Assassin's Creed: Renaissance (9 page)

‘I, too, have known betrayal,’ Paola said.

And Ezio recognized without hesitation that he had met a kindred spirit.

It was not far from Paola’s luxurious House of Pleasure to the busy back streets where Leonardo’s workshop was, but Ezio did have to cross the spacious and busy Piazza del Duomo, and here he found his newly acquired skills of merging into the crowd especially useful. It was a good ten days since the executions, and it was likely that Alberti would imagine that Ezio would have left Florence long since, but Ezio was taking no chances, and nor, by the look of the number of guards posted in and around the square, was Alberti. There would be plain-clothes agents in place as well. Ezio kept his head well down, especially when passing between the cathedral and the Baptistry, where the square was busiest. He passed by Giotto’s campanile, which had dominated the city for almost one hundred and fifty years, and the great red mass of Brunelleschi’s cathedral dome, completed only fifteen years earlier, without seeing them, though he was aware of groups of French and Spanish tourists gazing up in unfeigned amazement and admiration, and a little burst of pride in his city tugged at his heart. But was it his city, really, any more?

Suppressing any gloomy thoughts, he quickly made his way from the south side of the piazza to Leonardo’s workshop. The Master was at home, he was told, in the yard at the back. The studio was, if anything, in a greater state of chaos than ever, though there did seem to be some rough method in the madness. The artefacts Ezio had noticed on his earlier visit had been added to, and from the ceiling hung a strange contraption in wood, though it looked like a scaled-up skeleton of a bat. On one of the easels a large parchment pinned to a board carried a massive and impossibly intricate knot-design, and in a corner of it some indecipherable scribbling in Leonardo’s hand. Agniolo had been joined by another assistant, Innocento, and the two were trying to impose some order on the studio, cataloguing the stuff in order to keep track of it.

‘He’s in the back yard,’ Agniolo told Ezio. ‘Just go through. He won’t mind.’

Ezio found Leonardo engaged in a curious activity. Everywhere in Florence you could buy caged songbirds. People hung them in their windows for pleasure, and when they died, simply replaced them. Leonardo was surrounded by a dozen such cages and, as Ezio watched, he selected one, opened the little wicker door, held the cage up, and watched as the linnet (in this case) found the entrance, pushed its way through, and flew free. Leonardo watched its departure keenly, and was turning to pick up another cage when he noticed Ezio standing there.

He smiled winningly and warmly at the sight of him, and embraced him. Then his face grew grave. ‘Ezio! My friend. I hardly expected to see you here, after what you’ve been through. But welcome, welcome. Just bear with me one minute. This won’t take long.’

Ezio watched as he released one after another of the various thrushes, bullfinches, larks and far more expensive nightingales into the air, watching each one very carefully.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Ezio, wonderingly.

‘All life is precious,’ Leonardo replied simply. ‘I cannot bear to see my fellow creatures imprisoned like this, just because they have fine voices.’

‘Is that the only reason you release them?’ Ezio suspected an ulterior motive.

Leonardo grinned, but gave no direct answer. ‘I won’t eat meat any more either. Why should some poor animal die just because it tastes good to us?’

‘There’d be no work for farmers else.’

‘They could all grow corn.’

‘Imagine how boring that’d be. Anyway, there’d be a glut.’

‘Ah, I was forgetting that you’re a
finanziatore
. And I am forgetting my manners. What brings you here?’

‘I need a favour, Leonardo.’

‘How can I be of service?’

‘There’s something I… inherited from my father that I’d like you to repair, if you can.’

Leonardo’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course. Come this way. We’ll use my inner chamber – those boys are cluttering everything up in the studio as usual. I sometimes wonder why I bother to employ them at all!’

Ezio smiled. He was beginning to see why, but at the same time sensed that Leonardo’s first love was, and would always be, his work.

‘Come this way.’

Leonardo’s smaller, inner room was even more untidy than the studio, but among the masses of books and specimens, and papers covered with that indecipherable scrawl, the artist, as always (and incongruously) impeccably dressed and scented, carefully piled some stuff on other stuff until a space was cleared on a large drafting table.

‘Forgive the confusion,’ he said. ‘But at last we have an oasis! Let’s see what you’ve got for me. Unless you’d like a glass of wine first?’

‘No, no.’

‘Good,’ said Leonardo eagerly. ‘Let’s see it, then!’

Ezio carefully extracted the blade, bracer and mechanism, which he had previously wrapped in the mysterious vellum page that had accompanied them. Leonardo tried in vain to put the pieces of machinery back together but failed, and seemed for a moment to despair.

‘I don’t know, Ezio,’ he said. ‘This mechanism is old – very old – but it’s very sophisticated as well, and its construction is ahead I would say even of our time. Fascinating.’ He looked up. ‘I’ve certainly never seen anything like it. But I’m afraid there’s little I can do without the original plans.’

Then he turned his attention to the vellum page, which he had picked up in order to wrap Ezio’s pieces back up again. ‘Wait a second!’ he cried, poring over it. Then he placed the broken blade and bracer to one side, spread out the sheet, and, referring to it, began to rummage among a row of old books and manuscripts on a nearby shelf. Finding the two he wanted, he placed them on the table and began carefully to leaf through them.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Ezio, slightly impatiently.

‘This is very interesting,’ said Leonardo. ‘This looks very like a page from a Codex.’

‘A what?’

‘It’s a page from an ancient book. This isn’t printed, it’s in manuscript. It’s very old indeed. Have you any more of them?’

‘No.’

‘Pity. People shouldn’t tear the pages out of books like this.’ Leonardo paused. ‘Unless, perhaps, the whole thing together -‘

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Look, the contents of this page are encrypted; but if my theory is correct… based on these sketches it may very well be that…’

Ezio waited, but Leonardo was lost in a world of his own. He took a seat and waited patiently while Leonardo rummaged through and pored over a number of books and scrolls, making cross-references and notes, all in that curious left-handed mirror-writing he used. Ezio wasn’t the only one, he supposed, to live his life with one eye looking behind him. From the little he’d seen of what was going on in the studio, if the Church got wind of some of the things Leonardo was up to, he didn’t doubt that his friend would be for the high jump.

At last Leonardo looked up. But by that time Ezio was beginning to doze. ‘Remarkable,’ muttered Leonardo to himself, and then in a louder voice, ‘Remarkable! If we transpose the letters and then select every third…’

He set to work, drawing the blade, bracer and mechanism towards him. He dug out a toolbox from under the table, set up a vice, and quietly became absorbed in his work. An hour passed, two… Ezio by now was sleeping peacefully, lulled by the warm fug of the room and the gentle sounds of tapping and scraping as Leonardo worked on. And at last –

‘Ezio! Wake up!’

‘Eh?’

‘Look!’ And Leonardo pointed to the tabletop. The dagger blade, fully restored, had been fitted into the strange mechanism, which in turn was fixed to the bracer. Everything was polished and looked as if it had just been made, but nothing shone. ‘A matt finish, I decided,’ said Leonardo. ‘Like Roman armour. Anything which shines glints in the sun, and that’s a dead giveaway.’

Ezio picked up the weapon and hefted it in his hands. It was light, but the strong blade was perfectly balanced on it. Ezio had never seen anything like it. A spring-loaded dagger that he could conceal above his wrist. All he had to do was flex his hand and the blade would spring out, ready to slash or stab as its user desired.

‘I thought you were a man of peace,’ said Ezio, remembering the birds.

‘Ideas take precedence,’ said Leonardo with decision. ‘Whatever they are. Now,’ he added, producing a hammer and chisel from his toolbox. ‘You’re right-handed, aren’t you? Good. Then kindly place your right ring finger on this block.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m sorry, but this is how it must be done. The blade is designed to ensure the total commitment of whoever wields it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’ll only work if we have that finger off.’

Ezio blinked. His mind flashed on a number of images: he remembered Alberti’s supposed friendliness to his father, how Alberti had later reassured him after his father’s arrest, the executions, his own pursuit. He clamped his jaw. ‘Do it.’

‘Maybe I should use a cleaver. Cleaner cut that way.’ Leonardo produced one from a drawer in the table. ‘Now – just place your finger –
così
.’

Ezio steeled himself as Leonardo raised the cleaver. He closed his eyes as he heard it brought down –
schunk!
– into the wood of the block. But he’d felt no pain. He opened his eyes. The cleaver was stuck in the block, inches from his hand, which was intact.

‘You bastard!’ Ezio was shocked, and furious at this tasteless practical joke.

Leonardo raised his hands. ‘Calm yourself! It was just a bit of fun! Cruel, I admit, but I simply couldn’t resist. I wanted to see how determined you were. You see, the use of this machine originally
did
require such a sacrifice. Something to do with an ancient initiation ceremony, I think. But I’ve made one or two adjustments. So you can keep your finger. Look! The blade comes out well clear of them, and I’ve added a hilt that flips out when the blade’s extended. All you have to do is remember to keep them splayed
as
it’s coming out! So you can keep your finger. But you might like to wear gloves when you use it – the blade is keen.’

Ezio was too fascinated – and grateful – to be angry for long. ‘This is extraordinary,’ he said, opening and closing the dagger several times until he could time its use perfectly. ‘Incredible.’

‘Isn’t it?’ agreed Leonardo. ‘Are you sure you don’t have any more pages like this one?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, listen, if you do happen across any more, please bring them to me.’

‘You have my word. And how much do I owe you for – ?’

‘A pleasure. Most instructive. There is no -‘

They were interrupted by a hammering at the outer door of the studio. Leonardo hurried through to the front of the building as Agniolo and Innocento looked up fearfully. The person on the other side of the door had started to bellow, ‘Open up, by order of the Florentine Guard!’

‘Just a moment!’ Leonardo shouted back, but in a lower voice he said to Ezio, ‘Stay back there.’

Then he opened the door, and stood in it, blocking the guardsman’s way.

‘You Leonardo da Vinci?’ asked the guard in one of those loud, bullying, official voices.

‘What can I do for you?’ said Leonardo, moving out into the street, obliging the guard to step back.

‘I am empowered to ask you certain questions.’ Leonardo had by now so manoeuvred himself that the guard had his back to the doorway of the studio.

‘What seems to be the trouble?’

‘We’ve had a report that you were seen just now consorting with a known enemy of the city.’

‘What, me? Consorting? Preposterous!’

‘When was the last time you either saw or spoke to Ezio Auditore?’

‘Who?’

‘Don’t play silly buggers with me. We know you were close to the family. Sold the mother a couple of your daubs. Maybe I need to refresh your memory a bit?’ And the guard hit Leonardo in the stomach with the butt of his halberd. With a sharp cry of pain, Leonardo doubled up and fell to the ground, where the guard kicked him. ‘Ready to chat now, are we? I don’t like artists. Load of poofs.’

But this had given Ezio enough time to step quietly through the doorway and position himself behind the guard. The street was deserted. The nape of the man’s sweaty neck was exposed. It was as good a time as any to give his new toy a trial run. He raised his hand, triggered the release mechanism, and the silent blade shot out. With a deft movement of his now open right hand, Ezio stabbed once into the side of the guard’s neck. The recently honed edge of the blade was viciously sharp, and eased through the man’s jugular without the slightest resistance. The guard fell, dead before he hit the ground.

Ezio helped Leonardo up.

‘Thank you,’ said the shaken artist.

‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to kill him – there was no time -‘

‘Sometimes we don’t have an alternative. But I should be used to this by now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was involved in the Saltarelli case.’

Ezio remembered then. A young artist’s model, Jacopo Saltarelli, had been anonymously denounced a few weeks earlier for practising prostitution, and Leonardo, along with three others, had been accused of patronizing him. The case had fallen apart for lack of evidence, but some of the mud had stuck. ‘But we don’t prosecute homosexual men here,’ he said. ‘Why, I seem to remember that the Germans have a nickname for them – they call them
Florenzer.
’

‘It’s still officially against the law,’ said Leonardo drily. ‘You can still get fined. And with men like Alberti in charge -‘

‘What about the body?’

‘Oh,’ said Leonardo. ‘It’s quite a windfall. Help me drag it inside before anyone sees us. I’ll put it with the others.’

‘Windfall? Others?’

‘The cellar’s quite cold. They keep for a week. I get one or two cadavers that no one else wants from the hospital now and then. All unofficial, of course. But I cut them open, and dig about a bit – it helps me with my research.’

Ezio looked at his friend more than curiously. ‘What?’

‘I think I told you – I like to find out how things work.’