave. It was all he could do to repay the doctor.
Still...
"'Someone my age.' Imbecille."
But Ezio was at last back on his way to meeting Machiavelli.
Back in the crowded streets Ezio started asking directions to the Mausoleo, since he couldn't afford a map. He continued to make his way west, ignoring his rumbling stomach since he had no money at the moment.
He was sitting on a bench when a Borgia guard ran by to another who was lounging in the midday sun, trying to warm up on the cold January day.
"There is a peasant resisting arrest! We will show him how things operate under the Borgia!"
The other guard nodded and followed back the way the first had come.
Ezio frowned heavily again. Machiavelli can wait.
He tailed them easily as they knocked over anyone in their way, leaving an easy path for Ezio to follow. It was only two streets over that Ezio heard the fighting and swiftly caught up with the two he'd been following. It was easy to kill both silently with his hidden blade before they made it to the scuffle. Neither had expected it and Ezio, injured as he was, still had the muscle memory to do this swiftly and precisely. Walking calmly away from the guards who were still stumbling to their deaths, he followed his ears to where two other Borgia were pulling a man who was clinging to a gallows platform where a woman was hanging. The man had picked up a dagger from somewhere and was using it to great effect blocking Borgia swords. But the man was obviously thin from hunger and the Borgia were stronger and meaner. So Ezio stepped in.
His hidden blade buried itself into the back of one of the guards and once the other realized that something was wrong and had turned, the thin man stabbed him in the back before Ezio could even pull out his sword. Around them the townspeople cheered and Ezio quickly looted the bodies, giving half the money to the man who was at the gallows once more, praying for the woman who swayed in a cold breeze. The man didn't even pay attention to the money. He just sobbed and sobbed.
Ezio was reminded keenly of his own sobbing earlier that week. And he was reminded of another memory even further back, of gallows and people hanging from them. He put a hand on the man's shoulder. "She was beautiful," he said quietly.
"She was..." the man sobbed. "Until that porco defiled her! I wish he'd just killed her!" he sobbed again, his anger giving way to grief. He shouted, "I wish he'd just killed my beloved! Just killed her, not raped her!" he broke down to sobs again. "People who saw her grow up cheered when he spat on her! Smiles on their faces when her neck..."
Ezio could picture it all too well. "I understand."
"How can you?" The man shouted, pulling away from the hand on his shoulder. "My Livia was innocent!"
Ezio looked up to the hanging body and the cold breeze that stirred it. "I have lost family to the rope... to treachery," he said quietly. "The grief and anger stays a long time. But living as your family would have wanted, that is the hardest part of all."
The thin man sobbed again. "Il Carnefice watches from his home on the hill above," he said, sidestepping the grief they were both sharing in. "He threatens to hang me if I cut her rope."
Ezio knelt by the man, ignoring the twinge on his shoulder. "When you are ready, take her down. I will deal with Il Carnefice."
"Like anyone can," the man wailed. "Who are you to stand up to the Borgia?"
"Just a man who won't let this happen any longer."
It took an hour to find the roads that led up to the hill where Ezio had just barely spotted the home the grieving man had mentioned and he crept along carefully. It was early afternoon in broad daylight and he was still injured. He'd have to handle this carefully. Ezio trusted his Eagle Vision, looking for the flicker of gold that would be who he sought. Along the ground, hints of a trail seemed to shine and fade. Ezio had never seen a trail with his other sight before, but he wouldn't discount it now. So he followed when he saw such flickers, finding his way up to the home he'd sought.
Around the corner of a building, Ezio heard voices, and carefully slipped into the shadows and eased his way around.
"Nice work down there," a Borgia soldier was saying.
A huge, hulking man in blood-spattered clothing and an executioner's ax shrugged. "Not my best," he said, pulling his executioner's mask back from where it had been dropping into his eyesight, "but it's hard to make art with poor materials."
The Borgia smiled. "Then we'd best find some better stock."
The executioner grinned and it was not a pretty sight. "Yes. You'd best do that."
The Borgia gave another knowing grin and left. As the executioner turned to head back into his house, Ezio slipped forward on silent boots and let his hidden blade taste the foul blood of this hated man. "Requiescat in pace," he said, easing the executioner down.
The man gurgled blood, staring up at Ezio hatefully, but Ezio closed his eyes as he took his last breath. He took more money off the executioner, a substantial amount from the Borgia, no doubt, and went into the house for some food to ease his hunger. But he did not stay long before he disappeared into the streets of Rome again, once again heading for the Mausoleo Di Augusto.
Author's Notes: Happy 4th of July everybody! It may not technically be a Friday, but we couldn't wait any lnoger to put this up. And so we continue with AC:Brothehood novelization!
We hope this assuages the many (many, many) people who PM'ed us with questions of when the fic would be put up - and then when it would be updated. Many readers had many questions and many suggestions and many comments. We'll address them as we can over the course of the fic but there are a few things that should be noted right now:
To the several people who wanted us to include their OCs: We appreciate your desire to see them written by us, but that did not happen. More will be explained when we get to all the apprentices, but the fact of the matter is it's difficult enough to novelize these fic because they are utilizing someone else's content. Adding a third (fourth, fifth, and sixth) would be impractical and frankly impossible.
Given that we're dealing with papal politics, huge political figure Machiavelli, philosopher Ezio, and Claudia (especially Claudia), we hesitantly point out that there will be certain political views expressed over the course of this fic. Please remember that this is a fic. Claudia and her arc, especially, ran away from us, but more on that in later chapters.
Because of the huge bulk of extras that are in the AC games from this point onward, there just isn't enough room to fit it into a narrative format, nor does some of it "work" in the context of the narrative. Certain memories were cut because of this - most notably the Lairs of Romulus and Leonardo's War Machines. More on them, also, in later chapters.
Updates will be every Friday, as always.
So: Next chapter. Machiavelli. I'm sure this will be a nice, calm, friendly conversation.