Assassin’s Creed®

by Oliver Bowden

  ‘We’re here,’ he announced. ‘I’ll go first. It’s almost dawn. We must be careful.’ He vanished up the steps.

  After what seemed an age, during which Ezio wondered if he had been abandoned, he heard a whispered ‘All clear’ from Machiavelli.

  Despite his fatigue, Ezio ran up the steps, glad to be back in the fresh air. He’d had enough of tunnels and caves to last a lifetime.

  He emerged from a kind of big manhole into a large room, large enough to have been a warehouse of sorts once.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘On an island in the Tiber. It was used years ago as a depot. No one comes here now, except us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Our Brotherhood. It is, if you like, our hideout in Rome.’

  A burly, confident young man rose from a stool by a table, on which lay papers and the remains of a meal, and came to greet them. His tone was open and friendly.

  ‘Niccolò! Ben trovato!’ He turned to Ezio. ‘And you – you must be the famous Ezio! Welcome!’ He took Ezio’s hand and shook it warmly. ‘Fabio Orsini at your service. I’ve heard a lot about you from my cousin – an old friend of yours – Bartolomeo d’Alviano.’

  Ezio smiled at the name. ‘A fine warrior,’ he said.

  ‘It was Fabio who discovered this place,’ put in Machiavelli.

  ‘Every convenience here,’ said Fabio. ‘And outside it’s so overgrown with ivy and whatnot, you wouldn’t even know it existed.’

  ‘It’s good to have you on our side.’

  ‘My family has taken a few bad blows from the Borgia of late, and my one aim is to kick their stall in and restore our patrimony.’ He looked around doubtfully. ‘Of course, this may all seem a bit shabby to you, after your accommodations in Toscana.’

  ‘This is perfect.’

  Fabio smiled. ‘Bene. Well, now that you have arrived, you must forgive me but I must leave you – immediately.’

  ‘What are your plans?’ asked Machiavelli.

  Fabio’s face became serious. ‘I am off to begin preparations for Romagna. Today, Ceasare has control of my estate and my men, but soon, I hope, we will be free again.’

  ‘Buona fortuna.’

  ‘Grazie.’

  ‘Arriverderci.’

  ‘Arriverderci.’

  And, with a friendly wave, Fabio was gone.

  Machiavelli cleared a space on the table and spread out the encrypted letter, together with the wolfmen’s decoding page. ‘I have to get on with this,’ he said. ‘You must be exhausted; there’s food and wine there, and good, clear Roman water. Refresh yourself while I work, for there is still much to be done.

  ‘Is Fabio one of the allies of whom you spoke?’

  ‘Indeed. And there are others. One very great indeed.’

  ‘And he is? Or is it a “she”?’ Ezio asked, thinking, despite himself, of Caterina Sforza. He could not get her out of his mind. She was the Borgia’s prisoner still. His own private priority was to free her. But was she playing games with him? He could not rid his mind of a grain of doubt. She was a free spirit, though; he did not own her. Only he did not relish the thought of being played for a fool. And he did not want to be used.

  Machiavelli hesitated, as if he had already divulged too much, but then he spoke: ‘It is the Cardinal, Giuliano della Rovere. He was in competition with Rodrigo for the Papacy, and lost; but he is still a powerful man, and he has powerful friends. He has potentially strong connections with the French, but he bides his time – he knows that King Louis is only using the Borgia for as long as it suits him. Above all, he hates the Borgia with a deep and enduring loathing. Do you know how many Spaniards the Borgia have placed in positions of power? We are in danger of having them control Italy.’

  ‘Then he’s the man for us. When can I meet him?’

  ‘The time is not yet ripe. Eat while I work.’

  Ezio was glad of the hour’s respite, but found that hunger and even thirst – at least for wine – had abandoned him. He drank some water gratefully, and toyed with a chicken leg as he watched Machiavelli pore over the papers in front of him.

  ‘Is it working?’ he asked at one point.

  ‘Shhh!’

  The sun had reached the church towers of Rome by the time Machiavelli put down his quill and drew towards him the spare sheet of paper on which he’d been writing.

  ‘It’s done.’

  Ezio waited expectantly.

  ‘It’s a directive to the wolfmen,’ said Machiavelli. ‘It states that the Borgia will provide their usual payment and orders the wolfmen to attack – that is, to create terrifying diversions – in various parts of the city not yet under full Borgia control. The attacks are to be timed with the “fortuitous” appearance of a Borgia priest, who will use the Powers of the Church to “banish” the attackers.’

  ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘If you agree, Ezio, I think we should begin planning our own assault on the Borgia. Carry on the good work you started at the stables.’

  Ezio hesitated. ‘You think we are ready for such an attack?’

  ‘Sì.’

  ‘I’d like to know where the Borgia are holding Caterina Sforza first. She’d be a powerful ally.’

  Machiavelli looked nonplussed. ‘If she is their prisoner, she’ll be held at the Castel Sant’Angelo. They’ve turned it into a stronghold.’ He paused. ‘It is too bad they have control of the Apple. Oh, Ezio, how could you have let that happen?’

  ‘You were not at Monteriggioni.’ It was Ezio’s turn to pause after an angry silence. ‘Do we really know what goes on with our enemies? Do we at least have an underground network here to work with?’

  ‘Hardly. Most of our mercenaries, like Fabio, are tied up in battle with Cesare’s forces. And the French still back him.’

  Ezio remembered the French general at Monteriggioni – Octavien.

  ‘What have we got?’ he asked.

  ‘One solid source. We have girls working at a brothel. It’s a high-class joint, frequented by cardinals and other important Roman citizens, but there’s a snag. The madam we have in place is lazy, and seems rather to enjoy parties for their own sake than to further our cause by gathering information.’

  ‘What about the city’s thieves?’ asked Ezio, thinking about the adroit robber who’d almost cost him his purse.

  ‘Well, sì, but they refuse to talk to us.’

  ‘Why?’

  Machiavelli shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

  Ezio rose. ‘You’d better tell me how to get out of here.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To make some friends.’

  ‘May I ask what friends?’

  ‘I think, for the moment, you had better leave that to me.’

  16

  It was nightfall by the time Ezio had found the headquarters of the Roman Thieves’ Guild. He’d spent a long day asking questions discreetly in taverns, getting suspicious looks and misleading answers, until, finally, word must have got round that it was all right to let him know the secret location, at which point a ragamuffin boy had led him into a rundown district, through a maze of alleys, and left him at a door, only to disappear immediately the way he had come.

  It wasn’t much to look at: a large, broken-down-looking inn, whose sign, showing a fox, either asleep or dead, hung awry, whose windows were shrouded with tattered blinds and whose woodwork was in need of repainting.

  Unusually for an inn, its door was shut fast, and Ezio hammered on it in vain.

  He was surprised by a voice coming from behind him, speaking softly. Ezio spun round. It wasn’t like him to allow himself to be approached noiselessly from behind like that. He must ensure that it didn’t happen again.

  Fortunately, the voice was friendly, if guarded.

  ‘Ezio.’

  The man who’d spoken stepped forward from the shelter of a tree and Ezio recognized him immediately. It was his old ally, Gilberto, La Volpe – the Fox – who had led the thieves in Florence i
n alliance with the Assassins some time previously.

  ‘La Volpe! What are you doing here?’

  Gilberto grinned as they embraced. ‘Why am I not in Florence, do you mean? Well, that’s simply answered. The thieves’ leader here died and they elected me. I felt like a change of air, and my old assistant, Corradin, was ready to take over back home. Besides’ – he lowered his voice conspiratorially – ‘just at the moment, Rome presents me with a little bit more of a … challenge, shall we say?’

  ‘Seems a good enough reason to me. Shall we go in?’

  ‘Of course.’ La Volpe knocked at the door – obviously using a coded knock – and the door swung open almost immediately to reveal a spacious courtyard with tables and benches laid out, just as you’d expect at an inn, but all very dingy. A handful of people, men and women, bustled about, in and out of doors that led from the courtyard into the inn itself, which was built around it.

  ‘Doesn’t look like much, does it?’ said La Volpe, ushering him to a seat and calling for wine.

  ‘Frankly—’

  ‘It suits our purposes. And I have plans. But what brings you here?’ La Volpe held up a hand. ‘Wait! Don’t tell me. I think I know the answer.’

  ‘You usually do.’

  ‘You want to put my thieves to work as spies for you.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Ezio said, leaning forward eagerly. ‘Will you join me?’

  La Volpe raised his beaker in a silent toast and drank a little of the wine that had been brought, before replying flatly, ‘No.’

  Ezio was taken aback. ‘What? Why not?’

  ‘Because that would only play into Niccolò Machiavelli’s hands. No, thank you. That man is a traitor to our Brotherhood.’

  This did not come as a surprise, though Ezio was very far from convinced of the truth of it. He said, ‘That’s a very serious allegation, coming from a thief. What proof do you have?’

  La Volpe looked sour. ‘He was an ambassador to the Papal Court, you know, and he travelled as a personal guest of Cesare himself.’

  ‘He did those things on our behalf.’

  ‘Did he? I also happen to know he abandoned you just before the attack on Monteriggioni.’

  Ezio made a gesture of disgust. ‘Pure coincidence. Look, Gilberto, Machiavelli may not be to everyone’s taste, but he is an Assassin, not a traitor.’

  La Volpe looked at him with a set face. ‘I’m not convinced.’

  At that point in their conversation, a thief whom Ezio recognized as the man who’d tried to steal his purse scuttled up and whispered in La Volpe’s ear. La Volpe stood as the thief scuttled off. Ezio, sensing trouble, stood too.

  ‘I apologize for Benito’s behaviour yesterday,’ said La Volpe. ‘He did not know who you were then, and he had seen you riding with Machiavelli.’

  ‘To hell with Benito. What’s going on?’

  ‘Ah, Benito brought news. Machiavelli is meeting someone in Trastevere very soon. I’m going to check what’s going on. Care to accompany me?’

  ‘Lead on.’

  ‘We’ll use one of the old routes – the rooftops. It’s a bit tougher here than it was in Florence. Do you think you’re up to it?’

  ‘Just lead on.’

  It was hard going. The roofs of Rome were spaced further apart than in Florence, and many were crumbling, making it harder to gain a footing. More than once, Ezio sent a loose tile crashing to the ground. But there were few people about in the streets, and they moved so fast that by the time any Borgia guards could react, they were already out of sight. At last they reached a market square, its stalls closed up except for one or two brightly lit wine booths, where a number of people were gathered. Ezio and La Volpe paused on a roof overlooking it, concealing themselves behind chimney stacks, and watched.

  Soon afterwards, Machiavelli walked into the square, first glancing around carefully. Ezio watched keenly as another man, wearing the Borgia crest on his cloak, approached Machiavelli, discreetly handing him what looked like a note, before walking on, barely breaking his stride. Machiavelli also moved on, out of the square.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ La Volpe asked Ezio.

  ‘I’ll follow Machiavelli, you follow the other guy,’ snapped Ezio tersely.

  At that moment a brawl broke out at one of the wine booths. They heard angry cries and saw the flash of weapons.

  ‘Oh, merda! That’s some of my men. They’ve picked a fight with a Borgia guard,’ cried La Volpe.

  Ezio glimpsed Machiavelli’s retreating back as he fled down a street that led towards the Tiber, then he was gone. It was too late to follow him now so he turned his attention back to the brawl. The Borgia guard lay prostrate on the ground. Most of the thieves had scattered, scrambling up the walls to the rooftops and safety, but one of them, a young man, scarcely more than a boy, lay groaning on the ground, his arm spurting blood from a flesh wound.

  ‘Help! Help! My son has been injured!’ an anguished voice rang out.

  ‘I recognize that voice,’ said La Volpe with a grimace. ‘It’s Trimalchio.’ He looked at the wounded thief. ‘And that’s Claudio, his younger son!’

  Borgia guards armed with guns had appeared on the parapets of two roofs on either side of the far wall of the market and were taking aim.

  ‘They’re going to shoot him,’ Ezio said urgently.

  ‘Quickly then, I’ll take the group to the left, you take the one to the right.’

  There were three guards on each side. Moving as unobtrusively as shadows but as swiftly as panthers, Ezio and La Volpe swept around the connecting sides of the square. Ezio saw his three gunmen raise their weapons and take aim at the fallen boy. He sprinted along the spine of the roof, his feet barely touching the tiles, and with one huge leap sprang towards the three gunmen. His jump had sufficient height for him to be able to crumple the middle gunman with the heel of his foot by connecting with the nape of the man’s neck. In one movement, Ezio landed on his feet, crouched to absorb the impact of the landing, and then straightened his knees – arms outstretched on either side of him. The two remaining gunmen fell at that instant – a dagger piercing one man’s right eye from the side, the blade pushing deep into his skull, while the other gunman was felled by the needle-like point of Ezio’s Hidden Blade, which punctured his ear, causing dark viscous liquid to trickle down his neck. Ezio looked up to see that La Volpe had felled his opponents with similar efficiency. After a minute of silent slaughter, all the guards with firearms were dead. But there was a fresh danger, as a platoon of halberdiers charged into the square, weapons lowered and rushing towards the unfortunate Claudio. The people in the wine booths shrank back.

  ‘Claudio! Get out!’ La Volpe yelled.

  ‘I can’t! Too much … pain …’

  ‘Hang on.’ Ezio, who was fractionally closer to where the boy lay, shouted. ‘I’m coming!’

  He leapt down from the rooftops, breaking his fall on the canvas roof of one of the market stalls, and was soon by the boy’s side. Quickly, he checked the wound, which looked more serious than it was.

  ‘Get up,’ he ordered.

  ‘I can’t.’ Claudio was clearly in a state of panic. ‘They’re going to kill me.’

  ‘Look. You can walk, can’t you?’ The boy nodded. ‘Then you can also run. Pay attention and follow me. Do exactly what I do. We’ve got to hide from the guards.’

  Ezio drew the boy to his feet and made his way to the nearest wine booth. Once there, he melted into the crowd of nervous drinkers, and was surprised to see how easily Claudio was able to do the same. They eased their way through the booth to the side nearest the wall, while on the other side some of the halberdiers started to push their way in. Just in time, they made it to an alleyway leading off the square to safety. La Volpe and Trimalchio were waiting for them.

  ‘We guessed you’d come this way,’ said La Volpe as the father hugged his son. ‘Get going,’ he said to them. ‘We’ve no time to lose. Get back to headquarters fast and have Teresina dress
that wound. Go!’

  ‘And you, keep out of sight for a while, intesi?’ Ezio added to Claudio.

  ‘Molte grazie, Messere,’ said the departing Trimalchio, his arm around the boy, guiding him as he admonished him: ‘Corri!’

  ‘You’re in trouble now,’ said La Volpe once they’d reached the safety of a quiet square. ‘Especially after this. I’ve already seen posters up for you after that business at the stables.’

  ‘None for Machiavelli?’

  La Volpe shook his head. ‘No. But it’s quite possible they didn’t get a good look at him. Not many people know how handy he is with a sword.’

  ‘But you don’t believe that?’

  La Volpe shook his head.

  ‘What to do about the “Wanted” posters?’

  ‘Don’t worry. My people are already ripping them down.’

  ‘Glad some of them are more disciplined than to start picking fights for no reason with Borgia guards.’

  ‘Listen, Ezio, there’s a tension in this city that you haven’t experienced.’

  ‘Really?’ Ezio hadn’t yet told his friend about the episode with the wolfmen.

  ‘As for the heralds, a few ducats each should be enough to shut them up,’ La Volpe continued.

  ‘Or … I could eliminate the witnesses.’

  ‘It needn’t come to that,’ said La Volpe more lightly. ‘You know how to “disappear”. But be very careful, Ezio. The Borgia have many other enemies apart from you, but none quite so irritating. They won’t rest until they have you hanging from hooks at Castel Sant’Angelo.’

  ‘They’ll have to catch me first.’

  ‘Keep your guard up.’

  They returned by a circuitous route to the Thieves’ Guild, where Claudio and his father had already arrived safely. Teresina was dressing the boy’s wound, and once the bleeding had been staunched, it turned out to be nothing more than a deep cut into an arm muscle – it hurt like hell but would do no serious harm – and Claudio himself was much more cheerful.

  ‘What a night,’ said La Volpe, tiredly, as they sat down over a glass of Trebbiano and a plate of coarse salami.