Oliver Bowden - Assassin's Creed - Renaissance

Ezio was piqued. 'I have plenty of outlets.

'I meant apart from tarts,' retorted his mother matter-of-factly.

'Mother!' But Maria's only answer to that was a shrug and a pursing of her lips. 'It would be good if you could cultivate a man like Leonardo as a friend. I think he has a promising future ahead of him.'

'From the look of this place, I'm inclined to disagree with you.'

'Don't be cheeky!'

They were interrupted by Leonardo's return from his inner room, carrying two boxes. He set one down on the ground. 'Do you mind carrying that one?' he asked Ezio. 'I'd ask Agniolo, but he has to stay and guard the shop. Also, I don't think he's strong enough for this kind of work, poor dear.'

Ezio stooped to pick up the box, and was surprised at how heavy it was. He almost dropped it.

'Careful!' warned Leonardo. 'The paintings in there are delicate, and your mother's just paid me good money for them!'

'Shall we go?' said Maria. 'I can't wait to hang them. I've selected places which I hope you'll approve of,' she added to Leonardo. Ezio baulked at this a little: was a fledgling artist really worth such deference?

As they walked, Leonardo chatted amiably, and Ezio found that despite himself he was won over by the other man's charm. And yet there was something about him that he instinctively found disquieting, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. A coolness? A sense of detachment from his fellow beings? Perhaps it was just that he had his head in the clouds, like so many other artists, or so Ezio was told. But Ezio felt an instant, instinctive respect for the man.

'So, Ezio, what do you do?' Leonardo asked him.

'He works for his father,' Maria replied.

'Ah. A financier! Well, you were born in the right city for that!'

'It's a good city for artists too,' said Ezio. 'All those rich patrons.'

'There are so many of us, though,' grumbled Leonardo. 'It's hard to attract attention. That's why I am so indebted to your mother. Mind you, she has a very discerning eye!'

'Do you concentrate on painting?' asked Ezio, thinking of the diversity he'd seen in the studio.

Leonardo looked thoughtful. 'That's a hard question. To tell the truth, I'm finding it difficult to settle down to anything, now I'm on my own. I adore painting, and I know I can do it, but. somehow I can see the end before I get there, and that makes it hard to finish things sometimes. I have to be pushed! But that's not all. I often feel that my work lacks. I don't know. purpose. Does that make any sense?'

'You should have more faith in yourself, Leonardo,' said Maria.

'Thank you, but there are moments when I think I'd rather do more practical work, work that has a direct bearing on life. I want to understand life - how it works, how everything works.'

'Then you'd have to be one hundred men in one,' said Ezio.

'If only I could be! I know what I want to explore: architecture, anatomy, engineering even. I don't want to capture the world with my brush, I want to change it!'

He was so impassioned that Ezio was more impressed than irritated - the man clearly wasn't boasting; if anything, he seemed almost tormented by the ideas that simmered within him. Next thing, thought Ezio, is that he'll tell us he's involved with music and poetry as well!

'Do you want to put that down and rest for a moment, Ezio?' Leonardo asked. 'It might be a bit too heavy for you.'

Ezio gritted his teeth. 'No, grazie. Anyway, we're almost there.'

When they arrived at the Palazzo Auditore, he carried his box into the entrance hall and set it down as slowly and as carefully as his aching muscles would let him, and he was more relieved than he'd ever admit, even to himself.

'Thank you, Ezio,' said his mother. 'I think we can manage very well without you now, though of course if you wish to come and help with the hanging of the pictures -'

'Thank you, Mother - I think that's a job best left to the two of you.'

Leonardo held out his hand. 'It was very good to meet you, Ezio. I hope our paths cross again soon.'

'Anch'io.'

'You might just call one of the servants to give Leonardo a hand,' Maria told him.

'No,' said Leonardo. 'I prefer to take care of this myself. Imagine if someone dropped one of the boxes!' And bending his knees, he hoisted the box Ezio had put down into the crook of his arm. 'Shall we?' he said to Maria.

'This way,' said Maria. "Goodbye, Ezio, I'll see you at dinner this evening. Come, Leonardo.'

Ezio watched as they left the hall. This Leonardo was obviously one to respect.

After lunch, late in the afternoon, Giulio came hurrying (as he always did) to tell him that his father required his presence in the office. Ezio hastened to follow the secretary down the long oak-lined corridor that led to the back of the mansion.

'Ah, Ezio! Come in, my boy.' Giovanni's tone was serious and businesslike. He stood up behind his desk, on which two bulky letters lay, wrapped in vellum and sealed.

'They say Duke Lorenzo will return tomorrow or the day after at the latest,' said Ezio.

'I know. But there is no time to waste. I want you to deliver these to certain associates of mine, here in the city.' He pushed the letters across the desk.

'Yes, Father.'

'I also need you to retrieve a message which a carrier pigeon should have brought to the coop in the piazza at the end of the street. Try to make sure no one sees you fetch it.'

'I'll see to it.'

'Good. Come back here immediately you've finished. I have some important things I need to discuss with you.'

'Sir.'

'So, this time, behave. No scrapping this time.'

Ezio decided to tackle the pigeon coop first. Dusk was approaching, and he knew there'd be few people out at that time - a little later the square would be thronged with Florentines making their passeggiata. When he reached his goal he noticed some graffiti on the wall behind and above the coop. He was puzzled: was it recent or had he just never been aware of it before? Carefully inscribed was a line he recognized from the Book of Ecclesiastes: HE THAT INCREASETH KNOWLEDGE INCREASETH SORROW. A little below this, someone had added in a ruder script: WHERE IS THE PROPHET?

But his mind soon returned to his task. He recognized the pigeon he was after instantly - it was the only one with a note attached to its leg. He detached it quickly and gently placed the bird back on its ledge, then he hesitated. Should he read the note? It wasn't sealed. Quickly he unrolled the little scroll and found it contained nothing but a name - that of Francesco de' Pazzi. Ezio shrugged. He supposed that would mean something more to his father than it did to him. Why the name of Vieri's father and one of the possible conspirators in a plot to topple the Duke of Milan - facts already known to Giovanni - should be of further significance was beyond him. Unless it signified some kind of confirmation.

But he had to hurry on with his work. Stashing the note in his belt-pouch, he made his way to the address on the first envelope. Its location surprised him, for it was in the red-light district. He'd been there often with Federico - before he had met Cristina, that is - but he had never felt comfortable there. He placed a hand on his dagger-hilt to reassure himself as he approached the dingy alley his father had indicated. The address turned out to be a low tavern, ill-lit and serving cheap Chianti in clay beakers.

At a loss about what to do next, for there seemed to be no one about, he was surprised by a voice at his side.

'You Giovanni's boy?'

He turned to confront a rough-looking man whose breath smelled of onions. He was accompanied by a woman who might once have been pretty, but it looked as if ten years on her back had rubbed most of any loveliness away. If it was left anywhere, it was in her clear, intelligent eyes.