Part Six: Progress by Inches
On his birthday, Ezio was busy as usual, this time going over finances with his bankers Matteo and Romeo. The nest egg that the other guilds had given him, as well as the looting of the Borgia tower, was just about out, and once again Ezio was considering creative ways to earn money. Now that he had six apprentices to outfit, feed, and train, the money became nothing more than smoke. Dante's renovations were only half complete, and he had not heard from either Volpe or Bartolomeo on how his investments with them were going. Surely three months was enough to finish...?
His mind heavy with such thoughts, he sat on the Ponte Sisto, trying to figure out how he could muddle through the next month.
"Zio 'zio!"
The forty-one year old master assassin's heart skipped a beat, his head snapping up and whirling to the far side of the bridge as a little girl of eleven years skipping happily over the bridge with the sole intent of stopping his heart.
"Federica!" was the strangled, high pitched noise that came out of Ezio's mouth. "What are you doing here?" That was a hiss.
"It's your birthday, Zio, I came to help you celebrate!"
Ezio struggled to decide on being touched or infuriated. "How did you get here?"
"I snuck out of the apartments when Grandmother wasn't looking, and I practiced walking through the crowds just like Mother was teaching me. You didn't see me coming, right?"
Right. Infuriated it was. Ezio grabbed his niece's arm and started hauling her back over the bridge. "It's not safe for you here, Federica," he said in a tight voice.
"I know, Zio, that's why I practiced...!"
But Ezio ignored her until he found a secluded courtyard, snapping the gate shut with his bad arm and wincing as it pulled at his wound. He turned furious eyes to his niece. "Now," he said in a low, menacing baritone, "What are you doing here?"
The eleven-year-old glared at him balefully, crossing her arms and assuming a stance that echoed her mother. "Is it wrong to wish you a happy birthday, Zio?"
"Then why did you sneak out?"
The girl frowned, looking away and working her jaw into a beautiful pout. Ezio was more than willing to out-wait her, and crossed his arms over his chest and looked down on her. Federica assessed the gaze, before sighing and sitting on a bench. "I wanted to ask you something," she said, sullen.
Ezio sat down next to her. "What is it?" he asked in a softer voice.
"I wanted to know why you don't visit me now that we're in Roma. I wanted to know why you look down on Mother."
The master assassin blinked. "Who told you that?"
"... Mother and Grandmother were talking, they thought I was asleep. She said you've looked down on her for her entire life, and that's why you're being so hard on her now."
"Piccina, I have never 'looked down' on your mother," Ezio said softly, touching her shoulder. Where on earth did Claudia get such an idea, anyway?
"Then why don't you visit us?"
"... Because I am a busy man," Ezio said slowly, trying to figure out how he could explain this to a little girl. "When Monteriggioni was attacked, we lost a lot of things, and I'm working to try and get them back. There's a lot to do, and I want to get it done as quickly as possible so we can all go back to normal."
Federica frowned at the explanation, but said nothing. They sat together for several minutes, Ezio still struggling to understand why his sister thought so little of him. He had never once looked down on Claudia. They were almost as close as he had been with Federico, the pain of the memory duller with time. The two of them had promised that no one would make Claudia cry, and they held to that vow with eager vigilance; the pair threatened many a suitor, Ezio had beaten up her former betrothed, and they terrorized anyone who upset her. They were protecting her honor, her innocence, her womanhood. Ezio's greatest failure was that he could not do those things when their family had been hanged. He couldn't ensure her security, and because of that her innocence had been stolen away forever. Worse, now she wouldn't even let him protect what little security she had left, and he just couldn't understand how any of that equated to him looking down on her. Where did it come from?
Sighing, he turned to his niece. "Let us get you home," he said softly.
"But... I want to help you."
"You can help me by giving me peace of mind," he said smoothly, "and letting me escort you home."
Federica pouted again, unhappy with the brushoff. In her, at least, honor and innocence were intact, and he would be damned if he let it be stolen away to.
Maria was there to greet them, and she deftly spirited Federica away to a lesson of some sort before rejoining her son. "You look troubled, Ezio."
"Mother..." he said slowly. He was hesitant to bring his problems to her, even after all these years her spirit was fragile after the loss of Giovanni, and sometimes she would drift away before coming back. But... she was still his mother, and so he explained the disturbing conversation with Federica. Maria sat and listened, taking in everything as Ezio recounted everything he had done, all his proof that he didn't look down on his sister.
"Oh, Ezio," she said. "But you do."
… What?
"... What?"
Maria leaned forward and touched his knee. "Tell me, Ezio, do you think of Paola and Teodora differently than, say, Antonio or Bartolomeo?"
"Of course not, they are Assassins."
"Then you would let them lead you into battle?"
"Mother, that's different." Women couldn't fight; the very thought...!
Maria stared at him for a long time before saying, "Ezio, you think of a battle in only one way: on the field. You don't yet understand that there are different kinds of battles that require different kinds of skills. Until you do, you will only ever see Claudia, see all women, as something to be hidden away and protected, and you will never learn that women fight just as hard as men."
Ezio stared at his mother, uncomprehending. Women fight as hard as men? How... What...?
"But, if you insist on fights being on the battlefield, there is one fight I can arrange for you: the previous owner, Madonna Solari was a cheat and a liar; you already knew that, but her ties to the Church have recently been uncovered. Her brother Santino claims ownership of Claudia and the brothel. He struggles to gain Borgia favor and must prove himself leader of the courtesans. Claudia is very good at giving him the runaround, but he grows more desperate and therefore more violent. Humiliate him in public and he loses the support of the Borgia. We will not hear from him again."
Ezio leaned back in the settee. "So she does need help," he murmured to himself.
"No, Ezio, she doesn't; but your aid will make things go more quickly."
The two stood and Ezio made to leave, but Maria caught his arm for one last word. "Ezio... a woman in this world has exactly three futures: a nunnery, a brothel, or a husband. The only one she is allowed to choose on her own is the one that is the most esoteric. Claudia is making a fourth option for herself, and until you see that, it will all be for naught. Giovanni will explain it better to you once he's put Petruccio to bed."
That made Ezio stand very still, staring at his mother. She had never, not once uttered those names after the hanging; it was a silent taboo that everyone agreed on, and to have her mention his father and his brother, as if they were still alive, left Ezio more disturbed than when he had arrived.
He spent the whole night on the roof of the warehouse, thinking about his family.
But, unfortunately, life moved on and there was too much to do for Ezio to dwell on... odd things. The next morning he received a pigeon from Volpe saying the inn was complete and to drop by and see it, and so it wasn't long before he was riding south to the edge of the city.
Nestled in a broken forest, dark shadows perfect for thieves, the inn rose to a modest height, looking distinctly half-finished, which made Ezio frown briefly. Riding around, he saw scaffolding and exposed beams, only one ladder and a platform that hung out over... His eyes widened as they traced one course after another. This was a training course, to help thieves learn how to run and climb; of course the inn had to look half-built, otherwise there would be no way to train. Guiding his horse back around to the front, he saw several city guards stumble out of the inn, clearly drunk, and he smiled.
Tying his horse, he entered the inn to see a courtesan dancing on a table, a dozen men hunched over a game, several barrels of wine and poorly lit candles. Smoke and sweat assaulted his nostrils; the place was dark, moody, and claustrophobic. Cups were dented and dinged, food was cheap, and wine flowed readily.
It was perfect.
"Welcome. Ezio, to La Volpe Addormentata."
Ezio turned to see La Volpe himself, having appeared almost like the smoke itself.
"The inn looks perfect. No one will ever suspect its real purpose."
"Come, I've something to show you." The fox lead the master assassin to a back room filled with massive wine casks, squeezing between two that lead to a narrow stairwell and to an upper room, secret from any prying eyes. "The guild will be run from here," Volpe said brightly, "Visit me whenever you like. The Borgia are already spreading the word on this place: cheap food and cheap wine, and gambling. Ah, yes, I forgot. We have gambling. It is a great source of income, especially since we ensure that the Borgia guards lose. Here."
Volpe lifted up a loose floorboard, reaching in and pulling out a pouch of substantial size. The chinking noise gave no doubt to its contents, and he tossed it to Ezio. "Our first week's earnings. For you."
"... What?"
"You said at the meeting that you were out of money, Ezio. Thieves know better than anyone what it's like to have nothing – it's why many of us became thieves. I have an idea on how you're spending your money, and the next year will be very difficult for you because of it. I don't know how much your sister is paying you, but I know Bartolomeo won't have steady income until next year at least, and so: a gift. One third the earnings of the gambling until you are on your feet."
Ezio blinked, shocked. His first instinct was to refuse it, but he knew doing so would be foolishness, and so he quietly pocketed the florins. "A generous offer for a thief," he said simply.
"And not without its price," Volpe replied.
… Of course.
"And your payment is...?"
"None of this money can be accessed by Machiavelli."
"Volpe..."
"Gilberto."
"What?"
"You can call me Gilberto when we are alone. You are a good man, Ezio; I've watched you grow from an angry boy to a skilled man. You're much like your father, and I don't want to see you betrayed like he was. So, put it somewhere Machiavelli can't touch it."
Ezio nodded his head, softly, unable to refute the mention of his father. The two went back downstairs and squeezed past the barrels. "Another thing," Vol—Gilberto said. "While you are here, many of my younger charges want a race."
"Will they be a challenge?" Ezio asked, grinning at the thought and glad for the distraction.
"Not in the slightest, but they do not know that."
"Then let us make it the day after tomorrow; I want my apprentices to participate as well."
Gilberto grinned. " 'Will they be a challenge?' "
"Let's make a bet on that."
The race took place at the old Roman Forum at night. All six apprentices, a half dozen thieves, plus Ezio and Gilberto himself. The master assassin and master thief looked at each other as the route was decided on, both grinning under their hoods. Ezio knew he was not back to his peak, and accepted ahead of time that he would lose the race, but that didn't mean he was going to give the winner an easy time, and as they readied themselves at the start, they gave each other one last nod.
A courtesan extinguished a torch, the signal to begin, and they were off: dashing along the walls of the forum, hopping from broken column to wall to arch, shoving and dodging and trying to stay up on the higher and higher heights. Ezio's shoulders strained against the workout, but it felt so good to be running again, and as they ran along the tops of columns, Ezio bypassed Gilberto without any effort, putting on a burst of speed before leaping off the colonnade, and for a brief moment he was flying like an eagle, free of thought and worry and reality, before gravity pulled her to him and he flipped, landing in the haystack set up previously and rolling out. Gilberto landed the second he was clear, and the two grinned at each other as they waited for the others to catch up.
"I was surprised to surpass you," Ezio said, winded.
"I'm not as young as I used to be," Gilberto said simply, shrugging his shoulder. "I've got perhaps five more years in me before I'm past my peak, but at least a dozen before these whelps have any hope of catching me."
One of his apprentices made it to the colonnade and utterly froze when she realized she had to jump; making one of the thieves crash into her in a frantic attempt to stop and a brilliant fall into the hay. Gilberto was already scolding the thief, and Ezio pulled the apprentice to ask what had happened as the others arrived and, subsequently, struggled to leap into the hay.
"Do none of you know how to do a Leap of Faith?" Ezio asked, bewildered.
The answer was a humiliated "no."
Another thing on his list.
It was the middle of July, Ezio knee deep in trying to find a location to safely practice the Leap of Faith for his new apprentices – it couldn't be done at night until they already had some exposure to the concept – when a courtesan arrived at the warehouse.
"Messere," she said politely, her cloying nature hidden away as she got right to business. "Madonna Maria wishes you to know that Santino has returned to trouble the Rosa in Fiore, and that now would be a good time to handle him."
He pushed himself off the table. "Of course."
"Come, I will lead you to him."
Grabbing an apprentice to watch and learn, Ezio took to the streets, Enu to the roofs, as the courtesan guided him through the throngs of people. "He is distinctive in his rich clothes and his pale skin; he has a mole on his neck and is probably beating a sister as we speak."
"I understand."
"You should see the way Madonna Claudia deals with him," she said with a breathy voice. "It is a sight to behold."
"... It can't be much of a sight if I'm the one dealing with him."
The courtesan shrugged. "He is a man," she said, as if that explained everything. "He cannot abide being put in his place by a woman; it makes him angrier and more desperate. All men want to control things, Messere, and small men do that by controlling women. Santino is a small man and cannot understand that he is not in control. Only a man can show him that."
The words whistled right over Ezio's head, and he frowned as they made their way to one of Rome's many upper levels. Santino was easily found, cursing and beating a courtesan who was trying to get away. A small crowd was gathered, cheering as always at the public entertainment. Ezio calmly stepped in and dropped the man in three successive punches. Noticing he was near the Pantheon, he nodded to the courtesan; she disappeared as he picked up the groaning man and hoisted him over his good shoulder. A glance at the roof saw the apprentice still following, and he made his way down a series of stairs slowly, the weight shifting constantly.
By the time he had entered the main square, the courtesan had at least two dozen other courtesans with her, silently falling behind Ezio to make a spectacle of him. Everyone turned to watch, looking up from books or stopping conversations, turning heads as Ezio marched right up to the glorious fountain in front of the Pantheon.
He threw the man in, water splashing everywhere. Santino sputtered, struggling to get up and curse in indignation.
Ezio turned to the crowd, stepping up to the lip of the fountain and surrounded by courtesans. "This man is a worthless liar!" he shouted. "A philanderer and a cutthroat and a thief! The courtesans of Roma will never answer to him!"
And then, one by one, the courtesans all spat on the soaking wet Santino before disappearing into the crowds.
Ezio was already gone.
Two weeks later in the first week of August, Ezio got another pigeon, this time from Pantasilea saying the barracks were completed. The pigeon poked at his hand, making him realize he had fallen asleep at his desk again, and he groaned as he stretched, glancing at his lists. Time was quickly becoming the commodity most often swindled, and he couldn't figure out how he could balance training his recruits, find a place to teach them about the Leap of Faith, do favors for the citizens of Rome, plan assaults on Borgia towers, and, well, everything else he had to do. With Pantasilea's letter he realized there was an excellent way to delegate the work, and so he grabbed four of his apprentices that hadn't come from military backgrounds and rode east to Bartolomeo's new barracks.
The compound was massive and stood on one of Rome's seven hills, an excellent view of the surrounding area and a large, easily defendable courtyard for which to do drills. And drills Ezio and his apprentices saw; two dozen men moving as one entity, swinging, striking, slashing, four men walking around them and cursing them into correcting form, adjusting footing, tweaking grip.
A nod to one of the squad leaders and the master Assassin was dismounting, his apprentices following suit, and entered the main building of the barracks. An assistant immediately disappeared, presumably to retrieve Bartolomeo, and Ezio smiled at the massive improvement.
"Maestro, what are we doing here?"
"You will see," he said softly.
"Ezio!"
"Bartolomeo!"
The mercenary burst from a set of stairs, the men gripping each other in a firm handshake. "Look at this place! Isn't she a thing of beauty?"
Ezio nodded. "Very impressive."
"More men join us every day. It has become very competitive, which is just the way I like it. Are you here for another bout? I'm certain it will impress the little girls I just got."
"Not right now," Ezio said easily in his rich baritone. "But I've a better proposition: I have some apprentices here who need some refinement of their blade work. Are you and your men up to the task?"
"Am I up for it? Ezio, I was born for it! Giovanni!" he added, turning his head. "Get four more bunks prepared, we have some new sissies to teach how to fight." He turned back to the master Assassin. "Don't worry, Ezio, I'll split their vaginas wide open and make them grow real balls in no time."
Ezio grinned. "You have two months."
"Ha! A challenge. I like it!"
Ezio turned to the suddenly pale faces of his apprentices, grinning brightly, as a third voice filtered up from below. "Gian's fighting downstairs!"
"If you'll excuse me," Bartolomeo said quickly, "I've got money on this match. Actually, why don't your little girls come, we'll see what skills they think they have."
For the next three hours Bartolomeo wiped the floor with all of Ezio's apprentices, picking out quickly what skills they did or didn't have while they all fought each other. Vecellio surprised them all with his skill, until Enu threw him down on the dirt floor, and so on and so forth. Ezio gained a more accurate appraisal of their skills, and Bartolomeo offered his own insights as the two whispered back and forth between bouts, deciding how to train them and what to have them specialize in.
"While you're here, Ezio, I'd like to ask you something," Bartolomeo said that evening over supper.
"Yes?"
"What do you know of the Colonna family?"
"Nothing recent," Ezio said, "I haven't exactly been in a place to keep an eye on things. Didn't they back the French in '95?"
"Well, they've been captured by the Borgia."
Ezio snorted. Of course they were.
"I know where they are being held. My recruits are good, but I want them to witness a skill of a different kind. Consider it a mission; I'll pay you for it."
The master assassin winced, knowing he could not refuse the payment, and nodded.
The next morning they were out in the August heat, Ezio and his apprentices on the roofs and Bartolomeo and his men on the streets, watching an otherwise nondescript building in the city proper. Vecellio, spying from the highest point, gave an eagle whistle, and Ezio stepped to the edge of the roof, catching Bartolomeo's eye and nodding. The plan was quick and dirty, but played distinctly to the Assassin strengths. Bartolomeo's men watched as an impressive array of a dozen highly skilled men walk out to escort the Colonna cousins to a new location, presumably for more torture, if the wounds they bore were any indication. None of the mercenaries looked up; none even realized their imminent deaths as Ezio raised his arm up in the air and made a fist.
Three smoke bombs dropped from on high, the thick smoke causing several mercenaries to cough out of reflex. That moment of inattention left Ezio and two others to leap from their perches, angling their falls and assassinating three of the dozen. The other apprentice appeared from where he had been hidden on a bench and began working at the bonds. Five more of the dozen were down by the time the smoke at last dissipated, and with only four left Ezio lifted his hidden gun and took careful aim before firing. The sound of the shot reverberated all throughout the street, and people ran screaming away, having learned quickly that shots meant bullets and bullets went anywhere. Vecellio took care of the last guard, and Ezio looked at the litter of bodies at his feet.
And he sighed.
"Requiescat in pace," he offered, before turning to the cousins.
"You have saved us, friend," one of the cousins said.
"You are not free yet," Ezio said hurriedly, making long powerful strides towards Bartolomeo. "Prepare yourselves, it's a long trek to safety."
"One we gladly make," the other cousin said. Bartolomeo already had weapons for the pair, and Ezio motioned for his apprentices to disappear, which they did for the most part. Good lord some of them needed to learn the art of invisibility.
It was because of one apprentice's lack of skill that a roof guard sounded the signal, and soon they were swarmed with city guards. Bartolomeo quickly took command of the field, and the Colonna cousins were more than happy to take orders, falling in rank quickly and Ezio following suit. The apprentices, unfortunately, did not have the sense to see they had everything under control and tried to intercede. The older ones, Vecellio, Enu, and Varzi, held their own, but the seventeen-year-old Antonello was too excited and too brash and too untrained, and Ezio watched in horror as one of the city guards, a highly trained captain in a cape and a crested helmet, leapt up onto a horse confiscated from a civilian and charge the group. The mercenaries were trained to deal with horses, and Ezio was fast enough that such a thing did not affect him, but Antonello was not so fortunate, and the downward sword strike split his chest open in a spray of blood. One of the apprentices shrieked, he couldn't tell who, and Ezio saw nothing but red after that as the pain of his losses threw him into a tightly controlled rage.
He reloaded his gun while walking, taking careful aim before shooting the horse and making the captain tumble. Extending his hidden blade and drawing his sword, he advanced on the soon-to-be corpse. The man stumbled to his feet, sword in hand, and took a classic stance. The white shadow of death would have none of that, however, and deflected the first strike away and spinning in a tight circle, stabbing the man in the lower back, a classic kidney puncture, before yanking the hidden blade out and taking the sword of Altair and stabbing again, a visceral slash from shoulder to hip, blood spraying everywhere just as Antonello's had. Retracting the sword, he let the body fall to the ground before lifting the blade again and stabbing it downward, into the eye socket. Then he stabbed the other socket, and then again into the heart.
When he could finally think again, he turned to see Bartolomeo and his men were finishing the last of the city guards. Bodies were everywhere, but Ezio's golden eyes only saw one. He climbed over the corpses, heedless of the blood and bodily fluids and brain matter, heedless of the scent of death and feces, heedless of the heavy quiet that settled over everyone as they watched Ezio walk to Antonello and kneel down. The boy was still alive, but he would not be for long.
"Maestro," he gurgled. "You were right... only now do I realize... I'm sorry..." Tears were spilling unabashedly down his face, brown eyes laced with agony.
"It will all be over soon," Ezio said softly, placing a hand on a bloody shoulder. "And then there will be silence."
He died.
"... Requiescat in pace," he said, "fratello mio." He closed the eyes.
"Ezio," Bartolomeo said, "We can handle the rest. Send the apprentices next week."
"... Si. Grazie."
That night Machiavelli arrived, initially irate that Ezio had made another spectacle, but he saw the gravity of the warehouse.
"I'll make arrangements to dump the body in the Tevere," Machiavelli said, "if it has not been done already. I assume there was nothing incriminating on him?"
Ezio hadn't even thought of that. "I... don't know," he confessed.
Machiavelli nodded and disappeared, doing a duty Ezio hadn't even known he was supposed to do. Ezio had never left brothers in the field, almost all of the work he had done as an Assassin had been alone, and those other excursions had been with Mario, who always handled clean up. Ezio had always left bodies where they had fallen, sometimes looting them, sometimes not. He had done the same thing here; just... left. He winced at the very thought, a low growl escaping his throat before he marched up to the roof of the warehouse. No, wait, he needed supplies first. Brushing past the remaining apprentices he grabbed a brazier and tinder, noisily making his way up to the roof and setting it up, lighting a fire and feeding it slowly. The others joined, standing around the fire in silence, lost in thought or memory.
Ezio was no different. He could picture his father and brothers so clearly, even after all these years, and Cristina, and Mario and Ulderico. All the deaths blurred together, he remembered the times he had been forced to commit unmitigated slaughter, bodies upon bodies at his feet, and what was it all for? Who benefited from so much death?
Even the fire was pittance, it did not do Antonello justice, it did not show what he had chosen to become.
Frustrated, Ezio pulled down his hood to run his fingers through his hair, before growling wholesale and pulling his hood off completely. It was a small offering indeed, but fitting nonetheless.
He tossed his hood into the fire.
And, one by one, the others did the same.
They tended the fire all night.
The next day Ezio stretched out a canvas and began painting. Within a week he had the rough contours and shapes of Antonello's face, and the apprentices watched him paint in pain and awe at the honor he was paying. September passed by quietly for the master assassin, money coming in regularly from Claudia and Volpe, as well as news from Bartolomeo about Cesare's movements in central Italy. Giovanni Sforza was conquered at Pesaro; a man who had once been Lucrezia's husband now kicked aside and dominated. The apprentices were hardly seen, training under the mercenary as they were, and the quiet gave Ezio time to work on his painting.
In the middle of October he finished, as did the training of his apprentices by Bartolomeo. They arrived and more than one openly wept at the portrait of Antonello, placing a hand on the gilded frame and remembering or praying.
Machiavelli arrived and stared at the portrait for a long time, before turning to Ezio. "I have a mission for you," he said slowly, "If you are up to it."
"What is it?"
"Friedrich der Weise," Machiavelli replied. "He is a scholar among other things, and he wants to found an academic institution in the city of Wittenberg. His work has openly questioned the Borgia, and the thought of having an entire institution dedicated to questioning them is, of course, unacceptable."
Ezio blinked, taking in the information slowly. "What does the papacy intend?"
"Bribery. They want to prevent the academy from even being approved of. If you follow the money, you can intercept, stage a robbery of your own, and give the money to Friedrich der Weise instead. It... would get you out of the warehouse."
"... Are you trying to do me a favor?"
Machiavelli scoffed. "Of course not, I'm trying to get you to act."
Ezio's smile was wan, and he took a deep, cleansing breath. "Fetch Vecellio, Enu, and Varzi. I have an assignment for them."
Not long after the three had left, Ezio received a visit from his mother.
"Ezio," she said softly, hugging him. The pair walked out into the main part of the city, Ezio guiding his mother deftly through the crowds until they found a charming view of the river. "I have a name for you: Giulietta. She is the leader of the dissenting faction of the brothel, with her gone, things will go much more smoothly for Claudia and her girls."
The master assassin shook his head. "She has to ask for help, Mother."
"She did."
"No she didn't."
"Is her lack of communication not a message?"
"That's just her punishing me after the meeting," Ezio said, brushing it off.
"Oh, Ezio, you've still so much to learn."
"Mother..."
"Nevertheless, Giulietta is a poison in the brothel. She is diseased, both in heart and in body, and she needs to be dealt with."
"I'm surprised you are offering me a contract," Ezio said slowly.
"I don't expect you to kill her if that's what you mean," Maria said softly, looking out to the river. "But she must learn her ways are not welcome. No, there's been too much death already... I miss Giovanni..." Ezio stilled, waiting. "She is in the countryside right now, entertaining a lord. She is to meet her patron after. Do what you do best, and let Claudia do what she does best."
Still not knowing what his mother's cryptic words meant, he took a horse from Salvatore and went out. It was an hour's ride to the location his mother had given him, and soon he was up on the meager roofs, crouched low as his shadow was obvious this low to the ground. Finding the building, he lay out on his belly and waited. The courtesan Giulietta left an hour later, adjusting her corset and fixing her hair, before her client gave one last predatory grope and kiss, and she was off.
They were near the Mercati Di Traiano. Trajan's Market was built by Apollodorus of Damascus in 110, an impressive semi-circular structure that was a spectacle even in modern times, and Ezio silently watched as the courtesan made a circuitous route around the upper levels; looking over her shoulder and swiveling this way and back. She was nervous, probably acutely aware of the betrayal she was committing. Ezio contemplated very seriously about just killing her; he was in a black mood after Antonello's death, and he wondered if doing so would help any.
… He remembered the Gonfaloniere of Florence, Uberto Alberti. No... it wouldn't help at all.
The master assassin took a deep breath, trying to will away the dark emotions as he kept to the roofs, hopping from one level to the next. She rounded the edge of the mercati and then to a grand vista of the Colosseo, where a man stood by a well in rich finery that did not match the poverty of the area. The patron then. The two embraced, Giulietta looking relaxed and amorous while the patron, a head taller than her, rolled his eyes and looked otherwise bored. "It's good to see you, love."
"Yes," Giulietta replied, pressing her body to him suggestively. "I've lost so much sleep since last we saw each other. Only in your arms can I find comfort."
"Is it because the brothel has been taken over?"
"Si, by a woman who has no understanding of true love. Oh, you should see her, darling; all she does is instruct us on how to be invisible, tricks to remembering information, all so that she can send everything we learn to another. Most inappropriate for a madonna, no?"
"Tell me more," the patron said, his eyes sharp.
Like hell. Merda, Ezio would not let any information of Claudia, any, be sold to the Borgia. He extended his hidden blade and leapt, angling his body with impressive skill so that his weight was taken only by the patron as the blade did its dirty work. Giulietta shrieked, backing away. "W-what?"
"So you would sell our secrets to whoever paid you, sell Claudia's secrets," Ezio accused, taking a menacing step forward.
"I... I did not know the bastardo was a traitor!" she declaimed, backing up further in response to the white shadow's advance.
"That is a lie," Ezio growled, reaching out and grabbing her arm, squeezing it hard.
"You're hurting me...!"
"You are no longer welcome in Rosa in Fiore. You will find someone else to house your filth. And you will never discuss Claudia and Rosa in Fiore again."
With that he gave a brutal shove, and the whore ran away.
Soon after word came from Bartolomeo that Cesare Borgia had taken Pandolfo Malatesta of Rimini and added it to his list of conquests. The man certainly had skill, Ezio had to grudgingly admit that, but he refused to join Machiavelli's school of thought that the man would make a good assassin. Gilberto snorted when Ezio confessed this, and said it was further proof of his treachery.
Ezio was beginning to wonder just how long this farce of a Brotherhood could stick together, but when his three apprentices came back with news of success in Wittenberg, he tried to take heart that at least some things were going right. He sent his apprentices to Volpe for two months of study on climbing and running, and the master assassin used the time to fill in the warehouse with furniture and materials. After eleven months of poverty, he finally had enough money to properly outfit his apprentices. He also bought tapestries to hang in order to keep the place remotely warm; now that winter was setting in the chill would be unbeara-
November.
Federica's birthday.
Cursing creatively, Ezio darted out and perused the markets before settling on a hair bonnet.
He felt more than slightly awkward standing at the door to Claudia's apartment, knowing how strained their relationship had become, but he hoped that both would agree to put aside their differences for the sake of Federica.
Claudia opened the door, gave him a cold, assessing stare, before seeing the simple gift wrapped in twine. After a beat, she opened the door more fully and stepped aside. "Please," she said softly, "Join us for dinner."
Maria and the tutor were inside, the tutor being a woman Ezio thought familiar... His eyes widened as he realized it was Lucia, the half-naked prostitute from his first visit to the brothel. Only now she was fully clothed and looking so different. He stared, blinking repeatedly to resolve the image of her with the one he was currently seeing. Lucia gave a glance to Ezio but nothing more, as if he were nothing to comment on. Claudia dismissed her and she bowed courteously with a polite "Maestra," slipping away as if she never was.
"... Just what are you teaching her, again?" Ezio asked in a rough voice, his whisper hoarse.
"What she needs to survive," Claudia replied, her voice equally as strained. "And since you're obviously not around to teach her, I'll do it as I see fit."
A whore... his niece was going to turn into...!
"I will be happy when both of you talk honestly," Maria said in a level tone, "and stop making assumptions about each other."
The tension in the air dissipated slightly, and Federica arrived in her usual exuberance, loving the hair net and immediately trying it on. "Mother, Mother, what kind of woman do I look like with this? A merchant wife, or a noblewoman?"
"You'll always be a noblewoman to me," Claudia said with a smile.
"That's no good, how am I supposed to sneak around if I look like a noblewoman all the time?"
"It's all in how you present yourself," Claudia said. "Didn't your father say it all the time: the one with the best footing wins." She bent down and kissed her daughter's face, and soon they were all sitting down for dinner.
The newly-minted twelve-year-old was of course the center of attention, but Ezio's mood grew darker and more sour as she happily shared her exploits wandering around the city, practicing the art of invisibility and wondering loudly when she would learn about how to be charming. Federica proudly boasted that she had picked four pockets just that afternoon, and then handed the money over to Claudia to "invest," and then begged to start learning daggers – at which point Ezio choked on his wine. Claudia glanced at her brother before answering, "Four more years, Federica. Once you're sixteen you'll be done growing and you can learn the dagger."
Federica nodded sagely after her perfect pout and then turned to the strangled Ezio. "And how's your work coming, Zio 'zio? Have you gotten back everything we lost yet?"
Ezio coughed, grabbing a napkin and covering his mouth. His niece's eyes narrowed, becoming shrewd, and pressed the point. "Is the villa repaired yet? What about the church, or the main street? How goes finding everybody? Did you find Father or Granduncle Mario? Have the Borgia died yet?"
"Federica," Claudia said, "That's enough."
"But he's never around, Mother! I want to know why he suddenly hates us! He said earlier he was trying to get everything we lost back, but that's just so stupid because we can't get it back! So just what is he doing that's more important than us?"
After that Maria quickly disappeared with her granddaughter to put her to bed, leaving Claudia and Ezio at the table, both mortified at what Federica had done.
"... I don't hate you," Ezio said slowly. "Please tell her that. I could never hate her or you. I'm... there are apprentices to train and plans to make. I can't go off on rampant slaughter, that isn't what Roma needs; she needs to be ready for when the Borgia die, and I can't..."
"I know Ezio," Claudia said slowly, staring at her half-empty plate. "I've been watching the accounts, I know what you're planning on doing and... It's a good plan. I support it."
"Then why are you so determined to train Federica into being a-"
"Don't say it," Claudia hissed.
"But Claudia..."
"No," she insisted, looking up and locking eyes with him. "Don't make assumptions, don't think you know what's going on. You don't. And until you see, you really see, what I'm trying to do, I'm not going to explain it to you."
"But why-"
"You're an Assassin, aren't you?" she asked, her voice bitter and hard and envious all at once. "Figure it out."
That left him in an even darker mood than when he had arrived, and that night he was plagued with nightmares of his niece whoring with Cesare Borgia. They did not leave him, and as the dreary month of December arrived word finally reached Rome of other, darker news: King Louis of France had been thrilled with his quick victory over Milan, and had allied with Ferdinand of Aragon to take over Naples. As if Cesare's conquests were not enough, they now had a war looming on the horizon, and nobody quite knew what the pope was going to do about it.
Ezio sent yet another letter to his friend Leonardo in Milan; the painter was a scatterbrain at best and sometimes it would be months before replying, but it had been over a year, now, and Ezio was worried. The thought of Leonardo being dead...
He stretched out a canvas again, and stared at it for a long, long time.
Mario eventually filled the paper, but the act of painting him was as painful as it had been when he painted Cristina's portrait. Loss always lingered over Ezio in the winter months, and always seemed to fill him with restless energy. In his younger years he had learned the hard way to channel the energy into something, lest he work himself into such a tight spring that he do something reckless and almost get himself killed. Normally he would just charm his way into a warm bed to fend off the memories, acting like his brother the flirt, but after the death of Cristina the thought of warming a bed to make himself feel better... his stomach twisted in a dark knot, and so he put all of his energy in painting.
The work consumed him; he painted for hours on a stretch, fussing over one detail after the next, painstakingly putting Mario's beloved Monteriggioni in the background with utmost perfection of glory, Assassin flags and all, and struggling with his dead uncle's blind eye and grey temples. The sky kept changing as Ezio's memories did, from a bright dawn to a glorious sunset to a dark overcast day. His fingers were permanently stained with the oils of the paint as he scraped at areas that needed to be redone or overpaint others. Every memory he ever had of his Uncle flowed into that painting: the midnight rescue from Vieri de' Pazzi, the introduction to the Sanctuary, the painful explanation of his father's true work, the teaching, the pragmatism, the advice, the guidance. All of it poured out of Ezio, and when he finally looked up it was Christmas and the masterpiece before him drove him to tears.
For the first time since his fevered emotions after the attack on Monteriggioni, he allowed himself to grieve for his losses. He spent two days in bed, utterly depressed and thankful the apprentices were still to the south being trained by La Volpe. He spent the anniversary of his family's deaths in front of his uncle's painting, praying from the bottom of his heart to... anything that would listen.
Machiavelli found him like that, and simply stood next to him; staring at Mario's portrait, lost in his own memories.
In January the apprentices returned. Ezio spent a night with them out on the rooftops and taking them through their paces, then a full day of them sparring with each other. He was pleased with the improvement he saw. They could handle any weapon available now, if caught unawares, and could use rooftops to their advantages when on the run to break line-of-sight and then disappear into crowds. (Although they still tended to stand out in the crowds, despite Volpe's best efforts.) But Ezio felt better about their skills. Some, like Vecellio, needed time to wear down their tempers, but they could now move more like Assassins.
On a whim, when they all sat together one evening, Enu started to talk to them about all the languages he knew. Varzi commented on how it had been useful when going up to Wittenberg, and Ezio commented how knowing Spanish had been a great advantage to him when he helped the Assassins in Spain fight against the Spanish Inquisition, his German helped him stay in touch with bankers and his French helped during the last war. Vecellio felt left out of the knowledge of languages and insisted that he start learning one. Ezio joked that Turkish might be the best, since it was the most unlike Italian or Latin. Enu agreed, and soon they were all learning the basics of Turkish.
After checking on the accounts with Matteo and Romeo, Ezio thought long and hard on what to invest in next. Thus far, he had a few businesses that he'd helped in order to inject some money into the economy. Ideally, he'd continue doing so until the people could start to support themselves, but it wasn't just Rome Ezio was looking after. While investing in businesses gave him a one percent tax to help keep his accounts from being completely drained, it wouldn't do much good until he had a lot more people paying it. But his Assassins needed equipment and rooftops wouldn't always be a swift getaway. Machiavelli's mention of the tunnels would be ideal, but they needed to be cleared and mapped out, preferably by a mason he could trust.
It was Romeo who made the suggestion of disguising the clearing of the tunnels as a municipal improvement funded by the Borgia. Ezio would still need to map out the tunnels himself, but the tunnels would be cleared and the masons would be none the wiser.
It was perfect, and a way to train his apprentices on how to maneuver in little light. They could map out the tunnels and practice being unseen, while Ezio continued with the multitude of other things he needed to do.
One cold January day, Ezio was taking a break from his work and lunching at a tavern across the river from the warehouse. The proprietor always fed him for free after Ezio had found an out-of-work cook from the outskirts of Rome and brought him to the tavern. Listening to the buzzing lunch crowds, Ezio learned that a body had been fished out of the Tibre again, and suspicions were that it was the lord of Faenza, which Cesare was currently fighting with. Surrender would likely be soon.
Damn. Cesare just kept conquering.
Ezio finished his meal and left some florins, despite the proprietor's wishes, and slipped into the streets, hoping to find where the body had been fished out to see if he could get more concrete information. He breezed through the streets, nodding and offering polite greetings to any who saw him. It didn't take long to follow the conversation and rumors until he was near a small dock where the body had likely been found. The crowds had long dispersed and the Borgia guards had already taken the body away, but rumors here were the freshest with the merchants who had been there and seen the whole thing. Ezio tried to learn what he could, but he didn't really learn anything new. Bartolomeo would likely send word with confirmation.
With a sigh, Ezio started to head back to the warehouse, taking a circuitous route across to the west bank of the Tibre and around.
He was deep in the crumbling buildings and narrow alleys when he heard something completely unexpected for the heart of Italy.
"Cochons!" a voice bellowed. "Bâtards! Sortez de mon magasin! Abrutis foutus!"
Ezio grinned. The French girls he flirted with in Florence may not have known such harsh words, but Ezio could still figure out the vulgar language being shouted out. He followed the sound to a poor smithy where the Borgia had a giant of a man somehow tied down and being flogged.
"Say that again, coglione, and you'll get another ten lashes!" the captain growled.
"I will say it as many times as needed," the huge man said in a thick French accent. "You are all tres stupides to think I will just do whatever you bâtards will say!"
"Papa!" a boy shouted, a skinny fifteen-year-old in a growth spurt that made him gangly.
"Silenciez, Jaques!" the man growled.
The captain, however, had other ideas. "As promised," he smiled, "another ten lashes. On your son here."
"NON!" the huge man's muscles bulged as he strained against the ropes tying him down. But he could get no leverage, and the lashes on his back oozed fresh blood down his back.
The crowd was tittering nervously. Ezio's hard work was seen in the flicker of defiance in many, but they lacked the push needed to defend themselves.
Well, it was time to show that the Borgia were not unbeatable.
Ezio stepped forward into the circle the crowd had made, calmly. The crowd hushed almost instantly, as they recognized him as a man to settle disputes. No doubt they would wonder what he was doing here and how he could have any hope of resolving a dispute with the Borgia.
The squad of guards realized something was going on and turned to see him.
"And who are you?" the captain spat.
"A concerned citizen," Ezio replied. He turned to the huge Frenchman and slipped into the foreign language. "Un moment and you shall be free."
"Merci, monsieur. Mais, mon fils est plus important."
"Speak properly!" the captain ordered, stomping forward and getting into Ezio's personal space. Ezio replied the best way possible. His hidden blade sank into the man's stomach, with practiced ease of avoiding the armor. The captain gasped, his face slackening, as he backed off and clutched at his abdomen. Those around murmured, wondering what could have happened, since none had seen Ezio's blade but the huge Frenchman on the ground.
"Assa..." the guard tried to hiss. "Assasssss-" But he fell, blood gurgling from his mouth.
There was a pause and then the two guards manhandling the man's son let go to pull out their swords and surround Ezio. The gangly youth quickly went to his father, but Ezio kept the guards attention on himself as he pulled out his sturdy sword. The Sword of Altair, centuries old, but as sharp and firm and balanced as any blade Ezio ever worked with. It flowed and moved with him like an extension of his body. His shoulder still wasn't quite up to full strength, but it didn't matter as Ezio breezed around the Borgia, and easily sliced their belts, making their pants fall down to their ankles. The crowds burst into laughter, taunting and jeering. A rock flew through the air and nailed one of the Borgia on the nose, sending blood spurting down his face. An egg splattered on the other's backside and sent the crowd cheering. The Borgia were being humiliated, but they still had their swords, so Ezio stayed between them and the boy trying to free his father. Ezio chanced a backward glance to toss the boy his knife to help, and that moment of inattention had one of the Borgia trying to attack him.
Trying being the operative word.
He tripped over his downed pants, but his intent was clear. He was going to kill someone, humiliation or no. Ezio danced around him and let his hidden blade stab at the man's collar, digging deep into his heart and letting him fall flat on his face. The crowd wouldn't know he was dead yet. Which left the last guard, who was trying to pull up his pants around his egg-stained underclothes and run at the same time. The crowd followed, jeering and laughing, but Ezio stayed behind.
Turning, he helped the boy Jaques cut his father free.
"You have my thanks again, monsieur," he said.
"You can thank me when we get you off the streets and to a doctor," Ezio replied. "The Borgia have been pushed back, but they will not forget and come looking for you."
"Merde," the man growled. "And I had finally gotten settled."
"We can worry about that once you and your son are safe."
"Bien. Lead the way, monsieur."
Ezio guided them through the back alleys and away from any guards, using the crowds and their energy against the Borgia to their benefit. Along the way Ezio learned the giant man's name was Étienne, and he had been a blacksmith dragged from home almost ten years ago when the French had stomped through in their little war. He'd taken his son along claiming him as an assistant (despite being only six years old) and had deserted as soon as it was safe. "We have enough problems back home without invading others, n'est pas?" Unfortunately, when the French finally left, a Frenchman didn't have a great reputation, particularly with syphilis, the "French Disease" was spreading so virulently through Italy. At least in Rome, Étienne explained, there were enough foreigners that he wasn't quite so reviled.
"And can you not return to France?" Ezio asked as Dante cleaned the slashes left by the whip.
"Non," Étienne replied. "There is nothing there. Jaque's mother died giving him life and I was miserable there. Here it is warm and friendly. Apart from the cursed Borgia."
Ezio smiled. "And why were they flogging you?"
"They were trying to steal our shop," Jaques said quietly from his corner. "Papa, he has been ordered to make more weapons for Captain Cesare, but he refuses."
"Bien sur," Étienne growled. "I'll not help that butcher."
"Mais, Papa!"
"Non, Jaques," the blacksmith said quietly. "A man must know when to say no. I did not want to fight here, but I was unable to say no when they dragged me away. I said no by leaving. And now they try to force me again? No, I will not."
"But now we have nothing again."
Étienne sighed. "Vrais, but we have each other."
"And you have not lost everything," Ezio said.
Dante chuckled. "Another lost soul like myself, Maestro?"
Ezio only smiled.
He met with Romeo and Matteo and found a small shop on Isola Tiberina that could handle a small smithy, and luck had it that it butted against the warehouse itself. A late-night visit to the Frenchman's old shop and Ezio and his apprentices spirited away all the smithing equipment to set up at the new shop. Étienne was grateful and more than willing to pay a one percent tax. Ezio's apprentices went out and let word be known where Étienne had set up shop so some of his old customers dropped by, willing to make the longer trek for Étienne's good work. Étienne insisted he be the one to make armor and weapons for Ezio and his apprentices for all the hard work they did.
In time, with more trust built up, Ezio would show Étienne the hidden blade and start having him repair them as needed. Étienne would not be as good as Leonardo, but then, no one could be. Ezio still wondered where his old friend was, and how he was doing, but there was too much to do to go hunting down the painter. Ezio wouldn't even know when to start.
The following week, Ezio was down in the tunnels. Masons had started clearing and reinforcing and Ezio was mapping them out, leaving tiny symbols that his apprentices could follow as he found where various entrances and exits went.
One of the branches he followed, however, led somewhere very interesting indeed. He arrived in the Palazzo Laterano. Originally a Roman palace, it had been the Papal palace for centuries until two large fires had pushed the papacy to the Vatican. The building appeared to have been abandoned for the past century-and-a-half, and Ezio looked up around the open floors, small balconies, and large windows that would let in lots of light during the day.
Ezio smiled. He'd found the perfect place.
The following day he took a horse and cart and paid for a great deal of hay. It took the rest of the week to set up the various haystacks and to fully explore the apartments himself to see what was safe and what wasn't, but finally, he brought all five of his apprentices there.
Thus started their training in the leap of faith and the calculations needed to see if it was safe and from what height. It took a lot to get some of them over their timidity, but after Ezio out-and-out pushed them when they weren't ready, they started to attempt the leaps on their own. As confidence grew and Ezio critiqued methods to avoid banging weapons on the landing, the apprentices started to get more bold.
These ancient papal apartments were going to be an excellent training ground.
The following month, February was cold and rainy. Despite the weather, the streets remained packed each day as people had so many things to do in the busy city of Rome. Ezio was out with Varzi, trying to teach her the subtlety of hiding in crowds. She was decent enough, and an average passerby didn't pay any attention to the two of them, but a sharp-eyed guard always glanced twice before moving on.
"It's your hips," Ezio tried to explain. "Swaying them like that is calling more attention to yourself."
"I can't help the way I walk," she hissed, still trying to adjust her steps. "Women walk different than men."
"Yes," Ezio replied, trying to guide her hips gently from behind her, letting his half-cape hide his movements. "But you can adjust your gate to affect your hips. You don't sway like that if you're running."
Varzi grumbled some more, but kept trying.
Teaching his apprentices how to walk and hide in crowds was probably the hardest thing he tried to teach them. Paola's lessons decades prior, had been so simple for Ezio. He picked them up in a heartbeat, and when Teodora refined his movement, it didn't take much to understand what to do. He just needed practice to get into the habit. But for some reason, explaining what was so simple seemed impossible for him. He was debating strongly sending them to Claudia so that her courtesans could teach them, but that was a complicated issue he didn't feel like delving into.
"Come, let's find an alley and I can show you this again."
Varzi sighed. "Of course, Maestro."
They wandered to a more run-down residential section along the west bank of the Tibre and Ezio started to show Varzi the positioning of hips to shoulders and how that affected a walk. Varzi kept trying, never quite getting it right. There was something missing, but Ezio didn't know how to explain it. He was showing her walking again when Ezio suddenly tensed, his whole body shifting to bend knees and a hand going for his sword as he switched to his Eagle Vision and saw what his nose had smelled.
Blood.
A trail of blood in the shadows of the afternoon.
"Maestro?"
Ezio crept forward, moving aside the crate that had blocked the view of the bloody path. "Follow me on the roofs."
Varzi nodded.
After she had scrambled to the roofs, Ezio followed the blood forward as it started to rain. It was a light drizzle and Ezio eased along the trail, his senses alert. While Rome had its fair share of cutthroats, most employed by the Spaniard and his papacy, bodies were more likely to end up in the Tibre than to leave such an obvious trail. So Ezio remained cautious. The light rain did little to wash away the blood, and the afternoon still had enough light through the clouds to not need a lantern to navigate the narrow back alleys.
Two blocks over, Ezio came to a dilapidated building, missing half of the roof and an entire wall open, and inside were the sounds of crying. He didn't even glance as he heard Varzi drop down beside him. A silent gesture and she slid to a broken down wall and crouched, ears listening.
Ezio's approach was deliberately noisier. The crying inside subsided and Ezio held his hands up, showing he wasn't bearing weapons.
"I mean no harm. I only wish to know what has happened here?"
"None of your concern," a woman sobbed.
Ezio stepped in, his hands still raised. "I only wish to help."
"Hah!" the woman hiccuped. "No one ever helps the whores."
In the shadows, a courtesan dressed in the blues of a brothel from the outskirts of central Rome, instead of the reds Claudia had her girls wear, was holding the corpse of another courtesan. The dead girl was aged, make up having run in the rain and hair needed dying at the temples, but she was still pretty. Yet her throat was opened from ear to ear as she stared lifelessly at the half-ceiling.
Ezio slowly stepped forward and crouched down. The woman was still trying to stifle her sobs, rubbing at her eyes and smearing the charcoal makeup that was there. Reaching over, Ezio closed the eyes of the dead courtesan. "Requiescat in pace," he whispered. The woman sobbed harder.
"Mina," she cried. "I told you not to come here..."
"Who did this?"
Real anger sparked in the courtesan's eyes. "That monster! Malfatto!"
"You saw him?"
"I was coming to get Mina and bring her back to the Madonna," she said. "That bastardo. He'll kill any courtesan he finds."
"He cannot appreciate that you are human," Ezio said quietly. "Far too many feel that a courtesan is a commodity."
"And that Spaniard Pope saying slavery is good doesn't help," the courtesan half-growled half-sobbed. "Mina..."
"Where can I find this Malfatto?"
The courtesan looked to Ezio at last and her eyes widened. "You're..."
Ezio simply looked at her.
The courtesan bowed her head. "Maestro," she said quietly. "All courtesans of Roma know you will defend us, whether we work for the Rosa in Fiore or not. Malfatto works as a doctor by trade with a beaked mask that is shorter than most." She continued to describe him with crisp details of an observer that had Ezio easily form a picture in his mind.
"If you need refuge," he said, "you may always find it at the Rosa in Fiore."
"You have my thanks, Maestro," she said. "But our Madonna has always taken care of us, even when we don't make the same florins as the Rosa in Fiore."
Ezio only nodded. "Do you need help with Mina?"
"You are about to do enough, Maestro," the courtesan replied. "We will see to our own dead."
"Of course."
Ezio stood and pulled off his half-cape, draping it carefully over the corpse and covering her face.
The courtesan gave another sob, but nodded her thanks.
Ezio went back to the street and nodded to Varzi. She scrambled up to the roofs and Ezio focused on who he needed to find and switched to his Eagle Vision.
The traces of gold were faint, but Ezio trusted them as he followed the darkening alleys and streets, and the sense of Varzi on the roofs above was reassuring.
Ezio shuddered in the rain, but kept moving, looking like he knew where he was going. Every pause to tell what direction he was going an artfully subtle appearance of checking the weather, or pockets, or something. The trail led to more crowded streets and it was harder to follow, but Ezio kept following what he could, his senses trained for any hint of gold.
At the end of the street, at a doctor's stand, Ezio immediately spotted Malfatto, every detail as described by the courtesan. But the crowds around him were too sparse. He couldn't get there without being easily spotted by the killing doctor. Ezio glanced around, and saw Varzi on the roofs above. She had noticed his stillness and he raised his hand in the air and made a fist.
"Requiescat in pace," he whispered.
There was a moment of silence and then Varzi leapt and descended, weight giving the heft needed for her hidden blade to penetrate the thick waxed clothing of the doctor. Her strike was slightly off, but no less deadly, and Ezio nodded at her skill. Around him people screamed, running away from the sudden slaughter. But Varzi stood tall, her shoulders back and her hood down. "None treat women like objects!" she shouted. "None treat women like trash! And none take away our ability to fight back!"
Ezio blinked, something about that last sentence crawling through his brain and nestling deep for something he wasn't aware of. But he couldn't spare the thought of it for now. Instead, he blended into the crowd and observed how Varzi did with escape.
He blinked, shocked at where he was. Monteriggioni? But he'd left there! Mario's ear flying, Ulderico's shouts behind a locked door. But this was wrong. It looked like some sort of ruin abandoned by time. Centuries of dirt caked on surfaces like the ancient buildings of Roma.
But there was strange items surrounding him as well. Box like, but made of materials he'd never seen before. Strange thick ropes connecting the oddities, and unknown people surrounding him. Where was the polished marble? What had happened? Who were these people and how had they brought him here?
"Chi siete?" he demanded. He tried to get up quickly, but found himself disoriented and wobbly, to his shock, so he stayed seated. "Come mi avete portato qui?" And most importantly, where was his hidden blade?!
"Desmond? Are you okay?" asked a blond Lucy stepping forward.
She didn't speak in Italian. Or Latin. Or Spanish, or German, or even Turkish that he was just starting to learn from Enu. But he still understood her. And Desmond? That spirit? He looked around, but saw no one else. Instinctively, he knew these people weren't the ghost Desmond because...
Because...
"Yeah," Desmond replied, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. "Disoriented... What happened?"
"European power grid," Rebecca growled. "Some countries and regions are ancient, some are updating, some already have, it's a convoluted mess!" She let out a long sigh. "No telling how long we'll be out."
Desmond shrugged.
Shaun, however, was less than pleased at the inconvenience. "No telling? No telling? What if we're out for days? How will we survive?"
"What," Desmond mocked lightly, "you've never been camping? Let me guess, England is too civilized for camping."
Shaun scowled horribly.
"Enough," Lucy interceded. "Look, we still have daylight, let's get some things done while waiting for the power to get back on."
They split up as Lucy delegated tasks to do some basic clean up. Desmond, the most agile of the bunch by far, went about restocking their clean water from the reservoir. Shaun and Rebecca did some basic cleaning of pots, pans, and clothes, while Lucy started inventorying their supplies. The next food run was also going to be a garbage dump. As much as they recycled what they could, after all their time, they'd accumulated some junk.
All this took two hours and still the power hadn't returned.
"Really, no power after two hours? I told you Europe's a third world country!" Shaun wasn't too happy.
Ignoring him, Rebecca looked up to the grating for a moment. "Well," she said, "guess this is a good time to redesign Baby. Wanna help, Lucy?"
The blond looked intrigued. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"
Rebecca gave a mischievous smile. "Shrinking. The recliner has been the support for most of the processing power, but I was thinking about rebuilding some motherboards..."
Lucy's face brightened, "... to increase processing without the extra hardware. But the amount of memory needed..."
The discussion dissolved to technobabble that Desmond tuned out. If he had the rest of the day off, he was going to practice his free-running and keep building up muscles and muscle memory. He had a better sense of the reservoir area now. Maybe he could find some stabler areas to practice.
"Seriously," Shaun grumbled loudly, "are we animals? That's what we are without power, a bunch of apes."
Given how Ezio and Altair had lived without electricity, Desmond didn't care for the comment. But he didn't rise to the confrontation and left Shaun to bemoan his lack of creature comforts.
The mining tunnels were something of a refuge for Desmond. Ezio had never traveled them, so he wasn't plagued with ghosts of ancestors past and he could just be himself. The abrupt shut down of the Animus without even the white loading room for Desmond to readjust to being Desmond had been jarring to the extreme. He'd thought he was Ezio initially. And that was truly scary. If he couldn't keep track of who he was, was he that much closer to using his blood as paint? To become like Subject Sixteen?
Desmond frowned. He didn't even know Sixteen's name. That was wrong on so many levels. Sixteen, who had lost so much to try and tell them what he could, starting with the Truth to whatever puzzle they were currently solving, he deserved better than a number. Not even Lucy knew his name, or it hurt too much for her to say. There was no denying that making a person a number was distancing and dehumanizing. Given how much Lucy had to have done while under cover, Desmond couldn't deny her the ability to compartmentalize however she could.
He fleetingly wondered if he was Subject Seventeen to her so that she could survive this or if he was simply Desmond.
Shaking his head, he went back to exploring the tunnels.
When he got back, several hours later, they still had no power. Shaun's complaints were bordering on a full whine, and Lucy and Rebecca were huddled over paper, still in design mode.
"Can't I just get a little credit?" Shaun was saying. "I did suggest this, after all."
"What's up?" Desmond asked.
Shaun turned his horrible scowl to grouse at Desmond. "I suggested a new Animus that doesn't involve you and me lugging it in and out of the van, dragging it down ramps over stairs, yanking it over cords, you know, little things like that? But do I get any credit?" Shaun's scowl deepened. "Of course not. Don't give an ounce of gratitude to the brains who suggested everything. Why bother? It's not like I matter worth a damn, do I?"
That was too good an opening.
"When you whine like a baby like now?" Desmond smiled. "No, I don't think you're worth a damn," Desmond lightly teased.
Shaun was incomprehensible after that.
Rebecca looked up with a smile so light and innocent it could douse the sun. If her eyes weren't laughing up a storm. "I'm sorry, Shaun, did you say something?"
The historian's incomprehensible utterings increased.
Laughing, Desmond decided to take pity on Shaun and went to the butane stove to make a cup of tea. Irish tea, to be safe. As the water boiled, he set up candles around the Sanctuary with the ease from centuries past and set them in groups and heights to give enough light without being in the way. Evening was approaching after all.
Shaun had apparently decided to fill the dark hours with reading his ancient books he'd brought with him. His cork board, already filled with Ezio's contemporaries, was now overflowing, and he'd converted a stack of storage bins to another wall devoted to the clues of Abstergo that Subject Sixteen was leaving. Desmond studied it a moment before getting back to what he was doing. He really didn't want to think about how long the Templars had been planning things.
Instead, he started cooking. He had enough materials to cook a simple meal. One that Ezio knew from centuries past when he'd learned how to cook on those days the cook had the day off at Monteriggioni or when he'd been pinching florins at Rome with almost no funds.
The delectable smells soon drew the others. As did the fading light.
"Mmmm, smells good," Lucy smiled. "I don't know why I keep forgetting you can cook."
Desmond shrugged. "Best way to stay low profile is to cook yourself. Don't go to fast-food joints where you can get caught on camera or restaurants where waiters will get to know you. Same for delivery. From there you just have to go to different markets every week."
Lucy dug into her food, stress seemingly forgotten after a day with Rebecca in design work instead of researching Abstergo.
"Never did learn how to cook," Rebecca said, sitting down. "Just wasn't my thing. Even in college, it was just going to the local places or the college dining hall."
Shaun just grunted as he sat down with them, nose still in a book.
Desmond just smiled and fell back onto his bartending experience and started light-hearted conversation to get them all talking. He started with harmless topics like summer pastimes, hobbies, and eased into lost loves, poking fun at Shaun and Kitty-Kat-Kate. Rebecca finally shared a bit more about the old programmer she'd been with, and then Rebecca asked Lucy about a boy from high school named Josh who had caught her eye.
Lucy sputtered, and they all laughed. Naturally, they tried to poke Desmond about his love live, but his was sadly blank, as he spent most of his time staying under the radar. Though he did mention a girl he'd had a very brief fling with in another city.
Talking about love invariably led to complaining about things that went wrong, and how things fell apart in prior relationships, and complaining about aspects of life in general. Particularly bosses. Lucy, with some poking, finally opened up a bit and ranted for a good ten minutes on just how exacting Warren Vidic, her Abstergo boss had been, how committed to detail and science and goals, above all else, especially human life.
That lead to a healthy round of bitching about Abstergo and theorizing what they were after and what they were doing. Specifically the how. It was clear at this point what the Templars were after (world domination) and what they were doing (launching a Piece of Eden to the sky to broadcast illusions across the world), but the how and the theorizing made for an interesting thought experiment. This brought up the pieces of whatever Sixteen was trying to give, scattered as they were, and what they could mean.
So, after weaving the conversation to the point Desmond wanted, he finally asked, "Do we know what Subject Sixteen's name was?"
"No," Rebecca said sadly. "I know he was recruited, and sent in, but I wasn't ever told his name."
Lucy looked away, sorrow etched on her features. "I... was brought to his case after he was already starting to break down," she said softly. "Vidic only referred to him as Sixteen. And Sixteen was too scattered to tell me his real name. He introduced himself as Mary, Claude, Elizabeta, Clay, Desiree, Lance, the list goes on and on."
"Disassociation to the extreme," Shaun murmured. "Terrible way to go."
Desmond nodded to himself. Time to steer the conversation back to lighter topics. At least the power was back on the following morning.
Author's Notes: Whew did you see how much time we just covered? We went from March 1500 to Feb 1501. And that's the SMALL time skip.
... When we're novelizing the games we do several things to maintain authenticity of a game. We'll have the game open and playing, so we can scout out locations or detail different objective or list what we don't like about a sequence. We take the in game dialogue from Assassin's Wiki and paste it in to either expand or contract as needs be. We also use youtube videos if none of those things are handy.
And so, when writing out the Malfatto scene, we found one youtube video that had commentary on it. Two guys were talking about how it was time to "go help the whores," that "this whore's already dead," "There's an extra hole," and, most damningly:
"Dibs on that hole," said with gleeful amusement.
Perhaps it is irony that, after five hundred years, after suffragettes got the vote in 1920, after the women's movement of the 60s, there are... people... out there who have not noticed the great strides out there in the struggle for equality. Maria wasn't kidding when she told Ezio that women have very limited destinies in Renaissance Italy, and however much we hate Bartolomeo's language, we use very ugly phrases like "splitting vaginas" because - not only was it in Bartolomeo's character to curse vociferously - but also that it was believed that women were the weaker sex and could do nothing in the "real world," the "men's world." Hell, on a meta level we're talking about a video game where all of Ezios major female interactions are either courtesans (whores) or women he slept with. Think about it: Cristina, Claudia, Paola, Teodora, Caterina, Lucrezia, and even to a softer extent Sofia, fit into those two categories. Maria, his mother, is the only woman that doesn't fit those two categories, is mute for over ten years because, presumably, the writers didn't know what to do with her. It's why we bent over backwards whenever Claudia (and to a smaller extent Federica) shows up on screen to make the message clear.
Women have to go through a heck of a lot more crap to get their work recognized, let alone given credit. This is especially true in recent days with certain political policies that are being enacted - by MEN, no less. Women are considered little more the just sex objects by many men - we speak from experience on this because, in college, we were in a male dominated major and subject to watching powerpoint presentations that showed naked woman to give the audience a breather, or told the joke: "What's the one thing Bill Gates doesn't have? A mistress!" and have the class roar uproariously. Hell, just look at that New York guy, Wiener, and try to justify his treating those women as people and not sex objects.
Over the course of writing this fic, we sometimes found that Claudia's voice often ran away with us when she and Ezio started talking about this, and even when she wasn't there, Varzi or Federica or someone else would step up to drive the point home. Ezio's education is, in many respects, a modern man's education on how to see how women are treated and to understand that is ISN'T okay to just casually say or do stuff like that. However political the two of us are, we try very hard to keep those opinions out of our writing because, as we were told when we were kids, "Never talk religion or politics. It always ends up in a fight." But there comes a point where simple right and wrong transcends politics, and we sort of hope that we tread this line just right. The last thing we want is to sound preachy in a fic that is supposed to be entertaining (we did that once. It's called Team Time).
But enough about that. Other stuff happened in this chapter, didn't it? We lost Antonello and started a new tradition, Machiavelli showed that he does care in his own way, Volpe gave Ezio permission to call him Gilberto (and we have been waiting for that!), some of the side missions are done, and Malfatto is, at last, dead. Squee!
And oh yeah, Desmond showed up! We told you he was going crazy!
Next chapter: Caterina Sforza. Speaking of women...