Only the Devil Laughed

An Assassin's Creed 2 fan fiction by xahra99

Chapter One.

Roma, 1499.

Leonardo should be here, Ezio thought as he limped through the narrow streets of Trastevere. He's the only man who could make sense of this.

But Ezio had more immediate concerns than the visions he had seen under the Vatican. The dark silk of his doublet masked the stain of his wound well enough, but there was too much blood. He could-and often had-treated cuts and broken bones himself, but this went beyond his knowledge.

And Leonardo's one of the few men I'd trust to treat a stomach wound.

The clashing of armour chimed from the streets behind Ezio. He clasped his left hand across his belly to stem the bleeding and ran on, pain jolting through him with every step.

I could do with your help, my friend, he whispered to Leonardo as he went. Leonardo, being in Milan, did not reply.

The Creedallowed most acts; it was permitted to let an enemy live, but Ezio was beginning to think that it was not a good idea. The man who had been Rodrigo Borgia and was now Pope Alexander VI would never forgive Ezio for defeating him. Ezio had gambled that he would be able to escape the Vatican before the Spaniard gathered his wits enough to call for aid.

He had been wrong.

And now his body begged for healing even as his mind begged for answers. The power of the Eden fragment had lent Ezio strength for so long...but even its power had waned after a while. Ezio had hidden both globe and staff; marking the spot carefully so he would be able to find it again. He had thought to flee across the Ponte Sant'Angelo, but the bastard had cordoned off the bridges.

And I am in no shape to run across the rooftops, he thought ruefully.

It seemed certain that he would be captured; even more certain that Borgia should not get his hands on the artifacts. The secret chamber of the Vatican had revealed itself only to the Assassin, but there were other chambers, he felt sure. Other artifacts, too.

The pain made it difficult to think. Ezio pulled a vial from his pouch and swallowed it, wondering all the time if it would not be better simply to swig poison and get it over with. Rosa had pressed the theriac on him before he left Venice. Leonardo had scoffed at the brew and called it useless folk medicine, but it was all he had.

He needed more than the potion. He needed a miracle.

As he skidded around a corner, he found a doctor instead. He nearly ran straight past before he noticed him-the monkish robes that the man wore blended into the dark streets. Only his long-beaked white mask stood out.

The doctor himself jumped as Ezio skidded to a halt in front of him. Unsurprising, the Assassin thought. I must appear like a demon from a shadow play; clad in black and streaked with blood.

"I need help."

The doctor's mask hid his expression well. "I have poultices," he offered. "Herbs?"

When Ezio shook his head he asked "Do you need bleeding?"

Bleeding. Dio mio, hadn't he bled enough already? Ezio glanced around, praying the mask deafened the doctor's ears to any signs of pursuit. "Inside. Quick." He was gambling that this doctor had a rented room just as his old friend Giovanni had in Firenze, somewhere to deal with more serious injuries. When the terse order failed to produce any assistance, he pulled out a purse of florins from his doublet and placed it in the doctor's hand. There was a jingle of coins as the doctor assessed the pouch's weight, a second chime (as if he couldn't believe his luck) and then assistance. "Certainly. This way."

The doctor's consulting-chamber was a small room that looked as if it doubled as a shop during the daytime. A rough trestle table served as examining room and, from the stains, operating theatre.

"What ails you?"

Ezio gestured at his side. The doctor lit a lamp, peering closely. Cold finger's prodded at Ezio's abdomen, followed by the hissing sound of indrawn air; such as a smith would employ before telling a man exactly what he had done to his armor that would make it so expensive to repair, and exactly how much it was going to cost him. Finally the doctor drew away. "Sword wound? That'll need cauterizing, then."

"Cazzo! I need a doctor. Not some idiot whose idea of medicine is boiling tar."

"What would you suggest I use? I trained at Bologna, and I tell you that boiling oil is the way to deal with such things."

"I don't care where you trained!" Murderers and thieves, da Vinci had said often of surgeons, and Ezio had to admit that once again, Leonardo had turned out to be right. 'Do you have egg yolks? Oil of roses? Turpentine?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Mix them together and apply it to the wound."

"Va bene," the doctor muttered. "But it won't work."

Ezio smiled wolfishly. "Then I promise not to haunt you should I fail to survive."

The doctor snorted and began to mix the ingredients. Ezio looked around the shop. The lamplight was treacly and dim. Shadows crept in every corner of the room. The air smelt of blood, heavy and sweet. Not all of it was his. The scent and the thick chopping block that leant against the apothecary's table implied that the shop was used by a butcher by day.

At least, I hope so. Ezio thought as he unbuckled the straps that held on his chest guard. Leather skidded between his blood-slicked fingers and the mail hit the floor with a crash.

The doctor looked up from his mixing in surprise. He held a pestle upraised in his hand. Glutinous liquid dripped from the head of the pestle. "What in God's name are you doing?"

"You can't apply a poultice under mail."

"I told you not to move. You'll open up the wound." The doctor hurried across and picked up the armor. He whistled at the weight. "Good stuff."

"A family heirloom."

"Keep still or your sons may receive their inheritance sooner than expected." The doctor lit another candle and placed it on the table. He leaned forwards so closely that the beak of his mask almost touched the wound and poked at Ezio's stomach.

"Figlio di puttana! Be careful!"

The doctor shrugged. He reached up to the ties that attached his mask and unknotted the silk ribbon. "You are no plague victim," he said by way of explanation."Unless the sores have changed their nature since I saw them last." He was shaved bald underneath the mask, with a gaunt face that looked like a starved pony. He frowned as he examined the wound a second time. "They taught me in Bologna never to accept a case I thought would not live."

Ezio shifted. Pain made him short-tempered. "Just do your damn job."

The doctor shrugged again and lit a candle. He anchored it to the back of the chair with melted wax. "I wash my hands of this."

'As long as you wash." Ezio remembered Leonardo had said once that dirt as well as bad odors caused disease. He mentioned this to the doctor, who grunted.

"Everyone knows that disease is caused by an imbalance of the humors, notwithstanding God's holy will. And since you will not let me bleed you..."

Ezio's faith had never been robust. It had been further shaken by the mysterious messenger underneath the Vatican. "So God's will caused a sword wound?"

"Immorality," the doctor said pointedly, as he used a pair of sharp scissors to cut the strings of Ezio's doublet, "is another cause of sickness." He wadded up a length of clean cotton and spread the poultice on the top layer. "Keep still."

The poultice was undoubtedly more comfortable than the boiling oil which the doctor had recommended, but it was not a pleasant experience. By the time it was bandaged securely in place, Ezio had nearly exhausted his supply of curse words and was busy thinking of unpleasant ways to execute the Spaniard, should he ever meet Borgia again.

Finally the doctor stepped back, wiping his hands upon his apron. "Finished." He held out a flask. "Willow leaf extract. For the pain."

The liquid tasted like swamp water. Ezio was tempted to ask for laudanum instead, but he needed to be alert. "Why didn't you give me this before, cazzo?"

The doctor shrugged. He wiped his forehead with a sweaty hand. "Some hold that heavenly reward can only be gained by earthly suffering."

"Then it's unfortunate for you that I'm injured." Ezio snapped. He tugged his shirt together and reached for his armor. "Or you'd ascend in a moment."

The doctor held up a hand. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"You are in no state to travel." The doctor cleared up bowls and bottles efficiently. "I'll give you lodgings in my house for the night. You can be on your way in the morning."

"Why?" Ezio slid off the table. The bandages tightened against his stomach, but they held. The adrenaline had drained from his muscles, leaving him weak and dizzy. He felt sick.

There was compassion in the doctor's face. "I am curious, God forgive me. I want to see if you're still alive in the morning."

"I'll do my best."

"So you'll accept?"

Ezio considered the alternatives. There were none. "It seems advisable. Your name?"

The doctor held out his hand. "Alvise da Ferrara,"

Ezio shook the proffered palm and wiped his hand on his robe. "My name is Ezio. I wish we had met in better circumstances." He picked up his armor despite the doctor's protests. The pain bit deep, but he could walk.

"Feeling better?"

"No." Ezio said shortly.

"You are lucky to be alive. If the blade hadn't glanced off your rib..." Da Ferrara sliced a palm across his throat in illustration. 'You would already be singing with the angels."

Or burning in hell, Ezio thought. "Is your house far?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not far." He looked at Ezio speculatively, as if he suspected he might drop dead on the spot. "Where did you learn that technique? Unless I am much mistaken, you are no doctor."

"A friend."

"Mmm. Did this friend know of any more remedies?"

"Moldy bread also works well, he told me. But only it's the right type of mould."

"Hm. I shall have to experiment." The doctor turned down a narrow street. "This is it," he said. "Mi casa es su casa. It's not a palazzo, but..."

He was right. It was far from a palazzo. The house sagged like a drunk. It was low-roofed with two storeys. There were holes in the thatch. The windows were of oiled hide rather than glass. All together, Ezio had slept in far worse.

The doctor lifted the latch. The door sagged and he had to use one boot to shove it open. Ezio followed, but da Ferrara halted him on the threshold. "Take off your weapons, please. I have a child."

"A child?"

"A daughter." The doctor was apologetic. "I have a chest, inside. They will be safe. I don't want to scare her. She has had...bad experiences. With guards."

Ezio nearly turned and walked away right then, but the sound of steel sabatons on the muddy streets stopped him. "Agreed."

Despite the house's shabby exterior appearance, inside it was a typical middle-class city home. The floor was strewn with fresh rushes. There was a table, with chairs, and a large fireplace built from narrow red bricks. The chest turned out to be a dowry cassone, full of linen. The doctor spread a blanket on top of the sheets before he placed Ezio's sword and daggers on top. He closed and locked the chest, placing the key in Ezio's hand. "Satisfied?"

"More than that. Grateful."

There was a soft movement at the top of the stairs. A woman appeared, holding a child of roughly twelve years by one hand and a candle in the other. "Alvise? I heard the noise, and I thought...Who is this?"

"A guest, Giovanna. No, a patient. He will not stay long." He turned to Ezio."My wife, Giovanna. And my daughter, Filippa."

Ezio managed a short bow. "Madonna."

The lady-no more than a girl, really, blushed. The child was less polite. 'Who are you?"

Alvise frowned. "Filippa! Our guest is ill, and does not wish to be disturbed. Go back to bed. "He exchanged a quick glance with his wife. Ezio translated it as the guest is unknown, and may possibly be dangerous.

Giovanna shooed the child upstairs. Alvise waited long enough to make Ezio wonder if the invitation had been revoked before he beckoned Ezio up the stairs. There was no sign of either his wife or child as he showed the Assassin to a tiny room tucked high up in the eaves above the first floor. The only piece of furniture was a sagging rope bed. It looked like it had not been used in a while. A small wax-paper window let in some light.

"In case you need them." Da Ferrara said as he handed Ezio another small bundle of willow leaves."Dormire bene. Try not to die."

"I'll keep that in mind." Ezio muttered. He sat on the bed and tried to plan ahead. He had already decided that he would be gone before da Ferrara came to wake him. He had no wish to bring the city guards down upon this gentle family. Although he hoped that the soldiers would become less alert with time, there was still the chance he could be captured before he could reach a pigeon-coop.

I need a messenger.

The door creaked open. Ezio had expected Alvise. Instead he was presented with a dandelion-like mop of very blond, very curly hair. Alvise's daughter. Filippa. She hung onto the door and watched Ezio with eyes as round as coins.

Ezio liked children. Indeed, he had a child. But that was another story-and right now, another life.

"Your father told you not to visit me," he said.

The child's shrug was a miniature version of her father's gesture.

Ezio dug in his belt-pouch. "Would you like to earn a florin?"

Another shrug, which eagerly transformed itself into a nod as Ezio held up a coin. The Assassin leant forwards, trying not to wince. "I need you to look after something for me." He bent down further, cursing under his breath, and traced the Medici emblem of six balls on a shield in the dust that caked the floorboards. "You must find a pigeon coop with this painted upon its door. Once you've found it, catch a pigeon." He drew out a scrap of paper from his belt. "Tie this around its leg. It's a game. You must not be caught. Understand?" He pointed at the crest again. "Only this pattern. Nothing else. Capisci quello che sto dicendo?"

The child nodded fiercely.

"Can you talk?"

She nodded again. Her whisper was so soft Ezio had to strain his ears to hear it. "Si." She stretched out her hand. Ezio placed the paper in her palm and she was gone, slipping out the door so swiftly that he barely saw her move.

Ezio exhaled. He lowered himself to the bed and watched the early dawn light redden the rafters as he chewed on the leaves the doctor had left him. For all he tried to stay awake in case the wretched doctor tried to bleed him, he felt himself slipping towards sleep. He placed the florin on the foot of the bed to remind him to reward the child once she returned and closed his eyes.

He woke to the strong bright light of noon and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. At first, drugged by sleep and pain, he thought the sound to be the child returning, but the noise was too loud.

Soldiers.

"Affanculo!" Ezio's hand went to his sword-hilt. The only thing he found was the key to the linen- chest. The coin had vanished from the foot of the bed where he had laid it. By the time the door slammed open he had pulled the paper covering off the window and thrown himself out of the tiny opening into the brightness beyond.

Author's notes:

UPDATE! I HAVE FANART! by the lovely caroline parkinson

Chapter one art 'he threw himself out of the tiny opening into the darkness beyond' is posted on my livejournal under the name xahra99

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This is a sequel to my previous AC2 fics; 'As the Sparks Fly Upward' and 'This Course of Fortune,' but it should be able to stand alone.

Set immediately post-game. I have problems with characters being given major injuries and then continuing on as if nothing has happened. This is a fic fix. The Renaissance medical stuff is as close as I can get it to real life, although the timeline is a little skewed. Oil of roses, eggs, and turpentine were used by Ambroise Pare in the 16th century to treat battle wounds when he ran out of boiling oil. It worked because turpentine is an antiseptic. Fun fact: it wasn't until 1847 that a doctor discovered that deaths from septicemia in childbirth were much more common in mothers attended by students who had gone straight from the dissecting theatre to the obstetrical wards without washing their hands and made the connection between hand-washing and disease. But never mind.

I have adopted the game's use of Rather Unnecessary Italian Phrases. Most of them are swear words. I don't speak Italian, so if any reader who does notices a mistake, please let me know