Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood

For a moment it seemed to him that he was suspended in the air, that the air even held him up, as water does a swimmer. But then he started to fall.

His arms flailed forward and he willed his body toward the nearest chain. And caught it! The links slipped under his gloves and he slid several feet before he was able to get a firm grip, but then he found himself swaying gently in the darkness. He listened. He had heard no sound, and it was too dark for the agent to see the chain swinging, from far below where he sat. Ezio looked toward the light. It still burned steadily and there were no calls of alarm.

Steadily, he lowered himself, down and down, until he was near the floor, perhaps twenty feet above it. He was quite close to the agent and could see his silhouette as he hunched over the money bags, the gold coins glinting in the the candlelight. Ezio could hear the man muttering and the gentle, rhythmic click of an abacus.

Suddenly, though, there was an awful, tearing sound from above. The fixture of the chain in the roof could bear the strain of the extra weight no longer and had ripped loose. Ezio let go of the chain as it went slack in his hands and threw himself forward, toward the candle. As he sailed through the air, he heard a startled “Who’s there?” from the agent, and a seemingly unending rattle as 140 feet of chain fell snaking to the floor. Ezio thanked God the church doors were closed: their thickness would deaden any sound from within.

Ezio fell upon the agent with his full weight, knocking the breath out of him. Both men sprawled on the floor, the agent spread-eagled beneath Ezio.

He wriggled free, but Ezio had him by the arm.

“Who are you? Christ protect me!” said the agent, terrified.

“I am sorry, friend,” said Ezio, releasing the hidden-blade.

“What? No! No!” the agent jabbered. “Look, take the money! It’s yours! It’syours!”

Ezio adjusted his grip and drew the man close.

“Get away from me!”

“Requiescat in pace,” said Ezio.

Leaving the body on the floor, Ezio quickly stripped the agent of his outer robes and put them on over his own, drawing a scarf over his lower face and tipping the agent’s hat down low. The robes were a little snug on him, but it was not a noticeably bad fit. Then he finished transferring the money from the bags into the metal box the agent had brought for the purpose, where much of it was already neatly stacked. To it he added the account book, and, abandoning the abacus and the leather bags, he tucked the heavy box under his arm and made for the door. He had heard enough of the agent’s manner of speech to be able to emulate it tolerably, he hoped. Anyway, he’d have to chance it.

As he approached the door, it opened and the captain called through it, “Everything going well in there?”

“Just done.”

“Well, hurry up, Luigi, or we’ll be late.”

Ezio emerged into the portico.

“The count is complete?”

Ezio nodded.

“Va bene,” said the captain. Then, turning to the men who held Egidio, he crisply ordered: “Kill him.”

“Wait!” said Ezio.

“What?”

“Don’t kill him.”

The captain looked surprised. “But that’s…that’s hardly usual procedure, is it, Luigi? Besides, do you know what this guy’sdone?”

“I have my orders. From the Banker himself. This man is to be spared.”

“May I ask why?”

“Do you question the commands of the Banker?”

The captain shrugged and nodded to the guards, who let go their hold of the senator.

“Lucky you,” he said to Egidio, who had the sense not to glance at Ezio before hastening off, without another word.

The captain turned to Ezio. “OK, Luigi. Lead the way.”

Ezio hesitated. He was stumped, as he had no idea where to go. He hefted the box. “This is heavy. Have the guards carry it between them.”

“Certainly.”

He passed the box over but still didn’t move.

The guards waited.

“Ser Luigi,” said the captain after a few moments, “with respect, we must get this to the Banker on time. Of course, I am not questioning your authority…but should we not get going?”

What was the point of buying time to think? Ezio knew he’d have to work on a hunch. It was likely that the Banker would live somewhere in the vicinity either of the Castel Sant’Angelo or of the Vatican. But which? He plumped for the Castel Sant’Angelo and started off in a westerly direction. His security detail looked at one another, but followed him. Even so, he sensed their disquiet, and indeed, after they had gone a little way, he heard the two guardsmen whispering:

“Is this some kind of test?”

“Not sure.”

“Perhaps we’re too early?”

“Maybe we’re taking a roundabout route deliberately—for some reason.”

Finally the captain tapped him on the shoulder and said: “Luigi—are you all right?”

“Of course I am!”

“Then—again with respect—why are you taking us toward the Tiber?”

“Security reasons.”

“Ah—I did wonder. Normally we just go straight there.”

“This is a particularly important consignment,” said Ezio, hoping it was. But the captain didn’t bat an eyelid.

While they had stopped to talk, one of the guards muttered to the other, “Load of rubbish, if you ask me. This kind of arsing about makes me wish I were still a blacksmith.”

“I’m starving. I want to go home,” muttered the other. “Stuff the security. It’s only a couple of blocks north of here.”

Hearing this, Ezio breathed a sigh of relief, for his mind had flashed on the location of the palazzo of the other banker, Agostino Chigi, who dealt with the Pope’s affairs. That was a little to the northeast of where they were now. It stood to reason that Cesare’s banker’s place would not be far away—in the financial district. What a fool he’d been not to think of that before. But it had been another busy day.

“We’ve made enough of a detour,” he said decisively. “We’ll take a direct route from here.”

He set off toward the Palazzo Chigi and was reassured by the sense of relief he got from his companions. After a while, the captain even decided to take the lead. They adopted a brisk pace and very soon reached a district of clean, broad streets. The large and well-lit marble edifice they then headed for had different guards on duty at the foot of its entrance steps and in front of the imposing double front door at their head.

Evidently, Ezio’s party was expected.

“Not before time,” said the leader of the new guards, who clearly outranked the captain. Turning to Ezio, he added, “Hand over the box to my men, Luigi. I’ll see the Banker gets it. But you’d better come, too. There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.” He looked around. “Where’s Senator Troche?”

“Dealt with as ordered,” said Ezio quickly, before anyone else could answer.

“Good,” replied the guard leader gruffly.

Ezio followed the box, now in the hands of the new guards, up the steps. Behind him, the captain made to follow.

“Not you,” said the guard leader.

“We can’t go in?”