Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood (25 page)

The Banker was not running out of steam, unfortunately, and lost patience with his fumbling and started to tear the girl’s dress off her. She still implored Ezio with her eyes to hold his ground. “I can handle this!” she seemed to be saying to him.

He looked around the room again. Some of the servants and most of the guards had been inveigled by the guests to join in the fun. He noticed people wielding wooden and ivory dildos and little black whips.

Soon…

“Come here, my dear,” the Banker was saying, pushing the girl back down onto the couch and managing to straddle her, pushing himself into her. Then his hands closed around her neck and he started to strangle her. Choking, she struggled, then fainted.

“Oh, yes! That’s nice!” he gasped, the veins in his neck bulging. His fingers tightened around the girl’s neck. “This should increase your pleasure. It certainly increases mine!” A minute later he had finished and lay heavily on her body, slipping on their sweat, catching his breath.

He had not killed the girl. Ezio could see the rise and fall of her chest.

The Banker clawed his way to his feet, leaving her prostrate form half on and half off the couch.

He snapped out an order to a pair of servants, still on duty nearby: “Get rid of her!”

As the Banker moved toward the main orgy, Ezio and the servants watched him go. As soon as he was at a safe distance, and otherwise occupied, the servants lifted the girl gently onto the couch, placed a carafe of water near her, and covered her with a fur rug. One of them noticed Ezio. Ezio put a finger to his lips. The man smiled and nodded. At least there was some good in this fetid hellhole.

Ezio shadowed the Banker as he pulled up his long johns and moved from group to group, muttering his appreciation like a connoisseur in an art gallery.

“Oh,
bellissima
,” he would say from time to time, stopping to watch. Then he made for the ironbound door he’d originally appeared from and knocked on it. It was opened from within by the second attendant, who’d almost certainly been spending all that time verifying the new accounts.

Ezio didn’t give them a chance to close the door behind them. He leapt forward and his impetus pushed both men back inside. Ezio closed the door and faced them. The attendant, a little man, now in his shirtsleeves, burbled and fell to his knees, a dark stain flowering between his legs. Then he fainted. The Banker drew himself up.

“You!” he said. “
Assassino!
But not for much longer.” His arm snaked out to a bellpull, but Ezio was quicker. The hidden-blade sprang out and slashed through the fingers of the hand the Banker was extending. The Banker snatched his maimed hand back as three fingers scattered onto the carpet. “Stay back!” he screamed. “Kill me and it’ll do no good! Cesare will never let you live! But—”

“Yes?”

The man’s face became sly. “If you spare me…”

Ezio smiled. The Banker understood. He nursed his ruined hand.

“Well,” he said, though tears of pain and rage were starting in his eyes, “at least I have lived. The things I have seen, felt, tasted. I regret none of them. I do not regret a moment of my life.”

“You have played with the trinkets power brings. A man of real strength would be contemptuous of such things.”

“I gave the people what they wanted!”

“You delude yourself.”

“Spare me!”

“Your own debt is due,
Eminenza
. Unearned pleasure only consumes itself.”

The Banker fell to his knees, mumbling half-remembered prayers.

Ezio raised the hidden-blade.

“Requiescat in pace,”
he said.

He left the door open when he departed. The orgy had declined into sleepy, smelly groping. One or two of the guests, supported by servants, were vomiting. Another pair of servants was carrying out a corpse—it had all evidently been too much for someone’s heart. There was no one left on guard.

“We are ready,” said a voice at his elbow. He turned to see Claudia. Around her, around the room, a dozen girls detached and disentangled themselves and stood. Among them, dressed again and looking shaken but otherwise determined, was the girl the Banker had molested so vilely. The servants who had helped her stood by her. More recruits.

“Get out of here,” said Claudia. “We’ll recover the money. With interest.”

“Can you—?”

“Just—just this once, trust me, Ezio.”

Though his mind remained full of misgivings about leaving his sister in charge, Ezio admitted to himself that he had, after all, asked her to do this job for him. A lot hung on it, but he had better do as she’d said, and trust her.

It was cold in the small hours of the new day, and he pulled his hood up as he slipped past the dozing guards posted outside the Banker’s palazzo, where the torches had burned low and the house itself, no longer so brilliantly lit from within, seemed grey, old, and tired. He toyed with the idea of going after Rodrigo, whom he hadn’t seen since his furious departure from the dais after Cesare’s speech—and Cesare himself had clearly not chosen to stay at the party—but he put the notion to one side. He wasn’t going to storm the Vatican single-handed, and he was tired.

He returned to Tiber Island to clean up and refresh himself, but he didn’t linger over it. He had to find out, as soon as possible, how Claudia had fared. Only then would he be able truly to relax.

The sun was appearing over the horizon, turning the rooftops of Rome gold as he skimmed over them in the direction of the Rosa in Fiore. From his vantage point, he saw a number of Borgia patrols running about the city, in a state of high excitement and agitation, but the brothel was well hidden, and its location was a respected secret among its clients—they certainly wouldn’t want to be answerable to Cesare if he got wind of it—so Ezio was not surprised to find no mulberry-and-yellow uniforms in its vicinity. He dropped down to a street not far away and walked—trying not to hurry—toward the bordello.

As he approached, he tensed. Outside, there were signs of a struggle, and the pavement was stained with blood. Drawing his sword, and with a pounding heart, he made his way through the door, which he found ajar.

The furniture in the reception room had been overturned and the place was a mess. Broken vases lay on the floor, and the pictures on the walls—tasteful illustrations of the juicier episodes in Boccaccio—were askew. But that was not all. The bodies of three dead Borgia guards lay in the entrance, and there was blood everywhere. He was making his way forward when one of the courtesans—the selfsame girl who had suffered so much at the hands of the Banker—came to greet him. Her dress and hands were covered in blood, but her eyes were shining.

“Oh, Ezio—! Thank God you’re here!”

“What’s happened?” His thoughts flew to his mother and sister.

“We got away all right—but the Borgia guards must have followed us all the way back here—”

“What’s
happened?!
”

“They tried to trap us inside—to ambush us.”

“Where are Claudia and Maria?”

The girl was crying now. “Follow me—”

She preceded him in the direction of the inner courtyard of the Rosa in Fiore. Ezio followed, still in great trepidation, but he noticed that the girl was unarmed and, despite her distress, led the way without fear. What kind of massacre—? Had the guards killed everyone except her—and how had she escaped?—and left, taking the money with them?

The girl pushed open the door leading to the courtyard. An appalling sight greeted his eyes—but it was not the one he had expected.

There were dead Borgia guards everywhere, and those that were not dead were badly wounded or dying. In their midst, by the fountain, stood Claudia, her dress drenched in blood, with a rondel dagger in one hand and a stiletto in the other. Most of the girls whom Ezio had seen at the Banker’s palazzo stood near her, similarly armed. To one side, protected by three of the girls, was Maria, and behind her, stacked against the wall, was not one, but seven metal boxes of the same type that Ezio had delivered to the Banker.

Claudia was still on guard, as were the other women, expecting another wave of the attack.

“Ezio!” she said.

“Yes,” he replied, but he was looking at the carnage.

“How did you come here?”

“Over the rooftops, from Tiber Island.”

“Did you see any more of them?”

“Plenty, but they were running around in circles. None near here.”

His sister relaxed slightly. “Good. Then we must get the street outside cleaned up and the door closed. Then we must do something about this mess.”

“Did you—lose anyone?”

“Two—Lucia and Agnella. We have already laid them on their beds. They died bravely.”

She wasn’t even trembling.

“Are you all right?” asked Ezio hesitantly.

“Perfectly,” she replied, composed. “We’ll need help disposing of this lot. Can you drum up some of your recruits to help? We left our new friends the servants behind at the palazzo, so that they can put anybody who asks off the scent.”

“Did any of this patrol escape?”

Claudia looked grim. She hadn’t yet lowered either of her weapons. “Not one. No news will get back to Cesare.”

Ezio was silent for a moment. Nothing could be heard but the splashing of the fountain and the song of the morning birds.

“How long ago?”

She half smiled. “You just missed the party.”

He smiled back. “No need for me. My sister knows how to wield a knife.”

“And I’m ready to do it again.”

“You speak like a true Auditore. Forgive me.”

“You needed to test me.”

“I wanted to protect you.”

“As you see, I can take care of myself.”

“I do see.”

Claudia dropped her daggers. She made a gesture toward the treasure chests. “Enough interest for you?”

“I see that you can totally outplay me, and I am lost in admiration.”

“Good!”

Then they did what they’d really been wanting to do for the last five minutes: They flung themselves into each other’s arms.

“Excellent,” said Maria, joining them. “It’s good to see you’ve both come to your senses—at last!”

“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 friend
Messer
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.