AC Brotherhood Novelization

by Mirror and Image

Desmond continues his journey to being an Assassin and slowly going insane while reliving his ancestor Ezio as Ezio's worlds crumbles under his feet. Rated for Desmond's language, overall violence, and of course a certain amorous encounter at the beginning of the game.

8. Novices

FYI: Though nobody seems to have noticed (or cared?) we're deeply sorry that we missed last weeks update. After surviving hurricanes, superstorms, blizzards, snow-tobers, days without power, the thing that makes us miss an update? Our harddrive crashed. We've lost several months of data - including the ACB master document. This week will be spent recovering files, but things SHOULD be back to normal.

Back you your normally scheduled chapter.

Part Eight: Novices

Ezio did not dismiss Machiavelli's concerns out of hand - tempting though it was. His fellow Florentine did have a point in terms of preparation, and Ezio met with his two bankers assessing how much money he could afford to invest. One long night was spent making lists: food, outfitting, bedding, weapons. The warehouse had enough rooms, but there was furniture to take into account, setting aside room for an armory, a bigger library than the pitiful number of books he had. There was also the time it took to train them. Practical skills he could siphon out: Bartolomeo and Volpe already trained recruits all the time, blending his into their crowds wouldn't take much work. That still left him the lion's share of work, however: teaching them invisibility, posture, projection – that on top of any basic reading and writing that was so often necessary, general strategy, diplomacy, rhetoric, and whatever else may be necessary. Could he have his apprentices help? No, not yet, some of them needed more life experiences before they could pass on what they learned.

All of this had to be scheduled with the other plans Ezio was making. His purse would be tight, but he could make his investments for his businesses, and if he played his cards right he could finally open a tailoring shop for Arianna if she was recovered enough, and maybe by the end of the year he could buy out another business. He had a thought on Borgia towers, but if he really was going to recruit the people, that would have to be held off until his recruits, his "novices" were trained enough to do what he wanted. If he got enough, maybe he could patrol the countryside, keep an eye out for the Followers of Romulus and trace them back to the papacy, take out their central contact. Machiavelli still had not deciphered the letter, and he had gotten little information from the man at the Colosseo. And still, he had to be ready for any opportunity that arrived; if Cesare came back to Rome, Ezio was determined not to let the chance slip by him again.

"Zio 'zio!"

The master assassin looked up from his lists. "Federica?"

The twelve-year-old darted up to the desk, Claudia trailing behind.

"Claudia."

"Ezio."

It was, perhaps, the most civil they were going to get with each other. "What is Federica doing here?"

"I'm here for Mother's training," the girl answered.

"You... what?"

"Mother says I'm bright enough to be here," Federica said, her gaze suddenly flattening. "You don't get a say in the matter, because you don't understand what I'm doing."

Ezio looked over his niece to level a severe glare at Claudia, her eyes just as heated. Pursing his lips and rubbing his beard, he finally sighed. "Fine. If you are bright enough to be here, then you are bright enough to find the Contessa and ask her to join us."

"... Contessa?" Federica frowned. A flick of his eyes brought Varzi out from the shadows to take the girl away and meet with Caterina. Perhaps it would do the Tigress good. As soon as they were gone Ezio leveled his heated gaze back at his sister.

"You have no right to bring her here," he hissed.

"I have every right," Claudia hissed back. "She should know what's going on around her. I never did."

"I sent you a letter every week when I was away."

"And you really think a few pleasantries is enough, the random hint about what you were doing, who you were meeting, who you were fornicating?" Claudia leaned in, placing her palms on the desk and going almost nose to nose to her brother. "Do you know what the most important letter you ever sent was? The one where you talked about Father and Federico and Petruccio. You wrote so much in that letter: the stories and the memories and the thoughts. I felt like I knew you for the first time in years. Years, Ezio, and you're my brother. I shouldn't have had to wait that long!"

"Claudia..."

"Ezio Auditore!"

The siblings jerked away from each other, Ezio standing to greet Bartolomeo and his wife Pantasilea, Volpe trailing behind.

"It's good that you got me when you did, another week and I'm off to the field. My men are ready to bring the fight to the Borgia."

"Alright," Ezio said, nodding. "I have a few things to tell all of you."

For the next hour Ezio outlined what had happened in the Castel Sant'Angelo, Caterina and Federica joining partway through before the apprentices spirited Federica away per Ezio's glance. Everyone mourned the missed opportunity, but Ezio deflected it quickly. "I have a plan to deal with the Borgia."

"Good," Bartolomeo said. "We could use one."

"Cesare is focused on his conquests elsewhere," Ezio said, rolling out a map of central Italy. "The Aragon are weakened, leaving Napoli vulnerable, and the French are unlikely to let such an opportunity like that go, especially with Milan under their control. The Spanish also have claim on Napoli, so Cesare is going to have his hands full for quite some time. Knowing that, what is the one area that he is leaving vulnerable?"

Everyone studied the map, not quite sure what Ezio was implying, before Pantasilea picked it out. "Roma."

"Exactly. While he is out in the countryside, he has left his home unprotected. He assumes that his father the pope can handle the city, but the Spaniard is an old man, no matter how wily he is, and cannot do much outside of the Vatican."

"You are forgetting Lucrezia," Claudia said.

"She won't be a problem," Caterina said in a cold voice. "She is shallow, vain, petty, and jealous. Her life is doomed to be miserable and lonely. Her only use is her vagina being sold off to the most powerful man they can find."

"The only use they'll let her be," Claudia corrected. The two women shared a brief look, nodding to each other. Ezio lingered on it in utter confusion before shaking his head and moving on. "Because Roma is essentially unguarded, we can use this to build up a force of our own."

Volpe became very alert. "You want to expand the Brotherhood?"

"Si," Ezio said, pointing to Rome on the map. "Monteriggioni was a deep blow to us," he said, his voice only giving a hint of the emotion that welled up at the very mention of the name. "We learned that our numbers can't match up to the power the Borgia can amass, and we lost... we lost Zio Mario." The moment hung, everyone silent, before Ezio continued. "It would be unreasonable to think we could amass power for power; and besides that, doing so proves the Templar's point. Instead, I want to recruit some very select people, people disenfranchised by the Borgia and have lost everything, people who have no other option than to fight, and refine them into a weapon we can use and point them at their true enemies: the Borgia."

"That would take a lot of time."

"And a lot of money."

And from there, Ezio explained how he planned on sharing the duties. Volpe immediately snatched up the idea, as did Bartolomeo, and it wasn't long before everyone agreed on the outline Ezio had created – with one small change.

"You've put too much work on yourself," Claudia said, listening to the plan. "You can't teach them how to be invisible and have time for the more intellectual needs you have to meet. I'll do it."

"Do what?"

"Teach them invisibility. I've already been teaching my girls, so it won't be much of a change. It also teaches them how to think on their feet, same as Volpe and Bartolomeo, and if they cycle through all three of us, their minds should be malleable enough to handle whatever you throw at them. And Ezio," she added, her voice turning much harder, "If you're stupid enough to say no to this you won't have access to my girls, do you understand?"

And Ezio was forced to capitulate.

"You said you wanted to point your new novices at the Borgia," Machiavelli, quiet up until then, said. He still looked as incredulous as before, and he kept his chair a little apart from the others. "How to you plan to use them? We can either go after supplies or Cesare's followers."

"My plan is to attack both. If we cut off his funds, Cesare will lose his army and return without his men. So, I ask you, where does he get his money? Volpe?"

The master thief leaned back in his chair, fingering his chin. "Agostino Chigi is the Pope's money-lender, but Cesare does business with someone else. As of now, all we know is that he is called The Banker."

Claudia perked. "There are a lot of people called The Banker. Many people come in and complain, but you can tell they're talking about different bankers. I should be able to figure it out with enough time. I know nothing if not money."

In that, at least, she was right, though Ezio was loathe to admit it. "Bene," he said simply.

Machiavelli continued, "French soldiers are guarding the road back into the castello. Once Cesare arrives, you will never get to him."

"I intend to kill the French general. With him dead, Bartolomeo will have the Frenchmen on the defense and they will abandon their posts on the bridge."

"Not just the bridge," Bartolomeo said with enthusiasm. "I'll have those French sissies crying like the weeping vaginas they are and rushing back to their ass-ugly king and begging to leave Italia alone."

"Even with those troops gone, the Papal Guard will continue to protect the inner gate," Caterina said.

"There is a side entrance," Volpe countered. "Lucrezia's playthings have keys."

"She had one at the castello," Ezio said, frowning. "An actor, I didn't catch his name."

"Come see me later. I will have my thieves ascertain his location."

"Bene. Is there anything else we need?"

---

Four men on his list: The Banker, the French general, Cesare Borgia, and Rodrigo Borgia.

Better than his original list when his journey started, but that was relative. With the ultimate goal in mind, he moved on to the next step, and because of that he went to the house of the woman who lost her fiancé. She was out and about the city again, gathering produce. Her basket was full of fresh baked bread, echoing memories of Ezio's childhood, as she rounded a corner and bumped into two city guards.

"Puttana, what do you think you're doing?" one of the guards demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," she said quickly, dipping down to collect her soiled foodstuffs.

"Nothing my ass, you owe us, now, puttana."

Ezio watched the girl still, looking up with wide eyes. The master assassin could see the lust in the two men, see the tightening of their pants. Were they going to...?

One of them grabbed her arm, yanking her harshly to her feet and ripping off her sleeve. Ezio's blood boiled at the sight, but before he could even extend his hidden blade the young woman shrieked so loudly everyone on the street turned to see what the matter was. She twisted and turned, managing to wrench herself out of their grip and grabbing the first thing she could get her hands on – her basket – and swing it at the guards, the tightly woven material broke uselessly against the head, but she followed up her first failed attempt with a viscous kick upwards, trying to strike between the legs. It made contact, giving the first guard a high pitched yelp while the second guard grabbed her shoulder and threw her to the wall. She would have none of that, however, as her head banged against the facade; she reached out blindly again – this time gripping a pot from a stand and swinging it. The guard batted it away, but Ezio had closed the distance. One efficient thrust of his hidden blade in the back, up and into a lung with a twist. After that he strode to the first guard, still clutching his delicates and cleanly sliced his throat.

The woman looked up in awe, her eyes tripling in size as she recognized him. "... Assassino!"

The moment was upon him, and Ezio suddenly wondered what to say. In the end, he kept it straightforward: "The liberation of Roma has begun. If you choose to flee, do so now, but if you choose to fight, stand with me against the Borgia."

The woman had two tears slide down her cheeks before bowing her head. "I am tired of hiding in the shadows," she whispered. "I will join you."

Ezio guided her to her feet. "Then seek Niccolò Machiavelli on Isola Tiberina and we will make you one of us. Their lies will no longer mask your truth."

"Si.. si, Maestro... Grazie a Dio..."

Ezio followed her discretely back to her house, nodding that she arrived safely, and backtracked to the island. He signaled Enu, always watching from the roofs, to let him know that a recruit was coming.

And so he began recruiting. Ezio would sneak out into the city and peruse the people, listening to conversations and heralds, avoiding horribly off-key minstrels. He focused his final choices on people who were pushed past the brink, picking out people who had suffered tragedies on the same level he had suffered at the hands of the Borgia, hoping to single out some intangible quality that would mean he had made the right choice. His eagle offered him little insight; he had nothing other than his own deductions to pick. He was... responsible for this. More than anything else he had done, he knew that any result of this, victory or death, would fall at his feet, because he chose these people.

The weight of it was heavy, and it did not take long for his dreams to grow dark. The slaughter he had committed at the bridge now filled with the bodies of his novices, the attack on Monteriggioni was littered with the new faces he had just taken under his wing, his own father asking what was wrong with him to bring in more people to die. He woke with a bitter taste in his mouth for the entire month of July, but he could not stop what he had started.

He gave them a choice: run or join. They were the ones who chose, and he had to console himself with that fact.

It didn't, but he kept telling himself it would.

For the first month, he accumulated upwards of a dozen novices – more than he even thought possible. Several brought whatever money they had to donate to their newfound cause, and while he did not quite clean out his accounts (again) furnishing, equipping, and outfitting them, he knew he could literally afford no more. Arianna, though she did not have a shop in which to work, was thrilled to help outfit the novices. He discretely brought her to the hideout, and when she realized there were both men and women, a fresh set of hysterics possessed her. "Men and women... it's just like my brother and I!" she lamented. "To share the responsibility! Oh, Ser Ezio, it will be my best work, I promise!"

While the clothes were being made, Ezio spent the month assessing what his new novices knew. Three of the dozen sort of knew how to read and write, those that came from merchant families, but most were day laborers or bakers or otherwise not meant to do more than the most basic scripting. One, however, was a scrivener, and Ezio abused the man's knowledge to get them all to write legibly enough to pass a few basic jobs. Two were openly dimwitted, slow to understand the basic politics of what they were planning on doing, let alone the intricacies of the papal courts or senates. Nobody knew a second language, making Enu busy overnight even as he kept teaching Ezio and the other apprentices Turkish. One was mute, tongue cut out because of the Borgia. Three came from the other guilds: Claudia, Bartolomeo, and Volpe; each highly recommended and highly skilled in their respective abilities. The stratification of their backgrounds and skills, as well as their expectations of what they were going to do or their potential to do it, left Ezio slightly dizzy with how much he had to do.

This did not get into the ones who were stubborn.

That month left Ezio exhausted for reasons that had little to do with physical activity; he wasn't sure he had ever used his mind quite so much to problem solve. He found himself wondering what sort of troubles he had put his own uncle through during his training.

His two favorite words became delegation and differentiation. The scrivener and Enu worked together on language and reading, the merchants taught the numbers, the courtesan taught the politics (and that was a find Ezio had not expected in the least), the thief taught assessment, and the mercenary taught formation and tactics. The novices were shocked to learn they would be teachers as well as students, and having even that much power sent some of them to tears. "I've never been trusted to do anything important," one of them told Ezio one night. "It means so much to me...!" While they were teaching each other, Ezio tried to zero in on their best skills so that he could specialize them. The two dimwits, for example, could not be used as spies, but one was a skilled runner and the other was obnoxiously strong, and so Ezio decided one to be a messenger and the other a condottiero. The mute made the perfect spy with the right cover; all the women had a natural talent for poison, and three had a robust enough skill set to be given hidden blades further down the road.

Seeing these possibilities made Ezio begin to split the dozen up into teams, and by the end of those four weeks, he sent them off to different guilds. They would go through all three in rotations, he wanted them to absorb as many skills as possible even if they wouldn't use it; the exposure wouldn't hurt and it might give further insight into what Ezio could do with them.

Once they were off for their training by Bartolomeo and the others, he sent letters out to the other assassins, updating them on what he was doing, asking humbly for advice in training novices and offering his currently meager services if anyone had need of him. It was the middle of August, and after six weeks of recuperation, Caterina had use of her leg and at least some of her spirit back.

So it was with great surprise, then, when he looked for her about the hideout and found her nowhere to be seen.

He found her an hour later, outside, saddling a horse at Salvatore's.

"... Where are you going?"

Caterina looked at him from the other side of the horse, her face tight and thoughtful, before it darkened. "I am of no use to anyone without Forlì. I leave to be with my children and await the restoration of my lands. Until then I am only a hindrance."

He could not deny the pang in his heart for her sake. "I wish you would stay," he said softly.

She smiled, soft and wistful and slightly sad; but then she pulled out a stronger face, more commanding and like the Tigress she had been named. "You are the leader of the Assassins now," she said. "Unite them, Ezio Auditore, and take back Roma." She mounted, skirts and all, and took a moment to get the horse under her control. Caterina looked down at Ezio, several things flitting over her face, before nodding her head. And Ezio understood, nodding back.

Digging her heels into her mount, Caterina pushed the horse into a stiff trod, pumping her fist high in the air.

"Victory to the Assassins!"

Heads turned at the odd phrase, citizens uncertain where it had come from, and Ezio watched the redhead ride over the bridge and away. He watched for a long, long time after she disappeared.

"Victory to the Assassins," he whispered, bidding her a final farewell.

They never met again after that.

---

Before sending the novices out to get training, Ezio pulled them all aside to set forth some basic rules. To all the women, he told them that they were going to have to get used to Bartolomeo's tongue. The mercenary wouldn't even censor himself around his wife and children, so they should expect to hear harsh language that would likely make them blush. To the men he told them, in no uncertain terms, that if they treated Claudia or her girls in anything other than professional courtesy, he'd have to deal with it personally. All of them were told to listen to their teachers, whether it was La Volpe, Bartolomeo, Claudia, or each other as they continued to learn how to read, write, numbers, and the politics of Italia. Three of his apprentices were added to those departing, one for each group as it would make the rounds of training, leaving Ezio with only Vecellio and Enu as free aides. He quickly sent them out to the countryside to start investigating the Followers of Romulus, the Cento Occhi, and to find Borgia towers that the novices would use to test their skills.

Once all of that was settled, he sent one group to Volpe and one to Bartolomeo. The small quartet getting instructions from Claudia would stay at the warehouse, since it wasn't that far away, and it gave Ezio the opportunity to keep instructing them on the details that were unique to the Assassins. As Claudia taught them stealth and blending into crowds, how to distract and how to slip around in plain sight, Ezio taught them how to kill. Etienne had made them all hidden blades and Ezio had to admit to being impressed with Etienne's skill. When his group of novices came home each night, tired from Claudia's instructions, Ezio showed them the places of the human body that the hidden blade could penetrate with ease. He drilled them on how to stab through necks, armpits, stomachs - where the chinks of any armor were and how to use it.

The novices were exhausted each day. And they woke up every morning and eagerly begged for more.

As September began, Ezio noted that this group caught on quickly. This wasn't entirely surprising, as Filippo, Gilberto's recommended thief, and Taddeo, Bartolomeo's recommended mercenary were inspiring the other two to catch up quickly. Vittoria, the first recruit Ezio had brought in was an adept learner and highly motivated to learn more after the suffering she'd endured. The scrivener Gaspare also caught on quickly, at least with the theory. In practice he didn't have the muscle memory for a lot of what was being taught, but he kept going over his scrolls and books and tried applying anything he could to improve.

However, September also started to bring in responses from the letters he'd sent out before. While letters from the Assassins in other Italian cities mostly offered suggestions for training and what to focus on, the letter from Venice did not. Antonio, who also ran the thieves' guild in the canal city, wrote that the Doge, Agostino Barbarigo, was reverting to the Templar ways of his family. Ezio let out a long sigh when he read that. When he'd been spending time in Venice, trying to hunt down those who had killed his father and brothers, he'd had to take out a number of the Barbarigo family, but Agostino had been an ally, doing what he could once he became Doge. To see that he had switched sides was a sad disappointment. So Ezio wrote a letter to Varzi and her little group of training novices. The Doge was a highly protected leader, especially after Ezio had killed the previous Doge, Agostino's brother. Plus, Ezio did not think his apprentice or his novices were anywhere near ready to deal with the army of guards that would protect the Doge. But Varzi's knack with poison presented a different alternative, and he outlined his plan to her. It would be practical experience for the novices, and Antonio would likely have his own ways of training them when they arrived so that Varzi could carry out her mission.

But that wasn't the only mission.

One cool September day, Ezio arrived at the Rosa in Fiore, seeking his novices. Instead, Claudia was waiting for him in the lobby. She took him to her private office and they sat down. "I have a little mission for your novices," she said.

"Oh?"

Claudia gave him a sly smile. "Oh yes. There are some ambassadors here that are getting a little too close that Spaniard."

"How many?"

"Four."

Ezio leaned back and smiled. That would be ideal. Thus far, for all that he could teach the theory of how to kill, teach the practice with a straw dummy, it was something else entirely to actually take another life. Ezio's first kill had been his messiest. The Gonfaloniere Uberto Alberti who had ordered the deaths of half of Ezio's family had been brutal, rushed, and ultimately showed Ezio's complete inexperience. And after was difficult when it came to admitting that he'd killed someone and then living with it, no matter how the Gonfaloniere had deserved it.

He didn't want his novices to go through that.

Claudia seemed to have read his mind on this, and provided the perfect opportunity to give a first kill to these novices that would both further their war with the Borgia and also break in the novices in a kinder fashion, with Ezio there to support them.

"I'll take care of it."

So, a week later, Ezio was walking the streets with one of his novices, Taddeo. The hulking man still had some difficulty in staying hidden in the crowds, mostly due to his height, but he did a passable job. Ezio quietly advised him to stoop to hide better as they walked the streets through the richer section of Roma. When they reached the Mausoleo di Augusto, Ezio's sharp eyes spotted Lucia, lingering in a corner, and unnoticed by the crowds as they went about their business.

Ezio and Taddeo walked over and Lucia smiled. "Maestro," she greeted. "I have set up the first ambassador. He is currently shopping for an expensive trinket for me," she gestured to a stand set up where necklaces were hanging on display, the merchant barking out deals and offers as an expensively dressed man in more Grecian fashion studied the various bits of jewelry.

Ezio turned to his novice. "And how will you go about this?"

"Kill him," Taddeo replied.

"How?"

Taddeo reached for his sword, which Ezio firmly stopped, slipping the sword away with the skill of a master thief. The former mercenary scowled, but that was what Ezio needed. For this novice to start thinking like an assassin instead of a mercenary. Taddeo flexed his wrist, extending his hidden blade, and Ezio nodded. "And how do you do this without being caught?"

That brought up Taddeo short and Ezio held back a sigh. The mercenary was a good fighter, but he was proving to be lacking in forethought. It took both himself and Lucia asking questions and guiding Taddeo until there was a workable plan. From there, Ezio stood back and blended into the crowds and watched. The mercenary walked by, and the drills Ezio had been teaching on the hidden blade took over, much as Bartolomeo's drills in fighting took over in battle, and Taddeo was able to do a silent kill, being well away when the ambassador finally fell. The guards quickly started investigating and when Taddeo returned to where Ezio and Lucia had been, he found himself alone and having to head back to the warehouse on his own. Ezio watched over him from the roofs, observing to see if Claudia's lessons were getting through.

It seemed his novice was passing his first test.

Arriving back at the Tiber, Ezio appeared next to Taddeo, a silent steady presence.

"That was... different," the former mercenary said. "I've killed before, I know how, but, this was... just different."

Ezio nodded. "To kill in the heat of emotion or battle, there is no thought, no emotion, just survival. To choose to kill, to go out and decide someone must die and to then do so, is not the same."

Taddeo said nothing, looking up to the sky.

It was a few days later when Ezio took out Filippo, the thief Gilberto had sent with high recommendations. Ezio had noted that Filippo was taking to Claudia's lessons in hiding in plain sight like a fish might swim. No doubt his training under Volpe had included some lessons in hiding, but thieves were far more likely to run away and lose their pursuers than simply evade them out in the open. Filippo picked at his clothes, the fine stitching of Arianna clearly better than the rags he tended to wear as a thief, uncomfortable with the fact that he could blend into the crowds, even if he did so quite well. The ex-thief was looking to the roofs longingly, and Ezio advised him as they walked how the guards up on the roofs were better shots than at night.

Lucia met them at the Pantheon, the massive columns a pinnacle of human achievement, the massive church dominating the square, her eyes glued to the crowd.

"He is late," she said softly. "I was to meet him here an hour ago. I haven't been able to get him alone and in the open."

"We'll improvise," Ezio replied. "You find him, we'll follow from the rooftops."

Filippo let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief, and they quickly ascended while Lucia slipped into the packed crowds to look for the target. Ezio focused on looking for the ambassador and switched to his Eagle Vision, but there wasn't any flicker of gold. He didn't know enough of who he was tracking to see him, but he did see the solid white of Lucia, their ally. They stayed on the roofs, following Lucia around the large square in front of the ancient church.

It was almost an hour later when Lucia was firmly latched onto the arm of someone, giggling and cooing. "You see him," Ezio whispered from a flower trellis in a shaded alley where he and Filippo were avoiding a guard on the roofs.

"No," Filippo squinted. "I lost track of that courtesan about ten minutes ago. I've been following you."

"We'll have to wait until she gets him isolated then," Ezio replied, switching to his Eagle Vision so as not to lose her in the crowds. He glanced back to the former thief. "She's guiding him to the edge of the crowds follow me."

Filippo's eyes had widened over something, but Ezio didn't want to waste the time to figure out why. Instead, he started leaping from trellis to beams to light posts, intent on getting closer to Lucia and their target. The former thief had no problems keeping up, and soon they were on the roofs of a more residential area, Lucia now more obvious in the less crowded street.

"Can you follow her now?" Ezio whispered to Filippo.

"Of course, Maestro."

"Good," Ezio smiled. "I'll stay here. You need to kill that ambassador."

"How, Maestro?"

Ezio's smile widened. "You figure that out for yourself. I have given you the tools, haven't I?"

Filippo nodded, looking nervous.

Ezio put his hand on the novice's shoulder and squeezed it.

With a nod, Filippo slipped down to the streets. Or rather, close to the streets. He was still on crates and beams, sticking out in the smaller crowds, but as he leapt on lampposts, fewer people looked up. He was sticking to what he knew, and Ezio shook his head, knowing that he'd have to break Filippo of that habit eventually. But for now, it was probably for the best that the former thief went with what was familiar.

Lucia and the ambassador eventually found a secluded courtyard, and Ezio watched from the roofs above. Filippo was on a lower roof, observing. Things stayed quiet for a while, as the ambassador kept flirting with the courtesan and soon her breasts were exposed as the ambassador kept working on what appeared to be a slow tease.

Ezio frowned, wondering what was taking Filippo so long, when suddenly, the former thief leapt, his hidden bladed extended as he flew through the air. Lucia saw him coming and quickly dove to the side. The ambassador was shocked still, and that was just what Filippo needed as he landed, the hidden blade biting deep into the soft flesh of the ambassador's neck.

Ezio had to admit to being impressed. That was a perfect kill, with precise aim and excellent use of the ambassador to break Filippo's descent, using the momentum to drive the blade even deeper.

Lucia was clearly startled, covering herself quickly. Her startled yelp had guards approaching and Ezio let out a whistle to get his novice moving. Filippo stiffened before jumping up over the wall of the courtyard to the busy street beyond. The guards never saw him and Lucia portrayed being traumatized with the skill of a seasoned actress, crying and wailing and clinging to the guard like her life depended on it.

It would seem Ezio had a novice that had great skills indeed. He quickly leapt off the roof into a hay cart and joined up with his talented novice. Filippo was shaking, the thrill of the kill still working its way through him and Ezio stayed close to him, offering support as they headed back.

Vittoria, the first recruit Ezio had ever found, was the next one for Ezio to test. He had known coming in that Filippo and Taddeo would do well. They had spent years training under Gilberto and Bartolomeo respectively, and had killed before, though not with such cold purpose. Vittoria, however, had not. While she was picking up skills quickly, she lacked the strength for fighting and climbing, skills she'd never even needed before. For her, the only skills she had were what Ezio and Claudia had taught her. She could hide in the crowds well, and that was the first skill an Assassin needed. Invisibility.

Ezio spent two full days with both her and the scrivener Gaspare to practice how to kill without being seen, what the best places to strike were, how to know when it was a success and to move on, and the ability to leave while seeming unaffected and unknowing of what was going on around them.

He walked with Vittoria one evening, to meet Lucia at a small tavern along the Tiber river bank.

"We have a problem," Lucia said from her table. "The last ambassador has made me known to the guards. With two clients of mine dead, the Borgia are starting to wonder."

Ezio frowned. "Are you safe?"

"The Madonna has me restricted to the bordello for now as a precaution."

A slip of a girl, barely sixteen sat at their table in the blue garb of a rival bordello.

"Lia will take you to the next ambassador."

Ezio nodded his head. "We thank your Madonna for loaning you to us."

Lia smiled, some of her teeth missing. "We still wish to repay you for removing the threat of Malfatto. This is but a small task."

Vittoria picked at her food nervously. Lia reached over and held her hand. "The first time is always the hardest," she said softly. "It may never get easier, but does come more naturally."

Vittoria gave a shaky nod and Ezio wondered once more if those without any training whatsoever would be good at this sort of work. But the Assassins needed more people and just taking from the underground wouldn't be sustainable.

"Then let's get going," Ezio said standing. "Shall we escort you back to the Rosa in Fiore, Lucia?"

The courtesan gave a large, honest smile. "Maestro, your kindness truly knows no bounds. I'll be fine."

"As you wish."

In the streets, Ezio walked drunkenly, Lia on one arm, Vittoria on the other. He laughed outrageously, and stumbled along, pulling the two with him and the crowds paid no notice.

"Maestro, don't you stick out by doing this?" Vittoria quietly asked after Ezio drunkenly demanded her to kiss Lia. The courtesan in blue was blushing furiously.

Ezio leaned in. "I'm looking like a fool. No one is ignored more than a drunken idiot." Then he leaned back. "Now kiss!" he slurred.

It was Vittoria's turn to blush when Lia leaned in and kissed her thoroughly.

Ezio kept them stumbling along, belting out drinking songs and asking outrageous requests of the two women on his arms as Lia guided them expertly blending into the act as she took them to an estate that boasted that important people stayed there.

Lia was recognized by the guards posted at the servant's door, and had no problem explaining that Vittoria was there at the ambassador's request.

"Isn't she over dressed," the guard asked, looking at how covered Vittoria was.

Lia stepped forward, giggling, and a shrug of a shoulder left a breast exposed, distracting the guard. "Do you really want to know what we have planned tonight?" she asked throatily.

The guard stared dumbly, a lecherous smile starting to grow on his bearded face.

Then, to Ezio's surprise, Vittoria stepped up behind Lia. One arm went over the shoulder to fondle the exposed breast while the other went around her and disappeared between the folds of Lia's skirts. "I'm not sure he can handle it," Vittoria said with confidence. Lia let out a low and long moan that Ezio had to briefly wonder if it was truly fake or not.

"Er..." the guard stuttered. "The.. the man behind you..."

Vittoria squeezed Lia's breast and the courtesan let out another throaty moan. "A guard of our own," Vittoria said, nibbling at Lia's ear. "Did you not hear of the killer of courtesans that roams the streets?"

Lia let out another moan that sounded distinctly like "further..." before gasping.

The guard was completely flushed now, and Ezio noted that the man's pants were getting a touch tight.

"G-go on in! He waits in the stables as usual!"

Once inside, Lia straightened herself out, still incredibly flushed and Ezio wondered why. Vittoria was blushing as well, and stepping around nervously.

"I've never done anything like that before," she winced.

"Blending in in plain sight," Ezio explained. "You're learning quickly."

"You could learn very well," Lia offered in a throaty voice. "Do come by our bordello once in a while. I could teach you a few things."

Vittoria shifted nervously. The stars were shining above and Ezio motioned for them to start moving.

Ezio stayed outside the stables, as Lia and Vittoria went in. It didn't take him long to find a way up to the hayloft, and soon, he was overlooking a stall filled with hay and blankets, where the ambassador lay, naked, and sipping his wine.

Lia slipped in, her corset already off, leaving her topless. The ambassador gave an approving nod and lecherous smile. "Ah, my little flower," the man said with an accent.

"Hans," she replied, kneeling down, completely subservient. "You asked if I had any friends you could watch."

The man's grin grew. "Oh? Where is she?"

Vittoria stepped in, fully clothed, yet appearing nervous. Ezio frowned. He hoped he wouldn't have to descend, but Vittoria was looking less able, despite the promise she had shown in practice. Where was the person who had taken on Borgia guards, screaming to avoid getting raped?

The ambassador stood, his nakedness showing his excitement, as he walked over. "Another flower," he whispered. He was barely at arm's length when Vittoria surged forward, her hidden blade making the perfect strike through the ribs to the heart.

The ambassador didn't even have time to look shocked before he fell over dead. Vittoria was breathing heavily, shaking, as Lia stood and replaced her corset. They stood together for a moment, and Ezio wondered if he'd have to step in to get them to hide the body so that none would realize that Lia was likely the killer.

But then, Vittoria stood in complete stillness. Lia gave a sad little smile of regret, and Vittoria briefly wiped her eyes. "You said he has cold storage nearby?"

"Yes," Lia replied. "He likes to wait in the cold so he can appreciate my warmth."

"Let's get him there."

Ezio leapt down to help. Once the corpse was stowed away, Ezio had Lia and Vittoria join him back in the stall and just sat down. The ambassador wouldn't be discovered till daybreak and if they left so quickly, the guard at the gate would remember. It also gave him time to talk Vittoria through what had happened.

She shook and cried silently, but despite the emotions overwhelming her for actually taking a life, she held firm to the belief she had done the right thing.

For that, Ezio smiled.

For Gaspare, the eager scrivener, Ezio wondered if this was a smart idea. The young man was positively bursting with energy as they meandered the crowded streets one afternoon, and though passable at blending in, if he bounced around much more in his earnest eagerness to do his first kill, Ezio just might have to do this himself and send Gaspare back to the hideout.

"Calm down," he hissed.

"Mi dispiace, Maestro," Gaspare replied, his face attempting to look solemn but the grin was still hooking the corners of his mouth. "I'm just so excited to finally be able to do something of value."

Frustrated, Ezio lightly cuffed the young man on the head. "If you wish to do something of value, you have to do it right or you won't do it at all."

"Of course, Maestro."

They entered the Rosa in Fiore, where Lucia was still in hiding. The courtesan met them in her room, where she was just dressing after likely seeing a client. "Ah, Maestro. As you know, I can't lead you to the last one. But he's easy to find. He is always at a particular tavern for a midday repast. Deviating from this schedule is paramount to a sin for him. Even if it means cutting short a session."

"Then we'll be on our way."

Back on the streets Gaspare was still eagerly vibrating next to him. Ezio rubbed his brow and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Maestro. I'm trying. I really am."

It made for a long walk to the tavern.

The tavern was on the Tiber, and across from the Vatican. Ezio took Gaspare to a corner table, ordering a small meal for them. When the former scrivener wondered why they weren't finding shadows to hide in, Ezio let out a long sigh and explained, again, about hiding in plain sight. By being out in the open like this, they were just a pair getting lunch, like everyone else who was starting to filter in. By being obvious about their hiding, they'd be drawing attention to themselves, which was the opposite of what they wanted.

Gaspare nodded, but Ezio wasn't sure this eager mind understood.

Instead, he diverted Gaspare from thinking about what they were here to do. "Tell me about some of those books you've copied."

The novice lit up, eager to talk about what he'd read and what it meant and what he'd learned.

They stayed at their table for a half-hour, chatting amiably about good books and why they were good. Ezio had to admit, he'd missed having the time to read like he did when he was still a boy. Nothing could fire the imagination like a good book, stories of adventure and discovery, but Ezio had lacked to time to read when he had so many lists that were running around in his head.

Gaspare was distracted by the conversation, but Ezio kept an eye on the door. He was paying through the nose to eat here, and it paid off when a man in clothes more befitting Portugal stepped in. The ambassador had arrived.

Ezio glanced at the novice and flicked his eyes to the ambassador as he was escorted to what was likely his usual table. Despite not noticing the arrival, Gaspare did notice Ezio's look and quickly glanced over to their target.

"Keep talking," Ezio whispered. "Don't become an odd sight."

So Gaspare picked up where he left off, talking about his favorite books.

The ambassador ate alone, the server not even talking as food was brought. Clearly this was a ritual that was known and followed strictly. The two studied the target discreetly from their table and Ezio finally asked how Gaspare intended to do this.

The eager energy had returned. "Spill something on me. It's an excuse to get up and head out back to clean up. I'll pass his table."

Ezio narrowed his eyes. "But you won't have the reach-"

But it was too late. Gaspare had already spilled his wine on himself, staggering out of his chair and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe futilely at his pants.

That eager pup. This wasn't going to work. Everyone was going to see him reach over to kill the ambassador. Ezio quickly reached into his wallet and pulled out a fistful of coins, letting them clatter loudly to the floor.

"I know that sound."

"Money!"

"Hey that's mine!"

"Back off!"

Ezio's table was soon mobbed as the people of the crowded restaurant tried to pile over each other to find and pick up the coins. It was a spectacle that gave Gaspare the distraction needed to lean quickly over the table and kill the ambassador. Ezio slipped through the crowds and grabbed Gaspare by the arm, almost dragging him out through the back and out to the streets.

"Porca puttana."

It was going to be a long walk back to the hideout for Gaspare.

That night, Ezio gathered his novices and the one apprentice who was helping him teach them, and sat around the fire. Once they were all comfortable, he talked about the first time he'd ever killed anyone in cold blood, which came shortly after killing someone for the first time when he'd defended his dear friend Leonardo da Vinci. He talked about the confusing feelings of killing, how it wasn't easy, how it would never be easy, how he avoided it where he could but the costs that came from making the choice.

Slowly, they each shared their experiences, and the all talked late into the night.

---

"Okay, Desmond. Get up slowly."

Ezio sat up slowly, wondering briefly why Lucy was speaking in English but knowing it shouldn't be a question and his apprentices were proving to be quite a handful but rewarding at the same time Shaun was poking through a book muttering under his breath but Gaspare was so enthusiastic it would get him killed one say and why was he always making time for Sancia where was he Lucy was stepping forward, eyes worried and...

Ezio blinked slowly.

"Desmond?" Lucy asked, kneeling down and placing a hand on his knee.

He blinked several times, but Desmond shook his head and put his hand over hers. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's getting hard, being pulled out."

Lucy nodded, looking away with a tight look on her face, before she pushed herself back to her feet and offered her hand. Desmond took it and she helped him up. He swayed on his feet, slightly, head spinning before he could adjust.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked, more concerned now.

"Yeah, I guess," Desmond replied, rubbing the back of his neck. His stomach felt empty, and he looked up to the skylight to realize it was dark. The days were starting to get shorter. "We going to get any food in here?"

Lucy looked over at Ezi—Desmond. "People who don't work, don't eat..."

Wait... what?

When did this start? Was there a meeting when Desmond wasn't paying attention, did they not have enough florins to keep eating, did Ezio need to cut his diet again to make ends meet or...

Lucy burst out laughing. "I'm kidding!" she said, getting a hold of herself. Desmond kept staring at her, and her amusement turned to concern. "You knew I was kidding, right?"

"Riiight," Shaun said from his station, apparently he had been staring too. "Smile and nod," he said, "Just smile and nod and pretend that we're not all a bunch of crazies."

"Someone just volunteered to get the food," Lucy said, going back to her clipboard.

The British historian smirked. "It was worth it," he said, "I'll let Rebecca know you've just extended her shift, yeah?"

He disappeared up the stairs, and E—Desmond realized he was alone with Lucy in the Sanctuary. She smiled at him briefly before adjusting her clipboard and writing something down. She still had her old Abstergo pen, taking notes on what supplies they did have and then flipping to a page that seemed to be filled with technical readouts. The project she and Rebecca had started? Desmond leaned over. "It's Greek to me," he said softly, getting lost in all the schematics. "How are you holding up?"

Lucy's pen paused, and Desmond's eyes caught her staring off to nowhere, eyes moist and lost in thought, before she shook her head. "Sometimes I feel so disconnected from everything out there. Nearly a decade of my life gone, searching for those Pieces of Eden..."

Stress again. Desmond couldn't blame her. "Think how great you'll feel when we finally stop the Templars," he said, putting a hand to her shoulder and squeezing.

"I'm not sure it will ever end, Desmond. I can't do this forever."

Desmond smiled slightly; he hoped to cheer up Caterina and reached up with his free hand to tilt her chin to look at him. "I can't buy it," he said. "The Lucy I know brought me here and taught me how to see. She would never give up. She would say," and he raised his hand, folding in his ring finger as she had done during his capture, "to 'have a little faith.' "

The blond smiled, just a twitch of the lips. "I guess I trained you well, huh?"

"You did alright."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them changing, something shifting. Desmond knew what he felt, the attraction that burned beyond his loins, and for the first time, he saw something in Lucy, too, a spark in her eyes. Maybe... maybe...

"Hey Lucy, how'd the inventory go?"

The pair broke apart immediately, Lucy clutching her clipboard to her chest as her cheeks turned bright pink, Desmond walking back towards Altair's statue, coughing awkwardly and flipping into a handstand to get exercising. If Rebecca saw anything she didn't say anything, and Desmond lost himself in his workout, hanging off of statues to build up his arms very carefully, he didn't want Dante to be mad at him after the abuse they took during Caterina's rescue. Ezio was even hungrier by the time Shaun returned, and the Florentine bartender was happy to grab his burger.

"Lucy," Shaun said with some aplomb. "I regret to inform you I will no longer be able to trek into town for the foreseeable future. I'll spare you the gory details but suffice to say an exchange of words, hand gesture and grunts with a large Italian fellow have made it clear to me he plans to murder your favorite male co-worker on sight. I am truly sorry for any inconvenience this might cause. Anger of the Italian Apes, and all that."

The blond leveled a flat gaze at Shaun. "You're still going in when it's your turn." Then she offered a sweet smile. "If you need me to hold your hand and protect you from the big man just ask."

"Fine," Shaun said, scoffing and making other disapproving noises. "But when the brute eats my pancreas you'll be without a lead data manager... I hope you plan an expensive funeral, it's the very least you could do with all that I do for you."

"Sure," Lucy said, back to deadpan. "I'll use rocks for the pillow."

Desmond took a big bite of his burger.

"Carnivore!" Rebecca interjected, pulling open the wrapper on her veggie burger while Lucy and Shaun also began digging into the plethora of takeout.

"Hypocrite!" Shaun replied, taking an enormous bite out of his burger before continuing with a half full mouth. "Did you know plants give off chemicals which attract predatory insects when they're attacked? Sounds pretty animal-like to me."

Rebecca stared at him. "Of all the random shit that's in your head you pick that to talk about? You know too much for your own good."

Shaun shrugged, unapologetic. "That's what my priest used to say."

"I bet he said a lot more."

"Confession is private, last I checked."

"Yeah, private sex booths."

"I'm a Protestant, not a Catholic."

"That's what they all say."

Lucy and Desmond both saw the degeneration that was about to unfold, and Lucy quickly intervened. "How's the power situation?"

Rebecca savored her veggie burger a moment, sipping her bottled water, before answering. "It's okay for now, but the power lines are from the stone age."

"Bloody third world country," Shaun muttered, sipping his tea.

"You're talking about Italy?" the tech asked.

"No, Europe in general."

The three Americans all looked at each other. Rebecca, of course, pressed the point. "I didn't know England is a third world country."

The Brit actually managed to look offended with his mouth full. "England is not in Europe actually, Rebecca. We tolerate Europe... You know, like a person tolerates herpes."

"Wow, elitist much?"

"Like we didn't already know that," Lucy interjected. She gulped down some more water as everyone kept eating. She must have had her dinner in three bites. Desmond balked at the speed. "I want to check out the power grid, make sure 'herpes' isn't having an outbreak." Her beautiful ass swung up the stairs, a few loose strands of hair trailing behind her, and Desmond watched for a long time, enjoying the view and wondering... just wondering. She needed to loosen up. She needed less stress. Desmond wondered what he could do to help her in that regard. He didn't know enough about engineering to help with the Animus redesign and... Wait...

He turned to Rebecca again.

"How did you manage to create a copy of the Animus?"

She waved it off. "Oh, you know. Lucy sent me schematics."

"I thought she couldn't get anything out of Abstergo?"

"She had her ways," Rebecca said, shrugging. "I improvised on the rest."

… Huh. Lucy was completely closed off but she had managed to get the Animus schematics to Rebecca? And the emails to the outside to arrange the failed escape attempt, and leak some of the info Abstergo had to the Assassins. Just how closed off was she? How big of a risk had she taken? He glanced to her clipboard, and her Abstergo pen. No wonder she was under so much stress.

Frowning, he finished eating and went up the stairs, past the odd equilateral triangle Ezio had marked with hidden years and into Mario's study. He peeked out the doorframe, knowing he couldn't be above ground for long, and saw Lucy standing in the courtyard, looking up at the hazy moon. The air was cooler up here, summer slowly dying to autumn and a stiff breeze indicating a cold front playing with her blond hair. She looked beautiful, but also so very, very lonely. He moved to join her when she turned and saw him.

"Desmond! What are you doing up here?" she demanded, power-walking over to him.

"I just... You were..."

"You're not supposed to be above ground," she insisted, "What if someone saw you, what if cell surveillance saw you?"

"I'm sorry, hey, I'm sorry," he said, backing up into the study. "You looked so lonely and I thought..."

His comment brought her to a complete halt, eyes wide as the words sunk in, her cheeks flushing. At length, she sighed and held her temples. "Just... don't do that again," she said softly.

"Okay," he answered, just as softly, "I won't.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

---

Caterina was never seen again hardly wrote few letters need to send more letters have to let Masyaf know I'm safe in Constantinople no way to get messages out of time can't wait any longer need to take the opportunity that has presented itself three birds one stone stoned to death brutal savagery and all for being a heretic how does one deal with apprentice that won't learn that doesn't understand can't understand Maria keeps trying to explain but it's all so backwards and yet there is so much similarity in style was he trained by an assassin need to be careful don't want to be hit by cannon fire fire everywhere hell on earth the world is broken the heart is broken and I am broken

---

Altair woke in unfamiliar surroundings, slow to regain consciousness. Had he been struck on the head? He could not remember, so he kept his body very still until he could understand where he was but Ezio knew these walls very well indeed and had spent much time here in the Sanctuary. He read the Codex here, looked up at the stars here, and had mourned his losses here.

No, no, none of that was right.

Desmond got up from his sleeping back, looking up at the statue of Altair as it looked down on him. He considered putting on another Italian drawl but just didn't have the energy for it. Rubbing his face, he moaned slightly and got to his feet, stumbling with sleep before he could properly coordinate his body. Breakfast was dry cereal; Rebecca was already at the Animus tapping away at her laptop, and Lucy was nowhere to be seen, leaving Desmond to eat with Shaun.

Thinking dimly of his inconsistent dream, trying to remember any part of it that made sense, Desmond stared at his cereal. "What happened to Caterina Sforza?" he murmured to himself.

"She went back to Florence and petitioned unsuccessfully for the return of her lands," Shaun answered, thinking the question was posed to him. "Then, she died of pneumonia."

Desmond stared at him. "... That's sad."

Shaun shrugged. "That's life. Well, that's death technically, but you take my point."

"Alright," Lucy said, coming down the steps. "If Desmond's up then we can get started. I say we go to more of Subject Sixteen's Animus locations. Shaun should be caught up on his 'modern history.' Right?"

And so Desmond found himself in the white loading screen in his clothes, before spawning on Tiber, Isola Tiberina. He stretched out briefly, rolling his hips and getting ready for a good run. "Where to?" he asked.

"The Pantheon," Rebecca said. "Due north."

Desmond nodded, walking past the bank, wondering how Romeo or Matteo were doing, and then crossing the Sisto Bridge. With a deep breath, he burst out into a sprint and then a run, hopping up a cart and a crate and then to a light post and then up garden lattice before hoisting himself up to a roof. He could see the Pantheon rising up to the north, peeking out from the roofline, and it was a race against himself after that. To his credit, he was barely winded when he arrived, leaping from roof to roof and darting over ropes and arches and skidding to a halt as the massive stone columns rose up before him. He could see a ghost of Ezio, weary of his money and wondering where else he would be lead, but Desmond resisted the sense of nostalgia, walking around the ghost and leaping into a hay cart instead, reveling in the sensation of wind whipping through his body.

Refreshed, he gazed up at the impressive feat of Roman architecture and moved in. The church inside was breathtaking, and he could see more ghosts of Ezio, assassinating a man over a chest. He shook it off, switching to his lame eagle vision to see it bled with more colors, looking more like Ezio's. He found the rift in the Animus and moved along the edge of the wall, still seeing ghost Ezio's assassination, and leaping up the wall to find the right handholds and slowly climbing into the rift.

Cluster 5

"Loading... loading..." the Animus voice said. Desmond blinked at the voice started glitching again, skipping and dithering and sounding...

"Scanning... scanning...scanning... What am I? What am I? Lost."

"What the hell?" he whispered. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Home, home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play. Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day!"

"... Guys?" Desmond asked as the old-style cowboy music continued.

"No idea," Rebecca said. "I don't even know where the file came from. Is that Gene Autry?"

"Who? Never mind." It was another sign of Sixteen's slow tread to insanity, programming this thing, and Desmond tried not to think of his own home, not on a range but in the Black Hills. Was the song always that sad?

A plethora of photos filled Desmond's vision, clues to another locked file that he had to sift through. An archway, two men standing by a car, a parade or protest of some kind, a color photo of two men Desmond thought he should know, etc. The clue read: "From a bolt of electricity, governments fell." Frowning Desmond started to scan the pictures. Bits of gobbledygook appeared over some of the pictures, text that made no sense.

"Got it," Rebecca said, "Before Shaun, I might add, victory for the computers. It's a Caesar cipher. All the text is dependent on the picture. So: 'United Fruit Company, US banks, car companies transferred their corporate debt to the Argentine public.' 'More than three thousand killed.' 'Allende was going to nationalize them.' 'September eleventh.' Happy subject, that one. Uh, 'Make the economy scream.' And, then the last one's I think a pun. EYE TEA TEE is probably ITT, which with the cipher translates to CNN."

"Okay, but what does it all mean?" Desmond asked. "And what about these other quotes: 'H. K. masterminded it,' or 'Chile, 1964. The people cheered his name until 1973.' 'Salvador Allende wanted the people to own Chile's corporations.' 'We should like your economic program to succeed and we will do our best to help you.' 'Argentina 1970s: 30,000 people Disappeared in the raids.' Then there's this quote from Augusto Pinochet, whoever the hell he is: 'Nature shows us basic order and hierarchy are necessary.' Or, 'The issues are much too important for the Chilean voters to be left to decide for themselves.' Then we switch gears I think, to 'Mossadegh wanted oil profits to go to the people,' and 'Shah Pahlavi, Sha'baan Ja'fari and SAVAK take over to terrorize citizens and protect capitalist oil interests. But was that their only motive?' Those aren't Chilean names, or Argentinian. Just what are all these photos referencing? Or the hint about electricity?"

"Do try to keep up Desmond," Shaun's voice chimed in. "I'll try to keep this simple for you. Salvador Allende: Chilean politician, Marxist and Socialist. His political career spans nearly forty years, but the point of interest is this: as a Socialist president, he wanted Chile to nationalize their enterprises: most notably their copper mines and – get this – their banks. Leftist radical and all that. Because Allende had ties to the Communist party the US started pulling their hair out, as they often did back then when the word was thrown around. Nixon spent millions of dollars to prevent Allende's election via CIA interference, either through congressional trickery or a coup d'etat. This continued after Allende was elected, sinking money into his opponents and generally everybody was screwing around with the Chilean constitution.

"This came to a head in the form of a literal coup d'etat: in 1973 tanks massed on the presidential palace to take out Allende. It failed, but it started a wave of unrest that ended with strikes in the copper mines and a constitutional crisis – the Supreme Court said Allende couldn't maintain order in his own country. Other events followed, but I know you'll miss most of it; the point is that a coup was staged September Eleventh – no, Rebecca, not THAT September Eleventh – 1973, by Chilean military and he committed suicide. Augusto Pinochet took over and was the Chilean dictator until 1990. And get this, one of the major US corporations in Chile at the time was ITT: International Telephone and Telegraph. The H.K., mentioned, is probably Henry Kissinger, Nixon's Secretary of State."

"Okay," Desmond said slowly, trying to take in the information dump.

"Now, Mohammad Mosaddegh, he was Prime Minister of Iran, democratically elected, in the early 50s. Like Allande, he was big on nationalization – specifically oil, and we know how oils draws out the political crazies, I mean look at what you Americans are whining about today, moaning about Iran having nukes to work up the justification of invading for their oil. Sound familiar? Bush, anyone? Anyway, the Communist party agreed with Mosaddegh in nationalizing their oil industry, and with two strikes against him the US stepped in again. That Iran's oil deal was with the UK did not help matters either. Brits don't like losing their control over oil any more than Americans do, and so we turned to you for help. Churchhill – who I STILL cannot believe was a Templar – talked to a newly elected Eisenhower and lo: Operation Ajax was formed. The plan was to get the Shah, the monarch of Iran, to oust Mosaddegh. They did this through meetings and out-and-out bribery – a mink coat for the Shah's sister among other things – and planted ideas in the Iranian people that Mosaddegh was being brutal to naysayers. By the time all was said and done, the Shah had ousted Mosaddegh, riots and protests orchestrated by Americans as both pro- and anti-Shah littered the streets, and in the end one Fazlollah Zahedi was put in charge with the help of Shaban Jafari. Jafari, according to Sixteen, was a Templar. They created the SAVAK, Iranian secret police."

More info dumping. Shaun was right, damn him, that most of the information swept right over Desmond's head, but he got the key points: Abstergo had the power to overthrow governments, and recent members included Kissinger and Jafari, and a network large enough to stage freakin' coup d'etats.

Why?

Because leaders wanted to nationalize their resources.

Desmond sighed before, in his scanning, he found a bolt of lightning with an Abstergo symbol. From a bolt of electricity indeed. He clicked on it and found another wheel lock. With the coordinates handed out from his searching, Desmond rotated the lock until he found the right combination and waited to see what file would open.

Restricted Handling

Classified Message

Subject: South America

If we are to ensure the Company's success, Company agents must be able to move freely from country to country and maintain power within all of them. A global international order must be implemented.

Re: Argentina

Tell the Capitalists that if they help ensure the Junta remain in power, we will pass all their corporate debt to the Argentine people. That will ensure they crush the popular revolt. I want the trade unions destroyed if we are to move forward.

Re: Chile

The free market must be allowed to prevail. F.'s visit last year helped things along, but now all public companies need to be sold to the private sector, ideally on the cheap. The price of bread and other staples must rise. I want to ensure the people remain marred in poverty and unable to resist.

Any traces of the plan should appear to implicate the U.S. government. The Company's involvement must remain hidden.

For successful examples of a similar opening of the markets, look no further than the 1953 liberation of Iran and the 1954 liberation of Guatemala.

"Abstergo fucked with Guatemala, too?" Desmond asked. "No, never mind, I'm getting a headache as it is." He rubbed his temples to prove the point, still trying to keep track of the other histories that had just been dumped on him. "I'll just take it on faith."

"As you wish," Shaun said snidely. Prick.

"Quarantine zone," the Animus droned. Desmond started listening to the sonar, but the noise faded as he saw the words the sonar beacon showed, slowly reading the text:

"Wages should be (lowered to keep the middle class subservient to us (?)) left to the fair and free competition of the market, and should never be controlled by the interference of (a popularly elected government(?)) the legislature."

That was another line from that freaky speech Desmond had unlocked earlier, and he realized why the two (three) countries had been overthrown. Nationalizing wasn't the problem, it was being nationalized in a government that was democratically elected, i.e. putting the power to the people instead of the chosen few. Desmond pursed his lips, wondering what else the company had done in recent years to fuck with politics in order to prevent democracy. For that matter, how did the US even get off the ground? Templars must have been shitting their pants when the Declaration of Independence was signed. He wondered if the Assassins had any part of that successful portion of history.

Eventually, though, he refocused on the sonar and found the points on the screen.

"Quarantine lifted."

The puzzle ended and Desmond found himself outside the Pantheon, watching Ezio sneak past two men and into the massive church.

…

The last thing he needed was to synch with the memory after the headache he had just generated. "Next?" he asked, edging away from the memory and away from the plaza.

"Santa Maria dei Miracoli and Santa Maria di Montesan."

"Santa what now? Where am I going?"

"Churches on the north wall of the city."

Right. Desmond stuck to the streets, trying to put his head back on straight, weaving through the crowds and practicing his invisibility and his silent kills when he came across guards. He eventually made his way to the north wall, and found more ghosts, this time Ezio flanked with many other people, Machiavelli, Bartolomeo, Volpe, even... Claudia? Desmond backed away from the square, not wanting to synchronize and searched the churches with his eagle vision until he found the rift.

Cluster 6

"Loading... Ninety percent of input missing. Output confused. Shut down. Shut down. Shut down inactive. Trapped."

Desmond blinked at the Animus voice, still and uncertain what to think. Trapped? But before he could ruminate on the Animus, another locked file appeared, and Desmond was assaulted with pictures: Political pictures, a forest, and a stamp of some kind. Desmond scanned again, looking at the additional text hidden in the pictures while he considered the clue, "Important men befriended Russia as the Iron Curtain was blown apart, but the most influential players stayed out of the spotlight."

"Gorbachev, 1990: Man of the Decade. Brings democracy to Russia. Establishes the Constitutional Court.

"August 1991: Declared the White Knight of the people, Yeltsin stands up to Communist threat! Gorbachev loses popularity!

"December 1991: Secret meeting called in the Belavezhskaya Forest. Yeltsin unseats Gorbachev, becomes leader of Russia!

"1992: Russian economy opened to elite oligarchs, private companies.

"1993: Parliament Disbanded by Yeltsin as he seizes control of Russia! Decree 1400! Constitutional Court disbanded!

"1993: 2.5 billion in aid from the U.S. Congress to Yeltsin after he disbands Parliament!

"The dream of a democratic state led by the people.

"Bretton Woods began it. The IMF delivers.

"The most favorable condition for reform is a weary public."

"... Yeah, I was a kid when all of this was happening. I sorta know the name Gorbachev, but who's Yeltsin?"

"What kind of education did you HAVE as a child? Or did you just sleep through primary? Never mind, Baby Assassin. We'll start with the basics: Gorbachev was the head of the USSR, the Soviet Union. I hope you at least know what THAT was. He was trying to enact reforms to fix the problems Russia and its satellites were having, but things were deteriorating. Yeltsin, now he's an interesting character. In August of 1991, a coup against Gorbachev was organize and enacted. Yeltsin, Gorbachev's political nemesis, rallied the people to denounce the demonstration; he gave a very poetic speech atop a tank, and the military members of the coup defected. Cue hero-worship.

"December of that year brought Yeltsin and a few other Soviet presidents dissolving the USSR. Between this and the other political problems Gorbachev was having, he conceded fait acompli. Yeltsin spent the next year dismantling the socialist changes Gorbachev had slowly been making and turned all economic decisions over to – drum roll please – the IMF. The International Monetary Fund. Sixteen's comment about Decree 1400 is a little hazy, but he did dissolve the Parliament in '93, which he wasn't technically legally allowed to do. It dissolved into a big mess after that until Yeltsin pushed through his new constitution. You can guess what happened next."

"He got what he wanted because the US was backing him financially to get... what did we want from them?"

"Aside from the end of the largest Communist state, which had already happened? That thing called big oil, remember that?"

"So the Templars, Abstergo, arranged for more 'free market' to access more resources to keep themselves rich and in charge," Desmond muttered, rubbing at his growing headache. He stared at the picture of Yeltsin making his famous speech on the tank, seeing the Abstergo symbol and selecting it. The coordinate code was punched in, and Desmond was shown another wheel lock, this time with missing numbers. That made his headache grow even more, but eventually they were able to unlock the cipher. A letter appeared:

10 Downing Street

Mr. Yeltsin,

I am writing this letter to encourage you to act. One rarely finds oneself in such an opportune position. Gorbachev does not have our interests at heart. He is moving far too slowly to privatize, and my deep fear is that he has no intention of doing so at all. I understand that you have expressed similar concerns. With that in mind, here is a proposal to remedy the situation.

Several of my top advisors at the Company maintain a monetary connection with the Communist old guard. They tell me that a riot might be easily incited while Gorbachev is away. If you were to repel an attempt to seize parliament in front of the media, it could very well tip the scales of power in your favor.

Telephone me at no. 10 and we shall further.

"Number Ten? Seriously? Who was Prime Minister then... Margaret Thatcher? Oh, well, never mind then. For a moment I thought Sixteen was going disillusion me of another of England's greats, but I can totally believe Thatcher as a Templar."

"... Uh-huh," Desmond said, moving on to the next puzzle.

Another garbled phone message appeared, and Desmond studiously filed through the different sine wave before finding the right combination. The file was labeled "Abstergo Phone Records 1992"

"Alpha Bank," said a man with a thick Russian accent.

A British accent answered. "I'm calling on behalf of British Petroleum."

"Yes, we were told you would be calling."

"As you know, we are very interested in acquiring Sidanko Oil."

"And as you know, that will require a merger with our bank," said the Russian.

"That should not be a problem."

"Were you surprised at the low price of the deal?"

"Somewhat," said the Brit.

"You know we have the peasants paying for it? The government gave us their tax money to buy all the companies."

"We would like to fly out there as soon as possible to discuss terms."

"Thursday works."

"Done. Thank you for your time."

"Do svidaniya."

The phones hung up, and Desmond thought the file was over, but then he heard another click and series of dials.

"Abstergo Industries," said a new voice.

"I am phoning on behalf of BP. We fly to Russia next week to secure the deal. Our new capitalist converts there behaved exactly as expected."

"I will let them know."

"Thank you."

The file ended. Christ this was fucked up. Desmond had always figured that capitalism was evil, he had enough drunk regulars to whine about nobody looking out for the little guy, or people squished under the thumbs of the rich, but didn't think it was actually evil evil, as in overthrowing governments evil, as in existing for the sole purpose of funding Abstergo evil. Did that mean the guy running in the elections at home, Romney, was a Templar? Or one of their puppets? He shuddered at the thought, and for the first time in his life he wondered if he should go out and vote.

The superseding understanding of his present circumstances corrected him of that notion, but it was the first time he had ever felt something remotely akin to patriotism. He couldn't stand the idea of Abstergo being in charge of the US, but if they could overthrow governments and make it look like the US was behind it all, it did not bode well for who was and wasn't in the government. Desmond shuddered at the thought, wondering at just how far Abstergo's reach extended before realizing the answer was probably terrifying.

… Lucy might know.

"Did you know about all this?" he asked.

"I was a kid when the Soviet thing happened, but I did read about it as an example of how to perpetuate their goals. I wasn't kidding when I said they could do anything."

Desmond let out a long, slow, breath.

"Quarantine Zone."

The voice startled him, and Desmond stared at the screen, hearing the beeps of the sonar. There was another photo behind the screen, likely of the Russian leaders. Oddly there was music, but Desmond didn't know how to read it let alone recognize whatever song it was depicting. He did, however, see more text:

"1999: Yeltsin ensures his protégé, Vladimir Putin, follows his lead."

And, chillingly,

"Apartment bombings start Czech war and elect Putin all planned by Abstergo."

"Quarantine Lifted."

Desmond respawned on the roof of the churches, and he sat down immediately. "Hey," he asked softly. "Can I get out of the Animus for a while? I have a headache."

"Sure, Desmond. You can pick up with Ezio tomorrow."

Desmond hoped he could make sense of it all by then.

---

After Ezio was sure that his novices were doing fine, he went to Salvatore to get a horse and rode out to check on Gilberto and the novices there. His arrival was fortuitous, as Gilberto was testing each of the novices on straight-out speed. This was ideal as this group didn't have any climbing skills at all.

Upon seeing Ezio, they each came crawling forward, exhausted from what la Volpe was putting them through, to complain how they didn't need this level of training.

Ezio couldn't quite help the mischievous smile that formed as he glanced to Gilberto. On the ground, his apprentice let out a pitiful groan.

"What, what?" Franco Sozzi, an ex-merchant with a good head for numbers asked.

Gilberto smiled. "I think a race is a lovely idea, Ezio."

Then the novices groaned. That night, the thieves and the novices stood side by side across an open field with the objective being the ruins that were barely visible in the distance.

"That far?" Elda whispered. "Maestro, how can you expect us to get that far?"

Alighiero, the novice with no tongue, only gaped. The thieves were limbering up, several calling out challenges that they'd beat Ezio this time.

Gilberto, however, was on a horse.

"My old friend," Ezio said. "When did you get so old as to need a horse?"

The thief shrugged. "My thieves insist I be the one to judge who gets there first. They seem to think it will be close, so I need to get there with time to spare."

"I'll see you soon, then."

Then the last touch was added. A thief brought out the dogs.

Candida's eyes widened. "Maestro, why are there dogs here?"

Ezio's smile was entirely too smug. "Why, they are the guards who seek to arrest you."

Sozzi shuddered. It seemed the point of learning how to run and climb was starting to sink in.

"Ready!" the thief with the dogs called. But he did not say when to start. He simply released the dogs.

To say that Ezio easily won the race would be an understatement of the highest order. The closest thief came almost a full five minutes after Ezio. Ezio's apprentice was mere seconds later, then the rest of the thieves came tottering in after him within ten to thirty second intervals, all gasping for breath. The novices trailed in almost ten minutes after that, disheveled and scratched from the dogs that were so happy to find new playmates.

Ezio thought that the lesson was learned rather well. Between both him and Volpe, the novices started to take in the needed skills to be quick, agile, and how to climb. Alighiero was the quickest to pick it up, by far. He, like Filippo showed a natural talent that Ezio sat up and noticed. Candida, the courtesan Claudia had recommended also did well, but then she was naturally agile when one considered her former profession. Elda and Sozzi struggled. Sozzi had strength, as a merchant he was often hefting his wares or unloading supplies, but didn't have any flexibility and his muscles made him a naturally slower runner. Elda, a former nun, was like Vittoria, and needed to start at the very bottom with no physical skills whatsoever.

The races became a nightly occurrence, and dogs nipping at their heels proved to be a good motivator to get the novices moving. Alighiero and Candida both started to build up their endurance and started to give the thieves a decent challenge, and Sozzi and Elda kept improving, though at a more moderate pace. Climbing started to be introduced and Ezio was pleased with how things were going.

It was on what he meant to be his last day that Gilberto pulled Ezio aside.

"Ezio. Some of the Cento Occhi have started to wander into our territory."

Ezio frowned. "That's not good."

"No. But they won't be missed if they are gone."

Ezio nodded. Time for his novices to start using the skills they were building up. One of Gilberto's thieves, Marcello, led them to some ruins that were where the rival gang was said to be settling in. He had not had the time to prepare them on how to kill with their hidden blades, as he had with the novices back at the hideout, or the way Bartolomeo was beating basic weapons work into his novices. But Gilberto had been showing them the fine art of pickpocketing along with building them up with running and climbing. And Ezio insisted that they use those skills to place knives into the backs of whom they were after.

This would be messy, but they would learn.

Ezio stayed with Alighiero and Candida while his apprentice worked with Elda and Sozzi. In the light of day, when the thieves were most likely asleep aside from the pickpockets and the cutpurses, they slipped through the ruins, killing the Cento Occhi as they came across them. There were about thirty in the camp, and despite best efforts, the novices were just that, novices. Elda, stone-faced, yet teary-eyed, missed one of her stabs, and her victim made noise, waking others. Soon it was the six of them against fifteen. One thing Ezio had told his apprentice firmly was that each of the novices needed to make a kill, so looking at each other over the ruins, they nodded. Ezio was fast and illusive, tearing apart the thieves easily as they had no armor to protect themselves. He easily took down a half dozen of them. His apprentice took out another four, though with more difficulty. That just left five for his four novices.

Sozzi was surprisingly able to take one down almost immediately, his strength proving to be an asset, then a hindrance as the next thief he faced off with was far more agile than him. Candida was fairing evenly with the thief she was facing, as was Elda, though the former nun looked a little off in her footing, though that was unsurprising. Alighiero, however, was balanced. He was agile and strong, and though he didn't take his opponent down with the same speed of Sozzi, the thief was defeated a moment later. The mute then went to help the merchant. Upon seeing the odds, the thief took off running, making Alighiero and Sozzi make chase. Ezio nodded to his apprentice, and he went off after them, leaving Ezio to observe the girls and their opponents.

Candida circled the thief carefully, both with nicks from each other's blades proving their equal footing. But then the former courtesan shocked the thief. She reached up and ripped open her shirt, revealing her breasts. The thief staggered, not having expected the tactic at all, and Candida surged forward, her hidden blade tasting the thief's heart.

Elda was still struggling. She didn't have the skills for a battle like this and it was showing. She had grown quick enough, under la Volpe, to be able to not get hurt, but she didn't have the knowledge of blade work or even footwork to kill the thief who was pushing her back. Candida rushed forward to help, screaming as she did so. The thief naturally heard her coming and turned, slicing a long gash along Candida's arm. Then it was Elda who was screaming, jumping onto the thief's back and stabbing him repeatedly in the back, even after the man was clearly dead.

Ezio stepped forward and Elda sank into his arms, crying. Her first kill reminded him of his killing the Gonfaloniere. So he held her like a father might hold an upset daughter, and just let her cry. Candida soon joined the hug, after she'd bandaged her arm. Ezio held them close, and did his best to console them on the choices that they were making and what this would mean for what they would do.

When his apprentice returned with Alighiero and Sozzi, both of which were winded from the chase, but smiling in success, they headed back to Volpe's inn. He spoke with them as he had spoken with the other novices on the way back. About what his first kill had been like, how he had felt, and what it had meant. Sozzi and Candida kept talking to Elda, and Alighiero just stayed nearby, unable to offer words.

Ezio stayed another week, and Elda started to look better as her fellow novices continued to take care of her. Then he headed back to his hideout. There was still so much work to be done.

---

Author's Notes: Whew. Eight of the twelve novices have just been introduced. Could you keep track of them all? We'll list everyone's names at the end of the Author's Notes. A lot of people were excited for our writing Brotherhood for the sole reason of the apprentices. Several people tried (very, very hard) to get their own apprentices into this novelization, and while we're touched that they think we're good enough to handle their lovingly made characters, this isn't a novice's story. This is Ezio's story. We have twelve novices, five apprentices, and the core Brotherhood, plus the Borgia, their allies, and Leonardo to keep track of. There just isn't enough room to go into deep, tragic backstories of novices or watch as every single one of them learns some new facet or overcomes a particular challenge.

What we decided to do was to make up our list of novices and then gave them very basic personalities. The goal is that, by the end of the fic, you'll recognize so-and-so's name and what they're good at, whether it's a guy or a girl, and have a surface understanding of their personalities. Everything else will be reader interpretation. More than that just isn't feasible.

Having said that, we hope you enjoy the apprentices, because we have a big time skip to deal with. Caterina's escape was in June 1501. Now we kill time until August 1503. Hm, I wonder what we're doing for the next several chapters...

Desmond showed up, and his sequence is pretty much summed up in one sentence: It all goes downhill from here. At least he's starting to pick up signals from Lucy. That has to count for something. Oh, wait...

We also, hard though it is, tried to at least make it remotely justifiable for Lucy's betrayal. Not that Desmond or anyone else picks up on it, but we figured that evidence had to be there somewhere, otherwise Desmond simply isn't going to believe it all in Revelations and AC3. And for the record: Templars overthrowing governments? Scary. Really, really, scary.

Next chapter: Federica is a teenager, Ezio misses Claudia's birthday, and a certain painter makes an appearance.

Note: Some apprentices will be referred to either their first or last names, depending. Not everyone had last names back then, and we wanted to emphasize that point in some way.

Elda – former Nun, singer

Sancia DiNozzo – housekeeper, last name is her boss' family name

Candida - courtesan

Filippo Falcone – former thief

Giordano - thick, fast

Giovanni Migliore – former merchant

Alighiero Scarlotti- tongue cut out by Borgia, mute

Franco Sozzi – former merchant, pseudo banker

Innocenzo Abate – former merchant, philanderer

Taddeo - mercenary, slow mentally, big and strong

Gaspare Gaspari – former scrivener, overeager, excitable (yes, that's his name. We pity him)

Vittoria – first apprentice, resolute, determined