Assassin's Creed: Renaissance (28 page)

‘You mean yourself?’ said Silvio incredulously, while Marco merely gave vent to a sneering laugh.

‘And why not? I’m the one who’s put in all the real graft!’

‘
Signori
, please, keep moving,’ put in Dante. ‘It’ll be safer for you all when we get back inside.’

‘Of course,’ agreed Marco, quickening his pace. The others followed suit.

‘He’s a good man, your Dante,’ said Silvio. ‘How much did you pay for him?’

‘Less than he is worth,’ replied Marco. ‘He’s loyal and he’s trustworthy – he’s saved my life on two occasions. But I wouldn’t say he was exactly loquacious.’

‘Who needs conversation from a bodyguard?’

‘We’re here,’ said Grimaldi, as they arrived at a discreet door in the side of a building off the Campo Santa Maria Zobenigo. Ezio, keeping a safe distance between them and himself, aware as he was of Dante’s extreme vigilance, rounded the corner of the square just in time to see them enter. Looking round to ensure that the coast was clear, he climbed the side of the building and positioned himself on the balcony above the door. The windows to the room beyond were open, and within it, seated in a heavy oak chair behind a refectory table covered with papers, and dressed in purple velvet, sat the Spaniard. Ezio dissolved into the shadows, and waited, ready to listen to all that transpired.

Rodrigo Borgia was in a filthy mood. Already the Assassin had frustrated him in several major enterprises and escaped every attempt to kill him. Now he was in Venice and had eliminated one of the cardinal’s principal allies there. And as if that wasn’t enough, Rodrigo had had to spend the first fifteen minutes of this meeting listening to the parcel of fools left in his service bickering about which of them should be the next Doge. The fact that he had already made his choice and greased the palms of all the key members of the Council of Forty-One seemed to have passed these idiots by. And his choice had fallen on the oldest, vainest and most pliable of the three.

‘Shut up, the lot of you,’ he finally spat out. ‘What I need from you is discipline and unwavering dedication to the Cause, not this pusillanimous quest for self-advancement.
This
is my decision and it
will
be carried out. Marco Barbarigo will be the next Doge and he will be elected next week following the death of Giovanni Mocenigo, which, given that the man is seventy-six years old, will hardly raise an eyebrow but which nevertheless must look natural. Do you think you are capable of arranging that, Grimaldi?’

Grimaldi cast a glance at the Barbarigo cousins. Marco was preening and Silvio was trying to look dignified in his disappointment. What fools they were, he thought. Doge or no Doge, they were still the puppets of the Master, and the Master was now conferring the real responsibility on him. Grimaldi allowed himself to dream of better things as he replied, ‘Of course, Master.’

‘When are you closest to him?’

Grimaldi reflected. ‘I have the run of the Palazzo Ducale. Mocenigo may not like me much but I do have his full confidence, and I’m at his beck and call most of the time.’

‘Good. Poison him. At the first opportunity.’

‘He has food tasters.’

‘Good God, man, do you think I don’t know that? You Venetians are supposed to be good at poisoning. Get something into his meat
after
they’ve tasted it. Or stick something into that Sardinian jam they tell me he’s so fond of. But think of something or it’ll be the worse for you!’

‘Leave it to me,
su altezza
.’

Rodrigo turned his irritable gaze on Marco. ‘I take it you can lay your hands on a suitable product for our purpose?’

Marco smiled deprecatingly. ‘That is rather my cousin’s area of expertise.’

‘I should be able to lay my hands on enough
cantarella
for our purposes,’ said Silvio.

‘And what is that?’

‘It’s a most effective form of arsenic and it is very difficult to trace.’

‘Good! See to it!’

‘I must say, Maestro,’ said Marco, ‘we are lost in admiration that you should associate yourself personally so closely with this enterprise. Is that not dangerous for you?’

‘The Assassin will not dare come after me. He is clever, but he will never outwit me. In any case, I feel inclined to involve myself more directly. The Pazzi disappointed us in Florence. I hope sincerely that the Barbarigi will not do the same…’ He glowered at them.

Silvio snickered. ‘The Pazzi were a bunch of amateur -‘

‘The Pazzi,’ Rodrigo interrupted him, ‘were a potent and venerable family, and they were brought to their knees by one young Assassin. Do not underestimate this troublesome foe, or he will bring the Barbarigi down too.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘Now go, and get this done. We cannot afford another failure!’

‘What are your own plans, Master?’

‘I return to Rome. Time is of the essence!’

Rodrigo rose abruptly and left the room. From his vantage-point hidden on the balcony, Ezio watched him leave alone and cross the square, causing a flock of pigeons to scatter as he strode in the direction of the Molo. The other men soon followed him, separating and taking their own paths out of the square. When all was silent, he leapt down to the flagstones beneath and hurried off in the direction of Antonio’s headquarters.

Once there, he was met by Rosa, who greeted him with a lingering kiss. ‘Put your dagger back in its sheath,’ she smiled as their bodies pressed together.

‘You’re the one who made me draw it. And you’re the one,’ he added knowingly, ‘with its sheath.’

She took his hand. ‘Come on, then.’

‘No, Rosa,
mi dispiace veramente
but I can’t.’

‘So – you tire of me already!’

‘You know it isn’t that! But I have to see Antonio. It’s urgent.’

Rosa looked at him and saw the intense expression on his face, in his cold blue-grey eyes. ‘OK. For this once I forgive you. He’s in his office. I think he misses that model of the Palazzo Seta now that he’s got the real thing! Come!’

‘Ezio!’ said Antonio as soon as he saw him. ‘I don’t like that look. Is everything all right?’

‘I wish it was. I’ve just discovered that Carlo Grimaldi and the two Barbarigi cousins Silvio and Marco are in league with… a man I know too well, whom people call the Spaniard. They plan to murder Doge Mocenigo and replace him with one of their own.’

‘That is terrible news. With their own man as Doge they’ll have the entire Venetian fleet and trade empire in their grasp.’ He paused. ‘And they call
me
a criminal!’

‘So – you’ll help me stop them?’

Antonio extended his hand. ‘You have my word, little brother. And the support of all my men.’

‘And women,’ put in Rosa.

Ezio smiled. ‘
Grazie, amici
.’

Antonio looked thoughtful. ‘But Ezio, this will take some planning. The Palazzo Ducale is so strongly defended that it makes the Palazzo Seta look like an open park. And we don’t have time for me to have a scale model built so we can plan -‘

Ezio held up his hand and said firmly, ‘Nothing is impenetrable.’

The two of them looked at him. Then Antonio laughed, and Rosa smiled naughtily. ‘Nothing is impenetrable! – No wonder we like you, Ezio!’

Late in the day, when there were fewer people about, Antonio and Ezio made their way to the Doge’s Palace. ‘Treachery like this no longer surprises me,’ Antonio was saying as they went. ‘Doge Mocenigo is a good man and I’m surprised he’s lasted so long. As for me, when I was a child, we were taught that the nobles were just and kind. I believed it, too. And though my father was a cobbler and my mother a scullery-maid, I aspired to be much more. I studied hard, I persevered, but I could never make myself one of the ruling class. If you aren’t born into it, acceptance is impossible. So – I ask you, Ezio, who are the true nobles of Venice? Men like Grimaldi or Marco and Silvio Barbarigo? No! We are! The thieves and the mercenaries and the whores. We keep this place going and each one of us has more honour in his little finger than the whole pack of our so-called rulers! We love Venice. The others merely see it as a means of enriching themselves.’

Ezio kept his counsel, for he could not see Antonio, good as the man was, ever wearing the
corno ducale
. In due course they arrived at St Mark’s Square, making their way round it to the pink palace. It was quite clearly heavily guarded, and although the two of them managed to clamber undetected up scaffolding which had been erected on the side wall of the cathedral which adjoined the palace, when they looked over from their vantage-point they could see that even though they could – and did – leap across on to the palace roof, access to the courtyard, even from there, was barred by a high grille whose spiked top curved outwards and downwards. Below them in the courtyard they could see the Doge himself, Giovanni Mocenigo, a dignified old man who nevertheless seemed like a shrivelled husk inhabiting the gorgeous robes and
corno
of the leader of the city and the state, in conversation with his appointed murderer, Carlo Grimaldi.

Ezio listened intently.

‘Don’t you understand what I’m offering you,
Altezza
?’ Carlo was saying. ‘Listen to me, please, for this is your last chance!’

‘How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you threaten me!’ retorted the Doge.

Carlo was immediately apologetic. ‘Forgive me, sir. I meant nothing by it. But please believe that your safety is my principal concern…’

With that, the pair moved into the building and out of sight.

‘We have very little time,’ said Antonio, reading Ezio’s thoughts. ‘And there’s no way through this grille. Even if there were, look at the number of guards around.
Diavolo!
‘ He swiped the air in frustration, causing a cluster of pigeons to take to the air. ‘Look at them! The birds! How easy it might be for us if we could only fly!’

Suddenly, Ezio grinned to himself. It was high time he looked up his friend Leonardo da Vinci.

‘Ezio! How long has it been?’ Leonardo greeted him like a long-lost brother. His workshop in Venice had taken on all the look of his workshop in Florence, but dominating it was a full-scale version of the bat-like machine whose purpose, Ezio now knew, was one which he had to take seriously. But first things first, for Leonardo.

‘Listen, Ezio, you sent me via a very nice man called Ugo another Codex page, but you never followed up on it. Have you been that busy?’

‘I have rather had my hands full,’ replied Ezio, remembering the page he had taken from Emilio Barbarigo’s effects.

‘Well, here it is.’ Leonardo rummaged in the apparent chaos of his room, but quickly came up with the neatly rolled Codex page, its seal restored. ‘There’s no new weapon-design on this one, but from the look of the symbols and the manuscript writing on it, which I believe to be Aramaic or even Babylonian, it will be a significant page in whatever jigsaw puzzle you are assembling. I think I recognize traces of a map.’ He held up his hand. ‘But tell me nothing! I am only interested in the
inventions
these pages you bring me reveal. More than that, I do not care to know. A man like me is only immune from danger according to his usefulness; but if it were discovered that he knew too much -‘ And Leonardo expressively slit his throat with his finger. ‘Well, that’s that,’ he continued. ‘I know you by now, Ezio, your visits are never simply social. Have a glass of this rather awful Veneto – give me Chianti any day – and there are some fishcakes somewhere or other, if you’re hungry.’

‘Have you completed your commission?’

‘The
Conte
is a patient man.
Salute!
‘ Leonardo raised his glass.

‘Leo – does this machine of yours actually
work
?’ asked Ezio.

‘You mean, does it fly?’

‘Yes.’

Leonardo rubbed his chin. ‘Well, it’s still in the early stages. I mean, it’s nowhere near ready yet – but I think, in all modesty, that – yes! Of course it will work. God knows I’ve spent enough time on it! It’s an idea that just won’t let go of me!’

‘Leo – can I try it?’

Leonardo looked shocked. ‘Of course you can’t! Are you mad? It’s far too dangerous. For a start, we’d have to get it to the top of a tower to launch you…’

The following day, before dawn, but just as the first streaks of greyish pink were colouring the eastern horizon, Leonardo and his assistants, having dismantled the flying-machine in order to transport it, had reconstructed it on the flat high roof of the Ca’ Pexaro, the family mansion of Leonardo’s unsuspecting employer. Ezio was with them. Beneath them, the city slept. There were not even any guards on the roofs of the Palazzo Ducale, for this was the Hour of the Wolf, when vampires and spectres were most powerful. No one but madmen and scientists would venture forth at such a time.

‘It’s ready,’ said Leonardo. ‘And thank God the coast is clear. If anyone saw this thing they’d never believe their eyes – and if they knew it was my invention I’d be finished in this town.’

‘I’ll be quick,’ said Ezio.

‘Try not to break it,’ said Leonardo.

‘This is a test flight,’ said Ezio. ‘I’ll go easy. Just tell me again how this
bambina
works.’

‘Have you ever watched a bird in flight?’ asked Leonardo. ‘It’s not about being lighter than air, it’s about grace and balance! You must simply use your bodyweight to control your elevation and direction, and the wings will carry you.’ Leonardo’s face was very serious. He squeezed Ezio’s arm. ‘
Buona fortuna
, my friend. You are – I hope – about to make history.’

Leonardo’s assistants strapped Ezio carefully into position below the machine. The bat-like wings stretched out above him. He was secured face forwards in a tight leather cradle, though his arms and legs were free, and before him was a horizontal crossbar of wood, attached to the main wooden frame which held the wings aloft. ‘Remember what I told you! Side-to-side controls the rudder. To-and-fro controls the angle of the wings,’ Leonardo explained earnestly.

‘Thank you,’ said Ezio, breathing hard. He knew that if this didn’t work, in a moment he’d be taking the last leap of his life.