Ezio Underground

"Wait." Ezio's whole body twitched with unease. His hand snapped out to grab the Assassin's shoulder. The woman stopped dead, awaiting his instruction. After a few moments' study of the surrounding passageway, Ezio stepped past the youngish Assassin. He explored the branch to the left and right, his skin prickling. The back of his neck tingled when he stepped into the right hand passage. It could not be claustrophobia. He'd never felt confined in a tight space. Yet these tunnels set his teeth on edge. His every instinct screamed warnings.

"Perhaps we should split, Maestro," the young woman said. "Let me take the central way. The air seems less stuffy. A way out maybe."

Ezio grunted, doubtful. They'd been wandering around here for hours that felt like days. They were still no closer to finding a way out of the maze than they'd been that morning. It had to be going into late afternoon now when the temperature fell dramatically. Roman winters were not gentle. And wearing heavy armour did not help matters either.

Ezio shifted his shoulders irritated. His sense of direction had been blunted. There were barely any smells down here. The tunnels were so dry that dust rose with every step the two of them took. In the older Assassin's experience, dry tunnels meant occupation – human occupation. Yet so far they'd seen no sign of anyone. Had not heard a thing except their own footsteps.

"I would rather not, Zita," Ezio replied, having made his decision. "We've already left the others behind. I doubt if we'll find them now. We'll continue right down the middle until we hit something."
She nodded, accepting his decision. She rarely questioned him, trusting him to know what he was doing. Which was not always the case, he reflected.

They kept walking, Ezio musing on their water supplies which were running low and the lamp oil which was just about gone. After the last drops were used up, he did not know what they'd use for light. He'd seen few torch brackets – and most of them were empty.

The floor of the passage sloped upwards, at first gently and then steeper. The walls curved over their heads into arches – the first sign of human handywork. These were not natural tunnels. They had been – until some ancients had found and enlarged them and cut them closer to the surface. Ezio had no doubt they'd end up in some building, be it the Mercato di Traiano or the Coliseum.

Another trio of arched passageways gaped in front of them. Zita sniffed at the air of each of them while Ezio poured the last of the lamp oil into the lamp.

"The left hand passage feels colder – fresh air," she reported, having finished her exploration.

Ezio grunted, clicking the lamp shutter closed.

"Does it still slope up?"

"Si, not as steep as the last one."

She rubbed her sweaty neck. In the orange light her face was flushed.

"We go on. No dead ends yet – no reason not to continue."

Half an hour later a gust of cold wind greeted them – and with its refreshing welcome a group of waiting Borgia soldiers. Ezio cursed and held out an arm to stop Zita beside him in the shadows. The Borgia men were never known for being a silent group. He motioned Zita to approach stealthily. The Borgia thugs had not seen them yet. Their backs were to the opening of the tunnel. Ezio could see a starry sky so his estimate of time had been correct: they'd spent a day trying to get out of the underground passageways.

"The leader is the one in the ornate helmet," he whispered once they were around the corner from the chattering soldiers. He unstrapped his crossbow and handed it to her. She accepted it without a word. "Shoot him. They are heavily armed: keep out of sight and use your long range weapons to cover me. Understood?"

Zita nodded silently. She was a rather laconic woman, said little but did a lot more than many of her male counterparts. That is why Ezio trusted her in claustrophobic situations or tight corners. She was stable, reliable.

As he stepped out into the lamp light, having doused their own, Zita's pistol thundered in the tight confines of the passages and the Borgia soldiers turned as one. All except that is their leader on whose back sprouted a red blotch. He fell with a crash amid the howls of rage and dismay from the disorganized Templars. Ezio did not give them time to think and waded in, his war hammer smashing heads and denting armour. Crunches of breaking bone and yowls of pain resounded on the hill amid the tumbling ruins. Gun shots from the passage mouth reverberated off the still standing walls. Owls and sleeping birds screeched their displeasure at being woken by such unseemly noises.

Ezio swung his hammer and a helmet caved in with a sickening sound like an egg breaking. The man reeled into his companion spoiling his aim. The blade scored along Ezio's ribs instead of his chest. He twisted away and took out another's knee. The sound of the kneecap giving way was lost amid the thuds of crossbow bolts hitting home. The Templar collapsed weeping, his helmet knocked askew.

Ezio started manoeuvring the Templars so that Zita could shoot them in the back. He danced in and out among them, his lighter armour allowing for greater flexibility of movement. A large spadone swished towards his head. He just ducked, the passage of the blade close to his head ruffling his hood. The heavily-armed Templar stumped after him, slightly off balance by the force of his swing. A growl issued from the narrow slit at the top of the helmet. Ezio had always wondered how it was the men inside could see.

An axe came out of nowhere just as the spadone went up again to sweep down and take the Assassin's head off. The flat of the axe – mistimed by its user – hit the Assassin in the upper arm, staggering him sideways. The heavy long spadone whistled through empty air and found the unfortunate axe-wielder. His hand fell to the ground, still clutching the axe. He howled curses – before a quarrel sprouted in the middle of his forehead. Good aim, Ezio congratulated Zita silently.
Grabbing a knife-wielding arm, he jerked on it to bring the Templar in close. The man's mouth was open in a shout. Ezio's fist connected with the man's teeth. Tears sprung in the pained Templar's eyes. He whimpered – and Ezio's hidden blade cut off his air permanently in a spray of blood.

The Templars were down in numbers but still sufficient to wear him down. Most of them wore heavy plate armour which was proving hard to get through. Unless one had a crossbow or enough body strength to shatter the armour head on. The necessity of making arm-wide blows was tiring him out.
With a guttural grunt, the Assassin blocked the spadone and kicked the man where it hurt most. As the man doubled over, Ezio brought his elbow down on the man's neck. The Templar sprawled and Ezio shot him before he could gather himself to get up. The smell of the smoke from the gun filled his nostrils momentarily: sharp and acrid.

Pain flamed across his back. He stumbled – which probably saved his life. The two Templars like the good team they were had come to an unspoken agreement to end the Assassin's life with a two pronged attack. The cinquedea missed by a hairs breadth. Ezio surged up like a snake, the hidden blade going for the exposed chin and neck of the Templar on his right. The man reacted fast batting his arm away, leaving him open for an attack. Nothing chagrined, Ezio leapt away out of their reach.
A crossbow twanged and the visored man to his left grabbed his back, knees buckling. That left only two to handle. They eyed him uncertainly and then turned and ran for the dark tunnel opening. Ezio's hands flicked. The men staggered, falling into each other. Two knife hilts protruded from them when they fell.

Zita emerged from the tunnel, crossbow at the ready. Her gaze scanned the ruins searching for more. Ezio's internal senses told him that none were anywhere near. He began to strip the bodies of any valuables they might have – a practice he'd long since stopped seeing as reprehensible. During his first days in Roma he'd had to scrounge for money, food and other supplies. He'd had no home, no money and so he'd turned thief, murderer. He smiled bitterly, taking a soldier's purse from the corpse's belt. The people always called him that – and he saw such titles as a compliment.

"No one else about, Maestro," Zita informed him, her circuit complete.

He straightened from the last body, wiping the knives on their cloaks and tucking them into his boot sheath.

"Bene. It is time to rejoin the others at the Isola Tiberina. They should know that the entrances and exits are being watched."


The city lay quiet under them as they skimmed the rooftops. Moonlight glinted off shingles and the guns of the patrolling guards. Ezio and Zita managed to avoid most of them and used the crossbow on the rest. The crossbow made less noise than the sharp retort of the gunshots. As usual both Assassins plundered the bodies. Supplies were hard to come by and not to be left behind.

The moon was huge in the sky by the time they got back to the Assassin Bureau where lights were never put out. There were no windows since the hideout was underground. The torches and lamps burned all the time. Carpets whispered under the booted feet of the wandering Assassins and the novices. Machiavelli and Stefano were still up and waiting for them anxiously.

"Finally," Stefano blurted on seeing Ezio and Zita walk through the doors. "I thought we'd need to send out mice to track you."

Ezio's answering smile was thin as he shook off his cloak and hung it off a chair by the fire. Zita moved off further into the hideout to the women's chambers. Ezio had thought it politic to keep a measure of separation between the sexes in his group. He wanted to keep "accidents" to a minimum.
Machiavelli regarded his leader with beady eyes. He walked to the fireplace and took a long handled kettle from it. He poured the contents into a goblet and handed it to Ezio.

"Grazie, Machiavelli." Ezio sipped cautiously. He did not want to burn his mouth. "What news from the rest of the teams?"

Machiavelli thoughtfully folded his arms.

"There are stores of gunpowder in the tunnels immediately under the Castel," he replied. "Which makes sense given that eventually the Borgia would have discovered the tunnels."

"How much gunpowder?"

"Whole magazines of it. Enough to blow this city and everyone in it to the maledetto inferno."

Ezio chewed his lip, fingers playing with the cup. He walked over to the table where the map of Roma was laid out, marked with the pigeon coops and the tunnel entrances for ease of transport. He studied it for a long time.

"We need to establish checkpoints in the tunnels. And step up the campaign of recruitment – keep the Borgias too busy on the surface to bother about the underground."

"An ambitious plan," Machiavelli opined sceptically.

"Did you have shift work in mind?" Stefano had approached to glance at the map too.

"Aye, a rotation of shifts. Twelve hours each. To coincide with the changing of the Borgia guard: we go on and off duty at the same time as they do."

Stefano frowned.

"You mean as in doing it under their noses, no?"

"They're less likely to notice us that way. The closer you are to the enemy the less likely he is to notice you."

"Virtu again?" Machiavelli's voice had a sharp note to it.

Ezio chuckled.

"Indeed, virtu." His voice was light but deep down he felt tired. He wanted rest – a good night's sleep.

"And how did you want to keep pressing them on the surface?" Stefano fingered his knife hilt.

"Leonardo's machines," Ezio told him.

Both men stared at him. Machiavelli's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, I did hear a rumour – that the multi-shot gun had been destroyed. That would not have been your work, would it, Mentore?"

He only used Ezio's title when he disagreed or was upset with him.

"Yes, Machiavelli, it was. And I make no apologies for it."

"I sought none. I rather think that is a good idea you have – but maybe you need aid."

"No," Ezio raised a hand to stop Machiavelli's words. "I work better alone. Less chance of being noticed. Those machines are guarded heavily – one man can slip in and out."

Stefano fretted.

"You expose yourself to a lot of danger, Ezio. And I am the one having to sew you up at the end of the day."

His light bantering tone was gone. For one of the few times in his life he was genuinely concerned for Ezio. The man was no longer young, despite his body's fitness level that belied his age. The Assassin's body was as supple as ever and he'd trained even harder since Monteriggioni.

"Have no worries, Stefano. I'll try to be as quiet as a mouse."

"A rather big ungainly one too," Stefano ribbed him somewhat sarcastically. "You're a thankless bastard."

Ezio pulled the leaner man into a bear hug.

"And that is why I employ you, captain. To tell me what I don't want to hear."

"So what is next?" Machiavelli interrupted the little merriment session with clipped tones. "Which one will you destroy next?"

"I do not know. Whichever I hear of first. I'll listen to the city – hear what is said."

Machiavelli bowed his head.

"You know best, Mentore."

"I do want you out there too," Ezio glanced from one man to the other. "Gather rumours, spread misinformation. I want the Borgia so off kilter that they would not know what to believe."