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Ezio stood in front of Barbarigo's palace, looking at the wall. He needed to get in there, but the gap between the ledge and the next window was so large—the leap was simply bigger than he could safely attempt. He sighed, turning away to try a different location and see if it would be easier from there, but just then a crew of ruffians poured past him, pulling rusty cutlasses and wicked-looking knives from their dirty clothes and engaging the guards. Ezio considered joining them, but decided he didn't yet know Venezia well enough to get involved in such a thing.

A moment later, he was glad he had forgone the distraction, because the thief who had stolen his coin purse his first day in town ran past him. This time he got a close enough view to determine that the bright eyes beneath the fringe of black hair belonged to a woman. A remarkably agile woman, he thought, watching her as she skirted through the fighting and ran for the wall. He wondered how someone so small was going to manage the gap that had seemed so daunting to him, and watched in amazement and appreciation as she bunched herself up, sprang, and caught the windowsill easily.

Archers from the other buildings had noticed her, too, however, and an arrow lanced into her leg. She swore, trying to maintain her grip, but the leg was bleeding profusely, leaving red streaks on the white paint of the wall, and she fell. Her crew had disappeared around the corner, and more guards were approaching. Ezio whirled around, catching the first guard in the stomach with his hidden blade. His left hand shot out to bury his other hidden blade in the side of another guard. Then he drew the short sword he carried and after a brief fencing match with the third guard, took him out as well. He ran to the woman, who was limping in his direction.

"I need your help," she gasped.

"I remember you."

She glared at him. "We need to go."

"You never did apologize for stealing my coins."

"We need to go now!"

She had a point—more guards were coming, to judge from the shouts Ezio was hearing. "Va bene. Where to?"

"The water." The woman was moving away at a surprisingly rapid pace given her injury. Ezio had to jog to catch up to her.

"That doesn't actually narrow it down," he said, but she ignored him and kept going.

"Goddamn archers."

The woman was leading him through streets he wasn't yet familiar with, dodging through the crowds and shoving people out of her way, cursing as she went. She wasn't exactly subtle—Ezio wasn't sure if he admired her attitude or not, but it was certainly different than his usual approach.

He noticed that she was slowing up, and at last she crumpled to the ground, holding her leg. Tears filled her eyes; Ezio could tell she was angry with herself for her weakness. He knelt next to her, gently probing the area near the wound. The woman, to her credit, accepted his attention without misreading it, and at last Ezio looked up.

"You cannot continue to walk on this leg, or you will do yourself a further injury. Do you mind if I—" He reached toward her, indicating that he could pick her up and carry her.

She nodded, accepting the help, although Ezio noticed she didn't say "thank you." He did admire a woman with spirit.