AC Brotherhood Novelization Chapter 9: Two Steps Forward, One Back, an assassin's creed fanfic

Part Nine: Two Steps Forward, One Back

By mid-October, Varzi's team was back with Bartolomeo and training after successfully taking out the Doge Agostino Barbarigo. Ezio debated heading out to the barracks to talk to them, since that group was the only one he hadn't yet spoken to about the first kill. But since Varzi had taken them with her, he could only hope that they had already dealt with it. Antonio and Teodora would have taken care of them in Venice. He also didn't have to worry about skills with them, since Bartolomeo had been training recruits for well over a decade.

What was worrying was the rumblings from France and Aragon. Word was spreading into Roma of a possible alliance between the two over claims of Naples. Ezio could sense a war brewing, and he remembered the Frenchman he'd heard talking to Cesare. Louis XII and Ferdinand making war was going to make things difficult, but Ezio had to admit, it would keep Cesare busy. If the young butcher was conquering city-states but avoiding foreign armies, he wouldn't hear how things were going back in Rome, giving Ezio even more of a free hand to do what was needed.

But the people would suffer for it.

All of this was supposition however. At least until a chilly day at the end of November when Pantasilea finally sent word that Louis and Ferdinand had signed an alliance and were preparing to march.

Ezio sighed.

While he kept up with his lessons with Enu in learning Turkish, he started visiting Etienne more often to practice his French as well. If Louis was sending troops, he'd have to refresh his knowledge of the language to eavesdrop any important facts.

November had Ezio switching the groups for training. Those staying at the warehouse training under both himself and Claudia went off to Gilberto to learn how to run and climb, Gilberto's novices went to Bartolomeo to learn how to fight, and Bartolomeo's group returned to the hideout. Ezio quickly used Varzi to go check in with Enu and Vecellio to see how rumors of the Cento Occhi and Followers of Romulus were. With the three in the countryside, hopefully it would help with cutting down on the raids.

He might have to make those three full Assassins soon. They had proven to be reliable, flexible, adaptable, and sharp. But they were still so inexperienced. Vecellio, the best of the five, still had a tendency for a temper, though he had better control now than when he'd arrived, no doubt.

Of course, with November here, Ezio had a present to get for Federica, so he was walking the streets again, trying to see what would be a good gift. There was no doubt Federica was taking more and more after her father, if her interest in learning how to fight was any indication. But having Etienne forge some daggers didn't seem an appropriate gift, especially since she was turning thirteen.

As he walked around Tibre Island and the surrounding areas, he still helped out when he could, the citizens always glad for the help. Now that he'd been in Rome for two years, he was a familiar figure and those who had been hesitant of his offer to invest in their business in exchange for a one-percent tax were starting to take him up on his offer, having seen what the help could get. It wasn't much of an improvement, but the people were starting to make enough money to survive instead of being destitute. Ezio's corner of the city was starting to bring in customers from other parts, rich men and women looking for good products as cheaply as possible, and Ezio's area of Roma could provide that, starting to inject more money into the economy.

It was a slow process, but it was starting to work.

One evening, Ezio was out with the novices. He was going to race them to the old Papal apartments and spend the night putting them through their paces, but as he was explaining the route they were going to take, a courtesan rushed forward.

"Maestro!" she gasped, tripping forward.

Sancia, a former maid displaced when her lord had been taken down by the Borgia, caught her, and helped her forward.

The courtesan was out of breath, taking giant gulps of air and Sancia offered her some wine from her wineskin, taking her to a bench. The courtesan started to catch her breath and calm down, but she still trembled with fear. Ezio kneeled in front of her, offering his hand, which the courtesan clutched desperately.

"Maestro," she said, between breaths to calm herself. "Your family has my loyalty and I will never waver. But I am now in danger for it."

Ezio frowned. "Please, how might we help?"

"The Pope is starting to suspect you are in Roma and is trading favors with ambassador's who are known to frequent whorehouses to find out where you are," she explained. "One of them has asked to meet with me. I fear he won't be alone."

"Then we will go with you."

The relief on her face was palpable. "Oh thank you, Maestro," she said. "Grazie."

Ezio turned to his quartet of novices. "Giordano, Migliore, you two are on the roofs. Be wary of the guards, and stay hidden. We have no moon tonight, which will keep you out of sight, but you won't be able to see your footing either. Be careful. Abate, stay to alleys and side streets. Keep parallel with us. Sancia, you and I will be following at a discreet distance."

They all nodded and they quickly fanned out. They were going to be heading to Mausoleo di Augusto, the ancient circular structure overlooking the Tevere and the Castel Sant'Angelo, and equally ancient tree growing in its center. The courtesan continued to make her way to the meeting spot, nerves in every line of her body, though she was no longer cowering as she had before. Giordano and Migliore were excellent on the roofs, as Ezio expected. Giordano wasn't that bright, but he was fast. The Florentine Assassin was looking forward to seeing what Volpe would do with that speed, as Giordano would likely make a good runner. Giovanni Migliore (called Migliore by everyone because of his common given name) also had an excellent sense of balance and nimbleness. While Ezio could hear them up on the roofs, the average person could not, showing that the two did have skill. Abate stayed to the side-streets as told, but there was nothing outstanding on how he was doing.

Sancia, on the other hand, had been having difficulty with Claudia's lessons. And Bartolomeo. She was uncoordinated and prone to tripping. Ezio played along with it, making everything seem normal, but he was starting to worry that she might not be cut out for the more physical aspects of being an Assassin.

So he stayed close to her.

The Mausoleo was in shadows, the lamps and candles of the area out as more and more people finally slept under the night. Ezio let out a low whistle, stopping all his novices and calling them to him. The courtesan sat at a bench, stretching out her feet.

Looking hard at Mausoleo, Ezio's special sight could tell that the ambassador had some associates waiting with him. "She is about to be ambushed," he explained. "Giordano, Migliore, climb up and come down from above. Sancia, Abate, you come in once you hear the fighting."

"And you, Maestro?" Migliore asked.

Ezio crossed his arms and smiled. "I'll be going in with our courtesan."

Once everyone was in place, Ezio walked beside the courtesan, flirting and looking like an escort. His hood was down, but the dark night hid his face, and his half-cloak hid all his weaponry for the chilly night particularly as a light drizzle began to fall.

The courtesan fell into character easily, at once at the Mausoleo, she giggled and teased, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, then leading him in.

"Ambassador," she called sweetly, "I know you like to watch..." she trailed off as the number of extra people around settled in. "Oh..." she said quietly, looking completely surprised at there being so many people there for a romantic rendezvous, showing no sign at all that she had seen this coming.

The ambassador smiled. "I thank you for meeting me here, my dear," he said, his voice accented. "But I'm afraid we weren't going to get a 'happy ending' right away." He stepped forward. "I have questions. You have answers. Then we get to a 'happy ending'."

"I... I..."

The ambassador reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward roughly. Ezio whistled and leapt forward, breaking the ambassador's arm with his sword and pulling the courtesan back and behind him so that he could defend her as his novices showed their skills.

Migliore's drop was perfect, taking out one of the thugs and quickly engaging another. Giordano was not as precise, and his victim was still breathing though nothing would be able to save him. Abate surged forward, with decent sword work and engaging the thugs as well. Sancia struggled, but with the four novices having caught the thugs by surprise, there was no doubt who was going to win. They also had the ambassador surrounded and he couldn't escape the small space of the Mausoleo with all the fighting around him.

Within minutes it was over.

"Thank you, Maestro," the courtesan said. "My loyalty will continue to be unfaltering."

"I think it is time to get you back to the Rosa in Fiore." It would give him a chance to talk to Claudia about an appropriate gift for Federica. Assuming they didn't argue again.

Federica's birthday cast a shadow of gloom over the family. For all that it was a happy occasion and she loved Ezio's gift, Maria was not well. She kept calling Ezio "Federico" and her granddaughter as "Petruccio". She wondered where Ezio was and why he wasn't visiting, and where Giovanni had taken him.

Ezio's heart ached.

He was brooding in the hideout about it when a thief came in. It was one of Gilberto's men, one who had been in charge of the dogs when training the novices how to run.

"Maestro," he greeted.

Ezio nodded. "And how is the fight with the Cento Occhi going?"

The thief grinned. "We have an opportunity. Vincenzo is a town scribe who works for the Cento Occhi. He writes announcements for the heralds that divert all suspicion of larceny to us instead of his thieving cohorts. But through hard work, we've set up that he and a Borgia captain named Galvano often bicker and fight. It is a chance to drive a wedge between those thieves and the Borgia."

Ezio grinned. This would be an excellent distraction for himself and a chance to test his novices. "Leave it to me."

It did not take long to find the scribe. By happenstance Vincenzo was the scribe that Abate had used from time to time, and soon Sancia was keeping an eye on him and getting a sense of his movements. Finding Galvano took some work, since the citizens never knew the city guard personally. It was only from Migliore and his boldly starting to talk to city guards as a wronged merchant that they found out that Galvano normally patrolled the rooftops, enjoying to look down from on high in his arrogance.

So Ezio set everything up. One late afternoon, he watched from a far roof as Giordano killed Galvano and rummaged around to find something useful and identifiable. Once he had something, he dumped Galvano's body to the street. Giordano swiftly raced across the roofs, giving Ezio the evidence, a small amulet with Galvano's family crest on it, before heading back to the hideout.

Ezio easily slipped down to the streets, passing the amulet to Sancia. The former servant went through the streets, blending in, though still stumbling from time to time, until she came across Abate. She passed the amulet off to him and headed back.

Still keeping an eye on his novices and noting what each needed to work on, he watched Abate weave through the streets to the scribe's shop. Abate would be recognized, so he didn't enter, but Migliore was there and took the amulet and slipped inside to plant it.

Meanwhile, Abate was talking to everyone in the square about this new amulet that Vincenzo was hiding in his shop, making sure that the Borgia heard it as he described it to the citizens.

Once Migliore left the shop, they all headed back to the hideout.

A week later, a herald was reporting the arrest of the scribe Vincenzo in the suspected murder of a Borgia captain that had brutally taken place just the previous week.

December and its cold rain loomed overhead and Ezio was once more locking himself in the hideout and painting. Maria's illness was progressing and Ezio could do nothing on it. She'd been ill essentially since his family had died and there was no way to just bring them back. So he painted. He painted out all his frustration and pain, he painted out the loss that was brought up and remembered.

He painted because it was all he could do.

It was in the middle of December when Gilberto stopped by and found Ezio and his canvas. Gilberto just stood there as Ezio cleaned his brushes, looking at the painting. Then he put his hand on Ezio's shoulder. They said nothing for the moment, then went to Ezio's desk downstairs in the main meeting room.

"How are you, Gilberto? And how are my novices?"

"Fine," Gilberto said, sitting down. "This group is a bit more agile than the last, but that's no surprise with Filippo there. But I have come with word on the Cento Occhi."

"So soon? Are we finally breaking their backs?"

"We've certainly made progress in that regard."

"So how can we help? Once you are free from the Cento Occhi, you can help me hunt down the Followers of Romulus."

Gilberto smiled. "Your apprentices in the countryside are still hunting. Don't worry, the people are noticing. I expect in a few months they'll have enough trust to start getting word of things."

Ezio nodded. That meant he might have to set up a base out in the fields of Rome, but that was a problem for a different time. First thing's first.

"So how can we break the Cento Occhi this time?"

"We've gotten word of a box of pardons, paroles, and payoffs that the Borgia are giving to the Cento Occhi as a peace offering after a horrible situation where a thief's scribe killed a Borgia captain." Gilberto gave a fox smile. "I'm sure you've heard of it?"

Ezio gave a proper Florentine smile of irony. "I may have."

It didn't take long to find the peace offering. The people of Roma were happy to help whenever Ezio asked questions. It seemed there was some surprising increase in guards at Trastevere so it didn't take a genius to figure it out (though Giordano took longer than expected to figure it out).

Sancia used her clumsiness to trip into the guards at an entranceway, which provided enough of an opening for Abate to slip in. Migliore kept a crossbow and quietly watched the roofs, just in case someone noticed anything. Giordano provided a different distraction at a different entrance, calling for help against a thief that had taken his purse, which gave Abate the chance to escape. Once in the streets, Ezio took the box and slipped to the crowds.

Gilberto happily took the box, knowing some of his forgers could change the pardons and the payoffs would be going into their joint coffers.

Christmas loomed closer and Ezio returned to his painting. He was determined to finish it before the sad holiday. Many late nights left his fingers frigid, but he made sure he didn't ignore his novices. He kept training them, teaching them, and making sure they could do what they had committed to do. He had given himself a tight deadline. Sleep was fleeting, but then, this time of year was always difficult. He still grieved over his mother at Federica's birthday, and this was all he could do.

It was a portrait. One of Ulderico standing and smiling, his hands on the shoulders of Maria, much younger and sitting, wearing a smile Ezio hadn't seen since he was a boy.

It wasn't enough. There were details missing, and something felt off in the positioning, but the feeling of the painting remained. Even if no one else understood outside of his family. But he could do nothing else.

Claudia's birthday was spent under the Colosseo with his novices, trying to work through his depression. Another letter came from the French Assassins, expressing sympathies with the danger their country posed to Ezio but having their hands full with the French court. Spain was still bogged down with Isabella's damned Inquisition, and that didn't even get into all the nuances in Italy itself. To pile on the frustration, the novice Sancia simply had no sense of balance, he had restricted her climbing wholesale for fear of breaking a bone – she fell even when someone bumped into her! Teaching her anything physical was a challenge, but not compared to Giordano, who even after so many months couldn't read simple words written out for him, and that didn't include Abate – a capable man overall, but with far too big a mouth and prone to boasting even minor accomplishment. Dimwitted Giordano followed along with the exploits, and the group was becoming difficult to handle, making Ezio push them even further in the races and courses under the Colosseo. He hadn't even realized it was after the second until he found Claudia sitting at his desk in the hideout, perfectly still, and glaring at him with hard eyes.

That had quickly degenerated into an argument with a fiery "You don't care!" shouted over her shoulder before storming out, breezing through the novices and muttering under her breath.

As if that wasn't bad enough, after a six month hiatus, Machiavelli returned from Cesare's front lines to witness the exit.

"I see some things haven't changed," he said.

"Do not start with me," Ezio snarled, and then winced when he realized his poor mood. "Sorry," he amended, "It has been difficult."

"Taking in degenerates and trying to teach them above their abilities would be."

"... What have you learned?" Ezio asked in a strained voice.

Machiavelli sat down, rolling out a map of Italy. Most of his news Ezio had learned from Bartolomeo, via Pantasilea, but one new bit of information was that Cesare had finally finished his siege at Piombino, adding more land to Cesare's claim. The next major campaign would be Marche: Urbino and Camerino, and Ezio perked when Machiavelli talked of the morale of troops. Several condottieri, it seemed, were weary of his cruelty, both to the people and to his own men. Ezio asked if there was anything to be done there. If he could cripple Cesare's forced from inside...

Machiavelli looked thoughtful. "It would be an interesting strategy," he said slowly. "I'll see what I can do when next I ride out. I'm here for a few weeks before I learn my next assignment."

Ezio nodded. "Do you have any major plans?"

To his everlasting astonishment, Machiavelli turned bright red. "No," he said curtly.

"... So even Niccolò Machiavelli can't turn away his Florentine heritage," Ezio said brightly, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't think it possible!"

Machiavelli didn't respond well to the teasing, however, and left the hideout in a huff. He refused to even speak with Ezio until the master assassin apologized – which he did in good humor – and asked about the recruits if for no other reason than to change topics. Ezio explained the regime he had worked out, and introduced him to the rotation he currently had. Machiavelli openly scoffed at the dimwitted Giordano and the tiny servant Sancia, and eschewed that Ezio's other recruits had better be of higher standards. Ezio offered to ride out to Volpe's inn if he was so inclined, but the Florentine diplomat declined, citing more pressing business like reconnecting with contacts and seeing what fruits time had born. The poor evaluation left the recruits in a bad mood, Sancia burst into tears and Migliore worked himself ragged for the rest of the day, leaving Giordano confused as to what happened and Abate to give scathing words – forcing Ezio to talk to him about respecting others and ordering them all to Rosa in Fiore for the next week just to be rid of them.

Throwing his hands up in defeat, he went out for a walk to clear his head.

He got as far as crossing the Ponte Cestio before he heard an incessant hiss.

"Pst! Ezio! Over here!"

The master assassin blinked, surprised to hear his given name. Everyone outside the hideout called him Messere, or Maestro; few indeed even knew his surname. Even in the hideout, the novices and apprentices all called him Maestro, Claudia and Machiavelli were the only people in the city proper to call him by his given name. Who would do that? Who would even know it?

Taking a left he walked down a small flight of steps to a small vista of the river, gondolas gliding by in the evening light.

"Who is there?" he demanded, hand by his sword.

"Ezio!"

Stiffening, he turned, shocked. His beard had grown out again, his face aged for his fifty years; but his eyes were still bright, still curious, and his smile was still winning. "Leonardo!" Relief swept through Ezio, worry for his friend for the past two years finally abating as he saw him, arms wide. The master assassin stepped up gladly. "Come here!" he said brightly, the two quickly embracing. Leonardo gripped his friend tightly.

"I thought you were dead!" the painter muttered, "But I knew you were behind the break-in at Sant'Angelo! It is good to see you, friend..."

Ezio had to pry the painter off, pulling him to arm's length, drinking in his friend's face. "I was so worried when Milan fell to the French, I lost track of the letters I sent but there was never a reply. Where have you been? How have you been?"

"How did you ever survive the attack on Monteriggioni?"

The two asked their questions simultaneously, and they laughed, patting each other's shoulders and arms and just looking at each other, so glad were they for the reunion.

"I must take you to the hideout," Ezio said. "You must see what I've been doing. I painted a portrait of Zio Mario, I think you'd like it, and I just finished one of Mother and Ulderico, and I have to ask you about the Codex inventions, do you still have that apprentice of yours, Salai? I can introduce you to the novices – can you believe that I've been-"

"Sh, sh, sh!" Leonardo said quickly, raising a finger to quiet Ezio. The normally carefree painter looked around nervously, up the steps and down an alley, glancing at roofs.

"Leonardo, what is it?" Ezio asked, incredulous that his friend, his flighty, easily distracted, infinitely inquisitive friend, was being so paranoid about his surroundings. To his surprise, Leonardo physically winced at the question, turning pained eyes to the master assassin.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "The Borgia have commandeered my services."

… What?

"... What?"

"Actually, they would have killed me had I refused."

Ezio took in the information, still incredulous. "What do they want?"

The question seemed to make Leonardo even more paranoid, he looked about more – like a coiled spring ready to bolt, and Ezio put a hand on the painter's shoulder, calling on his eagle and looking around. He saw no traces of red, no triggers of gold, and he nodded to his friend. Leonardo sagged against the rail over the river, running a hand through his beard and hair. "I didn't think I could actually shake them off, I kept seeing guards everywhere and I didn't know if they were supposed to follow me or not. I think the Borgia know I knew you.. or at least I suspect as much. I had to, otherwise I would have led anyone following me right to you and I didn't want that... I've been looking for you every free moment I had... but I didn't even know where to start... I couldn't believe when I saw you..."

"It's alright, Leonardo," Ezio said, touching his friend's arm. "There's nobody here, not in this part of the city."

"What does that mean? No, better I don't ask. Oh, Ezio..."

The master assassin, it seemed, was not the only one who had had a difficult two years, and Ezio let the painter have his moment, slowly unwinding. He almost disappeared to get a flagon of wine, but he couldn't bring himself to leave his friend now that they had found each other again, and so he leaned against the rail, watching the river, and waited. After several minutes, he touched Leonardo's arm again, softly getting his attention. "The Borgia have commandeered you. To do what? What do they want?"

"War machines. I have constructed weapons for all the Borgia guards and other terrible monstrosities besides. They are very well designed, Ezio. Here," he said, pressing a rolled bit of parchment into the master assassin's hands. "The names of the Templars overseeing their construction. Cesare intends to supply his army with my creations."

"How would you even know how to construct war machines?"

"... The Apple. In Forli. I saw many things inside it."

"And you're building them?"

"Not exactly," Leonardo said slowly. "They are very well designed, Ezio, but the designs are not complete. They look good on paper, but there are certain things I... neglected to include, and they will never work. They don't know that. Yet. But in time they will, and I will no doubt reap the consequences."

Ezio looked at the list in his hands, realizing just what Leonardo was asking. Even his friend, innocent of the Brotherhood and its inner workings, was now forced to turn to Ezio for aid. As soon as the machines were put to trial, the painter was a good as dead. "Grazie, for trusting me with this," Ezio said. "I will take care of the plans and the men building them."

"There is far graver news, I am afraid," Leonardo said, rubbing his beard and shifting his weight. "They have the Apple."

The main gates blowing open, Mario on his knees, Cesare lifting the cursed ball up into the air... All the pain swept over Ezio, and he took several moments to master it. "Yes, I know," Ezio replied, his voice tight with memory. "I gave the Apple to Mario. They captured him... and killed him..."

"I am sorry, Ezio," Leonardo said softly, touching the master assassin's arm. "Cesare left it in my hands to study, to make it work. Then Rodrigo took it from me, I know not where."

A new problem, then. Ezio had decimated the pope's inner circle over the last twenty-plus years, leaving few people indeed for the Spaniard to trust with such a responsibility. It was also telling that he had, essentially, revoked Cesare's decision to study the Apple. Did that mean something? Dissension in the ranks? He needed information; that meant Machiavelli or Gilberto. Ezio rubbed his eyes, not wanting an argument with either man – either on the trustworthiness of Machiavelli or the worthiness of training novices. Why couldn't they work together? Still, it was more than Volpe had been able to discover in two years.

"I will recover it in time," Ezio said. He looked out over the river, watching the gondolas again. "Leonardo, I have lost all the Codex inventions you once fashioned for me."

The painter turned to look at Ezio, his eyes flitting down to his unarmed right arm, seeing the truth of it. "Hmm," he said slowly, talking more to himself than Ezio. "Remaking them will be easy, I never forget a design. I can pass it off as a miniature of the war machines, or maybe testing metal strengths? I can do it at night when the rest are asleep... But you must compensate me for the raw material," he added, facing Ezio.

The master assassin blinked, openly surprised. "Really?" he asked. Leonardo had never charged for making Ezio's equipment, indeed he was thrilled for the opportunity, loving the challenge, or even seeing if some of the items were even possible. To be so hard pressed for florins... "They are not paying you at Il Vaticano?"

Leonardo openly snorted. "Very... very little," he said, the bitter sarcasm foreign in his bright tenor. He rubbed his beard again, scratching at his cheek and his hair. "If we are to do this, we must appear to not meet at all."

"Agreed. We don't need to give them any reason to suspect anything. How can we arrange to meet? Do you have access to a pigeon coup?"

"No, even if we coded the letters they would wonder what it was all about. I have a better idea."

Leonardo pushed off the rail and knelt down at a nearby bench, pulling out a stick of chalk and making quick, gestural strokes on the stone. Finished, he stood and looked to his friend.

"... A hand pointing?" Ezio asked, a little dubious.

"It's pointing to where you should sit," Leonardo said brightly, his old spirit bleeding through. "So, sit!"

Another harebrained idea of the painter, but ingenious in its oddity. "Yes, maestro," Ezio said lightly, taking a seat, Leonardo following suit.

"Ah," the painter said. "I've been on my feet all day looking for you."

"You've become an old man, my friend."

"I'm fifty years old, Ezio. I'd hate to see how I ache when I'm sixty." Leonardo stretched before crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. "How did you survive? The attack, I mean? The Vatican was dancing on your grave for over a year, saying your body was dragged through the streets."

"... I almost didn't," Ezio said quietly, explaining in clipped, pained words about Mario's murder and his being shot, Ulderico's sacrifice and the frenzied escape through the underground tunnels. Leonardo, in turn, talked about his flight from Milan, stopping off at Venice and Rome before settling in Florence, where the Borgia had found him. His work had been kept a secret, but now they were announcing his employment, forcing him to come to Rome to be more closely monitored.

"So," Leonardo said slowly. It was sunset now, only a few gasps of light clinging to the world. "How may I be of service?"

"Hidden blades," Ezio said. "I have my eyes on a smith who is skilled enough to make them, but I can't just give him this," he lifted his forearm, "and have him reverse engineer the design. I need a copy of it so he can make it; and it will take some of the pressure off you, because I am soon going to need quite a few hidden blades."

Leonardo nodded, his bright eyes already drawing conclusions from Ezio's minimal explanation. "I can do that. What else?"

"Poison darts," Ezio said. He did not know how to explain the novices to Leonardo without putting the painter in further danger. Leonardo likely already figured it out, but Ezio wanted to keep everything plausibly deniable.

"That might be more difficult, casting the metal is not easy, not without making it brittle. Show me some of his work and I can judge if he's good enough for that. Has the fire arm taken any damage?"

"No."

"Let me see, just to be certain." And, like he always did, Leonardo reached into Ezio's personal space and yanked at his arm, turning it this way and that, examining Ezio's hidden blade and noting every nick, every dent, every pull of leather. "You need to clean the barrel more," he muttered, "the powder is damaging the metal, but I can give you a solution to clean that... and this spring here... Wait here. I will be back soon. I must return to my workshop."

Ezio blinked. "Just like that...?"

"I knew you were alive, Ezio," Leonardo said. "I've known it for six months, and I knew I had to do something."

Leonardo looked around, nervous tension seeping back into him, before getting up and walking (almost) calmly down an alley and out to a street.

Ezio leaned back on the bench. He would tail Leonardo to the painter's workshop, but not now, not when he was already so stressed. The hours dragged by, Ezio locked in place because he did not want to miss Leonardo's arrival or give his best friend more reason to worry, but it was almost midnight when he finally returned.

"Here," he said. "The compensation is in the blade plans, as is the name of my banker."

Ezio nodded, taking the parchment, and marveling when he saw a second hidden blade unwrapped in cloth. "When... How...?"

Leonardo smiled, slightly bitter. "When I thought you were dead... I wanted a reminder of you... somehow..."

The emotion of it swept over Ezio, and he pulled the painter into another hug, clapping his back and squeezing extra hard. "Amico mio," he said softly.

They talked softly for another twenty minutes or so, heedless of the obscenely late hour, and Ezio let Leonardo leave first, sitting only for another ten minutes before getting up and tracing the painters steps very discretely. The workshop was on the east side of the central part of the city, nondescript, and Ezio noted it in his mind before backtracking and taking a circuitous route to the warehouse.

Machiavelli was there, even at two in the morning, and sitting at the main desk.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, rubbing his face. "I've been here since eight; the novices said you were out for a walk; what 'walk' takes so long?"

Ezio frowned, thinking of Leonardo's position, the danger he was in, and the painfully tight lid Machiavelli kept with his own circle of spies. "We all have our secrets," he said simply, face carefully blank.

The Florentine diplomat frowned and the surprisingly vague answer and Ezio met the gaze evenly. Machiavelli nodded, understanding on some level. The pair went to bed, and the next morning Machiavelli explained what he had wanted to talk to Ezio about. "I took the liberty of setting up a means of communication with your recruits. We send orders via carrier pigeon. I know you have the apprentices you collected out in the countryside looking for the Followers of Romulus, this will save time riding out there for check-ins. Also, I have a list of contracts that will take you out of the country; carrier pigeon would be simpler."

"Thank you, Machiavelli," Ezio said. "It has come to my attention that Cesare intends to make war machines," he added, pulling out his list that Leonardo had risked so much to deliver to him. "The last thing he needs is more artillery, but I was able to acquire a list of names and locations: Colli Albani, Napoli, Valnerina, and Monte Circeo. The designs need to be destroyed, and the Templars building them killed."

Machiavelli blinked. "How did you even discover this? I've been with Cesare for six months and he gave no hint of this."

"I said before, we all have our secrets," Ezio said with a Florentine smile.

"... I see."

"Not so easy when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?"

Machiavelli scoffed but said nothing, instead pulling out a map of Rome and pointing out the pigeon coops he had acquired with Ezio's funds and how the system worked. The method was rather clever, leaving no evidence of Assassin involvement, and Ezio briefed the rotation he had on the scheme, wincing as the dullard Giordano failed to understand any of it. Ezio assigned them to memorize where they were and then travel to as many of them as possible to see how well they did and set them off in pairs.

Soon after, Gilberto arrived with more news: Lucrezia Borgia was getting married.

"That is nothing new," Machiavelli said, "The pope has been looking for a suitable third husband for months, hoping to sell her off to acquire even more power."

"But his choice is most interesting," Volpe said in a tightly controlled voice. "Alfonso d'Este of Ferrara."

"Really?" Ezio asked. "A duchess? I would have thought a higher rank more desirable."

"After the scandal over her child a few years ago, few men indeed would have her," Volpe said. "The wedding is in February. Now, Alfonso is not an actor, but he isn't the only man she is bedding. There is a poet, Pietro Bembo, and a chevalier from France, I don't know his name yet. There are at least two others that I know of, but Pope Alexander keeps her very well guarded. My spies are having a hard time sneaking in to watch her. I'm sorry, Ezio, but I need more time."

"Take the time you need," Ezio replied. "We still don't know who Cesare is trusting with his French forces, only that it is a Valois, and that family is noticeably big."

"French royalty tends to be," Machiavelli said with a dry voice. "And we still don't know the name of the Banker. Has Claudia come up with anything, or are you two still fighting?"

Ezio's mood soured immediately, and not long after he was entering the subtle scents of Rosa in Fiore to try and make peace with his sister.

Any thoughts of that died on his lips when he saw Federica, Federica, in the main salle talking to several courtesans. Claudia had vowed the girl would not learn the ways of the courtesans, what...?

His niece caught sight of him and her thirteen year old face lit up. "Zio 'zio!" she said brightly.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

The young teen's face immediately soured. "Mother was right," she said turning back to the courtesans and addressing Lucia, oil and vitriol in her voice. "He's a man just like any other: nothing is right if he does not personally approve of it. Women are sacrosanct to be caged unless their purity is already soiled; then they are nothing but-"

"Federica," Lucia said in a hard voice, back straight. "How many times have I told you those words are not shared in front of men? This is why you can always be spotted, you draw too much attention to yourself. Maestro," she added, looking to the sputtering master assassin, "I will handle the child. Your sister is in her office." She paused, before adding, "You hurt her, that day."

"Don't tell him that!" Federica hissed. "He needs to hurt the way she hurt."

"Federica," Lucia said, grabbing the girl's wrist, yanking her up the stairs to a private salle and discipline her properly. Ezio watched with aghast eyes, tension building in his muscles and his jaw and his fists before he stormed to Claudia's office.

"Federica was in the main salle, why?" he demanded without preamble.

Claudia looked up from the book she was pouring over, surprised at first to see Ezio. Then her gaze hardened and she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "She doesn't understand how much attention her mouth draws to herself, I put her there to watch the experts. She knows how smart Lucia and the others are, but she needs to see the difference in how they are versus how they present themselves. I take it she mouthed off to you?"

"She hates me!"

"She hates me, too, Ezio," Claudia said, gesturing for him to sit. "The girls tell me it is normal; every girl will come to hate everyone as she becomes a woman. I remember how much I hated you and Federico when I was young, so it makes sense."

The offhanded comment brought Ezio up short, his anger fizzling out to sudden confusion. "You hated us?"

"Of course I did, Ezio," Claudia replied. "As far as I was concerned, you two were the reason I couldn't find a husband. Do you have any idea how difficult that is for a girl? To know that being a spinster and all the negative attention that entails is approaching? To know that your father had to buy someone off to marry you?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I was a child, I thought I was perfect and the rest of the world was composed of idiots. When Father and Federico and Petruccio died..." her face clouded, memory and pain twisting on her features. "I learned a lot when that happened."

Ezio marveled, staring at his sister. "... I never knew any of this..."

And Claudia gave him a smile that was almost sympathetic. "How could you?" she asked. "You never had to worry about your marriage, you had Cristina. And after... men don't have to get married, Ezio, so it never concerned you."

… But it should have. He remembered how he felt when he saw his sister settling for Duccio, remembered the worry Maria brought to Giovanni over and over and over about finding her a husband, remembered the long string of suitors that passed their doors. It had been a huge deal at the time, but Ezio was too busy with his own life, too busy with Cristina and practicing his French and running errands for his father. Claudia had been grateful to Duccio for willing to be her husband; and Duccio demanding she open her legs for him before the wedding, forcing Ezio to throw him aside and put her future in jeopardy again... No wonder she had a temper as a teen. And now Federica...

Ezio sighed, all the air exiting his lungs. He put his elbows at his knees and held his head, running his fingers through his hair before pulling at his hood.

After a long moment he looked up, watching Claudia from the other side of the desk. She was back to her books, letting him have his moment, face lost in concentration. Had it been a month since her birthday already?

"... I'm sorry," he said slowly, tired. "I'm sorry I missed your birthday."

Her quill froze, Claudia looking up to measure his sentiment.

"You always came when you were home," she said quietly, emotion struggling to bleed through her voice.

Ezio shook his head, looking down at his hands. "I have no excuse – not a good one, at any rate. You've seen this rotation of novices, they are difficult and frustrating, the French and Spanish assassins are having troubles, Machiavelli brought more news from Cesare, and Mother... and there's just so much to do. I can't seem to find the time, and when I do I lose track of it."

Claudia nodded, leaning back in her chair. "It wasn't easy, running Zio Mario's accounts. No, you can't compare that. It isn't easy running the bordello," she amended, gesturing. "Even after two years I'm still fighting off the debt Madonna Solari accrued, and the girls always need pointers and tricks and lessons. Now that the clientele is regular, finding time to teach them is almost impossible; and that doesn't take in the new girls I have to bring in when one of them winds up dead in a gutter somewhere that I have to train from scratch. Then there's sifting through all the information they report to me and building up a map of the Vatican politics." She pointed to the book she had been working in.

"But you know what?" she asked, leaning forward, putting her elbows on the desk. "Every Sunday without fail, no matter what I'm doing, I go to church with Mother and Federica, and then we all have dinner together at the apartment. No work is discussed, and for a few hours, everything is like it used to be. Almost." She looked away, pained.

"I have a portrait," Ezio said, shifting his weight in his chair. "I painted it in December. I think you should have it."

Claudia smirked. "Is that my birthday present?"

He offered a faint, Florentine grin. "Yes."

Halfway through March the final rotation ended, and Ezio had his twelve novices all under one roof again. After over six months of training some of the changes were obvious: many of them were more fit than they had ever been in their lives, the women all carried a confidence in their steps that was rare to most underprivileged women, everyone carried themselves differently. Almost all of them could read, and fluently no less. Ezio mixed and matched them, assessing how their new skills suited them, deciding what his next course of action would be, when Lucia appeared again.

"Maestro," she said smoothly. "The maestra had sent me. One of my clients, a Senator, has given me some startling information. The Senator and I have uncovered the planned meeting place of the Borgia and the foreign ambassadors. You have killed the ambassadors," several novices smiled at their achievements, "now those who plotted with them must be stopped. They go to decide how to create a new net of ambassadors to corrupt; I can show you where, but I leave the rest to you. We must ride."

"Excellent," Ezio said. He turned to his novices. "All of you, saddle up, we're going for a ride."

Ezio learned over the next two hours that, even with Bartolomeo having trained them, some of the novices didn't have the faintest clue how to ride. He sighed, another item on his list.

By noon, Lucia reined in her horse, looking at Ezio and his entourage. "The villa is up this road," she said, pointing with her chin. "I cannot be seen beyond this point."

"Grazie," Ezio said, "For what you have done."

"I will return to Rosa in Fiore."

Ezio dismounted, his novices following suit. "Migliore, Filippo, Alighiero, I want you three to scout out the villa looking for all possible entry points. Sancia, Candida, Elda, Vittoria, learn the guard patrols; get some baskets, look like women on errands. Sozzi, Taddeo, Gaspare, Abate, pair off and try to scout out the nearby heights, anything for crossbows. Giordano, run between the three and keep me posted. Do you all understand?"

"Si, Maestro."

"Move."

The dozen disappeared, the girls lowering their hoods and shifting their clothes to look more like wives and mothers, Candida filching baskets from a stand and Vittoria filling them with some produce. They all giggled simultaneously, and in that instant they blended in with the crowds. They could stop and talk for hours, the guards none the wiser as they watched. His three best, Migliore, Filippo, and Alighiero also disappeared into the crowds, Alighiero with a bit of parchment and charcoal to draw or write down what he saw. Those three were his best students, the most well-rounded and the greatest potential; Ezio knew they were the best choice to find entrances and exits. He was most worried about Sozzi, Taddeo, Abate, and Gaspare. Gaspare and Sozzi were not the best climbers, not yet, and Taddeo was not the most observant, but sniping positions would not be the most critical part of the assault, at least for now. Giordano, he gave the only position he could do with any real skill.

Ezio would not be idle, either, and he scouted out a bell tower nearby and climbed it, calling on his eagle to make his own observations. The villa had an extravagant inner courtyard, and the wall surrounding the building was a testament to its wealth and also its privacy. It was a great location for the Borgia to meet and plan with no interruptions. He saw several perimeter guards and noted their locations, watching as the girls were doing the same and tracing out their routes. He saw the sniper group on the rooftops, overtly clumsy, and Ezio thanked God that there were practically no guards on the nearby roofs. It would have been a farce if there were. He did not see his primary scouts, and that was a testament to their skills. From his vantage point he saw several viable points of entry – especially at night, and made his notes, curious to see how his novices did with this test he had laid out for them.

There were no perfect places for snipers, he had expected as much this far into the country, and as he took stalk of the villa a plan began to formulate in his mind to use his novices. With so many he would have to vary how they entered, but there were at least three ways he could play this. Hm...

"Maestro?"

Blinking Ezio turned to see not Giordano but Enu, the dark skinned apprentice climbing the bell tower and marveling to see the master assassin. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Ezio gestured towards the villa. "We received word that a meeting was going to be held of Borgia men, to decide what ambassadors to next corrupt and use to build influence in other countries. You?"

"We've been trailing a papal guard," Enu said, joining his mentor. "He might have a connection to the Followers of Romulus, we wanted to see if he was going to meet them."

"Interesting," Ezio said, calling on his eagle, instantaneously seeing the flash of gold, the papal guard dressed as a merchant, riding up the path with an air of arrogance and entering the villa without even a glance of the guards. "Perhaps we can ascertain more if we capture some of these men alive. Are the others with you?"

"Si, Maestro. Vecellio and Varzi. The others are following a different lead."

"Good, have them make their own rounds. I want to see what the novices see, what you see, and compare them to what I see. We'll rough out an assault at sunset."

"Si, Maestro."

As the sun began stretching the shadows and the air turned from chill to cold, Ezio gathered up almost his entire brotherhood and compared notes. The girls collectively had done an extremely impressive job; being together made them all feel more confident on the whole, and made them more observant. Ezio filed that information away for later. Migliore, Filippo, and Alighiero found the obvious entrances: weak walls, poorly patrolled areas, etc., and were impressed when the apprentices Vecellio, Varzi, and Enu spouted ideas on how to sneak in through the main gates. Ezio put them all to shame, however, when he pointed out the tunnels he had been rebuilding being connected to the waterways and therefore connected to the well of the villa. The sniper scouts did not find good vantage points, as Ezio expected, but the scenario gave them more robust life skills.

"Now," Ezio said, "How to we use this to our advantage?"

Ezio listened to several good plans, and finally issued his orders as the last of the sunlight fell.

"Enu, you're our best archer, take Sozzi and Migliore and Abate with you and position yourself. You will be our backup, if anything goes wrong, make it rain arrows and cover our escape. Varzi, take the girls and find courtesan costumes. Come in the main gate as an entourage looking for refuge for the night. Look like you've just come from a party, act drunk. Get to the kitchens and poison anything you can find. You know what to look for. If the assault fails, that, too, will be the fallback. Vecellio, take Taddeo, Giordano, and Filippo. After the girls have been in the villa for an hour, start a fight by the east gate, draw as many onlookers or participants as you can." He gave Vecellio a meaningful look, knowing he had given the apprentice the two idiots and silently ordering him to be very careful. "Alighiero, Gaspare, and I will sneak in through these three points," he added, pointing to the map. "We'll be responsible for the assassinations. The girls will join us when we've finished. Do we know how many men to expect?"

"A dozen, Maestro," Vecellio said. "Thirteen, with the papal guard."

Ezio nodded. "The papal guard is mine," he emphasized. "I want him alive, do you understand?"

Everyone nodded.

Two hours after the supper hour, Enu and his team was set up, and Ezio watched as Varzi and her girls stumbled their way up to the main gate, giggling and swaying and guzzling a bottle of wine. Elda sang a hymn of some kind, her voice clear even from where the master Assassin was standing. He watched, tense, ready to spring if anything went wrong, but the guards danced with the girls for several turns before letting them in, the captain himself leading him to a place to sleep. Ezio took a deep breath, glad the first phase went off without a hitch.

An hour later, Ezio was in a different location and watching as Vecellio began his diversion. The master assassin heard "Stop! Thief! Bastardo!" and watched Filippo run full tilt under lamplight, Giordano hot on his heels, and bowling over two of the guards. That was all Ezio had time to witness before he easily scaled the wall of the villa and landed in the deep shadows of the property, watching more guards be drawn into the conflict at the east gate and slipping from shadow to shadow before scaling the villa itself and landing in the inner courtyard. Alighiero was already there, his presence white to his eagle, and ten minutes later the scrivener Gaspare climbed out of the well.

They all nodded, and Ezio picked the lock to the villa, stepping aside and letting the other two sneak in. Alighiero was utterly silent, Gaspare less so but making up for it in alertness, and soon the three broke apart to do their dirty work.

The villa itself was massive, three stories and comprised of several wings. It was tedious to check every room on silent boots, avoiding the inside watch and then checking another room.

Eventually, Ezio came across one room with a light still on, he could see it spilling out from under the door frame. The door itself was locked, he could tell from silently testing it. Frowning, he tested the door to a different room and found it open. Sneaking in, Ezio jimmied the window open and looked about; there was a guard walking by, Ezio could no longer hear the sounds of a scuffle, meaning Vecellio's work was done. Swinging out of the window, Ezio easily found the right hand and foot holds to grip and started to edge his way to the next window over. The window was ajar, letting the cold air in, but he could smell the smoke of a fire inside. Peeking up over the lip, he saw two of the Borgia men by the fire, deep in conversation. The master assassin slowly worked the window further open – silently – and took another assessment of how to kill both men silently. If he could manipulate one of them to the door...

A low crash and a shouted curse erupted from somewhere, followed by a shriek, and any chance of things going smoothly just blew up in his face. Cursing, he hoisted himself into the room and pulled out a throwing knife, throwing it unfailingly at the first man even as he ran the five steps it took to overtake the second; the man barely had time to turn around before Ezio grabbed his shoulder and shoved his hidden blade into the soft tissues of the neck.

He waited a beat at the door, hearing more sounds of a scuffle, and saw four guards run down his hallway.

Merda, merda, merda, merda, MERDA! What had happened?

He saw several men going to the halls, asking what was going on. Ezio sighed to himself and marched his way down on silent feet, his hidden blade stabbing one back after another, bodies falling within three steps of his leaving it to stab the next. He had four men down when anyone finally realized they were in danger. Then they started to run.

Figli di puttana!

A tiny growl escaped his throat as he gave chase, pulling out a throwing knife when a smoke bomb erupted, and Ezio could just barely see the outline of Alighiero. When the smoke dissipated, he gave a confused look to Ezio, but the master assassin shook his head, he didn't know what happened either.

"Maestro, we have a problem."

"Varzi, what happened?"

"Sancia happened, Maestro, she tripped entering a room and alerted the entire floor. She and Gaspare are trapped." The apprentice pulled up her courtesan corset again, free hand gripping a knife. "I don't know where the others are."

"If they're smart they're getting out of here," Ezio muttered, cursing. "Both of you, come with me."

Varzi and Alighiero flanking him, the master assassin strode down to the floor below. No less than a dozen guards were massed at the far end of a hall, Ezio could just make out a girl and a novice – Sancia and Gaspare. "Sneak up on them," Ezio whispered, knowing that stealth would give them the surprise necessary to kill in greater numbers. His ears picked up a different noise, and as his two companions advanced, Ezio glanced out a window to see a second scuffle, this time of Candida and Elda, in the courtyard. Ezio would have thought nothing of it, save for the fact that Elda was on her knees, swaying back and forth, leaving Candida to do the majority of the fighting in a low-cut corset. Cursing his bad luck Christ this is turning into a total clusterfuck, Ezio glanced at Varzi and Alighiero and silently trusted them to handle the situation. He threw a knife into the back of one of the guards to help things along, and then yanked open a window and leapt, landing two stories below.

Drawing the sword of Altair, Ezio marched into the fray and stabbed one guard in the back, shoving his body away and slashing at another, drawing attention to himself to relieve the pressure off of Candida. He was a demon, slashing and hacking and weaving his way through the guards before they really understood what was happening. Two arrows appeared in the middle of the fray, and Ezio knew that Enu's group, at least, was doing their job properly.

"What happened?" he grunted, shoving a body off his blade.

"The captain of the guards," Candida said, dagger in one hand and the other trying to hold her corset together. "He found us in the halls and wanted to have us. I tried to distract him but-" a guard swung at the former courtesan and she gave a frustrated growl, throwing decency to the wind and fighting with both hands, her corset falling away and leaving her half naked in the fight. Several guards sputtered at the site, and that gave her the advantage she needed to slash at their throats and their abdomens, Ezio following in quick succession to finish off those that suffered an improper strike. More arrows were flying, and soon the courtyard was empty.

Ezio strained his ears, trying to listen for the inside even as he gave the two women orders. "Get to the tunnels," he said, "Meet back at the hideout."

"Si, Maestro," Candida said, pulling at the sobbing Elda and trying to coax her into the well at the center of the courtyard.

Ezio made his way back into the villa, climbing the stairs to where he had left the fight. Bodies were everywhere, but Varzi and the novices were nowhere to be seen. No noises could be heard except for his own bootfalls, so he made a sweep of the house as quickly as he could, finding several Borgia men in a meeting room, and all dead. Someone had done their job, he thought, but he found no sign of the papal guard.

Unable to do more, Ezio leapt out a different window and climbed the villa walls, darting to the assigned meeting place. Vecellio's group was there, as was Enu's, but not the others. "What happened?" he demanded as soon as he arrived.

"Varzi took some of us back to the hideout," Vecellio said. "The scrivener was badly injured, as was the mute. She treated the injuries as best she could on site – I don't have the head for that yet and Enu wasn't here – and then went west. She wouldn't take the horses, she didn't want to draw attention to herself; I think she took the Terme di Diocleziano tunnel."

"When did she leave?"

"An hour ago. You were in there for a very long time, Maestro."

"What happened?" Enu asked softly.

"I don't know for certain, but when I do there will be hell to pay," Ezio said. "Take the horses, spread out and take different routes back, no more than twos and threes. Be back at the hideout in two hours."

Ezio grabbed his own horse and pushed it into a full gallop. He wanted to get to the hideout first and attend to the injured, get Dante if he hadn't already been woken up, and find out what the hell had gone wrong.

Machiavelli was waiting for him, silently guiding him to the largest room in the warehouse where Dante and everyone else was clustered around a fire while the doctor treated them. Elda was still rocking back and forth, whatever had happened to her still affecting her. Candida sported a bandage on her head and gauze on her arm as it hung in a sling. Alighiero held his side delicately, and Gaspare was stretched out on the floor, Dante giving orders to Sancia as he sewed the scrivener's stomach closed. They were a sight. Everyone looked up when the master assassin entered, and several looked away.

Ezio forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out before kneeling by Dante and asking what he could do.

By dawn the work was finally done.

It was also dawn when Vittoria, utterly forgotten about, wandered stiffly into the hideout white as a sheet, shivering with frozen fingers and toes, and collapsed to bed without a word. Ezio could find no wounds on her, neither could Dante, and for the moment they covered her in blankets and let her sleep.

"The woman who brought the others in," Dante said to Ezio privately, the two washing up after the prolonged surgery. "She did an excellent job treating them. We would have lost that boy if not for her work."

"I know," Ezio said, rubbing his eyes, exhausted.

"If the boy follows my instructions, he will make a full recovery. He is lucky."

"I know."

"Maestro..."

"Si?"

Dante looked at the master assassin for a long time, his mask loose by his chin. "Sleep, Maestro," he said, "Before you make any decision."

Everyone else in the hideout was, and Ezio agreed that it was for the best, and though he slept he did not rest; his dreams plagued with images: the slaughter he had committed on the bridge, the faces of his novices superimposed over the mass murder, watching his family hang, Cristina dying in his arms as she gave him his necklace, listening to Ulderico sacrifice himself, Mario being shot.

When he woke, he sought out the Florentine diplomat and explained everything he knew of what had happened: the plan, the reasoning behind splitting up the novices as he did, the crash and the fighting, the half-given story in the courtyard. "I need your help to find out what happened," he said finally.

Machiavelli's eyes narrowed. "What happened is that you trusted an important mission to incompetent people. Ezio, I've told you this before: the people will not help you. They cannot, because they cannot lift their heads enough to see the world as it truly is. Trying to teach them will only bring about catastrophes like this."

"I am not here to argue, Machiavelli, I'm asking for your help," Ezio hissed, his golden eyes dark and dangerous. "Do you disagree with me so deeply that you would watch me fail and do nothing to learn from it?"

The diplomat blinked. Nothing more. And, after a long pause, simply said, "As you wish."

"Then get the archers in here. We'll start with them."

Almost as soon as Machiavelli led in the four archers, the merchant Sozzi opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, Maestro," he said quickly, sitting in a chair and clutching his knees. "I think my arrow was the one that hurt Candida. I've never shot a bow at night, I thought I knew what I was looking at, but then she staggered back...! I didn't mean it, I swear! I compromised the Creed, I brought harm to the Brotherhood...!"

"Slow down," Ezio said, his voice clipped. "Start at the beginning."

Enu, the most experienced of the quartet, gave most of the report: watching the women enter, watching the diversion, and then seeing candles being lit one by one in a frantic hurry. Enu had already ordered bows ready when two of the women, entered the central courtyard, and the apprentice gave the order to fire. Sozzi panicked when he realized he had wounded a sister, and stopped firing for fear of doing more harm, leaving only three archers. No sooner had the scuffle in the courtyard been finished, however, when Varzi and her group came running out of the villa, several guards hot on her heels, that Enu and Migliore then put down. Ezio asked what Abate was doing.

"The guards were not the only ones running from the villa," he said with pride. "I saw some of the Borgia men escaping out the back, and I put them down."

"How did you know they were Borgia men?" Ezio asked.

Abate blinked. "They were from the villa. Of course they were Borgia men."

Ezio's voice turned ice cold. "And if they were servants? Or stable workers? Or the papal guard?"

The novice gulped.

"And what about your own brothers and sisters who were in trouble? Did they mean nothing to you?"

"..."

"Well?" Ezio demanded in a deadly whisper.

"M... Maestro, it was just the women. You already knew they weren't going to do much, just poison some food and bed the guards to keep the eyes off of you and Gaspare and Alighiero. If Sancia messed up again..."

"Finish that sentence," Ezio ordered.

Abate gulped again, shifting nervously in his chair. Ezio held the man's eyes with his molten glare for almost a full minute before he dismissed them. Then he leveled his glare to Machiavelli before the diplomat could say anything and sent for Vecellio's group.

Taddeo and Giordano, predictably, had little to say. Vecellio explained that the distraction went off without a hitch; he and Taddeo chasing after the extremely fast Giordano and Filippo, and how the scuffle drew quite the crowd before they dispersed. They heard the commotion in the villa, of course, and Vecellio had moved in to intercept the guards that were chasing Varzi's group when the archers wiped them out. Filippo confirmed that the papal guard had indeed been killed by an arrow. Afterwards the apprentice had ordered them to hide the bodies, which they had only just finished with the outside corpses when Ezio finally arrived at the meeting place. The master assassin had not even thought of that, and was even further impressed when Vecellio put in the work of hiding the bodies in the villa itself before returning.

Alighiero came in next and, mute as he was, came prepared with a bit of parchment explaining everything he saw and did the night before. He had managed to kill two men before the crash, and helped Varzi try and take down the guards assaulting Sancia and Gaspare, explaining how Sancia had once again famously tripped to push Gaspare into bad footing, leaving him wide open for the sword slash that Dante and Ezio had spent so much time trying to fix. With him down they were almost outnumbered, Alighiero had taken a blow to his ribs from a mace but persevered to kill two more guards. Varzi, the mute novice noted, was a marvel to behold.

Candida and Elda were next. The former nun sat forlorn in her chair, while the former courtesan sat with her back straight and her eyes looking straight ahead. "What happened?" Ezio asked.

"We were making our way along the north wing," Candida said with clipped tones, "when the captain that brought us in found us. I told him we were lost in the house looking for the latrine, and he made it very clear that he wanted Elda here," she pointed with her chin, "to lay with him. I tried to distract him but he gave me this," she said pointing to the bandage on her head, "and almost took her. She was screaming blue murder by then and I had to slit his throat. Another guard saw it and it... degenerated from there."

Ezio's eyes flicked to Elda.

"Maestro," she said, her voice low, desolate. "I am still married to the Lord. It will take time but I can kill for you, for Him. But I cannot... that is the one thing..." Her eyes filled with tears, and she hid her face behind her hands. "I'm sorry, Maestro, I thought I could do anything for you, but that... that... oh...!"

Ezio nodded, letting her have her cry, before dismissing them and called in Sancia and Varzi.

"We were working the west hall," Varzi said in clipped tones. "I knew she was clumsy, Maestro, but all she did when we were sneaking in was tripping. I thought it was a ploy for the guards, she's big enough that every stumble had her pop out and the men loved it, but then she started tripping in the halls. Even barefoot she made noise and I had to stay with her to keep her from making even more of it. I had finally gotten us to the third room when she fell over a chair. I had managed to hide behind a corner in shadow, but she just giggled and tried to play it off as being lost."

"I even tried to seduce them..." Sancia offered quietly.

"No," Varzi corrected, utterly fed up. "You tried to get close to them, and then you let them see the knife in your bodice." She turned back to Ezio. "The guards were there in seconds, I knew I had to get help. I passed Gaspare on my way to you and told him what happened. What that fool boy sees in her I don't know. Alighiero and I were able to clean up the mess, but we were made when I was trying to get them out because Sancia fell down the stairs. That was when Gaspare was wounded. The others can tell you what happened after that."

"I'll try harder next time..."

"For the love of God, girl," Varzi said, swinging her head to eye her again. "If you try even harder one of us will wind up dead."

Ezio waited until he was alone with Machiavelli. "So," he said, "Once we were in the house, Sancia tripped and alerted the Borgia that we were there; Varzi went to get help while Gaspare tried to help fend off the guards. While this was going on Elda was attacked and Candida had to do the heavy lifting because of the trauma. Varzi and Alighiero save Sancia and Gaspare, but the girl trips down the stairs in the escape to make more noise, and somehow manages to accidentally shove Gaspare into a swordpoint. The archers try to handle both blowouts, but Sozzi hits Candida and is overcome with self-doubt, and that testa di cazzo Abate fires at fleeing men, killing the papal guard we wanted. Vecellio cleans up the bodies after all is said and done. What do you think?"

"I think the Sancia girl is a disaster waiting to happen. She has been training for six months, yes? She's been to Bartolomeo and Volpe. What did they say about her?"

"That she tried hard," Ezio said with muted Florentine irony.

"Get rid of her," Machiavelli said. "She's of no use to you."

"That remains to be seen."

"What? You want her to be responsible for nearly killing someone else?"

"No," Ezio said emphatically, "But I don't want to dismiss her out of hand without knowing for certain if there isn't something she can do for us. The Borgia hung her family, nearly killed her as well; she needs to do something constructive or she'll try to kill herself again like when we found her. If she's not meant for field work, there are other things she can do, spying, observation, bribery. I want to explore all the avenues. I want them to know I'm exploring all avenues."

"And just what good will that do, Ezio?" Machiavelli asked. "Do you think they will feel grateful, knowing you tried your best, when she gets someone else nearly killed like Gaspare? Do you think them loving you will change anything?"

"It's not a popularity contest," Ezio said, shaking his head. "I don't care if they love me or hate me; but I do care that they know the truth. They have been lied to for so long that they don't even know the truth when they see it, they don't even realize how much they've been wronged – and they've lost family to the Borgia. It has to start somewhere, Machiavelli, otherwise it won't start at all, and then what's the point of being an Assassin? No, I'll think of something for her."

"...Fine. Abate is a problem, too. He does not follow the Creed."

"I agree," Ezio said. "That is something I cannot overlook. How would you suggest correcting him? Or would you have me cast him out?"

Machiavelli paused, leaning back in his chair for a moment. "Construct a scenario where he has to be saved by one of the girls. That might sway him, or at least give him food for thought. His ego needs to be damaged, badly, before he will truly learn anything, though."

"Agreed. And Gaspare?"

"Lust or otherwise, he held up to the Creed."

Ezio nodded. "And who stood out to you?"

Machiavelli frowned. "Just them."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Who else was there?"

"So, Enu saving Varzi and the others did not strike you? Nor did Vecellio disposing of the bodies when no one else thought of it, nor Varzi having enough presence of mind to go for help and then treat the wounded before coming back here? Did they not provide shining examples of following the Creed? Should their bravery not be rewarded?"

"With what?"

"Maestro?"

The two looked up to see Vittoria, still sleep tousled but with much better coloring, rubbing her eyes and standing in the doorway. "Vecellio said to come see you as soon as possible..." she said slowly, still trying to wake up. With a gesture Machiavelli was up and guiding her to sit down.

"We're trying to learn what happened last night," Ezio said softly. "You didn't come back until dawn, we were very worried about you."

Still rubbing at her face, she struggled to sit up properly. "I'm not sure what there is to tell," she said slowly. "After Varzi lead us in, we split up to help with the assassinations. I heard a ruckus on the second floor, but I was on the third and in the middle of a room. I had to kill him very quickly, and then... most of the men were still asleep, and I knew I had to work very fast. I killed as many as I could, there weren't any guards upstairs; I guess they were all down where the trouble was. Several men were in one room holding a meeting of some kind. They saw me. That was... hard," she said, a ghost of an expression crossing her face, "and after that there more noises, this time outside. I couldn't find anybody else to kill, so I hid on the roof until everything calmed down. It was so cold up there... even by the chimneys... When it started to get light I made it back here."

Ezio stood, moving around his desk and sweeping the girl in a tight, warm hug. She was still cold, and the master assassin held his prize novice for a long time, willing his warmth to penetrate her, before sending her back to bed.

The next day he sent letters out to Volpe and Bartolomeo, and two weeks later they were both gathered in the largest room of the warehouse. Arianna had surprised them all with delivering ornate, beautifully hand stitched tapestries for the hideout, and Ezio had them all hung in the cavernous space, the reds giving everything a rich, warm feeling. Reflected with the golden candlelight, and the effect was even stronger, and so all the novices, sans the healing Gaspare, stood at attention, eying the brazier curiously as it burned.

"Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine," Ezio said, his rich baritone solemn, sober. "These are the words spoken by our ancestors - and lay at the heart of our Creed."

"Where men hold power over others, we remind them that they are merely men," Volpe said. "Where nobility are bigoted, we teach them the real nobility."

"Where justice is ignored, we fight for what is right," Bartolomeo said. "Where people are owned, we reveal the freedom of choice."

"Where ignorance is prevalent, we imbue knowledge," Machiavelli said.

"We are Assassins," Ezio said, voice carrying over everyone.

Machiavelli stepped forward, his face intent. "Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember:"

"...Nothing is true," the novices said.

"Where other men are limited, by morality or law, remember:"

"...Everything is permitted."

"We work in the dark to serve the light," Ezio said. "We are Assassins." He raised his hands and gestured for Vecellio, Varzi, and Enu to step forward. Their hoods were down, faces visible for all to see, as they stepped up to the dais and the brazier. Machiavelli stepped back, and Ezio took the iron tongs. "It is time," he said softly. And in perfect unison all three held out their left hands. And, slowly, with great care, Ezio branded them. They all hissed, and Machiavelli immediately provided water for their new injuries as Ezio replaced the brazier.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

They went up to the roofs, and one by one he watched the apprentices take a Leap of Faith into the Tevere.

It was different... being on the other side of the initiation. Ezio still remembered his like it was yesterday, seeing all of his teachers, the words of wisdom that they brought with them, the truth that they spoke, the feeling of being an Assassin. Now... he imagined he felt like a father would. He had been training these three for almost two years, learned about them, learned from them, watched them grow from their half trained skills to competent people who had lead a collection of novices through a difficult ordeal. Vecellio had made improvements in his temper, Enu's cool collected presence soothed everyone, Varzi was always surprising someone with her skill. They were ready for this.

They were ready.

And all Ezio could feel was pride.

Did Mario feel that way, when Ezio was inducted?

"When you first came to me, nipote, you couldn't fathom things outside your own pain. Your only focus was running to Spain with Maria and Claudia and hiding. Then, you were only focused on avenging Giovanni and your brothers - a righteous goal, but one very selfish. Now you've saved Firenze, and Venezia, for the sake of their people instead of your own goals. Even your pursuit of the Spaniard, it was to prevent him from getting the Piece of Eden, over your wish for revenge... We couldn't have hoped for a greater change. You've made me, all of us, very proud."

And the master assassin smiled, taking a leap himself, enjoying the sensation.

The next day he explained the next rotation. Gaspare would be laid up for at least two to three months, but the others now faced new groups and new rotations.

Ezio put the girls, Candida, Elda, Sancia, and Vittoria, all in one group and sent them back to Claudia. Their best work had been done together, and Ezio wanted to give them confidence before stepping up the more rigorous work of being an assassin. He also wanted a thorough analysis from his sister about what Sancia could be capable of, since he knew her only possible option was to be a spy of some kind. He also hoped being at the bordello would ease the former nun Elda into overcoming her near-rape. Ezio did not have the skills to handle that, and foisted the task off to those better equipped. He pulled Candida and Vittoria aside and let them know they were the mentors of the group. The former courtesan could roll with the unexpected, and Vittoria had proven herself to be the most resolute of all the recruits.

To Volpe he sent the master thief's former apprentice Filippo, Migliore, Alighiero, and the dimwit Giordano. They were the fastest of the twelve. His three best recruits needed intensive training in their climbing first. If they could get anywhere, Ezio could theoretically send them anywhere. He also sent a message with them to test Giordano's skills as a courier.

To Bartolomeo he sent Abate, Taddeo, and Sozzi, with specific instructions to break Abate to pieces and to build back Sozzi's confidence, and for all of them to get extra drills in archery. Pantasilea sent back a note saying Bartolomeo would take great pleasure in his instructions. Ezio felt no sympathy for them whatsoever.

With the men all gone, Ezio focused on watching the girls at the bordello, hidden, to see what he could do. Sancia took to the assignments enthusiastically, and really did "try hard," as Volpe and Bartolomeo had said, but there was a general lack of coordination that the poor girl simply couldn't get over. Even teaching her to dance did not help. Her mind wasn't particularly quick, and while she was no dimwit like Giordano or Taddeo, she did not pick up on underlying subtleties of looks and nonverbal forms of communication. She had no idea when she was annoying or irritating others, and retribution only made her try even harder. Ezio's eyes narrowed, when he finally realized the problem, and he pulled her aside.

"Why are you trying so hard?" he asked, late at night when the others were asleep.

"... Because I have to," she said slowly, uncertain if that was the right answer.

"And why do you 'have' to?" the master assassin pressed.

The girl became very quiet very quickly, her gaze disappearing into memory, before a tear rolled down her cheek. Ezio hadn't expected that, but waited for her to come to her own answer. "I always tried so hard," she said finally, looking down as another tear joined the first. "I was the youngest of six girls, did you know that? There was no money left for my dowry; I was always trying to please, trying to impress, trying to be whatever it was they wanted to be. I even tried to stop them from hanging. Then I was trying to keep the padrone of the house happy, but I was always breaking glasses or walking into rooms when I shouldn't. It just made me try harder. Maestro, if I can't do this... there's nothing left for me."

Ezio nodded. "Then stop trying."

"... What?"

"I cannot ascertain what you can do, Sancia, if you keep trying to do what you think I want you to do. I cannot know what your skills are, if you are trying to be skilled in things that are obviously beyond you. Be yourself, do only what you think you can do, and we can work from there."

She nodded, sated for the time, and Ezio watched her in the bordello and his afternoon lessons. Her clumsiness was still apparent, but slowly the master assassin was able to realize the girl had perfect recall, and he filed that away for later consideration. Elda, meanwhile, recovered from her ordeal when Ezio wasn't looking; and he assumed that was the mystery of women and left it at that. Candida and Vittoria excelled of course, and Ezio watched his first recruit blossom into a confident woman, slowly becoming secure in her femininity and accepting the work she was doing.

Outside of the bordello, Ezio taught them about the history of the Brotherhood, using them as a test to see if he could present it well enough to beat it into a certain novice's head. He shared what he remembered of Altair's Codex, talking about how women were first introduced to the Brotherhood and showing them how to use atypical ways of blending in, how to find hay stacks or flower bins or rooftop gardens in a pinch or why it was so important to run in anything but a straight line. Gaspare took part in these lessons, too, laid up as the former scrivener was, and drank in every word.

While they were working, Ezio visited his new blacksmith Etienne. His business was flourishing on the island, filling a niche and happy for the work. "I owe you so much, Monsieur," he said.

"Bene," Ezio nodded. "I was wondering. I used to have a smith to make... specialized items. He is now indisposed, and I find I need a replacement."

"Then, I am your man, Monsieur."

"Then you would not mind if I saw samplings of your best work?" And with that Ezio gave him Leonardo's outlines for crafting that would assess the man's talent. If the painter approved, Ezio would give him the plans for the hidden blade and the poison darts.

When he came back, he saw Machiavelli rushing to get out of the hideout.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked.

The diplomat turned bright red. "Nowhere."

Ezio grinned. "At least tell me her name!"

"... Marietta Corsini."

"Well, then, where has she been hiding?"

"Ezio..."

"No, I'm serious," Ezio said, his rich baritone light and flirtatious. "I don't think I've ever seen you so happy. Where have you been keeping her? When do I get to meet her?"

His sour face could not hide the blush getting even redder, and Machiavelli finally resigned himself to his fate. "I'm going home to Firenze," he said, "to marry her."

And Ezio was flabbergasted for all of five seconds before he burst out laughing and clapped the diplomat on his back. "Good for you, Niccolò!" he said brightly. "Enjoy it for me, would you? Drink lots of wine, and make sure to kiss her thoroughly. I can more than give you advice for your wedding night-"

"Ezio."

But the master assassin's smile was softer now, his eyes more pained. "I'm serious, Machiavelli. Enjoy it. Enjoy her. Don't waste one minute of it thinking about anything other than her. You'll never have a time like this again. I don't expect to see you for at least six months. Alright?"

Machiavelli assessed Ezio, eyes narrow with suspicion, before comprehension caught up to him. Back straightening, hands clasped behind his back, he nodded. "Alright," he said, the word heavy in his mouth.

Ezio spent the night on the roof of the warehouse, staring north to Castel Sant'Angelo, thinking about Cristina.

Author's Notes: Nine whole reviews! We haven't had that since, like AC1! Thanks guys!

And so we now know all twelve novices, and as a bonus we see them all work together - with the apprentices no less - to perform an assault. And we see how they all do - or don't - work together. Some of the names are starting to stand out - Abate is going to have his own little arc later, Sancia gets some development, as does Gaspare and Vittoria, Sozzi has a setback, etc, etc, etc. If you can read through that list of names and know who everyone roughly is, then we're doing our job right. We have a big time skip to cover - but it isn't so big that we can languish in twelve novices as they develop, and so this is sort of a highlights reel. We hope you enjoy.

Some of you talked about abject fear of some of the novices dying after all the time we're spending on developing them. (whistles innocently). Like the song says, life is what happens when Ezio's busy making other plans...

And a certain trio of apprentices are promoted to assassins. That's not epic and poignant and touching on Ezio's own initiation. Nope, not at all. If that's as emotional as it is, just imagine when Claudia gets inducted... :P

Federica is going through her adolescence over the course of Brotherhood, in all its hormone induced glory. Poor Ezio. Poor Claudia, she deals with her every day. But they're getting just a little bit closer, those two...

And Machiavelli does get married sometime in 1502. He's so cute about it.

And oh yeah. That painter showed up. Hello Leo! We've missed you! Ezio missed you! And you certainly missed Ezio. One of our betas was crying tears of happiness at that scene, we hope the rest of you enjoyed it just as much.

Next chapter: Desmond. And Ezio paints a portrait - and we all know that that means...