Brotherhood

THIRTY-FIVE

“Ezio!”

Ezio hadn’t expected to hear the familiar voice again so soon. A pessimistic part of him had not expected to hear it again at all. Nevertheless, he’d been pleased to get the note left for him at Tiber Island bidding him to this rendezvous, which he was keeping on his way to the Sleeping Fox, the headquarters of La Volpe’s Thieves’ Guild in Rome.

He looked around, but there was no one to be seen. The streets were empty, even of Borgia uniforms, for he was already in a district reclaimed by La Volpe’s men.

“Leonardo?”

“Over here!” The voice came from a darkened doorway.

Ezio walked across to it and Leonardo dragged him into the shadows.

“Were you followed?”

“No.”

“Thank God. I’ve been sweating blood.”

“Were you?”

“No—my friendMesser Salai watches my back. I’d trust him with my life.”

“Your friend?”

“We’re very close.”

“Be careful, Leo—you have a soft heart where young men are concerned and that could be a chink in your armor.”

“I may be softhearted but I’m not a fool. Now, come on.”

Leonardo pulled Ezio out of the doorway after having first looked up and down the street. A few yards to the right, he ducked down an alleyway, which snaked between windowless buildings and featureless walls for a furlong or so, when it became part of a crossroads with three other alleys. Leonardo took the one on the left, and after another few yards arrived at a low, narrow door, painted dark green. This he unlocked. Both men had to squeeze through the entrance, but once inside, Ezio found himself in a large, vaulted hall. Natural light bathed the place through windows placed high in the walls, and Ezio’s eyes scanned the usual trestle tables, cluttered and crowded with all manner of stuff, the drawings pinned to the walls, the easels, the animal skeletons, the dusty books, the maps—rare and precious, like all maps—the Assassins’ own collection at Monteriggioni had been invaluable, but the Borgia in their ignorance had destroyed the map-room there with cannonades, and so had no use of them themselves—the pencils, pens, brushes, paints, piles of papers…in short, the typical and familiar, and somehow comforting, clutter of Leonardo’s studios wherever Ezio had encountered them.

“This is my own place,” said Leonardo proudly. “As far as possible from my official workshop near Castel Sant’Angelo. No one comes here but me. And Salai, of course.”

“Don’t they keep tabs on you?”

“They did for a while, but I’m good at ingratiation when it suits me and they swallowed the act whole. I rent this place from the Cardinal of San Pietro in Vincoli. He knows how to keep a secret and he’s no friend of the Borgia—”

“And there’s no harm in taking out a little insurance for the future?”

“Ezio, my friend, nothing—but nothing—gets past you! Now, to business. I don’t know if there’s anything I can offer you—there must be a bottle of wine somewhere.”

“Leave it—don’t worry. Just tell me why you sent for me.”

Leonardo went over to one of the trestle tables on the right-hand side of the hall and rummaged underneath it. He produced a long, leather-bound, wooden case, which he placed on the tabletop.

“Here we are!” With a flourish, he opened it.

The case was lined in purple velvet—“Salai’s idea, bless him!” explained Leonardo—and contained perfect copies of Ezio’s lost Codex weapons: there was the bracer for protecting the left forearm, the little retractable pistol, the double-bladed dagger, and the poison-blade.

“The bracer was the biggest problem,” continued Leonardo. “Very hard to get a match for that extraordinary metal. But from what you told me of the accident in which you lost the originals, it might have survived. If you could get it back…?”

“If it did survive, it’ll be buried under several tons of rubble,” said Ezio. “It might as well be at the bottom of the sea.” He slipped the bracer on. It felt a little heavier than the first, but it looked as if it would serve—and very well. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.

“That’s easy,” replied Leonardo. “With money! But these are not all.” He delved under the table again and brought out another case, larger than the first. “These are new and may come in handy from time to time.”

He opened the lid to reveal a lightweight crossbow with a set of bolts; a set of darts; and a mailed leather glove.

“The darts are poisoned,” said Leonardo, “so don’t ever touch the points with your bare hands. If you can retrieve them from your—ahem—target, you’ll find they are reusable up to a dozen times.”

“And the glove?”

Leonardo smiled. “I’m rather proud of that. It’ll enable you to climb on any surface with ease. Almost as good as becoming a gecko!” He paused, troubled. “We haven’t actually tested it on glass, but I doubt if you’ll ever encounter a surfacethat smooth.” He paused. “The crossbow’s just a crossbow, but it’s very compact and light. What makes it special is that it’s just as powerful as those heavy things that are now being superseded by my wheel locks—forgive me—and of course the advantage it has over a gun is that it’s more or less silent.”

“I can’t carry these with me now.”

Leonardo shrugged. “No problem. We’ll deliver them. To Tiber Island?”

Ezio considered. “No. There’s a bordello called the Rosa in Fiore. It’s in therione Montium et Biberatice, near the old forum with the column.”

“We’ll find it.”

“Leave them there with my sister, Claudia. May I?” Ezio took a sheet of paper and scribbled something on it. “Give this to her. I’ve sketched its location, as it’s hard to find. I’ll get the money to you as soon as possible.”

“Five thousand ducats.”

“How much?”

“Not cheap, these things…”

Ezio pursed his lips. “Fine.” He took back the note and wrote an additional line. “We have recently come into some new and…unexpected funds. My sister will pay you. And listen, Leo—I have to trust you. Not a word to anyone else.”

“Even Salai?”

“Salai, if you have to. But if the brothel’s location is discovered by the Borgia, I will kill Salai, and I will kill you, my friend.”

Leonardo smiled. “I know these are very troubled times, my dear—but when—when—have Iever let you down?”

Content with that, Ezio took leave of his friend and continued on his way to the Sleeping Fox. He was running late, but the meeting with Leonardo had been more than worth it.

He went through the courtyard, pleased to see that business still seemed to be booming, and was about to announce himself to the thieves standing guard on either side of the door marked UFFIZI when La Volpe himself appeared, apparently out of nowhere—but he was good at that.

“Buon giorno, Ezio!”

“Ciao, Gilberto!”

“I’m glad you’ve come. What is it you want?”

“Let’s sit somewhere quiet.”

“In theuffizi?”

“Let’s stay here. What I have to say is for your ears alone.”

“That’s good, for I have something to say to you, too, which should stay between us—for now.”

They settled down at a table in an otherwise empty bar inside the inn, away from the gamblers and drinkers.

“It’s time to pay a visit to Lucrezia’s lover, Pietro,” said Ezio.

“Good. I’ve already got men out looking for him.”

“Molto bene; but a working actor shouldn’t be that hard to find, and this one’s famous.”

La Volpe shook his head. “He’s famous enough to have minders of his own. And we think he may have gone to ground because he’s frightened of Cesare.”

“That makes sense. Well, do your best. Now, what is it you have on your mind?”

La Volpe wrestled with himself for a moment, then said, “It’s delicate…Ezio, if I may…”

“What is it?”

“Someone has warned Rodrigo to stay away from the Castel Sant’Angelo.”

“And you think that someone is…Machiavelli?”

La Volpe was silent.

“Do you have proof?” Ezio pressed him.

“No, but—”

“I know that Machiavelli is eating you up, but listen, Gilberto, we must not be split apart by mere suspicion.”

At that moment, the door banged open and they were interrupted by the arrival of a wounded thief, who staggered into the room. “Bad news!” he cried. “The Borgia know the whereabouts of our spies!”

“Who told them?” thundered La Volpe, rising.

“Maestro Machiavelli was asking about our search for the actor, Pietro, earlier today.”

La Volpe’s hand tightened into a fist. “Ezio?” he said quietly.

“They’ve got four of our men under guard,” said the thief. “I was lucky to get away!”

“Where?”

“Not far from here—near Santa Maria del Orto.”

“Come on!” La Volpe yelled to Ezio.

Within minutes, La Volpe’s men had readied two horses, and the two Assassins rode out of the stables of the Sleeping Fox at breakneck speed.

“I still do not believe Machiavelli has turned traitor,” insisted Ezio as they rode.

“He went quiet for a bit, to allay our doubts,” La Volpe hurled back. “But look at the facts: first the attack on Monteriggioni, then the business at the Castel Sant’Angelo, and now this! He is behind it all!”

“Just ride! Ride like the devil! We may still be in time to save them!”

They galloped helter-skelter through the narrow streets, reining in and thrusting forward as they strove to avoid injuring people and smashing down market booths in their headlong career. Citizens and chickens alike scattered in their path, but when Borgia guards tried to block their way, halberds raised, they simply rode them down.

They reached the place the wounded thief had indicated within seven minutes and saw the mulberry-and-yellow uniforms preparing to pack the four captured thieves onto a covered wagon, hitting them with the pommels of their swords and taunting them as they did so. In a moment, Ezio and La Volpe were upon them like avenging Furies. Swords drawn, they steered their mounts skillfully among the guards, cutting them off from their prisoners and dispersing them about the square in front of the church. Grasping his sword firmly in his right hand, La Volpe let go of his reins with his left, and, holding on with his thighs, wheeled toward the wagon, seized the driver’s whip from him, and struck hard at the flanks of the horses in the shafts. They reared and neighed and then stampeded off, as the wagoner strove in vain to control them. Hurling the whip aside and almost falling, La Volpe grabbed his reins again and swung his horse around to join Ezio, who was surrounded by five guards stabbing at his horse’s chest and quarters with their halberds. Flailing them with his sword, La Volpe gave Ezio enough time to break free of the trap and slice open the midriff of the closest guard. Turning the horse in a tight circle, he swiped with his sword again and neatly severed the head from the body of another. Meanwhile, La Volpe had dispatched the last of the guards with any fight left in them—the rest either lay wounded or had fled.

“Run, you swine,” La Volpe yelled at his men. “Back to base! Now! We’ll join you there!”

The four thieves pulled themselves together and darted down the main street out of the square, ducking and diving through the small crowd that had gathered to watch the fight. Ezio and La Volpe rode after them, shepherding them, making sure they all got back in one piece.

They made their way into the Sleeping Fox by a secret side entrance and had soon all assembled in the bar, now with a Closed sign on its door. La Volpe ordered beer for his men but did not wait for it to arrive before he started his interrogation.

“What were you able to find out?”

“Boss, there’s a plan to kill the actor this evening. Cesare is sending his ‘butcher’ to see to it.”

“Who’s that?” asked Ezio.

“You’ve seen him,” replied La Volpe. “Micheletto Corella. No one could ever forget a face like that.”

Indeed, Ezio’s inner eye flashed on the man he’d seen at Cesare’s right hand at Monteriggioni, and again in the stables of the Castel Sant’Angelo. A cruel, battered face, which looked much older than its owner’s age warranted, with hideous scars near his mouth that gave him the appearance of wearing a permanent, sardonic grin. Micheletto Corella. OriginallyMiguel de Corella.

Corella—did that region of Navarre, which produced such good wine, really also produce this torturer and murderer?

“Can kill a person one hundred and fifty different ways,” La Volpe was saying. “But his preferred method is strangulation.” He paused. “He’s certainly the most accomplished murderer in Rome. No one escapes him.”

“Let’s hope tonight will be the first time,” said Ezio.

“Where this evening? Do you know?” La Volpe was asking the thieves.

“Pietro’s performing in a religious play this evening. He’s been rehearsing at a secret location.”

“He must be scared. And?”

“He’s playing Christ.” One of the other thieves snickered at this. La Volpe glared. “He’s to be suspended from a cross,” continued the man who’d been talking. “Micheletto will come at him with a spear—pierce his side—only it won’t be make-believe.”

“Do you know where Pietro is?”

The thief shook his head. “I cannot tell you that. We couldn’t find out. But we do know that Micheletto will wait at the old baths of the emperor Trajan.”

“The Terme di Traiano?”

“Yes. We think the plan is this: Micheletto intends to disguise his men in costumes, and he’ll make the killing look like an accident.”

“But where’s the performance taking place?”

“We don’t know. But it can’t be far from where Micheletto will be waiting for his men to gather.”

“I’ll go there and shadow him,” Ezio decided. “He’ll lead me to Lucrezia’s lover.”

“Anything else?” La Volpe asked his men.

They shook their heads. A serving-man came in then, bringing a tray with beer, bread, and salami, and the thieves fell on it gratefully. La Volpe drew Ezio to one side.

“Ezio, I am sorry, but I am convinced that Machiavelli has betrayed us.” He held up a hand. “Whatever you say will not convince me otherwise. I know we would both wish to deny it, but the truth is now clear. In my opinion, we should do…what needs to be done.” He paused. “And if you don’t, I will.”

“I see.”

“And there’s another thing, Ezio. God knows I’m loyal, but I also have the welfare of my men to consider. Until this thing is settled, I’m not putting them at risk—atunnecessary risk—anymore.”

“You have your priorities, Gilberto, and I have mine.”

Ezio left, to prepare himself for his evening’s work. Borrowing a horse from La Volpe, he made his way straight to the Rosa in Fiore. Claudia greeted him.

“You’ve had a delivery,” she said.

“Already?”

“Two men, both very dapper. One quite young and a bit shifty looking, but handsome in a pretty sort of way. The other, maybe fifty—a few years older than you, anyway. Of course I remembered him—your old friend Leonardo—but he was quite formal. Gave me this note. And I paid him.”

“That was quick.”

Claudia smiled. “He said he thought you might appreciate anexpress delivery.”

Ezio smiled back. It would be good to encounter tonight’s bunch—and he imagined Micheletto’s men would be trained to a very high standard of villainy—armed with a few of his old friends, the Codex weapons. But he’d need backup, too—from La Volpe’s attitude, he knew he couldn’t depend on the loan of a contingent of thieves.

His thoughts turned to his own militia of new recruits. It was time to put a few of them through their paces.