Chapter Text
Desmond woke up, which was the first strange thing.
Desmond didn't recognize the room, which was the second strange thing. It wasn't the Vault, which could only be an improvement, but in the unexpected event of his survival, that was where he would have expected to wake up.
Desmond was lying in someone else, which was the third strange thing. It was so strange, in fact, that he let out a shriek and was halfway across the room before his brain had time to inform him that he didn't seem to be interacting with the person at all, despite, as far as he could tell, occupying the same space.
The shriek woke up one of the people in the bed, who also got halfway across the room, attacking, before visibly noticing that he was unarmed and incidentally naked. There was a moment when he considered going for his weapons, but then he shrugged and punched Desmond.
"Wait wait wait," said Desmond, but it was too late; Ezio's punch was well-formed and well-placed, and would have dropped him for sure if it had connected. It didn't, as it turned out. Ezio's fist passed straight through him, followed by Ezio's body, which had been expecting more resistance than none. He caught himself before falling, and then the other person in the bed said, "Ezio? Cosa stai facendo?"
"Non lo so," replied Ezio, and oh shit, there was no Animus handily providing translation for him. Desmond didn't speak Italian; Ezio didn't speak English; and that was Caterina Sforza sitting up in bed over there, which meant that today was the day -
"Armor!" said Desmond. "Shit. Er. Veste? Spada? Come on, get dressed!" He pointed at the pile of discarded weapons and armor on the floor.
"Non puoi pensare che io sia di nuovo pronto," said Caterina, and flopped back down.
"No, no, get up! You need to evacuate the town!"
"Spettro, ci vuoi fare del male?" asked Ezio, cautiously.
Desmond rolled his eyes. "The Borgia vuoi fare del male. Get up."
It was quite clear that the only words that Ezio understood were 'Borgia,' 'intend,' and 'male,' but he did get them because his eyes widened and he went right for the armor, finally. Desmond went over to point at Caterina's dress.
"Spettro," said Ezio, watching his antics. "Lei ha bisogno di dormire."
Dormire was probably something about sleep. "Le ha bisongno di evacuate."
"Evacu . . . are?" asked Ezio.
"Yes. Si. Get her out of here."
"Caterina," said Ezio.
"Sono stanca, Auditore. Mi hai sfiancato."
"Perdonami, Caterina. Lo spettro è insistente, e sono preoccupato. Per favore vestiti, amica mia. Per la battaglia."
That got Caterina up again. She searched Ezio's face, then said, "E sia. Ma se questa è la tua idea di una beffa . . . "
They got up and got dressed, and then Ezio went out to go see if there was anything to see. Desmond got his fourth surprise when he got yanked along. Sometimes through things. He wasn't walking or anything; he just seemed to be unable to get more than about ten meters from Ezio. Ezio gave him a look that more or less mirrored how he felt, then crept up silently onto the battlements and took a look. It was night, and the enemy were using shuttered lanterns. No human would have been able to see them, creeping like that in the dark. But Desmond could, and he knew Ezio could also.
"Merda," said Ezio, grimly, surveying the massed forces.
"Evacu - are," said Desmond. "Your people's lives aren't worth this, and you can't let them get the Apple. Uh. Il Pomme?"
Ezio's eyes went narrow. "La Mela." He turned, decisive.
"Shit shit shit," said Desmond. He knew that look. It was not the look of a man who was going to run away.
He didn't. Caterina did, and the townspeople. The few hours' warning he'd been able to give was used to arrange a much more orderly flight than he remembered. Ezio would have sent the Apple with Mario until he stood there shouting "NO NO NO," after which Ezio got the idea. Then he went downstairs and handed the Apple off to Claudia, which . . . was probably the best option, actually. That woman could be vicious, and given that she had just been rudely awakened in the middle of the night and was now going to be homeless at the head of a caravan of refugees, her people, she was certain to be vicious.
Desmond tried to keep out of the way during the actual battle, letting Ezio do his thing without distraction. This wasn't as easy as it sounded, because Ezio was fast, and tended to jink unpredictably. Desmond found he couldn't stay behind Ezio, out of his field of vision. During a lull in the battle, when Ezio was running from one tower to the next, he said, "Smettila di correre, spettro. Stai fermo." This was accompanied by a pointing finger.
Desmond understood stay, and firmo probably meant firm, so he just stood there in the corner for the next little while, as the battle raged through the tower and sometimes him. It seemed to work, though. Ezio seemed to relax now that he wasn't moving, and focus more on the battle.
It was a lost cause from the beginning, of course, but the point was to distract the Borgia army from the fleeing refugees, and that worked well enough. Cesare went straight for Mario, and then, when Mario turned out not to have the Apple, came wheeling around with his cavalry unit to attack Ezio. That gave the defenders some extra time, which they used to finish falling back through the final two towers and into the sanctuary itself, then out through the escape tunnels. In the end, Cesare was left with a Monteriggioni devoid of people or valuables, and also devoid of the Apple and Ezio.
By the time he'd searched, though, he and Ezio and the last defenders were on horses, hours away and getting further as fast as they dared push the animals, drawing the Borgia forces away from the refugees. Desmond had decided to walk, because even if it didn't hurt to be dragged through bushes, it was still super freaky. Also, the horses could definitely tell he was there, and they did not like it.
"Spettro," said Ezio suddenly, under his breath. "Grazie."
Desmond held out his hands. "I wish I could have helped more. Er. Mi dispiace."
Ezio gave him a look like, 'why are you apologizing?' "Devi imparare l'italiano."
"Yes. Si."
That was the worst day. Another few men died, and they had to just leave them lying there along the road. A Borgia patrol caught up to them later, but Desmond alerted Ezio to it long before the dust column was visible to human eyes, so they were able to set an ambush and catch them without taking worse than a few more shallow cuts. They stripped and dumped those bodies, and then they had a decent set of disguises for the next town. The next town, late in the day, had a medicine woman who, thankfully, didn't try to bleed anyone and instead got to work with a needle.
"Okay," said Desmond, once Ezio had been sewn up and bandaged. He'd insisted everyone else get treatment first. "Where are we going?"
Ezio gave him a look that clearly said, 'You still need to learn Italian.'
Desmond said, "Firenze? Venezia? Forlì?"
Ezio's expression cleared. "Ah. Non Firenze; Lorenzo è morto, e i nemici hanno la città. Forlì . . . Caterina . . . "
"She'll use you," said Desmond. "But she'll do it openly, at least."
Ezio looked down at the bracers with their hidden blades. "Non Forlì."
"Venezia, then?" said Desmond.
"Agostino Barbarigo è tornato ai Templari."
Desmond hesitated, then said, "Roma?"
"Roma?" repeated Ezio, in tones of sharp disbelief.
"Roma. Cesare is snake. Uh. Un serpent? And the best way to deal with a snake is," he said, and made a single gesture across his throat.
" . . . si. Grazie, spettro."
"I have a name," said Desmond, irritably; then he thought better of it. Ezio would have questions if he used his real name.
"Un nome? Che cos'è?"
"Miles," said Desmond. It wasn't really a lie.
"Miles," repeated Ezio, pronouncing it in Italian, with the accent on the second syllable. "Bene, Miles. Grazie mille. Domani vado a Roma."
It turned out that when there wasn't an Animus cutting out the boring parts, it took days to get to Rome on horseback from Monteriggioni. After the first, Ezio had gestured at him to get on the extra horse, one of the ones they'd stolen from the Borgia. He thought this was ridiculous - how was he supposed to sit on anything when he didn't have any substance - and therefore finding out that he could sit on a horse was massively irritating. On the other hand, the horse could clearly tell he was there, and kept spooking because it couldn't see him or smell him or feel him in any way. Ezio thought about it, and then indicated that he should climb up behind him. This worked because the horse thought it was carrying one person, which it could see and feel.
Meanwhile, he and Ezio tried Italian lessons. They didn't go horribly, but it would still be a long time before Desmond would be able to speak with anything like proficiency.
The fifth unpleasant surprise was that Desmond didn't, apparently, sleep. It made sense. He wasn't quite sure where he was but he didn't have a body, and sleep was for bodies to rest and recover. The first night, when he was on guard, he'd just taken it as a gift. The next few nights, though, he figured out that being awake when the only person who could see or hear or perceive you in any way was sleeping was incredibly dull. Now he was spending the nights keeping a watch while Ezio slept, and thinking about his current condition.
He was almost certainly dead. He was almost certainly a ghost. The next logical step in the chain went, 'he was almost certainly haunting Ezio Auditore,' except that required the idea that ghosts could haunt backwards in time, and he'd never heard of that. On the other hand, he'd never heard of ghosts not knowing how to speak languages, so clearly ghost knowledge had some big glaring holes. He hadn't come to any great conclusions by the time Ezio woke up, and he couldn't have explained them even if he had, so he called it a wash.
They arrived at Rome on a cold rainy day. It was the beginning of January, and Italy didn't really get cold enough to snow, so instead it was water just above freezing, that soaked the clothes and then stole all warmth from the body. Ezio was clearly miserable in it, and Desmond could hardly blame him. They went into the first inn they found, which was full of other people who'd had the same idea, paid the ridiculous price for a bed, and went upstairs so Ezio could strip and then sit by the fire to get warm while his clothes also sat by the fire to get dry.
"Miles," said Ezio, and sighed. "Voglio una puttana."
Puttana meant whore, he knew that much. Which meant Ezio . . . well, it was one way to get warm. And he really didn't have any room to object. Ezio hasn't met Sofia, and won't for another decade at least. "Yeah, okay. I'm gone," he said, and walked out through the door.
He went down to the common room. He could people-watch, and listen to Sixteenth-Century Italian, and determinedly ignore what Ezio was doing.
Ezio found him there later. Desmond had made an interesting discovery. None of the people could see him, or hear him, but for some reason none of them tried to sit in him either. The inn was otherwise packed, too. Ezio raised a single eyebrow, and then took the seat and a jolt like the Animus frizting went through him as they aligned, for an instant, and Desmond was sitting in the chair, feeling the good kind of fucked and thinking idly about ordering some of the stew. He jumped up, away, and for the first time since he got there he could feel his heartbeat, thudding in his chest.
"What the fuck?" he said out loud. Ezio apparently echoed the sentiment, looking at him in shock even while some of the people who Desmond was standing in moved so as to not be standing in him anymore.
Ezio said, "Non sei un spettro molto vecchio, sei tu?"
Desmond stared at him. "I'm not even sure I'm properly a ghost." When Ezio continued to stare uncomprehendingly, he added, "Mangia, per favore."
"Si," said Ezio, and flagged down one of the serving women, who were also definitely part-time whores, and got a bowl of thick lentil stew and a mug of ale. Desmond wandered around the room while he ate, observing how people seemed to move to get out of his way and listening in on conversations. When Ezio stood up, he followed.
The next morning, Ezio hired a pigeon to send to Firenze. By then, Claudia and Maria and their many refugees should have made it to that city, which was maybe not Montireggioni's friend but was Cesare's enemy. Ezio wanted to let his family know he was safe. But hiring the pigeon took most of his remaining money. Then again, a man with Ezio's skills didn't really need to worry about money so much.
Ezio wandered around the city for a while, stealing apparently just because he could. Desmond actually didn't mind that so much - it was Ezio getting the lay of the land, so to speak. But the amount of garbage and raw sewage left lying in the streets, and the stench, were unbelievable. He was intensely grateful the scents hadn't come through in the Animus. He tried to focus on other things; the architecture, the people. Ezio noticed, looked for a moment as though he were going to say something, and then clearly thought better of it.
At about lunch time, Ezio stopped wandering and headed for - stables? Yes, one of the stables they'd passed earlier. Desmond remembered this place as having been shuttered when Ezio arrived in Rome, but that clearly wasn't the case. Ezio made friends with the horses, and ducked around the building so he could climb up to the hay loft. After patting down some of the hay into a comfortable nest, Ezio shut his eyes.
Well. It wasn't the worst place in the world to wait.
Ezio woke when the shadows were getting long and people we heading home. He stopped to get a meat-filled pastry, and ate it while walking.
"Where are we going?" asked Desmond.
"Io continuo a non parlare la tua lingua," said Ezio, under his breath, ducking around a corner into a dark alley. He ran up a wall a little to reach a handy loose brick, and then they were climbing one.
"Oh, great," said Desmond.
He didn't actually have to climb; he could just sit down, and where the ground was, for him, seemed to be a function of where Ezio was. Doing it that way wigged him out, though, because he kept clipping through the walls. So instead he followed Ezio all the way up the tower. When they got to the top and Ezio was looking around - with Isu sight, had to be, noting down all the useful or interesting things nearby - he said, "It's English. Er. Anglaise?"
"Inglese?" said Ezio, still looking around. "Sei tu inglese?"
Tu meant you. Vu also meant you, but so far Ezio had stuck to 'tu'. Probably he was asking about Desmond's origin. Desmond shrugged. "Non. Io sono un assassino."
Ezio stiffened, and then relaxed. Had he been surprised? But surely he must already have figured out that Desmond was on his side. He didn't say anything, anyway, and Desmond lined up to take the leap of faith right after him so he would get dragged along at speed through the masonry of the tower. At ground level, Ezio immediately began heading towards another tower. Of course.
After a while he said, "Laa shay’a waqi'un mutlaq."
"Bal kullahum mumkin," replied Desmond instantaneously, and with the correct pronunciation. He'd learned that much, at least.
Ezio looked over at him.
"It's not my fault you don't speak Arabic," said Desmond, and repeated the whole phrase again properly. "That how it is supposed to sound. Eh. Bene sonne?"
"Suono coretto," supplied Ezio, which meant he'd gotten the words and what Desmond meant as well. They walked some more, in awkward silence. Then Ezio blurted out, "Sei morto?" and, yeah, Desmond could see why he'd be worried about asking that.
"Si," said Desmond.
"Templari?"
"Isu," said Desmond. Ezio stopped, but Desmond didn't, so it took a few steps for him to stop and turn back. "Come Juno? Minerva? Isu."
"Isu," said Ezio, tasting the word. "Isu. Ho così tante domande."
"Yeah, buddy," said Desmond. You and me both."
They visited three towers that night. Desmond could feel Ezio watching him the whole time, but tried not to let it bother him. He wasn't going to lie to the man, and if the truth was fantastic - well, Ezio had already seen fantastic things. As the night wore on, however, Desmond became aware that Ezio was assessing his skills as well, and not finding them lacking. The last tower, they raced to the top despite Desmond's protests that it wasn't fair since he didn't actually have to lift his own weight. Ezio laughed and insisted, and in the end Desmond did win by a hair.
"Combatti bene come ti arrampichi?" asked Ezio, breathing hard but not yet panting.
Combat good like you something. Desmond snorted. "Non. I don't fight. I just run away. Er. Io non combatte."
Ezio winced at the terrible grammar, and made the I-wish-you-spoke-Italian face that they were both quickly becoming familiar with. On the way to an abandoned but sound building, one Ezio had identified from the tower, Ezio taught him question words. Desmond knew it was so he could ask questions, but it was going to backfire tremendously: he had questions of his own.
"Mi dispiace," he said.
"Non è colpa," said Ezio, but Desmond wasn't sure how true that was.
It took Ezio some time to get a fire going, using the remains of the mattress as fuel, but gradually the room warmed. Ezio lay down right on the hearth and said, "Guardami, per favore."
"Certo," said Desmond.
Ezio woke up about an hour after dawn. "Miles?"
"Si?"
"È sicuro?"
Desmond shrugged. "È silent. Er. È tranquil?"
"Bene. Ti dispiace se dormo un po 'di più?"
"Non," said Desmond. It was dull, but he didn't mind; and the best way for Ezio to heal well was rest, and lots of it.
When Ezio woke again, it was midmorning already. "Non è noioso, guardarmi dormire?"
"Si," said Desmond. "But I can't actually leave, and I might as well keep watch. Yes, I know, you still don't speak English, I still don't speak Italian. We're working on it. Come on."
Ezio was prepared to eat only a single small loaf of bread, until Desmond told him to, "Mangia," again. Ezio muttered something under his breath; Demond heard the names 'Claudia' and 'Mario.' Well. Good. Ezio could stand some mother-henning, if he thought you just walked it off.
Today, Desmond took the lead. After a few minutes, Ezio asked, "Dove stiamo andando?"
"Il Mausoleo di Augusto," said Desmond.
"Perché?"
"Getting history back on track," said Desmond.
On the way there, they passed a gallows. A man was being beaten by the guards, begging for them to cut his wife down so he could bury her.
"Mi dispiace, Miles," said Ezio. "Ma . . . "
"Si," said Desmond. "Kick his ass."
So after beating up all the guards, they climbed the hill and murdered the sick fuck of an executioner. Or Ezio did, anyway. Then he calmly rifled through the man's house, and just as calmly, trashed it. After a minute, Demond got it: Ezio was covering his tracks, making it look, not like an assassination, but a revenge killing.
"Mangia," said Desmond, when they got outside. The sun said it was noon, and noon was lunch time.
"Si, madre," sniped back Ezio, but he did go buy another bread roll.
They didn't make it to the mausoleum until the afternoon. Desmond worried about it being too late, but as it turned out, Machiavelli was sitting on one of the surrounding lawns, apparently enjoying the winter sunshine. He was appropriately shocked when Ezio walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
Desmond didn't catch much of the ensuing conversation. He caught the word 'pomo' a couple of times, so it was nice to know Machiavelli was just as much a hardass in real life. Then Machiavelli asked something, and Ezio - hesitated.
Ezio didn't hesitate.
"Mio amico?" said Machiavelli.
"Preferisco non dirlo," said Ezio. "Mi dispiace."
Machiavelli didn't like that, but didn't get to pursue it any more, either. Ezio changed the topic, asking about horses, and they were off across the city. Desmond mounted up behind Ezio without so much as a word.
They kept talking as they rode across the city and towards Tiber Island. Even on horseback, it was easily several hours to get there. Desmond remembered more happening on Ezio's first day in Rome. It must have been the way the Animus compressed things, though. It was better, he thought, that Ezio get rest and - "Mangia," he said.
"Non ho fame," said Ezio under his breath.
"Mangia anyway," said Desmond.
Ezio sighed and made some remark to Machiavelli, who replied with almost a chagrined look. It ended with both of them sitting at one of the benches on the island, eating some kind of stew with thick cut slices of bread. Then he led them to a warehouse, which had a small attached suite built on top for the caretaker. Most of the rooms were empty, but one had a bed. Desmond bullied Ezio into lying down, despite protestations of his not being tired, and he was asleep almost as soon as he was horizontal.
So. Ezio was terrible about his own health. Good to know.
Ezio woke up in the middle of the night. "Miles," he said. "Quanto tempo ho dormito?"
"Sette, otto ore?" replied Desmond.
"Tch."
"You are healing. You need rest. And food. Ma - "
" - angia, si, si. Sei peggio di mia sorella."
"Claudia ti ama," said Desmond.
"E tu, Miles? Mi ami?"
Desmond snickered. "Yeah, sure."
Ezio grinned back at him sharply.
The thought niggled at him, though, all that day while they went to the Trajan baths to meet Machiavelli and ended up having to beat up a pack of young idiots in wolf pelts, seriously, who did they think they were fooling? They all ran away after Ezio killed their leader, anyway. Then they went under the baths into an old and falling-apart Roman theater and Ezio looted their stuff, including a letter from whoever was serving as their taskmaster on the Borgia side.
"Machiavelli needs to see that," said Desmond.
"Si," agreed Ezio.
The thing was, Ezio was such a distant ancestor to him that there wasn't even the tiniest chance they'd ever have gotten to know each other in the usual way. Grandparents, sure; even great-grandparents sometimes. Not an ancestor five centuries distant. And, okay, Desmond felt a connection to Ezio, because wandering around in someone else's head for four decades would do that. But love? Ezio?
On the face of it, the thought was preposterous. He cared about Ezio because he cared about his own eventual existence. He was also rapidly becoming aware that the greatest mentor of the Assassins since Altair himself was also a disaster walking around in human skin, and desperately needed someone to look after him. It didn't have to be Desmond. Probably it had been Mario and Claudia and maybe Leonardo, before he'd . . . arrived. It was just obvious for him to do it now. That wasn't love.
Not yet, anyway. He knew Ezio was the true mentor of the assassins, could see it shining through even now, while he was still in grief and shock and wounded. It was in how he'd sent Claudia away with the Apple and used himself as bait to draw off the Borgia. It was in how he'd gone to hunt down il Carnefice immediately after learning he existed. It was in how he wanted to help Desmond, Isu or no Isu, even though he already knew Desmond was dead. He was the mentor Desmond's own father had never been, and it could turn to love, if Desmond let it.
He had no idea how he'd gotten here, was the thing. What happened to Desmond, when Ezio died? And he would die. Ezio was as mortal as any other. What would that do to Desmond, if he lost someone he really loved? Shaun and Bex, didn't count; as far as he knew, they were alive. Where would he even go?
"Miles?" asked Ezio, gently, and they were at the office where Machiavelli had said to meet him.
"Mi dispiace," he said. "Just show it to Machiavelli."
Machiavelli was pleased to have proof, but unsurprised. He told Ezio about the "Followers of Romulus" and their antics, how the fright was sending people to the churches in droves. Ezio said, "Un altra cosa da riparare. Cosa altro c'è?"
Machiavelli looked up from his desk, startled. "Hai intenzione di riparare tutta Roma? Da solo?"
"Si, e non. Non da solo."
"Ezio - "
"Cosa altro?" demanded Ezio, planting both hands on the desk and leaning over.
Machiavelli gave in. "Le tasse, e i soldati. La gente è troppo spaventata e troppo preoccupata per le loro vite."
"L'esercito papale è come un esercito altro," said Ezio. "Possiamo sconfiggerlo come se avessimo sconfitto un esercito altro."
"Con quale esercito?"
"Siamo assassini o no?" asked Ezio.
"Hm," said Machiavelli, and proceeded to tell Ezio about the Assassins' issues in Rome: a lazy madonna leading the whores, an uncooperative thieves' guild, corrupt guards and the mercenaries too busy with the French to fight them, and whole a city that feared and hated Assassins.
"Va bene," said Ezio, standing straight.
"Ezio. Che cosa hai intenzione di fare?"
"Fai amicizia."
"Così, Miles? Cosa pensi?"
Desmond sighed. "You need une madonna altra." It was the problem with the easiest solution, the one he thought he even could solve.
"Si, ma io stavo parlando di Machiavelli."
Oh. "Machiavelli is a good ambassador. Ambassador bene?"
"Un buon ambasciatore," said Ezio.
"Si. E un capo male."
"Un cattivo capo," said Ezio, tilting his head slightly. "Mario?"
"Tuo zio?" said Desmond. "Un buon condottiero, e cattivo at politics."
Ezio relaxed a little, like he'd been expecting to have to defend his uncle; but there was no defense against a truth that Mario himself had admitted outright more than once. "Si. E con entrambi, un buon mentore."
Desmond shrugged. "Being mentor is difficult - difficile. If you're worried, maybe try showing Machiavelli about being un buon capo?" At Ezio's continuing incomprehension, he tried, "Teach him? Uh, instruct? Demonstrate?"
"Dimostrare," said Ezio, slowly. They were getting the hang of it. English had enough Latin roots that there was usually a synonym that had an Italian cognate. Desmond just had to throw out words until he found one Ezio could catch. "Dimostrare ai Machiavelli?"
"Sure," said Desmond. "Why not? It can't hurt."
They went to go find out who was fighting the French group of Cesare's supporters. To Ezio's pleased surprise, it was a friend: Bartolomeo d'Alviano. In real life, Bartolomeo was a bear of a man, with a lantern jaw and a face that naturally frowned. Desmond wandered around the barracks curiously while Ezio and Bartolomeo caught up with one another and Bartolomeo introduced his wife, Pantasilea. She was a tiny, curvaceous woman. Desmond looked between the two of them, obviously and happily in love, and decided not to wonder how that worked.
After an afternoon reminiscing about bygones in Venice, Ezio finally got to the point over dinner. Pantasilea listened with dark eyes and a serious, thoughtful air, and said very little, and saw much. At the end, she suggested - something - that made Bartolomeo guffaw and Ezio take her hand to kiss it again before leaving for the night.
"Cosi, Ezio?" asked Desmond.
"Pantasilea è une genia. I francesi e la guardia papale sono alleati, ma questo non significa che gli piaccia l'un l'altro. Un po di rubando, un po di nacostio, alcune lettere contraffatte . . . "
"Turn them against one another, yes," said Desmond.
Machiavelli liked the idea too. Well, he would, it was his kind of plan. His idea was simple in essence: get two ranking commanders to have an affair with the same woman, let them both find out about it, and then stand back to watch the sparks fly.
"Quale donna?" asked Ezio.
"Un alleata d'assassini," said Machiavelli, waving his hands. "Ho bisogno che tu segua alcuni dei loro comandanti. Dobbiamo conoscere le loro abitudini prima di poterne scegliere due. Capisce?"
"Si," said Ezio.
There followed six weeks of following around Templar guard-captains, Italian and French both. It was boring, but between repeated exhortations to Ezio to mangia and dormie, Ezio actually did recover weeks before Machiavelli settled on a pair. They were each known to be the kind of man who would have an affair instead of just going to a whorehouse like a normal person, and the jealous type. The French one was a mean drunk. The only thing lacking was a woman to be their mutual lover. Machiavelli was obviously hesitant to tell that to Ezio; with, as it turned out, good reason.
Ezio went to la Rose en Fiore, and spent a week sleeping his way through the place. Desmond hated every moment of it, and spent most of it sitting in hallways trying to ignore everything since he couldn't actually leave the building. He knew Ezio wouldn't catch anything, but it was just so - pointless. Getting off only really required a hand, and whores were whores. Why would anyone want to do that with someone they didn't love?
At the end of the week, Ezio announced which of the whores could learn to be a courtesan in the court to Machiavelli and handed her off. Then he got a horse and went for a long ride, away from the densely crowded central and Tiber island districts, and out onto the Campagna.
«I am sorry, Miles,» he said. «I know you don't like . . . » he trailed off, baffled. «Women?» he tried.
«No, I'm,» said Desmond, and then stopped. Renaissance Italian didn't have a word for bisexual. «It's fine. I just think that sex should be about more than money.»
«You are a romantic!» said Ezio, apparently delighted. «Did you save yourself for marriage, like in the ballads?»
«I died,» said Desmond, which did the impossible and shut Ezio up. For at least a few minutes.
«Ye-es,» said Ezio eventually. «You died. Or perhaps the Isu killed you.»
«They did not - look, it was a,» Desmond stopped. His italian wasn't that good yet, and he didn't know the words anyway. «It was for an Isu. I was not an Isu. Using it killed me, because a human mind can't carry the same things an Isu mind could. The Isu who made it were all long dead.» Except for one, and only if you called that living. «They didn't actually want it to kill someone using it.»
«Did it work?» asked Ezio. «Whatever it was supposed to do?»
«I don't know,» said Desmond. «I woke up here. I suppose it's better than not waking up at all, but . . . »
«It seems I must apologize again, Miles. I did not mean to bring up painful memories.»
«Forgiven,» said Desmond. The finished the ride in a more companionable kind of quiet.
When they got back, however, it was to find a new disaster: Madonna Solari had been kidnapped by slavers.
«She's in a boat, on the river,» said Desmond.
«How do you know?» asked Ezio, even as he got himself onto a horse.
«I remember things sometimes,» said Desmond. «Ezio - be careful. I also remember Madonna Solari dying.»
«Understood,» said Ezio.
They didn't get there in time for Ezio to save Solari, which was the only mercy: that he hadn't had to see another of his failures. The boat, in fact, was entirely gone; Solari had just been dumped overboard, and was bobbing with the other refuse in the river, bloodless. Ezio waded in to grab her and pull her back, close her staring eyes. Then he strapped her body to the horse for the long walk back to the Rose. The horse didn't like it.
«You remembered this?» asked Ezio.
«No. I remembered being there when that bastard cut her throat open. Close enough to see, not close enough to do anything.»
«I see. And at Monteriggioni?»
«I remember you being woken by a cannonball through the wall of your bedroom,» said Desmond.
«So you changed things,» said Ezio.
«Little things,» said Desmond. «I can't . . . I'm sorry, Ezio.»
«I will forgive you,» said Ezio, «if you tell me when you remember something.»
Desmond looked at him. «I will tell you that I remember,» he said. «But not what. No man should know his own future, Ezio. Not even you.»
They trudged along in silence.
«That's true,» said Ezio finally. «Very well. Tell me when you remember, and use your judgement about the rest.»
Desmond nodded.
They made it back to the Rose late, but not so late that the whores couldn't see what had happened to their madonna. «Put her in a cold place,» said Ezio. «I will arrange the funeral in the morning.»
«A funeral? For Madame Solari?»
«The dead deserve their rest,» said Ezio. «In the morning. I am tired. I don't suppose there is a bed I could use?»
«There are plenty of beds, ser - » began one of the whores.
«An empty one,» said Ezio.
He ended up on an old and mostly flat straw mattress on the floor of one of the whores' actual bedrooms, while the woman herself slept in a different room with one of her "sisters."
«Will you keep watch?» asked Ezio. It was more a ritual than a genuine request at this point.
«Of course,» said Desmond.
He woke Ezio up by shouting, "Ezio Auditore da Firenze," at the top of his lungs. Ezio came up swinging, and then caught himself. «Miles?»
«You have about two seconds before your sister barges in here.»
«My sister?» Ezio said, and then Claudia arrived.
After the confusion of limbs and hugging was done, they adjourned to the kitchen downstairs to talk. «I'm surprised, brother,» said Claudia. «To find you at a whorehouse, but not whoring.»
Ezio winced, but Maria got there first. «Claudia! Have some respect. These women lost their madame yesterday. I'm sure Ezio stayed only to see to their safety.»
«Ha, safety,» said Claudia. Before she could say anything else, one of the other whores poked her head inside the kitchen, saw that they were there, and came in the rest of the way. She was wearing a sensible linen shift under a loose woolen dress: clearly not her work clothes.
«Ser Ezio,» she said. «These women just barged in. I'm sorry if they woke you - »
«They did not,» said Ezio. «Let me eat breakfast, and then I suppose I have to find a priest.»
«This is Rome,» said the whore.
«To perform the funeral,» said Ezio.
«About that,» said the whore. «We all talked, and we decided - we can't afford a funeral, even if we all chip in. So we'd rather you didn't. If that's all right.»
«No money?» asked Claudia. «This is a brothel!»
«Er, yes?»
«Show me the books,» demanded Claudia.
«You can - do sums?»
«I'm an Auditore,» said Claudia, almost offended. «Of course I can do sums!»
Two hours later, Claudia sat back and said, «Well, Solari was a templar lover and a cheat, but I can fix this. I think. If you don't mind going and collecting on some outstanding debts, oh brother of mine.»
«Fix this? Claudia, what are you even doing here? Has Firenze been attacked?»
«Not that I know,» said Claudia, then looked up and caught his expression. «We did not go to Firenze, brother! We took the townspeople to Siena. They provided food and supplies, and now everyone has gone back to Monteriggioni. With luck, they won't even miss planting season.»
«Then - why are you here?»
«You didn't think I'd miss the chance to come to Rome?»
«We had to bring you the Apple.» said Maria. «We want to help.»
«Mother - »
«I want to spit on the corpse of the man who took away my Giovanni!» said Maria, softly. «My sons Federico and Petruccio. We will not hide behind walls, my son. Not if they will not protect us.»
Ezio looked between her and Claudia. «I can't lose the two of you, too.»
«Ezio,» said Claudia. «The only way you can lose us is by sending us away.»
Ezio looked up, across, a pleading panicked question for Desmond.
«I don't know why you think I have any control over them. It's obvious she's going to do this, with you or without. The only real choice you have is to accept the help you need, or reject it.»
When put like that, the correct choice was obvious, even to a self-sacrificing human disaster like Ezio Auditore. «Very well, then. Please fix this mess, Madonna Auditore.»
Claudia shot her brother a glare. «Don't ever call me that again.» Then she turned and looked straight at Desmond. «I don't think I've ever seen Ezio listen to good advice before in his life. Who are you?»
«Claudia,» said Maria and Ezio at the same time. Maria continued with, «Who are you talking to?» while Ezio asked, «You can see him?»