♪ DaVinci's Demons 1x01 ♪ The Hanged Man Original Air Date on April 12, 2013
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
Will you smoke with me, Da Vinci?
Well, that depends on what's in the pipe.
It is a mixture of tobacco and black hellebore
and is rumored to induce visions
and summon demons.
Well, I believe in neither.
Then why do you struggle so hard to keep both at bay?
History is a lie that has been honed like a weapon
by people who have suppressed the truth.
The knowledge you are destined to learn
will upend the established order of things.
How could you possibly know that?
You have heard the phrase 'Time is a river'?
Yes.
What most fail to grasp is that the river is circular.
One man's death opens a doorway
to the birth of the next.
Would you like to know how
this particular doorway opened?
Yes.
Be forewarned, then.
Some doorways lead into darkness.
Out you go, boy. Get on with you!
Go on! Go on!
Cicco!
- What day is it today? - Palm Sunday.
Oh, balls.
The Duchess and your children are already at the church.
Could you round me up some coddled eggs?
I have a beastly hangover and my bowels are in a tumble.
I'll be dressed in but a minute.
At ease, people, I've arrived!
Be gone, you artless fuckwit. This is my moment.
And thanks to the Secret Archives,
it's the last you will ever enjoy!
Ah!
Tell me a secret, Leonardo.
What was your... earliest memory?
Or better yet,
your greatest fear?
In my case...
the two go hand-in-hand.
I was...um...
I was six months old.
No-one remembers back that far.
Well, perhaps I'm unique, then.
- Oh. - My mother...um...
...put me in a cradle out in the field.
And a falcon flew down. I can still recall it.
It just perched there, looking at me
almost as if it were trying to reveal
some kind of mystery.
My mother drove it away.
Yet, as clear as that memory is,
the one thing I can never recall..
is my mother's face.
I can draw anything I've seen, even in passing.
But when it comes to my mother, all I see is a void.
She disappeared that night and I've been...
trying to recall her face ever since.
All men are searching for their mothers.
That's what guides you between our thighs.
I pay you to pose, Vanessa.
Not to plumb the innermost depths of my character.
If you expect me to bare my figure for you,
I expect you to bare your soul in return.
So, tell me, is there nothing else you fear?
Only imperfection.
Maestro! Maestro!
You're late, Nico.
You're late. Verrocchio's been looking for you.
Well, he can wait. We've an experiment to conduct.
You're meant to play a principal role in it.
- Come on! - Hello.
They're called breasts, Nico. Every woman possesses them.
Nico! That's Vanessa.
She's newly liberated from the Convent of St Anthony.
Now help me do this.
Climb into that harness.
Hey today,
we are attempting to ascertain whether or not
this kite can provide the necessary wind resistance
to support your weight.
Well, Maestro, what if it can't?
Vanessa, do you mind just dancing about for a moment?
You see? Those weighted ribbons
allow me to calculate the strength
and direction of the wind.
In this case, I would say... it's about 20 knots
and shifting...
westerly.
Ha ha ha!
Yah!
Wait, Maestro! What if your calculations are wrong?
Wait, wait, Maestro! Oh, Maestro, please, please stop!
Oh, wait, Maestro. Maestro!
Ha ha ha!
Oh, my God, please!
Aaa-aaargh!
Yes!
You're flying, Nico!
Maestro-o-o!
It's perfect!
Uh. Uh.
You're too high! Not so high.
Nico!
It works! It works, Maestro!
I never had any doubts.
Oh, God, I hate this place.
What? Where else could we practice our flights
but in Florence?
Anywhere else, we'd just be burnt at the stake
for our efforts.
But here? I'm just another free-thinking heretic.
Chaos. Culture.
It's all celebrated within these walls.
Florence only demands one thing of its people.
To be truly awake.
Like that angelic vision.
Don't even think about it. That's Lucrezia Donati.
Lorenzo de Medici's mistress. I'm well aware of who she is.
He'll break you on the wheel,
if he catches you looking at her.
But what if she's caught looking at me?
Bad tidings from Milan, Nico.
How can you tell?
That serpent on the rider's surcoat is the Biscione,
the Sforza family emblem.
If he was bringing good news, he'd have been dressed
in the more traditional red and white shield of Milan.
Whatever the message is,
Lorenzo won't be happy with it.
Out!
Out! All of you!
Lorenzo? Lorenzo!
The Duke of Milan is dead.
- Assassinated. - By whose hand?
- Visconti and two others. - An honor killing, then.
They say the Duke deflowered his niece.
Sforza was a pig of epic appetites.
Yes, but he was our pig!
I sense the Vatican's hand behind this.
The timing is just too perfect.
If you're right, this upsets the balance of power in Italy, Lorenzo.
Oh, by God, Becchi, this more than upsets.
This all but decapitates the concept
and shits down its throat!
We need to shore up public support.
Easter holiday is nearly upon us.
Let's throw a carnival.
Allow the people of Florence to celebrate
the end of Lent as they do its arrival.
The more flamboyant the pageantry,
the stronger we appear.
We're not fucking peacocks, Giuliano.
Carnival is all well and good,
but if it has no teeth behind it,
we might as well slit our own throats.
Are you frightened?
No, Most Holy Father.
Lying is a sin, my dear boy.
It separates us from God's grace.
Yes, I'm frightened.
But that's also a lie, isn't it?
At least, a partial one.
A venial sin, perhaps.
So...
which statement is correct?
Hm?
Speak, child.
Don't you want to enter heaven?
The proper answer would be...
Please! His Holiness has forbidden any visitors.
Our men succeeded, Your Grace!
Sforza is dead.
Florence is ripe for the picking, Your Eminence.
Trust me.
You know this how?
Because I have an agent within Lorenzo's ranks.
The Medicis are throwing a carnival,
in a pathetic bid to win the people's favor.
They're weak, Your Holiness.
This is your chance to strike.
Not mine, Nephew.
The Lord's.
There is another reason for haste.
The Turk has arrived in Florence.
He's after the Book of Leaves.
I am truly sorry.
Why?
Because you can't have heard this.
Do you have the plans for the colombina or not?
We do.
And they're breathtaking.
Then produce these miraculous renderings
and let us evaluate them.
Unfortunately...
I can't.
Because they don't exist!
By God, if you think you can defraud
the House of Medici...
No, no, no, they do exist, I promise you!
They're in this chest.
- Open it. - It's locked.
Well, then, I'll take my sword to it.
The chest is rigged to explode
if anyone tampers with it.
Are you mad?
Why would anyone engineer such an infernal contrivance?
To protect my ideas, obviously.
Gentlemen, Leonardo Da Vinci.
Ah, I've heard of you.
They say you're quite the free-thinker.
- You're late. - Grape.
So! The First Citizen of Florence
is desperate for us to fashion him a colombina.
'Desperate' is a strong word.
And yet it happens to be the word I used.
But let's review.
Every Easter, a grand procession makes its way
through the streets of Florence,
terminating at the cathedral.
Why do you insist on stating
what every child of three already knows?
Why do you insist on interrupting me?
I have a methodology. We can follow it.
Or we can flail about.
I'll take your silence as a vote for the former. Onward.
At the culmination of mass, a mechanical dove,
the colombina, is flown from the altar on a wire.
Out into the public square it soars.
It ignites a cart full of fireworks.
The Republic celebrates, they don masks.
They engage in drunken revelry. Now...
For years, the House of Medici has contracted
with inferior workshops to produce said ceremonial dove.
But, this year,
if I am to understand the politics afoot,
the same shoddy pageantry
just won't do.
No-one's carped about our dove before.
To call your previous efforts 'a dove'
is to insult the entire avian class.
Enough! Just show us the damn thing.
All right.
Ho ho ho.
That is but a quarter-scale model.
There.
It's a thing of beauty, I'll grant you that.
Yes, and it can be yours for 30 florins.
- 30? - Yeah.
The contract stated 12.
That was for a bird that needed a guide wire.
This miracle requires no such handicap.
Your work is impressive.
But the price is too steep.
- 30 florins is a bargain. - 30 florins is sodomy!
Perhaps I should be negotiating
with your older brother instead.
For God's sake, Becchi,
just pay the degenerate and be done with it.
You win, artista.
As is customary with commissions,
we shall pay half now and half upon completion.
While we're on the subject of commissions,
I'm told that there's an open one to paint Lucrezia Donati.
Lorenzo's mistress.
Stick to your whirligigs and parlor tricks, Da Vinci.
Take a lesson from Icarus.
So, tell me...
..is there nothing else you fear?
Uh! Aah! Aah!
Are you all right, Leonardo?
It was just a nightmare, Andrea.
You have them all too frequently.
I'm having some issues with my mathematics, that's all.
Issues?
I'm not sure...
that the colombina will be flightworthy by Easter.
- But the model... - Was a model.
Once I scale up the dimensions,
the calculations don't hold. It's annoying!
Smoking opium won't help matters.
- It clears my head. - It clouds it.
What are you, my nursemaid? I think too much. All right?
I need to dull my thoughts or I'll be eviscerated by them.
I would have thought that you would have
understood that by now!
The tears of the poppy have medicinal properties.
- The priests in Egypt... - We are not in Egypt.
And you are no priest.
You have a gift, Leo.
A kind of...genius...
the likes of which I've never seen.
Because of that, people will always seek to destroy you.
Please...
..don't aid them in their endeavor.
- How much for the starlings? - Six denari apiece.
I'll give you two soldi for the lot.
Are you trying to offend me?
No, if I was trying to offend you,
I'd comment on the scent of fecal matter
wafting from your hindquarters.
Do you want the soldi or not?
They're my last, I'm bored.
No, I'm only interested in the birds.
Just open the cage on my say-so.
He's obsessed with flight. He studies them for inspiration.
Now.
Well? Did you see what you were hoping to?
For one of my soldi back, I just might tell you.
All right. Tell me.
I saw an idiot who doesn't know how to haggle.
Look, Nico. There she is again.
Look at her with Lorenzo.
Everyone pretending the two of them aren't fucking.
- Isn't that your father? - Crown Prince of parasites.
He serves as Lorenzo's notary.
Come on, Nico, let's stir the pot a little.
Your Magnificence!
My name is Leonardo Da Vinci. Perhaps you've heard of me?
I am designing your Easter colombina.
Oh, yes.
You're the eccentric that Verrocchio employs.
I'm an artist, yes, and an anatomist
and an engineer of some note.
'Extortionist' is the word I recall using.
I drive a stiff bargain, it's true.
But the fact is, I have designed
a more ambitious series of devices
that I know your percipient mind
will take an interest in.
Move along, vermin.
Another time.
Perhaps.
I'm wounded, Nico.
I need wine.
How goes business, Zoroaster?
Execrable, since the Duke's demise.
These are dark times for Florence.
Case in point. Those mercenaries flooding into town.
If war does break out,
they'll be the only ones gainfully employed.
Speaking of employment,
a two-headed calf, stillborn on Zitto's farm.
I can procure it, if you like, for your medical studies.
The last corpse you brought me was already
decomposing by the time I took a scalpel to it.
Grave-robbing is like fishmongering.
You're at the mercy of the day's catch.
Come on. A boar sausage?
You know damn well that I am a vegetarian.
- Keep hoping to corrupt you. - Oh, I'm corruptible.
I just prefer not to eat anything with eyes.
- Potatoes have eyes. - Fuck off, Nico!
Maestro!
May I model for you again?
No-one looks at my form as you do.
No-one looks at any form as I do.
Go peddle your wares with Botticelli.
He's an easy mark.
Model? That boy's nothing but a hustler
and an artless one at that.
But pleasing to the eye, nonetheless.
Piss.
Her. Have a gander at these.
My latest venture.
They're called tarot cards.
They're used to divine fortunes.
Here. Pick one, Nico.
We'll see if it squares with your temperament.
- Funny. It's a trick. - Is it?
Or am I simply channeling the powers of The Ancients?
How many women has that line worked on, Zo?
A respectable amount. Thank you very much.
And a goodly number of gentlemen, as well.
But a card can symbolize not just one's temperament,
but one's fate.
Do you dare see yours?
Tell me. Don't hold back.
This one...
represents sacrifice.
A suspension between life and death and then perhaps...
..a great awakening.
I'm an idiot.
Those mercenaries. Florence has no army of its own.
So they're here to sell their muscle. Right?
But what if there was a more lucrative way
to traffic in the Republic's unease?
- Like what? - I should promote myself
as a military engineer, not a painter.
War has always been the handmaiden of progress.
If I want to explore my ideas,
I just need to cloak them in the guise of Florence's defense.
Why are the officers of the night bothering that man?
He's a Turk, a heathen. Isn't that reason enough?
No.
No, this isn't your fight, Leo.
When's that ever stopped me?
What seems to be the trouble here?
Go back to your sketchbook, scribbler.
This isn't your concern.
You see, unfortunately, um...
I have this character flaw
that compels me to intervene whenever stupidity rears its head, so...
You see? Cos that was stupid.
Cos your man's grip was too loose
and now he finds himself
staring down this handsome spada da filo.
Even more stupidity.
Cos if you'd just asked around,
anyone will tell you that I'm ambidextrous
and perfectly capable of fighting two or...
..even three men simultaneously.
Bully someone else, Dragonetti.
You've made a serious miscalculation tonight, artista.
It wouldn't be the first time.
- Are you all right, sir? - I'm more than all right.
I am a son of Earth and Starry Heaven.
I return to Constantinople the day after tomorrow.
But I am staying at the Inn of the Black Swan.
Come see me before I leave...
..Maestro.
A bit weird.
What did he give you?
A tip, I think.
..it was her mother.
The same arse, very different faces
and, when I realized, I did a little sip on her tit.
Take him, Nico. Jesus. He'll never make it home alone.
Are you sure, Maestro?
It's after curfew and there are bound to be rogues about.
- Then I'll fit right in. Go! - Listen, Leo.
What?
I didn't deal you the Hanged Man. That was all you.
It was an omen. It was just like the two-headed calf.
I don't believe in omens.
No. No, this is you. Go.
Go!
I know it's you, Dragonetti.
Did you not learn your lesson earlier?
Ah.
I guess you did learn.
That's enough.
I should have known.
People are talking about you.
And not in a positive light.
I couldn't care less what they're saying about me.
I care!
I'll not have you tarnishing our family's name
with your flippant tone and your vulgar attempts at self-promotion.
Perhaps you should disown me, then.
You're my first-born.
And much as I may wish to disavow you,
our reputations are intertwined.
First-born?
You say that as if...
My wife, Margherita...
..bore me a son this past week.
A legitimate heir.
Well, my condolences to him.
I wonder how long it will take him to curse his lineage.
As a bastard, your rank
within the social order has been rigidly defined.
You should endeavor to remain within it.
Stay away from the Medicis, Leonardo.
- I'll not warn you again. - I'll wager you will.
Why do you have to make this so difficult?
It's my nature! I see things as they are,
not as they might be.
You...
are a petty man.
And...you will never achieve greatness.
Whereas I...
I already have.
You're kneeling in a dungeon.
About to be hit again and again.
By men who know how to hit.
That's what you've achieved, Leonardo.
Beat him for another hour,
then toss him back onto the street
with the rest of the garbage.
Hold out the scribbler's hand.
To be fair, you actually look more wretched than I, so...
well done.
Perhaps you should see a physician.
I'm fine.
Oh, they're executing a Jew today.
Apparently, they caught him breaking into the book shop on the Via Dei Librai.
It should be good sport.
I'm not sure a man's death should be characterized as sport.
This fucking spot is too sunny.
Can't we move over into the shade?
- No. - Why?
Because every morning, at precisely this time,
Lucrezia Donati comes to this exact spot to purchase...
flowers.
There.
She's appealing, I'll grant you that, but...
..I'd rather bed that old toothless hag over there.
Now you're just being contrary.
It takes no great skill to fuck a pretty face.
But a truly ugly woman, that actually requires discipline
and, let me tell you, my friend, done right,
a transcendent experience.
Nico, run this over to her.
Make sure she knows where it's come from.
What the devil are you up to, Leo?
She wants to speak with you.
Uh-huh? Well, tell her I'm busy.
You're seriously not turning her down?
Tell her, Nico. Timing is all.
He can't right now.
Behold, a criminal in our midst!
A Jew, no less!
Watch him dance! Watch him dangle!
Bring your fruit and small stones!
God protect the Republic of Florence!
I am a son of Earth and Starry Heaven.
I am thirsty.
Please, give me something to drink
from the Fountain of Memory.
Are you all right, Maestro?
I need to leave.
Is there a foreigner staying here, a Turkish man?
He said you could find him at the Roman ruins,
north of town.
Will you smoke with me, Da Vinci?
Well, that depends on what's in the pipe.
History is a lie that has been honed like a weapon
by people who have suppressed the truth.
Centuries from now, your own history
will also be suppressed.
How could you possibly know that?
You have heard the phrase 'Time is a river'?
What most fail to grasp
is that the river is circular.
One man's death...
opens a doorway to the birth of the next.
I saw a man executed today.
He said something to me.
- I am... - A son of Earth
and Starry Heaven.
I am thirsty.
Please, give me something to drink
from the Fountain of Memory.
It is an invocation.
A way for members of our fraternity
to recognize one another.
I'm not a member of your fraternity.
Are you sure?
This temple was once a place of worship
for a religion that originated
long before Christ.
We are known as the Sons of Mithras.
Much of what you call 'progress'
has simply been a matter of remembering
what was once forgotten.
This knowledge was set down
in a compendium known as the Book of Leaves.
Recently, certain clues have surfaced
regarding the Book's location.
Avraham ben Yosef was following those clues
when he was apprehended and put to death.
Perhaps you have heard of the Secret Archives
the Vatican has assembled?
Its curator is a man called Lupo Mercuri.
A fallen son of Mithras.
Where we seek to disseminate and preserve knowledge.
They seek to alter and suppress it.
I still don't understand
what any of this has to do with me.
What do you know... about your mother?
Almost nothing.
She... She disappeared.
- She was a servant girl. - She was a slave.
Taken from Constantinople against her will.
Do you remember...
an incident that occurred in your childhood?
You have suppressed it.
I was a boy in Vinci.
I'd been sent to fetch some sheep that had wandered off.
I found a cave.
I was scared to go inside, but...
But I was curious.
So I ventured in.
The next hours...are blank.
I remember...
..stumbling out.
My hands and face...
..were covered in blood.
And somehow...
I knew it wasn't my own.
One day...
you will sip from the Fountain of Memory...
..and learn more of what occurred in that cave.
When that day comes, we will meet again.
What do I do till then?
Search for the Book of Leaves.
Fate has chosen you, Leonardo.
- I don't believe in fate. - Then believe in yourself.
Well, where do I start my search, then?
With the hanged man, the seat of the soul.
He's already opened the door for you.
And my mother?
She will be for you on the other side.
All you have to do...
is enter.
Maestro? Maestro? Can you hear me?
Maestro!
We've been looking for you since last night. What happened?
The Turk was here.
There was... There was a statue.
An altar.
Must have weighed a ton.
This place has been empty for centuries, Leo.
Maestro, the Officers of the Night
have been searching for you.
They say Lorenzo Medici himself has asked for you.
Leonardo di ser Piero...
Da Vinci.
I am told you are my notary's bastard son.
I am.
I'm also told that you are a troublemaker,
you are arrogant, impolitic...
..and utterly incapable
of keeping your opinions to yourself.
Arrogance implies that I exaggerate my own worth.
I don't.
My mistress, Lucrezia,
seems to think that you have
a singular talent for portraiture.
She insisted that you and none other be the one to...
capture her beauty.
I'd say she has a discerning eye, then.
A warning, sir. The man has a reputation
for taking many commissions, but finishing few.
I wrestle with details. I bore easily.
Call it a character flaw.
Well, with this commission,
you'd be wise to overcome it.
When it comes to Miss Donati,
boredom is the last thing I fear.
I'll have your father draw up a contract then.
Sir, if I may, I have a few other designs...
I have some designs
that I think you might be interested in.
This will greatly increase your gunner's rate of firepower.
So, while the top rack's being fired,
the rack below that one can be loaded
and the rack below that one is allowed to cool.
The cannons are arranged in a fan, which -
- That will be enough. - This is an armored cart.
Propulsion is achieved by two men, who are housed within.
They operate cranks, which rotate the wheels.
Cannons can be mounted around the perimeter of the cart.
It's a flying machine.
It's modeled after the articulated wings of a bat.
Madness. If man were meant to fly...
He would have been born with wings, yes.
But a similar assertion could have been made prior
to the invention of gunpowder--
or any other invention conceived since fire.
I believe man will fly and I base this assumption
on the fact that God has blessed us
with minds that are capable of imagining it.
Anything that can be dreamt of will eventually be built.
Anyone who says otherwise is a fool.
What exactly do you propose?
I wish to be employed...
as a military engineer.
I am a humanist, Da Vinci.
I have no interest in waging war.
And yet your humanism is precisely why war will happen.
Florence has no standing army.
Nor does Rome.
Necessarily...
you've both made alliances with states that do.
Florence with Milan,
and Rome with Naples.
Sforza's death has up-ended the game board.
You need weapons of your own, Your Magnificence.
I will give you a modest stipend.
To see whether these...
contraptions of yours can actually be realized.
- Shall we say 100 florins? - 50.
If you haggle any further, I'll cut out your tongue.
As you say, sir.
Thank you.
You used Lucrezia to gain access to me, didn't you?
I utilize any device at my disposal,
in order to realize my goals.
Clever,
but I'd caution you not to be too clever around me.
Clockwork loses its luster,
once one glimpses the gears beneath its face.
Point taken.
Is there a problem?
None at all, sir.
Good day.
- Congratulations, Leonardo. - Word travels fast.
Ah, there are no secrets in Florence.
How the devil did you do it?
Oh, he played on a woman's vanity.
Your stratagem has become clear, you bastard.
A bastard of the highest order.
Ha! Drink up everybody.
Then get back to work. We've got a colombina to build!
The Jew that was hanged, I want you to unearth his body.
I need to examine it.
And my compensation?
Well, that depends how fresh the corpse is.
Ah, well, then, I'd best get digging.
Ah, here's the Pazzi clan.
With their schemer Francesco and old man Jacopo.
Probably the oldest family in Florence,
definitely the most ornery.
The Pazzi family entrusts Lorenzo de Medici
with this new fire,
struck on stones from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
As is our right.
Granted to our ancestor for his actions
during the First Crusade.
The colombina is about to fly.
Welcome, all of you, into God's home.
The flames of the phoenix suit you well.
Tell me, truly,
are you always this wistful with the whores you bed?
Oh, you are no whore, Signora.
We need not continue this pretence any longer, Miss Donati.
I knew it was you from the moment you approached me.
How did you know?
I sketched you.
Your features, your form, your bearing.
The more salient question...
..is why would a noblewoman
risk her reputation on a lowly artisan?
Well, isn't that the point of a carnival?
To pretend, for a night, that you're someone you're not.
No, I think there's more to it than that, yeah.
Tell me, then.
You were intrigued by my sketch.
Yeah, so...
You felt that it captured an aspect of yourself
that remains hidden from your husband,
and from your lover, Lorenzo.
The only time you see this aspect...
..is on the rare occasions
that you glimpse yourself in the mirror,
and you find a stranger staring back at you.
You knew I'd seek you out, then.
Well...
Hey, I try to work out what motivates people
and then I proceed accordingly.
You manipulate them.
No. I prefer to think of it as gently
redirecting their trajectories.
Lorenzo was quite taken with your designs.
Well, may I see one of these marvels?
What is it?
It's a device for slowing one's rate of descent.
- Oh. - Yeah.
And under what circumstances would I possibly have use for this?
Say that you were trapped in a fortress.
- A fortress? - That had been breached.
You could strap yourself into this...
and you'd safely float down to freedom.
Oh, thank goodness.
It would appear Lorenzo's interest in you was justified.
But tell me.
I have risked my reputation by sleeping with you.
You've risked more.
Perhaps even death.
And to what do you ascribe my reckless behavior, then?
Love.
Don't be absurd.
You saw me, you drew me, you fell in love.
It's as simple as that.
Add in the fact that I am forbidden fruit...
..and your fate was sealed.
You're the third person this week to lecture me on fate.
Well, perhaps it's time you started listening.
Now...
Fuck me again, Leonardo.
This time, remember...
..you're not the only one capable of manipulation.
The Secret Archives are open
only to his Holiness' closest advisors.
For obvious reasons,
we can't have you parading through the front door.
Ah.
How rude of me.
I promised you your payment first.
I take it you're satisfied?
Your Eminence,
I bring news from Florence.
Get on with it, then.
A new player has entered the stage.
An artist known as Leonardo Da Vinci.
The Medicis have employed him to design siege weapons.
Artists are as common as court jesters.
I see no reason why this news should concern us.
This artist is different. His ideas are...
unusual,
revolutionary.
My agent in Florence.
You trust your intelligence to a woman?
When one seeks to convey a message,
I prefer to use vessels others would readily dismiss.
If I am not mistaken, you are Lupo Mercuri,
Curator of the Secret Archives.
- What of it? - It may interest you to know
that Da Vinci has made contact...
with the Turk.
He's searching for something called the Book of Leaves.
It would appear the Turk has found a new champion.
Continue watching him.
See if he can be co-opted.
And if he can't?
Then Da Vinci will be consumed
in the fiery sorrows of hell.
Along with the rest of God's enemies.
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
♪